A WEDDING DAY.
At Odensburg, flags were flying, cannon being fired off from the
surrounding heights, and triumphal arches, wreaths of evergreen, and
flowers, everywhere greeted the young bridal-pair who had just
returned, after the performance of the marriage-ceremony.
The service had taken place in the somewhat remote church of Saint
Eustace, where Dernburg, too, had once stood before the altar with his
own bride. Now the wedding-procession came back, a long line of
carriages, at the head of which drove the equipage of the newly-married
couple.
The works were silent to-day, as a matter of course, the workmen
forming a lane all the way to the Manor-house, and the golden sunshine
of this beautiful day in late summer enhanced the merriment and jollity
that had taken possession of Odensburg to its utmost bounds upon this
great occasion.
Now the carriage drove through the grand triumphal arch, that made a
gorgeous display with its banners and green wreaths, drawing up in
front of the terrace. Eric lifted his bride out. The foot of that young
woman trod literally on flowers, which had been scattered along her
path in profusion. The entrance-hall was transformed into a garden
blooming with sweet blossoms, and the entertaining-rooms, now thrown
wide open for the reception of their new mistress, were likewise
adorned.
Dernburg followed, with his sister on his arm, his features betraying
deep emotion, when he embraced his son and daughter-in-law. He had
offered a costly sacrifice, when he consented to the separation and
lasting abode of the young pair in the South, but the infinite rapture
depicted upon Eric's face indemnified the father for it, in some
measure. Then Dernburg's glance fell upon Maia, who now entered by
Wildenrod's side. He surveyed the proud bearing and handsome appearance
of the man, who seemed just fitted, one day, to be the presiding genius
of Odensburg. He saw the sweet countenance of his darling equally
illumined by the light of joy, and then the shadow passed away also
from his own brow. Fate offered him full indemnity for what he had to
give up.
Maia flew into her brother's arms and then kissed her beautiful
sister-in-law with the greatest tenderness. Oscar, too, embraced the
young pair, but as he stooped down to Cecilia, he gave her a dark look,
half-solicitous, half-threatening: and she must have felt this, too,
for she slightly shuddered, and by a quick movement, extricated herself
from his arms.
Not much time was allowed, however, for family greetings, inasmuch as
other carriages now drove up to the door, and the wedding-guests began
to assemble. The newly-married pair were congratulated upon all sides
and soon formed the center of the brilliant circle that had collected
here. None of the prominent people in the neighborhood were missing,
with the solitary exception of Count Eckardstein, who had declined the
invitation.
The young husband was inexpressibly happy. On this day, that had
witnessed the fulfillment of his most ardent desires, his health also
seemed to have been given back to him. He no longer looked sickly and
broken. With flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, he accepted, with
smiles, the congratulations offered him, and exhibited a cheerfulness
and animation, that visually did not belong to his nature. His eyes
continually turned to her, who had just linked her destiny with his
own, as though he could not exist a moment without beholding her loved
face.
And this admiration was pardonable enough. Cecilia looked radiantly
beautiful in her bridal attire. The white satin gown, costly lace veil,
and--Eric's present---the diamonds that sparkled on neck and arms,
enhanced the peculiar charm of her appearance. Only her beautiful face
looked strangely pale beneath her myrtle-crown. She too smiled and
bowed, in acknowledgment of the congratulations that were spoken, and
uttered the usual grateful speeches; but there was something forced and
cold in that smile, and her voice was without ring. Fortunately this
attracted nobody's attention, for the right to look pale and serious
was allowed a bride.
The director of the Odensburg works and Dr. Hagenbach, who were both
among the guests, stood in a window, somewhat apart. The former had
undertaken the superintendence of the festal arrangements, with which
the employés meant to compliment the son of their chief upon his
wedding-day. All had succeeded beyond their expectations,--the
triumphal arches, the decoration of the road to the church, the
delegations, and congratulatory addresses in prose and verse, which had
been partly attended to the day before. The main thing, however, was
yet to come--the grand holiday parade of the workmen themselves, who
were just now forming into line out of doors. The director was mildly
excited because his management had been called in question, and spoke
in a low, and forcible manner to the doctor, who, however, listened
abstractedly and often looked across at the young pair, who were still
surrounded by a circle of friends.
"I only wish the parade had been appointed for yesterday," said he, in
a low tone. "The procession will be more than an hour in passing by,
and all that time the bridal pair will be kept out upon the terrace. It
is too much upon Eric. The ceremony, the parade, then the state dinner,
and finally the leave-taking. From the first, I have been opposed to
these great and noisy festivities, but was out-voted on all sides. Even
Herr Dernburg wanted the entertainment to be as magnificent as
possible."
"That is quite in the nature of things, at the wedding of his only
son," suggested the director, "and the participation of the Odensburg
hands was not to be rejected. I think we shall gratify him with our
procession; it must make a fine show in the bright sunlight. As for the
rest, I cannot understand your solicitude about the young master. He
looks splendidly--I have never seen him as cheerful and fresh-looking
as to-day."
"That is the very thing that makes me uneasy. There is something
feverish in his excitement, and in his condition any excitement is
poison. Would that he were now quietly seated in the carriage by his
wife's side, having left all this jubilation behind them."
They were interrupted by a servant announcing that the procession was
ready to move, only awaiting the appearance of the family. The director
stepped up to the young couple, and in the name of all the Odensburg
employés, asked them to accept their homage.
Eric smiled, and offered his arm to his young wife, that he might
escort her to the terrace. Dernburg and the guests joined them.
That was a fascinating panorama on a grand scale that now unfolded
itself before their eyes, out of doors, in the bright noonday sun. The
chief officers stood at the foot of the terrace, while their
subordinates headed single groups of the gay procession, which had
taken its position on the broad piece of level ground extending up to
the works, and now put itself in motion.
In dense and endless masses, with music and waving banners, the
thousands of workmen marched past, the men from the forges up in the
mountains having joined them. By a very skillful arrangement they had
interspersed groups of children, that with happy effect broke the
monotony of the procession. The pupils of the schools founded by
Dernburg stepped proudly along, in their Sunday clothes, pleasure in a
holiday beaming from every face: when they caught sight of the bride
they waved caps and bunches of flowers, almost splitting their little
throats with the loud cheers that they gave out one after another.
It cost trouble to keep the way clear for the procession, for the wives
of the workmen, with the tiniest children in their arms, lined the
sides of the road, and, besides, the inhabitants of all the region
round about had streamed hither. All eyes were turned towards the
terrace, to the white form of the bride, before whom all standards were
lowered, and for whom all this rejoicing was made: she was the one to
whom the whole entertainment was given, and received honors such as
usually fall only to the lot of a princess. Incessantly she bowed her
head in recognition of the people's kindness, but there was something
of restraint in her action, and her large, dark eyes looked coldly upon
all these demonstrations of joy, as though she saw nothing of them, and
as though in far, far-off space she sought something entirely
different.
Eric, on the contrary, as was most unusual with him, took the liveliest
interest in all that was going on. He drew Cecilia's attention to
special features of the procession, turning repeatedly to the director
to thank him for all the gratification that his skill was affording
them, and seemed to have entirely laid aside his timidity and reserve.
At other times it had been painful and oppressive to him, to be the
chief person upon occasions of the sort, but to-day he hailed it with
joyful pride, for the sake of his young wife.
Dernburg stood by his son's side, and received these demonstrations of
popularity with kindly gravity. Who could blame him, if his chest
heaved more proudly and his massive form became more erect, at sight of
the thousands who were marching by? Those were his workmen to whom, for
thirty long years, he had been a master, but also a father, for whose
weal he had labored and toiled as for his own, and these they would
estrange from him! These were to turn from him to follow another, who,
as yet, had done nothing for them; who had begun his career by setting
up opposition to the man who had been a greater benefactor to him than
to all besides! A contemptuous smile played about the lips of the lord
of Odensburg, the ground upon which he stood was firm as a rock; of
that he felt impressed more strongly than ever to-day.
But still another looked with swelling bosom and flashing eyes upon the
masses flowing by,--Oscar von Wildenrod, who stood with Maia under one
of the orange-trees. Gigantic as had the control of the Odensburg works
appeared to him, from the start, never had the power and importance of
Dernburg's position struck him as it did to-day--and this was to be his
future destination. To be the ruler of such a world, to guide it with a
word, a sign,--that had been his aim since that first evening when he
had looked over at those works, veiled as they were in the darkness of
night. Now, at last, he stood close before his goal.
His glance turned to Maia, and the proud triumph resting upon his
features melted into a blissful smile. The half-comic, half-solemn
dignity, with which Maia wore the long train to her blue silk gown,
unused, as she was to such an appendage, became her charmingly; her
rosy cheeks glowed from joyous exhilaration. With the frolicsomeness of
a child she let herself be borne along by the waves of joyful
excitement that were bounding in her heart. She knew that her father
had withdrawn his opposition to her love.
"Is it not beautiful?" asked she, lifting her radiant eyes to his face.
"And Eric is so happy!"
Oscar smiled and bent over her.
"Oh, I know one who will be happier than Eric, when he stands there on
yonder spot, with his young bride by his side, when----"
"Hush, Oscar!" interposed Maia with glowing face. "You know--papa will
not allow a whisper of that now."
"Nobody hears us," said Oscar, and indeed the noise of the music and
cheers drowned his passionate whispering. "And your papa is not so
stern as he would have us believe. He has, it is true, denied my
petition to have our engagement publicly announced to-day, it was hard
enough to wrest a consent from him on any terms. But now you are here,
and if his darling asks him, he will not say her nay. I shall renew the
siege to-morrow--will you help me, my Maia?"
She did not answer, only her eyes told him, that he should not lack the
support asked for: with soft but fervent pressure he took her hand.
Wildenrod evidently had no objection to the company, guessing what at
present they were not to be told.
The last group of workmen had just gone by, the marching past was at an
end, and the whole mass of spectators moved in a body to the now vacant
railroad station, in order to take the next train. On the terrace, too,
everything was now in motion. The director once more received the
thanks of Dernburg and his son, to which were added the compliments of
the guests present, for the successful manner in which the affair had
been conducted, and then the young couple with their friends retired
into the house.
They were greeted in the vast entrance-hall by strains of music, and a
table stood in waiting, richly decorated with flowers, silver and
cut-glass, whence the most tempting refreshments were served. Little as
Dernburg liked ordinarily to make a display of his wealth, to-day no
expenditure was spared that could add to the splendor of the occasion.
The meal passed as is usual at such times: healths were drunk, and
after sitting at table for about two hours the dancing began, for which
the younger portion of the company had waited longingly.
The newly-married pair only participated in the first grand promenade
and then withdrew. Maia, who was escorted back to her place by
Wildenrod, saw that they left the hall with some surprise.
"Why do Eric and Cecilia break up already?" asked she. "They are not to
set off for an hour to come?"
"It is Dr. Hagenbach's fault," declared Oscar. "He fears that Eric has
over-exerted himself--quite unnecessarily, it seems to me, for Eric has
never looked better than to-day."
"So it seems to me; but Cecilia looks so much the paler. She was all
the while so grave and silent--I would have imagined a happy bride
looking very differently."
Wildenrod's eyes had likewise followed his sister, a dark frown
gathering upon his brow the while. But then, he shrugged his shoulders
and replied in a careless tone:
"She is worn out and fagged; no wonder either. The director has imposed
a little too much upon us, with this endlessly long procession of his,
for there we had to stay until the last company had marched by."
Maia shook her head, while her childlike features became grave and
thoughtful. "Eric thinks it is something different, he is anxious to
learn what."
"What is it that Eric wants to learn?" asked Wildenrod suddenly, so
sharply that the young girl looked at him in surprise.
"Oh, he is mistaken perhaps, but upon my return he lamented to me the
alteration that had taken place in Cecilia during the past few weeks.
He is afraid that some trouble is weighing upon her mind, and hoped
that she might be persuaded to confide in me, since he had failed to
learn her secret. I gladly obliged him by approaching her on the
subject, but got nothing for my pains. She was equally reserved with
me--Eric was quite miserable about it."
Oscar bit his lip and an expression came out upon his features that
terrified Maia. As soon, however, as he noticed her questioning look,
he gave a short laugh and said mockingly: "I am afraid Eric will make
life hard for himself and his wife, with his overstrained tenderness.
Fortunately Cecilia is not attuned to such sentimentalities, and will
laugh him out of his tendency to 'make mountains out of mole-hills.'"
The waltz just now beginning, interrupted the conversation between the
two. A young officer to whom the daughter of the house was engaged for
this dance, came up to claim her hand. Maia, who, for the first time
danced in a large company, entered heartily into this amusement, but
her eyes quickly turned again to the spot where the Baron stood, or
rather had stood, for he was no longer there. She sought him in vain;
he must have left the room.
Eric had attended his young wife to her chamber, and then repaired to
his own apartments, to change his suit. He smiled over the painful
solicitude of the doctor, who could never get over treating him as a
sick man, no matter how well he felt, as for instance to-day. But with
the prescription itself he was well pleased, for not yet had he been
allowed a single minute of his wife's society in private. His
traveling-suit was quickly donned, and now there was still left a half
hour for a sweet, confidential chat, that nobody could disturb.
Full of impatience the young husband hurried out to go and find his
wife, but at the foot of the stairs he stood still a moment and gazed
through the wide-open portals of the grand reception-hall.
Out of doors lay the landscape in the full splendor of the evening-sun,
whose golden light flooded also the flower-bestrewn terrace, and a
broad shining beam also crossed the hall. From the works over yonder,
where the festivities for the workmen took place, came sounds of music
and rejoicing; and from the open windows of the ball-room, where a
pause in the dancing had occurred, penetrated the gay talking and
laughing of the company.
Eric's heart beat high for joy, and he drew a deep breath of
satisfaction. What a lovely day it had been, this his wedding-day! And
now life just began for him--now there beckoned to him the wide world,
the sunny South; he would be free from oppressive, irksome duties, and
there on the shore of the blue Mediterranean, with a sweet wife by his
side, dream an enchanting dream of happiness. In the depths of his
soul, he was pierced with gratitude to the Giver of all good, who had
showered upon him all these blessings.
With quick steps he mounted the stairs and was about to enter the small
parlor which separated Cecilia's chamber from that of her brother, when
he remarked that it had been bolted from the inside; also nobody opened
in response to his light tap. He was impatient, and took another way.
Oscar's chamber had another peculiar entrance, a little tapestry-door,
that was seldom or never used. Eric opened it and traversed the
apartment of his brother-in-law and the adjoining parlor. His step was
not audible upon the soft carpet, and moreover the door to Cecilia's
chamber was close. Eric heard Wildenrod's voice from inside and stood
still.
The brother, he supposed, had sought the bride in order to see her once
more alone and to say farewell. This was natural and the parting--in
any case so brief--ought not to be disturbed.
Yet what was that? The Baron's voice sounded stern and threatening, and
now a wild, passionate sob was heard. Was it Cecilia's voice? It could
not be she who was thus distressed, weeping so despairingly! Eric
turned pale, the foreboding of a great sorrow suddenly fell upon him,
as though an ice-cold hand had laid its weight upon his chest. He
tarried motionless in his place, every word reaching him through the
closed door.
"Be reasonable, Cecilia! Have you lost all power of self-control? You
must show yourself again to the guests and bid them farewell, Eric may
come in any minute. Do collect yourself!"
No answer, only convulsive, inconsolable weeping.
"I dreaded something of the sort, and therefore sought you, but I was
not prepared for such an outbreak as this. Cecilia, you must compose
yourself."
"I cannot!" gasped Cecilia with half-stifled voice. "Leave me, Oscar! I
have been obliged to smile and lie this livelong day--must do so again
when I sit in that carriage with Eric--I'll die if I cannot take my cry
out this once--only this single time."
The brother must have perceived that he could effect nothing here by
the assumption of a domineering tone, for his voice was milder, when he
rejoined:
"There it is again, that wretched passionateness of your disposition,
you should say to yourself, that this is the last of all hours, in
which to abandon yourself thus. I have done everything to secure to you
your happiness and you----"
"My happiness?" repeated Cecilia with sarcastic bitterness. "Why that
lie, Oscar?--we are alone. You managed to deceive me so long as I was a
thoughtless child, but you know the day that opened my eyes. You only
wanted, through me, to pave the way to your own fortune, when you set
yourself to make a match between Eric and me. You wanted to be master
of Odensburg, therefore, I had to be the victim."
"And if I had this aim in view, I lifted you up with myself," cried
Wildenrod with emphasis. "I have told you, often enough, that the
question here for both of us is 'to be or not to be.' You consider
yourself a victim do you? Why, to-day you received princely homage, and
as those endless throngs of dependents marched past you, surely it must
have become clear to you, what significance the name that you now bear,
has in the world. That life in Odensburg, which you dreaded so, is to
be spared you. You are to return to Italy. Eric worships you, he lives
only in your looks, and will leave no wish of yours ungratified,
showering upon you everything that wealth can give. What more can you
ask of your marriage? This is good fortune, and one day you will thank
me for it."
"Never! never!" cried the young woman, beside herself. "Oh! that I had
fled from this good fortune! But you--you compelled my submission by
the dreadful threat that you would follow our father's example, and I
had to stay in order to save you. You have no idea, what torture I have
endured since that time, in the midst of all Eric's goodness and
tenderness. I never have loved him, never will love him, and now that
the chain is irrevocably forged, I feel that it will crush me. I would
rather lie down in death than in his arms!"
She suddenly hushed. "What was that?" she asked quickly.
"What?"
"I do not know--it sounded like a sigh!"
"Imagination! We are alone, I have secured ourselves against listeners.
What means that desperate outbreak? Have you waited until your
wedding-day to be certain that you love another? Do you not know the
truth, or _will_ you not? I have suspected it ever since that day when
you and Runeck met on the Whitestone. It seemed as though you would
lose your senses, at the bare idea of being despised by that man, of
appearing before him in the light of an adventuress. I did not want to
warn or frighten you--no one arouses a somnambulist upon his dangerous
walk. But now it is time to wake up. Since that Egbert has crossed your
path----"
"No! no!" interposed Cecilia repelling the imputation.
"Yes!" said Oscar with cold insistency. "Do you think, it has escaped
me how, this morning, when I drove to church with you as bride-man, you
turned deadly pale and then like one spellbound gazed at one particular
spot in the woods? You had remarked him, who, I suppose, had come to
take one last look at you. He was far enough off, it is true,
half-hidden behind the trees. At such a distance one recognizes only
his deadly foe or the man whom one loves--and we both recognized him."
His sister made no answer, but did not contradict his assertion. But
now it was Oscar who started in affright. He had heard close by a noise
as of a door falling gently to, and seized by an ill-defined
apprehension, he hurriedly opened the door leading into the parlor.
Delusion! the parlor was empty, the bolt still undisturbed. But a
glance at the mantel-clock convinced the Baron that it was high time to
terminate the interview; he returned to his sister.
"I must go back to the company," said he, in subdued tones, "and you
too must prepare for your journey. You have had your cry out, now
consider what you owe to yourself and me! You are Eric's wife, and
tomorrow miles will already lie between you and that other, whom I hope
you will never see again. I have seen to it, that he can do no more
harm at Odensburg, and you will forget him, because you must."
He unbolted the door and rang for the lady's maid.
The tearful eyes of the bride could be explained by the pain of parting
from her brother; nevertheless, he would not leave her by herself for a
single minute. Not until Nannon entered did he leave the room.
Down in the front-hall the Baron met a man-servant, bearing Eric's
hand-satchel and cloak, of whom he asked in passing:
"Can you tell me if Herr Dernburg is in his own room?"
"No, Baron, he is with his lady," answered the man in surprise.
"Oh, no, I have just left my sister."
"But I saw the young master go upstairs myself," the servant ventured
to reply. "It was about a half hour ago. Have you not seen him
yourself, sir? He went into your room through the little tapestried
door."
Wildenrod turned pale to his very lips, for of this entrance he had not
thought. Whether Eric had really been in the parlor, whether he had
heard what Oscar dared not carry out the thought, he left the servant
standing and hurried to his brother-in-law's apartments.
Nobody was in the first room, but when the Baron had opened the
chamber-door, involuntarily he started back.
Eric lay stretched out on the floor, apparently lifeless, with closed
eyes. The head had fallen back; and bosom, clothes, and the carpet
round about were saturated with clear, red blood, that still flowed
from his lips in single drops.
For the space of a few seconds Oscar stood like one transfixed, but
then he pulled the bell-rope violently. With the aid of the servants,
who came running up, he raised the unconscious bridegroom from the
floor and laid him on his bed, at the same time ordering Dr. Hagenbach
to be called, so as to excite as little attention as possible.
In a very few minutes the physician was at his post. He silently
listened to Wildenrod's report, while he felt the pulse and listened to
the beating of the heart; then he drew himself up and said softly:
"Bring your sister in, Baron, and prepare her for the worst. I shall
have his father and Maia called."
"Do you fear?" asked Oscar just as softly, but Hagenbach shook his
head.
"There is no longer room here for either fear or hope. Lead his bride
here--perhaps he may once more recover consciousness."
A quarter of an hour later, the whole house knew that Eric Dernburg,
whom they had just seen at the summit of human felicity, now lay on a
bed of death. It had not been possible to suppress the dread tidings;
they flew like wild-fire. In the ball-room, the music ceased abruptly,
the guests stood around in awe-stricken silence or whispered in
mournful accents, the servants, meanwhile, running to and fro, with
distorted faces. Like a flash of lightning the stroke had fallen upon
the festive scene.
The family had gathered around the death-bed. Dr. Hagenbach was still
busied in the application of various restoratives, but it was evident
that he expected nothing more from them. By the side of the couch knelt
the young wife, in her white satin bridal robe that she had not yet
laid aside when the message of misfortune came. She was tearless, but
pale as death. She suspected some secret, strange coincidence.
On the other side stood Dernburg, in speechless grief, his eyes riveted
upon his son, for the preservation of whose life he had been willing to
make any sacrifice, and, in spite of it all, he was to be snatched from
him. Maia sobbed on her father's bosom. Wildenrod did not dare to
approach either her or the death-bed, but, silent and moody, kept in
the background. He had believed his game to be lost, and now he should
win anyhow. The poor man, whose life was bleeding away there so slowly,
could never bring an accusation against him, but take to the grave with
him what he had heard and what had given him his death-blow.
Motionless, Eric lay there with closed eyes, seeming hardly to suffer
at all. His breathing became easier and easier, until presently the
physician laid down the hand which he had been holding while he counted
the pulse. Cecilia saw this and guessed the significance of the act.
"Eric!" she shrieked. It was a cry of despair, of deadly anguish; and
it shocked the dying man out of his stupor. Slowly he opened his eyes,
that, already dimmed by death, sought the beloved countenance that
leaned over him, but those eyes expressed such infinite love, so deep
and silent a lament, that Cecilia shuddered and shrank back. It was
only an instant of consciousness--the last. One more deep sigh from
that wounded breast--and all was over.
"The end has come!" said the physician softly.
With loud weeping, Maia sank upon the corpse of her brother, and over
Dernburg's cheeks, too, rolled a few big tears, as he kissed the cold
brow of his son.
But then he turned to the young wife, gently lifted her up and folded
her in his arms.
"Here is your place, Cecilia," said he, with deep emotion. "You are my
son's widow, and my daughter. You shall find in me a father!"