Another month had passed by, and it was now nearly mid-winter.
Another month had passed by, and neither had Madame Staubach nor
Peter Steinmarc heard ought of Ludovic's presence among the rafters;
but things were much altered in the red house, and Linda's life was
hot, fevered, suspicious, and full of a dangerous excitement. Twice
again she had seen Ludovic, once meeting him in the kitchen, and once
she had met him at a certain dark gate in the Nonnen Garten, to which
she had contrived to make her escape for half an hour on a false
plea. Things were much changed with Linda Tressel when she could
condescend to do this. And she had received from her lover a dozen
notes, always by the hand of Tetchen, and had written to him more
than once a few short, incoherent, startling words, in which she
would protest that she loved him, and protest also at the same time
that her love must be all in vain. "It is of no use. Do not write,
and pray do not come. If this goes on it will kill me. You know that
I shall never give myself to anybody else." This was in answer to
a proposition made through Tetchen that he should come again to
her,--should come, and take her away with him. He had come, and there
had been that interview in the kitchen, but he had not succeeded in
inducing her to leave her home.
There had been many projects discussed between them, as to which
Tetchen had given much advice. It was Tetchen's opinion, that if
Linda would declare to her aunt that she meant at once to marry
Ludovic Valcarm, and make him master of the house in which they
lived, Madame Staubach would have no alternative but to submit
quietly; that she would herself go forth and instruct the clergyman
to publish the banns, and that Linda might thus become Valcarm's
acknowledged wife before the snow was off the ground. Ludovic seemed
to have his doubts about this, still signifying his preference for a
marriage at Munich. When Tetchen explained to him that Linda would
lose her character by travelling with him to Munich before she was
his wife, he merely laughed at such an old wife's tale. Had not he
himself seen Fanny Heisse and Max Bogen in the train together between
Augsburg and Nuremberg long before they were married, and who had
thought of saying a word against Fanny's character? "But everybody
knew about that," said Linda. "Let everybody know about this," said
Ludovic.
But Linda would not go. She would not go, even though Ludovic told
her that it was imperative that he himself should quit Nuremberg.
Such matters were in training,--he did not tell her what matters,--as
would make his going quite imperative. Still she would take no step
towards going with him. That advice of Tetchen's was much more in
accordance with her desires. If she could act upon that, then she
might have some happiness before her. She thought that she could
make up her mind, and bring herself to declare her purpose to her
aunt, if Ludovic would allow her to do so. But Ludovic declared that
this could not be done, as preparatory to their being married at
Nuremberg; and at last he was almost angry with her. Did she not
trust him? Oh, yes, she would trust him with everything; with her
happiness, her heart, her house,--with all that the world had left
for her. But there was still that feeling left within her bosom, that
if she did this thing which he proposed, she would be trusting him
with her very soul.
Ludovic said a word to her about the house, and Tetchen said many
words. When Linda expressed an opinion, that though the house might
not belong to her aunt legally, it was or ought to be her aunt's
property in point of honour, Tetchen only laughed at her. "Don't
let her bother you about Peter then, if she chooses to live here on
favour," said Tetchen. As Linda came to think of it, it did appear
hard to her that she should be tormented about Peter Steinmarc in her
own house. She was not Madame Staubach's child, nor her slave; nor,
indeed, was she of childish age. Gradually the idea grew upon her
that she might assert her right to free herself from the tyranny to
which she was made subject. But there was always joined to this a
consciousness, that though, according to the laws of the world, she
might assert her right, and claim her property, and acknowledge to
everybody her love to Ludovic Valcarm, she could do none of these
things in accordance with the laws of God. She had become subject to
her aunt by the circumstances of her life, as though her aunt were in
fact her parent, and the fifth commandment was as binding on her as
though she were in truth the daughter of the guardian who had had her
in charge since her infancy. Once she said a word to her aunt about
the house, and was struck with horror by the manner in which Madame
Staubach had answered her. She had simply said that, as the house was
partly hers, she had thought that she might suggest the expediency
of getting another lodger in place of Peter Steinmarc. But Madame
Staubach had arisen from her chair and had threatened to go at once
out into the street,--"bare, naked, and destitute," as she expressed
herself. "If you ever tell me again," said Madame Staubach, "that the
house is yours, I will never eat another meal beneath your father's
roof." Linda, shocked at her own wickedness, had fallen at her aunt's
knees, and promised that she would never again be guilty of such
wickedness. And as she reflected on what she had done, she did
believe herself to have been very mean and very wicked. She had known
all her life that, though the house was hers to live in, it was
subject to the guidance of her aunt; and so had she been subject till
she had grown to be a woman. She could not quite understand that such
subjection for the whole term of her life need be a duty to her; but
when was the term of duty to be completed?
Between her own feelings on one side, and Tetchen's continued
instigation on the other, she became aware that that which she truly
needed was advice. These secret interviews and this clandestine
correspondence were terrible to her very soul. She would not even yet
be a castaway if it might be possible to save herself! There were two
things fixed for her,--fixed, even though by their certainty she must
become a castaway. She would never marry Peter Steinmarc, and she
would never cease to love Ludovic Valcarm. But might it be possible
that these assured facts should be reconciled to duty? If only there
were somebody whom she might trust to tell her that!
Linda's father had had many friends in Nuremberg, and she could still
remember those whom, as a child, she had seen from time to time in
her father's house. The names of some were still familiar to her, and
the memories of the faces even of one or two who had suffered her
to play at their knees when she was little more than a baby, were
present to her. Manners had so changed at the red house since those
days, that few, if any, of these alliances had been preserved. The
peculiar creed of Madame Staubach was not popular with the burghers
of Nuremberg, and we all know how family friendships will die out
when they are not kept alive by the warmth of familiar intercourse.
There were still a few, and they among those most respected in the
city, who would bow to Madame Staubach when they met her in the
streets, and would smile and nod at Linda as they remembered the old
days when they would be merry with a decorous mirth in the presence
of her father. But there were none in the town,--no, not one,--who
could interfere as a friend in the affairs of the widow Staubach's
household, or who ever thought of asking Linda to sit at a friendly
hearth. Close neighbourhood and school acquaintance had made Fanny
Heisse her friend, but it was very rarely indeed that she had set her
foot over the threshold of Jacob's door. Peter Steinmarc was their
only friend, and his friendship had arisen from the mere fact of his
residence beneath the same roof. It was necessary that their house
should be divided with another, and in this way Peter had become
their lodger. Linda certainly could not go to Peter for advice. She
would have gone to Jacob Heisse, but that Jacob was a man slow of
speech, somewhat timid in all matters beyond the making of furniture,
and but little inclined to meddle with things out of his own reach.
She fancied that the counsel which she required should be sought for
from some one wiser and more learned than Jacob Heisse.
Among the names of those who had loved her father, which still
rested in her memory, was that of Herr Molk, a man much spoken of
in Nuremberg, one rich and of great repute, who was or had been
burgomaster, and who occupied a house on the Egidien Platz, known to
Linda well, because of its picturesque beauty. Even Peter Steinmarc,
who would often speak of the town magistrates as though they were
greatly inferior to himself in municipal lore and general wisdom,
would mention the name of Herr Molk with almost involuntary respect.
Linda had seen him from time to time either in the Platz or on the
market-place, and her father's old friend had always smiled on her
and expressed some hope that she was well and happy. Ah, how vain had
been that hope! What if she should now go to Herr Molk and ask him
for advice? She would not speak to Tetchen, because Tetchen would at
once tell it all to Ludovic; and in this matter, as Linda felt, she
must not act as Ludovic would bid her. Yes; she would go to this
noted pundit of the city, and, if he would allow her so to do, would
tell to him all her story.
And then she made another resolve. She would not do this without
informing her aunt that it was about to be done. On this occasion,
even though her aunt should tell her to remain in the house, she
would go forth. But her aunt should not throw it in her teeth that
she had acted on the sly. One day, one cold November morning, when
the hour of their early dinner was approaching, she went up-stairs
from the kitchen for her hat and cloak, and then, equipped for her
walk, presented herself before her aunt.
"Linda, where are you going?" demanded Madame Staubach.
"I am going, aunt Charlotte, to Herr Molk, in the Egidien Platz."
"To Herr Molk? And why? Has he bidden you come to him?" Then Linda
told her story, with much difficulty. She was unhappy, she said, and
wanted advice. She remembered this man,--that he was the friend of
her father. "I am sorry, Linda, that you should want other advice
than that which I can give you."
"Dear aunt, it is just that. You want me to marry this man here, and
I cannot do it. This has made you miserable, and me miserable. Is it
not true that we are not happy as we used to be?"
"I certainly am not happy. How can I be happy when I see you
wandering astray? How can I be happy when you tell me that you love
the man in Nuremberg whom I believe of all to be most wicked and
ungodly? How can I be happy when you threaten to expel from the
house, because it is your own, the only man whom I love, honour, and
respect?"
"I never said so, aunt Charlotte;--I never thought of saying such a
thing."
"And what will you ask of this stranger should you find yourself in
his presence?"
"I will tell him everything, and ask him what I should do."
"And will you tell him truly?"
"Certainly, aunt Charlotte; I will tell him the truth in everything."
"And if he bids you marry the man whom I have chosen as your
husband?" Linda, when this suggestion was made to her, became silent.
Truly it was impossible that any wise man in Nuremberg could tell her
that such a sacrifice as that was necessary! Then Madame Staubach
repeated the question. "If he bids you marry Peter Steinmarc, will
you do as he bids you?"
Surely she would not be so bidden by her father's friend! "I will
endeavour to do as he bids me," said Linda.
"Then go to him, my child, and may God so give him grace that he may
soften the hardness of your heart, and prevail with you to put down
beneath your feet the temptations of Satan; and that he may quell the
spirit of evil within you. God forbid that I should think that there
is no wisdom in Nuremberg fitter than mine to guide you. If the man
be a man of God, he will give you good counsel."
Then Linda, wondering much at her aunt's ready acquiescence, went
forth, and walked straightway to the house of Herr Molk in the
Egidien Platz.