buzzing and murmuring.
"Let the wet lump bring us into trouble? No, indeed. We're too smart
for that. That's the third charming gift this week. First the drunken
harper, then the new born babe, and now--"
"Don't scream so, mother," said a sturdy young fellow, who had just
snatched the lantern from his neighbor's hand and turned its light full
on the face of the prostrate figure, "You'll bring the police upon us."
"That I will," cried the woman, "and at once. When we took that sewing
girl out of the water last Easter, and I put her in my own bed and made
a cup of tea to restore her to her senses--what did the wicked minx do?
Stole six pairs of gloves from a shop the very same day, and because
we'd had her with us, we too got nabbed by the police just as if we
were receivers of stolen goods. And I'm to get myself into trouble
again by my kindness to strangers! God forbid. Let the police take care
of the whole brood of suicides. Carl, put on something warm and run as
fast as you can, till you find a watchman. We've taken a strange woman
out of the water, who was dead as a door nail, and the rest of it."
"Stop," suddenly cried a hoarse voice. All turned toward the landing
and to their astonishment saw Mohr leap down the steps and rush across
the narrow wooden bridge to the deck. The next instant he had snatched
the lantern from the captain's hand and fallen on his knees beside the
lifeless form. The light fell brightly on the pallid face, whose half
parted lips seemed still quivering with the agony of departing life.
The heavy eyebrows were painfully contracted, and only a narrow strip
of the eyes gleamed under the wearily closed lids. This rigid, almost
masculine countenance, had obtained in death an expression of gentle,
child-like helplessness, which exerted a softening influence even on
the rude minds of the sailors. Mohr dropped the lantern, which was
extinguished in its fall. For an instant the deepest darkness prevailed
on deck.
When the boatman's wife, who had been completely silenced by the sudden
interruption, had lighted the lantern, Mohr started up.
"How long is it since you found this lady and drew her out of the
water?" he asked.
"Not half an hour. But no one can tell how long she's been floating,"
said the man to whom the boat belonged. "I'd gone to sleep, and
suddenly woke and remembered that I had left my new jacket on deck, and
if the snow kept on it would be ruined by morning. As I went astern, I
heard something strike the boat like a log of wood. The lady must have
a hard skull or it would have been broken. Do you know her, sir?" Mohr
made no reply. He had enough to do to collect his thoughts and decide
upon what was to be done.
"Have you a litter?" he asked. "You can make three thalers by putting
the lady on it and carrying her a hundred paces to a house where she
will be received. I'll answer for the rest, and if the police should
afterwards find out that you didn't give them notice of the affair,
I'll take all the responsibility. But make haste, before it's too
late!--There, lay her flat on her back and cover her with this cloak.
And now forward--"
Not another word was spoken. His hasty, imperious manner, the promised
reward and the prospect of getting rid of the disagreeable business,
urged the sailors to the utmost speed. Two stout men lifted the
motionless figure on a flat frame, which was used for unloading baskets
of fruit, and fastened her firmly on it with a broad girdle. Her
clothes and hair were still dripping with water, as she was raised and
carefully carried up the steps of the landing. Then the bearers moved
swiftly forward with their burden, while the others remained on the
boats dividing the money among them. Mohr was the only one who followed
the bier. He had not trusted himself to touch the lifeless body, but as
it was raised he bent over the litter to keep it steady, and had
brushed her hand with his cheek; its icy coldness froze the blood in
his veins.
He ordered the bearers to stop before the artist's little house, but
was obliged to ring the bell at the gate of the timber-yard a long
time, before any one moved. How terribly long the moments were! Who
could tell whether a hundred seconds more or less might not decide
whether that motionless breast would ever again be heaved by the breath
of life?
At last a door behind the wood pile opened, a flickering light
appeared, and the zaunkoenig's voice was heard asking: "what's the
matter?" A very few words were enough to urge the kind-hearted little
man to breathless haste. His trembling hands instantly opened the
little door beside the gate, and without another syllable being
uttered, the sad procession moved along the dark path to the little
house.
CHAPTER X.
At this same late hour the boudoir of the singer, whose acquaintance we
made at the Pagoda, looked very bright and cheerful. A candelabrum with
five candles was burning on the daintily spread table, at which the gay
beauty sat with her friend, resting on her laurels after the first
night of a new opera.
"You were charming to-night, Adele," said Marquard, as he pushed back a
plate filled with oyster shells and rose to light a cigar at the
candelabrum. "Really, loveliest of witches, you improve in each new
part, and I shan't be surprised if one day you outgrow even me. But
you've one talent that compels my highest esteem: I admire it even more
than your acting, your singing, or the black art by which you make a
whole audience madly in love with you."
"And that is?"
"Your talent for eating oysters. You laugh, Adelina. But I'm perfectly
serious, believe me. I would engage to describe the mind and heart of
any woman with whom I had been ten minutes without any other knowledge
of her than eating oysters together, and never make a mistake--with the
sole stipulation that it's not her first essay in the noble art, when
even the most gifted person may set about it awkwardly."
"Well, and wherein does my merit in this direction consist?"
"First call Jenny and let her carry away the bouquets which have been
thrown to you to-day. The odor of champagne, Havanas, oysters and roses
all at once, are too much of a good thing and we shall have the
headache. Besides, I'm far from being vain enough to think the couch of
a beautiful girl softer, because it's strewn with rose leaves bestowed
by less fortunate admirers."
"You're terribly _blase_!" laughed the singer. "If you were not so
amusing, I'd have discarded you long ago. But be quick, tell me your
oyster theory."
"No," he answered with a calm smile, leaning comfortably back on the
little sofa; "some other time. The subject's more profound than you
suppose. All themes which trench on the boundaries between the sensual
and the intellectual are very subtle, and I've too much scientific
knowledge to make short work of such delicate things. Besides, directly
after your declaration that you only tolerate me because I'm amusing, I
should be a fool to deliver a lecture on the physiology of enjoyment,
instead of giving a practical illustration of the subject. You may do
me the favor of taking off your head-dress, child. You know I've a
foolish fancy for pulling your poodle head."
"Indeed!" she replied. "First give me a light for my cigarette, and
then I want the explanation you promised me yesterday: the reason why
you'll never marry. You remember, I had to go to rehearsal and you to a
consultation."
"And you've not already discovered the answer yourself? Oh! Adelina,
your love for me clouds your clear intellect!"
"You insolent, conceited fellow! But he's incorrigible," laughed the
girl, as she carelessly took off the heavy false braids and laid them
on the chair beside the wine-cooler. She really looked far prettier in
her short and now disordered curls.
"There, now you're yourself again," said Marquard looking at her
through his gold spectacles with unfeigned satisfaction. "And since
you've laid aside all deceit, I'll honestly acknowledge, that out of
pure sentimentality, I shall never marry; my tombstone will bear the
inscription: 'Here lies the virgin Marquard.'"
"You and sentimentality!"--she laughed merrily.
"To be sure, my fair friend. Judge for yourself: don't you think it
would be pastoral, that I should show sensitiveness if my wife were not
faithful to me? yet I myself should be just as devoted to polytheism
after marriage as before. I couldn't help it you see, but I'm too just
to expect that a good, virtuous creature would be satisfied with such a
small fraction of a husband."
"As if the right woman wouldn't be able to improve you and make you a
whole man and husband!"
"Improve me, my friend!" he sighed with a comical pathos in his look
and tone. "In case you should ever want a faithful husband, let me warn
you to beware of doctors in choosing one. We really ought to take a vow
of celibacy, like the Catholic priests. The man to whom you confess,
must be either a stone or a saint, to escape the contagion of your
sins. And yet I'd rather listen to the symptoms of an ailing heart,
than hear of a contusion on the knee. Why do you move away from me?"
"Because you're a very frivolous fellow and have had too much
champagne. Besides, it's late."
"Too late--to go. I left word at home that my servant needn't expect
me. As I fortunately have no wife, I'll for once be as comfortable as
other married men and sleep for one night without being disturbed by
domestic troubles or by other people's. Here I'm no doctor, here I'm a
man and may be permitted to act like one." He threw away his cigar and
tenderly approaching the young girl, took both hands in his and swung
them to and fro.
At this moment Adele's maid entered, holding a card in her hand. "The
gentleman's in the ante-room and earnestly begs to see the Herr
Doctor."
"Tell him he may go--Why did you say I was here?"
"He didn't ask me. He gave me the card at once, in spite of my
denial--"
"Mohr! Good Heavens, what brings him here at this hour! If
Balder--excuse me, Adele, but I must see what the trouble is." He
rushed out of the door so hastily, that he upset the basket in which
Adele's little terrier was quietly sleeping. While she tried to still
the loud barking of the frightened animal, Marquard had hurried into
the ante-room with the question about Balder on his lips.
"I believe all is going on well at the tun," said Mohr. "But you must
come with me at once: some one has met with an accident--we've not a
moment to lose."
"Holloa, my friend!" replied Marquard, suddenly relapsing into his
usual indifferent tone. "If that's all, four houses beyond, on the
right hand side as you go out of the door, lives a very worthy
colleague of mine, who has little practice as yet and probably will be
more inclined at this moment to obey your philanthropic summons--"
"You'll come with me, Marquard," said Mohr in a hollow voice, which
trembled with a terrible anxiety. "Christiane has drowned herself;
we've just taken her out of the river; God only knows whether it's not
already too late--" He tottered as he wearily gasped out the words; his
powerful frame seemed ready to sink, yet he did not take the chair
Marquard pushed toward him.
"You ought to have said so at once," grumbled the latter. "That's quite
a different matter. Sit down two minutes, I only want to get my hat.
The child in there needn't know anything about it yet."
An instant after he came out of Adele's room, and not a word, not an
expression of his grave face betrayed any remembrance that he had been
so rudely interrupted in his bacchanalian levity. When they were
sitting together in the droschky, whose driver incited by Mohr's double
fare, drove at a furious pace, he said to his silent, gloomy companion:
"Among all the painful and unpleasant tasks expected of us physicians,
nothing is more sad, at least to me, than to do my duty in such a case
as this. Every one owes Nature a death. But to arouse a poor fool, who
thinks he's settled his debt and compel him to count out the whole sum
again, because he didn't pay it the first time in the current coin of
the country, is really a contemptible business, and enough to disgust
one with the whole trade. I've been called in on such occasions four
times, and amid all the rubbing and manipulating, have always wished my
efforts might be vain."
"I hope this time, you'll--"
"You need have no anxiety. The professional spirit is stronger than
philosophy or humanity. _Tiat experimentum et pereat mundus_, that's in
this case: _vivat_ a poor creature who has nothing to live for, but
every reason to curse existence. Christiane! Have you any suspicion
what induced her to do this? To be sure, we ought to remember that she
has a fancy for taking French leave of pleasant company. Is anything
known of her circumstances? An unhappy love affair? But you're like the
statue of the Commandant!"
"Pardon me if I'm a poor substitute for the society you've just left,"
faltered Mohr. "I--my nerves are no longer the strongest; this has
taken a violent hold upon me; between ourselves, Marquard, this girl,
who seemed by no means attractive to the rest of you, _I_ loved very
dearly."
"My poor boy!" murmured the physician, as in the darkness he took
Mohr's cold hand and pressed it gently. Then no more was said. Mohr
threw himself back in one corner of the carriage and buried his face in
his handkerchief. When they alighted at the timber-yard, Marquard saw
that it was flushed and wet with tears.
The little artist was standing at the open door of the housel "At
last!" he exclaimed. "We're nearly dead with anxiety and impatience.
However there really seems to be some hope. Leah thinks she's beginning
to breathe. Turn to the right, if you please. We've laid her on my bed
in the studio."
"Stay outside, Heinrich," said Marquard, "and I don't need the young
lady either. I shall manage better alone." He gave a few directions,
said a soothing word to Leah, who was gazing at him with a strangely
intent expression, like that of a somnambulist, and then proceeded to
his difficult task.
The three were now once more together in the very room where, a few
hours before they had chatted so comfortably around the tea table. But
no one broke the silence. The artist had seated himself opposite to the
bust of his dead wife, and seemed to be questioning the mute features
about the eternal secret of life and death. Mohr, with his hands
crossed behind his back, paced restlessly up and down the room like a
caged lion, pausing at every dozen steps as if to listen. Leah sat at
the window, gazing out into the storm. She did not move a limb, her
eyes were closed, but not for a single second did she lose her
consciousness of what was passing around her. The cause of this
paralysis was neither bodily exhaustion nor the stupor that often
follows great excitement. When she removed the clothing from the
stranger's motionless body to wrap it in blankets, she had found under
the wet corsets a small, leather case, fastened with a red ribbon.
Thinking it might contain a letter which would give some cause for her
mad act, or a card with her name, which Mohr had not thought to tell
them, she opened it, unnoticed by the others. It contained neither
letter nor card, but a photograph stained, to be sure, by the water,
but in which she nevertheless recognized at the first glance--Edwin. We
need add nothing farther to explain why she sat so absently at the
window hour after hour.
At last--it was probably about four o'clock in the morning--they heard
the door on the opposite side of the entry open, and directly after
Marquard entered.
"Good morning," he said dryly. "We've won the victory and driven the
enemy from all his positions. My adjutant, your excellent old servant,
Herr Koenig, has orders to pursue him and clear the battle field of all
marauders. I'm going home to get a few hours sleep, and I shall then
have the honor of seeing you again."
He bowed carelessly and left the room. As he was groping in the dark
passage to find the door, he suddenly felt himself seized from behind
and clasped in two trembling arms. Mohr lay sobbing on his neck.
CHAPTER XI.
Balder's convalescence was more rapid than could have been hoped for.
At the end of a fortnight it had progressed so far that he was able to
sit up a few hours and, though with the greatest caution, employ
himself a little, read, and take part in quiet conversation. His
youthful vigor seemed to kindle anew and pervade all his organs with
vital strength. He had never seemed more cheerful than during these two
weeks, never more winning than when he acknowledged the affection shown
him by even the merest acquaintances. When Frau Valentin, who had daily
supplied him with strengthening broths, jellies, and the most delicate
game, was at last on the tenth day after his attack, permitted, as a
reward for her motherly care, to see him five minutes, the short visit
was enough to make the worthy lady fairly in love with her ward. Every
day Madame Feyertag's first business was to go to the tun to inquire in
person how he had spent the night; light a fire in the stove, because
the girl made too much noise and Reginchen still avoided the room, and
to water the beautiful palms, which Toinette the day after her visit
had sent to the tun, to delight the invalid's eyes. She did not come
again herself, but the dwarf with the pale blue eyes was sent every
noon for the latest bulletin, which Edwin, faithful to his promise,
wrote every morning. These lines were the only bond of intercourse
between them. He had vowed not to leave Balder's side again until he
should be well, with the exception of the hour at noon, when he
delivered a lecture, at which time, his place was supplied by one of
his friends. Either Mohr came to play chess, or Franzelius, who no
longer seemed to have any other occupation, sat down beside him with a
book and read aloud, an accomplishment of which he was a master. But
not a word was exchanged with the patient on the subject that engrossed
the thoughts of both. The names of Christiane and Reginchen never
crossed their lips, and even the little artist, who often looked in,
had agreed with Mohr that the unhappy girl's fate ought not to be
mentioned in the sick room.
One beautiful sunny day in November, Edwin had set out on his daily
walk to the university, and Franzelius was preparing to read aloud from
a translation of Sophocles, when Balder, who was reclining near the
window in a comfortable arm-chair sent by Frau Valentin, suddenly laid
his pale slender hand on the book and said: "We won't read to-day,
Franzelius, I'd rather talk about all sorts of things with you. I feel
so well that it's not the least exertion to speak, and the sun is
shining so brightly in the clear sky! Only to see that, is such an
incomparable happiness that to enjoy it one would gladly endure all the
evils of this life. Don't you think so?"
"I can't look at it without thinking that it shines equally on the just
and the unjust, and beholds much more misery than happiness," replied
the printer, looking almost defiantly toward the sky. "I wish it would
die out once for all, and with it this whole motley lie which we call
life."
"No, Franzel," said Balder quietly, "you are wrong. Even if the sun
knew what it was doing, in creating and sustaining life, there is no
cause for shame in such a work. Why do you call existence a lie,
Franzel? Because its end is so abrupt? But your existence had its
beginning as well and did that beginning ever bespeak a promise of
perpetuity? On the contrary my dear fellow, there is much honesty in
human life; it promises so little and yet yields us so much. Will you
censure it because it can't be all that we visionary or dissatisfied or
unjust people demand?"
"There's no joy to me in living," muttered the other gloomily, covering
his eyes with his broad hands. "As soon as one need is satisfied,
another takes its place, and he who ventures to differ from the
opinions held by mankind in general never finds repose."
"And would life be worth the living if we were sunk in repose? Is
sleeping, living? Or absorption in a dull dream of existence, such as
the beetle has when it climbs up the blade of grass to reach a
dew-drop--is that leading a worthy life? My dear fellow, if you drive
necessity out of the world, how unnecessary it would be to live!"
"You're playing upon words."
"No, I speak in sober earnest. A short time ago I read a stanza, in
Voltaire, which, like many things he says to the masses, is drawn from
his deep hoard of knowledge and contains a pure gem of truth.
"Oh! who could bear the harden of his life,
The sad remembrance of the whilom strife,
The threat'ning ills that hover round his way,
If the dear God, to ease man of his pain,
Had not so made him thoughtless, careless, vain,
That he might be less wretched in his day.
"Don't growl at the poor translation; its a hasty improvisation which I
ventured upon because I know you can't bear French. The sense is
faithfully rendered, and it's a sense admirably suited to the
senseless. I know of but one way that leads to real unhappiness, and
that's when a person is vain and frivolous. And those lines contain
much wisdom for it is just those people who lack the strength to endure
sorrowful recollections of the past and anxiety concerning their
futures, that are so deeply indebted to Nature for the ability of
thoughtlessly and unconsciously enjoying their pitiful present. This
will not bring them happiness, it will only make them less miserable,
for the real bliss of living they will never learn to know. He only can
understand that who is capable of quiet reflection, or, if you will,
who is able to grasp the meaning of both past and future at once.
Perhaps, though you're exactly the opposite of vain and frivolous, even
you won't wholly understand life for a long time as I've understood it.
I have always been best able to enjoy life by retrospection; and
whenever I wished to thoroughly enjoy existence, I have only needed to
awake in myself a vivid remembrance of the various periods of my life;
of my laughing frolicsome childhood, when I was in the glow of perfect
health; then the first dawn of thought and feeling, the first sorrows
of youth, when they came to me, the perception of what a full,
healthful existence must be, and yet at the same time the resignation
to my fate which is usually easy only to men advanced in years. Don't
you believe that one, who can experience whenever he wishes such a
fullness of life in himself, to whom for this purpose everything lends
its aid, sorrow and joy, loss and gain, each showing him a new side of
his own nature--don't you believe, my dear fellow, that such a
fortunate man must consider it a mistaken conclusion, even if a
philosopher gave it utterance, it would be better not to be born. To be
sure, no one can deny that there are times when sorrow stifles the
desire for existence and excites an overwhelming longing for mere
unconsciousness? But oftentimes the greatest sorrow brings an increase
of our life experience; how could we otherwise understand the
triumphant delight which martyrs have felt under torture by fire and
rack. They felt that their torment only confirmed their confidence in
the strength of their own souls, pervaded as they were by an illusion
or a truth that their tormentors sought to tear out or kill. The worst
that could be inflicted upon them served to develope the highest
enjoyment of their personality. And so all the tragedy of life which a
shallow philosophy pronounces to be the misery of the world, is merely
another, higher form of enjoying life peculiar to lofty souls. When
death steps in at last, it's like the sleep that comes after a holiday,
when people have been so long in an ecstacy of delight that they are
weary at last and have no strength for future enjoyments." He was
silent a moment and wore a rapt expression. Then he suddenly said:
"If the festival is over for me, Franzel, you must hold fast to Edwin."
"What nonsense you are talking!" exclaimed the other. "You've never
been on a fairer way toward recovery than now. Your sickness was a
crisis, Marquard said so himself."
"Yes it was a crisis," replied the invalid smiling. "It will decide,
indeed has already decided something. Life has pronounced judgement
upon this not very durable structure and written down its defects in
red ink. Do you really suppose that Marquard does not know as well as I
that the drama is played out? The slightest agitation, the least
imprudence--"
"Balder! what are you saying! These are mere fancies, perhaps a passing
weakness--"
"You think so because I can speak of the end so quietly? You ought long
ago to have credited me with as much strength as was needed for that. I
know how few are willing to rise from the table just when the viands
are most tempting. And indeed, Franzel, life never seemed to me so fair
as now. How many kind friends I have gained during these last weeks,
how much, beautiful poetry, and lofty and profound thoughts I have
enjoyed! But all that's of no avail, man must live and let live, and
there are doubtless others waiting to take their turn. If you are sad,
Franzel, I must wait for another time to make my last request; though I
do not know how long I may have to linger. But come, be sensible. You
know I love you dearly, indeed next to Edwin you have the first place
in my heart. But I do not need to take leave of my brother. My whole
life during the last few years has been only one long farewell. We knew
we should not always remain together, I at least was fully aware of it,
so we have enjoyed all our happiness, as it were, on account. But when
the end comes, I know how it will be; at first he'll be unable to
reconcile himself. And that's why I want to beg you to keep near him.
His needs are great, and there are not many who can fulfill them."
"And that is the first thing you ask?" cried the honest friend, with
an emotion he vainly endeavored to repress. "But for Heaven's sake,
Balder, what sort of talk is this? You--you really believe--I--we--" He
started up and rushed desperately around the little table in the centre
of the room, so that the leaves of the palms trembled.
"You scarcely understand as yet all that I mean," continued the invalid
quietly. "That you'll always remain his friend is a matter of course.
But, to give me any real comfort, you will have to make a sacrifice."
"A sacrifice? As if I would not--do you know me so little?"
"I know you to be the most unselfish man under the sun," said Balder
smiling. "But it is just this very habit of never thinking of yourself,
that for his sake and mine you must lay aside, at least so far as you
can do so without being faithless to yourself. Do you know what will
happen if you go on as you have been doing? In two years, in spite of
your friendship, you'll not set foot in the tun."
"I? But tell me--"
"It's a very simple matter: because you'll be thinking of your friends
either behind prison bars or in America. Dear Franzel, must I tell you
why you're not fond of living? Because you believe that a man only
truly lives when he becomes a martyr to his convictions, I have always
loved you for this belief and yet I believe it a mistaken one. Test it
awhile; say to yourself that you aid many more by living than you could
by your martyrdom, and you will see that a man can guard his post very
bravely and self-sacrificingly, without fool-hardily summoning the
enemy by alarm shots. It would be an inexpressible comfort to me, if
you would promise for two years to let alone all 'agitation' and see
how affairs really are. There are currents in which it's a useless
waste of strength to row, because the boat floats onward of its own
accord, I know what it will cost you to do this. But it would be a
great joy if this last wish--"
"Say no more," cried the other suddenly pausing before his friend, with
his tearful eyes turned toward him--"Balder is it possible, that
you--that you are about to leave us? And can you believe if that should
happen, that I could continue my life as if nothing had occurred. When
men can no longer behold the sun--do you suppose I could--that I
would--" Words failed him, he turned abruptly away and stood motionless
beside the turning lathe.
"I did not mean that I thought you could live on, the same as before,"
said Balder in a lower voice. "But you need a substitute for what you
resign. You must learn to be glad to live, and I think I know how you
would learn to do so most quickly. You must take a wife, Franzel!"
"I? What can you be thinking about? How came such an idea into your
head? Just at this time too--"
"Because it will soon be too late for me to earn a kuppelpelz[4] from
you. True, I shall scarcely need it. I shall not feel cold where I lie.
But I should like to know of you're being warmly sheltered. And I know
from experience--I've been 'married' to Edwin---that the world looks
much blighter seen with four eyes than with two."
"You see," he continued, as his friend still stood motionless, boring a
hole in the bench with a point of a file--"Edwin will find a wife in
time who will make him happy; then you would be left again with nothing
but mankind to clasp to your heart, and beautiful and sublime as the
idea is, it's not all you need--and that's why you get over excited,
and the thought of martyrdom overcomes your judgment. So I think a
little wife, who would know how to love and value you, would by her
mere presence instruct you every day in the doctrine that Edwin has so
often represented to you in vain: that you should husband your energies
for the future and not prematurely sacrifice your life without cause.
There is no danger of your becoming faithless to your convictions from
mere selfish pleasure in your home. And then how can a socialist who
knows nothing except from hearsay of family life, upon which basis the
whole structure of society rests, who knows nothing of where the shoe
pinches the father of a family, talk to married men about what they owe
to themselves and others?"
As he uttered these words a bewitchingly cunning expression sparkled in
the sick boy's beautiful eyes. He almost feared that Franzelius would
turn and looking in his face penetrate the secret design, the purpose
of attacking him on his weakest side; so, rising, he limped to the
stove and put in a few sticks of wood. While thus employed, he
continued in a tone of apparent indifference:
"You mustn't suppose I'm saying all this at random. No, my dear fellow,
I've a very suitable match in view for you, a young girl who's as well
adapted to your needs as if I'd invented or ordered her expressly for
you. Young, very pretty, with a heart as true as gold, fond of work and
fond of life too, as she ought to be, if she is to wed with one who
doesn't care to live; not a princess, but a child of working people.
Haven't you guessed her name yet? Then I must help you: she writes it
Reginchen."
"Balder! You're dreaming! No, no, I beseech you, say no more about
that, you've too long--"
"I am astonished," continued the youth rising as he spoke and moving
toward the bed "that you didn't understand me readily and meet me
halfway. Where have your eyes been, that you've not seen that you have
stood high in the dear girl's favor for years. Even I have noticed it!
I tell you, Franzel, the little girl is a treasure, I have known her
all these years, and love her as dearly as a sister, and the man to
whom I don't begrudge her I must love like a brother. Therefore, blind
dreamer, I wanted to open your eyes, that I may close mine in peace. To
be sure I'm by no means certain that you've not already bestowed your
heart elsewhere, and my brotherly hint may be too late. At any rate,
whatever you do you should do quickly for the young girl's sake. She
seems to have taken your long absence to heart, her mother says she is
by no means well yet, and eats and sleeps very little I should like to
see my little sister well and happy again before I--"
He could not finish the sentence. He had been seated on the bed while
speaking and now he laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, as
if wearied with the unusual exertion of conversing. Suddenly he felt
his hands seized; Franzelius had meant to embrace him, but instead, he
threw himself down beside the bed, and with his head resting on
Balder's knees, he gave way to such violent and uncontrollable emotion,
that the youth was obliged to make every exertion to soothe him into
composure.
At last he rose. He tried to speak, but his voice failed.
"You--you're--oh! Heaven, forgive, forgive me! I'm not worthy!" was all
he could stammer. Then he started up and rushed out of the room.
Balder had sank back on the bed and closed his eyes again. His pale
face was almost transfigured, he looked like a hero resting after a
victory, and for the moment did not even feel the pain in his chest.
The room was perfectly still, the sunlight played amid the palm leaves,
the mask of the youthful prisoner, suffused with a rosy light which
came from the open door of the stove, seemed to breathe and whisper to
its image on the narrow couch: "Die, your death shall be painless!" But
a sudden thought roused Balder from this anticipation of eternal
repose. He rose and dragged himself to the turning lathe, wherewith a
trembling hand be unlocked the drawer. "It's fortunate that I thought
of it!" he murmured "What if they had found it!"
He drew out the portfolio in which he kept his collection of verses. On
how many pages was the image of the child whom he secretly loved
described with all the exaggerated charms with which his solitary
yearning had invested her; to how much imaginary happiness these simple
sheets bore witness! And yet he could now let them slide through his
fingers without bitterness. Had not his feelings been sacred and
consoling to him at the time? What had happened, which could strip the
bloom and fragrance of this spring from his heart? There would be no
summer, but did that make less beautiful the season of blossoming? He
read a verse here and there in an undertone, now and then altering a
word that no longer satisfied him, and smiling at himself for polishing
verses which no human eye had seen or ever would see. Many he had quite
forgotten, and now found them beautiful and couching. When he had
turned the last page, he took the pencil and wrote on a loose scrap of
paper that he laid in the drawer in place of the volume of poems, the
following lines, which he wrote without effort and without revision:
Good night, thou lovely world, good night!
Have I not had a glorious day?
Unmurmuring, though thou leav'st my sight
I to my couch will go away.
Whate'er of loveliness thou hast,
Is it not mine to revel in?
Though many a keen desire does waste
My heart, it ne'er alone has been.
Delusion's veil of error blind
Fell quite away from soul and eye;
Clearer my path did upward wind
To where life's sunny hilltops lie.
No idol false is there adored;
Humanity's eternal powers,
O'er which the light of Heaven is poured
Stand self-contained in passion's hours.
High standing on the breeze-swept peak,
Below may I with rapture see
The land whereof no man may speak
Save him who fares there wearily.
This is the rich inheritance
The children of the world shall own,
When crossed the wearisome expanse,
And fate's supreme decrees are known.
Oh! brother, who art seeking still
For love and joy, where I have sought,
I would your path with blessings fill
When to its end my life is brought.
Ah! brother, could we two aspire
Together to the glorious height,--
Hence tears! some part of my desire
Is thine. Thou lovely world, good night!
CHAPTER XII.
Suddenly Edwin's step sounded on the stairs. When he entered, he found
Balder sitting before the stove stirring the bright fire with the
poker.
"How do you do, child?" he said, with a brighter face than usual. "What
are you doing? Where's Franzel? Have you been burning papers here?"
"I've been making up a little more fire," replied the youth, bending
toward the flames to conceal his blushes. "It's beginning to grow cold.
Franzel went out a short time ago, probably to visit his betrothed."
"Our tribune of the people betrothed? The conspirator conspired
against? And to whom, if I may ask?"
"You were right, Edwin, in your suspicion that something unusual was
the subject of Reginchen's thoughts. It's still a secret, however. But
I'm very glad. They will suit each other exactly, I think."
"Well, well! how fast children develope! Our philanthropist and woman
hater, and the little house swallow! This is news indeed! Well, I too
have something to tell. Just as I was coming into the house, the
post-man overtook me and handed me a letter, which, _entre nous_, is
worth fifty ducats: we've won the prize, my boy!"
"Your essay? That's very pleasant!"
"Pleasant? Nothing but pleasant? I think your brotherly love receives
the news of this miracle very phlegmatically."
"Because I think nothing more natural than that you should at last be
appreciated. I've never doubted that you would be."
"Yes, yes, child," laughed Edwin passing his hand caressingly over his
brother's luxuriant hair, "if you should read in the newspaper
to-morrow, that a certain Dr. Edwin was made Grand Mogul, or what would
be still more wonderful appointed minister of public worship and
instruction, you would, in your famous blindness, lay aside the sheet
and say: 'I'm only surprised that the bright idea didn't occur to them
long ago.' Well then, you member of the _nil admirari_ society, I can
venture to tell my second piece of news without fear of causing you any
special agitation. The faculty that were wise enough to assign the
prize to my essay, have been so well pleased with me that in spite of
my radical tendencies, they offer me a professorship. That is, for the
present only surreptiously. They have to struggle against all sorts of
eddies and tack constantly, to bring me through. But they think, if I
should come and show myself, certain orthodox colleagues, who believe
me a child of hell, would see that the devil is not so black as he's
painted. So I'm to come, see and conquer, and that soon, for the
professorship has been vacant ever since Easter, and they would like to
have the _collegium logicum_ filled again during this winter session.
The salary is not bad, at any rate it's a piece of bread, though for
the present there's no butter to spread it with. Well, if we find we
can't live down prejudices now, it's a sign at least that the light
will eventually conquer the darkness, 'and the day of the noble hearted
(that is to say, your dear brother) will dawn at last.'"
"Although it can't be done? But Edwin, I beg you--"
"My child, that's very evident. We can't strike our tent in winter and
travel fifty miles toward the south, with your poorly patched lungs,
especially as we don't know how the climate there will suit you. Ah! if
the tun could be packed up just as it stands, and sent as freight,
marked 'glass, this side up with care--!'"
They were both silent for a time. Balder held the letter from the
faculty in his hand and seemed to be reading it again. The prize essay
was mentioned in the most flattering terms, its special merits dwelt
upon, and a private letter added from the dean, in which he emphasized
the wish to obtain such promising young talent for the university.
Edwin had gone to his desk and was beginning to cut a pen.
"Are you still studying the letter, child?" he asked carelessly. "They
write in a very pleasant style in that neighborhood, don't they? Well,
we will do ourselves credit too."
"Does _she_ know it yet?" asked Balder, without looking up.
"She? What are you thinking about? I haven't seen her for a fortnight.
Besides, what interest would she take in it? It'll be time enough to
tell her when I make my next visit, and she won't even be curious about
the prize essay. Such a duchess!"
Balder quietly rose, laid the letter on the table and said: "You'll not
hurt my feelings by refusing this, Edwin. I can spend the winter here
if necessary and join you in the spring. You know what excellent care I
shall have in your absence, and I shall never be really well again. But
the most important thing is to first talk the matter over with her.
There's no obstacle in the way now."
"Child!" exclaimed Edwin, throwing aside his pen, "do you want to drive
me mad--that you represent as possible things, which once for all--But
no, it's folly to even speak of it seriously. Come, let's eat our
dinner, I hear them bringing it and since the knowledge has come to me
that we possess fifty ducats, I feel as hungry as a millionaire--or no,
millionaires are never hungry--I'm hungry as a man who has never seen
fifty ducats at once in his whole life."
The door opened. But instead of the maid-servant who usually brought
the dinner, little Jean entered, his round face with its staring blue
eyes half buried in the high collar of a thick pilot-cloth coat, his
hair carefully brushed, and his cheeks as red as Borsdorf apples from
exposure to the sharp east wind. He held in his hand a paper horn, from
which he awakwardly drew a bouquet of violets. "I'm to give this to the
sick gentleman," he said in his automatic falsetto voice, "and my young
lady wishes to know how he is."
Balder took the bouquet from his hand. "Say that I'm very well, and
that my brother will call himself this afternoon to express my thanks
for the beautiful flowers. And here--" he felt in his pocket and took
out the last thaler he possessed--"you've had to come up these steep
stairs so often--"
The boy retreated a step. "My mistress forbid me to take anything."
"Say to her that we've won the great prize in the lottery," replied
Balder smiling, as he put the thaler into the pocket of the boy's rough
coat. "And now go, give my compliments to your mistress, and this
afternoon--you understand?" The boy nodded gravely as usual, and bowing
respectfully left the room.
"What have you done!" exclaimed Edwin, as soon as they were alone;
"Child, child, you force me to yield my head or at least my heart, to
the knife. What pleasure in being called Frau Professorin do you
suppose she would find?"
"Put the flowers in the water, Edwin, and then go to your desk. They're
not meant for me. This afternoon will settle the rest: here comes the
dinner, and the news that this morning has brought, has made me hungry
too. How's Reginchen to-day, Lore?"
"She seems rather better," said the faithful old servant, who had lived
in the house many years, smiling mysteriously. "At least I saw Herr
Franzelius go in an hour ago; and as he's there still and has even
dined with her, and as Reginchen first cried and then laughed, her
sickness can't be very dangerous. Goodness me, and I've carried her in
my arms!"
CHAPTER XIII.
When Edwin entered Toinette's room that afternoon, he found her seated
on the sofa, evidently absorbed in thought, for she did not look up
till he called her by name. A small box stood on the table before her,
and she was absently turning the key backward and forward in the lock;
her face was pale, and her eyes wore a strangely fixed expression. They
rested on the new-comer's figure for some time, as if she found it
difficult to recognize him; but it was only because she was forced to
make an effort ere she could withdraw the look that had long been
searching her own heart, and turn it again upon external things.
"Good afternoon, my dear friend," she said without rising, as she held
out her hand to him, "have you come to see me again at last? That's
very pleasant, but the best part of all is that you can do so with a
light heart. What anxious weeks you have passed! Well, I too have been
very miserable and the worst of all is that no nursing or brotherly
love can help me. But let's talk of something else, of something more
cheerful. You have drawn the great prize? I congratulate you."
He smilingly explained what had induced Balder to play this joke upon
little Jean, but said not a word about the professorship.
"No matter," said she, "it is pleasanter for you to have won a prize in
a lottery where one must have more sense than luck if one is not to
draw a blank. And yet it's a pity that it was only a joke. It would
have consoled me for being unable to keep my promise."
"Your promise?"
"To offer you the relics of my princely fortune, in case your brother
should wish to travel toward the south. Although I've lived very simply
ever since then--see, this is all I have left. When I've paid my last
housekeeping bill, there'll be just enough left for a dose of opium."
She had unlocked the little box and allowed him to look in. It
contained a few gold pieces and thalers.
"I'm glad you've some room," he answered in a jesting tone, "or I
should not know where to keep my fifty ducats. Such splendor in our
lowly hut--you've now seen the famous tun--we've not as yet had any use
for a fire-proof safe."
"Laugh on," she replied closing the little box. "But I'm angry with
myself for having been foolish enough and weak enough, just before you
came, to weep over my bankruptcy. The stupid money really is not worth
the tears. But you see, that's the very reason a great prize is such a
splendid thing, because we've no longer any need to humble ourselves by
thinking and worrying about money. I'm ashamed of myself that I could
be so base, even for a moment. And now not another word on the subject;
tell me about your brother. Is he really out of danger?"
Edwin sat down on the sofa beside her and spoke of Balder's condition,
of the hopes which Marquard had given, of the great love which all his
friends had shown him, and of the earnestness with which he had charged
him to thank Toinette for all her kindness. "Of course I thank you for
myself, also, dear friend," he added. "I imagine you wished to show me
kindness too. You knew what I suffered during those days, and that
nothing could give me more hope and courage than your sympathy. Will
you believe that amid all my anxiety for that beloved brother, I still
found time to miss you most painfully? If you had coldly remained
aloof, how I should have been forced to reproach myself for having
become half faithless to my brother, for the sake of a friend who was
perfectly indifferent to him!" She made no reply. It seemed as if she
had only half heard his words, and was brooding over a thought which
had nothing to do with him and his presence.
"You're fortunate," she said after a pause. "You have some one who can
make you both sad and happy. I--but do you know whom I have seen again?
The count."
Edwin started up. His face suddenly grew pale. After a long pause, he
said in a tone of forced indifference: "The count? In spite of the
unequivocal declaration you made by your change of residence--"
"Oh! If you only knew him! Such a foolish man is not easily rebuffed.
And I at least owe him thanks for having amused me, while you left me
all this time to grow melancholy."
"He has--? You've received him here--allowed him to visit you more than
once?"
"Why shouldn't I? If you should see him, you would understand that no
one can be less dangerous than this adorer. You know how fire-proof I
am; why I could spend a hundred years with such a lover, and my heart
would never beat one bit the faster! To be sure, at first, when, Heaven
knows how, he found me out and entered unannounced, I was extremely
angry at the intrusion and received him so coldly that he remained
standing at the door like a penitent and could not utter a word of the
apology which he had prepared. I said things to which no one else would
have submitted quietly. But he--at first he seemed utterly crushed, and
then he suddenly threw himself at my feet and faltered out that he was
a lost man, if I would not have compassion on him; that he had done
everything to prove how honorable his intentions were; he had forced
his mother, a very proud lady, to consent to receive me as her
daughter-in-law; his aristocratic relatives had caused him a great deal
of trouble, but he had at last succeeded in removing every obstacle
from the way, and now I rejected him and refused him all hope. And
then, still kneeling at my feet, he poured forth such a torrent of vows
and protestations, that I really didn't know whether to laugh at or to
pity him."
"Toinette! And you allowed him the hope--"
"I? If you think that you don't know me! When I found the torrent of
words continued, all desire either to laugh or pity vanished, and I
very positively and curtly declared that I had not the slightest
inclination to become his wife, that if this would cause him
unhappiness, I was very sorry, but that I could not accept the
proposals of the first eccentric man I met, at the expense of my whole
life. This was my final answer."
"And he still has the effrontery to annoy you? And you were yielding
enough--"
"Unfortunately, my friend, I'm much more kind-hearted than you suppose.
The first time he returned after this, as I thought, final dismissal,
you could not have helped laughing yourself at the penitent manner, in
which he sneaked into the room after little Jean. I received him only
on the condition that not a word should be said about admiration, love,
or marriage. As for the rest why should I, a ci-devant duchess, deny
myself so cheap a pleasure as keeping a count for my court fool? I was
so lonely, so out of spirits. And as I said before, you can't imagine
anything more comical than his face and manner. He actually has no face
at all; when he's not here, it's impossible to remember how he really
looks, his countenance is exactly like those on the tailor's fashion
plates, his nose straight up and down, his month straight across, and
his whiskers just such as grow on the faces of I don't know how many
young noblemen. But now imagine this commonplace physiognomy beautified
by perpetual lines of grief, or rather by the attempt to look utterly
miserable, and you must perceive that there could be no more amusing
contrast. I abuse him as much as I can, say the most impertinent
things, refuse to even allow him to kiss the tip of my slipper, but
have never succeeded in rousing him from his devout submission and
adoration, I shouldn't be the daughter of a poor ballet-dancer and a
vain, idle, tolerably desperate creature, if such an aristocratic slave
didn't divert me."
"And how long do you propose to continue this delightful game?" asked
Edwin, in a somewhat irritated tone.
Instead of answering, Toinette opened a box and took out several large
photographs. "These are views of his castle," said she. "Here, as it
appears on the heights above the forests; here's the courtyard, with
the carriage waiting and the young count's saddle-horse standing close
by--I call him young, although one never thinks of his age, for can a
man who never really experiences anything grow old?--And here are three
views of the interior: the dining-hall, the conservatory, and the
boudoir for the young countess. It can't be denied that he, or at least
his upholsterer, has good taste, but the master of the house is an
unwelcome addition to all this magnificence. I told him so to his face.
His only answer was a sigh."
"And how long is this proceeding to continue?" Edwin repeated.
Toinette threw the photographs back into the box and rose from the
sofa. "You jealous friend; why should you desire to disgust me with
this innocent pleasure in the evening of my life. Haven't you looked
into my strong box? I do not wish to spend my days in gloom before the
last thaler is exhausted."
"And then?"
"Then? I thought we had agreed that we are superfluous in the world,
when we can no longer be useful nor give pleasure to ourselves or
others."
"And have you already gone so far?"
"Exactly so far. That is, I should, as he says, not only make my count
happy but enable him really to live, if I would give myself to him. But
I ask you, what kind of a life would it be for us both! A quicker,
plainer, more unequivocal suicide would be preferable. And besides for
whom could and should I live? True, I believe you're an honest and
sincere friend, but haven't even you during the last few weeks, managed
to do very well without me? And would you be able to enjoy the little
pleasure my existence affords you, if you should see that I was
dragging out the most miserable days, under a burden of deprivations
and petty cares, which would crush my whole nature and at last destroy
me?" She had uttered the last words with increasing agitation, pacing
restlessly up and down the room. It had grown dark. Little Jean knocked
and asked whether his mistress wanted lights. "No," she answered
curtly. The boy noiselessly retired.
"Toinette," said Edwin, "will you listen five minutes, without
interrupting me?"
"Speak. I would rather listen, than talk myself. My thoughts, when
uttered aloud, have such a strange sound, that an icy shiver thrills
me. Speak, speak!"
"You've reached a point where you can neither stand still nor go on, I
mean in the direction you have adopted. There's apparently but one
other course: to plunge into the abyss. But that's only the impulse of
despair, and you've no right to despair. Couldn't you first try to turn
back, take some other direction and see how far you could proceed? You
believe me to be a sincere friend; I also believe in my friendship for
you, although with all my honesty of purpose, I cannot think solely of
your fate, but also a little of my own, when I aspire to be something
more than your friend. Don't be startled. I know I should speak a
language you would not understand, if I told you of the deep,
unconquerable, and ever increasing passion, which from the first hour
of our meeting has taken entire possession of me and with which you
will bear witness, that I've never troubled you until to-day. I don't
envy the count the part he plays, but it would be just as foolish, to
maintain total silence in regard to this love that exists and demands
to assert its rights in so solemn an hour. I know enough of your life
to be able to cheer myself with the thought that no one stands nearer
to you than I. Is it so utterly insane to cherish the hope, that I
might in time become still dearer, that you might find it worth while
to continue to live, if you should share your life with me, belong to
me and find your happiness in mine? Dear Toinette, I'll not praise
myself: but all whom I have ever loved will bear witness that I'm to be
trusted. In other respects you know me; from the first I have always
appeared what I am, never either in a moral or intellectual sense, have
visited you in borrowed attire. If I did not know, that despite your
unfortunate love of display, you possess a soul, true, simple and
incorruptable, I should not be such a fool as to offer myself to you.
All I possess has belonged to you from the first hour of our
acquaintance, and I believe it will be enough to support you without
too many deprivations; the passion I feel has first made me aware what
a treasure of love I have, enough for the most exacting heart, and so I
do not speak to you as a beggar. Whatever you give me, I can outweigh,
even if a miracle should happen--your heart at last awake to me, and
all that nature has lavished upon you be merged into the best gift--the
power to love.
"This probably surprises you," he continued after a pause, during which
she sat motionless on a chair by the door, her face expressionless and
immobile. "I too have been taken by surprise, although for months I
have told myself that this hour must come, for in spite of your
peculiar situation and the amusing game you are playing with the count,
(Ah, Toinette it does not seem so absurd to me!) I should scarcely have
said what I have to-day, but simply continued to do my duty as a mere
friend, had not something occurred which unchains my tongue. A
professorship has been offered me. It's not only that I must go away
and therefore leave you behind--my whole future is secured. You know I
have no ducal aspirations. You have seen our tun and can understand
that he who has so long climbed that steep staircase without a murmur,
would not consider it a necessity of life to drive in his own carriage
through miles of woodland to an ancestral castle. Yet I should never
have expected you to climb to your heaven-upon-earth by means of such a
tottering Jacob's ladder. Now matters are different, and though my
means are still limited, my life on the whole will be quite endurable.
My brother, of course, would be the third in the alliance--" At this
moment little Jean entered and announced the arrival of the count.
Toinette did not seem to hear him, but when the boy repeated his words,
she said: "I cannot see him! Say I am not well!" The lad went out, and
they heard an eager voice in the entry talking with him, then the door
closed and soon after a carriage rolled away from the house. The room
was perfectly still. Toinette remained seated in the chair by the wall,
and Edwin on the sofa. He rose, and standing by the table seemed to be
searching for some word that might loosen her heart and tongue.
"I understand your silence, Toinette," he said at last "You're too
honest to hold forth hopes to me or to yourself in which you have no
faith. Hitherto you've liked me because I made no claims upon you. Now
I've confessed that I want all or nothing, and therefore have suddenly
become a stranger to you, an unpleasant monitor, from whom you must
defend yourself. Oh! Toinette, I feel what I've risked and perhaps
lost, but I couldn't help it; I owed this confession to you and to
myself; for the life I have hitherto led with you would if continued
consume and destroy me, and the sacrifice would not even have afforded
you pleasure, you're not vain and selfish enough for that. Why aren't
you, Toinette? Why are you this wondrous mystery, whose incompleteness
becomes a torture to itself? If you were a coquette, who found in human
sacrifices and in her triumphs compensation for all the profound joys
which can only rise from a deep heart, I should almost be grateful for
it; it would be easier for me to put an end to everything between us.
But no, send me away, tell me nothing more, I know what your silence
means, and I know that no words of mine can awake a feeling which
nature has not made possible to you." He moved, as if to leave the
room, but his feet refused to obey his bidding; he could only walk to
the window and stand there clasping with both hands the fastening of
the sash, and pressing his forehead against the pane. Just at that
moment, the young girl began to speak in a low, almost timid voice:
"Are you angry, my dear friend, because I have so mutely listened to
all this, to all your kind, earnest words, which I do not deserve, for
which I cannot even thank you as I ought? For you'll not believe how
much grief it causes me, that you are so kind, and I--I remain as I am.
Oh! you're right, it is becoming a torture to me, this defect in my
nature. It's like a spell. I've read of a girl apparently dead, who lay
in her coffin, surrounded by friends who were pouring forth their love
and sorrow, while she, with all her efforts, could not stir or hold out
her hand to her weeping friends, and say: 'I'm still alive. I love you
and will not leave you.' It's the same with me. Nothing ever caused me
so much pain as that you now wish to leave me, because you desire from
me that which I cannot give. And yet I should think I was committing a
crime against you, if I sought to restrain you. I could expect anyone
else to be satisfied with what I can give, be it little or much. But
you--I want you to have all you desire and need; you're worthy of
something better than to be weighted through life by such an unhappy
creature as I. My dear friend, if I were not perfectly sure that you
would repent it, that I should make you unhappy and in so doing go to
destruction myself, believe me, I would not hesitate a moment, even if
I felt I should be miserable, You've become so dear to me that I would
gladly forget myself to help you. But we must not deceive ourselves;
it's impossible! You're too sensitive to be able to endure happiness at
the expense of another." Then, after a pause she continued: "And yet
you're perfectly right, all this must have been uttered some day. But
it's inexpressibly sad that it should come so! Is there no help? When
we've parted now--is there no hope, that we may again meet in life, if
I still have a life before me, and clasp each other's hands like two
faithful old friends? Must the parting be for ever?"
He turned and with a secret tremor, saw that she had risen and softly
approached him. Her face looked out from the gloom with a touchingly
mournful expression; she stood like a child pleading for forgiveness,
with her arms hanging at her side and her head bent so low that her
hair fell over her temples. "Edwin," she said softly, extending her
hand and raising her eyes to his. His heart was burning with love and
anguish. "Oh! Toinette," he cried, "farewell, farewell! Not a word
more. All is said, the sentence of death is uttered!" Mournfully she
held out her arms to him; he clasped her to his breast, pressed his
lips to her soft hair, felt for an instant her breath on his neck, then
tore himself away and rushed like a madman out of the room.
CHAPTER XIV.
It was a singular coincidence that on the very same day and almost at
the self-same hour another of the friends placed the decision of his
happiness or misery in a woman's hands, and received no more consoling
reply, nay was rejected in still more mysterious language than Edwin.
It happened thus. Mohr had gone to the little house on the lagune, as
indeed he did every day, to inquire about Fraeulein Christiane's health.
Neither he or any other man had seen her since the night of the
accident; for she had positively refused even to receive Marquard, who
had saved her life. She sat in the small room behind the kitchen, which
the old maid-servant had given up to her; the single grated window
looked out upon the canal and the bare, blackened chimney. Here she
bolted herself in and opened the door only at Leah's knock, but
remained mute even to her kindly inquiries, and during the first day
sat like a statue on the stool by the window, with her eyes intently
fixed upon the sullen waters below. It seemed as if she considered
herself in a self-chosen prison, separated from the world for life. She
touched none of the food her nurse brought, except a little soup and
bread, and the only time she had spoken was on the third day, when she
asked for some work. Since that time sitting always in the same place,
she had sewed from early morning until late at night, mended
underclothing, hemmed handkerchiefs, and answered all the young girl's
timid entreaties and questions only by a pressure of the hand and a
gloomy shake of the head.
The same cheerless report was all that could be given today. The night
before, Leah had glided into the kitchen, listened at the door of the
room, and heard the poor thing moving restlessly to and fro, perhaps to
warm herself, for it was cold and she had refused to have a fire
lighted in the little stove. She had often groaned like one suffering
the deepest pain, and vainly striving to repress any manifestation of
it. Midnight was long past before all was still.
"What will happen if God in his mercy does not perform a miracle and
let a ray of his love and peace illumine the poor darkened soul!"
exclaimed the little artist, with a deep sigh. "Oh! my child, don't you
see I was right in saying that all earthly paths lead to darkness and
error, unless we humbly strive to seize God's hand and walk by his
side? This poor lost life! God forgive me, but I can scarcely help
agreeing with the Herr Doctor: who can tell whether it was well for
her, that we took so much trouble to recall her to existence?"
Leah was standing beside her painting table, with her pale face bent
toward the floor. She made no reply. Her heart was so heavy with her
own griefs and those of others, that had it not been for her father,
she would fain have wished herself out of the world.
"My honored friends," said Mohr, rising from his chair, where puffing
huge clouds of smoke from his cigarette he had sat for some time
absorbed in thought, "I too am of the opinion that something must be
done; we have given the mercy of God ample time to work a miracle.
Perhaps that mercy is held in abeyance; perhaps God is waiting to see
whether we will not ourselves move in the matter and assail the
difficulty with our poor human powers. And to do this, I at least, a
tolerably obstinate heathen,--no offense, Herr Koenig--am fully
resolved."
"What are you going to do?" asked Leah, looking up in alarm.
Mohr stretched his herculean frame, as he was in the habit of doing,
when after long consideration he had formed some definite resolution.
For a moment his muscular arms almost touched the ceiling, then he
buried his hands in his bushy hair and said, half closing his eyes and
drawing his mouth awry:
"This Marquard may understand his trade well enough, so far as the body
is concerned, but rubbing the limbs is not all that can be done. The
soul, which has been just as much benumbed by the accident, must also
be warmed by spiritual friction and moral mustard plasters; for in its
desperation it is still freezing in its death-like torpor, while the
body is already rejoicing in the flow of the thawed blood. I'll go in
and apply to this apparently dead soul, some of the restoratives we
ought to have tried long ago."
"She will not admit you," said Leah with a sorrowful shake of the head,
"and even if--have I not done everything in my power, by kind words and
the most sincere good will--"
"Certainly, my dear Fraeulein, but that's just it: you've handled her
with gloves. I--now, I will try a ruder way. Devil take it! no offense,
Herr Koenig, but really the evil one, if there is such a person, would
laugh in his sleeve and with good reason, if we let this poor soul,
which we've toiled so hard to snatch from his clutches, fall back into
them for want of aid. Here it's force against force, and a little
cunning into the bargain; if you'll knock, Fraeulein Leah, and say you
want to come in and then let me step before you--such an innocent
stratagem will never be imputed to you as a sin."
"I fear it will be useless," replied Leah, "even if it does actual
harm. At least I--but perhaps I don't understand." She went out, and
Mohr, with awkwardly feigned liveliness, followed her on tip-toe as if
bent upon some mischievous prank. Yet the hands he passed through his
hair trembled. When Leah knocked at the chamber door, a scarcely
audible voice within asked: "Who's there?"
"I, dear Christiane," replied the young girl, "and I wanted to ask if
you would allow--here is--"
At this moment the bolt was drawn back, and Mohr, without the slightest
ceremony, passed Leah and entered the half open door.
"Here's some one else," he said finishing Leah's sentence, "who would
like to inquire about Fraeulein Christiane's health. Pardon an old
friend, that cannot endure to be always shut out by locks and bolts. By
_Styx_, my honored friend, you've not chosen the most cheerful
quarters. This dark cage is uncommonly well adapted to give the blues."
Christiane was speechless. At the entrance of Mohr, who instantly
closed the door behind him, she had started violently and fled to the
grated window, where she stood motionless, with her arms folded over
her breast and her eyes cast down; she almost seemed to be asleep. The
jesting tone died on his lips, as he saw the death-like pallor of her
face and the expression of hopeless suffering that dwelt about her
mouth and eyes. As he approached nearer and tried to take her hand, she
drew still closer to the window, sank into the chair which stood beside
it, and with averted face and shuddering limbs motioned him away. An
inexpressible compassion took possession of him.
"Fraeulein Christiane," he said when he partially recovered from the
shock of such a meeting, "my visit is unwelcome to you; I'm sincerely
sorry, but the reasons for my intrusion are far too grave for me to
take leave of you at once, as well-bred people usually do under such
circumstances. The more quietly you listen, the sooner you'll get rid
of me. Will you listen?"
"No!" at last burst hoarsely from her scarcely-parted lips. "Go--leave
me--I've nothing to hear or say!"
"Allow me to doubt that," he answered with apparent composure. "For in
the first place you are ill. The wisest sick people don't know what's
good for them, they are in a certain sense irresponsible beings.
Whether you have anything to say to me, I do not know, but I, have a
great deal to say to you. To begin without circumlocution: I know
you're angry with me, because I prevented you from accomplishing your
purpose and turning you back on this world, which for some unknown
reason, you wished to quit. Do you know why I took this liberty? Not
from common philanthropy. I should beware of grabbing the coat tail of
the first person I might see making the leap. No, my dear Fraeulein,
what I did for you I did from common selfishness; for if you were no
longer in this world, it would lose it charms for me, like a quartette
from which the first violin was missing. Pardon the not very clever
comparison, but while your face is so ungraciously averted, I'm glad if
I can even patch my sentences together, without making any pretensions
to style." She still remained silent, with her forehead pressed against
the bare wall and her hands convulsively clasped.
"I don't know for what you have taken me so far," he continued in a
smothered voice, as he leaned, against one of the bed posts and
secretly wiped his forehead, although the room was by no means warm.
"Probably you've not had quite so bad an opinion of me, as I of myself,
since I was vain enough to put my best foot forward as far as possible.
One thing however, you do not know: as a man I may be a tolerably
useless, superfluous and ill-made individual: but as a poodle I'm
remarkable. The few persons to whom I attach myself can never shake me
off, no matter what they do, or whether I'm agreeable or disagreeable
to them. And therefore, I must inform you, that it will be useless to
reject me, ill-treat me, or even plunge into the water again to get rid
of me; the poodle will leap in after you and bring you out again, even
if he's obliged to do it with his teeth.
"I know that if you were to vouchsafe me a word, you would ask by what
right I intrude upon you, what you are to me, why I annoy you with the
information of my poodle qualities? Dear Fraeulein, I might answer that
I can no more give you a reason than the poodle could in the same
situation; it is mere instinct. But a still better reply would be this:
the misfortune of my life, dear friend, has been that I've always done
everything by halves. It grieves me deeply, that this time also, in
saving your life, I seem to have only half succeeded, and therefore I
wish to see if I cannot complete my task, if I devote to it all my
energies, my small portion of brains and heart and my large share of
obstinacy.
"Don't be offended by the not very choice mode I take of expressing
myself, dear Christiane! You may believe that I'm in the most solemn
earnest. Do you know what I told the brothers in the tun, when I first
saw you and received that well merited dismissal you gave? I said that
you were a whole-hearted woman, for whom I had a great respect. And
this respect I still feel, and because I believe you to be one of the
rare women, to whom an honest man may without the slightest peril offer
his heart and hand--"
"Hush! Oh! for God's sake, hush!" she interrupted, starting from her
rigid immobility. "Go, go--say no more--each word is like a red hot
needle piercing my wounded flesh. You don't know--you shall never
know--"
"Nonsense, dear Fraeulein! I shall never know! As if I wanted to know
anything, as if anything I could learn would be able to change my
opinion of you! No, my honored friend, that would not be a poodle's
trait. His master may steal spoons, may be the saviour of his native
land; it makes no difference to the dog, he licks his hand with equal
respect. The motive you had for taking that premature cold bath, I
shall never ask to know in this world. Of course you were not entirely
yourself, you had been tasting some of the bitter wormy apples, that
hung on the tree of knowledge, and the cramps which ensued appeared
unendurable. So be it! That belongs to the past, you've rid yourself of
the indigestion by a violent remedy, and can gradually regain a taste
for the household fare life serves up on an average. Isn't this clear
to you, best, dearest of all artists? You would not be what you are,
would not play Beethoven as you do, if you had passed by all the
abysses and thorney hedges of this life safe and untorn."
He waited a short time for some reply; then he tried again to approach
her window, but she turned away with a shrinking gesture, as if he
would be degraded should his hands touch hers.
"No, no, no!" she cried in a stifled voice. "You think a thousand times
too well of me. I--oh! there's nothing that less deserves to live, that
is less able to endure life, than the wretched creature for whom you,
self-sacrificing as you are,--but no, draw back your hand; you don't
know whom you wish to raise."
"Is it so?" he said quietly. Then we must call things by their right
names, that we may understand each other. Statistics and public
opinions unite in saying, that of all the women who arbitrarily seek to
leave the world, nine-tenths seek death from misplaced affection,
deceived, unrequited, or hopeless passion. Should your case be one of
these, the common prejudices of the world cannot prevent me from
placing my love at your disposal. I know you never can have done
anything base, half way, contemptible, which alone could degrade you in
my eyes, because it would destroy and give the lie to the image of you
which I cherish in my heart. Even if a misplaced love had led you into
the arms of an unworthy man, and indignant anguish at a piece of
knavish treachery, devilish villainy--He suddenly paused, startled by
the fixed, almost Medusa-like gaze, with which she looked him in the
face.
"I thank you," she answered mournfully. "'Devilish villainy' the words
are apt, very apt. It's only a pity that I can't tell you why they are
so. But that--that no lips would utter, save in madness, and
unfortunately madness will not yet come to me. Perhaps if I repeat the
words over and over, reflect how well they apply--but no, Fate is not
so compassionate! Into the mire with the worm, should it show any
desire to crawl. But to crush it, to give it the death blow--ah no!
that would be far too humane, too magnanimous for an adorable
Providence. Fie, how bitter this earth taste becomes on the tongue!"
She shuddered, then started from her straw chair as if some strange
power had rudely shaken her. "Can you still remain!" she exclaimed.
"Don't you feel that I must hate you more than any other human being,
just because you have restored me to myself, hurled me back to the fate
I thought I had escaped? It is such a refinement of mockery, that you
should come with your kind, warm-hearted desire to aid me now, when
there's nothing more to be saved. Ha! ha! ha! Perhaps if you stay here
a little longer, madness may come. Then you would have rendered a
service, which would atone for much. Won't you sit down? We'll have a
little music--a few false notes more or less--_pshaw_, what will it
matter? The harmony of the spheres will not be interrupted. Well? Don't
you like the idea? Why are you silent?"
"Christiane," said he, and the tone of his voice revealed a firm,
inexorable purpose, "I will take my disagreeable face out of your
sight--for to-day! But rely upon it; you will see me again. You do not
know, cannot suspect what means a brave, honest man can summon to aid
him in healing wounds that seem to be mortal. Christiane, despite all
you have told me, I cannot give you up, cannot leave you to yourself;
and this terrible, incomprehensible fate of which you speak--only give
me time to struggle with it; I think I'm the stronger. Your life
belongs to me. You threw it away, and I, the honest finder, restore it
to you--if you despise it, it's mine. Only give me time! Only promise
me--"
"Nothing," she exclaimed with savage resolution, by which she strove to
arm herself against his beseeching words. "My life is over. You will
never--never see me again!" She turned away and hid her face in both
hands, which she pressed against the iron bars. After a pause she heard
him say: "So be it; I will go. But every word I have said stands fast.
Henceforth your life is mine. I'll see who'll tear it from me." Then he
left the room. Leah and her father were waiting for him in the sitting
room. He passed on in silence, as if he did not see them, and the
expression of his face was so gloomy and menacing that neither ventured
to accost him.
BOOK IV.
CHAPTER I.
When, late in the evening Edwin returned home, he found Balder lying
dressed upon his bed, with the little lamp, by which he seemed to have
been reading, beside him. His face was even paler than usual, his
features wore an expression of feverish excitement, and his limbs were
so paralysed by exhaustion, that he could only raise his head a little
to greet his brother.
"What news do you bring?" he cried. "Nothing good? How is it possible!"
Edwin approached his bed and bent over him. "Child," said he, "you
ought to have been undressed long ago. Do you know that you're very
cold and pale? I've nothing now but you. If you play me any mischievous
tricks--"
"Oh! Edwin I--But you, how do matters stand between you and her? For
God's sake tell me! what has happened? What did she say?"
"Nothing new, child; nothing which could surprise us. But it will be
better to say nothing more about it to-day. I've taken a long tramp and
feel very well now. Don't you see I'm perfectly calm! Why do you excite
yourself instead of going to sleep, as I am about to do?"
"No, no," cried the youth starting up in bed, while Edwin was trying to
re-kindle the fire in the stove; "I want to know all! Do you suppose I
could sleep? Tell me--"
"Well then, we had a thorough explanation and parted afterwards good
friends, very good friends, but who, however, are resolved to avoid
each other in the future. That's all, my boy! There, the fire is
burning again. I feel terribly cold; and the night will be long and may
bring snow. So Mohr, whose specialty is getting up a heat, hasn't been
here! Come, we needn't grudge ourselves a little supper, now that we
have become capitalists. I'll call Lore."
"I've already provided for that," said Balder. "I thought--we would
have a pleasant evening together. She put it all down on the bench by
the lathe--Oh! Edwin, is it possible?"
"What, my dear fellow? That there are people, young ladies especially,
who don't find your brother so lovable as you, dear enthusiast? Ladies
who would not prefer a tun and his heart to a fairy castle? Oh! child,
if I really were the human jewel your brotherly affection believes me,
don't forget how poor and tasteless the setting is, and that elegant
young ladies regard fashion more than material. Courage, old fellow!
We're too good to dispose of ourselves for less than our value; fool
that I was to wish for something more in life, when I was already so
rich. Haven't I wife, child, brother, and sweetheart all in one? Come
on, child. I feel as hungry as if, instead of a stomach, I carried in
my body the basket[5] I received this morning, and the provisions in
yonder corner look remarkably appetizing!"
"Unfortunate girl!" said Balder in a hollow voice.
Edwin paused in the middle of the room. "I thank you for those words,"
he said with a sudden change of tone. "She deserves that one should
weep tears of blood for her. Not because she is unable to take a liking
for my worthy person; in that, she is perhaps very wise. But to be a
child of the world, as she is, and neither able to conquer her fear of
annihilation, nor able to take refuge in the arms of the eternal one
called Love--oh! child, it's terrible. To have a heart so heavy that it
draws her into the gulf of death before she knows why she has lived--a
mind so clear, that it contends that we have a right to give up an
enigma we are weary trying to solve, even if it were our own life, in
order to obtain repose! Yes tears of blood, precisely because she
cannot weep them herself; for her poor Undine soul, in its despair, has
not even the petty consolations of tortured mortals. Mark my words, no
drop of blood will flow when she dies. She'll be found some day sitting
before her mirror with a frozen heart. Turned to stone by her own
image."
"Edwin! You think--she could--"
"Put an end to her life, rush out of the world--marry the count, which
to be sure, amounts to very much the same thing. But hush! I hear
Heinrich on the stairs. We'll show him cheerful faces; these have not
been altogether happy days for him of late."
Mohr entered. It was touching to see how his gloomy face brightened
when Edwin without saying a word, handed him the letter from the
faculty. "I'll dedicate my comedy to these gentlemen," said he. "There
seems to be some people in the world after all who know how to
appreciate uncommon merit."
He remained until late in the evening. They pushed the table close to
Balder's bed-side and all shared in the frugal meal, engaging in
conversation about the latest events in their lives; a conversation
during the progress of which each unburdened his heart to the other,
and in acknowledging the necessity and inevitability of pain and sorrow
they grew as calm as mariners who, floating with the stream, take in
oars and sails and lying on their backs watch the movements of the
clouds.
But when the brothers were again alone, the memory of what they had
recently experienced seemed to seize upon Edwin with fresh strength. "I
would give my life to help her!" he said to himself. Balder doubtless
caught the remark, but remained silent. When they had put out the
light, he heard Edwin rise and come to his bed. "Child," said he, "it's
so cold over there. Move a little nearer to the wall; I should like to
hold your hand until I fall asleep. I've nothing but you, but that's
enough, if I only know you're near me."
He lay down beside Balder, with his hand clasped in his brother's. It
was not long before he fell asleep and breathed as quietly as a man who
has peaceful dreams. But Balder lay awake for hours, revolving various
unformed ideas in his mind.
When they awoke the next morning, they were as usual silent and
absorbed in their own thoughts, and the events of the previous evening
were not mentioned between them. Edwin looked over his notes for the
lecture. Balder sketched some models lent him by his employer; only
once the latter asked casually if Edwin was not going to answer the
deans' letter immediately. "There's no great hurry now, child," replied
the other. "But it shall be done. A change of air would be the best
thing for me, and perhaps for you too."
"Certainly," replied the invalid. "I long to get away from this air."
He meant more than his words conveyed, but Edwin did not see the calm
smile that would have betrayed his thoughts.
"I shall leave you without any one to look after you to-day, my dear
boy," said Edwin, as he put his notes in his pocket to go to the
lecture. "I hope you'll be good and neither attempt to work, nor commit
any other act contrary to police regulations. Farewell, child! Make up
a little more fire. Your hands are so cold again."
At the end of ten minutes Balder threw aside his pencil, and began to
exchange his dressing gown for a street suit. His hands trembled when,
for the first time in many weeks, he again took out the old cloak and
little grey hat he had worn on his last expedition to the courtyard.
Despite his old fashioned, almost shabby clothes, and the weary manner
in which he limped along with his cane, there was such a charm in his
movements and the slight droop of the beautiful face, that no one would
have smiled at the short cloak and worn felt hat.
He glided down the stairs very softly. On the landing before
Christiane's door, he remembered how long it was since he had heard her
play. He thought she had stopped on account of his illness and
determined on his return to knock and beg her not to deny herself the
pleasure any longer. The door of the workshop was only ajar. The head
journeyman saw him pass, and called after him to ask a friendly
question about his health and warn him not to catch cold. He answered
with a jest and crossed the courtyard without looking at the bench in
the bean arbor, but was obliged to stand still a moment in the entry to
recover his breath. His heart throbbed loudly; he heard through the
door Franzelius' deep voice, suppressed but apparently engaged in eager
conversation, and now and then a merry, girlish laugh he had missed for
weeks. Only a momentary pang thrilled his frame, the next instant he
was calm and cheerful again. He felt strong enough to enter and greet
the happy pair without envy. "Perhaps I will when I come back," he
thought, and then limped softly forward, glad that he met no one who
would have remonstrated against his hazardous venture.
A keen, cold east wind was blowing, driving before it flakes of dry
crumbling snow. Fortunately an empty droschky was just passing; Balder
stopped it, and as he sat within, wrapped himself closely in his cloak.
But it was not the cold that made him shiver, but the feverish
excitement of his blood; for every pulse throbbed in anticipation of
the decisive moment he was about to meet.
When he reached the house in Rosenstrasse, he could not alight directly
at the door, as an elegant carriage already occupied the place. He
ordered the droschky to wait, and with many pauses, that he might not
lose his breath, ascended the stairs.
Little Jean opened the door and stared at the unexpected visitor with
eyes that grew larger than ever at the sight of him. There was some one
calling on his mistress, he said, but perhaps she would receive him; he
would see. He came back almost immediately and in his unmovably solemn
manner, without uttering a word, opened the door of Toinette's room.
CHAPTER II.
When the young girl saw Balder, she hastily rose from the sofa and with
the most winning cordiality approached him, holding out both little
hands, as if to support his tottering steps.
"You've come to see me yourself--to-day!" she exclaimed. "But was it
safe? The wind is so cold--my stairs are so steep--and yet you don't
know how glad I am to see you well again. Allow me to introduce you to
the Herr Count."
She turned toward a tall, slender man, dressed entirely in black, who
sat negligently leaning back in the chair beside the sofa, and only
noticed the young stranger in the shabby cloak by a slight bend of the
head. A flush crimsoned Balder's face, partly at the count's haughty
gesture, partly at the thought: "So he's the man who has supplanted
Edwin!" His clear eyes rested a few seconds upon the countenance of the
young nobleman, who had taken a newspaper from the table and seemed to
be attentively reading it. He did not know why the regular features and
faultless figure caused him so much dissatisfaction, and at the same
time awakened a sort of compassion. He too had bowed in silence and now
sank into the arm chair the beautiful girl had drawn forward with
friendly solicitude.
He was now sitting opposite her, but at first could find no words with
which to begin a conversation, he was so completely captivated by her
face. In spite of Edwin's descriptions, he had not imagined her so
beautiful and elegant, had not supposed that the tone of her voice and
the expression of her dark eyes were so gentle and innocent. She seemed
to attribute his silence to exhaustion caused by unusual exertion and
left him to rest for a time, while she rang for the boy and ordered
some sugar and water. Then she again turned toward him and in the most
cordial manner questioned him concerning his health, and what remedies
the doctor had ordered.
His only reply was to express his thanks for the friendly interest she
had shown him during the past few weeks, and tell in how many delirious
dreams the palms had played a part, and what pleasure they had afforded
him in his hours of consciousness. At first his manner was hesitating
and embarrassed, but when he noticed the sarcastic smile on the face of
the count, who sat opposite him without uttering a syllable, he
suddenly shook off his diffidence and gave utterance to so many bright
and clever ideas that Toinette thought him very attractive, and frankly
told him that his brother had slandered him, when he described him as a
misanthropic hermit. She hoped to see him more frequently now; she was
angry with him for having waited till he had been seriously ill before
finding the way to her, and he might as well confess that the only
reason he had not joined the party to Charlottenburg, was because he
was prejudiced against her. Who could tell how Edwin might have
slandered her too. She said all this in such a gay tone, that Balder
was secretly amazed. Was it coldness of heart or self-control, that
enabled her to speak of Edwin as if nothing had occurred between them,
as if he would come to her again to-morrow and renew the old
intercourse? Absorbed in this reflection he again became silent, and
she also lost her gayety.
"You were going to say something more," she began after a pause. "I saw
you repress the words that were hovering on your lips."
"You may have been right," he replied. "But if you'll allow me, I'll
say it some other time. I'll not interrupt you any longer to-day." He
glanced at the count and prepared to rise.
"My dear Count," said the fair girl, without the least embarrassment,
"I should like to say a few words to Herr Balder alone. If you would go
into the ante-room for five minutes--you will find books on the table,
and can amuse yourself in feeding my sparrows."
"I hope the private audience will not last too long," said the young
gentleman sharply, as he rose, and pulling his whiskers, walked slowly
toward the ante-room.
Toinette's color heightened. "Have patience," she cried. "Herr Balder
is a less frequent visitor than you, and I must avail myself of the
favorable opportunity. Besides, you'll lose nothing important, so far
as I am aware."
He made her an ironical bow and said: "You somewhat abuse your
sovereign rights, Fraeulein; but in case of necessity, the room to which
you send me has a second door of egress. _Au revoir_."
They were scarcely alone, when Balder seized Toinette's hand and
pressed it warmly. "Dear Fraeulein," he said, "I thank you for having
allowed me this interview. I shall not try the gentleman's patience
long. The object that has brought me here, in addition to the desire to
thank you in person, is soon explained. My brother has told me--from
the very beginning--the terms on which he stood with you, and that
yesterday you deprived him of all hope. I don't know whether you were
really as much in earnest as he supposed, whether it was indeed your
final answer. And Fraeulein, I'm so proud of my brother that I could not
make up my mind to utter even a syllable that might sound like
intercession to a woman who had really rejected him. It's not merely
the partiality of kindred blood: I've lived with him six years and know
his value, and I know that the best of women would scarcely be good
enough for him. Therefore, if the woman he loved did not perceive his
worth, it might at first be a great grief to him, but I should console
myself with the thought that she did not deserve him and must lack the
power to render him happy, if she could fail to appreciate his
nobleness and wealth of intellect, and her incredible piece of good
fortune to be loved by such a man. Knowing you as I do, dear Fraeulein,
through him and through my own short acquaintance with you, I have
formed too favorable an opinion of you to believe that you could be
blind to the worth of Edwin's mind and heart. His ironical manner of
speaking of himself, his simplicity, and disdain of all pretension have
not deceived you in regard to the depth and warmth of his nature, the
superiority of the man who has laid his life at your feet. If
nevertheless you can endure the thought of losing him, I must believe
that some other obstacle stands between you. You have always been
honest and frank toward Edwin. Be so to me too, dear Fraeulein; tell me
openly whether I'm mistaken or whether I have made the right
conjecture, in believing you would have accepted his offer if he had
been entirely alone in the world, if he had not imposed upon you, for
who knows how long a time, the care of an invalid brother."
She looked at him with an expression of the greatest astonishment and
admiration. "Dear Herr Balder, how can you even for a moment--"
"You're right," he smilingly interrupted, "it would be too much to
expect you to carry honesty so far. Therefore please say nothing, but
let me tell you that this miserable obstacle does not really stand in
the way, or rather that it will scarcely be an obstacle after a few
weeks longer. I've asked our physician on his conscience--and
fortunately he has one, so that I might even have believed a different
answer than the one he gave. The poor mortal who stands before you,
will soon be obliged to leave vacant even the modest place he now
occupies in the world. Edwin of course has no suspicion of this; we are
all accustomed to think even the inevitable improbable, if it's coming
is long delayed. When it at last occurs, we try to accommodate
ourselves to it as best we may. Edwin will get over his grief in time.
For my part--I confess, dear Fraeulein, I find the world very beautiful.
I should have liked to continued your acquaintance too. But one must
not be grasping; I've enjoyed life so fully, in a condensed essence as
it were, that I really ought not to complain if the portion allotted to
me is already consumed." He paused, a calm smile resting on his lips.
When he looked up, he saw that Toinette's eyes were full of tears. "Why
do you weep?" he asked anxiously. "I hope my fate, which causes me
anything but sorrow--"
"No," she eagerly exclaimed, closing her eyes a moment as if to repress
the tears. "I don't weep for you, dear Balder--pardon me for addressing
you like an old friend or brother-you're not to be pitied, I _envy_ you
your beautiful life and your still more beautiful death, even if it is
as near as you believe; perhaps it may be farther off than you think; a
man can endure much, and doctors are bad prophets. If my eyes grew
moist, it was for myself, because I'm such a poor fool, that I must
remain in debt to you and your brother for the offer of all the good
and beautiful things you would fain give me but which I must
nevertheless decline. Dear Balder, if you knew--but why should you
know? If I'm unhappy, isn't it my only consolation to at least appear
no worse than I am, explain why, with the best intentions, I cannot
make those I love as happy as they deserve to be?
"I have repented a thousand times," she continued, pushing her hair
back from her temples, and at the same time surreptitiously brushing
the tears from her eyes, "that I did not yesterday tell your brother
all my story. I have been reflecting ever since how I could repair my
error, whether I should write my tale or beg him to come to me again.
But it makes no difference; I may as well tell you as him that I now
know that I shall have no happiness in life, never, never, either
through myself or others. You shall know why, although the secret
concerns subjects which are rarely mentioned between two young people.
Dear friend, I can give you no better proof of the high esteem in which
I hold you, than in telling you this sorrowful secret, which I only
learned myself a few days ago."
She here cast a hasty glance at the door, through which the count had
left the room. "I owe this knowledge to him," she continued in a lower
tone. "As his relatives tried to persuade him out of his mad intention
of marrying me, by harping upon my humble origin, he made inquiries
concerning me in my native city; he wished at least to ascertain
whether anything derogatory could be said about my family. The little
that was known about my parents did not satisfy him; so he applied to
the young prince, who of late has again resided in his ancestral castle
and is about to wed his cousin. Madly in love as he is, the count did
not conceal why he desired to information, and the young prince, now
perhaps the only person who really knows anything about the matter,
thought it his duty, by way of warning, to tell him the family secret
that his mother, on her death bed, had confided to him. Oh! dear
Balder, such horrible things happen in this world! Oh! that a poor
mortal should be obliged to live and struggle against his fate in vain,
seldom even knowing why he must suffer! But when they _are_ known the
stronger the reasons the less comfort they afford! Since I've known why
I am constituted, as I am, that it all precedes from perfectly natural
causes and that it is not at all surprising that I have never been able
to make myself or others happy. I've also lost all hope that things can
ever alter for the better." She leaned back in the corner of the sofa,
rested her head on the cushion and gazed fixedly at the ceiling. "Do
you know my story?" said she.
"My brother told me all."
"He has told you nothing; for I find that I myself knew nothing of the
truth, that I did not even know my real parents. The good ballet-master
was not my father, my father was the prince, and the woman I called
mother, was utterly alien in blood; my mother was a poor girl,
beautiful and unfortunate, more unfortunate even than her daughter. She
is said to have loved a worthy young man, but he was too poor to marry
her. The prince, who did not love his wife and never remained with her
long at the castle, was residing in Berlin; he saw the timid young
creature in the street, and followed her. She would have nothing to say
to him, his rank and wealth did not allure her, she preferred to remain
a beggar, rather than prove faithless to her love. But her mother! Can
you imagine how a mother can break the heart of her only child? Yet her
mother did it. And now she is dead, and her unhappy daughter is dead,
and the child of that daughter, who was forced to sacrifice herself
without love, this child of misery and blasphemy lives and must atone
for its patents' sin by carrying through life an unhappy heart that
cannot love!"
She was silent, and he too sat without speaking, deeply moved by the
hopeless tone of her voice. They heard the count pacing impatiently up
and down the ante-room, carriages rolling along the street, and the
bright winter sun shone cheerily through the clear window panes.
Suddenly the lovely girl sat erect again, shook back her hair and said
with a forced laugh: "Oh! how horrible! But what's to be done? It is
and cannot be helped. Only those people seem to me pitably stupid and
cruel, who seek to make such a poor unfortunate being responsible for
its acts, I would gladly be a good, warm-hearted, simple fool, like
other girls, make kind people happy, and be tenderly petted myself, if
it hadn't been for this terrible spell which is upon me; but my poor
mother could leave me nothing but her hate and cold, mute despair, and
from my father I inherited my princely tastes and empty hands. He loved
me very dearly, they say, the more so because the purchased happiness
with my mother was so short; she died when I was born. In order to be
able at least to occasionally see me, he placed me, despite of the
princess' opposition, with my foster parents, for whose child I passed.
But he himself died young and forgot to provide for me in his will, and
the princess never forgave me my existence. If she had lived to see me
curse my life, she might perhaps have been conciliated. But she too is
dead, and I'm all alone."
"Must you remain so, dear Fraeulein?" said Balder, laying his hand
gently on hers, which were clasped on her lap.
"My friend," she replied, "I believe that both you and your brother
have the kindest intentions toward me. But it would be a crime, if I
were to persuade myself that you could help me now, when I see all so
clearly, know that my fate is to suffer from a taint in the blood. How
can you persuade me to make your brother unhappy? For he would be so; I
could never endure narrow surroundings. Of course if one loved, that
passion would chase away all the rest, all the cares and poverty of
daily life would be forgotten. My mother certainly would not have
sighed or complained, had she become the wife of the man she loved.
But--I will promise no one what I can't perform. To lead my sorrowful
life alone, to my own cost, shrink from an unpaid bill and turn again
and again a worn-out dress--that I could accomplish if necessary. The
princess who had to tend geese, may have secretly wept herself weary;
and if the worst should come no one can control me. But when I've once
given my life into other hands, and am no longer mistress of myself, I
should be obliged to persevere even if I saw that my unhappiness was
weighing down another heart with sadness. And your brother is too dear
to me for that, you can tell him so."
She rose seemingly wishing to end the conversation. But Balder remained
seated and after a pause said: "So you want to deprive those whom you
believe to be your friends, of all hope of conquering what you call
your fate? I believe, like you, in the power of blood, but I believe
too, in the power of the will and the might of love. Only one thing
seems hopeless to me: the commonplace. I've not known many people, yet
among the few I have known were some who felt so perfectly well
satisfied with what was base and mean, that nothing higher and purer
could touch and win them. But a noble spirit, like yours, unhappy
because of its loneliness, suffering only on account of its inability
to give joys to others--no, dear Fraeulein, never will I believe that
your heart can have no future, that you must forever remain in this
sad, cold isolation, and all the efforts of warm-hearted men to melt
your soul be utterly in vain. When I repeat our conversation to my
brother, I know well what his course will be; he will not think of
himself but of your fate and his duty not to remain away from you. You
don't know what he can do. Not that he will seek to win you for
himself, to creep into your heart in any way. But he will fearlessly
battle with the dark powers that rule your youth, and," he added with a
melancholy smile--"I'm only sorry that I shall not be alive to hear
you, when you say to him: 'You've conquered; my heart has grown warm.'"
Toinette gently shook her head. "You're a good man, but a bad prophet,"
she answered smiling. "But no matter. Only promise me to live, for who
knows what may happen; and tell your brother--what you please. I doubt
whether he will come here again. He's different from you, prouder, more
passionate, he wants 'all or nothing.' If he will only learn to be
satisfied with a little--I shall always be glad to see him. But he must
come soon, for I can't tell what will become of me. In three days I
must decide upon something; for even if I loved life, I can live no
longer as I am; servitude, poverty--or a third contingency, which might
not be the worst. And now, my dear friend--"
She looked toward the door, which had already been once opened and
hastily closed again. The youth rose and approached her. "I thank you
most sincerely for all you've confided to me," said he, "and I shall
carry away a lighter heart than I brought with me. But I should like to
say one thing more; if it's impossible for you to refuse to receive
this count, beware of letting Edwin meet him here. From what I know of
my brother, he would not endure this gentleman's haughty manner, and
even his mere presence, his cold, empty smile, his brow, behind which
no noble thought ever germinated, would be so repulsive to him, that he
would beseech you to choose between him and this third alternative. How
is it possible for _you_ to tolerate such a person near you? The very
nobility of your own nature ought to make such a caricature of true
nobility--"
At this moment the door was gently opened and the count appeared on the
threshold. "Send this eloquent young man away, Fraeulein," he said
contemptuously, without vouchsafing Balder a single glance, "or you'll
place me in the painful position of being forced to give him a lesson
in good breeding, to make him understand that it's unseemly to express
his very immature opinions about people in so loud a tone that those
concerned can't help hearing it in the adjoining room. Of course it's
impossible to feel insulted by such complimentary remarks from a saucy
lad. But--"
"You forget where you are, Count," Toinette hastily interrupted, while
Balder growing red and pale by turns, vainly strove to find an answer.
"If the time seems long to you, pray go. I'm accountable to no one for
the length of my interview with this friend."
"Undoubtedly," replied the count with a slight bend of the head,
"you're at liberty to choose your friends, and no one is responsible
for his taste. I, too, trust to continue the acquaintance of this
hopeful youth--at some more suitable place. Farewell, Fraeulein!" He
took his hat and with an icy smile left the room.
"What have you done, Balder!" cried Toinette. "You've deeply offended
him, and he'll never forget it. Why didn't I warn you? These walls and
doors are so thin!"
"Pardon me the unpleasant scene; I deeply regret having caused it,"
replied Balder, extending his hand to her. "But I've no anxiety about
anything else. I still believe the count has too much good feeling to
revenge himself on a defenceless man for an unintentional offence, and
then--no one can bear me a grudge _long_. I do not even know whether I
can bid you farewell a second time?"
He bent over her hand, and, absorbed in other thoughts, she left it in
his clasp. "Don't go yet," she said. "Wait till he has driven away. I
don't feel satisfied about this matter. And you're exhausted, and you
ought to take a glass of wine--"
He smilingly released her hand. "Although I'm not the strongest person
in the world--my nerves are strong enough as yet to prevent any fear of
men. You may be perfectly at ease, dear Fraeulein, I shall find my way
home safely. Farewell!"
He limped out of the room so quickly, that little Jean, who was sitting
at a small table in the entry, writing exercises, was not quick enough
to open the door for him. But when he had descended the stairs and
reached the street, he saw the count's carriage still standing in the
same place. "He's waiting till I have gone, and will then go up again,"
he thought, and regretted that there was to be a continuation of the
scene just experienced. But as he looked around to summon the droschky,
the carriage door opened and the count alighted.
"My worthy young gentleman," said he, approaching Balder, "we've not
yet done with each other. I've taken the liberty of waiting here, to
give you some good advice." He paused a moment and measured the youth
from head to foot. Balder looked him quietly in the face. "I'm eager to
hear it," said he.
"You're still very young and moreover in other respects not a person
who could be held to the full meaning of his words. But for that very
reason you will do well not to try forbearance too far. I inform you
therefore that I don't desire to meet you in this young lady's drawing,
room a second time.
"It will rest entirely with you, Herr Count, to avoid me. I've no
reason to shun you."
"Then you must submit to the treatment I think proper to bestow upon
any insolent person of your stamp."
Balder had turned deadly pale, and his limps trembled, but instead of
menace there was a strange expression of sorrow in the eyes that rested
upon the man who offered him this insult.
"Herr Count," said he, "I regret that I expressed my opinion of you in
so loud a tone that you could overhear it. It always pains me to offend
any one. But I regret still more, that your subsequent conduct confirms
my hasty judgment. I believe we've nothing more to say to each other."
He bowed coldly and beckoned to the driver of his droschky, which was
waiting at some little distance. At the same moment he felt his cloak
seized.
"It is true, my young friend, that I have done with you," he heard the
count say in a tone of suppressed fury. "Your feeble health gives you
the liberty, so easily abused, of saying what you please with impunity.
But you will oblige me by giving your brother, in my name, the same
warning that I have given you. Out of consideration for the lady to
whom he, as I hear, is paying attention, I should prefer that she
should be spared the necessity of making a choice between us. I'm not
in the habit of putting myself on a level with the first person who
comes along, and the affair might have unpleasant consequences for him.
You'll be kind enough to give him this message, my young friend? And
now I'll not keep you standing in the windy street any longer. I trust
you have understood me." He drew back, bowed with mock civility, and
sprang into his carriage, which drove rapidly away.
Balder remained silent and motionless. Involuntarily he placed his hand
upon his heart, where he felt a keen pain. But it passed away again.
His rigid features relaxed, and he smiled sadly as he drew his cloak
closer around his shoulders. "What a contemptible man!" said he. "How
anybody who is governed by such dull instincts must feel! And she, she
could--no, Edwin, he is not dangerous to you, or she has never been
worthy of possessing your heart!"
The droschky stopped beside him, the driver, who saw the pale youth
standing so lost in thought, pitied him, and jumped down from the box
to open the door and help him in. "Why, sir, you ought to be with your
mother, instead of making visits. An old droschky like this isn't very
warm, and you're shivering like a sentinel when it is ten degrees below
zero."
"You are right, my friend," replied Balder smiling. "But I think the
sentinel will soon be relieved. Drive me home as fast as possible, I
shall hardly get out of doors again."
CHAPTER III.
Edwin was strolling down Friedrichstrasse with Marquard, whom he had
met on his way home from the university.
"I thought it would only be a soap bubble of happiness," said he. "A
removal at this season of the year is as impossible, as for him to
remain here alone. You'd undoubtedly take the best care of him, and
Mohr has even offered to move into the tun bodily as 'Vice-Edwin.' But
nevertheless, my dear fellow, don't urge me. You don't know how we've
spoiled each other. There are hours when it's troublesome for him to
speak, and then I read the signs on his brow as clearly as my own
handwriting. And, reproach me if you will for being sentimental, I,
too, should fare ill without him. For the last six years my best
thoughts have come to me in his calm presence. If I reached a point
when I could make no farther progress, I only needed to look at him,
and light dawned upon me from his eyes. I'm really afraid I should seem
stupid, if I were to go to the university without him, and the faculty
would think I'd had somebody's help in writing my prize essay. _Habeat
sibi!_ Some other door will open."
"You know your own affairs best," replied Marquard, who, wrapped
in an elegant fur cloak, was strolling beside him with apparent
indifference. "If it doesn't agitate him to think that he's the
obstacle. Perhaps--it's only an idea--you might allege your regard for
the princess in Rosenstrasse, as a pretext for not going away."
"Unfortunately the good advice comes too late. He knows that that is
all over."
"What? Been made such short work of? How did that happen?"
"It's a long story. I'll tell you some other time."
They walked on in silence side by side. At last Marquard said: "I see
I'm the only practical person among you; for even our tribune of the
people--though he's shown more common sense than I gave him credit for,
in selecting from among the children of the people one whose father is
a house owner for his bride--will scarcely become a steady married man
and quiet citizen. You, my noble philosopher, are in love with a
psychological problem, and our satirical friend, instead of at least
acting out his comedy: 'I am I and rely on myself--'"
"What news have you heard of him? He came in to play chess last night
as usual."
"His queen checkmated him yesterday, the game's up, the zaunkoenigs were
sitting in their nest with very anxious faces when I make them a short
call in the evening. The mysterious night-bird they sheltered, has
flown away, no one knows where."
"Could the poor creature for the second time--"
"That was the fear of her worthy hosts, behind whose backs she stole
away. But I soothed their anxiety. After a conversation forced upon her
by Mohr, in the course of which God knows what he may have said,
undoubtedly with the best intentions, but in his mad way, she waited
until papa Koenig and the young girl had gone out, then suddenly emerged
from her solitary corner and saying that she wanted to buy a winter
cloak, asked the cook to lend her some money. When she'd got twelve or
fourteen thalers--all the ready money the woman had,--she entered a
droschky and drove away. It's not likely that she wanted to buy a
pistol, having possibly taken a prejudice against water, for tickets to
eternity can be bought cheaper by other routes. Moreover so many days
have intervened since that unhappy night, that it's natural to suppose
milder thoughts had come. In a note to Leah, she begged her not to seek
to discover her, for that she would send her word when she could find
courage to live and a desire to recall herself to the memory of those
who had meant kindly toward her, though they had acted against her
will. Herr Feyertag might sell her furniture and piano, deduct the rent
and the borrowed money from the proceeds, and give the remainder to the
poor; the letter was resolute, like the woman who wrote it, but it was
no suicide's bulletin; I know that, for I once made a collection of the
autographs, last notes, etc., left by suicides just before they entered
eternity."
"And Mohr?"
"He came again in the evening, and seemed to have been brooding
meantime over some plan or to have had some other question to ask. When
he found the cell empty, (no one thought of an escape, as the
imprisonment was voluntary,) he became even more thoughtful, morose,
and uncivil than he's been for the last few weeks. Even the little
zaunkoenig, who can usually stand a good deal, seemed somewhat nettled
by his strange manners. For the rest--all honor to the little man! He's
cared for the unfortunate creature like a real Samaritan, while from a
Christian standpoint, suicides have usually been considered the very
scum of humanity, the poor step-children of God and predestined to
misery, and have always been buried outside the church-yard wall. A
long hymn of praise might be sung over Leah's treatment of the
stranger. My little Adele actually gets jealous when I tell her how
self-sacrificing, clever, and discreet the zaun-princess' conduct has
been."
"And there's still no clue to the cause of this desperate step?" said
Edwin. "When I think of our bacchanalian revel at Charlottenburg, and
her playing--she seemed to be in such good spirits, like all the rest
of us, only of course in her strange, sullen way--"
Marquard shrugged his shoulders. "Who can tell! Perhaps Leah! At least,
whenever I alluded to the subject, she grew speechless in a strange
way, like a person who has no talent for lying and therefore prefers to
seal his lips. Mohr, who'd be easier game to an inquisitor, seemed, up
to yesterday, to have no suspicions; but early this morning, so your
old Lore tells me, he went to Fraeulein Christiane's room, on the
pretext that he wanted to buy the piano. There he rummaged in every
corner, and at last found something--a little book, at the sight of
which he uttered an inarticulate moan. What it may have been, his
'so-called gods' only know. However, he's happy now; he has an object
in life which occupies all his thoughts: to unveil this mystery and
trace the woman who has disappeared."
"I've wondered whether, after all,--did you never meet a certain
Candidat Lorinser?"
The physician made no reply; for they were just turning the corner of
Dorotheenstrasse, and Marquard's keen eye had discovered a crowd of
people standing silent and motionless around a droschky in front of
Herr Feyertag's shop. "What's that?" said he. "Are the neighbors
waiting to see Jungfrau Reginchen drive out to pay wedding calls? We've
not got quite so far as that--no, some accident--"
Edwin heard no more. Urged by a sudden presentiment, he reached the
house at the very moment a lifeless body, carefully supported by the
head journeyman and the driver of the droschky, was carried up the
steps. He heard the crowd around him say: "There comes his brother!"
then his senses failed. The by-standers caught him, as he tottered and
seemed about to fall.
But it was only a momentary faintness that paralysed him. The next
instant he heard Marquard's voice again. "Keep up your courage, Edwin!
Come! It can scarcely be death!" Aided by his friend, he stood erect
and allowed himself to be led into the house.
The entry was crowded with the members of the household and with
curious neighbors, but they silently made way for them. All the
apprentices were assembled in the courtyard, gazing at the upper
windows as if expecting some message; but not a word was uttered, the
whole house seemed holding its breath in terror.
The driver of the droschky now appeared in the doorway. "Good Lord,
what a misfortune!" he said, approaching Edwin. "Such a young fellow! I
really thought he was a girl in disguise, till he began to talk to the
strange gentleman; then his eyes flashed as only a man's can. I saw
he'd got a little heated, so I shut the window, and he jested when I
told him he was shivering like an old sentinel. And all the way from
Rosenstrasse here, I never noticed that, as one might say, he was
driving to eternity in the old droschky! I suppose you're his brother?
Well, there's no hurry about the fare." Edwin shuddered and his voice
failed when he turned to speak. Marquard gave the man some money and
took his number, in order to ask him some farther questions about the
last scene; then he helped Edwin up stairs.
They had laid the lifeless form upon the bed just as they had taken it
out of the carriage, still wrapped in the faded cloak. No one had gone
up to the room except the head journeyman, Herr Feyertag and his wife;
Reginchen had glided after them, but she had not ventured to enter and
was crouching on the stairs, pale as a ghost.