The Captain must have known what the letter contained, as he stood
close by Ella's side, apparently ready to support her, as in the
theatre; but this time she betrayed no weakness. She looked silently
down at the icy words of farewell with which her husband freed himself
from wife and child. With what haste had he seized the excuse which her
father's harshness and her own words offered him; with what relief had
he shaken off the irksome bonds! This blow did not fall unexpectedly
now. Since that last interview she knew her fate.
"He is gone already?" asked she, without raising her eyes from the
letter, which she still held in her hand.
"An hour ago."
"And with her?"
Hugo was silent; he could not say "No" to this question. Ella rose,
apparently calm, but she leaned heavily on the boy's bed.
"I knew it. And now--leave me alone, I implore you!"
The Captain hesitated. "I came, also, to bid you adieu," replied he.
"My departure was decided without this, and now, in my brother's
absence, nothing keeps me. I shall make no attempt to remove my uncle's
absurd prejudice against me, but I should like to take a word of
farewell from you, Ella, away with me. Will you refuse it me?"
The young woman raised her eyes slowly; they met his, and as if
following an involuntary impulse, held out both hands to him--
"I thank you, Hugo, farewell!"
With a quick movement he caught her hands in his--
"I have ever only been able to bring you pain," he said softly. "By me
came the first news which utterly destroyed your peace; it came too
late, and to-day it was again my hand which brought you the last. But
if I pained you, Ella, must pain you--my God, it has not been easy for
me."
His lips rested for a moment on her hand, then he let it fall, and left
the room quickly; a few moments later he was in the open air.
It was a raw, regular northern spring evening. The rain fell steadily;
mist hung heavily and densely in the streets; even the lamp light only
shone dimly red in the grey atmosphere. The rolling train bore Reinhold
Almbach away in this fog to the south, where fame and love, where his
future beckoned brightly to him; and in the same hour his young wife
lay at home on her knees by her child's cradle, pressing her head in
the pillow to smother the cry of despair, which now, that she knew
herself to be alone, broke forth at last. He had not come once to say
adieu; he had not one kind last word for her; not one farewell kiss for
his child. They were both forsaken, given up--probably forgotten
already.
* * * * *
The blazing glory of the sunset seemed to bathe heaven and earth in a
sea of fire, and illumination. All the wonderful colouring of the south
lighted up the western horizon, and the flood of light poured itself
far away over the town, with its cupolas, towers, and palaces. It was
an incomparable panorama stretching around the villa, which lay outside
the town on a slight elevation visible from afar, with its terrace and
colonnades, surrounded by the lower lying gardens, in which the most
luxuriant southern vegetation displayed itself. There sombre cypresses
raised their gloomy heads; pines waved in the gentle evening wind;
white marble statues peeped forth through laurel and myrtle bushes;
the waters from the fountains rippled and fell on the carpet of
turf; and thousands of flowers sent forth their intoxicating sweet
perfume--everywhere beauty and art, scent and flowers, light and
dazzling colours.
A numerous party was assembled on the terrace and in the adjoining
parts of the park, preferring the enjoyment of this beautiful evening,
and the wonderful view outside, to remaining in the rooms. It seemed
principally to consist of the aristocracy, yet many a figure might be
seen there which undoubtedly betrayed the artist, and here and there
appeared the dark habit of a priest near the light toilettes of the
ladies or brilliant uniforms. The most different elements seemed to be
united here. They walked, chatted, and sat or stood together in
unconstrained groups.
In one of these groups, which had gathered at the foot of a terrace
close to the great fountain, the conversation was conducted with
unusual vivacity; it must be about some subject of general interest.
The few words and names mentioned appeared to rouse the attention of
one of the guests, and he, coming from the terrace, passed close by the
group. He was clearly a stranger, as was denoted by his light brown
hair, eyes, and indeed his whole face, which, although tanned by sun
and air, still did not show the dark colouring of the southerner. The
uniform of a captain set off his strong manly figure very
advantageously, and in his bearing and movements was a happy
combination of the free, somewhat easy manner of a sailor with the
forms of good society. He stopped near the gentlemen who were talking
so eagerly, and listened to their conversation with evident interest.
"This new opera is, and will be the chief event of the season," said an
officer in the uniform of the carbineers, "and therefore I do not
understand how it can be so easily postponed. The performance is
already arranged, the rehearsals have begun, all preparations are
nearly finished, when suddenly everything is interrupted, and the whole
performance postponed until the autumn, and all this without any
apparent reason."
"The reason lies alone in the sovereign pleasure of Signor Rinaldo,"
replied another gentleman, in a somewhat ill-natured tone. "He is
accustomed to treat the opera and public according to his humour and
fancy."
"I am afraid you are mistaken, Signor Gianelli," interrupted a young
man of distinguished appearance, somewhat excitedly. "If Rinaldo
himself demanded the postponement, there is sure to be some cause for
it."
"Excuse me, Marchese, it is not so," replied the former. "I, as
conductor of the grand opera, know best what endless trouble, and what
immense sacrifice of time and money it has cost to meet Rinaldo's
wishes. He brought the whole theatrical world into confusion with his
conditions and requirements, as he demanded changes in the company such
as had never been made before, and everything in the same way. As
usual, all was acceded to, and all expected at last to be sure of his
approval; but now, on arriving from M----, he finds nothing but what is
far beneath his anticipations, he orders alterations and dictates
improvements in the most inconsiderate manner. In vain was it attempted
to dissuade him, through Signora Biancona; he threatened to withdraw
the entire opera, and--" here the maestro shrugged his shoulders
satirically, "his Excellency the Director would not take the
responsibility of such a misfortune upon his shoulders. He promised
everything, conceded everything, and as it was quite impossible to
carry out the so peremptorily demanded additions in such a short time,
even although ordered by the sovereign Signor Rinaldo, the performance
was obliged to be postponed until the next season."
"The Director in this case was quite right to give way to the wish, or,
if you like it, whim of the composer," said the young Marchese
decidedly. "The company would never have forgiven it if bad management
had robbed them of one of Rinaldo's operas. It is known that he would
be capable of carrying out his threat, and really withdrawing his work,
and with such an alternative before him, nothing remained but to give
way unconditionally."
"Certainly; my objection only concerns this species of terrorism which
a strange composer allows himself here, in the heart of Italy, inasmuch
as he compelled the inhabitants to content themselves with his
essentially German ideas of music."
"Especially when these same inhabitants have twice made a _fiasco_ of
an opera, while every new creation of Rinaldo's is greeted with
tempestuous applause by the audience," whispered the Marchese to his
neighbour.
The latter, an Englishman, looked much bored. He only understood
Italian imperfectly, and the rapid, vivacious conversation was
therefore greatly lost to him. Nevertheless he answered the Marchese's
low spoken and contemptuous remark with a solemn nod, and then looked
attentively at the maestro, as if the latter had become an object of
curiosity for him.
"We are speaking of Rinaldo's new opera," said the officer, turning
and explaining politely to the stranger, who so far had remained a
silent listener, and now replied in foreign sounding, but yet fluent
Italian--"I just heard the name. No doubt some musical celebrity."
The gentlemen looked in speechless astonishment at the inquirer; only
the maestro's face betrayed unmistakable satisfaction that there was at
least one person in the world who did not know this name.
"Some celebrity!" repeated Marchese Tortoni. "Excuse me Signor
Capitano, but you must have been a long time at sea, and perhaps come
from another hemisphere?"
"Direct from the South Sea Islands!" said the Captain with a pleasant
smile, notwithstanding the ironical tone of the question, "and as
there, unfortunately, they are not so well acquainted with the artistic
productions of the present times as might be desired in the interests
of civilisation, I beg to receive assistance in my deplorable
ignorance."
"We are speaking about the greatest and most charming of our present
composers," said the Marchese. "He is certainly by birth a German, but
since some years has belonged to us exclusively. He lives and works
only on Italian ground, and we are proud to be permitted to call him
ours. It will be easy for you to make his personal acquaintance this
evening. He is sure to appear!"
"With Signora Biancona--of course!" interrupted the officer, "have you
had an opportunity already of hearing our beautiful _prima donna_?"
The Captain made a gesture of denial. "I only arrived a few days since;
however, I saw her some years previously in my home, where she gained
her first laurels."
"Ah, she was a rising star then," cried the others. "To be sure she
laid the foundation of her fame in the north. She returned to us as a
known actress. But now she stands undoubtedly at the height of her
power. You must hear her, and hear her in one of Rinaldo's operas, when
you can admire her in all her glory."
"To be sure, as then one fire ignites the other," added the young
Marchese. "At any rate you will find in the Signora of to-day a
brilliantly beautiful apparition. Do not delay an introduction and
interview with her."
"Provided it be agreeable to Signor Rinaldo," said the maestro, joining
in again. "Otherwise you may attempt to approach her in vain."
"Has Rinaldo power to decide such points?" asked the Captain lightly.
"Well, at least he takes the right to do so. He is so used to being
master and ruler everywhere that he tries it here also, and, alas, not
without result. I do not understand Biancona. An actress of her
importance, a woman of her beauty, to allow herself to be so completely
ruled by a man."
"But he is Rinaldo," laughed the officer, "and that is saying enough.
Let us confess it, Tortoni, we can none of us compete with his
successes. All hearts fly towards him, wherever he appears; so at last
it is no wonder if even a Biancona bows willingly before the magic
which this man seems to bear about him."
"Hum, it is not done quite so willingly," said Gianelli, grimly.
"Signora is passionate in the highest degree, but Rinaldo, if possible,
even surpasses her. Between them it is quite as often storm as
sunshine, and furious scenes are the order of the day."
"This Rinaldo appears to govern all society as well as his audiences,"
said the Captain, now turning exclusively to the conductor. "Do people
submit to such a thing from one single man, and he a stranger?"
"Because all are blind, and will be to every other merit," cried the
maestro with suppressed violence. "When society once raises an idol to
a throne, it carries on its adoration until it becomes ridiculous.
They regularly worship Rinaldo, so it is no wonder if his pride and
self-appreciation become boundless, and he thinks he can trample on all
with impunity who do not pay him homage."
The Captain looked steadily and with a peculiar smile at the excited
Italian.
"It is a pity that such talent should have so dark a side! But after
all, it is not so much talent as fashion, whim of the public, unmerited
success; do not you think so?"
Gianelli would probably have agreed with all his heart, but the other
gentlemen's presence put some restraint upon him.
"The public generally decides in such cases," he replied, prudently,
"and here it is extravagant in its favours. For my part, I maintain,
without wishing in the least to detract from Rinaldo's fame, that he
might compose the most meritless work and they would extol it to the
skies, because it came from him."
"Very probably," agreed the stranger. "And possibly this new opera is
meritless. I am certainly of your opinion, and shall assuredly--"
"I advise you, Signor to withhold your opinion until you have become
acquainted with Rinaldo's works," interrupted the Marchese, sharply.
"He has certainly made the unpardonable mistake of attaining the summit
of fame in one unbroken course of triumph, and of acquiring greatness
to which no other can reach so easily. This cannot be forgiven him in
certain circles, and he must do penance for it on every occasion.
Follow my advice."
The Captain bowed slightly. "With pleasure, and all the more as it is
my brother whom you have defended so eloquently, Marchese."
This explanation, made with a most pleasant smile, naturally created a
great sensation in the group. Marchese Tortoni took a step backwards in
astonishment, and examined the speaker from head to foot. The maestro
became pale and bit his lips, while the officer with difficulty
refrained from laughing. The Englishman this time understood enough of
the conversation to comprehend the trick which had been played, and
which seemed to arouse his entire satisfaction. He smiled with an
expression of extreme contentment, and with long strides crossed over
immediately to the Captain, at whose side he placed himself silently,
thus giving him an unmistakable sign of approval.
"The musical name of my brother appears only to be known to these
gentlemen," continued Hugo unabashed, "mine doubtless sounded too
foreign to you in the general introduction. We have, indeed, no reason
to deny our relationship."
"Ah, Signor Capitano, I had heard already of your intended arrival,"
cried the Marchese, offering his hand with evident heartiness, "but it
was not fair to cheat us with an _incognito_. To one, at least, it has
caused bitter confusion, although he richly deserved the lesson."
Hugo looked round at once for the maestro, who had preferred to retire
unnoticed. "I wished to reconnoitre the ground a little," retorted he,
laughing, "and that was only possible so long as my _incognito_ lasted.
But it would soon have reached its termination, as I expect Reinhold
every moment; he was detained in the town, while I drove on in advance.
Ah, he is there already."
He really appeared at that moment on the terrace, and the maestro would
have had fresh opportunity to give vent to his anger at the "adoration,
which became ridiculous," as the sudden cessation of all conversation,
the interest with which all eyes were directed to one point, the
movement which spread through all the company, was only due to
Reinhold's entrance.
Reinhold himself had become quite different in these years--quite
different. The young genius who had once fought so impatiently against
the confining limits and prejudices of his surroundings, had raised
himself to be a renowned composer, whose name extended beyond the
boundaries of Italy and his home, whose works were familiar on the
stages of all capitals; to whom fame and honour, money and triumph,
flowed in richest abundance. The same mighty change had also been
carried out in his exterior, and this alteration was not at all
disadvantageous, as instead of the pale, serious youth, there now stood
a man in whom it was evident that he was at home with life and the
world, and only in the man did the always peculiarly attractive style
of his beauty manifest itself entirely. The proud self-consciousness
which now rested upon his _spirituel_ brow, and showed itself in all
his features and his whole bearing, became them well, but there lay
also a heavy shadow on this brow and on those features which happiness
had surely never placed there. His mouth curved with harsh mockery,
with contemptuous bitterness, and the former spark slumbered no more in
the depths of his eyes; now a flame shone there, burning, destroying,
flashing almost demonlike at every emotion. Whatever this face might
have gained outwardly, _peace_ spoke no more from within.
He conducted Signora Biancona on his arm, no longer the youthful _prima
donna_ of a second-rate Italian opera company, which gave wandering
performances in the north, but a star of European renown, who, after
having gathered laurels and triumphs in all important places, now
occupied the first position at the theatre of her native town. Marchese
Tortoni was right; she was dazzlingly beautiful, this woman; there was
the old burning glance, which once understood how to set on fire the
honourable patrician blood of the noble Hanseatic town, only now it
appeared to have become more glowing, more scorching; there was still
the countenance, with its witch-like entrancing magic, the figure with
its noble plastic limbs, only everything seemed fuller, more
voluptuous. The flower had developed to the ripest, almost over-ripe
splendour; she still bloomed, her beauty was still at its zenith, if
even one could not but acknowledge that perhaps in the course of the
next few years the limits would be already passed beyond which she
would be tending irrecoverably to her descent.
Both, especially Reinhold, were seized upon the moment they arrived.
All crowded around him; all sought his vicinity, his conversation. In a
few moments he had become the centre of the assemblage, and some time
elapsed before he could withdraw from all the attentions and flatteries
in order to look round for his brother, who had stood somewhat aloof.
"There you are at last, Hugo," said he, approaching, "I missed you
already. You make one seek you?"
"It was not possible to break through that triple circle of admirers,
which surrounds you like a Chinese wall; I have not attempted such a
piece of daring, but indulged in contemplating what happiness it is to
possess a celebrated brother."
"Yes, this everlasting crush is really oppressive," said Reinhold, with
an expression which showed not contented triumph, but, on the contrary,
unmistakable weariness; "however come now, I will introduce you to
Beatrice."
"Beatrice?--Ah, Signora Vampire! _must_ I, Reinhold?"
His brother's look became overcast. "Certainly you must. You cannot
avoid seeing her in my company, much and often. She is beautiful, and
with reason wonders it has not already been done. What is it, Hugo? You
appear wishful to evade this introduction altogether, and yet you do
not know Beatrice even."
"I do, though," replied the Captain shortly. "I have seen her already
at a concert on the stage at H----."
"But never spoken to her. It is odd one must almost compel you to do
what any other would look upon as a privilege! Usually you are the
first, when acquaintance with a beautiful woman is in question."
Hugo replied nothing, but followed without farther protest. Signora
Biancona, as was her custom, was surrounded by a circle of gentlemen,
and engaged in most lively conversation, which she, however, broke off
immediately the two appeared. Reinhold presented his brother to her.
Beatrice turned to the latter with all her fascinations.
"Do you know, Captain, I have been angry with you already, without
knowing you?" she began. "Reinhold was beside himself when he received
the news of your arrival. He left me in M---- in the most ungallant
manner, in order to hasten towards you. I had to undertake my return
journey alone."
Hugo bowed politely, but more distantly than was his wont to a lady,
nor did he appear to notice that Beatrice's beautiful hand was extended
confidently to Rinaldo's brother, at least he utterly resisted the
temptation of kissing it, which was certainly expected.
"I am very unhappy, Signora, at having roused your ill-will. But one
who disposes so exclusively of Reinhold's presence and company, should
possess liberality enough to forego it a short time in favour of his
brother."
He looked round for Reinhold, but the latter was already engaged.
"I resign myself," said Beatrice, still with charming friendliness, "or
rather I must still resign myself, as, since you came, I have seen
little enough of Rinaldo. There will remain no other remedy than to beg
you to accompany him when he comes to see me."
Hugo made a somewhat measured gesture of thanks--
"You are very kind, Signora. I shall seize with pleasure the
opportunity of becoming better acquainted with my brother's
admired--Muse."
Signora Biancona, smiled--
"Has he called me so to you? To be sure the name is not strange in our
circle of friends. Rinaldo gave it me once, when I led his first steps
to the path of art. A somewhat romantic designation, especially
according to German views, is it not, Signor? You hardly have such in
your north?"
"Sometimes," said the Captain quietly, "only with a slight difference.
With us, muses are ideal, floating in unattainable heights. Here they
are--beautiful women. An undeniable advantage for the artist!"
The words sounded like a compliment, and adhered steadily to the
playful tone which Beatrice herself had commenced; nevertheless she
cast a quick searching glance at the speaker's face--perhaps she saw
the sparkling scorn in it--as she answered sharply--
"For my part, I confess to have no sympathy with the north. Simply
because compelled, did I pass some short time there, and could only
breathe again when Italy's sky rose above me. We southerners cannot
succeed in submitting to the icy, pedantic rules which confine society
there, to the fetters which they would wish even to impose upon
artists."
Hugo leant with perfect indifference against the marble balustrade.
"Good God, that is of no importance. They are easily broken, and then
one is free as the birds in the air. Reinhold proved that sufficiently,
and now he has foresworn home and pedantic rules for ever, which is
entirely due to you, Signora."
Beatrice used her fan violently, although at this moment the evening
breeze blew refreshingly cool.
"How do you mean, Signor?" asked she, quickly.
"I? Oh, I mean nothing, excepting, perhaps, that it must be an
elevating sensation to have thus the entire fate of a man--or even a
family--in one's hands; in tearing him away from his 'fetters,' one
must feel in such a case something like an earthly providence. Is it
not so, Signora?"
Beatrice had started slightly at these words, whether from astonishment
or anger was not easy to decide. Her eyes met his; but this time they
measured one another, as two antagonists do. The Italian's glance
flashed; but the Captain bore it so firmly and quietly, that she felt
it was not such an easy game opposite those clear brown eyes, which
dared fearlessly to break a lance with her.
"I believe Rinaldo has every cause to be grateful to this providence,"
replied she, proudly. "Perhaps he would have sunk amid circumstances
and surroundings which were unworthy of him, if it had not aroused his
genius and shown him the path to greatness."
"Perhaps," said Hugo, coolly. "But people maintain that real genius
never does sink, and the more difficulties it has to penetrate the more
do they strengthen its power; however, that, of course, is also one of
the northern pedantic views. The result has decided in favour of your
view, Signora, and success is a god to which all bow."
He inclined his head and retired. He had said all this in the lightest
conversational tone, apparently quite unmeaningly, but Signora Biancona
must surely have felt the bitterness which lay in the Captain's words,
for she pressed her lips together in most intense internal irritation,
and her fan was moved almost furiously.