"Well, then, we will say no more about the matter," she replied. "You
could not understand me. But I pity you."
Yet she did tell me more of her experiences in Berlin. She had heard
Milder in some of Gluck's operas and in "The Vestal," and described her
appearance, her figure, her execution; then, assuming a majestic
attitude, she herself sang several passages which had specially touched
her. Her fair face flushed crimson, and her eyes sparkled.
I believe it was on that evening that she enthralled my heart forever.
Not a word was exchanged between us concerning the events of the
afternoon or of my sermon. But I was too happy to find that she gave me
her confidence so far, not to forget myself and my petty vanity.
We rambled over the fields for an hour, until it grew perfectly dark,
and returned to the castle just at tea-time. The Canoness had arranged
her bouquet very gracefully and laid it beside her aunt's cup, who
patted her arm with a grateful glance. She looked past her uncle into
vacancy, without moving a muscle. The latter was in the worst possible
humor, which he even vented on Mademoiselle Suzon during the game of
chess.
Soon after I went to my tower-room, Fraeulein Luise began to sing below.
I listened at my open window in a perfect rapture of every sense.
Outside, the nightingales were trilling, beneath me this magnificent
voice, in which so strong, so pure, so noble a woman's soul appealed to
me--I felt as if my whole being had been encompassed with iron bands,
and in this "moonlit, magic night" one after another burst asunder, and
I could breathe freely for the first time.
* * * * *
Much might be said of the days that followed. They were the happiest of
my young life. But memorable as they are still, distinctly as I can
recall all the trivial events and rapturous joys of many, I shall avoid
relating them in detail.
Though a man should speak of his first and only love with the tongue of
an angel, he would find no patient listeners.
Yet, for truth's sake, I must here remark that I did not deceive myself
for an instant in regard to the hopelessness of my passion. But,
strangely enough, this clear perception of the heights and depths which
separated me from the woman I worshiped did not make me unhappy. Nay,
it would only have crippled the lofty flight of my feelings had I
flattered myself that this peerless, unattainable being might some day
prosaically descend from her height and become the wife of a
commonplace village pastor. True, I can not assert that this state of
mere spiritual aspiration would always have continued. If she gave me
her hand, if her dress brushed me, or my foot even touched the shoes
she had put outside her chamber-door in the evening to be cleaned, an
electric shock thrilled me, which doubtless had some other origin than
mere devotion and the worship we pay to saints.
Still, it never entered my mind to imagine that I could put my arm
around her and press her lips. I believe I should have actually fallen
lifeless from ecstasy if such a thing had occurred.
Externally everything remained precisely as before--our lesson-hours,
which she always attended as a duenna, our Sunday conversations in the
kitchen-garden, now and then a meeting at Mother Lieschen's. Yet I felt
more and more plainly that she trusted me and had forgiven my former
follies. My hair was now parted wholly on the left side, and no longer
combed behind my ears.
Whitsuntide came in the middle of June, and Whitsuntide Tuesday was her
birthday, on which she attained her majority. The evening before, I had
composed a long poem addressed to her, no declaration of love, merely a
simple expression of gratitude for all she had done to aid my secret
regeneration. I had carefully erased every exaggerated word that had
flowed from my pen in the first fervor of writing, and substituted a
simpler and more genuine one. I was no great poet, though I had been
considered one at the college. While following the style in which
church hymns are composed, I had been able to deceive myself on this
point. Now that I desired to express my deepest personal feelings, I
perceived that God had not granted me the power "to tell what I
suffered." Yet on the whole I did not succeed badly, and it afforded me
special pleasure to accost her in my lyric flight with the "Du" (thou).
Then I made a fair copy of my poem, and at midnight stole softly
down-stairs and pushed it under her door, that she might find it the
next morning.
I waited with many an inward tremor and quickened throbbing of the
heart to learn how she would receive it, and was much relieved when, at
dinner, she showed me by an unusually cordial pressure of the hand that
she had not been displeased. No notice was taken in the household, save
surreptitiously, of the high holiday, for which no celebration, either
of music, illuminations, or fireworks, would have seemed to me
brilliant enough. The old baroness had crocheted a large silver-gray
shawl, which, spite of the heat, the Canoness did not lay aside all
day; Uncle Joachim wore a little bouquet in the button-hole of his gray
coat; my pupil Achatz, who had grown very well behaved, gave her a
horse which he had sketched very carefully from nature; and Fraeulein
Leopoldine had placed in her room a rose-bush in full bloom. The master
of the house appeared to see no reason for making any special ado over
the day, though it must have been a marked one to him, since it
relieved him from the duties of his guardianship.
"Come and drink coffee with me this afternoon," Uncle Joachim had
whispered to me as he rose from the table. I bowed silently, feeling as
if I had received a patent of nobility.
When, an hour later, I went to the little summerhouse, I found the
Canoness already there. Diana, Uncle Joachim's pointer, sprang toward
me growling, as soon as I crossed the threshold of the sanctuary; but,
seeing that her master welcomed me kindly, lay down again, whining and
wagging her tail, at the feet of the young lady who, from time to time,
rubbed her smooth back with the tip of her foot.
Uncle Joachim wore a short summer coat made of unbleached linen, with
yellow bone buttons, and a white cravat, and had brushed the hair over
his high forehead in a curve that gave him a holiday air. On the neatly
covered table, which had been cleared and pushed into the middle of the
room, stood a large pound-cake adorned with a wreath of roses.
"You ought to brighten up Herr Weissbrod's black coat a little, Luise,"
he said, with his dry, good-natured smile. "A poet likes flowers."
I blushed at finding the secret of my rhymed congratulations betrayed,
and the flush grew deeper when the young lady took several beautiful
buds from the garland and fastened them in my button-hole with her own
hands. Then we three sat in the most delightful friendliness around the
table; Fraeulein Luise poured the coffee from the big Bunzlau[1] pot,
and cut the cake. I was amazed to see with what persistent dexterity
Uncle Joachim made the largest pieces vanish behind his sound teeth,
while I myself had lost all appetite in the delight of being near her.
Meantime a merry little conversation went on, spiced by my host's droll
remarks and Luise's musical laughter. I myself served as a target for
the old gentleman, who indulged in jests about my inward and outward
transformation, but so kindly that I could not help joining in the
laugh, without the least feeling of offense.
I was ashamed of having at first set so low a value upon this man. No
one could desire a more genial companion; without the least effort he
gave an interesting turn to everything he said.
When only a small portion of the cake was left, our host filled a
short, smoke-blackened pipe with French tobacco, stretched his long
limbs comfortably under the table, and began for the first time to
really thaw out. He amused himself by recalling how and where, during
the past years, he had spent his niece's birthdays. The year she was
born, he had been in France, and related all sorts of adventures he had
had there, often breaking off, however, as he approached the point,
because they were not exactly fit for a woman's ears. Then he spoke of
his other journeys, his travels in Spain, often with a heavy sigh,
because such delightful days were over. He also questioned me about my
so-called past, and, shaking his head, said, "You have missed a great
deal, Herr Weissbrod. Whoever doesn't sow his wild oats in youth, must
commit his follies later, when they are less easily forgiven. Nature
will not be mocked."
Luise rose, saying that she was going to take a walk. Then she asked
for a piece of paper, in which she carefully wrapped the remains of the
cake, pressed Uncle Joachim's hand, and nodded pleasantly to me. "Wait
a bit," cried the old gentleman, in Platt Deutsch--he was very fond of
speaking it when in a good humor--"the old witch shall have a birthday
present from me too." While speaking, he took from the chest of drawers
a small snuffbox, which he had made himself out of birch-bark, and
filled it with tobacco. "Here's something for her eyes. She need only
try it. When she has used it all up, I'll give her more."
I understood that these holiday presents were intended for Mother
Lieschen, and would have been only too glad to accompany the young
lady. But I did not venture to make the offer, and, after she had gone,
remained a few minutes with the old gentleman.
I call him so because, at that time, when I was only twenty-three, he
really seemed to me very elderly and venerable, but he would have been
not a little offended, or else laughed heartily, had he suspected that,
while only forty-eight, I had already placed him on the catalogue of
ancients.
When we were alone, he laid his large hairy hand on my shoulder.
"You are still a young man, Herr Weissbrod," he said. "But when you
have half a century more on your back, even though you have used your
eyes industriously meanwhile, I doubt whether you will have met any
human being more pleasing to God than the girl whose birth we celebrate
to-day. I am glad that, judging from your poem, some idea of this is
beginning to dawn upon you. Only heed this well-meant advice--don't
scorch your wings. That's nonsense."
I stammered something that sounded like an assurance that I was far
from intending such presumption.
"That's right, my son," he said, kindly. "Follies, as I declared, are
good things in their way. But we mustn't lose hide and hair in
committing them, like the bear who put his head into the honey-tree and
couldn't pull it out again. Good-evening, Herr Weissbrod. Don't take
offense because I don't go to hear your sermons. My old heathen, the
rheumatism, can't bear the air of the church."
* * * * *
How often I afterward recalled the worthy man's words, and could not
help sighing mournfully and saying, with a shake of the head, "Good
advice is cheap. You were her uncle, dear friend, and, besides, had had
your due share of 'follies' in the past, while I, poor student of
theology, had yet to learn the first rudiments of passion.
"Then you did not consider the unreasonable number of nightingales in
the park, which were fairly in league against me; and, what was still
more, the voice below, Gluck's 'Armida,' Spontini's 'Vestal,' and all
the divine spells of golden hair and brown eyes."
But I am lapsing into Wertherism again. At least, I will commit no more
follies now, but continue my narrative like an honest chronicler.
* * * * *
We are writing of August 26th. It was a fruitful year, and the harvest
had almost all been garnered. But the heat daily increased, and we
obtained no relief until after sunset. I had gone in the sweat of my
brow to the next village, which belonged to our parish, on an errand of
duty: to aid a sick tailor who desired spiritual consolation--no easy
task. The old sinner, in his terror and despair, had been reading
certain tracts and taken specially to heart the doctrine of the endless
punishments of hell, probably because he was aware that he had made a
sinful use of his tailor's hell[2] here below.
I did my best to calm him, and, as I had the reputation among my
parishioners of being an enlightened and not fanatical preacher,
succeeded in partially soothing him and inspiring his soul with some
degree of trust in God's mercy.
As I returned through our own village in the gathering dusk of
twilight, I saw a little group of children standing in front of the
tavern, staring at two dusty, shabby carriages. The first was an
ordinary, four-seated calash, with a torn leather covering, and a
broken spring under the box, temporarily mended with ropes. The second
vehicle was a large, windowless box on a rough platform, such as is
commonly used for a furniture-van. Of the people traveling in this
extraordinary equipage I saw only two persons, who were sitting on the
little bench beside the tavern-door, a bold-eyed, pale-faced young
fellow, not more than twenty, who, with his straw hat trimmed with a
dirty blue ribbon, pushed far back on his head, and his hands thrust
into his pockets, was saying to his companion, amid frequent yawns, all
sorts of things I could not understand. He had a bottle of beer beside
him, from which he occasionally filled a glass, held it up to the
light, and then emptied it at one draught.
The girl by his side was probably sixteen or eighteen years old. Her
appearance was disagreeable to me at the first glance, though no one
could have helped owning that her prettiness was more than the mere
beauty of youth. But the bold way in which she turned up her little
nose, the scornful looks she cast at the villagers, and especially the
soulless laugh with which she greeted her companion's jests, were
thoroughly repulsive to me.
Her dress was as shabby as the vehicle in which she had arrived. But
she had fastened a huge red bow into her black hair, and fancied
herself sufficiently adorned in comparison to the barefooted children.
Her little dirty hand held a few flowers, which she continually bit
with her sharp white teeth, and then spat the leaves out of her mouth
again.
The landlady, who came forward when she saw me stop before the house,
told me that they were actors. There was a married couple, too, but
they were in their room. The manager had gone up to the castle to speak
to the baron.
I don't know why the sight of the poor traveling players was so
repulsive to me. One might almost believe in some prophetic gift of the
soul, for I had long been cured of my aversion to actors by Fraeulein
Luise's opinion of them.
So I did not linger long, but briefly reported to my old pastor how I
had found his parishioner in the village--we were now one in heart and
soul, including the pastor's wife--and then walked rapidly to the
castle. As I turned from the elm avenue into the court-yard, I
instantly perceived that something unusual was occurring. A groom was
leading up and down a saddled horse, which I recognized from the
silver-mounted bridle as Cousin Kasimir's. During the months that had
passed since the latter's rejection, he had only come to the castle
when he had some business matter to settle with the baron, and never
remained to dine or to spend the evening. Yet this surely could not be
the cause of the general excitement. Almost all the servants were
standing, whispering together, near the staircase, on whose upper step
the baron's valet and the cook--the two most zealous gatherers and
diffusers of everything that happened in the household--had stationed
themselves like two sentinels. They were so thoroughly absorbed in
their office of listening, that they did not even move as I passed.
True, this task was certainly made very easy for them.
Voices were ringing through the spacious entrance-hall in tones so loud
and excited that every word could be distinctly heard outside of the
lofty doors. Within I saw the master of the house, his face deeply
flushed, and beside him Cousin Kasimir, with his hat on one side of his
head and in his hand a riding-whip with which he beat time to his
uncle's words; behind the glass door appeared the faces of the two
children and Mademoiselle Suzon, pressed closely against one another,
while opposite to the baron stood a handsome, finely formed man, the
cause and center of the whole scene, whom I had no difficulty in
recognizing as the manager of the company of actors.
He was showily dressed in a blue coat with gilt buttons, black
trousers, red velvet vest, and light cravat. Yet, this somewhat
variegated attire was by no means unbecoming to him, since it made his
symmetrical and not over-corpulent figure more conspicuous. His head
was gracefully poised on his broad shoulders; but at first I only saw
the lustrous black locks that fell rather low on his neck, then, as he
turned his face, the finely cut profile and light-gray eyes, whose
expression was both honest and self-conscious. He held in his left hand
a pair of yellow gloves and a black hat, while he gesticulated eagerly
with his right, making a red stone in his large seal ring glitter.
"Only one night, only this one night, Herr Baron," I heard him say in a
resonant, somewhat theatrical voice, which, however, had a certain
cadence that touched the heart. "If I must give up proving to you and
your honored family, by a recitation, that you are not dealing with an
ordinary strolling company, but with an artist by the grace of God--"
"I forbid you to utter the name of God uselessly," the baron vehemently
interrupted. "The calling you pursue has nothing in common with God or
divine things. We know what spirit rules those who devote themselves to
your profession. And, in short, I shall not change what I have said."
"I will not discuss the matter further, Herr Baron," replied the actor
with quiet dignity. "But consider, there is a sick woman in my company,
who has been made much worse by the journey here over the rough roads.
If she is permitted to rest this one night, we shall continue our way
to-morrow with lighter hearts. Therefore I most earnestly beseech--"
"You have nothing to beseech; I have expressed my will," cried the
baron furiously, passing his hand through his beard, which with him was
always a sign of extreme anger. "I have told you that the control of
the police regulations in the district intrusted to my care is in my
hands, and that I could not reconcile it to my conscience if to-morrow,
on the Lord's day, a few paces from the house in which his word is
preached, one might meet a company of strolling players, whose
depravity is stamped upon their brows. You will therefore return to
your people at once, and see that they are ordered outside the limits
of the village within an hour."
These words were accompanied with such an unequivocal gesture toward
the door that I believed the final decision had been uttered. But the
actor stood motionless, save that he turned his head toward the side
where the stairs led to the upper story, and, as my glance followed
his, I saw what had silenced him, though I did not instantly perceive
the true cause. In the dusk above us, on the central landing, stood the
tall, slender figure of the Canoness.
* * * * *
All eyes were involuntarily fixed upon her where she leaned, as though
turned to stone, against the railing. She had grown deadly pale; life
seemed to linger only in her eyes.
"Fraeulein," I heard the stranger exclaim in a tone of the most joyful
surprise, "you appear before me like an angel of deliverance. Can you
refuse to say a word in my behalf? Consider that the point in question
is not so much my sorely insulted dignity as an artist, as a simple
duty of benevolence. Through a mistake, in taking what I supposed to be
a short cut, I came here. For two years I have had the privilege of
giving performances in the cities of Pomerania and the Mark, and, after
spending several weeks in L----, I intended to go to R----, where I
meant to practice my art during the last months of summer. I should
probably have reached the railway-station to-day, had not the lady who
plays the old woman's parts in my company been taken violently ill. And
now the Herr Baron, as you have heard, wants to turn us out of his
territory as though we were a band of gypsies. You, who know me,
Fraeulein, will not hesitate to be my security; you will explain to the
baron--"
The nobleman did not let him finish.
"Do you dare, sir!" he shrieked (his voice sounded like the creaking of
a weathercock in a storm), "do you presume to appeal to my own niece
for support? Do you wish to shake the foundations of the authority on
which the life of every Christian family is founded? Such unprecedented
insolence--"
His voice suddenly failed, he tore open his coat to get more air, and
his hand groped around as though seeking some weapon to expel the
intruder by force.
Just at that instant we heard from the staircase the firm voice of the
Canoness, only it sounded somewhat deeper than usual.
"Consider what you are doing, uncle. It would ill beseem the honor of
this house to turn from its threshold a suppliant who asks of you
nothing save what Christian love and God's command alike enjoin upon
you as a duty. I know this gentleman. I know him to be an admirable
artist, and a man of unsullied honor. To refuse him admittance to your
house is your own affair, but to deny him permission to rest for a
night in the village below, especially when a human life is perhaps at
stake, is an act you can not justify before God or man."
A deathlike silence followed these words. No sound was heard in the
spacious hall save the gasping breath of the baron, who was vainly
striving to speak. Then the actor's fine baritone, in which there now
seemed to me a slight tone of affectation, echoed on the stillness.
"I thank you, most honored lady, thank you from my heart, for bestowing
your sympathy upon a misunderstood disciple of Thalia. True, I expected
nothing else from your noble soul. Will you now fill up the measure of
your goodness by explaining to your uncle--"
A sharp cracking sound interrupted him. Cousin Kasimir, who during the
whole scene had been casting furious glances around him and only
waiting for a moment when he might interfere, struck his riding-whip
violently against the top of his high boot and advanced a step.
"Silence!" he shouted, his mustache quivering with excitement. "You
have heard that you have nothing more to ask or expect here, and if you
carry your insolence so far as to throw upon a member of this family
the suspicion of standing in any relation whatever to the head of a
band of jugglers, the baron, whose patience amazes me, will have you
driven out of his grounds by the field-guard. Do you understand, sir?
And, now, without further ceremony--"
He advanced another step toward him and, with a threatening gesture,
raised the hand that held the whip. But the actor did not cease playing
his _role_ of hero for an instant.
"Who are you, sir?" he exclaimed, without yielding an inch, "that you
dare to assume a tone whose ill-breeding befits no cultured man. You
seem to be abandoned by all the Muses and Graces, and I pity you. It
can hardly surprise me that a country nobleman has never heard the name
of Konstantin Spielberg. But in any other place I would call you to
account for speaking of my company of artists, which has been honored
by the concession of a distinguished government, as a band of jugglers.
In this house, and out of respect for the ladies present, I can only
say that I include you among the profane _vulgus_ whose opinion I
despise."
He raised his right arm with an impressive gesture, as though hurling
an anathema against some worthless heretic or insulter of majesty, and
at the same time, with expanded chest and locks tossed back, fearlessly
confronted his foe. Then something happened which drew from me a low
exclamation of terror. The riding-whip whizzed through the air and
struck the uplifted hand of the artist, who staggered back, speechless
with pain and rage.
"Scoundrel!" cried the nobleman's sharp voice, "dare--dare you tell me
to my face--"
But he could say no more. The Canoness, whose approach had been
unnoticed, suddenly stood between the furious men with her tall figure
drawn up to its full height.
"Back!" she said imperiously to the young nobleman. It was only one
word, but uttered in a tone that must have pierced to the very marrow
of his bones, for I saw him turn as white as chalk, stammer a few
unmeaning words, and draw his head between his shoulders. But, without
vouchsafing him even a glance, she went up to the ill-treated stranger,
seized the hand hanging loosely down, on which a deep-red mark was
visible, and stooping, pressed a hasty kiss upon it.
Then in a loud voice, trembling with secret emotion, she said: "Forgive
this poor creature, he does not know what he is doing. And now shake
off the dust of this house from your shoes. You will hear from me
again."
Once more a deathlike stillness pervaded the hall. But it lasted only a
few minutes. Then we heard the actor say: "I shall be your debtor to my
dying day, most gracious lady."
The next instant he turned toward the door, passed me with haughty,
echoing strides, and went out upon the steps.
* * * * *
Spite of my terrible excitement, I retained sufficient deliberation to
look keenly at him. For the first time I saw his full face, whose
remarkable regularity of feature and a certain dreamy luster in the eye
aroused my astonishment. Nevertheless, he did not attract me. I thought
I detected in his expression, instead of manly indignation, a trace of
satisfied vanity, Such as may be seen in an actor who has just made an
effective exit and, while the curtain is falling, tells himself that he
is an admirable fellow. I could not help thinking involuntarily how
different would be my feelings if such a girl had done _that_ for me,
how humbly, enraptured by such divine favor, my heart would shine from
my eyes. And he seemed to be merely reflecting how brilliantly he had
retired from the stage, not at all how he had left his fellow actor
upon it.
I gazed anxiously at the heroine of this improvised drama. She was
standing motionless, her eyes fixed with a look full of earnestness and
dignity upon the door through which the man whom she had protected had
disappeared. Her face looked as though chiseled from marble, her hands
hung by her side, and ever and anon a slight tremor ran through her
frame.
The master of the house also stood as if he were turned to stone. Not
until Cousin Kasimir went up and whispered something to him did any
semblance of life return. He drew a long breath, then, without moving
from the spot, said: "Go to your room, Luise, and wait there for what
more I have to say. Until then I leave you to your own conscience."
He turned quickly away and walked, followed by Cousin Kasimir,
through the glass door, which he banged noisily behind him, into the
dining-room, whither the three watching faces had shrunk, startled,
from the panes.
Luise still stood lost in thought, showing no sign that she had heard
the imperious words. But, just as I was about to approach her and
assert my modest claim of friendship, she seemed to suddenly awake, but
without taking any notice of me. I heard her say to herself: "It is
well! Now it is decided!" Then she quietly pressed her hand on her
heart as if she felt a pang there, nodded thoughtfully twice, and
walked slowly up the steps of the great staircase, while I looked after
her in gloomy helplessness.
* * * * *
As soon as I found myself again alone and recalled all the events I had
just witnessed, I felt, with a certain sense of shame for the pettiness
of my nature, that fierce jealousy was consuming every other emotion.
So she had known and honored this man in former days. She had even
placed him on so high a pedestal in her thoughts that the proud
woman--before whom, in my opinion, the best and noblest must bow and
hold themselves richly compensated by one kind look for every annoyance
they encountered--did not for an instant consider herself too good to
kiss his hand.
And he had received this homage as if it were his due, and thanked her
with a cold, high-sounding speech.
What was he that she should consider him so far above her. For, after
all, the insult offered him here was not so atrocious that it could
only be atoned by the humiliation of such an angel in woman's garb. Had
he not been already dear to her, she would probably have left him to
obtain satisfaction for himself.
She had made his acquaintance during her visit to Berlin, that was
evident, on the stage, of course, and probably elsewhere also; or how
could he have greeted her as an acquaintance? Yet she had never
mentioned his name to me, as she had spoken of the worshiped songstress
Milder. What had passed between them? And what kind of afterpiece might
yet follow the scene of today?
I could not help thinking constantly of his handsome yet unpleasant
face, and asking myself what attraction she could find in it. I felt a
most unchristian hatred rising in my heart toward this man, who had
certainly not done me the slightest harm--nay, with whose whole
deportment I could find no fault save the somewhat theatrical air
inseparable from his profession. Yet, had I possessed the power to make
the earth by some magic spell suddenly swallow up the whole innocent
"band of jugglers," like Korah and his company, I believe I should not
have hesitated a moment.
Since this was impossible, I resolved to try to obtain some explanation
of this disaster which, as the principal person shut herself up from
me, I could only hope to do through Uncle Joachim. Unhappily I found
his cell closed--he had ridden across the country on some business
connected with the sale of a peat-digging. I wandered in the deepest
ill-humor through the park. At last it occurred to me that Mother
Lieschen, with whom the Canoness was in the habit of talking about so
many things, might be familiar with this accursed Berlin story, and I
turned into the path leading to her lonely hut.
But just as I caught a glimpse of the straw roof I perceived that I was
too late. The old dame was just coming out of the door, and by her side
walked Fraeulein Luise herself, whom I had supposed imprisoned in her
tower-room. They were talking eagerly together, Mother Lieschen had
tied her kerchief over her head and seemed about to set out for a walk,
for she took from the bench the staff with which she supported her
steps, and held out her hand to the young lady. Then they parted, and,
while the old dame hobbled along the edge of the wood, which was the
shortest way to the village, Fraeulein Luise came directly toward me to
return to the castle.
She did not see me until within the distance of twenty paces, then she
stopped a moment, but without the slightest change of expression. No
one, who did not know what had happened an hour before, could have
suspected it from her face.
"Good-evening, Herr Johannes," she said in her calmest voice (she had
called me so for some time because the "Candidate" seemed too formal,
and she thought the name of Weissbrod ugly), "I am glad to see you. I
have a favor to ask."
I bowed silently. My heart was too full not to pour forth all its
feelings if a single word overflowed, which I did not think seemly.
"Our old pastor will preach again to-morrow," she continued, walking
quietly on by my side. "You might do me a real favor if, after the
close of the service, you would give a beautiful long organ concert in
your very best style, like the first one we heard from you. I have a
reason for making the request, which I can not tell you to-day. Will
you do me this service, dear Herr Johannes?"
Dear Herr Johannes! It was the first time she ever gave me that title.
No matter how many unutterable things I had cherished in my heart
against her, such an address would have won me to render the hardest
service.
"How can you doubt it!" I answered quickly. "I understand only too well
that you need the consoling power of music. Oh, Fraeulein Luise, when I
think how it affected me, a mere silent spectator, and how you must
feel--"
"No," she interrupted, "it is not as you suppose, but no matter; it is
important to me for you to play both very well and very long. I will
thank you for it in advance--" she gave me her hand, but without pausing
in her walk--"and also for every other kindness you have showed me in
your earnest, faithful way. Promise that you will always remain the
same, and never, even in thought, agree with other people's silly
gossip about me."
I silently pressed her hand. A hundred questions were on my tongue, but
I could not summon courage to ask even one. She, too, sank into a
silence as unbroken as though she had forgotten that she had a
companion.
So, when we reached the elm avenue, we parted with a brief
good-evening. The Canoness turned toward the farm-buildings, and I went
to my room.
Fraeulein Luise did not appear in the dining-room at tea-time. Cousin
Kasimir had ridden off long before, and a strange, oppressive
atmosphere of irritation brooded over the rest of the party. I had
already heard that the baron had had a long, violent conversation with
the Canoness in her own room, but, contrary to the custom of the house,
whose walls had a thousand ears, nothing was known of its purport. The
baron's eyes were blood-shot and the lid of the left one twitched
nervously. He had invited the steward to tea and talked to him with
forced gayety about agricultural affairs. The old baroness gazed into
her plate with an even more sorrowful and timid expression than usual,
the children frolicked with each other, Fraeulein Leopoldine endeavored
to put on an arrogant air, while Achatz chattered to her with boyish
impetuosity. Mademoiselle Suzon alone seemed to be in good humor, and
ate a large quantity of bread and butter, while making tireless efforts
to maintain a conversation with me, which I with equal persistency
continually dropped.
* * * * *
When I at last went up to my tower-chamber and saw Fraeulein Luise's
well-shaped, though not unusually small, shoes standing outside of her
room, I was obliged to put the strongest constraint upon myself to
avoid knocking at the door and begging the alms of a few soothing
words. It would have been very indecorous and worse--utterly useless.
So, with a sigh, I renounced the wish, and resolved to speak to her so
touchingly through my church-music on the morrow that the closed door
must at last open of its own accord.
I had never passed so sleepless a night, and on the next morning felt
so wearied that I feared the keys of the organ would refuse to obey me.
But the old pastor's sermon strengthened me wonderfully, and his words
fell like, soothing oil upon the burning wounds in my heart. Now, I
thought, she is sitting beneath you with her old friend, the comfort of
God's word is coming to her also, and the balm of music must do what
more is needed to make her soul bright and joyous again.
I began to play the best melodies I knew, and I believe that never in
my life have I had a higher and more sacred musical inspiration. So
completely did I forget myself in it, that I started in alarm when the
schoolmaster at last touched me lightly on the shoulder, and whispered
that I had been playing a full hour, and, exquisite as was the
performance, the dignitaries below were showing signs of impatience,
and the congregation wanted to go home.
As if roused from some dream of Paradise, I broke off with a brief
passage and hurried down the stairs. My eyes searched the ranks of
church-goers thronging out of the edifice. I saw Mother Lieschen, but
she was standing quite alone in her dark corner, and I could nowhere
find the face I sought.
Perhaps she had shunned the gloomy church and preferred to remain
outside in the graveyard, now fragrant with monthly roses and
mignonette, hearing my music through the half-open door. At any rate I
should see her at dinner.
When we assembled in the dining-room and she was even later than usual,
I heard the baron say, turning to his wife: "She grows worse and worse
every day; this irregularity must be stopped--" and my heart beat so
violently that it seemed as though it would leap into my mouth. I asked
Uncle Joachim, under my breath, how the young lady was, and whether she
would not come to dinner. He shrugged his shoulders without moving a
muscle, yet I saw that even his appetite had deserted him.
Just as the roast was served, and the baron was preparing to carve it,
one of the footmen handed him a note on a silver salver. It had just
been left by old Mother Lieschen.
The knife and fork dropped from his hands, he hastily seized the
missive, glanced rapidly over it, and I saw him turn pale as he read.
Then with an effort he controlled himself and rose.
"Harness the horses into the hunting-carriage," he shouted, "and saddle
the chestnut instantly! Ha! This was all that was lacking! This caps
the climax. But the lunatic shall learn with whom she has to deal! Dead
or alive--even if Satan himself, to whom she has sold her soul, tried
to protect her from me--she shall not drag the name she bears through
the mire; she shall--"
He could say no more--it seemed as if some convulsion in the chest
choked his utterance, and, with a terrible groan, he sank back into his
chair.
The children started up; Mademoiselle Suzon hastily dipped her
handkerchief into a glass of water to sprinkle the nobleman's brow; the
old baroness rose as fast as her feeble limbs would permit, and in
mortal terror approached her husband to feel his hands and head. The
servants hurried out to execute his orders.
Just at this moment a voice was heard which never before had spoken in
loud tones in that hall.
Uncle Joachim had risen, but remained standing at his place. His face
wore a sorrowful, yet bold and threatening expression.
"Brother Achatz," he said, "I must beg you to moderate your words and
undertake nothing that will make the matter worse, and which you would
perhaps afterward repent. Do not forget that Luise is of age and
mistress of her own actions. I regret what she has done as much as you
do. But what has happened can not be altered."
The baron started up as if he had been stung by a serpent, angrily
shaking off all the hands outstretched to help him. Wrath at the
interference of his brother, who had hitherto had only a seat and no
voice at this table, seemed to have suddenly restored all his haughty
strength.
"You have the effrontery to still plead for her?" he shouted with
flashing eyes. "You even knew her intention, and not only concealed it
but helped her forget all modesty and honor and go out into the wide
world like a wanton?"
"I forbid any imputations upon my honor, Achatz!" replied the other,
meeting his brother's wrathful glance with cold contempt. "I have not
seen Luise since yesterday noon. Just before dinner to-day I received a
farewell letter from her, in which she informs me that she can no
longer endure to live in this house, and will seek her happiness at her
own peril. The other reasons she adds in justification of her step
concern no one save myself."
"Then she did not tell you that she has determined to follow a certain
Herr Spielberg, a strolling actor, and, if he will graciously consent,
to become his wife? The wife of an adventurer who pursues a godless
calling, and whom I ought to have had hunted out of the court-yard by
the dogs, instead of giving him any hearing at all!"
"She told me that also, Brother Achatz, and it sincerely grieves me;
for, though I believe this gentleman to be a reputable artist, I doubt
whether she will ever become at home and happy in this sphere. But from
what we know of her she will carry out her purpose, and if you should
now institute a pursuit it will only cause a tremendous scandal and
gain nothing; the family honor will be far more sullied than if we keep
quiet and let the grass grow over the affair. That matters have gone so
far, Brother Achatz, some one else will have to answer for at the Day
of Judgment."
The two men measured each other with a look of most unfraternal hatred.
The old baroness gazed up at her husband with a pleading quiver of her
withered lips, whose words were not audible to me. But he hastily shook
himself free, as she laid a hand on his arm, and advanced a step toward
his brother.
"Do you mean to say," he asked, grinding his teeth, "that I am to blame
because this mangy sheep has strayed from our fold and is devoured by
the wolf? True, she has always rebelled against the strict rule of
obedience, against both human and divine law. But, if any one in this
house has helped to strengthen her in her obstinacy and arrogance, it
is you, you, and no one else. Can you deny it?"
"I am not disposed to allow myself to be examined like a criminal,"
replied Joachim with sarcastic coolness. "If I were malicious, I would
let you say the most senseless things in your helpless rage. But, as we
bear the same name and I pity your blindness, Brother Achatz, and
moreover we are not alone, so that I might tell you my whole opinion to
your face, I will simply warn you. If you use violence and drag the
matter before the courts, you may hear things far more damaging to the
honor of our family than the news that the Canoness Luise has followed
a strolling actor and made an unequal marriage by wedding him. I have
nothing more to say. May the meal do you all good!"
He bowed to his sister-in-law, walked quietly to the antlers on which
he had hung his hat, and left the room.
His last words had a magical effect upon the baron, who bowed his head
on his breast and stood for a time as if lost in thought. Not until the
servant entered and announced that the carriage was ready and the horse
saddled did he rouse himself, and, with an imperious gesture that
indicated they were no longer wanted, he walked without a glance at any
one, with slow, heavy steps, to his room.
The roast meat, which meantime had grown cold, was left untouched on
the table. The mistress of the house, after remaining for a time lost
in sorrowful thought, followed her husband; the children, completely
puzzled, had withdrawn into a window-niche. When the Frenchwoman, with
a disagreeable smile intended to be amiable, addressed a remark to me
containing the words _horreur_ and _deplorable_, I made a very
uncourteous gesture, as though brushing off a buzzing hornet, and
hurried into the park after Uncle Joachim.
* * * * *
I found him where I sought him, but his surroundings looked very
different from usual on the cozy Sunday afternoons.
Nothing was in order in the room, which had never seemed to me so
shabby and unhomelike; the fly-specks had not been washed from the
glass over the engravings, and the coffee-service was not on the table.
Diana was lying in the middle of the unmade bed, and only lifted her
head from her fore-paws to yawn at me. Her master, who usually dressed
himself very carefully for this coffee-hour, was pacing up and down
with folded arms, in his shirtsleeves, and slippers down at the heel,
smoking his short pipe as fiercely as if he meant, in defiance of the
sunshine streaming through the little window, to intrench himself
behind an impenetrable cloud.
"Pardon me if I disturb you," I said, as he stopped and glared angrily
at me as though I were a total stranger; "but I can not bear to stay
alone with my own thoughts among people who either make scornful
comments on the misfortune in private or openly exult over it. And
altogether--I can't yet believe it. Tell me honestly, Herr Baron; do
_you_ believe it? Do _you_ understand it?"
"Nonsense!" he growled. "Believe what? 'Long hair and short
wits'--that's all we need know to marvel at nothing one of _that_ sex
does, even if she were the best of them all. Have you come, too, to
fill my ears with lamentations? I have enough to do to swallow my own
bile."
He began to puff out the smoke again, and resumed his walk as if he had
said enough to induce me to beat a discreet retreat.
But I did not stir.
"Oh, Herr Baron, don't send me away without any comfort, any
explanation. You know more about the matter than any other person; you
said you had known this--this Herr Spielberg. Do you really believe
that she has followed him, that--that she has not merely suggested the
horrible idea of becoming his wife as a threat, an alarm-shot, but will
seriously persist in it?"
Again he stopped, then with grim earnestness said: "Do you not yet know
her well enough to be aware that she never jests about serious matters,
and that, when she has once made up her mind, a legion of angels or
fiends could not divert her from her purpose. I've seen it coming a
long time, not exactly this, for no sensible person could imagine such
a folly, but some dangerous escapade, merely to escape from this
oppressive, poisonous atmosphere into the free air, and, had it not
been for her aunt, the martyr, who must now endure to the end, she
would have gone away as soon as she became of age, at least to her
chapter, where, it is true, she would have found all sorts of hypocrisy
that did not suit her, but at any rate she could have planned her life
according to her own inclination. She only remained for the sake of her
aunt, and to be able to occasionally lay a bunch of flowers beside the
old baroness's plate. Now that scoundrel Kasimir has severed with his
riding-whip the tie that bound her here, as if it were a cobweb, she
has dropped everything as if she were called upon to answer for the
honor of the whole family, and questioned only the bewildered heart and
obstinate conscience which persuaded her that this folly was a noble
sacrifice. I could tear my hair out by the roots because I was not
present, and heard nothing about the matter until early this morning,
when Liborius told me that so and so had occurred yesterday, and that
he saw the young lady set off gayly on her walk at dawn this morning
but thought nothing of it. She appeared just the same as she usually
did when walking, and he would never have dreamed of her committing so
extraordinary an act. But _I_ should have noticed something and opposed
it with might and main. _Nom d'un nom!_"--this was the French oath he
used when excessively angry--"I believe, if I could not have conquered
her obstinacy, I would have gone with her and twisted the neck of the
man into whose arms she wanted to throw herself, ere I would have
allowed him to rob me of my darling and drag her into misery."
He again smoked furiously. Diana sprang howling from the bed and ran up
to him, but was banished into a corner by a kick.
"But how can you explain her taking refuge with this stranger,
confiding to him her person, her honor, her whole life, merely because
he was treated here in her presence as a vagabond? So proud as she
always was, so pure, and so well aware of what she ought and must do in
order not to blush for herself?"
Uncle Joachim gave me a side-glance from his half-shut eyes. "Herr
Weissbrod," he said, "you are an honest fellow, and you revered my
niece as if she were a saint. I can tell you how all this agrees. As a
future pastor, you must know what is to be expected of women, the best
of whom are often the most perplexing. You see, three years ago, this
Spiegelberg, or Spielberg, as he now calls himself, had the insolence
to write her a letter, which she did not answer. But a girl like her
does not willingly remain in debt for anything. What she has done now
is the reply to that old letter."