Meanwhile Hugo had sought his brother, whom he found in conversation
with Marchese Tortoni; both stood a little apart from the rest of the
company.
"No, no, Cesario," said Reinhold, at that moment, refusing something.
"I have only shortly returned from M----, and cannot possibly think of
leaving town again. Perhaps later--"
"But the opera is postponed," interrupted the young Marchese, in a
beseeching tone, "and the heat begins to be oppressive. You are sure to
select some _villegiatura_ in a few weeks. Come to my assistance,
Captain," said he, turning to Hugo, just then approaching. "You intend,
surely, to become acquainted with our south, and there is no better
opportunity than in my Mirando."
"Do you know the Marchese already?" asked Reinhold. "Then I need not
introduce you."
"Certainly not," replied Hugo, mischievously. "I introduced myself
personally to these gentlemen, just as they were sitting in judgment
upon you, and I had the harmless pleasure, as an unknown listener, of
rousing them against you by casual remarks. Unfortunately it only
succeeded with one. Marchese Tortoni, on the contrary, took your part
most passionately; I had to feel the whole weight of his displeasure,
as I allowed myself to doubt your talent."
Reinhold shook his head. "Has he been playing his tricks already,
Cesario? Take care, Hugo, with your jokes! We are here on Italian
ground, where people do not take such things so lightly as in our
home."
"Well, in this case the name was only required to reconcile us," said
the Marchese, smiling. "But we are losing the thread of our discussion
entirely," continued he, impatiently. "I have still received no reply
to my request. I count positively upon your visit, Rinaldo; naturally
on yours also, Signor."
"I am my brother's guest," exclaimed Hugo, to whom the last words were
addressed. "Such a decision depends upon him and--Signora Biancona."
"Upon Beatrice! How so?" asked Reinhold, quickly.
"Well, she is already greatly annoyed that my presence keeps you so
much from her. It is decidedly a question whether she will set you at
liberty for any time, as Marchese Tortoni seems to wish."
"Do you think I should allow myself to be so entirely governed by her
whims?" Reinhold's voice betrayed rising irritation. "I shall have to
show that I can form a decision without her leave. We will come,
Cesario, next month, I promise you."
An expression of great pleasure passed over the young man's face at
this rapid, impetuous assent; he turned politely to the Captain.
"Rinaldo knows my Mirando well, and has always praised it. I hope also
to be able to make your stay agreeable to you. The villa is beautifully
situated, close to the sea shore--"
"And isolated," said Reinhold, with a peculiar mixture of melancholy
and longing. "One can breathe there while one is almost suffocated in
the drawing-room atmosphere. But our friends are going to dinner," said
he, turning the conversation, with an upward glance to the terrace. "We
must, I suppose, join the others. Will you take Beatrice to dinner,
Hugo?"
"No, thank you," declined the Captain, coolly. "That is surely your
exclusive right. I do not wish to dispute it."
"Your conversation with her was remarkably short," said Reinhold, as
together they ascended the steps of the terrace. "What was the matter
with you both?"
"Nothing particular. A little outpost skirmish; nothing more. Signora
and I have taken up our positions towards one another at once. I hope
you do not object."
He received no answer, as Signora Biancona's silk dress rustled close
by them, and the next moment stood between the brothers. The Captain
bowed low, with consummate gallantry, before the beautiful woman. It
would indeed have been impossible to find the least fault with this
mode of greeting, and Beatrice acknowledged it with an inclination of
her head, but the glance which she shot towards him showed sufficiently
that she also had taken up her position. The intense hatred of the
roused southerner blazed in her eye, only for a moment to be sure; the
next she turned round, laid her hand on Reinhold's arm, to let him lead
her into the dining-room.
"That seems to me neither more nor less than a declaration of war,"
murmured Hugo, as he followed the pair. "Wordless, but sufficiently
comprehensible. The enmity has begun--at your commands, Signora."
* * * * *
Marchese Tortoni was not wrong in his remarks; the heat,
notwithstanding the early season of the year, began to be oppressive.
The season was not over yet, but many families had already exchanged
their residence in the town for the usual _villegiatura_ in the
mountains or by the seaside, and the rest of the society was also on
the point of dispersing itself earlier than usual to all points of the
compass, until autumn brought them together once more.
In Signora Biancona's house no preparations had been made so far which
might lead to the inference of a speedy departure, and yet one seemed
to be under discussion in the interview which had just taken place
between her and Reinhold Almbach. The two were alone in the singer's
brilliantly and dazzlingly illuminated saloon; but Beatrice's beautiful
face bore an expression of unmistakable excitement. Leaning against the
cushions of the divan, her lips pressed angrily together, she plucked
to pieces one of the beautiful bouquets which ornamented the celebrated
actress' reception-room so plentifully; while Reinhold was walking up
and down the room with folded arms and gloomily clouded brow. It only
required a single glance to guess that one of those stormy scenes was
being enacted which Maestro Gianelli declared were as frequent between
the two as was sunshine.
"I beg you, Beatrice, spare me any more of these exhibitions," said
Reinhold, with great violence. "You cannot alter an affair already
determined upon. Marchese Tortoni received my promise, and our
departure for Mirando is arranged for to-morrow."
"Well, then, you must retract this promise," replied Beatrice, in the
same tone. "You gave it without my knowledge, gave it weeks ago, and
then we had already decided to spend our _villegiatura_ in the
mountains this year."
"Certainly! And I shall follow you there as soon as I return from
Mirando."
"As soon as you return! As if Tortoni would not try every means to
chain you there as usual, and if now, in addition, you go in your
brother's company, it is a matter of course that you will be kept away
from me as long as possible."
Reinhold stopped suddenly, and a dark look was turned towards her.
"Will you not have the goodness to leave this wearisome, exhausted
subject at last?" asked he, sharply. "I know already quite well enough
that there is no sympathy between you and Hugo; but he, at any rate,
spares me any dissertations upon it, and does not require me to share
his sympathies and antipathies. Besides, you must allow that he has
never been impolite towards you."
Beatrice threw her bouquet aside and rose. "Oh, yes, I allow that,
certainly; and it is just this courteousness which annoys me so much.
The agreeable conversations, with the everlasting, scornful smile on
his lips; the attentions, with contempt in his eyes; that is quite the
German manner, from which I suffered so much in your north, which
governs and rules us in the so-called circles of society, which knows
how to restrain us there, even when fighting ever so bitterly with any
one. Your brother understands that perfectly; nothing hits him, nothing
wounds him; everything glances off from his everlasting, mocking smile.
I--I hate him, and he me not less."
"With difficulty," said Reinhold bitterly, "as you are such a mistress
of the art, as few others can be. I have often enough seen that, when
you have imagined yourself insulted by anyone. With you it overflows
all bounds at once. But this time, you will remember, that it is my
brother against whom this hatred is directed, and that through it I am
not disposed to let myself be robbed of our first short meeting for
years. I shall endure no insult, no attack, upon Hugo."
"Because you love him more than me," cried Beatrice, wildly. "Because I
count for nothing beside your brother. To be sure, what am I to you?"
And now the way was opened to a regular flood of reproaches,
complaints, and threats, which finally ended in a torrent of tears. All
the passion of the Italian broke forth; but Reinhold seemed to be moved
to nothing less than concession by it. He attempted to restrain her
several times, and as he did not succeed, he stamped furiously with his
foot.
"Once more, Beatrice, cease these scenes. You know that you never gain
anything with me by them, and I should have thought you had already
found by experience that I am not such a slave without a will, that a
word or a caprice from you is a command. I shall not put up with these
continual exhibitions any longer, which you call forth on every
occasion."
He went furiously to the balcony, and, turning his back upon the room,
looked down into the street, where the busy movement of the Corso was
visible. For a few minutes Beatrice's passionate sobs were heard in the
saloon; then all was still, and immediately after she placed a hand on
his shoulder, as he stood at the window.
"Rinaldo!"
Half-reluctantly he turned round. His glance met Beatrice's glowing
dark eye; a tear still stood in it, but it was no longer a tear of
anger, and her voice, just now so excited, had a soft, melting ring in
it.
"You say I am a mistress in the art of hating. Only in hating, Rinaldo?
You have often enough experienced the contrary."
Reinhold now turned completely to her, and returned from the balcony.
"I know that you can love," replied he, more mildly, "love warmly and
wholly. But you can also torment with this love; that I have to feel
every day."
"And you would wish to flee this torment, at least for a time?"
A deep reproach sounded in her voice. Almbach made an impatient
movement.
"I seek peace, Beatrice," said he, "and that I do not find at all near
you. You can only breathe in constant heat and excitement, both are
your conditions of life, and you drag your entire surroundings with you
in the everlasting fire of your nature. I--am tired."
"Of society or of me?" asked Beatrice, with freshly rising fury.
"Can you not cease from seeking a stab in every word?" asked Reinhold,
angrily. "I see we do not understand each other again to-day. Adieu!"
"You are going!" cried the Italian, half-frightened,
half-threateningly. "And with this farewell for a separation of weeks!"
Reinhold, who was already at the door, thought a moment and turned
slowly round.
"Ah, yes; I forgot the departure. Farewell, Beatrice!"
But he was not permitted to make his farewell so easily. Signora
Biancona had long since learned not to defy for any time the man who
now understood how to bend her otherwise capricious will to his own,
and when he again drew near to her all farther opposition was at an
end. Her voice trembled as she asked softly, "And you will really go
alone, without me?"
"Beatrice--"
"Alone, without me?" repeated she, more passionately. Reinhold made an
attempt to withdraw his hand from her, but it remained only an attempt.
"Cesario expects me positively," he said, deprecatingly, "and I have
already explained that you cannot accompany me--"
"Not to Mirando," interrupted Beatrice, "I know that. But what prevents
my altering the original plan, and making my first summer stay in
S---- instead of in the mountains, the great resort of all strangers?
It is near enough to Mirando, half-an-hour by boat would bring you
across to me. If I were to follow you--may I, Rinaldo?"
This tone of flattering entreaty was irresistible, and her glance
begged still more. Reinhold looked down silently at the beautiful
woman, the possession of whose love once appeared to him the highest
prize of happiness. The magic still exercised its old power, and
exercised it now most strongly when he was attempting to escape from
it. The concession was not made in words, but Beatrice saw, as he bent
towards her, that she had conquered this time. When he really left her,
half-an-hour later, the change in the plan of her journey was quite
decided upon, and their farewell was not for a separation of weeks, but
only of days.
It was already becoming dark, and the moon was rising slowly, when
Reinhold reached his own abode, which lay at some distance, in a more
open part of the town. On entering his reception-room he found the
Captain there, who appeared just to have been giving his servant an
impressive lecture, as Jonas stood before him with a most rueful
countenance, which was comically mixed with suppressed indignation, to
find words for which his master's presence only prevented him.
"What is it?" asked Reinhold, somewhat astonished.
"An inquisitorial enquiry," replied Hugo, annoyed. "For years I have
taken trouble in vain with this obstinate sinner and incorrigible
woman-hater, but neither teaching nor example--Jonas, you are to go
instantly up to the Padrona, beg her pardon, and promise to be more
mannerly in future. March! go along!"
"I shall be obliged to send him back to the 'Ellida' at last,"
continued he, turning to his brother, when Jonas had left the room. "The
ship's cat is the only female person there which he has near him; and
it is to be hoped he will not quarrel with it."
Reinhold threw himself on a seat. "I wish I had your unconquerable
humour, your happy gift of taking life like a game. I never could do
it."
"No, the ground notes of your being were always elegiac," said the
Captain. "I believe you never looked upon me as quite equal to yourself
in birth, as I could not take such ideal romantic flight to the
heights, nor penetrate to the depths, like your artistic natures. We
sailors are happy on the surface, and if now and then a storm should
disturb the deep, it does not matter to us, we remain above."
"Quite true," said Reinhold, gloomily. "May you always, stay on your
sunny, bright surface! Believe me, Hugo, it is only muddy below in the
depths, where people seek for treasures; and an icy breath blows above
in the height, where one dreamed of nothing but sunlight. I have tasted
both."
Hugo looked searchingly at his brother, who lay more than sat on his
seat, his head leaning back, as if tired to death, while his gloomy
eyes wandered out over the gardens of the neighbourhood, and at last
remained fixed on the faintly illumined horizon, where the last rays of
daylight just disappeared.
"Listen, Reinhold; you do not please me at all," he broke forth
suddenly. "After years I come to see my brother again, whose name fills
the whole world, to whom fate has given everything it can give to one
man. I find you at the height of renown and success--and I expected to
find you different."
"And how, then?" asked Reinhold, without raising his head or turning
his eyes from the darkening evening sky.
"I do not know," said the Captain, earnestly. "But I know that after a
fortnight only I cannot endure this life, which you have led for years.
This restless rushing from pleasure to pleasure, without any
satisfaction; this constant wavering between wild excitement and deadly
exhaustion does not suit my nature. You should put a bridle on yours."
Reinhold made a half-impatient movement. "Folly. I have become
accustomed to it for long; and besides, you do not understand it,
Hugo."
"Possibly. At any rate I do not require to deaden my feelings."
Reinhold started up. A glance of burning anger met his brother, who
attempted to pierce so far into his innermost thoughts, and who
continued, quite unmoved--
"It is only a means of deadening your feelings which you struggle for
day after day, which you seek everywhere without finding. Give up this
life, I entreat you. You will ruin yourself, body and mind, by it; you
must succumb to it at last."
"How long is it since the joyous Captain of the 'Ellida' has become a
preacher of moralities," scoffed Reinhold, with as much scornful
expression as he could use. "Who would have thought long ago that you
would lecture me in this manner. But do not take any trouble about my
conversion, Hugo. I have foresworn all the pious ideas of my youth,
once for all."
The Captain was silent. This was again the tone of wounding scorn with
which Reinhold made himself unapproachable the moment such topics were
touched upon; this tone, which made all influence impossible, which
jarred so upon every recollection of youth, and made the formerly warm
bond between the brothers strange and cold. Hugo did not even try
to-day to alter it; he knew that it would be in vain. Turning away, he
took up a book which was lying on the table, and began turning over its
leaves.
"I have never heard a single word from you about my compositions,"
began Reinhold, again, after a momentary silence. "You have had an
opportunity here of becoming acquainted with my operas. How do you like
them?"
"I am no connoisseur of music," said Hugo, evasively.
"I know that, and therefore I lay some value on your opinion, because
it is that of the unprejudiced, but acute public. How do you like my
music?"
The Captain threw the book on the table.
"It is agreeable and--" he stopped.
"And?"
"Unbridled as yourself. You and your tones go beyond all bounds."
"An annihilating criticism," said Reinhold, half-struck by it. "It is
well that I should hear it; you would fare badly in the circle of my
admirers. How then do you allow that there is anything agreeable in
it?"
"When you, yourself speak--yes!" explained Hugo, decidedly, "but that
is seldom enough. Generally this strange element predominates which has
given the turn to your talent, and still rules it. I cannot help it,
Reinhold, but this influence which from the commencement you have
followed, which all the world prizes as so elevating, has brought no
good, not even to the artist. Without it you might not have been so
celebrated, but undoubtedly greater."
"Truly, Beatrice is right, when she dreads you as her implacable
opponent," remarked Reinhold, with undisguised bitterness. "Certainly,
she only thinks of a personal prejudice. That you do not even allow the
value of her artistic influence upon me would indeed be new to her."
Hugo shrugged his shoulders. "She has quite drawn you into the Italian
style. You always storm when others only play, but it is all the same.
Why do you not write German music? But what am I talking about? You
have turned your back upon home and all its belongings for ever."
Reinhold rested his head on his hand. "Yes certainly--for ever."
"That almost sounds like regret," hazarded the Captain, looking with
fixed scrutiny at his brother's face. The latter looked up darkly.
"What do you mean? Do you perhaps think I regret the old chains,
because I have not found the happiness dreamed of in freedom? If I
tried any communication it would--"
"Ah, you did attempt some communication with your wife?"
"With Ella?" asked Reinhold, and there was again the old mixture of
pity and contempt, which betrayed itself in his voice the moment he
spoke of his wife. "What good could that have done? You know how I
left; it was done by a complete rupture with her parents, and therefore
naturally a narrow, dependent nature like Ella's would join in the
verdict of condemnation if it were ever even able to raise itself to a
verdict of its own. If the breach between us was formerly wide, now,
after all that has happened, it has become impassable. No, there could
be no talk of that, but I wished to receive news of my child. I could
not bear longer to have my boy so far away, not to be able to see him,
not even to possess a picture of him. I wanted his at any price,
therefore I chose the shortest means, and wrote to the mother."
"Well, and--?" asked Hugo, with interest.
Reinhold laughed bitterly--
"T might have spared myself the humiliation. No answer came--that
certainly was answer enough, but I wanted just to know how the child
was; I thought of the possibility of a mistake, of its being lost--what
does one not think of in such a case?--and wrote again. The letter came
back unopened"--he clenched his fist in wild anger--"unopened, to me!
It is my uncle's work; there is no doubt of it. Ella would never have
dared to offer it to me."
"Do you think so? You do not know your wife. She certainly has 'dared'
to offer it, and she alone could dare it, as her parents have been dead
some years."
Reinhold turned round quickly--
"How do you know that? Are you still in communication with H----?"
"No," said the Captain, quietly; "you may imagine that the state of
mind which existed in the family towards you was also partly carried
over to me. Since I left H---- at that time, a few days after you did,
I have never revisited it, but I correspond still with the former
bookkeeper of the firm of Almbach, who has taken over the business, and
continues it on his own account. I heard a few things from him."
"And you only tell me this now, after being together for nearly a
fortnight?" cried Reinhold, almost furiously.
"I have naturally not wished to touch upon a subject which it seemed to
me you wished to avoid," answered Hugo coolly.
Reinhold walked up and down the room a few times--
"Her parents are dead, then? And Ella and the child?"
"You need not be anxious about them; my uncle left a good fortune, much
more than people thought."
"I knew he was richer than he wished to be deemed," said Reinhold
quickly, "and this certainly alone gave me perfect freedom of action in
my departure. I was not necessary for my wife and child. They were safe
from any change of fate, without even my presence. But where are they
now? Still in H----?"
"Herr Consul Erlau was appointed the boy's guardian," informed Hugo,
rather shortly and distantly. "He appears also to have taken very
active interest in the deserted wife, as directly after expiration of
the time of mourning she moved into his house with the child. There
both were still living, half-a-year ago; so far my news extends."
"Indeed?" said Reinhold thoughtfully, "only I do not understand how
Ella, with her education and her habits, can possibly exist in the
splendid establishment of the Erlaus. I suppose she will have arranged
a few back rooms so as never to appear, or, notwithstanding her
fortune, have undertaken the post of housekeeper. She will never be
able to rise above this ambition. Had it not been so, I should have
borne much, indeed all--for the child's sake."
He went to the window, pushed it open, and leant out. The evening air
blew cool into the close room, where now a long silence ensued, as even
the Captain seemed to have no more inclination to prolong the
conversation. After a time he arose.
"Our departure in the morning is arranged rather early; we must be
awake betimes. Good night, Reinhold!"
"Good night!" replied Reinhold, without turning round.
Hugo left the room. "I wish this Circe of a Beatrice could see him at
such moments," muttered he, shutting the door. "You have conquered,
Signora, and torn him to yourself as your indisputable property--you
have not made him happy."
Reinhold remained a few moments longer immovable, at his place; then he
raised himself and went over to his work room. He had to pass through
several apartments in order to reach it. This abode, which occupied the
entire ground floor of the roomy villa, was not so brilliant as that of
Signora Biancona, but yet more extravagantly furnished, as the
magnificence which reigned there was here ten times surpassed by the
artistic decorations of the rooms; so there pictures hung on the walls,
statues stood in the window niches, whose value could only be estimated
by thousands; here were produced masterly copies of the most splendid
art treasures of Italy. Wherever the eye turned, it met vases, busts,
drawings and beautiful works, which elsewhere would have been each
alone the ornament of any drawing-room, and which here, scattered
everywhere, only served as additional decorations. Everywhere was
wealth of beauty and art such as only a Rinaldo could gather around
him in so lavish a manner, to whom gold as well as fame flowed in
never-ceasing plenty, and who was accustomed to throw the former away
quite recklessly.
In the middle of the study there stood a splendid piano, the gift of an
enthusiastic circle of admirers, who wished to offer a visible
testimony of their thanks to the master; the writing-table was covered
with cards and letters, which bore the names of the first people in the
kingdom, both as regards birth and genius, and which here were
indifferently thrust aside, without the recipient placing the least
value on them; from the principal wall, a life-sized picture of
Beatrice Biancona looked down, painted by a celebrated hand, most
charmingly represented, a really speaking likeness. She wore the
fanciful costume of one of her chief parts in an opera of Rinaldo's,
through the successful representation of whose works she herself had
only risen to be an actress of the first order. The painter had
succeeded in embodying the utterly infatuating magic, the glowing charm
of the original, in this portrait. The beautiful figure appeared
half-turned to the piano in an inimitably graceful pose, and the dark
eyes gazed with deceptively life-like truth down upon the man whom they
had kept so long already in indissoluble bonds, as if even here, in the
sacred place of his works and labour, they would not leave him alone.