Philip walked impatiently up and down his study, then seated himself at
his writing-table, touched the spring of a secret drawer, and took out
the Councillor's note, really only to assure himself that he had not
mistaken the hour, but then as he had the letter in his hand, besides
having nothing to do, he read it through as carefully as if it were for
the first time:
"My Dear Friend,
"The Count is of the greatest importance to us, though you seem always
to have under-rated him. The fact of his being over head and ears in
debt is in my eyes only one more chance for us--we shall get him all
the cheaper; and have him we must. The loss caused by Prince Prora's
positive refusal to be one of the promoters, and taking part only as an
ordinary shareholder, can only be met by the Count's siding with us. We
must positively have a noble name to support us. You do not understand
the insular feelings. The bell-wether must first jump over, and then,
of course, the whole flock follow. You must provide a bait for the
bell-wether; that is to say, in figures: you or Lübbener must advance
fifty thousand thalers, which I know he is in great need of; then a
promise of a tolerably big lump in case the Eastern Railway comes to
anything--a case which is almost impossible; thirdly, to balance the
fifty thousand and the big lump--a promise on his side to become a
director of a Northern Railway. I will fire all these mines this
evening, and bring him, with some excuse which I will notify on
entering. Lübbener must be there too; or, still better, come
later--quite by accident, of course! Should I still find the Count,
contrary to my expectations, obstinate and quite disinclined to take
the first step, I will break up the interview at nine o'clock, and come
alone.
"P.S.--Get hold of young Werben. It is an expensive friendship, I know;
but we must not shrink from cost now, and must encourage the relations
between the Count and the Werbens in every way. It would be capital if
you could serve him up this evening to us as dessert. But you must not
openly invite him; and I beg you, above all things, to keep in mind
that the whole thing throughout must have an appearance of accident and
impromptu--you will understand that!"
Philip laughed to himself as he shut up the letter.
"I think I do understand it," said he; "but"--and he cast a glance at
the clock--"if they do not come soon, all my beautiful arrangements may
go to the devil."
He was about to rise impatiently, when the door-bell rang. He
immediately seized some papers which he had laid ready on purpose, took
up his pen, and was deeply engrossed in writing when the servant
announced Count Golm and Councillor Schieler.
"Beg the gentlemen to come in," said Philip over his shoulder, bending
again over the paper and scribbling away.
The servant had already opened the door for the two gentlemen. Philip
threw down his pen, rose hastily, and passing his hand over his
forehead, said:
"I beg you a thousand pardons! I had hoped to finish the thing--the
report, you know, Herr Schieler. Count Golm, I consider myself happy."
"We disturb you, my dear fellow," said the Councillor; "but I have been
saying so much about your beautiful gallery to Count Golm, and he is
here for such a short time----"
"But quite long enough to be able to return at a more convenient hour,"
said the Count.
"I would not let you go on any account," exclaimed Philip; "there is no
such hurry about this business."
"But we are keeping you from something else."
"From nothing more interesting or agreeable, Count Golm. I give you my
word, I happened to have nothing for to-night--positively nothing. I
think, any way, I should have stayed at home."
The Councillor shook his finger at him.
"Upon my honour, Herr Schieler." Philip rang the bell. "Light the lamps
in the drawing-room and in the dining-room. And Count Golm, Councillor
Schieler, will you do me the honour to join me in my bachelor supper?
Now, that is most kind of you; so put three places, Johann."
"No ceremony, I beg!" said the Count.
"None, I assure you. May I show you the way?"
The servants had opened the folding-doors into the drawing-room.
"You seem to have some beautiful things here," said the Count, standing
and looking round the exquisite little study.
"A few trifles, Count Golm, such as a man likes to have round him."
"But that is a Vautier," said the Count, stopping before a picture. "Do
you call that a trifle?"
"Only from its size. I have a larger picture of his in the next room.
And this little Scheurenberg ought to please you; at least, it is very
much praised by connoisseurs."
"Charming--quite charming!" said the Count. "And this exquisite
water-colour--Passini, of course?
"The office of showman is easy with Count Golm," said Philip to the
Councillor.
"It runs a little in my family," said the Count. "My great-grandfather
was a celebrated collector, also my father. You must some day come and
see my small gallery at Golm."
"I only wish that you would give me an opportunity!"
"Is an invitation opportunity enough?"
Philip bowed. "I shall not fail, Count Golm."
"This autumn, I hope? Do you shoot?"
"Oh yes!"
"Then you will not lack amusement when you come to Golm."
"That I am certain of, in the company of the possessor of Golm."
The Count bowed. Philip turned to the servants who at that moment
entered the room.
"How provoking! They have just let in a man who wants to see me for a
few minutes on important business."
"I can only repeat my request," said the Count.
"And I protest again against your kind consideration, which is really
quite unnecessary. I shall only be a minute."
Philip led the two gentlemen to the drawing-room, and shut the doors
after him.
"Pleasant sort of fellow, this Herr Schmidt," said the Count.
"Is not he?" answered the Councillor. "This time your prejudices were
at fault."
"It is not a prejudice. I made the acquaintance of a man of that name a
few days ago--even had to entertain him at my own table--who was most
objectionable to me."
The Councillor had heard from his friend the General an account of the
circumstance, which had taken place at Golmberg, before he met the
Count, and knew well enough whom the Count honoured with his dislike,
and also in what relationship Reinhold stood to Philip. But why tell
the Count that, and spoil his good humour? The Count cast a glance of
astonishment through the splendid room, whose almost over-crowded
pictures and magnificent furniture glittered in the light of chandelier
and candelabra.
"But this is princely," said he.
"And still it is only a faint shadow of the splendour that the man has
decked his new house in the Wilhelmstrasse with. It is all ready,
except a few details; but will not, I think, be open before next
spring. He must show it to you; you would delight in it."
"I don't know," answered the Count; "this luxury has something
overpowering in the eyes of one of us."
"On the contrary, I should say something encouraging," said the
Councillor. "When people with no name, or rather with such a name!
without connections, without help from home--Herr Schmidt is by trade
only a builder--bring matters to such a result, what is there in the
world unattainable to such men as you who have such enormous advantages
of birth, connections, and influence, provided that you free yourselves
from certain very respectable prejudices and set to work heart and soul
as these people do."
"And what has this man got to show that is so remarkable?"
"In the first place his intelligence, inventive genius and energy; in
the second, certain lucky speculations in houses and lands, of which
the crowning point is certainly the starting of our railway."
"Now it is quite clear to me why your shareholders are always lamenting
so loudly that you build so extravagantly," said the Count, with a
sarcastic smile.
"What do the poor devils understand about it?" answered the Councillor;
"if they settled matters we should have to take the roasted chestnuts
out of the fire without getting anything for it."
"Then there is fire?"
"Before which a man in his old age may warm his knees with much
pleasure!"
And the Councillor waved his hand towards all the magnificence around
them. The Count laughed, the Councillor himself thought that a smile
was allowable. Philip came out of his study and shut the door behind
him.
"I hope you will not mind," said he in a low voice, turning to the
Count, "but I thoughtlessly mentioned your name, and my business friend
begged so earnestly----"
"Who is it?" said the Count.
"Herr Hugo Lübbener."
The Count changed colour slightly and cast a quick furtive glance at
the Councillor, who however met it unmoved.
"My banker," said the Count.
"He did not tell me that!" cried Philip; "then certainly I may
venture."
"I shall be very happy," said the Count rather crossly.
"This all fits in wonderfully," whispered the Councillor to him, while
Philip called through the door which he had left open into the study.
"Come in, you most discreet of men! I should have thought that the firm
stood so well with the Count----"
"As well as the Count stands with the firm!" said Herr Hugo Lübbener as
he came in. "Excuse my freedom, Count Golm, seeing you have not
honoured me."
"Why, I assure you, I have not had time yet," exclaimed the Count,
taking in the tips of his fingers the hand which Herr Lübbener offered
somewhat timidly. "A world of business----"
"We can understand that, living in the business world as we do, can we
not, Councillor?" said Herr Lübbener. "But now that I have had the
honour and pleasure I will not stay a moment longer."
And he moved to the door; the Count glanced at the Councillor, who
lifted his eyebrows.
"You are not going on my--our account, Herr Lübbener," said the Count;
"we are here to admire the splendid collection of our kind host."
"Whose greatest admirer and appreciater is Herr Lübbener himself," put
in the Councillor.
"Because I possess a few good things?" said Herr Lübbener. "Why, by
Jove! a man must patronise art or at least the artists nowadays. Our
friend Schmidt always fishes the best things away under our noses.
Yesterday this Riefstahl was in Lepke's window, now of course it hangs
here. What did you give for it?"
"What do you think?"
"Not more than half, I am sure."
Philip laughed as if he heard the old stockbroker joke for the first
time; the Councillor cackled hoarsely like an old hen in rainy weather;
the Count appeared highly amused.
"What would you have?" said he; "such a picture is really invaluable."
Philip turned the light of the reflector upon the picture, which now
showed all its beauty for the first time.
"Really magnificent!" said the Count.
He had stepped a little nearer so that he himself was in the light of
the lamp. The appearance of the Count standing there in the full light
seemed to have something peculiarly comic for the three other men who
were standing a little back. They glanced quickly at each other, and
each face wore a malicious smile. The Councillor laid his finger on his
long nose; Philip bit his lip.
"I have a Hildebrandt here," said he, "which I consider may be called
the gem of my collection."
"At all events it is in his best style," said the Count.
They went from picture to picture, criticising and naming great
artists, and not less great sums, till Philip, foreseeing danger to his
plans, grew impatient.
"I do not know why," said he, "but nothing seems so good as usual
to-day."
"It was just the same with me when I was a boy, I always thought my
exercises were faultless till they came into the master's hands," said
the Councillor.
"You really make too much of my small powers of criticising," said the
Count in his best humour. "Why! are we not at the end yet?"
They were at the door of the dining-room, which the servants at that
moment opened.
"You will find a few more pictures here," said Philip, "but before you
look at them I must beg you to take some supper."
"Or the oysters will be cold," said Herr Lübbener.
"I begged there might be no ceremony," said the Count reproachfully as
he took his place at table with the others.
"Not at all, Count Golm; the servants got the oysters from the nearest
restaurant--and there is always a chicken to be found in a bachelor's
kitchen."
"Long live the bachelors!" said the Councillor, lifting his glass.
"But how are they to do it?" cried Philip, swallowing an oyster.
"From hand to mouth!" said Herr Lübbener, who was busy in the same way.
"For heaven's sake, Lübbener!" cried Philip, "if you have no pity for
us, at least spare Count Golm!"
"I think I can appreciate a good joke as well as the rest of you," said
the Count.
"Listen to that!" exclaimed Herr Lübbener. "Come, Schmidt, forget your
vexation! The fact is I came to tell him that with the best will in the
world, I cannot allot him shares in the New Kaiserin-Königin for more
than about a hundred thousand."
"If you say another word about business you shall not have a drop more
of my Chablis," cried Philip.
"I was just going to ask for a glass of Bordeaux," answered Herr
Lübbener.
The Councillor laughed aside to the Count, and shrugged his shoulders
as though to say, "Boys will be boys! they go on like that all day."
The Count returned the smile most courteously.
"At Rome one must do as the Romans do," said he. "I confess it would
interest me very much to learn something authentic about the
Kaiserin-Königin Iron Company which is so much talked about now."
The Count had given the signal; he could not be surprised that for the
next half hour nothing was talked but business, in fact he was so
interested and excited, that he drank glass after glass, while the
blood mounted to his forehead. They went from the Kaiserin-Königin
Company to the Lower Saxony Engine Manufactories; from that to the
North Berlin Railway, and so arrived at the Berlin Sundin Railway. The
other men were able to give him the most interesting details of the
history of this railway, which after so glorious a beginning now stood
on the verge of bankruptcy in the eyes of people who did not know that
the stock had been artificially kept down in order to buy back the
shares, shares which as soon as the concession for the construction of
the railway was obtained, would rise like a Phœnix from the ashes.
Would Count Golm take any shares? Now was just the right moment! He had
no spare money? Nonsense! Money had nothing to do with the matter. How
much did the Count want--fifty thousand, a hundred thousand, a hundred
and fifty? The Count had only to name the sum. It would be no gift to
him. The statement that he would eventually be one of the directors of
the Island Railway would be worth fifty thousand amongst friends!
"Take care that I do not take you at your word!" exclaimed the Count.
"Take care that we do not take you at your word!" answered Philip.
"By Jove! let us take each other at our word!" exclaimed Herr Lübbener.
"Had we not better put it in writing?" asked the Councillor.
"Are we not carrying the joke a little too far?" said the Count, with
an uncertain, inquiring glance at the last speaker, who answered it
with an encouraging smile.
But the right moment it seemed was past. For the first time there was a
pause, which Philip assumed to think was caused by a servant bringing
him a waiter, on which lay two visiting cards, and whispering something
as he stood near him.
"Can't I have a moment to myself? Well, what is it?"
He took the cards from the waiter and broke into a laugh.
"This is a good joke!"
"May I ask what?"
"I hardly dare say, Count Golm, for fear of damaging my reputation as a
serious man in the eyes of my friends here. I can show the cards to a
man of the world."
"Then let us see the cards," said Herr Lübbener.
The Councillor looked astonished.
"Herr von Werben could not send in two cards!"
"But, good heavens!" exclaimed the Count, "don't let the ladies wait in
the anteroom."
"Oh no. Ladies!" exclaimed Herr Lübbener.
"Two friends who are sometimes good enough to look in after the opera,
or rather the ballet, to have a little supper," explained Philip. "I
assure you, Lübbener, not what you are thinking of, so leave off
grimacing, and imitate the deportment of our worthy friend the
Councillor."
"Splendid fellow!" whispered the Councillor in Herr Lübbener's ear, as
the gentlemen rose.
"He outdoes himself to-day," whispered Herr Lübbener in return.
Philip went to meet the two ladies, who stood in the doorway with
well-acted dismay.
"Prisoners!" said he; "there is no use in resisting. Be reasonable!"
He seized them by the hands and drew them into the room.
"Permit me, Count Golm, to present you to Fräulein Victorine, the most
beautiful mezzo-soprano that female throat can produce,--Fräulein
Bertalda, called 'The Incomprehensible,' because no one can comprehend
how she can jump so high off such little feet."
"You are intolerable!" said Victorine.
"For shame!" said Bertalda. "And give us something to eat instead, if
you really won't let us go away again at once!"
"I will have another table laid," cried Philip. "Johann!"
"We will sit closer," said the Count, himself bringing a chair for
Victorine, whose luxuriant beauty had delighted him from the very first
moment. Bertalda seated herself opposite, between Philip and Herr
Lübbener; two fresh places were laid in a moment; the Count had now
nothing to say against champagne, which at first he had declined. He
was already a little the worse for drink, and was the less likely to
notice that the fumes were getting into his head; that since the
entrance of these lively young ladies the tone of the party had become
freer, and very soon got rather wild. It no longer surprised him that
the young men called each other by their Christian names, to say
nothing of familiar nicknames, such as "old fellow!" and "old boy!" and
even the Councillor himself became a "dear old Councillor," and he
thought it capital fun when Victorine drank off a full glass to
Bertalda, saying, "Here's a bumper to you, Bertie!" and Bertalda
replied, "Right you are, Vicky!" Presently they all moved from their
places, and the Count seized the opportunity to seat himself by
Bertalda, whose beautiful and, as he thought, inviting eyes deserved
this response. Victorine pretended to be very jealous, and, to the
intense delight of the other gentlemen, exclaimed, "Ungrateful man! he
has forsaken me! Ungrateful!" while Bertalda, by her fascinating airs
and graces, and other gestures, showed that she meant to keep the
captive knight fast in her net. The Count, thinking it necessary to
support the beauty in her part, put his arm round her--a spirited
idea--which was loudly applauded by the company, when Bertalda suddenly
sprang up from her chair with a slight shriek, and hastened forward to
meet a gentleman, who had entered unperceived by the rest.
"Is it possible? No! is it possible? Herr von Werben--Ot----"
"Are you mad!"
The girl dropped her uplifted arms; the others had risen to greet
Ottomar, whose apologies for coming so late were hardly heard amidst
the din of voices which arose on all sides. A lecture at a military
society which he had to assist at, endless discussions afterwards--his
throat was dry with learned dust, pray let him have a glass of wine!
He tossed down the wine, certainly not the first glass he had drunk
that evening; a gloomy fire shone in his beautiful eyes; he tried to
drown memory in drink, and even if he could not accomplish that, in a
few minutes he was the wildest of the wild. The Count, for his part,
felt easier in the society of another man of his own rank, who, in
passing him, whispered sarcastically in his ear, "Le roi s'amuse!" and
proceeded to set him so good an example. They laughed, they sang, they
romped; the young ladies' overflow of fun had hardly any limits. Being
in the society of promoters, they would just like to know what
promoters were? How did people promote? They would play at being
promoters!
"Let the ladies form themselves into a provisional board!" cried
Philip.
"But as an unlimited liability company, if I may venture to advise,"
said Herr Lübbener.
"Under the title of Love and Wine," said the Councillor.
"I propose as solicitor Councillor Schieler," cried the Count, who was
not going to be behindhand.
The motion was carried with applause.
The Councillor accepted the honour with thanks, and began to draw up
the prospectus of the company, in which the others helped, and each
tried to outdo the rest in suggestions. The plan was of a railroad to
the moon, with a proviso for a continuation of the line to the Great
Bear as soon as the man in the moon should have converted his last
silver crescent into cash. Philip proposed that the capital should be
seven thousand million fixed stars; at which the company's lawyer
thought it necessary to observe that this word might arouse an
unpleasant connection of ideas on the Stock Exchange; would not
"comets" inspire more confidence? But then it must be ten thousand
million, as too many false ones were in circulation, which even in the
weights could not be distinguished from falling stars. The ten millions
were immediately subscribed. Ottomar and Bertalda, who subscribed for
the smallest sums, were not permitted the honour of being amongst the
directors, who were grouped at one end of the table, but had to take
their places as mere shareholders at the other end. The Count was to be
chairman, with Victorine as deputy. The Count protested that Victorine
ought to be president; they argued, they fought, they quarrelled in due
form. Bertalda seized the opportunity to draw Ottomar away from the
table to a sofa close by.
"Why have you not been to see me for a year, Ottomar?"
"I am going to be married, my dear child."
"Have you got another love?"
"I have not got another love."
"Why are there clouds then on your beautiful brow? why do you look so
sad, darling Ottomar?"
"Dear Bertalda!"
"Am I that indeed? Do you still love me a very little?"
"Yes! yes!"
"Then"--she throve her arm round his neck and, putting her mouth close
to his ear, whispered a few words just as a roar of laughter came from
the table. Ottomar sprang up. "They are calling us." The girl sank in
the corner, and with closed eyes waited for his return and his answer,
with her full lips pouting for a kiss.
She looked up and passed her hand over her heated eyes; what had
happened? Ottomar was no longer in the room; perhaps he was in the
anteroom? She stole in on tiptoe. Herr von Werben had taken his hat and
coat and left the house. "Bah!" said the girl, "I must not make a fuss
about it, I must laugh!" And she laughed madly as she sat down again at
the table where Ottomar's disappearance was scarcely observed, and the
others laughed wildly at a speech in which the Councillor, with
wonderful dry humour, gave the health of the members of the committee,
the first subscribers, the legal adviser and directors of the Earth,
Moon, and Great Bear Railway, with double and treble honours, in case
any of them should act in a double or treble capacity.
"The next step of respectable promoters will be made, according to all
experience, behind the scenes," said Philip with a cynical smile,
holding his glass out to the Count.
"In the green-room, in fact," replied the Count, casting a side-glance
at Victorine.
"Long live the green-room!" cried Hugo Lübbener.
"Behind the scenes for me," said the Councillor.
The glasses rang together, the riot of mirth rose higher and higher,
and finally overwhelmed the last remnants of propriety and good
manners.
BOOK III.
CHAPTER I.
The General was working in his study; Aunt Sidonie was probably writing
her "Court Etiquette;" Ottomar had not yet returned from parade; Elsa
had fulfilled her household duties, had dressed herself, and had now
time, before breakfast, to read Meta's letters.
This morning two had again arrived together. Elsa had put them unread
into her pocket when they were given to her, knowing that Meta's
letters were not of pressing importance. She had now gone into the
garden, and was strolling under the tall trees near the wall of the
Schmidts' garden, her favourite walk, and with a smile on her face was
deciphering one of the letters, the first she had put her hand upon; it
did not generally signify in what order they were read. It was no easy
task; Meta wrote a characteristic but not a particularly legible hand.
Each letter stood by itself without reference to its neighbours on the
right or left, and all had a decided objection to the horizontal, and
either ran gaily up to the height above or drooped sadly towards the
lower regions which belonged properly to the next line. Interspersed
amongst them were strange hieroglyphics resembling swords or lances,
which were probably meant for stops, but as they were never to be found
where they were expected, and, indeed, in their superabundant zeal
frequently appeared in the middle of a word, they rather increased than
lessened the confusion.
Elsa at length made out the following:
"Cruel one! I understand all now, I may say for the first time in my
life; and you--you yourself, your last letter--oh! that last letter!
When men are silent stones will talk; if after five long anxious days
the unhoped-for, unexpected meeting with the man she appeared to love,
only gives the proud Elsa matter for a humorous description of that
very meeting, poor Meta may dare to hope, does hope, and--loves! Yes,
she loves--loves him whom you scorn, whom you coldly turn your back
upon because the skirts of a princess have touched yours! You will say
that this is pity--not love! But are not pity and love twin sisters!
Yes, I have suffered with him, I still suffer with him; I see his
honest blue eyes swimming with tears, I see those tears falling
persistently and slowly down the sunburnt cheeks into the curly beard;
but the last tear--the very last--before it vanishes in the clouds of
tender melancholy, I will myself wipe away--yes, I! I have made up my
mind. To-morrow morning papa shall have the horses put to--to-morrow
evening you will see the face of one who pities you but is determined
not to spare you the indignant countenance of his avenger and of your
too happy
"Meta."
The second letter was as follows:
"You will not see it! Beloved, adored Elsa, forgive me! now in the
depth of night, when all is still, so still that I can hear the blood
coursing through my temples, and I start if our Castor barks in the
courtyard; if an apple, which I had forgotten, or which I could not
reach, rustles through the dry leaves of the tree in front of my window
and falls to the ground--they still look wonderful, but are all
rotten--now, only when I read your letter for the second time, do I
understand it, and perceive the earnest, sorrowful tone that pierces
through the hollow ring of your mirth. One word has made all clear to
me; one single, deep, heartfelt word, so deep and so heartfelt as can
come only from the heart and the pen of my Elsa. You write: 'He walked
up the gallery, the Princess spoke to me very graciously, as was
apparent from her smiles and the kind tone of her soft voice; but I
confess, to my shame, that her first words were Hebrew to me.' To your
shame?--Elsa--Elsa! to mine, to my deepest, most heart-rending shame!
Oh, heavens! what does not lie under that one word 'Hebrew!' Your
grief, your sorrow, your penitence, your love! Well, then, love him! I
resign him; I must do so! and my visit to you also. Papa cannot, as it
happens, let me have the horses to-morrow, because he must send his fat
sheep to Prora, and mamma wants to make plum-jam. Let me weep and sob
out my sorrow in solitude and plum-jam, and keep a little love for your
too unhappy
"Meta."
"What absurd nonsense!" said Elsa.
But she did not laugh, but said it, on the contrary, very gravely; read
the scrawl again very carefully, and only dropped the letters into her
pocket when Aunt Sidonie appeared through the door of the room which
opened into the garden and came down the steps towards her.
"I must rest a little," said Sidonie.
"How far have you got?" asked Elsa.
"To an extremely difficult chapter--to the marriage festivities.
Malortie leaves me altogether in the dark upon this point. The examples
which he gives on page 181 of the second volume, give an immense amount
of information, but only of use for the chamberlains at great courts:
'Marriage of their late Majesties'--à la bonne heure! 'Programme of the
marriage by proxy of his Majesty the King Don Pedro of Portugal and
Algarve'----"
"Who did he marry?" asked Elsa.
Sidonie, who was walking by her side with her hands behind her back,
stood still in astonishment.
"Child! child! is it possible? You read me that chapter yourself only
yesterday evening. I have been lying awake and racking my brains over
it all night, and you have forgotten that his Highness's illustrious
bride was the Princess Stephanie of Hohenzollem-Sigmaringen? But the
fact is, that you take no interest in my work; you do not, or will not,
understand what an immense benefit a really comprehensive complete book
on ceremonial, suited to small courts, would be! Well, well, child, I
am not angry with you. You have never had much to do with such matters;
how should you be expected to understand their importance, though you
do now and then suggest very useful ideas on some of the most difficult
points! Now imagine this: at the wedding of his late Majesty two
Lieutenant-Generals, Herr von Brauchitsch and Herr von Kessel, who
stood at the two ends of the table, carved the dishes, gave them to the
footmen standing behind them, these to the pages, and from the latter
they were received by the lords and gentlemen in waiting. That is all
very well, but how are two Lieutenant-Generals to be found at a small
court such as ours was?"
"Then take two Lieutenants," said Elsa.
"Capital!" said Sidonie. "That--no, that will not not do! What would
become of precedence if I began with Lieutenants? But you are not
listening."
"Indeed I am, aunt. I was only thinking that this very evening we shall
have two Lieutenant-Generals here, and that I should much prefer a few
Lieutenants. We really have too few dancing men."
"Ottomar can bring some of his brother officers; besides, there are not
so very few. There is Count Golm, who told me he was passionately fond
of dancing; there is Tettritz, there is Schönau--he says he has given
up dancing, but that cannot be allowed in a Second Captain. There
is----"
Her aunt named half a dozen names, but not the only one which Elsa
wished to hear.
Elsa was stooping over the trellis which ran along the wall between the
two great elm-trees.
"And Captain Schmidt, has he refused?"
"I did not send him the invitation, my dear child."
"You did not send it!"
Elsa started up quickly; her expressive face showed surprise and
annoyance.
"How can you excite yourself so over such a trifle, my dear child? It
occurred to me, just as I was giving the letters to August, that we are
going to give another party in a few weeks, to which we must invite
Major Müller and some of that set; the Captain can be asked with them."
"But why should he be!" exclaimed Elsa; "I remember that evening at
Golmberg, when, without intending it, he was almost the only speaker at
the table, and gave Count Golm besides a lesson which it is to be hoped
he has not forgotten."
"That is exactly what decided me," said Sidonie; "just that warm
discussion which you and your papa told me of between the two
gentlemen--the two gentlemen, you hear, Elsa, I make no distinction of
rank. We are giving a party in honour of the Count, and as a return for
the civilities he showed you. Would it be courteous, would it be
becoming, to invite at the same time a gentleman--mark that, Elsa--a
gentleman with whom he has had at his own table--tranchons le mot!--an
altercation!"
"But he deserved the lesson."
"And I suppose is to have a repetition of it here."
"That he certainly will not. Captain Schmidt is courtesy itself."
Sidonie stopped in her walk, her good-natured eyes looked almost
sharply into Elsa's face, which was flushed with the warmth of the
dispute.
"If I could not see into your heart, Elsa, as clearly as in a
looking-glass, I really should not know how to explain the perverseness
which leads you to praise the courtesy of a simple merchant-captain at
the expense of your aunt's. Child, child, do not you bring sorrow on
your dear papa, who already takes such a gloomy view of life; and on
your aunt, who lives only for her 'Court Etiquette' and for you."
"I do not understand what you mean, aunt," answered Elsa, blushing up
to the roots of her hair.
"Nor I either, thank God," answered Sidonie, wiping her eyes; "only I
get so anxious when I see your papa so out of spirits, as he was this
morning when he gave me Aunt Valerie's letter; he never answers her
letters himself, although this last one is really so touchingly humble,
that I shall find it very difficult to be severe with her again."
"How can one be severe with a person who is so unhappy as you say Aunt
Valerie is?"
"Child, you cannot understand," answered Sidonie; "you must trust to
your papa and me. There are things which can never be forgiven."
"Not even if one is sorry for them, as Aunt Valerie evidently is? Is it
only a brother who is to be forgiven until seventy times seven, and not
a sister also?"
This was another of Elsa's terrible ideas which Sidonie did not know
how to meet. Her kind eyes looked around as if seeking for help, and
rested at last on the trellis, where they wandered up and down.
"At last I have got it into order," she exclaimed: "see, Elsa, for the
last three days the bed has not been trodden down nor the leaves torn
off the trellis. It is only a wild vine, but it was beginning to look
so pretty; August swore he did not do it; but how can one believe
people? Well, I have gained my object."
"It is wonderfully quiet over there to-day," said Elsa.
"I wish to heaven it were always so," answered the aunt.
"Even the manufactory chimney is not smoking," continued Elsa. "Good
heavens! I have only just remarked it. I hope no misfortune has
happened! Have you heard anything, August!"
August, who came to call the ladies to breakfast, was astonished that
the ladies had not heard of it. Herr Schmidt had dismissed twenty or
thirty men last Thursday, because they--with respect be it said--were
Socialists and Communists; and the rest, who are not much better,
seized the opportunity and demanded from Herr Schmidt enormous wages.
Well, Herr Schmidt of course turned off the ringleaders, and they came
back with the others in great crowds to murder Herr Schmidt, when the
Captain, who was at Golmberg with the General and Fräulein Elsa, stood
in the doorway and--did you not see?--pulled out a pair of pistols;
and they all took to their heels and went on strike, as they call it,
when they do not work, and drink schnaps. Since yesterday evening there
has not been so much as a cat in the entire building, and the workmen
at the other marble-works have also struck, to keep them company. And
they say it will cost Herr Schmidt several thousand thalers a day, and
that he will soon have to give in; but I don't believe that, for Herr
Schmidt, as the ladies know, is A 1."
"Shocking!" said Sidonie, shaking her head; "such near neighbours! I
warned your papa when he bought the house. It really is not safe. And
people like that are to be invited!"
Elsa did not answer. When the servant mentioned Reinhold, her tell-tale
heart beat rapidly, and she had involuntarily felt for the compass
which, since their last meeting at the Exhibition, she had always
carried in her pocket, that she might return it to him at the first
opportunity. Her aunt's observation had filled her with speechless
indignation. But when, a few minutes later, she sat opposite to her
father at the breakfast-table, she asked him, to Sidonie's great
dismay, without further preparation, if he had heard what had happened
to the Schmidts; and that Herr Schmidt and the Captain had been
apparently in danger of their lives; and should not Ottomar go to-day
and return the Captain's visit, the rather that her aunt had postponed
to the following week the invitation she had already written him?
"Certainly!" answered the General; "Ottomar shall take the invitation
himself. I want to speak to the Captain, and quite reckoned upon seeing
him this evening."
Elsa cast down her eyes to avoid seeing the flush of embarrassment
which she felt sure must cover her aunt's cheeks at that moment.
"Has my son returned?" asked the General of the servant.
"The Lieutenant has just returned from parade, and has gone to his room
to dress." The General commissioned the ladies to inform Ottomar of his
wishes with regard to the visit and the invitation, and to tell him
that there was a letter for him on his writing-table; he had to attend
a board, and was already a few minutes late: he begged them not to
disturb themselves on his account.
The General rose, made a stately bow to the ladies, and left the room.
He had, contrary to his custom, eaten scarcely anything, and appeared
absent and gloomy. This had not escaped Elsa; but she did not venture
to ask any questions, any more than she ventured now to ask her aunt
what she was thinking of, as she silently and with unwonted energy
picked the last remnant of meat from an unlucky wing of chicken. She
knew too well that it was not "the difficult chapter" in the "Court
Etiquette." Fortunately Ottomar soon appeared; but neither did he bring
cheerfulness: the Major had again been unbearable--the same evolution
over and over again; he had blown up the officers after the parade as
if they had been school-boys; it was unbearable, he was sick of the
whole business; he had rather throw it all up at once.
Elsa thought the opportunity a bad one for troubling her brother, while
he was so put out, with the commission which lay so near her heart, and
was glad that her aunt did not start the subject, as she had feared.
But the letter which was awaiting him on his father's table could not
be delayed.
"Why was not the letter brought to my room?" said Ottomar to the
servant, raising his eyebrows.
"I know nothing about it, sir," answered August.
Ottomar had already laid aside his napkin, and was rising, but now
said: "I dare say it is not very important; will you hand me that dish,
Elsa? I am as hungry as a wolf."
All the same he hardly touched the food, but poured out successively
several glasses of wine, which he drank down quickly.
"I am too thirsty to eat," he said; "perhaps I shall have a better
appetite an hour hence. Shall we leave the table?"
He pushed back his chair, and went to the door leading to his father's
study, but stopped a moment on the way and passed his hand over his
forehead and eyes. "That confounded parade," he said; "it would make
the strongest man nervous."
He was gone; his behaviour had struck Elsa painfully. She could not
believe that the parade was the sole cause of his bad spirits: he had
borne the same wearisome duties easily enough before. But for some time
past he had seemed changed: his cheerful spirits and good humour had
vanished; in the last few days especially she had been struck by his
gloomy, disturbed manner. She thought she knew what was the cause, and
had determined more than once to speak to him about it. It was wrong
not to have done so, and now it was perhaps too late.
Elsa thought over all this while again walking in her favourite haunt
in the garden; she was too much excited to undertake any of her usual
occupations. Perhaps Ottomar would come into the garden too; or she
might call him when he left his father's room, the door of which she
could see through the open door of the dining-room.
He stayed long, as it seemed to her impatience. Perhaps he was
answering the letter at his father's table; but at last he emerged,
buttoning his uniform, and came into the garden; he had no doubt seen
her in the walk under the trees.
He had not observed her. With head bare and eyes cast down, still
fingering the buttons of his coat, he came slowly towards her. His
handsome face was dark as night, in spite of the bright sunlight which
shone upon it; Elsa saw how his lips trembled and quivered.
"In heaven's name! what is the matter, Ottomar?"
"How you startled me!"
"And you me still more! What has happened, Ottomar? I implore you to
tell me! Is it the letter?--a challenge?"
"Or a sentence of death, perhaps? Nothing of importance--a registered
letter which my father received for me."
"An unimportant letter--registered! But if it is not the letter, it is
what has for so long worried and absorbed you. How do matters stand
between you and Carla, Ottomar!"
"Between me and Carla? What an extraordinary question! How should
matters stand between oneself and a lady to whom one will shortly be
betrothed?"
"Ottomar, look me in the face. You do not love Carla!"
Ottomar tried to meet her glance, but was not quite successful. "You
are silly," he said, with an embarrassed smile; "those are girlish
fancies."
"And is not Carla a girl? And do you not think that she has fancies
too?--that she has pictured to herself the happiness that she hopes for
at your side?--that for her, as for every other girl, this happiness
can only exist with love, and that she, that you both will be unhappy
if this love is absent on one side or the other, or on both? Do you not
believe this?"
"I do not believe a word of it," said Ottomar.
He looked at his sister now and smiled; but his eyes were fixed and
hard, and his sad yet ironical smile cut Elsa to the heart.
"And yet?" she said sadly.
"And yet! Look here, my dear child; the matter is very simple. I
require for my own expenses, and to pay off the debts that I was
obliged to incur before I came into the enjoyment of my fortune this
spring, ten thousand thalers a year. My income is, as you know, in
consequence of the absurdly small rents on the property, five thousand.
Carla has five thousand a year; the two together make ten thousand.
Therefore I mean to marry her, and the sooner the better."
"In order to pay your debts?"
"Simply in order to live; for this--this everlasting dependence, this
everlasting concealment about nothing at all--because everything is
known, after all--this--this----"
The words would not come; he trembled all over. Elsa had never seen him
so. Her limbs trembled also; but she was determined to do what she
thought her duty--what she had never so clearly recognised as her duty
till that moment.
"Dear Ottomar," said she, "I do not ask if you really require such a
frightful amount of money. Papa has often told us----"
"That when he was a lieutenant, he managed upon eighteen thalers a
month. For heaven's sake, no more of that! Times were different then.
My father was in the Line; I am in the Guards; and he and I--are like
the Antipodes."
"Very well. I take it for granted that you require as much as you say.
In three years I shall also be of age, and shall then have five
thousand thalers; I will gladly give them to you, if----"
"'I am not married by that time.' Is that what you meant to say?"
"I will not marry then. I--I will never marry."
She could not any longer keep back her tears, which now streamed from
her eyes. Ottomar put his arm round her.
"You dear, good Elsa," said he. "I really do believe that you are
capable of it; but do you not see that it would be a thousand times
more hateful to save oneself at the cost of a sister whom one dearly
loves, than at the cost of a woman whom one does not love certainly,
but who very probably does not wish to be loved?"
"But, Ottomar, that--that is just it," exclaimed Elsa, drying her
tears. "Why marry Carla, of whom I cannot say that she is incapable of
loving; who, indeed, I am persuaded, does love you at this moment, in
her way? But her way is not your way; and that you would soon find out,
even if you yourself loved her, which you avowedly do not. You are not
suited to one another. With the one exception that, in spite of her
short sight, she rides well and is passionately fond of it, I do not
know a single interest that you have in common. Her music--that is to
say, her Wagner music--about which she is so enthusiastic, is hateful
to you; her books, which I am convinced she very often does not
understand herself, you will never look at; and it is the same on every
subject. And the worst of all is, that what she understands by love is
not what you understand by it. You have--say what you will, and
brilliant man of society as you are, and I hope always will be--a
tender, kind heart, which longs to beat against a heart of the same
nature. Carla's love is, I fear, too much mixed with vanity, lies too
much on the glittering, sparkling surface of life; and if you longed
some day to hear a deeper note, and struck that note yourself, you
would find no echo in her heart."
"Why, Elsa, you are wonderfully learned in matters of the heart!" said
Ottomar. "Whom did you learn it all from--from Count Golm?"
Elsa blushed up to the roots of her hair; she drew her arm out of her
brother's. "I have not deserved that," she said.
Ottomar seized her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Forgive me," he
said. "I feel myself that my jokes are always unlucky now. I don't know
why. But Golm himself is the cause of this one. He is mad about you, as
you probably know already, and he talked of nothing but you when we met
in the park just now as we were riding home. He was riding one of his
own horses, which he has had sent after him; so it looks as if he meant
to stay here. However, I may tell you for your comfort that I am not so
very fond of Golm. I do not think we should ever be very great friends,
unless he happened to present himself in the capacity of--but I will
not make my little Elsa angry again. How many have accepted for
to-night? Does Clemda come? He was not on parade to-day."
It was evident that Ottomar wished to change the subject, and Elsa knew
that she had spoken in vain. Her heart was heavy; misfortune was
approaching her, invisible but unavoidable, just as it did when he had
told her that the vessel would run aground in ten minutes or a quarter
of an hour. And then he had been at her side, had remained by her; she
had looked in the brave blue eyes and felt no fear, for she had known
that this man was inured to dangers. And as she walked silently at her
brother's side--who, silent and gloomy also, had evidently fallen back
into his melancholy musings--her faithful sister's heart told her that
the amiable, careless, light-hearted young man would and must succumb
to a serious danger, unless some stronger hand than hers interfered to
save him. Perhaps--no, certainly--his hand could do it; only that there
was scarcely a possibility of bringing the two young men into such
close relations. But, after all, what was not possible if one only had
true courage?
"Before I forget it, Ottomar, papa wishes you to go over and invite
Captain Schmidt for this evening. Aunt----"
And she told him what had passed.
"August or my servant can do that quite as well," said Ottomar.
"Not quite so well," said Elsa. "The Captain paid us a visit--or, at
least, left his card, as nobody was at home, which comes to the same
thing. It is only civil, therefore, that you should return his visit,
and take the opportunity to give him the invitation."
"I am so tired and knocked up; I must go and have a nap."
"Then go later; there will be plenty of time."
"It seems to me, Elsa, that you have rather a weakness for the
Captain," said Ottomar, standing still and looking his sister in the
face.
"Yes, I have; and he deserves it," said Elsa, bravely meeting his
glance. "He is a good, noble man; I know few like him, and should be
very glad if you knew him better. I am sure you would like him; and
perhaps--there are so few people, Ottomar, that one can trust, that one
can count upon in every difficulty and danger."
"As I can on you!" said Ottomar.
His eyes rested thoughtfully on his sister's brave honest face, and
then turned as if accidentally from her towards two windows of Herr
Schmidt's house, which could be seen from the place where they were
standing. The blue silk curtains of one of the two windows were drawn;
they had been for the last three days; it meant, "I do not expect you
this evening." Should he confide to the prudent, brave, faithful girl,
the secret that weighed on his heart? Should he unburden his heavy
heart by an open honest confession, here where he was sure to find, if
not approval, at least comprehension, interest, and pity?
Pity? and if only scorn awaited him from behind those curtains, if he
were finally dismissed, and must say to-morrow, "Do not trouble
yourself further, Elsa; it is all over and at an end: she has dismissed
me--me!" he should have humbled himself to no purpose, exposed himself
uselessly. No, no! there would be time enough for that. He would hear
first from her own lips.
"I will go over, Elsa," he said, "and I will go at once; I can sleep
later."
"You dear, good Ottomar!" exclaimed Elsa, throwing her arms round her
brother and kissing him; "I knew you would."
"Elsa, come here a minute, please!" called Sidonie from the dining-room
door.
"I am coming, aunt."
Elsa hurried away; Ottomar looked gloomily after her, as the two ladies
disappeared into the house.
He walked a few paces farther till he was quite shut in by the thick
shrubs and concealed from all eyes. He still looked cautiously round
him, tore open his coat, and pulled out the letter which he had found
on his father's table.
In the envelope were several papers, he took out a small sheet in his
father's handwriting. On the sheet was written:
"Received this morning the two enclosed bills, which I have settled and
receipted for you--1200 thalers; the last debts that I pay for you, for
the reason that my own property, as you will see by the accompanying
accounts, has been spent, with the exception of a small portion, in the
same manner, and I cannot pay another penny without depriving my family
of the means of living as our position demands, or running into debt
myself, and must beg you to act accordingly.
"V. Werben."
A beautiful gay butterfly fluttered across the blue sky. A sparrow
darted down from a tree, seized the butterfly, flew with it to the top
of the garden wall, and there devoured his prize.
A bitter smile played on Ottomar's lips.
"You have soon frittered your life away, poor butterfly! Everything
must have an end, one way or another!"
CHAPTER II.
Reinhold had vainly attempted the day before to persuade his uncle to
agree, for this once at least, to the increase of pay demanded by the
work-people; he would so evidently be the greater sufferer if he were
prevented, by the threatened strike of the work-people, from completing
his contracts within the stipulated time. Uncle Ernst was not to be
moved. The work-people, on the other hand, who were quite alive to
their favourable position and perhaps over-rated it, had adhered no
less obstinately to their demands, so that after hours of discussion
backwards and forwards, during which everybody got more and more
excited, matters had come to extremities, and Reinhold, who had
expected this result and had silently prepared for it, had been
obliged, pistol in hand, to drive the furious and drunken mob back from
his uncle's threshold. At the same moment the police had appeared, had
with some difficulty seized the ring-leaders and put down the riot. But
the agitation had spread like lightning through the other marble-works;
everywhere there had been more or less disturbance; the men in the
brick and stone yards joined the rising; since this morning all these
works were at a standstill, and the yards were empty. The masters had
speedily arranged a meeting, which was to take place in an hour. Uncle
Ernst was just ready to start, Reinhold was with him in his room,
attempting once more to persuade the obstinate man to greater mildness,
or at least to take a calmer view of the state of affairs.
"It seems to me, uncle," he said, "that this is just like a mutiny at
sea. If a man is not strong enough to overpower the scoundrels and does
not care to lose his ship and its cargo, to say nothing of his own
life, he must try to come to terms with them. It is not easy for a
proud man, as I know from experience, but in the end it is the wisest
course. The men know that the masters have undertaken large contracts,
that you will lose thousands upon thousands if you stop the works and
are thereby prevented from fulfilling your engagements; they know all
that, and they know also that you must give in at last. I should have
done so yesterday in your place, before matters had gone so far that
you were forced to uphold your authority by force on your own ground.
To-day matters have changed; to-day the question is not of one solitary
case, but of a general calamity, which must be decided upon general
principles. And if you do not agree with this view of affairs, well,
give way for once; let yourself be ruled if it must be so; do not throw
the weight of your name and credit into the balance of the disputants."
Uncle Ernst laughed bitterly.
"The weight of my name, of my credit! My dear Reinhold, you forget who
you are talking to! Am I Bismarck? Am I the Chancellor and President of
the Council? Do all sit in breathless silence when I rise to speak? Do
all tremble when I frown? Do all shrink when I raise my voice? Do all
give way when I threaten to desert them? Is there an army at my back if
I stamp my foot? Bah! my name is Schmidt, and there is an end of it."
"No, no, uncle!" exclaimed Reinhold, "there is not an end of it; you
have only shown that we must do in small matters what he does in great
ones. Even the great Bismarck knows how to trim his sails and tack when
it is necessary, and does it very skilfully so far as I can understand.
We must take example even from our enemies. It sounds hard, I know, and
is a bitter pill; but when you come home, as you probably will do,
angry and wrathful, we will sit down to dinner, and I will help you
manfully to wash down your anger and wrath in an extra bottle or two."
Uncle Ernst did not answer at once; he walked up and down the room with
his head down, sunk in deep thought, his hands behind his back,
occasionally stroking his grey beard, or passing a hand through his
bushy hair. At length he shook his head several times, stood still and
said:
"I cannot do it; I cannot give in without giving myself up, without
ceasing to be what I am. But why not? I no longer suit this world any
more than it suits me. Neither of us loses anything in the other--on
the contrary, he who succeeds to my place will know better what should
be done or left undone, in order to live in peace with the world. Will
you be that other, Reinhold?"
"I?" exclaimed Reinhold, astonished,
"You! You are a true Schmidt, and have been so shaken and tossed about
by the waves, that it must be a hard blow that you cannot stand up
against. You learnt something in your youth, and since then have been
out in the world, and you probably see things from a clearer point of
view than we who have always remained at home and have by degrees lost
our clearsightedness. You are tied to no past, to no scheme of life by
which you must stand or fall, but may, on the contrary, start on an
entirely fresh one, according to your own judgment and the light in
which matters appear to you; and then the reason why I would choose you
before all others for my successor is----"
Uncle Ernst broke off, like a man who has still got the most difficult
thing to say, and can only gather strength for it by a deep breath.
"Is that you are dear to me, Reinhold, and--and--I believe that you
have a little love for me, and that is more than I can say of any one
else in the world."
He had walked to the window and stood there. Reinhold followed him and
laid his hand on his shoulder.
"Dear uncle----"
Uncle Ernst did not move.
"Dear uncle! I thank you from my heart for your love, which you give me
so freely, for how could I have deserved it? What I did yesterday I
would have done for any captain under whom I had served for four and
twenty hours. If indeed love deserves love, then I deserve yours, for I
love and honour you as I would love and honour a father. But that I am
the only one who loves you, you only say because you are out of
spirits, and I hope you do not think it; and if you do think it, I know
better than you."
"Indeed!" said Uncle Ernst. "You know better? You know nothing about
the matter. Have you ever waited in helpless anguish and despair,
tearing your hair because nature seemed to do her work too slowly? Have
you ever sunk on your knees in gratitude when your child's first cry
smote on your ear? Have you ever nursed children on your knees, and
secretly found all your happiness in their laughing eyes, and then seen
how those eyes ceased to laugh at you, how they looked shyly past you
and turned away, eyes and hearts both? To know such things a man must
have experienced them."
"At the worst you can only be speaking of Philip," said Reinhold, "and
even there you take too gloomy a view; but Ferdinanda! And even if all
is not as it should be, is it not partly your own fault, my dear uncle?
A girl's heart needs sunshine, constant sunshine! During these last few
days I have never once heard you speak so kindly to her as you have
just done to me."
"Because you understand me," exclaimed Uncle Ernst. "Ferdinanda does
not understand me. I do not expect that she or any other woman should.
They are not sent into the world for that; they are here to cook and to
knit, like Rike, or if they cannot all cook and knit, to spend their
time in playing the piano, playing at sculpture, and so on. I consider
it one of the principal causes of the feebleness and worthlessness of
the present day that women are allowed so much liberty, and can
interfere in so many things that are quite beyond their province.
Besides, if you think so much of the girl--and I allow she is worth
rather more than most of the chatterboxes--marry her! You would then at
once have a right to take the business off my hands."
Was this one of his uncle's grim jokes, or was it earnest? Reinhold
could not tell. Happily he was spared the necessity of answering by a
knock at the door.
It was Cilli's father, old Kreisel, who at Herr Schmidt's "Come in!"
stepped into the room.
"What is it, Kreisel?" asked Uncle Ernst "But, my good man, what an
extraordinary get up! Are you going to a funeral?"
The old man's attire seemed to justify Uncle Ernst's question. His
little bald head only just appeared above the stiff collar of his
old-fashioned, long-tailed coat, while his boots, on the contrary, at
the end of the short shabby black trousers, had full liberty. He
carried in his hands a tall chimney-pot hat, with a very narrow brim,
of the most antiquated fashion, and a pair of gloves whose past lustre
had faded with time as the colour had faded out of his shrunken face,
the careworn, wasted look of which was only too well suited to his
attire.
"In truth I am going to a funeral," he answered with his low, tremulous
voice.
"Well then, be off!" said Uncle Ernst.
"Whose is it?"
"My own."
Uncle Ernst stared. "Are you mad, old friend?"
"I think not," answered Kreisel; "but I will speak to you at a more
convenient time."
"To your own funeral?" repeated Uncle Ernst. "I am not in the humour
for jokes. Wait a bit, Reinhold! And now out with it, Kreisel! What is
the matter? What do you want?"
"My discharge!" said the old man, taking a white handkerchief from his
coat pocket, and wiping his bald head, on which great drops of
perspiration were standing. "And I may well call that my funeral."
"Well, go and be buried then!" thundered Uncle Ernst.
The old man shrank together, as if he had really received his
death-blow. Reinhold stood embarrassed and troubled. Uncle Ernst paced
the room with hasty steps, then stopped and turned sharply towards the
little man and growled down upon him from his superior height:
"And this is the way you treat me! Fourteen years have we worked
together in joy and in sorrow; you have never heard a hasty word from
my lips that I have not afterwards asked your pardon for, because you
with your weak nerves cannot stand anything of the kind, and I would as
soon do anything to hurt you as to your poor Cilli. And if I have not
done enough for you, it is not my fault--I have of my own accord
doubled your salary, and would have tripled it if you had asked me: but
you never said a word, and I have always had to press it on you; and
now, when--the devil may understand it! I cannot!"
"And you are not likely to understand, Herr Schmidt, if you will not
allow me to tell you my reasons," answered the clerk, turning his hat
round and round despairingly.
"Well then, tell me in--in my nephew's presence; I have no secrets from
him."
"It is not exactly a business secret," said the clerk; "it is my
secret, which has long been burning into my soul, and it will be
comparatively easy to tell it in the presence of the Captain, who has
always been so kind to me and my daughter. I must leave you, Herr
Schmidt, before you send me away, as you sent away those thirty men on
Thursday; I also----"
He held his hat steady now, and his voice no longer trembled; and he
fixed his small, twinkling eyes firmly on Uncle Ernst.
"I also am a Socialist!"
The determination was doubtless an heroic one for the old man, and the
situation in which he found himself was tragical; and yet Reinhold
almost laughed out loud, when Uncle Ernst, instead of storming and
thundering, as was his wont, only opened his eyes wide and said in an
unusually quiet, almost gentle voice: "Are you not also a Communist?"
"I consider Communism to be, under certain circumstances, allowable,"
answered the old gentleman, dropping his eyes again, and in a scarcely
audible voice.
"Then go home," said Uncle Ernst, "and take an hour's sleep to calm
your excitement, and when you awake again, think that it is all a
dream; and now not a word more, or I shall be really angry."
The old man did not venture to answer; he bowed himself out of the
door, with a glance at Reinhold that seemed to say: "You are witness: I
have done my duty."
Reinhold seized his uncle's hand. "Thank you!"
"What for? for not taking the poor old fool at his word? Pooh! he
understands as much about such matters as a new-born baby, and has
picked it all up out of his books, over which he spends half the night
because he cannot sleep, and his Cilli, good little thing, keeps him
company. That sort of Socialism will not do much harm.--Well!"
Grollmann, the old servant, had entered with an embarrassed look and a
visiting card, which he passed from one hand to the other as if it were
a bit of red-hot iron. And Uncle Ernst, as soon as he had glanced at
the card, threw it on to the table as if it had burnt him. "Are you
mad?"
"The young gentleman was so urgent," said Grollmann.
"I am not at home to him--once for all."
"It would only be for a few minutes; the Captain had spoken about him
already."
"What does this mean, Reinhold?"
Reinhold had read the name on the card: "Philip did beg me," he
answered, "the first time I met him, and yesterday again when I called
upon him----"
"You called upon him?"
"I thought it my duty--and he begged me to ask your consent to an
interview; I----"
He did not like to continue before the servant, well as the old
factotum must know all the family affairs; Uncle Ernst also seemed
embarrassed:
"I must go to the meeting," he said.
"You have still a quarter of an hour, uncle," said Reinhold.
"It will only be for a few minutes," repeated Grollmann.
Uncle Ernst turned an angry glance from one to the other, as if he
wished to make them responsible beforehand for the consequences. "He
may come in!"
"Do you wish me to stay, uncle?"
"You had better leave us alone."
Reinhold was not of the same opinion; he knew too well Uncle Ernst's
expression not to feel sure that a storm was brewing. But his wish must
be obeyed.
He met Philip in the doorway. Philip was quite distressed to disturb
Reinhold; doubtless he and his father had important business together;
he could come another time.
"I do not know that I shall be at home to you another time," growled
Uncle Ernst.
Reinhold pretended not to hear these unkind words, and excusing
himself, hurried away.
The door had closed behind him; father and son were face to face.
"What do you want of me here!" asked Uncle Ernst, as if he were
speaking to a third person crouching on the floor a few paces to the
right of Philip.
"I come on business," answered Philip, as if the person he addressed
were floating in the air a few feet to the right of his father.
"I decline to transact any business with you."
"But perhaps not with the directors of the Berlin and Sundin Railway
Company?"
"I decline all business with the Berlin and Sundin Railway Company."
"You are standing in your own light. The business would be highly
advantageous to you. We have got in our pockets a concession for the
island railroad which is the continuation of our own railroad. Our
station must be added to. When I had the pleasure of working with you,
we bought together the land on which the station stands----"
"Upon your share," allow me to remark.
"Upon my share because you would not part with yours----"
"I had advanced you the money for the purchase of yours; so far as I
know you had none then."
"I am the more indebted to you; you laid thereby the foundation of my
present prosperity; for, recognising and profiting by the opportunity,
I sold a portion to the company----"
"Which you had no right to sell."
"I had already repaid you your money, to the last farthing, with the
proper interest."
"And had only forgotten the small circumstance that I gave you the
money for the sole purpose of erecting--in partnership with me--cheap
dwellings for workmen on that ground. It is true there was no written
agreement."
"Fortunately for me, and I should say for you too! After what happened
yesterday, you have probably lost all desire to improve the condition
of these heroes of strikes and riots, as you have hitherto done to your
own cost. But you can now repay yourself what you have spent. Your
colony of work-people has, one way or another, never thriven, and is
now at its last gasp. Put an end to it once for all. Quarter-day is at
hand; we do not want the land before the new year; some of the houses
will be empty now, particularly if you put some pressure on the people,
and we will pay as if your cottages were so many four-storied houses."
"Where will you get the money from, if I may venture to ask?"
"Where from? Where we have always got it."
"Where you have always got it?" returned Uncle Ernst. He turned for the
first time a stern, fixed look upon his son. "That is to say, out of
the pockets of the public, whose credulity you have, in the most
shameless manner, deceived and betrayed with false and lying
prospectuses; whose anxious hopes you feed with sham dividends, which
they must pay themselves; whose loud complaints you boldly stifle in
your so-called general meetings, till at length it occurs to the legal
authorities that might is not always right. I do not care to have
anything to do with the legal authorities--and my carriage is at the
door."
"So is mine," said Philip, turning on his heel and leaving the room.
Uncle Ernst went to a side-table and poured out a large glass of
wine--the bottle knocked against the glass; he had some difficulty in
pouring out the wine--and drank it down at one gulp.
He stood there with an angry cloud on his brow, one hand leaning on the
table, in a kind of stupor.
"I did not wish it," he murmured; "I wished to keep calm. When he came
in he reminded me of his mother--a vacant face too; she never
understood me; but he is only a caricature of her--the vacancy
supplemented by vice! And then his voice--her voice also--her thin
voice when she inflicted upon me her commonplace wisdom--only it is
enlivened by insolence--wretched, insolent boy!"
He drank down a second glass. The cloud on his brow had only grown
darker.
END OF VOL. I.
* * * * *
BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, SURREY.
_S. & H_.