HELENA.
The sun shone cheerfully one afternoon upon the quiet Pfarrhaus at
Blechow. The roses bloomed gaily in the box-edged beds of the
well-cultivated garden, where the masses of luxuriant white blossom
were beginning to turn to fruit.
The doors of the large entrance-hall stood wide open, and its floor was
covered with sand, scattered over with short fir branches.
In the principal dwelling-room of the Pfarrhaus, where the simple
arrangements proved the excellent taste which prevailed, and where the
snowy window-curtains bore witness to the cleanliness and order of the
household, there sat, around the coffee-table covered with a cloth of
dazzling whiteness, the Pastor Berger, his daughter, and the candidate,
Behrmann.
Helena Berger was busily preparing the brown beverage of the Levant,
the fragrant aroma of which filled the room, in a pretty white china
apparatus; and no lady, in a drawing-room of the highest fashion, could
have performed all the complicated little arrangements with greater
natural grace.
Pastor Berger sat opposite to her, in his large, comfortable arm-chair,
dressed as usual in clerical black, which according to the good old
custom he never laid aside for less professional clothes, even in his
own home. The only indulgence he allowed himself was the small black
velvet cap which he wore on his head, considering it the sign of
household comfort.
The young candidate sat between them; he too was dressed in black, with
a white neck-tie, but the cut of his clothes was different, and
although the colouring was the same, the general effect of his dress
was quite unlike his uncle's.
The pastor leant back comfortably in the depths of his arm-chair, his
hands folded one over the other, whilst he spoke, as was frequently the
case since his last visit to Hanover, of his interview with the king.
"There is," he said in a voice of emotion, "something glorious about
the Lord's Anointed. He can give happiness with a word, and how willing
is our own king to do so! He does not regard his subjects simply in the
light of tax-payers; to him they are fellow-creatures, with feelings
and with beating hearts, and wherever his royal heart meets with a
fellow man, he is ready with human sympathy to join in his sorrow or
his joy. How different it is in a Republic!" he continued; "there the
law reigns, the dead letter, a cold majority, a chance. And in a great
monarchy the sovereign stands on an unapproachable, solitary height;
but here, in our beautiful, fertile, quiet Hanover, we know our king
(though he from his eminence can take in everything with his clear
gaze,) feels for us each individually, with his human heart."
Helena had finished preparing the coffee, and she brought her father
his large cup, with the inscription, "dem lieben Vater," traced in
wreaths of roses.
The old gentleman took a small sip, and his countenance assumed an
expression of great satisfaction at the result of his daughter's skill.
"I must beg for a little water in my cup," said the candidate in a
quiet persuasive voice, "I cannot take strong coffee."
"Just like the present generation! how fond they are of water!" cried
the pastor testily: "coffee must be strong if it is to rejoice your
heart and to do you good. Water is certainly a good gift of God, but it
has its proper place; now they pour it even into noble wine; and this
is why we hear so many watery words. I hope, my dear Hermann, your
sermon next Sunday will not be diluted with water, for our peasants
here are accustomed to the strong unembellished Word, which, as our
great Reformer said, 'should resound to the alarm of the hypocrite, and
the joy of the righteous.'"
Helena had in the meantime prepared her father's large meerschaum pipe,
cutting up the rolled tobacco with which she filled it on a metal
plate, and bringing it to him with a lighted match.
"Of course you do not dream of smoking the time-honoured pipe?" said
the pastor to his nephew, looking with great content at his own
well-coloured bowl, the companion of several years, and watching the
first clouds of smoke as they rose in the air, "but there are some
excellent cigars, which the president brought from Hamburg."
"Thank you," said the candidate, declining, "I do not smoke at all."
"Not at all?" cried the astonished pastor; "really that surpasses the
water! Well," he continued rather severely, "every time has its own
customs, and I don't think they improve. Have you yet received your
appointment as adjunct?" he asked.
"No," replied the candidate, "they promised to send it after me as soon
as possible. I did not wish to wait for it, as I was desirous of at
once entering on the scene of my future labours, and also of being
admitted without delay into the family of my beloved relations."
His eyes sought the pastor's daughter, who had seated herself at a
little table in the window, where she occupied herself with some white
needlework.
"I did not think that the gentlemen of the Consistorial Council were
particularly pleased at his majesty's cabinet decree, appointing me
adjunct here, with a view to my ultimately succeeding to the pastor's
office."
"I can well believe it," returned his uncle; "authorities like to rule
without feeling a higher power, especially when those below must hear
of the interference. It disturbs the _nimbus_. Can they make any
objection to your qualification?" he enquired.
"Not the least," replied the candidate. "That were hardly possible," he
continued with a satisfied smile, "my testimonials are of the highest
order."
"Well then, these gentlemen had better calm themselves, and not
begrudge to his majesty the right of making a faithful old servant
happy, since no injustice is done, and no one is passed over. Would to
God that these heavy times were safely gone, and the storm-cloud of war
dispersed; how much blood it will cost, if the strife once begins!"
Helena let her work fall into her lap, and sat gazing through the open
window, across the blooming roses, at the smiling landscape beyond.
A hasty step approached the house, and a knock was heard at the
sitting-room door. "Come in," cried the pastor, and a young,
poorly-dressed girl entered.
"Well, Margaret, what brings you here?" asked the pastor in a friendly
voice.
"Oh! Herr Pastor," sobbed the little girl, whilst large tears ran down
her cheeks, "father is so very ill, and he says he is afraid he shall
die, and he wants so much to see you, Herr Pastor, to get a little
comfort, and oh, dear! what will become of us if he does die?"--loud
sobs stifled the poor child's voice.
The pastor stood up and laid his pipe down in his armchair.
"What is the matter with your father?" he asked.
"He got very hot, working, yesterday," replied the child, interrupted
by her tears, "and then he took cold, and it brought back his cough
last night so bad; and he is so ill, and he says he shall die!"
"Take comfort, my child," said the pastor, "it will not be so bad as
that. I will come and see what must be done." And opening a large oaken
chest, he took from it a case containing several small bottles, stuck
it in his pocket, and seized his clerical hat.
"One had need to be something of a doctor, here in the country," he
said to his nephew, "that the right means may be used, until further
help can be procured, when it is really necessary. I believe I have
saved a good many lives with my little medicine chest," he added, with
a happy smile.
"Poor papa!" said Helena, "your fresh pipe?"
"Do you not think the poor sick man will be more refreshed when he sees
me, than I should be by a few puffs of tobacco?" said her father
gravely.
"But, my dear uncle, can I not undertake this for you?" asked the
candidate. "I am so anxious to make myself acquainted at once with the
duties of my sacred office."
"No, my dear nephew," replied the pastor; "let us do all things in
order. You are not even appointed here yet; and then you must learn to
know your people before you can undertake these visits; the sight of a
stranger only excites a sick person. Wait quietly here--I will return
shortly." And he left the house with the child, who ceased crying when
she found the pastor was going to see her father.
The candidate walked to the window; his eyes first rested on Helena,
who sat bending over the work she had again taken up, then they strayed
through the window, beyond the rose beds, to the wood-crowned horizon.
"It is really pretty here," he said, "and in summer it is pleasant to
reside here."
"Oh yes, it is lovely," interrupted the young girl, in that tone of
complete conviction and natural enthusiasm with which young hearts
regard the place where they have passed a happy childhood, feeling
certain that it must be the most charming and delightful spot in the
world; "you will think it still more beautiful when you know all the
glorious country around us, and all our pretty, quiet walks, even the
monotonous fir woods have their charm, and their language"--and her
eyes sought the dark green forests enclosing the sunny landscape as in
a frame.
A slight smile, half compassionate, half ironical, played round the
lips of the candidate.
"I really wonder," he said, "how my uncle, with his well-stored mind,
so plainly appearing in his conversation, and still extolled by the
friends of his youth, should have been able to exist here all these
years, so far removed from all intellectual life, and from all
intercourse with the progress of the world. He is considered one of the
first pastors in the country, his duties, it is well known, have been
performed in an exemplary manner, and with his reputation for learning,
and the influence he possesses, he might long ago have held a seat in
the Consistory. To such a man, this would have been the starting-point
for a great, an important career! I cannot imagine how he has endured
life among these peasants!"
Helena looked with her great eyes at her cousin in amazement. His words
struck an element quite unknown to her life.
"How little you know my father," she said; "he loves his beautiful
quiet home, and the peaceful, happy scene of his work, far better than
dignities with their restraints and cares."
"But the higher and the more influential the position," said the
candidate, "the greater the scope for work, and the richer the blessing
that zealous labour may obtain."
"It may be so," returned the young girl, "but the fruit is not so
plainly seen, intercourse with the people is so much less intimate, and
my father has often told me that his highest pleasure is to pour
comfort and peace into a troubled soul, and his highest pride to bring
back an erring heart to God. But you intend to remain here yourself,
cousin," she added with a smile, "and to bury yourself in this
solitude?"
"I have to commence my career," he replied, "I must work to rise, and
youth is the time for toil; but as the aim of my life, I shall
certainly place a much higher object before me." His eye scanned the
far distance as if he were looking for some aim, very different to
anything which the quiet landscape around had to show.
"And you, Helena," he asked after a moment's pause, "have you never
felt the need of a higher intellectual life, the longing for a more
extensive world?"
"No," she replied simply; "such a world would only depress and alarm
me. When we were lately in Hanover it seemed as if all my blood rushed
back to my heart, I could scarcely understand what was said to me, and
I felt so dreadfully lonely. Here I know everything around me, the
people and the country; here life feels so rich and so warm, but in a
large town it felt cold and narrow. I should be very unhappy if my
father were going away from here; but there is no idea of such a
thing," she said in a tone of certainty.
The candidate sighed slightly as he gazed straight before him.
"But in winter," he said, "when you cannot be out of doors, and when
nature has no charms, you must be very dull and lonely."
"Oh, no!" she cried cheerfully, "never. We are never dull here, you
cannot think how pleasantly we pass the long winter evenings. My father
reads to me, and tells me about so many things, and I play and sing to
him. He is so happy after his day's work."
Again the candidate sighed.
"Besides," she continued, "we are not quite without society. There is
the family of our president von Wendenstein at the castle, and we make
up quite a large party. We are not so much out of the world as you
imagine. Last winter we very often danced at the castle."
"Danced!" exclaimed the candidate, as he folded his hands over his
breast.
"Yes," said Helena; "the company staying at Luechow often came over, and
we had quite as much fun as they could have had in Hanover."
"But my uncle, did he not object to your participating in such
extremely worldly amusements?" asked the candidate.
"Not in the least," she replied; "why should he?"
The candidate seemed to have an answer ready, but to repress it; and,
after a short pause, he said in a gentle tone of superiority,--
"The opinion becomes more and more confirmed in all well-regulated
circles, that such amusements are quite inadmissible in a clergyman's
family."
"Indeed! what an excellent thing it is that we are quite out of the way
of those well-regulated circles," said Helena coldly, for she felt
displeased at her father's judgment being condemned, and her own
amusements disapproved.
The candidate was silent.
"Of what does the family at the castle consist?" he asked after a
pause; "I must go there and be introduced as soon as possible."
"Besides Herr von Wendenstein, his wife and daughters, there is the
Auditor von Bergfeld," replied Helena.
"Has he been here long?" asked the candidate quickly, casting a
searching look at his cousin.
"A year," she replied, with perfect indifference, "and he will soon
leave, for a young auditor is always employed here."
"But Herr von Wendenstein has sons?" he asked.
"They are no longer at home," she replied; "one has a government
appointment in Hanover, the other is an officer at Luechow. Here comes
my father!" she exclaimed, and pointed out a pathway leading from the
high road, at the farther end of which the pastor had just appeared.
"I will make him a fresh cup of coffee. But good heavens!" she
exclaimed, whilst a deep blush spread all over her face.
The candidate followed the direction of her eyes, and saw a horseman
trotting quickly along the high road in the blue uniform of a dragoon.
He must have called out to the pastor, for he stood still; he then
turned round and walked back to the road, and held out his hand to the
officer, who had reined in his horse.
After a short conversation, the officer rode on, waving his hand to
Helena, whom he had seen at the window. She returned his greeting by
bending her head.
"Who is that?" asked the candidate.
"Lieutenant von Wendenstein," she replied, and left the window to light
the spirit-lamp upon the table, and to prepare afresh the coffee, which
her father had before been prevented from drinking.
The candidate watched all her movements with a scrutinizing look.
After a few minutes the pastor entered the room.
"Thank God," he said, "it was nothing dangerous. A severe cold, with a
good deal of fever; but it is a peculiarity amongst the people here,
who, from their simple lives and strong constitutions, know little of
sickness, that they believe every illness must prove fatal."
He exchanged his hat for his little cap, and seated himself in his
arm-chair, his face wearing an unusually grave expression.
"The lieutenant has just returned," he said.
"I saw him just now," remarked Helena, as she handed her father a fresh
cup of coffee. "What brings him at so unusual a time--generally he
comes only on Sundays?"
"Things look very bad," said the pastor. "War appears inevitable, and
for the present no more leave will be given; the lieutenant therefore
has ridden over this afternoon to bid them good-bye at home. He begged
that we would walk over there soon--he will leave early, as he must
return to-night."
Helena's hand trembled as she again prepared her father's pipe.
"My heart aches," he continued, "for our good friend von Wendenstein
and his gentle, loving wife. This fearful war may rob them of their son
in the very flower of his youth."
He took his pipe dreamily from his daughter's hand, whilst, bending
over him, she offered him a light. She then hastened to the door.
"Where are you going, my child?"
"Before we walk to the castle," she replied, with an unusual vibration
in her voice, "I must see about several things in the house." Without
looking round, she left the room.
The candidate gazed after her rather inquisitively; he then seated
himself by the pastor, and said, after folding his hands together,--
"My dear uncle, from the moment of entering your house, where I hope,
God willing, to be your faithful companion in your holy office, I wish
to take up my position on a foundation of truth; this should be the
rule of conduct for all, but especially for one who takes upon him the
life of a clergyman."
The pastor smoked his pipe, looking as if he scarcely understood what
this was to lead to.
"My mother has often told me how much she desired that I should be
united to you even more closely than by our present bond of
relationship, and how she hoped my coming here might be the guidance of
heaven, pointing out to me your daughter Helena as my true and
Christian wife."
The pastor smoked on in silence, but his expression showed that this
idea was neither new nor disagreeable to him.
"Often she has said," continued the candidate, "'How much I should
rejoice if I could see you the support of my brother's old age, and if
he could feel that in you he had a protector for his daughter when it
should please God to call him to Himself.' Certainly," he continued,
his eyes studying the expression of his uncle's face, "certainly the
outward cares of life will not be hers."
"No," cried the old gentleman cheerfully, as he blew an enormous cloud
from his pipe, "no, thank God! as far as that goes, I can depart in
peace when my Master in heaven calls me. The small fortune I inherited
from my uncle has greatly increased, for I have scarcely ever needed to
spend more than the half of my income as pastor, and unless God should
take away what He has given, when He calls me home my daughter need
have no trouble as far as money is concerned."
"But," continued the candidate, an almost imperceptible smile of
satisfaction playing around his thin lips, "'but she will still need a
protecting arm, and if you could afford her this, perhaps in the very
home where she has passed her childhood, how happy it would make me.'
This is what my mother has often said to me."
"Yes, yes, my good sister," said the pastor, with an affectionate
smile,--"fate separated us completely, not perhaps as things are now,
for the borders of Brunswick may be reached in a day, but in our
calling travelling is difficult!--her true heart has always kept its
affection for me."
The candidate proceeded:
"My mother's wish pleased me much, but I set it aside as an open
question, for according to my ideas a marriage should only take place
from mutual inclination, arising from sympathy between two hearts, and
therefore it was needful we should know one another. But since I have
been here, and during the few days I passed in your society in Hanover,
my mother's wish has become my own. I find in Helena all those
qualities which I hold most necessary to enable her to fulfil the
duties of the Christian wife of a clergyman, and to render the life of
her husband happy, and therefore (that everything may be clear and true
between us) I ask you, my dear uncle, if you will permit me to
endeavour to gain your daughter's affections, and if after a more
intimate acquaintance I should succeed, whether you will be willing to
trust her to me for life?"
The old gentleman took the pipe from his mouth, and held out his hand
to his nephew.
"You have acted well and honestly," he said, "in speaking to me thus,
uprightly and honourably, and I will answer you in the same upright and
honourable manner. What your mother," he continued, "thought and said,
passed also through my mind, and I own that when I obtained your
nomination here, I thought it would make me happy if you became
mutually attached; then when I felt my strength failing me I could
resign, and still see my dear daughter ruling the loved home where she
grew up, and which her gentle, affectionate mother first made so dear
to me."
The old man was silent for a few moments, and tears stood in his eyes.
The candidate's features expressed extreme satisfaction.
"With my whole heart, my dear nephew," resumed the pastor, "I give you
leave to woo my Helena, and if you obtain her love I will joyfully give
my blessing to your union, both as a father and as a priest. But do not
be hasty--give her time--she is of a timid disposition, and shrinks in
alarm from everything that is new. Learn really to know one another;
you will have plenty of time."
The candidate pressed his uncle's hand.
"I thank you most heartily," he said, "for your permission, rest
assured I will not try to take her heart by storm; no sudden blazing
fire beseems a Christian marriage, our hearts should feel a pure and
quiet flame."
At this moment Helena returned; she wore a light-coloured dress, and a
straw hat, ornamented with some small flowers. There was a rosy tint
upon her cheeks, and her eyes shone with enthusiasm, but as if through
a veil of tears, yet her lips smiled.
She looked extremely beautiful; she nodded affectionately to her father
as she entered the room, but she cast down her eyes when she saw the
look with which the candidate surveyed her whole appearance.
"I am ready, papa," she said.
"Quite right my child; then we can go."
He stood up, and laid aside his cap.
"You must accompany us," he said to his nephew; "I will introduce you
to our president."
"Should I not first call at the castle?" asked the candidate.
"You will do so now with me," replied the pastor; "we are not formal
people here,--I answer for it you will always be welcomed by our
friends."
The candidate put on his glossy, well-brushed black hat, and they all
three left the parsonage.
In the old castle at Blechow, the president's family was assembled in
the large garden drawing-room. Madame von Wendenstein sat on the large
sofa, in her snow-white point-lace cap and flowing dark silk dress, and
her daughter was preparing the tea-table at an earlier hour than usual.
The lieutenant had drawn a low arm-chair close to his mother, and was
endeavouring to amuse her with lively conversation, and she sometimes
replied to his remarks with a melancholy smile, though she could not
prevent the tears from falling upon her white hands, as she
mechanically continued her needle-work.
The president walked up and down the room in silence, pausing sometimes
at the open door to gaze beyond the terrace at the landscape bathed in
the warm light of the summer evening.
"Don't damp the boy's spirits," he said, standing before his wife, and
speaking in a voice of forced harshness; "a soldier should always set
out willingly and joyfully to a war, when a war comes, for that is his
business, and he ought to rejoice at the opportunity of following his
calling, and doing his duty in earnest. Besides which, nothing is yet
certain," he added, partly to console his wife, partly to allay his own
anxiety; "though they must be ready for anything that may occur, the
tempest may still pass over."
"I will not certainly take from him his cheerful pleasure in doing his
duty," said Madame von Wendenstein in a gentle voice, "but I cannot
help being sad in this dark and heavy hour. We shall sit here at home
alone with our thoughts and our cares, whilst he will hurry about in
the open air, with the constant variety of change. He will soon recover
his spirits. Is your linen all in order?" she said, turning to her son,
as if she wished to diminish her sorrow by material cares for the child
who was soon to encounter such dangers.
"My linen is in the most excellent order, mother," replied the
lieutenant cheerfully. "But if we really march, I shall not be able to
take much with me,--our baggage must be small. Where is the pastor?" he
exclaimed? "he promised me to spend the last few hours here.
_Apropos_," he added, "have they visitors at the parsonage? I saw a
gentleman in the dress of a clergyman, standing by Helena at the
window."
"It is the nephew who is appointed adjunct here," said the president,
"and to whom the pastor will in time resign. I am very glad that the
king graciously granted our good Berger's request, especially as I
believe the Consistory would not have appointed him. Perhaps, too, he
may be a _parti_ for our pretty Helena."
The lieutenant cast a quick glance at his father, and then stood up and
looked silently out over the terrace.
A whispering was heard in the ante-room, and an old servant entered,
and said, "Fritz Deyke wishes to speak to the lieutenant."
The young man turned round quickly, and called out, "Come in! come in!
my good Fritz. What brings you here, my lad?" asked he kindly, as he
walked towards the door, where young Deyke stood in a stiff attitude,
holding his cap in his hand.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "but I want to ask you a favour."
"Out with it then!" cried the lieutenant gaily, "it is granted
beforehand."
"I hear in the village," said the young peasant, "that war is about to
break out, and that the king himself will take the field. Then I must
go too; and I came to beg you, sir, as you have known me from a child,
to take me with you as a servant, that we might go to the wars
together."
"Stop, my dear fellow," cried the officer, "we have not got so far as
that, we are not to march yet, perhaps not at all; at present there is
no increase of troops, for the army remains on the strength it has in
time of peace, so with the best will in the world I cannot take you.
But," he continued, "if it really begins, I promise to take you, not as
my servant, I have already a very quiet, respectable man; and," he
added laughingly, "my old friend Deyke's son is in too good a position
to be a servant."
"Not to be _your_ servant, sir," said Fritz, with such pride in his
voice that it was evident he thought himself quite above being servant
to anyone else.
"Be easy about it," said the lieutenant, "you shall certainly come with
me; at the right time I will take care to get you into my troop, then
we shall always be able to talk of when we were in the dragoons
together."
"You promise it, and that I shall keep near you?" asked the young
peasant.
"I promise," said the lieutenant, "my hand upon it!"
He gave his hand to his former playmate with great heartiness; the
latter seized it and shook it warmly, saying,--
"Then God grant, sir, we may not be parted long!"
Whilst the young peasant took leave of the officer, the servant had
silently opened the door, and the pastor, accompanied by his daughter
and his nephew, had entered.
The pastor introduced the candidate to Herr von Wendenstein, who shook
hands with him and led him to his wife, by whom he was welcomed with a
few friendly words.
Helena laid aside her hat and assisted Miss von Wendenstein in the
final arrangements of the tea-table. The lieutenant joined the young
ladies.
"Now, Miss Helena," he said, "I am quite in earnest, you really must
give me your good wishes, for, perhaps, I shall soon have need of them.
Will you not," he cried warmly, as he looked into her eyes, "will you
not sometimes think of me, if we actually march, and send your good
wishes after me?"
She looked at him for a moment, and then cast down her eyes, as she
said in a voice that trembled slightly,--
"Certainly, I will think of you, and I will pray to God to take care of
you."
He looked at her with emotion: the words were so simple, and so
natural, and yet they touched for the first time something in his
heart, which seemed to tell him that if he really did march as he so
greatly desired to this merry war, he must leave much that he loved
behind him.
"I remember very well," he said, after a moment's silence, "the dark
cloud we saw the evening before my father's birthday, and how it was
driven farther and farther from the light of the moon. I think of it
now, that I shall not be here for a long while, perhaps, indeed, this
is the last time I shall ever be at home. You see, Miss Helena," he
continued, lightly and jestingly, as if he wished to conceal his
feelings, "I learn from you--I have got on,--I remember your beautiful
thoughts; another step, and I may have ideas of my own."
She answered neither his earnest words nor his jest, but looked up at
him in silence.
"Tea is ready, dear mamma," said Miss von Wendenstein, as she gave a
last scrutinizing glance at the large round table, which, contrary to
custom, was brought into the drawing-room, and bore an improvised
supper.
Madame von Wendenstein rose, and approached the table with the pastor,
her husband and the candidate followed.
"You will sit by me, will you not?" half whispered the lieutenant to
Helena, "for the sake of old times."
She did not reply, but silently took the chair next to him.
The candidate gave the young people a glance of disapproval, as he
seated himself beside the young lady of the house.
The cheerful spirits that usually prevailed in the old castle at
Blechow were to-day quite wanting. The conversation was forced. No one
said what he thought, and no one thought what he said. The jokes, which
the president sometimes attempted with an effort, fell flat, like spent
rockets; and many quiet tears fell into Madame von Wendenstein's plate.
The lieutenant drew out his watch.
"Time is up," he said, "will you excuse me, mother? John, my horse."
They all rose.
"Yet one request," said the lieutenant, "sing me one song before I
leave, Miss Helena. You know how much I like to hear you sing, and
to-day I must carry away the happiest recollection of my dear home."
A slight shiver seemed to run through the young girl's slender frame.
She made a movement with her hand as if to refuse.
"I beg it," he said in a low voice.
The president opened the piano, and Helena soon sat before it, led
thither by Miss von Wendenstein. The lieutenant leaned against the door
opening into the garden, through which there still came the clear
twilight that lasts so far into the nights of June.
Helena placed her hands upon the notes and gazed straight before her.
Then she struck a few chords, and as if compelled by some unknown
impulse she began to sing Mendelssohn's beautiful melody,
"Es ist bestimmt in Gottes Rath,
Dass man vom Liebsten, was man hat,
Muss scheiden."
Her lovely pure voice had great richness of tone, and filled the room
as with a magnetic stream. The lieutenant stepped outside into the
shadow of the evening twilight, and Madame von Wendenstein rested her
head in her hands, whilst her sobs became audible.
The voice of the singer grew richer and more expressive, though her
face showed only blank indifference, and as she reached the conclusion
a firm conviction, a holy faith rang through her song:
"Wenn Menschen auseinander gehn,
So sagen sie: Auf Wiedersehn!"
There was a deep silence as she ended, so great was the impression made
by the song.
The lieutenant came back from the terrace, looking very grave. He gave
one long affectionate look at the young girl, who had risen from her
seat and was standing near the piano, her eyes cast down, and with the
same calm expressionless look on her face; then he went up to his
mother and kissed her hand.
The old lady stood up, took his head between her hands, and pressed a
warm kiss upon his brow. She whispered softly, "God protect you, my
son;" then she gently thrust him from her, as if she wished the sorrow
of leave-taking to be ended.
The president pressed his son's hand, and said:
"Go, if God wills it so, and let your acts be worthy of your position
and your name! Now no more adieux," cried the old gentleman, looking
with concern at his wife, who had sunk back on the sofa, and covered
her face with her handkerchief. "To horse! we will accompany you
outside."
And he went out through the door of the entrance hall which had been
opened by a servant. The pastor and the candidate followed him.
The lieutenant turned back for a moment, and embraced his sister, then
he approached Helena:
"I thank you from my heart for your song," he said, and took her hand;
then half as if the last words still ran in his mind, half as if
speaking to her, he added:
"Wenn Menschen auseinander gehn,
So sagen sie: Auf Wiedersehn!"
"Auf Wiedersehn!" he repeated, raising her hand to his lips and
imprinting upon it a kiss.
He then hastened after his father.
A bright red colour flew into the young girl's cheeks, and her
expression grew animated and her eyes very bright, as they followed him
to the door. Then she sank down on the chair before the piano, and a
hot tear fell into her lap, unseen by Madame von Wendenstein, whose
face was still hidden in her handkerchief, unseen by her daughter, who
held her mother in a gentle embrace, and stroked her soft grey hair.
Fritz Deyke stood outside; he had not been able to deny himself the
pleasure of leading round the lieutenant's horse; Roland pawed the
ground impatiently.
The lieutenant took an affectionate leave of his father and the pastor,
and gave his hand to the candidate, who received it with a bow. Had it
not been for the darkness, the deadly hatred of the look he cast upon
the young officer must have been observed.
Then the young man sprang lightly into the saddle.
"God grant, sir, I may soon come too!" Fritz Deyke cried after him, as,
putting his horse to a gallop, he disappeared into the gathering night.