EARLY SUNRISE.
It is early in the morning of the day before the famous betrothal
festivity. The town-clock of X---- strikes three as Treurenberg, his
bridle hanging loose, is riding along the lonely road towards
Dobrotschau. He has passed the night with a few officers at the rooms
of the Countess Wodin, his cousin and former flame, who "threw him
over" because her views of life were more practical than his,--that is
to say, than his were at that period; for he soon followed her example,
and was very practical too. But it does not suit every man to be so.
The assemblage at the Countess Wodin's was unusually lively. She was
the only lady present, with the exception of the major's wife, an
insignificant, awkward woman, who was usually endowed with the
Countess's cast-off gowns. A large number of men made up the
gathering,--almost the entire corps of officers, and a couple of
gentlemen from the neighbourhood. The time was whiled away with cards.
At first Lato did not join the players, simply looking on at one and
another of the tables; but by and by he took the cards for his cousin,
who, suddenly possessed by an intense desire to dance, rose from her
place, "just to take a couple of turns around the room." She waltzed
until she was breathless with Ensign Flammingen, Treurenberg's
relative, who was apparently head over ears in love with her. An
officer of dragoons meanwhile droned out the music for them upon a
little drawing-room hand-organ. When the Countess again took her place
at the card-table Lato had won a small fortune for her. She
congratulated him upon his luck, and advised him to try it in his own
behalf. He did so.
Between the games a good deal of wine had been drunk, and various
questionable witticisms had been perpetrated. Treurenberg laughed
louder than the rest, although all such jesting was distasteful to him,
especially when women were present. But the Countess had expressly
requested to be treated as a man; and the major's wife, after an
unfortunate attempt to smoke a cigarette, had retired to a sofa in the
adjoining room to recover from the effects of the experiment.
In the absence of this victim of an evil custom for which she was
evidently unfitted, the merriment grew more and more boisterous, until
suddenly young Flammingen, who had but a moment before been waltzing
gaily with the hostess, fell into a most lachrymose condition. The rest
tried, it is true, to regard it as only an additional amusement, but it
was useless: the mirth had received a death-blow. Some one began to
turn the hand-organ again, but without cheering results. All were
tired. They found the air of the room suffocating; the smoke was too
thick to see through. Then the unfortunate idea occurred to one of the
party to open a window. The fresh air from without wafted in among the
fumes of wine and cigar-smoke had a strange effect upon the guests:
they suddenly fell silent, and in a very short time vanished, like
ghosts at cock-crow.
Lato took his leave with the rest, disappearing from his cousin's
drawing-room with the consciousness of being a winner,--that was
something. He rode through the quiet town, and on between the desolate
fields of rye, where not an ear was left standing, between dark
stretches of freshly-ploughed land, whence came the odour of the earth
with its promise of renewed fertility. The moon was high in the
colourless sky; along the eastern horizon there was a faint gleam
of yellow light. The dawn enveloped all nature as in a white
semi-transparent veil; every outline showed indistinct; the air was
cool, and mingled with it there was a sharp breath of autumn. Here and
there a dead leaf fell from the trees. The temperature had grown much
cooler in the last few days; there had been violent storms in the
vicinity, although the drought still reigned at Dobrotschau.
Treurenberg felt weary in every limb; the hand holding the bridle
dropped on his horse's neck. On either side stood a row of tall
poplars; he had reached the avenue where Olga's white figure had once
come to meet him. The castle was at hand. He shivered; a mysterious
dread bade him turn away from it.
The half-light seemed to roll away like curling smoke. Lato could
clearly distinguish the landscape. The grass along the roadside was
yellow and dry; blue succory bloomed everywhere among it; here and
there a bunch of wild poppies hung drooping on their slender stalks.
The blue flowers showed pale and sickly in the early light; the poppies
looked almost black.
On a sudden everything underwent a change; broad shadows stretched
across the road, and all between them glowed in magic crimson light.
From a thousand twittering throats came greetings of the new-born day.
Treurenberg looked up. Solemn and grand, in a semicircle of
reddish-golden mist, the sun rose on the eastern horizon.
Yes, in a moment all was transformed,--the pale empty skies were filled
with light and resonant inspiration, the earth was revivified.
Why languish in weary discouragement when a single moment can so
transfigure the world? For him, too, the sun might rise, all might be
bright within him. Then, at a sharp turn of the road, the castle of
Dobrotschau appeared, interposing its mass between him and the sun. The
crimson light, like a corona, played about the outlines of the castle,
which stood out hard and dark against the flaming background.
Treurenberg's momentary hopefulness faded at the sight,--it was folly
to indulge in it: for him there was no sunrise; there was nothing
before him but a dark, blank wall, shutting out light and hope, and
against which he could but bruise and wound himself should he try to
break through it.