They were returning from a long expedition into the very heart of the
town, where they had been wandering about since the morning, looking
for a wonderfully-carved oak wardrobe which Justus had heard yesterday
from his friend Bunzel, was to be found there in the possession of a
broker. Meta, indeed, had humbly suggested that it might be wiser to go
first to some large shop, there to choose and order their necessary
furniture, and then to look for the fanciful part; but Justus had
proved to her that the whole matter had begun with fancy, and that they
could not be wrong in pursuing the same road a little further--firstly,
because the road, on the whole, was particularly pleasant; and
secondly, because the temptation of getting, probably for a mere song,
a genuine Nuremberg wardrobe of the beginning of the sixteenth century,
was not to be resisted by a true artist mind. Meta's great good sense
had, happily, seen the force of his reasoning, and so they had gone
joyfully on their way.
But unfortunately this immensely-important conversation about the
unique and priceless wardrobe had taken place yesterday evening at a
period of the supper when friend Bunzel's communications had begun to
be somewhat wanting in lucidity, and the broker's direction had
consequently remained in an obscurity which Justus considered to be
highly appropriate to the whole affair, and which gave it quite a local
colour, but which still, in the interests of art, must be cleared up,
and, if they put their wits and their understandings together,
certainly soon would be cleared up.
So they drove on, at first through broad, straight streets, then
through narrower and more twisted ones, till their driver, whom they
had hired by the hour, declared that he had come as far as he could
with his horse and carriage, and that if his fare took the matter as a
joke, as they seemed to be doing, he did not see the fun of it; and
that as for the "old wardrobe" of which they were always talking as
they got in and out, he believed it to be nothing but a hoax.
"Heartless barbarian!" said Justus, as the cab rumbled on over
the antediluvian pavement. "No ray of light has illuminated his
benighted soul; he has no faith in the woodcarving of the sixteenth
century--perhaps not even in Isaac Lobstein! How do matters stand with
your heart, Meta?"
Meta replied that her heart was all right, but that she was beginning
to feel very hungry. They had better try this one street more, and if
Herr Isaac Lobstein did not live here, then she should certainly
propose to beat a retreat.
And behold! their heroic perseverance was crowned by success; Herr
Isaac Lobstein did live in the street, and was in possession of a
wardrobe for sale, indeed a whole row of wardrobes, which all had the
immense advantage over the cabinet that the young couple were looking
for, of being bran-new; while as for oak, that was quite out of
fashion, and not the right sort of wood either, as it made the
furniture much too heavy, which in the changes of residence that "young
couples" so often found necessary, according to all experience, was a
very important matter.
And Herr Isaac Lobstein smiled so benevolently as he said all this in a
tone of paternal remonstrance, that the "young couple," feeling quite
crushed, bought the first wardrobe that came to hand for a very
considerable sum, and when they found themselves in the street again,
looked at each other with very long faces.
"I think, Meta," said Justus, "our driver was not far wrong. Hang that
fellow Bunzel! but he shall pay me for this!"
And therewith he made so fearful and comically-furious a grimace, that
Meta burst into a fit of laughter, in which Justus, after a moment's
consideration, joined her.
And during their long drive back to the studio, where Justus had to
make some arrangements before spending the afternoon with Meta's
hostess, they were perpetually breaking into laughter again, although
between whiles they were talking in all seriousness of the most weighty
matters; Philip's flight which was simultaneous with the breaking up of
the company, and how with all the trouble which this break up had
brought to so many people, it had done this good, that it had at last
obtained consent to their marriage from Meta's father, as Reinhold had
foretold; and what effect the affair would have upon Reinhold and
Elsa's fate; and how poor Herr Kreisel, who had put his savings into
Sundin-Wissows, had been quite off his head this morning from the
shock, and trouble and anxiety for Cilli, whose future he now saw
unprovided for, so that he had had to go to bed; and how foolish it was
of the good old man, as he must know that his friends, and Uncle Ernst
especially, would never forsake him or his dear Cilli.
On this topic they gradually became quite grave, especially Meta, who
sat for some time quite still in her corner, till suddenly sitting up,
she said:
"Do you know, Justus, we must take care of Cilli, for you know if she
were not blind, dear thing, you would have married her, only that if
she were not blind and could see what a dreadfully ugly old darling you
are, she would not have been in love with you, for you know the poor
thing is very much in love with you, as I am a little, you know."
Herewith she threw herself into Justus's arms, and cried as if her
heart would break, and then laughed again as Justus suggested that she
had better have both windows shut, so that he had much trouble in
restoring her to anything like her natural self, as they crossed the
court to the studio.
"For you see," said Justus, "it is all nonsense, begging your pardon,
though Reinhold did suggest something of the kind. You know better than
other people that I am not over-modest, but as for Cilli, you see she
is simply an angel. She has shown herself so more than ever lately, in
the way she has borne with poor Ferdinanda, who really does not deserve
it, as only an angel could. And it was not because she was blind that I
did not fall in love with her, and would not have married her, but
because I could only fall in love with and marry a human being, and you
were the human being, and so----"
They had by this time entered the studio.
"Hush!" said Meta. "Don't speak so loud; it sounds as if we were in a
church here, you know, like that time when Cilli--oh! the poor dear is
sitting there; I think she must be asleep."
"Where?"
"There, under my bust."
But Justus needed but one glance to see with his sharp artist's eyes,
that the sleep in which the pale angel form was lying, was the sleep
that knows no waking.
His first idea was to spare Meta the sad sight, and he caught her hand
to lead her away, but the shock which she saw expressed in his varying
countenance had told her all more plainly than even the sight of the
sleeping figure. She trembled all over, but she held fast the hand
which he had given to her, and they went together up to the dead girl,
and looked in solemn silence into the smiling face.
"She has been praying for us," whispered Justus; "the last thought of
her pure soul."
Tears choked his voice. Meta threw herself sobbing on his breast.
"Oh! Justus, Justus, how we must love each other!"
A sound close by made them look up. It was Uncle Ernst, who had hastily
entered by the open studio door, and seeing the strange group had been
suddenly seized by a terrible misgiving of what had happened. He had
come nearer to them, and stood now close behind them with his arms
folded across his chest, and his eyes fixed upon the dead face.
Grollmann and Aunt Rikchen came next, Aunt Rikchen trembling, and often
sobbing aloud, but valiantly struggling with her sobs and tears as
often as they threatened to dim her eyes, proving the truth of what she
had always maintained of herself, that in spite of everything she was a
true sister of her brother, and that when there was any need for it,
she would always be found at her post.
It was she who took all necessary measures with due forethought
and decision; and only when the fair corpse had been laid upon a
hastily-contrived bier to be carried into the other house, and she was
about to follow, and her brother, who had let her do everything
quietly, took her hand, and said with a long-drawn breath, "Thank you,
Rikchen," was the warm brave heart suddenly stirred to its depths, and
she would have broken into loud weeping if Uncle Ernst had not said
peremptorily, but in a kindly tone such as she had never heard from his
mouth, "Let that be, Rikchen! There are so many things to be done
still."
"God knows there are!" thought Aunt Rikchen, but she did not say it,
and followed the procession which was moving to the door.
But Uncle Ernst was standing again as before, with his arms folded
across his breast, and looking fixedly at the spot where in his mind's
eye he still saw the same touching picture.
"Death was in her heart!" he murmured, "and she knew it. She said it so
meekly, and I did not understand it. There are no more miracles, but
there are signs given to those who have eyes to see. I asked for a
sign!"
His arms relaxed their pressure, and two burning tears dropped from his
eyelashes and rolled down his furrowed cheeks to his grey beard. He
looked round timidly, but no one had seen him weep.
With his stately head bent low, but a step as firm as ever, he left the
studio.