It was Sunday morning. The office was closed, and Reinhold at last had
a free morning before him, which certainly was seldom his good fortune.
He was in the garden house, to the entire and special possession of
which he had at last attained, to be sure only after many struggles and
by repeated reference to his musical studies, which were considered
highly disturbing in the house. It was here alone that the young man
was in any degree safe from the constant control of his parents-in-law,
which extended even into the young couple's dwelling, and he seized
every free moment to take refuge in his asylum.
The so-called "garden" was of the only description possible in an old,
narrowly-built, densely populated town. On all sides high walls and
gables enclosed the small piece of ground, to which air and sunshine
were sparingly given, and where a few trees and shrubs enjoyed but a
miserable existence. The garden's boundary was one of those small
canals, which traversed the town in all directions, and whose quick,
dark stream formed a very melancholy background; beyond this, again,
walls and gables were to be seen; the same prison-like appearance,
which clung to Almbach's whole house seemed to reign over the only free
space belonging to it.
The garden house itself was not much more cheerful--the single large
room was furnished with more than simplicity. Evidently the few
old-fashioned pieces of furniture had been set aside from some other
place as superfluous, and been sought out in order to fit up the room
with what was absolutely necessary. Only in the window, round which
climbed some stunted vines, stood a large, handsome piano, the legacy
of the late Music Director, Wilkens, to his pupil, and its magnificent
appearance contrasted as singularly and strangely with the room as did
the figure of the young man, with his ideal brow and large flashing
eyes, behind the barred office windows of the dwelling-house.
Reinhold was sitting writing at the table, but to-day his face did not
wear the tired, listless expression, which rested upon it whenever he
had the figures of the account books before him; his cheeks were
darkly, almost feverishly red, and as he wrote a name rapidly on the
envelope, lying on the table, his hands trembled as if with suppressed
excitement. Steps were heard outside, and the glass door was opened;
with a quick gesture of annoyance the young man pushed the envelope
under the sheets of music lying on the table, and turned round.
It was Jonas, servant of the Captain, who for a few days only had
accepted the hospitality offered by his relations, and then had
migrated to a dwelling of his own. The sailor saluted and entered in
his peculiarly rough and somewhat uncouth manner, and then laid some
books on the table.
"The Herr Captain's compliments, and he sends the promised books from
his travelling library."
"Is my brother not coming himself?" asked Reinhold astonished. "He
promised surely."
"The Captain has been here some time," replied Jonas, "but they have
got hold of him in the house; your uncle wished to have a conference
with him on family affairs; your aunt requires his help to make some
alteration in the guest room, and the bookkeeper wants to catch him for
his society. All are fighting for him; he cannot tear himself away."
"Hugo appears to have conquered the whole house in the course of a
single week," remarked Reinhold ironically.
"We do that everywhere," said Jonas, full of self-consciousness, and
appeared inclined to add more about those conquests, when he was
interrupted by his master's entrance, who greeted his brother in the
most cheerful humour.
"Good morning, Reinhold! Now Jonas, what are you staying here for? You
are wanted in the house. I promised my aunt that you should help at the
dinner to-day. Go at once to the kitchen!"
"Amongst the women!"
"Heaven knows," said Hugo, turning laughingly to his brother, "where
this man has learned his hatred for women. Certainly not from me; I
admire the lovely sex uncommonly."
"Yes, unfortunately, quite uncommonly," muttered Jonas, but he turned
away obediently and marched out of the room, while the Captain came
quite close to Reinhold.
"To-day there is a large family dinner!" he began, imitating his Uncle
Almbach's pedantic, solemn voice so well as almost to deceive any one.
"In my honour of course! I hope you will pay proper respect to this
important ceremony, and that you will not again behave in such a
manner, that I can at the utmost use you as a butt for my too developed
amiability."
Reinhold knitted his brows slightly--
"I beg you, Hugo, do be sensible for once! How long do you intend to
continue this comedy, and amuse yourself at the expense of the whole
house? Take care, lest they find out what your amiability consists of,
and that you are really only ridiculing them all."
"That would indeed be bad," said Hugo, quietly, "but they will not find
me out, depend upon that."
"Then do me the kindness, at least, of ceasing your horrid Indian
tales! You really go too far with them. Uncle was debating with the
bookkeeper yesterday about the battle with the monster serpent, which
you served up for them lately, and which, even to him, appeared unheard
of. I became extremely confused in listening to them."
"It put you to confusion?" mocked the Captain. "If I had been there, I
should immediately have given them the benefit of an elephant hunt, a
tiger story, and a few attacks of savages, with such appalling effects,
that the affair of the giant snake would have appeared highly probable
to them. Be easy! I know my hearers; the whole house oppresses me
almost, with its acts of sympathy."
"Excepting Ella," suggested Reinhold, "it is certainly remarkable that
her shyness towards you is quite invincible."
"Yes, it is very remarkable," said Hugo with an offended air. "I cannot
allow any one in the house to exist who is not entirely persuaded of my
perfections, and have already set myself the task of presenting myself
to my sister-in-law in all my utterly irresistible charms. I do not
doubt at all that she will thereupon immediately join the majority--you
are not jealous, I hope."
"Jealous?--I? and on Ella's account?" The young man shrugged his
shoulders half-pityingly, half-contemptuously.
"What are you thinking of?"
"Well, there is no danger! I have sought an interview with her already,
but she was entirely occupied with the young one. Tell me, Reinhold,
where does the child get those wonderful, blue, fairy-tale-like eyes
from? Yours are not so, besides there is not the least resemblance,
and, excepting his, I do not know any in the family."
"I believe Ella's eyes are blue," interrupted his brother
indifferently.
"You believe only? Have you never convinced yourself then? Certainly it
may be somewhat difficult; she never raises them, and, under that
monstrous cap, nothing can be seen of her face. Reinhold, for Heaven's
sake, how can you allow your wife such an antediluvian costume? I
assure you, for me that cap would be grounds sufficient for a divorce."
Reinhold had seated himself at the piano, and let his hands glide
mechanically over the notes, while he answered with perfect
indifference--
"I never trouble myself about Ella's toilet, and I believe it would be
useless to try and enforce any alterations there. What does it matter
to me?"
"What it matters to you how your wife looks?" repeated the Captain, as
he seized some sheets of music on the table, and turned them over
lightly, "a charming question from a young husband! You used to have a
sense of beauty, too easily aroused, and I could almost fear--what is
this then? 'Signora Beatrice Biancona on it.' Have you Italian
correspondents in the town?"
Reinhold sprang up, confusion and annoyance struggled in his face, as
he saw the letter, which he had pushed under the music, in his
brother's hands, who repeated the address unconcernedly.
"Beatrice Biancona? That is the _prima donna_ of the Italian Opera, who
has made such a wonderful sensation here? Do you know the lady?"
"Slightly," said Reinhold, taking the letter quickly from his hands. "I
was introduced to her lately at Consul Erlau's."
"And you correspond with her already?"
"Certainly not! The letter does not contain one single line."
Hugo laughed aloud, "An envelope fully addressed, a very voluminous
sheet of paper inside it, with not a single line! Dear Reinhold, that
is more wonderful than my story of the giant snake. Do you expect me
really to believe it? There, do not look so savage, I do not intend to
force myself into your secrets."
Instead of answering, the young man drew the paper out of the unsealed
envelope, and held it to his brother, who looked at it in astonishment.
"What does it mean? Only a song--notes and words--no word of
explanation with it--just your name below. Have you composed it?"
Reinhold took the paper again, closed the letter and put it in his
pocket.
"It is an attempt, nothing more. She is _artiste_ enough to judge of
it. She can accept or reject it."
"Then you compose also?" asked the Captain, whose face had become
serious all at once. "I did not think that your passionate liking for
music went so far as creating it yourself. Poor Reinhold, how can you
bear this life, with all its narrow, confined ways, wishing to stifle
every spark of poetry as being unnecessary or dangerous? I could not do
it."
Reinhold had thrown himself upon the seat before the piano again.
"Do not ask me how I endure it," he replied, with suppressed feeling.
"It is enough _that_ I do it."
"I guessed long since that your letters were not open," continued Hugo;
"that behind all the contentment with which you tried to deceive me,
something quite different was concealed. The truth has become plain to
me, during one week in this house, notwithstanding that you gave
yourself all conceivable trouble to hide it from me."
The young man gazed gloomily before him. "Why should I worry you, when
far away, with anxieties about me? You had enough to do to take care of
yourself, and there was a time, too, when I was contented, or at least
believed myself so, because my whole mental being lay, as it were,
under a spell, when I allowed everything to pass over me in stupid
indifference, and I offered my hand willingly for the chain. I have
done it; well, yes! But I must carry it my whole life long!"
Hugo had gone towards him, and laid his hand upon his brother's
shoulder.
"You mean your marriage with Ella? At the first news of it, I knew it
must be my uncle's work."
A bitter smile played round the young man's lips as he answered
scornfully--
"He was always a splendid master of calculation, and he has shown it
again in this case. The poor relation, taken up out of kindness and
charity, must consider it happiness that he is raised to be son and
heir of the house, and the daughter must be married some time; so it
was a case of securing, by means of her hand, a successor for the firm,
who bore the same name. It was neither Ella's nor my fault that we were
bound together. We were both young, without wills, without knowledge of
life or of ourselves. She will always remain so--well for her. It has
not been so fortunate for me."
One would hardly have credited those merry brown eyes with the power of
looking so serious as at this moment, when he bent down to his brother.
"Reinhold," said he, in an undertone, "on the night when I fled to
save myself from a caprice, which would have ruined my freedom and
future, I had planned and foreseen everything, excepting one, the most
difficult--the moment when I should stand by your bed to bid you
farewell. You slept quietly, and did not dream of the separation; but
I--when I saw your pale face on the pillow, and said to myself that for
years, perhaps never again, should I see it, all longing for freedom
could not resist it--I struggled hard with the temptation to awake and
take you with me. Later, when I experienced the thorny path of the
adventurous homeless boy, with all its dangers and privations, I often
thanked God that I had withstood the temptation; I knew you were safe
and sound in our relation's house, and now"--Hugo's strong voice
trembled as with suppressed anger or pain--"now I wish I had carried
you with me to want and privation, to storm and danger, but at any rate
to freedom; it had been better."
"It had been better," repeated Reinhold, listlessly; then rising as if
reckless, "Let us cease! What is the use of regrets, which cannot
change what is past. Come! They expect us upstairs."
"I wish I had you on my 'Ellida,' and we could turn our backs on the
whole crew, never to see them again," said the young sailor, with a
sigh, as he prepared to follow his brother's bidding. "I never thought
things could be so bad."
The brothers had hardly entered the house, when Hugo's indispensability
began to show itself again. He was in request, at least on three sides,
at once. Every one required his advice and help. The young Captain
appeared to possess the enviable power of throwing himself directly
from one mood into another, as, immediately after his serious
conversation with his brother, he was sparkling with merriment and
mischief, helped every one, paid compliments to each, and at the same
time teased all in the most merciless manner. This time it was the
bookkeeper who caught him, as Jonas expressed it, to explain the
affairs of his society; and while the two gentlemen were discussing it,
Reinhold entered the dining-room, where he found his wife busied with
preparations for the before-named guests.
Ella was in her Sunday costume to-day, but that made little alteration
in her appearance. Her dress of finer material was not more becoming;
the cap, which inspired her brother-in-law with such horror, surrounded
and disfigured her face as usual. The young wife devoted herself so
assiduously and completely to her domestic duties, that she hardly
seemed to notice her husband's entrance, who approached her with rather
lowering mien.
"I must beg you, Ella," he began, "to have more regard for my wishes in
future, and to meet my brother in such a manner as he can and would
expect his sister-in-law to do. I should think that the behaviour of
your parents, and every one in the house, might serve as an example for
you; but you appear to find an especial pleasure in denying him every
right of relationship, and in showing him a decided antipathy."
The young wife looked as timid and helpless at this anything but kindly
expressed reproof, as she did when her mother desired her to interfere
about her husband's musical "mania."
"Do not be angry, dear Reinhold," she replied, hesitatingly, "but I--I
cannot do otherwise."
"You cannot?" asked Reinhold, sharply. "Of course, that is your
never-failing answer when I ask anything of you, and I should have
thought it was seldom enough that I do address a request to you. But
this time I insist positively that you should change your demeanour
towards Hugo. This shy avoidance and consequent silence whenever he
speaks to you is too ridiculous. I beg seriously that you will take
more care not to make me appear too much an object of pity to my
brother."
Ella appeared about to answer, but the last unsparing words closed her
lips. She bowed her head, and did not make any further attempt to
defend herself. It was a movement of such gentle, patient resignation
as would have disarmed any one; but Reinhold did not notice it, as at
the same moment the old bookkeeper was heard taking leave in the next
room.
"Then we may count upon the honour of your membership, Herr Captain?
And as regards the election of a President, I have your word that you
will support the opposition?"
"Quite at your service," said Hugo's voice, "and of course only with
the opposition. I always join the opposition on principle whenever
there is one; it is generally the only faction in which there is any
fun. Excuse me, the honour is on my side."
The bookkeeper left, and the Captain appeared in the room. He seemed
inclined to redeem the promise he had given to his brother, and at the
same time to convince the young wife of his perfections, as he
approached her with all the boldness and confidence of his nature, with
which a certain knightly gallantry was mingled.
"Then I owe it to chance that at last I see my sister-in-law, and she
is compelled to remain with me a few moments? Certainly she never would
have accorded me this happiness of her own free will. I was complaining
bitterly to Reinhold this morning about your repelling me, which I do
not know that I have merited in any way."
He wished to take her hand, even to kiss it, but Ella drew back, with
a, for her, quite unwonted decision.
"Herr Captain!"
"Herr Captain!" repeated Hugo, annoyed. "No, Ella, that is going too
far. I certainly, as your brother, have a right to the 'thou' which you
never refused to your cousin and childish companion, but as you, from
the first day of my arrival, laid so much stress on the formal 'you,' I
followed the hint you gave me. However, this 'Herr Captain' I will not
stand. That is an insult against which I shall call Reinhold to my
assistance. He shall tell me if I must really bear hearing myself being
called 'Herr Captain' by those lips."
"Certainly not!" said Reinhold, as he turned to leave, "Ella will give
up this manner of speaking to you, as well as her whole tone towards
you. I have just been speaking distinctly to her about it."
He went away, and his glance ordered his wife to remain, as plainly as
his voice demanded obedience. Neither escaped the Captain.
"For goodness sake, do not interfere with your husband's authority!
Would you command friendliness towards me?" cried he after his brother,
and turned again quickly to Ella, while he continued, gallantly, "that
would be the surest way to prevent my ever finding favour in my
beautiful sister-in-law's eyes. But that is not required between us, is
it? You will permit me, at least, to lay the due tribute of respect at
your feet, to describe to you the joyful surprise with which I received
the news--"
Here Hugo stopped suddenly, and seemed to have lost his train of ideas.
Ella had raised her eyes, and looked at him. It was a gleam of quiet,
painful reproach, and the same reproach lay in her voice as she
replied, "At least leave me in peace, Herr Captain. I thought you had
amusement enough for to-day."
"I?" asked Hugo, taken aback. "What do you mean, Ella? You do not
think--"
The young wife did not let him finish. "What have we done to you?" she
continued, and although her voice trembled timidly at first, it gained
firmness with every word. "What have we done to you that you always
scoff at us, since the day of your return, when you acted a scene of
repentance before my parents, until the present moment, when you make
the whole house the target for your jokes? Reinhold certainly tolerates
our being daily humiliated; he looks upon it as a matter of course. But
I, Herr Captain--" here Ella's voice had attained perfect steadiness,
"I do not consider it right that you should daily cast scorn and
contempt over a house in which you, after all that has passed, have
been received with the old love. If this house and family do appear so
very meagre and ridiculous to you, no one invited you here. You should
have remained in that world of which you are able to relate so much. My
parents deserve more respect and mercy even for their weaknesses; and,
although our house may be simple, it is still too good for the scoffs
of an--adventurer."
She turned her back upon him, and left the room without waiting for a
single word of reply. Hugo stood and gazed after her, as if one of the
impossible scenes out of his own Indian stories had just been acted
before him. Probably, for the first time in his life, the young sailor
lost, with his presence of mind, the power of speech also.
"That was plain," said he at last, as he sat down, quite upset; but the
next moment he sprang up as if electrified, and cried--
"She has them in truth; the child's beautiful blue eyes. And I
discovered them only now! Who, indeed, would look for this glance under
that horrible cap? 'We are too good for the scoffs of an adventurer.'
Not exactly flattering, but it was merited, although I expected least
of all to hear it from her! I shall often try that."
Hugo moved as if going into the guest room, but he stopped again on the
threshold, and looked towards the door, by which his sister-in-law had
retired. All signs of mockery and mischief had entirely vanished from
his face; it bore a thoughtful expression as he said, gently, "And
Reinhold only _believes_ she has blue eyes! Incomprehensible!"
* * * * *
In the large concert-room of H----, all the _elite_ of the town seemed
to be gathered on the occasion of one of those concerts which, set on
foot for some charitable purpose, were patronised by the first
families, and whose support and presence there was considered quite a
point of honour. To-day the programme only bore well-known names, both
as regarded the performances as well as performers; and besides, it was
arranged by means of the highest possible prices that the audience
should consist principally, if not entirely, of persons belonging to
the best circles of society.
The concert had not commenced, and the performers were in a room
adjoining, which served as a place of assembly on such occasions, and
to which only a few specially favoured of the outside world had the
right of entrance. Therefore the presence was the more remarkable of a
young man who did not belong either to the favoured or the performers,
and who kept aloof from both. He had entered shortly before and
addressed himself at once to the conductor, who, although he did not
appear to know him, yet must have been informed of his coming, as he
received him very politely. The gentlemen around only heard so much of
the conversation, that the conductor regretted not to be able to give
Mr. Almbach any information: it was Signora Biancona's wish; the
Signora would appear directly. The short interview was soon over, and
Reinhold drew back.
The group of artists, engaged in lively conversation, broke up
suddenly, as the door opened and the young _prima donna_ appeared; she
had not been expected so soon, as she usually only drove up at the last
moment. Every one began to move. All tried to outdo one another in
attentions to their beautiful colleague, but to-day she took remarkably
little notice of the wonted homage of her surroundings. Her glance on
entering had flown rapidly through the room, and had at once found the
object of its search. The Signora deigned to reply to the greetings
only very slightly, exchanged a few words with the conductor, and
withdrew at once from all further attempts at conversation with the
gentlemen, as she turned to Reinhold Almbach, who now approached her,
and went towards the farthest window with him.
"You have really come, Signor?" she began in a reproachful tone, "I did
not believe, indeed, that you would accept my invitation."
Reinhold looked up, and the forced coldness and formality of the
greeting began already to melt as he met her gaze for the first time on
that evening.
"Then it was your invitation," he said. "I did not know if I was to
consider the one sent by the conductor in your name, as such. It did
not contain a single line from you."
Beatrice smiled. "I only followed the example set me. I, too, have
received a certain song, whose composer added nothing to his name. I
only retaliated."
"Has my silence offended you?" asked the young man, quickly. "I dared
add nothing. What--" his eyes sank to the ground--"what should I have
said to you?"
The first question was indeed unnecessary; as the devotion of the song
seemed to have been understood, and Signora Biancona looked the reverse
of offended as she answered--
"You appear to like the wordless form, Signor, and always to wish to
speak to me in notes of music. Well, I bowed to your taste, and have
determined to answer also only in our language."
She laid a slight but still marked emphasis upon the word. Reinhold
raised his head in astonishment.
"In our language?" he repeated slowly.