The Falkenried and Wallmoden families had been on friendly terms for
years. Living upon adjoining estates, their intercourse was frequent,
and their children grew up together, while many common interests united
the bonds of friendship still more closely. Neither of the families were
wealthy, and the sons, after completing their education, always had to
make their own way in the world, and this in their turn Major Hartmut
von Falkenried and Herbert von Wallmoden had done.
They had played together in their youth, and as men had remained true to
their boyhood's friendship. At one time it looked as if they would be
more closely allied, for their parents had planned a marriage between
Lieutenant Falkenried, as he was then, and Regine Wallmoden. The young
couple seemed to understand one another fully, and everything stood on
the happiest footing, when an event occurred which put an abrupt
termination to all their plans.
A cousin of the Wallmoden family, an incorrigible idler and spendthrift,
who had made his longer residence at home an impossibility by his wild
conduct, had gone out into the world years before, and after much
wandering, and an adventurous career, had finally turned his steps in
the direction of Roumania, where he obtained the management of a wealthy
Bojar's estate. After the Bojar's death he succeeded in winning the
widow's hand, and once more regained the position among the nobility
which he had lost earlier in life, through his own folly. And now, after
an absence of more than ten years, he returned with his wife to make a
long visit to his kinsfolk.
Frau von Wallmoden was by no means a youthful bride. She had long since
reached maturity, but she was accompanied by her daughter by her first
marriage, Zalika Rojanow; and this young Sclave, scarcely seventeen
years old, turned the heads of the simple country gentry, who after all
had seen but little of the world, by her grace and strange beauty, and
the fascination of her warm southern temperament. She was a strange
enough figure in this little circle, whose forms and customs she set
aside with such sovereign indifference. But there was many an earnest
shake of the head, many a word of blame, which was not outspoken,
because they only considered the girl a fleeting guest; she would vanish
again as suddenly as she had appeared on their little horizon.
Then Hartmut Falkenried came home from his garrison on leave, and met
the new family in the house of his friends. He saw Zalika, and his
life's destiny was sealed. It was a sudden and blinding passion, for
which one too often pays with the peace of a whole life.
He forgot the wishes of his parents, their plans for his future, and his
quiet, warm attachment for his youth's playfellow, Regine. He had eyes
no longer for the simple woodland flower, which yet bloomed young and
fresh for him; but, inhaling the fragrance of the strange and beautiful
exotic, all else sank into insignificance. In an unguarded hour he threw
himself at her feet, and told her of his love.
Strangely enough, Zalika returned his affection. Perhaps it was
according to the old adage of extremes meeting, for this man was, in
every particular, her opposite; perhaps it flattered her to see that a
word, a glance from her, could so powerfully effect this earnest, quiet
officer, who, even then, had a touch of melancholy in his disposition.
Enough, she accepted him, and with joy he clasped his affianced bride in
his arms.
The news of their betrothal aroused a storm in the family circle. From
all sides came objections and warnings. Zalika's mother and step-father
were sorely opposed to it, but resistance only increased the ardor of
the young lovers. The engagement, in spite of kinsfolk, was soon an
established fact, and six months later Falkenried took his young bride
to his own house.
But the voices which had foretold unhappiness from this marriage were
prophetic.
It was not long before the brief intoxication of joy was followed by
bitter disenchantment. It had been a fatal error to believe a woman like
Zalika Rojanow, who had grown up in the unrestrained freedom of a
disorderly, extravagant Bojar family, could accommodate herself to the
rules and restrictions of a settled German household.
The only life she had ever known, and the only life which suited her
temper, was one of excitement and outward splendor. A house full of
guests, horses, cards, hunting, racing, and the utmost liberty of
conversation with the men of her acquaintance; this was the life she had
led in her Roumanian home.
She had no notion of duty and no understanding for the obligations and
requirements of her new position. And this was the wife who must adapt
herself to the narrow life of a little German garrison town, and direct
the household of a young officer with but limited means at his command.
That it was impossible for her to do so, was shown within the first few
weeks. Zalika began at once; regardless of all prudent considerations,
to order her house after the same fashion as her father's, and
squandered her large marriage portion right and left.
In vain her husband pleaded with and admonished her; she paid no heed to
him. She had nothing but jeers for forms and ceremonies which were
sacred to him, only a shrug of the shoulders for his strict ideas of
honor and propriety. Soon there were violent quarrels, and Falkenried
recognized, too late, what his precipitancy had done for him.
He had had great faith in the power of love, notwithstanding all the
warnings he had received about Zalika's foreign birth, and the seal
which her erratic education had stamped upon her character. But he had
now to learn that she had never loved him; that it was the whim of the
hour, or, more probably, the fleeting passion of a moment, which had
made her throw herself into his arms. And she saw in him only an
uncomfortable companion, who spoiled all her pleasure in life with his
foolish pendantries and his laughable notions of honor with which he
wished to bind her hand and foot. But with it all, she feared this man,
who, in his energy and force, was striving to bend her characterless
nature to his will.
The birth of little Hartmut did nothing to relieve the strain of this
unhappy marriage, but it was a tie which, outwardly at least, still
bound them together. Zalika loved her child passionately, and she knew
her husband well enough to recognize fully, that if it ever came to a
separation between them, he would demand the boy. That thought alone
kept her by his side, while Falkenried suffered intensely, hid his
misery in his own breast, and gave a brave front to the world.
But, in spite of all, the world knew the truth; it knew things of which
the husband had never dreamed, and was only silent out of compassion for
him. But at last there came a day when his eyes were opened, and what
had been so long an open secret to all his little world excepting
himself, was known to him.
The immediate consequence of this knowledge was a duel, in which
Falkenried's antagonist fell.
Falkenried was sentenced to a long imprisonment, but very soon released,
for every one recognized that he had only fought to vindicate his
wounded honor.
In the meantime the suit for divorce had been begun, and a decree
obtained; Zalika made no contest, nor did she venture to approach her
husband again.
Since the last terrible hour when he had called her to account, she
trembled at the thought of him. She made desperate efforts however to
secure possession of her son, but all in vain.
Hartmut was given to the father unconditionally, and Falkenried barred
the mother's every effort with iron inexorableness. Zalika made many
attempts to see her son once more, but to no purpose, and fully
convinced at last, that she could accomplish nothing, she returned to
her own country and her mother's house.
For years her husband had heard nothing from her, until now when she
suddenly and unexpectedly appeared in the neighborhood of the German
capital, where Major von Falkenried had assumed control of a large
military school.
It was the eighth day since Hartmut's arrival at Burgsdorf. Frau von
Eschenhagen was in her sitting-room, and opposite her sat the Major, who
had arrived but fifteen minutes before.
Her conversation must have been as disagreeable as it was earnest, for
Falkenried listened with a face which grew darker at every word, as she
went on with her account.
"Hartmut seemed to me greatly altered after the third or fourth day he
was here. The first few days nothing could check his overflow of
spirits, and indeed one morning I had to threaten to send him home. But,
all of a sudden, he became silent and quite downcast. He attempted no
more of his mad pranks, spent hours by himself in wandering through our
woods, and when he returned from his solitary rambles, just sat and
dreamed with open eyes, so that we often had to arouse him as if from a
sound slumber. 'He's beginning to think of the future,' Herbert said,
but I said: 'There's something more than that wrong; there's something
back of all this.' So I took Will to task and questioned him closely; he
astonished me with what I extorted from him. He was in the conspiracy.
He had surprised the mother and the son one day at their tryst, and
Hartmut had pledged him to secrecy, and my boy had really kept silence
towards me, me, his own mother! He finally confessed the little he knew,
after I had talked to him seriously. Well, it won't happen a second
time. I'll look after my Will more sharply for the future."
"And Hartmut, what does he say?" interrupted the father hastily.
"Nothing at all, for I haven't spoken a syllable to him on the subject.
He would probably have asked why he had never been allowed to see, or
speak to his mother, and that question can only be answered--by his
father."
"He has heard it all from the other side, by this time," answered the
father bitterly. "Though, of course, he has not heard the truth."
"That is what I feared, so I didn't lose a moment in communicating with
you after I discovered the thing. And what will you do?"
"I'll have to think that over," responded the Major with enforced quiet.
"I thank you, Regine. I suspected mischief when your letter came urging
me to come over at once. Herbert was right, I should not have allowed
Hartmut to leave my side for an hour, under any circumstances. But I
believed him to be so safe from every approach here at Burgsdorf. And he
was so rejoiced at the thought of spending his little vacation here, had
so set his heart upon it, that I had not the strength to refuse
him;--and then he is seldom happy except when away from me."
A hidden pain lay in the last words, but his listener only shrugged his
shoulders.
"That's not altogether the boy's fault," she answered, outspokenly. "I
keep my Will under pretty sharp discipline, but he knows well enough, in
spite of all that, that he lives in his mother's heart. Hartmut has
never learned as much of his father; he only knows his severe,
unapproachable side. If he imagined that you almost adored--"'
"He would at once misuse the knowledge and leave me weaponless with his
flattery and caresses. He'd rule over me as he does over every one else
who comes near him. His comrades follow him blindly, and are as often
punished as he for his misdoings. He has your Willibald completely under
his control, and his teachers treat him with especial indulgence. I am
the only one whom he fears, and, as a natural consequence, the only one
whom he respects."
"And you believe fear to be the only weapon to use against him? just
now, too, when his mother is, without doubt, overwhelming him with
lavish caresses? Do not turn away, old friend, you know I have never
mentioned that name before you, but now that it is brought unavoidably
to the front again I must speak plainly. I must admit we could expect
nothing less from Frau Zalika, than that she would appear again. Nothing
would have been gained even if you had not allowed him to leave your
side, for you could not guard a lad of seventeen like a little child.
The mother would have found some way to see her child, and that is her
right--I should do the same."
"Her right?" interrupted the Major violently. "And you say that to me,
Regine?"
"I say it, because I know what it is to have an only son. It was right
for you to take your child, for such a mother was not fit to educate
him; but that you should refuse to let her see her son again, after an
absence of twelve years, is a hardness and cruelty which can only be
prompted by hate. No matter how great her guilt may have been--the
punishment is too hard."
Falkenried looked gloomily on the ground; he knew there was truth in her
words; at last he said slowly:
"I should never have believed you would espouse Zalika's cause. Once I
injured you deeply for her sake. I tore asunder a bond--"
"Which never had been united," broke in Frau von Eschenhagen, anxious to
avoid the subject. "It was only a plan of our parents, nothing more."
"But the thought was a familiar and cherished one in our childhood's
years. Do not seek to shield me, Regine, I know only too well how I
treated you then--and myself too."
Regine looked straight at him with her clear, gray eyes, but there was
something like moisture in them as she answered:
"Well, well, Hartmut, it's all over now, so many years that I do not
hesitate to admit that I would have had you then, willingly enough, and
perhaps you would have been able to make something more out of me than I
have become. I was always a headstrong creature, you know, and not
easily ruled, but I should have obeyed you, perhaps you alone, of all
the world. But when Willibald Eschenhagen led me to the altar three
months after your own marriage, the situation was reversed, and I took
the reins in my own hands and began to govern, and have had plenty of
practice since then. But let's not talk of that time so long gone by. I
never have borne any grudge against you, you know that; we have always
been friends in spite of everything, and if you want my assistance or
advice now--here I am."
She held out her hand and he placed his own in it.
"I know it, Regine, but in this matter I can only help and advise
myself. If you will send Hartmut to me now, I'll speak with him."
Frau von Eschenhagen arose at once to fulfil his wish, but as she left
the room she murmured half aloud:
"If it be not already too late. She blinded the father and made him
almost insane once; she has surely done as much for the son by this
time."
In about ten minutes Hartmut entered; he closed the door behind him, but
remained standing near it. Falkenried turned to him. "Come near,
Hartmut, I wish to speak with you."
His son obeyed, but reluctantly. He knew already that Willibald had
confessed, and that Regine had summoned his father at once, but, united
to the shyness with which he always approached his father, there was
to-day an obvious defiance, which did not escape the Major. He gave his
handsome young son a long, gloomy look.
"My sudden arrival does not appear to surprise you. Perhaps you know why
I am come!"
"Yes father, I imagine why!"
"That is well; then we need waste no time with explanatory words. You
have learned that your mother still lives, she has seen you and spoken
with you. I know that already. When did you see her first?"
"Five days ago."
"And have you seen her daily since then?"
"Yes, at the Burgsdorf fish pond?"
Questions and answers were alike short and precise. Hartmut was
accustomed to the abrupt, military manner of his father, for in all his
intercourse with him, no superfluous word, no hesitancy or evasion of an
answer, was permitted.
To-day Falkenried was especially abrupt, in order that he might conceal
his intense excitement from his son's unpracticed eye. But Hartmut saw
only the earnest, unmoved countenance, and heard only the cold, severe
accents as his father continued:
"I have nothing for which to reprove you, for in this matter I have
given you no commands and no word has ever been spoken on the subject
between us. But now I am forced to break the silence. You have always
believed your mother dead, and I have tacitly encouraged this belief,
for I have wished to protect you from recollections which poisoned my
life. Your youth at least should be free, I said. But I have not been
able to carry out that plan, I see, so now you must learn the truth."
The father paused a moment. To a man of his sensitive feelings it was
torture to discuss this subject with his son, but there was no option
now, he must speak farther.
"When I was a young man I loved your mother devotedly, and married her
against the wishes of my parents, who saw only unhappiness for me in a
union with a woman from a foreign land. They were right, the marriage
was a most unhappy one, and was finally dissolved by my desire. My son
was awarded to me unconditionally, for it was my absolute right. More I
will not tell you, for I cannot denounce a mother to her own son, so let
that be enough for you."
Short and bitter as this declaration was, it made a singular impression
upon Hartmut. His father would not denounce his mother to him, to him,
who heard daily the bitterest accusations and invectives against his
father from her lips.
Zalika had, as might be supposed, cast all the blame of the separation
upon her husband and his countless tyrannies, and her son, who had
suffered so much from his father's austerity, gave a willing ear to all
her tirades. And yet these few short, earnest words had more effect than
all Zalika's passionate outbreaks. Hartmut felt instinctively on which
side the truth lay.
"And now, to the main point," Falkenried went on. "What was the tenor of
your daily interviews?"
Perhaps Hartmut had not expected this question; a deep red overspread
his face, he was silent and cast his eyes on the ground.
"Ah, you do not care to repeat it. I desire to know it. I command you
to answer me!"
But Hartmut was still silent; he only pressed his lips closer together,
and looked defiantly at his father, who had come close to him now.
"You will not speak? Perhaps a command from the other side keeps you
silent? No matter, your silence tells me more than any words. I see how
much you are estranged from me already; a little longer with such
influences, and you would be lost to me forever. These meetings with
your mother are now at an end. I forbid you to see her again. You will
go home with me to-day and remain under my protection. Whether that
appears cruel to you or not, it must be, and you must obey."
But the Major erred when he believed his son would, as formerly, bow to
his stern decree. Hartmut had been for the past few days in a school
where all the antagonism of his nature had been aroused against his
father.
"Father, you cannot, you dare not order me thus," he cried out now in
great excitement. "It is my own mother whom I have found at last, the
only one in the whole world who loves me. I will not be separated from
her again as I once was. I will not be forced to hate her; threaten,
punish me, do what you will with me, but I will not obey this time, I
will not obey!"
All the ungovernable passion of his nature broke out in these words; an
unearthly fire gleamed in his eyes, and his hands were clenched; every
fiber quivered in wild revolt; he was resolved to fight out this battle
with his father to the bitter end.
But the burst of anger which he expected did not come. Falkenried looked
silently at him, but with a glance of earnest, sad reproof.
"The only one in the whole world who loves you," he repeated slowly.
"You seem to forget that you have a father."
"Who has never loved me," cried Hartmut with excessive bitterness.
"Since I have found my mother, I have learned for the first time what
love is."
"Hartmut!"
The boy seemed almost staggered by this strange tone, vibrating with
pain, which he had never heard in all his life before, and the defiance
which was about to break forth anew, died on his lips.
"Because I have had no flattering words and caresses for you, because I
have been strict and severe in my training, have you doubted my love?"
said Falkenried, even in that same strange tone. "Do you know what that
severity has cost me against my only, my dearly loved child?"
"Father!" The word had a shy, hesitating sound, but it was not the old
shyness and fear; there lay in it a joyful, almost incredulous
astonishment, and Hartmut gazed on his father's face as if he could
never take his eyes from it. Falkenried put his hand on his son's arm
and drew him nearer, while he continued:
"Once I was ambitious, had proud hopes of life, great plans and
projects, but I received a blow from which I could never recover. If I
strive and struggle now, Hartmut, the only spur I have in life, besides
my sense of duty, is you, my son. All my ambitions are centered in you.
I strive for nought else on earth but to make your future great and
happy; and you can become great my boy, for your talents are unusual,
and your mind is as capable for good as for evil. But there is
something more, there are dangerous elements in your nature which are
less your fault than your fate, and which must be curbed in time, before
they obtain a mastery over you, and plunge you into misery. I have been
severe with you in order to expel the germs, but it has not been easy
for me."
The youth's countenance was in a glow, he hung with bated breath upon
his father's every word, and now he said in a whisper, behind which he
could scarcely conceal his joy:
"I never dared to think you loved me, you were always so inflexible, so
unapproachable--" he broke off and looked up at his father, who put his
arm around him and drew him closer to himself. Their eyes met in a long,
tender gaze, and the iron man's voice broke as he said softly:
"You are my only child, Hartmut, all that remains to me of a dream of
happiness which vanished, leaving only bitterness and disenchantment in
its wake. I lost much and bore it;--but if I were to lose you, you,--I
could not bear it."
He held his son close in his arms, and the boy threw himself sobbing on
his breast, and in this passionate embrace all else seemed to sink from
view. They had both forgotten the threatening shadow from the past which
was forcing itself between them.
In the meantime Frau von Eschenhagen was harangueing Will in the
dining-room. She had already performed that duty once this morning, but
she thought the occasion required a second portion. The young heir
looked sorely disturbed, he felt himself in a false position both as
regarded his mother and his friend, and yet he was quite innocent in the
matter. As a dutiful son he listened patiently to the tirade, and only
threw a wistful glance now and then toward the table upon which the
evening meal was already spread, and of which his mother took not the
slightest notice.
"This is what comes of it, when a boy has secrets behind his parents'
back," she said in conclusion. "Hartmut will be well watched now, and
the Major won't deal any too gently with him, either, and you, I think,
will refrain from assisting in any more plots, if I have anything to
say."
"I had nothing to do with it," said Will, defending himself. "I only
promised to be silent, and I had to keep my word."
"You should never keep silence toward your mother. She is always and
ever an exception," said Frau Regine, decidedly.
"Yes, mamma, that was probably what Hartmut thought; that's how he acted
toward his mother," said Willibald, and the remark was so just that
nothing could be said in contradiction; it provoked Frau von
Jischenhagen none the less, on that account.
"That's something different, something quite different," she answered
shortly. But her son asked obstinately:
"Why is it something different here, then?"
"Do not bother me any more with your talk and your questions," his
mother went on angrily. "That is a thing which you do not understand,
and about which you have no business to trouble your head. It's bad
enough that Hartmut has brought you into the affair at all. Now be
quiet, and don't trouble me any more about it. Do you understand?"
Will was silent as requested. It was the first time in his life that he
had been catechised so sharply and had received so severe a lecture. At
this moment his uncle Wallmoden, just back from a walk, entered the
room.
"I hear Falkenried has come already?" he said to his sister.
"Yes," she answered. "He came immediately upon receipt of my letter."
"And how did he take the news?"
"Quietly enough, outwardly; but I saw only too well that he was moved
to his very soul. He is alone with Hartmut now, and the pent-up storm
will burst."
"How unfortunate. But I warned him of all this as soon as I heard of
Zalika's return. He should have spoken to his son at once. Now I fear he
is adding a second blunder to the first in seeking, with commands and
force, to prevent further meetings. That fatal stubbornness of his,
which knows no alternative, is terribly out of place now."
"Yes, and their talk has lasted a long time already. I'll just go and
see how they're getting on, and whether the Major is too severe or not.
You remain here, Herbert. I'll be back immediately."
She left the room, and while Wallmoden paced the floor dejectedly, his
nephew sat alone at the supper-table, which no one but himself seemed to
notice. He did not venture to eat his supper, for his mother was in
anything but a pleasant humor to-day, and he felt no liberties were to
be taken. Fortunately she came back in a short time with a gleam of
bright sunshine across her face.
"It's all right," she said shortly and concisely. "He has the boy in his
arms and Hartmut is clinging to him. They can do as they please now. God
be praised! Now you can eat your supper, Will; the confusion that the
house has been in all day is over at last."
Will didn't wait to be told twice, but began his meal at the word.
Wallmoden shook his head and said half aloud:
"If it only really is over at last!"
Neither Falkenried nor his son perceived that the door had been softly
opened and closed again.
Hartmut still clung to his father. He seemed to have lost all shyness
and reserve in his newly found happiness. He was so tender, so
caressing, that perhaps the Major was not far wrong in saying he would
be left defenseless when his son learned of his great love for him. He
said little; but pressed his lips again and again to his boy's forehead,
and his eyes never left his son's glowing face, which was so near his
own. At last Hartmut said softly:
"And my mother?"
A shadow darkened Falkenried's face, but he did not unclasp the arms
which held his son.
"Your mother will leave Germany as soon as she learns that she must keep
aloof from you," he said, this time without harshness, but most
decisively. "You may write her that I will allow you to correspond with
her under certain conditions, but I cannot nor dare not allow any
personal intercourse."
"Father, consider--"
"I cannot, Hartmut, it is impossible!"
"Do you hate her so much, then?" asked the boy reprovingly. "It was you
that sought the divorce, not my mother; she told me so herself."
Falkenried's lips trembled, and bitter words were on them; he felt like
telling his son, once for all, that his honor had demanded the
separation; but he looked in his child's dark, questioning eyes, and the
words died on his lips. He could not betray the mother to her son.
"Let that question rest," he said gloomily. "Perhaps later, you may
learn to appreciate my reasons. Now I cannot spare you the bitter
alternative; you can only belong to one of us, and must shun the other;
you must accept that as your fate."
Hartmut bowed his head; he felt that nothing more was to be said. That
all meetings with his mother must cease when he was again under the
rigid discipline of the institute, he knew full well; now he was at
least permitted to write to her, which was more than he had ventured to
hope.
"Well, I will tell my mother," he said, dejectedly. "Now that you know
all, you will not oppose my seeing her again?"
The Major was startled; he had not thought of such a possibility.
"When were you to see her again?" he asked.
"To-day, at this hour, at the lake in the wood. She is already waiting
for me there."
Falkenried had a fierce battle with himself; a voice within him warned
him not to permit this meeting, but he felt that it would seem cruel for
him to refuse.
"Will you be back in two hours?" he asked at last.
"Certainly father, or sooner, if you desire it."
"Well, go," said the Major with a deep sigh. It was only his sense of
justice which forced the permission from his lips. "As soon as you come
back, we will go home. It is nearly the end of your vacation anyway."
Hartmut, who was on the point of starting, turned back suddenly. The
words brought forcibly to his mind, what he had forgotten in the last
hour, the compulsion and severity of the hated regimen he would again
have to endure. He had never ventured openly to avow his aversion for
the army, but this hour, which took from him all shyness towards his
father, also removed the seal from his lips. After a moment's hesitation
he returned to his father, and putting his arm around his neck, said:
"I have a request, a most earnest request to make of you, which I know
you will grant, as a proof of your love for me."
The Major's brows contracted as he asked, reprovingly:
"Do you need any proof? Well, let's hear it."
Hartmut clung still closer to him and his voice assumed its sweetest
and most flattering tones, and the dark eyes were almost irresistible in
their look of entreaty, as he said beseechingly:
"Do not let me become a soldier, father. I do not like the profession
you have chosen for me, and I shall never learn to like it. If I have
until now, bowed to your will, it has been with repugnance and secret
hatred, for I have been wretchedly unhappy; but I have never dared until
now, to tell you of it."
The frown on Falkenried's brow deepened, and he unfolded his son's arms
from his neck.
"In other words you will not obey," he said in a bitter tone, "and for
you obedience is more necessary than anything else."
"I cannot endure force and compulsion," Hartmut broke out passionately.
"And the service is nothing else but force and slavery. Always and
eternally, obedience; never to have your own way, but ever, day after
day, to bow to an iron discipline. Always the same still, cold forms,
with your own feelings never allowed to come to the surface--I cannot
bear it longer! Everything within me strives for freedom, for light and
life. Let me leave it, father; do not confine me longer in such chains.
I shall die, I shall suffocate!"
He could not have chosen more ill-advised words with which to plead his
cause, to a man who was heart and soul a soldier. They sounded
passionate and bitter, yet his arm was still on his father's shoulder;
but the Major pushed him back now.
"I had thought the service an honor, and no slavery," he said cuttingly.
"It is pretty bad when my own son is the first one to bring it to my
notice. Freedom, light and life! Perhaps you think when one reaches his
seventeenth year he has acquired the right to plunge into life without
any further care or guidance. For you, freedom from restraint would
mean destruction."
"And if it did?" cried Hartmut, quite beside himself. "Rather
destruction with freedom, than longer life with such restraint. For me
the army means bondage and slavery--"
"Silence! Not a word more," ordered Falkenried, so threateningly that
the youth, in spite of his fearful passion, was awed. "You have now no
choice, and woe to you if you forget your duty. First you must become an
officer and do your duty as such to the full, like your comrades; then,
if you are still of the same mind and I have no power to prevent it, you
can leave, but if I am alive then, I will receive my death blow when my
only son--runs away from the service."
"Father, do you take me for a coward?" interrupted Hartmut. "If there
were only a war and I could stand in battle--"
"Yes, you would plunge madly and blindly into danger, and, with that
very self-will which knows no discipline, rush on to destruction. I
know, only too well, this wild, measureless desire for freedom from
every restraint, which knows no limits, recognizes no duties; I know
from whom you have inherited it, and to what it will eventually lead.
But as long as you are under my jurisdiction I will hold you fast to
that 'slavery' whether you hate it or not. You shall obey and learn to
yield while there is yet time; and you shall learn it. I give you my
word for that."
His voice had again the old harsh sound to which his son was so well
accustomed, and every vestige of tenderness had died out of his face.
Hartmut knew that prayers or defiance were alike useless now. He uttered
no syllable, but the old demon-like gleam in his eyes, which robbed him
of all his beauty, was again manifest land on the lips so tightly
pressed together lay a strange, evil expression as he turned silently
to leave the room. His father followed him with his eyes, again he heard
the warning voice which came to him as a presentiment of coming evil,
and he called his son back.
"Hartmut, you'll be back in two hours? You give me your word for it?"
"Yes, father." The answer sounded angry, but steadfast.
"Very well, then I will treat you as a man. You have pledged your word
and may go in peace; be punctual."
The young man had only been gone a few minutes when Wallmoden entered.
"I knew you were alone," he said. "I would not have disturbed you, but I
saw Hartmut hasten across the garden just now. Where is he going so
late?"
"To his mother, to take leave of her."
The diplomatist looked up startled at this unexpected intelligence.
"With your consent?" he said surprised.
"Certainly, I gave him permission."
"How unwise. I thought you would have seen to it that Zalika did not
accomplish her ends; and now, whether it's right or wrong, you are
sending your son to her."
"Only for an hour, and only for a farewell, which I could not refuse.
What are you afraid of now? Not that there will be any foul play?
Hartmut is no baby to be carried off in a carriage in spite of himself."
"But if he were willing it would be a different matter."
"I have his word that he'll be back in a couple of hours," said the
Major with emphasis.
Wallmoden shrugged his shoulders: "The word of a boy of seventeen!"
"Who has had a soldier's education and knows the significance of his
word of honor. That gives me no anxiety; my fears are in another
direction."
"Regine told me you and he understood one another at last," remarked
Wallmoden, with a glance at his friend's dark, gloomy face.
"For a few minutes; then I had to be the stern, hard father again, and
this last hour has shown me how hard a task it will be to conquer and
direct this unruly, undisciplined nature, but for all that, I must and
will subdue it."
His friend stepped to the window and looked out upon the garden.
"It is twilight already and the Burgsdorf fish-pond is half an hour's
walk from here," he said, half aloud. "You could have this last meeting
held in your presence if you saw fit."
"And see Zalika again? Impossible! I could and would not do that."
"If this farewell does not end as you anticipate--if Hartmut does not
come back?"
"Then he would be beneath contempt, a liar," said Falkenried, "a
deserter too, for he already carries arms at his side. But do not insult
me with such thoughts, Herbert. It is my son of whom you speak."
"He is Zalika's son also. But we won't discuss it any more. They are
waiting for you in the dining-room; you will not go to-night?"
"Yes, in two hours," answered the Major, steadily and quietly. "Hartmut
will be back by then--I'll answer for it."
The gray shadows of evening already lay on field and meadow, and they
grew each moment thicker and darker. The short hazy autumn day was at an
end, and the clouded sky brought the night down more quickly than usual.
A woman's figure could be seen pacing impatiently up and down on the
shore of the little lake. She had a dark mantle drawn closely around
her shoulders, but she paid little heed to the frosty evening air which
was blowing about her; she was feverish with expectation, and her ear
was strained to catch the first echo of approaching footsteps.
Since the first day on which Willibald had surprised them both, and they
had been forced to take him into their confidence, Zalika had chosen a
late hour in the afternoon, and a lonely place in the wood for her
meetings with her son. She was accustomed to meet him before the
twilight began, in order that he might not attract attention by
returning late to Burgsdorf. He had always been punctual, but to-day his
mother had waited already an hour, in vain. What accident had detained
him, or had their secret been disclosed? Since a third knew it, she was
prepared for such a contingency.
All was so silent in the wood that the rustle of her gown and her light
footsteps as she walked to and fro, were the only sounds which greeted
her ear.
Beneath the tall trees lay long nocturnal shadows; over the pond where
there was more light, being free from shade, hung a faint vapory cloud,
and over yonder in the meadows, where a pool of water, concealed by the
mossy moorland, had formed, the mists had gathered still more thickly
and hung like a gray-white veil over all the heath. The air from the
meadows was blowing damp and chill.
At last there was a light step, faint and uncertain--then, as it came on
quickly in the direction of the pond, firmer and more resolute. Now a
slender figure came in view, scarcely recognizable in the gathering
darkness, and Zalika flew to meet her son, who, in the next minute lay
in her arms.
"What has happened?" she asked amidst the wonted stormy caresses. "Why
are you so late? I had begun to despair of seeing you to-day. What
detained you?"
"I could not come sooner," Hartmut explained, still breathless, after
his long run. "I come from my father."
Zalika drew back.
"From your father? And he knows--?"
"All!"
"So he is at Burgsdorf? Since when? who told him?"
The young man related in a few words all that had happened, but he had
not finished when a bitter laugh from his mother interrupted him.
"Of course, they are all in the plot together to keep me from my child.
And your father? He has threatened and punished you again as if you were
a criminal, because you have been in your mother's arms?"
Hartmut shook his head. The memory of the moment when his father drew
him to his breast was yet before him, despite all the bitterness with
which the scene had ended.
"No," he said sadly, "but he has forbidden me to see you again, and
sternly commanded me to part from you."
"And in spite of all, you are here? O, I knew it!"
Her words had a joyful sound.
"Do not triumph too soon, mamma," her son answered her bitterly. "I only
came to say good-bye."
"Hartmut!"
"Father has given me permission to see you this time, and then--"
"Then he will take you away again, and you will be forever lost to me.
Is that it?"
Hartmut did not answer, he only threw himself upon his mother's breast
with a wild, passionate sob, which had as much anger and bitterness in
it, as pain.
It had now grown quite dark and the night was upon them, a cold, misty,
autumn night, without moon or starlight, and over in the meadows, where
the vapor was so dense, a light rain had just begun to fall, and
through the rain and the mist a blue shimmering light appeared, now
faint and dull, now with a clear, bright gleam like a flame.
It disappeared, then started forth again a second and a third time--the
will-o'-the-wisp had begun its unearthly, spectral dance.
"You are crying!" said Zalika holding her son fast in her arms. "I have
long foreseen this day, and if young Eschenhagen had not surprised us
the other morning. I should before this have given you the choice
between returning to your father and forming some other plan."
"What other plan? What do you mean?" asked Hartmut, perplexed.
Zalika bent over him and although they were alone, her voice sank into a
whisper.
"Will you allow this tyranny to go on, will you permit yourself to be
separated from your mother and our holy love trodden under foot, without
asserting yourself, or protecting our joint right? If you do permit it,
you are no son of mine, and my blood does not flow in your veins. He
sent you to bid me farewell, and you take his word as final. Do you
really come to take leave of me, for long years, in all probability?"
"I must do it," her son broke out despairingly. "You know my father.
Against his iron will there is no appeal."
"If you return to him--no! But who will force you to return?"
"Mamma. Do not tempt me, for the love of heaven!" he cried trying to
free himself from the arms which held him so fast, but the passionate
voice still whispered in his ear:
"What alarms you in the thought? You but go with your mother, who loves
you with a boundless love and will live only for you. You have often
complained to me that you hate the service into which you are forced.
Have you forgotten your longing for freedom? If you go back you have no
option, for your father will bind you fast in the chains, and he will
but shorten the links, when he sees you are intolerant of them."
She had no need to tell her son this, for he knew it all better than she
could tell him. Scarcely an hour since, had he not heard the words: "You
shall obey and learn to yield while yet there is time."
His voice was full of bitterness as he replied.
"In any case, I must go back. I have given my word to be at Burgsdorf
again in two hours."
"Really?" asked Zalika, sharply and scornfully. "I thought as much. I
see he treats you like a child, marks out your every step for you and
gives you your allotted time, as if you had no judgment or mind of your
own; but the time has gone by to treat you thus, you are old enough to
assume the prerogatives of a man. The day has come when you must show
that you are a man in action as well as word. A promise wrung from one
is valueless; tear asunder this invisible chain by which you are held,
and set yourself free."
"No--no," murmured Hartmut, with another effort to free himself, but his
mother held him fast in her arms. He turned his face away and looked
with hot eyes into the dark night, upon the desolate blackness of the
wood and across at the will-o'-the-wisp, still pursuing its erratic
course, now rising with convulsive, trembling flame, now sinking into
the ground beneath, only to come up again quivering and glimmering.
There was something ghostly and horrible, and withal strangely
fascinating in the ceaseless dance of this imp of night.
"Come with me, my son," Zalika begged, in those dulcet tones which were
hers, as well as her son's. "I have long since prepared all for your
coming; I knew of a certainty that this day would surely come. My
carriage is waiting a short distance from here. We can soon reach the
railway station and will be far on our way before they are any the wiser
at Burgsdorf. With me lies freedom, life, happiness! I will take you
away and show you the great world, and when you are once in it, you will
learn to breathe freely and enjoy life, as one redeemed from slavery. I
know what it is to be liberated from slavery. I, too, wore the chains
which, in an hour of foolish fascination, I forged for myself, but I
should have torn them apart in the first year had it not been for my
unborn child. O, freedom is sweet, as you will soon learn."
She knew only too well the words to choose to accomplish her purpose.
Freedom, life, happiness. They signified so much. They echoed and
re-echoed in the heart of the boy, whose longing for freedom had always
been repressed by a powerful hand. Now like a picture from a magician's
hand, the fairy-like visions of promised liberty stood before him. He
need but stretch out his hand and it was his own.
"My word," he murmured with a last feeble attempt to rescue himself. "My
father will despise me--"
"When you have attained to a great, proud future," Zalika interrupted
him excitedly, "then go to your father and ask him if he dares to
despise you; he would bind you to the earth, but you have wings to fly
above it. He does not understand a nature like yours, and never will.
Will you destroy yourself for the sake of a mere word and be a slave
forever? Come with me, Hartmut, with me to whom you are all the world."
She led him slowly away, and he did not tear himself from her, but, as
she caressed him and called him fond names she felt that his going was
under protest, and that she had needed all her wiles to accomplish it. A
few minutes later the pond was deserted, mother and son had disappeared,
and even the sound of their retiring footsteps had died out in the night
air. Over the moor moved only that weird, spectral life. The flashing
lights appeared and sank again in restless play,--mysterious breaths of
flame from the deep.