THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN.
Privy Councillor Von Ernau was sitting in his dining-room, at the
little round table, which was to-day set for but one person. He was not
fond of dining alone; guests were always invited to join him at this
meal, which was on table punctually at four o'clock. Certainly gay
conversation is the best seasoning for delicate viands. Neither
well-prepared food nor excellent wine delighted the Councillor's palate
if partaken of in solitude. He therefore reflected sadly, as he sipped
his soup, upon the number of days upon which he should now be obliged
to dine alone,--fourteen, at the very least. He sighed profoundly.
Fourteen days appeared an endless time to him. Since the finding of
Egon's body had established the fact that the unfortunate Councillor
von Ernau had lost his only son, eight days had passed; for eight days
he had worn deep mourning. Until eight days ago there had been some
doubt as to his calamity, and he had not felt it necessary to deny
himself all social pleasures; but now there was no help for it. As a
father overwhelmed with grief, such joys were not for him. He glanced
sadly enough at the broad band of crape that encircled his left arm.
During the first few days after the finding of the body there had been
some satisfaction in the sensation produced in Berlin by the actual
death of Egon von Ernau. It had been very interesting to read the
accounts in the papers, to receive visits of condolence, to show to
each new-comer how profound was the grief that wrung the paternal
bosom; then came all the arrangements for the funeral, which was
magnificent. Thus occupied the time passed quickly, and the sacrifice
of a solitary dinner was a matter of course, but now? The visits of
condolence had ceased, the funeral was over, the newspapers said
nothing more with regard to the death of Herr Egon von Ernau, the
Councillor felt very lonely, and the thought that he must yet pass at
least fourteen days secluded from all the delights of the capital made
him very sad. It really was a hard fate to lose an only son in the
bloom of youth, and to have to go into mourning for him besides!
The soup was delicate, but he did not relish it. He looked up with a
sigh----The spoon dropped from his fingers and fell clinking into his
soup-plate, as he gazed with staring eyes at the ghost which suddenly
confronted him in broad daylight,--a ghost the very presentment of his
dead son. There it stood in the open door-way. No, it did not stand; it
moved as if made of flesh and blood; it walked with the elastic step
that had been Egon's, through the room and directly towards its
solitary occupant.
"Good-day, sir," Egon remarked, as quietly as if he had just returned
from a short walk; and then, turning to the servant, who stood staring
in no less terror than his master, he said, "Bring me a plate, Johann,
and be quick, for I am desperately hungry."
No ghost speaks thus; no ghost coolly draws a chair up to a table and
sits down.
"Good God!" exclaimed the Councillor, who could not yet collect
himself, "is it really you, Egon? and alive?"
"As you see, sir, alive, and very hungry. Will you have the kindness to
order Johann to bring me a plate and not to stand there staring at me?
I think my appetite will soon convince both you and him that I am
alive."
Johann hastened to obey the order, and the Councillor no longer doubted
that his son was before him. He took up his spoon again, wiped a spot
of soup off the handle with his napkin, and as he did so eyed his
resuscitated son with an air of anything but delight. "You are alive,
then," he said, peevishly; "and that you are so destroys the only
satisfactory excuse that there could be for recklessly plunging me into
the greatest embarrassment by your sudden disappearance, just when your
betrothal was announced."
"Did I embarrass you, sir?" asked Egon, upon whom the paternal reproof
appeared to produce but a slight impression. "I am sorry, but I should
not have believed it. You are not wont to be easily embarrassed. So far
as I can learn, you have had a very agreeable time. The variety which
the sensation caused by my disappearance, by the discovery of my body,
and at last by my funeral must have introduced into your monotonous
existence has certainly been entertaining. The crape upon your arm
becomes you admirably; it is a pity to have to take it off, but then
you will be indemnified for its loss by the fresh sensation which the
prodigal's return will-excite. We shall both form the topic of Berlin
gossip for at least a week. Dead men do not rise from their graves
every day. The funeral, I hear from Freistetten, was really brilliant,
quite worthy of your distinguished taste. I regret not to have
witnessed it. However, I can go to the church-yard tomorrow to look at
my grave and admire the flowers with which you have adorned it. I must
beg you to accept my thanks for them."
"Always the same," the Councillor murmured, "a venomous sneer in every
word; you return as you departed."
"Does that vex you, sir? We have always got along very well together.
You never troubled yourself about me, and I never annoyed you. I think
we can do as well for the future. You never shall be disturbed in your
enjoyment of life by me, not even now. Pray do not let your soup get
cold; here comes mine. We will dine together, and consult comfortably
how we can introduce to the living world in the manner most agreeable
to you the son risen from the dead. But before I say another word I
must take my soup; I am as hungry as a wolf."
He applied himself to his task with an excellent appetite, and the
Councillor followed his example.
The Councillor did not speak until the soup was removed and Johann was
busy changing the plates for the next course. Then he availed himself
of the interruption of the dinner to say, "It seems high time that you
should inform me of your reasons for leaving me so suddenly, of where
you have been, of what you have been doing, and why we have heard
nothing from you for all these long weeks? Certainly, as your father, I
have a right to an explanation from you."
"There we differ, sir," Egon replied, in the same tone of cool contempt
which he had thus far used in addressing his father. "Our relations
have hitherto not corresponded to those usually existing between father
and son. You never desired any confidence from me. You have pursued
your pleasures without troubling yourself to think whether your son
might not perhaps need a father's affection, and you have never
required of me any explanation of my actions or sentiments. You gave
the boy perfect liberty to commit any folly he chose; how can the man
possibly be called to account by you? We had better continue our
relations as you have arranged them. It can be of little moment to you
where I have been and why I went away. It is enough that I am here
again, and that you are relieved of the duty of mourning for my death.
It is true that you are also deprived of the inheritance of my estate,
but this is a matter of indifference to you. You never attached any
great value to money, and you have probably never even remembered that
my maternal inheritance fell to you at my death."
"You do me but justice. I certainly never thought of that when I saw
you alive before me. I did think of what I could reply to the countless
inquiries that will be made of me as to where you have been and what
you have been doing all these weeks."
"Tell the truth, sir. Say that you do not know, that your son is an
incorrigible fellow, with no regard for the opinion of the world or for
his father's feelings, and that he is resolved to act as he himself
sees fit. Say this to all eager inquirers, and if they are not
satisfied send them to me, and I will so answer them that they will not
repeat their questions."
"You will make yourself impossible in society!"
"Precisely. I shall remain only a few days in Berlin, and may not
return here for years."
The Councillor stared at his son with a comical expression of dismay.
To him it was inconceivable that a young and wealthy man should propose
voluntarily to leave Berlin. A visit to London, Paris, or Vienna was
all very well in its way; he himself had never cared to see those
cities, but he could understand how they might interest some men for a
while; but to leave Berlin for years without being forced to do so! the
thought was preposterous. "You are going away again?" he asked,
incredulously.
"Yes; I shall be here but a few days. I returned only to show you and
all my acquaintances that I am alive. I am tired of this insignificant
existence, and am resolved to devote my future life to some serious
pursuit. I shall, I think, pursue the study of agriculture for a year
or longer, and so soon as I am capable of the management of a large
estate I shall retire to Plagnitz, where I hope to play the part of an
able agriculturist."
"I believe you are insane!" the Councillor exclaimed. The idea that
Egon von Ernau, the spoiled darling of society, could desire to
establish himself upon a West-Prussian estate as a simple agriculturist
was monstrous, incredible!
Egon smiled involuntarily at his father's dismay. "You see, sir, I have
very sensible and rather commonplace plans for the future. I hope you
will approve them, although they surprise you at present. Of course I
shall also want a wife. Here I shall meet your wishes. During the few
days which I shall spend in Berlin, my betrothal with your choice for
me, with Fraeulein Bertha von Massenburg, can be announced publicly and
celebrated by a brilliant _fete_ after your own heart. As soon as it is
over I shall leave Berlin, and my marriage will take place when my
castle in Plagnitz is put in a condition to be a worthy abode for my
young wife, and when I am fitted to undertake the management of the
estate."
Were the surprises which Egon had prepared for his father never to come
to an end? The shock of this last announcement was too much for the
Councillor's self-control, He tossed aside his napkin, rose from his
chair, and hastily left the room, to return in a moment with a note,
which he handed to Egon. "Read that!" he said.
"I have the honour to announce to you the betrothal of my only daughter
Bertha to Herr Hugo von Wangen.
"Werner von Massenburg.
"Bertha Von Massenburg.
"Hugo von Wangen.
"Betrothed."
The blood rushed to Egon's cheeks and there was a mist before his eyes
as he read these words. Bertha betrothed to that insignificant,
unintellectual, good-natured young fellow! And this was the end of the
struggle through which he had passed in his sleepless night at
Hirschberg, where he had at last resolved upon his future career! His
plans were all annihilated by a paltry bit of paper, on which was
printed "Bertha von Massenburg, Hugo von Wangen, betrothed."
If the Councillor's amazement at all that he had seen and heard on this
day could have been increased, it would have been so by the alteration
visible in his son's features as he road this note. "What now?" he
exclaimed. "You are absolutely incomprehensible! When you could have
had Bertha von Massenburg for a wife by simply saying 'yes,' you ran
away to be rid of her, and now you look as if the lady's betrothal to
another man were an immense disappointment to you. You have never seen
her; it can make no possible difference to you whether you have her or
somebody else for a wife, since you are resolved to marry and settle
down as a country squire."
"True, sir, it can make no possible difference to me," Egon said,
slowly, his eyes still fixed upon the note in his hand.
"Besides," the Councillor continued, "betrothed is not married. If your
heart is so set upon this girl, which I never should have suspected, I
will speak to Werner Massenburg about it. He consented to the present
betrothal only to put a stop to disagreeable gossip. It will be easy to
retract his consent, especially since your appearance gives him a
reason for declaring the engagement to Wangen null and void. He will be
glad, and so shall I, to have matters take the course we decided upon
two months ago. Since you wish it, Egon, I will speak to him."
Lost in thought, Egon had not understood a word his father had uttered.
The syllables had struck upon his ear without conveying any impression
to his mental sense. When he heard his name spoken he started from his
revery and rose. "I must now leave you, sir," he said.
"But you cannot possibly have eaten enough. Sit down and let us consult
what is to be done."
"I really am unfit for discussion at present. I will go to my room. You
can employ the afternoon in acquainting your friends with my return.
To-morrow I will pay the requisite visits, and then try to evoke some
order out of the chaos that now reigns in my mind."
He left the room, and slowly walked through the familiar rooms and
corridors until he reached his own apartments. Here nothing had been
changed during his absence, and it seemed to him that he had been away
but for a few hours. His lot appeared as empty and forlorn as when he
had decided to put an end to his tedious existence: life was as
comfortless and devoid of interest now as then. He threw himself upon a
lounge, and buried his face among the cushions. He wished neither to
see, to hear, nor to think. He sank into a half-unconscious state
between waking and dreaming. Pictures from the past arose, mistily
indistinct, before his mental vision. He saw himself as a little lonely
child in his luxurious nursery, longing for affection, filled with
childish envy of other children who might kiss and caress their father
or mother; then he saw himself a youth among the throng of his
fellow-students, all ready to flatter and fawn upon him so long as he
lavished money upon them; then in society among women whom he despised
and men who wearied him; then came the scene on the shore of the
lake,--Pigglewitch's confession, and his own sudden impulse that led
him into so wild an adventure. All these pictures were cloudy and
vague, when suddenly there emerged from among them, in startling
distinctness, Lieschen's image. He saw her as she looked upon the
afternoon when she had asked counsel of him as she turned to him
trustfully. How could he ever have forgotten for a moment that pure,
confiding look?
And as once the reality, so now the remembrance affected him
profoundly. He felt suddenly invigorated, strengthened for the further
conflict of life; the dull despair that had assailed him when he saw
all his plans crumble to ruins vanished; he was ashamed that the
thought of Bertha should so have moved him, and that he should have
again blindly followed the impulse of the moment. "Lieschen's pure
memory shall be my guiding star," he said to himself, "in all the
conflicts to come!"
He arose from the lounge, and just in time, for steps were heard in the
corridor, his door was flung open, and there appeared on the threshold
a man, tall and still handsome in spite of his years, followed by the
Councillor. Egon recognized his visitor instantly, although he had
never seen him before, so decided was his resemblance to his daughter.
"My son Egon, Herr von Massenburg," the Councillor said, introducing
the young man to the stranger. But Werner von Massenburg put aside all
formality, and, offering Egon his hand, said, with the greatest
cordiality, "Pardon the informality of my visit, Herr von Ernau; its
excuse is my great pleasure when I heard from my friend, your father,
that our mourning for you is at an end, that you are restored to life.
I could not but come to you immediately to express my joy."
Why should Egon be repelled by this frank display of cordiality? He
could not tell. As Herr von Massenburg spoke, the resemblance between
his daughter and himself increased; but this did not lessen Egon's
distaste for the man. Every friendly word that he spoke seemed to the
young fellow a conscious falsehood, and he reciprocated but coldly the
other's kindness.
Nothing deterred by Egon's reserve of manner, Werner continued to pour
forth his joy upon the occasion of this 'resurrection,' as he called
it, and his self-congratulations that it was not too late to prevent
the mischief which might have ensued upon any longer continuance in the
belief of Egon's death. "Your father knows," he said, "how pained I was
to be forced to resign all our delightful schemes for the union of our
families, and that I am all the more rejoiced now that the hope of
their fulfilment blooms afresh."
"If I am not mistaken, Fraeulein von Massenburg is betrothed to a
certain Herr von Wangen?" Egon said, quietly.
"True," Massenburg replied, no whit embarrassed. "In the distressing
situation in which my daughter was placed, I was forced to have
recourse to some means to vindicate her imperilled reputation. A very
well-to-do landed proprietor, an honest but rather insignificant young
fellow, proposed for her. I gave my consent, hard as it was for me, and
harder still as it was for my daughter to submit to the lot thus
decided upon for her. She considered herself, so she wrote me, as the
widow of one so suddenly snatched from her and from the world. The
supposition under which both Bertha and myself, as Herr von Wangen well
knows, were induced to give our consent to the betrothal proves to be
erroneous, and the betrothal is consequently void. I gladly consent to
declare it so, since your father informs me of your readiness to accede
to our old plans."
"But Fraeulein von Massenburg and Herr von Wangen?" Egon asked.
"Bertha will be happy to be liberated from a tie that is odious to her,
and Herr von Wangen must resign himself to the inevitable. I will write
to him to-day, and shall rejoice to welcome you, my dear Ernau, as my
future son-in-law."
"I regret, Herr von Massenburg," Egon said, quietly, but firmly, "that
I can make no claim to the title with which you would honour me. I
could never consent to be the cause of the rupture of an engagement
which has been publicly announced."
"What new whim is this?" the Councillor exclaimed, angrily. "Why did
you send me to Herr von Massenburg?"
"I did not send you, sir."
"But you made no reply when I told you that I would arrange that the
betrothal should be declared void."
"I do not remember hearing you say a word upon the subject."
"Incredible!" the Councillor exclaimed, indignantly. "I expressly told
you that I would dissolve the engagement which seemed so obnoxious to
you. For your sake, to fulfil your wishes, I went directly from the
dinner-table to Herr von Massenburg, and now you leave me in the lurch,
for the sake of heaven only knows what insane idea. It is too much, too
much!"
"Indeed, Herr von Ernau," Werner von Massenburg went on to say, "your
father's anger would be justifiable if you were in earnest in what you
say, but that I am sure you are not. I respect the delicacy which makes
you hesitate to be the cause of the rupture of a betrothal which has
been publicly announced. But my daughter's engagement to Herr von
Wangen was only a sad means of putting an end to much scandalous
gossip. It was but an empty form, and owes its existence to the force
put upon my daughter's will by myself."
That it was an empty form Egon knew only too well. He knew how gladly
Bertha would escape from it did she but know who Herr von Ernau really
was. Gottlieb Pigglewitch, the tutor at Castle Osternau, had learned
thus much from many a glance of the large, dark eyes that had often
robbed him of his rest. One word of his, a simple 'yes,' and she might
yet be his wife.
'Lieschen's pure memory shall be my guiding star in all the future
conflicts of life.' These words, which he had murmured to himself a few
moments before, echoed in his soul. In imagination he saw her eyes bent
on him in pity,--pity for the weakness of a nature prone to yield so
readily to the impulse of the moment.
He hesitated no longer. "I deeply regret," he said, gravely, "if I have
been the cause of Fraeulein von Massenburg's contracting an engagement
to which her heart is not a party, but in my opinion, and I trust in
that of the young lady, a betrothal is no empty form. I should consider
it an insult to Fraeulein von Massenburg to suppose her capable of being
false to her betrothal vow. I certainly never can give her occasion for
being so, and I beg you, Herr von Massenburg, to consider this as my
irrevocable resolve."
Werner von Massenburg had much ado to preserve his self-possession. He
arose, and, with rage in his heart, said, coldly, "After so decided an
expression of opinion there is no reason for another word upon this
subject. I can only regret having been induced to comply with your
request, Herr Councillor."
He then took a formal leave of Egon, and left the room, followed by the
Councillor, who did not deign to bestow one farewell glance upon his
son.
When Egon was once more alone he drew a deep breath of relief. For the
first time in his life he had absolutely controlled an impulse to yield
to the whim of the moment. He had resisted temptation in a most
alluring form, and he might hope to date from this moment the dawn of a
truer and nobler existence.