Albano had, during Linda's absence, received from Roquairol a request
not to travel long just now, so that he might in a few days see his
tragedy of "The Tragedian." Gaspard, whom he found displeased at
Linda's shyness of marriage, gave him a singular note on a card for
Linda, containing nothing but this, from her invisible father:--
"I approve thy love. I wait for thee to seal it, that I may at length
embrace my daughter.
"The Future One."
So many weighty wishes of others concurring with his own, took away now
from his tender sense of honor the suspicion of selfishness and
importunity, if he should ask of her the fairest festival of his life.
He gave his father great satisfaction by his resolution to do this.
Gaspard communicated to him private war intelligence, and told him,
jokingly, it would be soon time now, that he should help fight for his
friends, the modern French. Albano said it was even his earnest
purpose. He was glad to hear that from a youth, Gaspard said; war
trained one to business, and the right or wrong of it had nothing to do
with the case, and concerned others, namely, those who declared the
war.
Albano took his journey, happy through remembrance, still happier
through hope. He had now courage to imagine to himself the day when
Linda, a queen, should entwine with the shining crown of her spirit the
soft bridal-wreath,--when this sun should rise as a Luna,--when a
father, whom his own father loved, should interrupt the high festival
by one of the highest,--and when for once two beings might say to each
other: Now we love each other forever. So blest, and with an infinite
love and sunny-warm soul, he arrived at the Prince's garden.
He always, in his passionate punctuality, came much too early. No one
was yet there but two--departing ones, Roquairol and the Princess.
These two were now so often and so openly seen together, that the
appearing seemed intentional. Roquairol came courteously to meet him
and reminded him of the received billet. "This is the theatre, dear
friend," said he, "where I next play; most of the preparations I have
already made, particularly to-day. My excellent Princess has granted me
this spot." "You are surely coming, too," said that lady in a friendly
manner to Albano. "I have already promised him as much," said Albano,
who felt two ice-cellars blowing upon him in the midst of his spring.
Fraülein von Haltermann alone showed him great and decided scorn.
"Shall we go first to my sister's?" asked Roquairol of the Princess, as
he escorted her away. Albano did not understand that. The Princess
nodded. They took leave of him. Fraülein von Haltermann seemed to
forget him. They flew away, stopped up on a hill encircled by the whole
blooming landscape, near a little flower-garden, and then rolled along
down.
The Charles's-wain with the beloved maidens came now into the French
princely garden. Ardently did Albano and Linda press each other to
their hearts, which to-day,--just as if those hearts had been a second
time created and adorned for each other by destiny,--they would once
more, with new hopes and worlds, give each other in exchange! All was
so resplendent around them, all new, rare, tranquil; the whole world a
garden full of high, fluttering fountains, which, drunk with splendor,
flung their rainbows through each other in the sun. Julienne drew him
aside to tell him of Linda's fair resolve; but he anticipated her with
the intelligence of his. She strengthened him with her intelligence,
delighted at the singular playing together of the wheels of fortune.
When Albano and the bride were together again, they felt a new warmth
of heart; not such as comes from a dull, consuming coal, which at last
crumbles into blackness, but that of a higher sun, which out of loud
flames makes peaceful rays, and which surrounds men with a warm, mild
spring day. Albano neither delayed nor introduced the matter, but gave
her the note of her father, and said during the reading, with trembling
voice, "Thy father begs with me and for me." Linda's tears gushed,--the
youth trembled,--Julienne cried: "Linda, see how he loves thee!" Albano
took her to his heart,--Linda stammered, "Take, then, my dear freedom,
and stay with me." "Till my last hour," said he. "And till mine, and
thou goest to no war," said she, with a tenderly low voice. He pressed
her confusedly and ardently to his heart. "Am I not right, thou
promisest it, my dear?" she repeated.
"O thou divine one, think of something fairer now," said he. "Only yes!
Albano, yes?" she continued. "All will be solved by our love," said he.
"Yes? Say only yes!" She begged,--he was silent,--she was terrified.
"Yes?" said she, more vehemently. "O Linda, Linda!" he stammered,--they
sank out of each other's arms,--"I cannot," said he. "Human creatures,
understand each other!" said Julienne. "Albano, speak thy word," said
Linda, severely. "I have none," said he. Linda raised herself,
offended, and said, "I, too, am proud,--I am going now, Julienne." No
prayer of the sister could melt the astounded maiden or the astounded
youth. Anger, with its speaking-trumpet and ear-trumpet, spoke and
heard everything too strongly.
The Countess went out, and commanded to harness the horses. "O ye
people, and thou obstinate one," said Julienne; "go, I pray, after her,
and appease her." But the leaves of the sensitive-plant of his honor
were now crushed; this (to him) new excitement, this shower of
indignation had agitated him; he asked not after her. "Look up at that
garden," said his sister, beside herself; "there lies buried thy first
bride; O spare the second!" This worked exactly the opposite effect to
what she had intended. "Liana," said he, coldly, "would not have been
so; just go and attend the Countess!" "O ye men!" cried she, and went.
Soon after he saw the two drive away. Gradually the wild horde of
indignation scattered and vanished. But he could not, he felt, have
done otherwise. He had journeyed to meet her and she him with such new
tenderness,--neither knew of it on the other's part,--and hence the
incomprehensible contrast enraged both so exceedingly. He hated, even
in other men, begging, how much more in himself, and never was he
capable of setting right a person who misunderstood him. He looked
now around him; all sparkling fountains of joy had suddenly sunk, the
skies were desolate, and the water murmured in its depths. He rode up
to the garden where Liana's grave should be. Only flower-beds and a
linden-tree with a circular bench did he see there, but no grave.
Stunned and confounded, he looked in and around over the shining
spaces. Obdurate,--tearless,--with a heart suffocated in the
regurgitating stream of love,--gazing out into the wide future, which
ran between mountains into crooked valleys and hid itself, he rode
gloomily home. Here he lighted upon the following leaf from Schoppe,
which the uncle, hastening on in advance from Spain, had left for him.
"It is all right,--I found the well-known portrait,--I bring it along
with me in my hunting-pouch,--I come in a few days or weeks,--I have
encountered the Baldhead, and killed him dead enough,--I am very
much in my senses. Thy singular uncle travelled with me for a long
time. S."