This thought, which had at length quieted Bertram's, wildly tumultuous
spirits, was also his first, when late next morning he awoke from deep
and dreamless slumbers--neither tragedy nor comedy! Calm and clear
observation, as best becomes a solitary individual who has done with
life; who neither hopes nor fears anything from Fate for himself;
maintaining a benevolent interest in the fate of others, where
benevolence is merited and interest is justified; cherishing throughout
the conviction that, after all, every one makes or mars his own life;
that interference and advice are rarely of much use, and generally
distinctly hurtful; and that, even under the most favourable
circumstances, the task of mediator is ever, of all tasks, the most
thankless.
In the clear light of these contemplations and of the delicious morning
which was resting in sunny radiance above the lovely landscape, last
night's scenes appeared to Bertram like the confused darkness of a
feverish dream; nay, he derived some comfort from the thought that he
probably had been ill, and was therefore only partly responsible for
his extraordinary demeanour. Still, he was gravely responsible for one
thing--he ought sooner to have become conscious of his condition. He
might well thank his stars that in his excited state he had not behaved
even more strangely; above all, that to-day, for the first time since
his last long and severe illness, he felt as fresh and strong as in his
best days. Assuredly with the morning all things seemed to have become
better--much better than he could have expected--than he deserved!
The master's disposition was singularly serene, and he gave it a most
friendly expression in the course of his toilet, showing himself ready
for a friendly gossip with Konski; but Konski, strange, to say, was out
of temper, and refused to be gossiped with.
At last Bertram said: "What ails you? If you are displeased, at what I
said yesterday about our speedy departure, you may calm yourself. We
still remain here for the whole time we had originally arranged. I see
you have unpacked already."
"We may leave to-day, for aught I care!" grumbled Konski.
"What's up now? Out with it, Konski! You know I cannot bear sour looks.
Anything in connection with Mamsell Christine?"
"Of course it is!" replied Konski; "and I wonder who's to keep from
sour looks under these circumstances! I had written to her that this
was to be my last trip with you, and when we returned from Italy in
March we might go and be spliced. I did not want to tell you at all,
but don't you see, sir, one gets older every year, and it has to be
some time or other, and ..."
"And now you wish to marry at once, and I am to give you your
discharge?"
"Marry at once, indeed!" sniffed Konski; "she won't marry at all
now--leastways, not me--and that, after we have been engaged these
five years! But there is no trusting them women, and especially the old
ones! She is five and forty years of age, she is,--a year older than I
am myself; and now she's going to marry a young greenhorn of five and
twenty!"
It was some time before Konski, generally so calm and patient, could
explain in detail to his master how badly he had been treated.
According to his account, Mamsell Christine had written the tenderest
letters to him until a few weeks ago, and had declared herself
agreeable to all his suggestions and proposals; and now it appeared
from the statements of the other servants whom he had cross-questioned,
and whose evidence the faithless one could not but corroborate, that
she had been "carrying on" for a long while with one Peter Weissenborn,
who had formerly been head-gardener at Rinstedt, and who had been
settled in the neighbouring town for the last six months, and who was
now, it was said, likely to be appointed one of the Court gardeners,
thanks to the protection of the Herr Baron. The Herr Baron, Konski went
on, had also induced My Lady to give Mamsell Christine leave to quit
her service at any time without formal notice; and, indeed, the
servants all said, that the way to get My Lady's consent to anything,
was to get the Herr Baron on your side; that made success quite
certain. And My Lady was said to be quite in favour of this marriage
between Christine and the future Court gardener. In that case she would
always have two of her former servants at hand when she came to town,
and that was likely to be an event of frequent occurrence now; if,
indeed, she did not go to live there altogether, as some of the
servants asserted--Aurora, for instance--My Lady's maid, who was her
second favourite, next to Christine.
Bertram endeavoured to comfort the poor fellow. He pointed out to him
that he should be glad to be rid of a person who had evidently never
meant honestly by him, and who would in all probability have been as
faithless in marriage as she had now proved before. This conviction led
him to reject any wish there might exist to get the matter rectified
again, as was done sometimes, and in much higher social circles too;
otherwise he would have been willing to use his influence with My Lady,
which presumably would have been at least as telling as that of the
Herr Baron.
Konski shook his head. "I am extremely obliged to you, sir," said he.
"I am quite content if you will still keep me on, after I have proved
myself to be such a thorough ass. And, as far as talking to her
Ladyship goes, that would be in vain--the Herr Baron is cock of the
walk there. I could tell you a good deal more about that, but I know
you do not like that sort of thing!"
Bertram was startled. The man's last remark could have but one meaning,
and the image of the girl among the wallflowers and with the jealous
lover, emerged in singular distinctness from last night's feverish
phantasies. He would fain have for once broken through his rule of
never going out of his way to listen to the gossip of kitchen and
servants' hall, but, as Konski did not volunteer any further remarks,
he was ashamed to put any direct questions. Just at that moment, too,
there came a knock, and a servant brought a message from her Ladyship.
She had learned that the Herr Doctor had risen, and might she request
the Herr Doctor's' company on the verandah to tea?
Bertram lost no time in following the invitation. Hildegard, who had
been sitting in a shaded corner of the verandah at the deserted
breakfast-table, came forward to meet him. As she moved towards him
with well-balanced step, he could not but recall last night's talk
about the never-changing beauty of a poet's heroine. He gazed upon the
lofty figure in its youthful slimness, the clear, deep colouring of the
incomparably beautiful countenance, the blue-black splendour of the
ample hair, smooth at the temples, and crowning the glorious head with
a dense braid.
There was a smile on her dainty lips, and if deepened a little as she
saw her guest's speaking eyes bent upon her in undisguised admiration.
She was making tender inquiries about the state of his health, leading
him the while to the table and making him sit beside her, with the
kettle bubbling in front of them.
"Otto," she said, "is, as usual, somewhere about the estate. The Baron
is painting a portion of the village from the bottom terrace, and Lydia
is, I believe, keeping him company with a book. Erna, you will probably
find later on in her favourite place, under the big plantain tree. I
have sent them all away, because I so long to have a comfortable
confidential chat with you. Yesterday we did not manage to have one.
And first of all, dear friend, accept my hearty thanks for having so
kindly pardoned a breach of confidence of which I--not from choice--had
been guilty. Nay, do not refuse the expression of my gratitude. I saw
how hard you found it to appear unconscious and serene; I thank you all
the more. But I knew that with your wonted cleverness you would at once
find the only correct point of view--that of pity. Whatever has been
done and sinned between the two of you,--she is the one to be pitied. A
poor girl, growing old, even if she is in favour at Court; and although
the Grand Ducal family could not be kinder, yet all this cannot satisfy
the cravings of her eager mind--but I perceive that this is a painful
topic for you!"
"It is not painful for me," replied Bertram; "or at least only so far
as the description of a dissatisfied, unquiet soul must ever be painful
for us, if it is hopelessly out of our power to bring satisfaction and
peace to it."
"I understand you," said Hildegard; "and you will understand me when I
beg of you not quite to rob the poor soul in question of its utterly
foolish hopes to which it clings, alas! with incredible tenacity. You
can do this so easily: you need but be amiable and, courteous to her,
as you are to everybody--no more, but, to be sure, no less--do you
consent?"
"I will try, since you wish it--on one condition!"
"And this condition?"
"I have come to the following determination--indeed, it is a matter of
course for me. In the drama of human life I will not henceforth ever
again leave, my well-won place in the stalls, and under no
circumstances will I take a part on the stage itself--no tragic
part--and still less a comic one!"
"From the latter," replied his fair hostess with a smile, "you are
safe under any circumstances, through your own cleverness; from the
former----"
"Through my age."
"I meant to say, also through your cleverness; or, if you prefer it,
through the cool, unimpassioned frame of mind which you have grown
into, and which I often envy you!"
Bertram looked up in amazement, and then quickly busied himself with
his tea-cup. Hildegard, to envy him his coolness! Hildegard, who had
ever appeared to him the very embodiment of conscious equanimity!
"You may be surprised to hear this from me," she continued; "but must
we not all, sooner or later, learn the lesson of resignation? And my
time surely has come. Indeed, it has been so all my life. What have not
I had to resign in the course of my life! Or do you think that the
husband's wealth can blind the wife, if she be proud, to the
consciousness that she is not loved as she longs, and as, may be, she
deserves to be loved?"
Bertram knew these phrases from of old; but he said to himself that
to-day particularly he must make the best of everything, so he
exclaimed--
"Is it possible, my friend, that you still cherish this hypochondriacal
fear which you have given utterance to before, but from which I deemed
you cured long ago? How can you complain of a deficiency in love, when
your husband positively adores you? You can utter no wish, simply
because what you could wish for is already fulfilled. Or you need but
have a wish, and it is forthwith fulfilled."
"You are pleading for the friend of your youth," she made answer,
raising her dark eyebrows. "Do not forget this: I am bringing no charge
against him. I am resigned. Were I to die to-day, what would his loss
come to? What would he miss?"
"The brightness of his life," Bertram replied gallantly.
"As if he cared for the brightness of his life!" said his wife. "Is it
so? Does he share one of my fancies, my harmless _penchants_? Does he
not vainly strive to appear interested in the things of beauty with
which I love to surround, myself and to decorate our dwelling? Did he
not consent wit evident repugnance to have the mansion-house restored
in a style befitting a whilom princely residence--to let me seek out
and renew the old, tangled paths through the Park? Does he support me
in my humane undertakings? Have I not had to beg the few thousand
thalers from him that I required for my Kindergarten and for my
poorhouse? Why, he lives solely for his porcelain factory, his sugar
refinery, his coal-mines, his new railway project! I say again: I have
accepted all this as inevitable, and as a matter of course, as long as
I alone was concerned, as long as I alone suffered. But, indeed, to
bring Erna into this life of trivialities, to leave the dear child in a
sphere where she sees nothing, hears nothing, that could give the
slightest nourishment to head or heart, where anything and everything
revolves round Mammon, is sacrificed to Mammon--that is beyond me,
beyond my strength!"
"Then, if I understand you aright, you wish, to get Erna married?"
Through the soft, velvety radiance of the deep-brown eyes flashed
something like a deeper light. The question was evidently not
expected--at least not yet--but the next moment already her eyes had
resumed their customary expression, and she forced those beautiful lips
to smile, as she said, in a tone of gentle reproach--
"Let us express it rather less egotistically. I should like Erna to
find a husband worthy of her."
"A most natural wish too! One which every mother cherishes for a
grown-up daughter. And as an old friend of the family I heartily join
in the wish, and do not for a moment doubt that we shall readily agree
as to what we shall expect her husband to be."
"I am not so sure on that point."
"Let us try anyhow. Firstly, he should be noble!"
"That is not your conviction."
"Then let it be a concession. If people wish to come to an
understanding they must be prepared to make concessions."
"This concession I accept gladly. Go on, please."
"He should not be a scholar by profession; but have a good--a man of
the world's--education, and a taste for the fine arts. In fact, we want
a cavalier, of course, in the best sense of the word."
"Agreed."
"He need not be wealthy. In fact, it would be preferable that he had no
fortune, he would in that case be all the more indebted to Erna."
"Most true!"
"He should not be a landed proprietor, or at least not a man who feels
it a duty and an absolute necessity to live in the country and devote
himself to agriculture. Best of all, he should have no definite
calling, or, anyhow, only one which did not impose difficult and
troublesome duties; say a position which should have it as a natural
consequence that the man in question moved in the best society, and
even came occasionally into pleasant contact with Court circles."
"Best of friends, how strangely skilled you are in reading a mother's
heart!"
"Let me, then, look to the very bottom of it, where possibly the name
of the individual in question is already written. If I read the
characters correctly, they form the name ..."
"Now I am truly keen to know."
"Baron Kuno von Lotter-Vippach."
"Lydia has told you!"
"No. Neither Fraeulein von Aschhof nor any one else has spoken to me, I
give you my word of honour."
"But it is most strange ..."
"Why so strange? Am I not a very old friend, to whom you have many a
time talked on most important topics, and whom you have many a time
honoured with your most intimate confidence?"
"Then it is all the better, all the more deserving of my gratitude;
and I thank you heartily, sincerely ..."
She had seized both his hands; her beautiful countenance, now lighted
up with a flush of gladness, had never been more beautiful; yet to
Bertram it appeared like some hideous mask.
"I cannot accept your thanks," he said, withdrawing his hands with
slight and very hurried pressure. "I could but do so honestly, if I
shared those wishes of yours which I have guessed. That is not quite
the case. The impression which Baron Lotter made upon me yesterday was
not specially favourable; to be quite open, the impression was
unfavourable."
"That," Hildegard replied eagerly, "leaves me very calm. You men
seldom like each other at a first encounter, and at a second you find
one another charming. In the Baron's case no second encounter has even
been necessary; he overflows with your praises; he calls you the
cleverest and most amiable of men; he is charmed to have made your
acquaintance; and I am convinced that you, too, my friend, will soon
modify your judgment--I should almost like to say your prejudice--once
you come to know the Baron better. He is somewhat spoiled, like all
very handsome men; somewhat conceited, if you like; but at bottom very
modest, easily led, good as gold. He will please you, believe me, and
more than please you! You will come to esteem and love him!"
"Is the more important question, to me the most important, already
settled? Does Erna think as favourably of the Baron? Does she love him?
For that he loves her, I must, I suppose, assume."
"That is beyond all doubt," Hildegard made answer; "as for Erna, I hope
so, I believe so; anyhow she does not express herself unfavourably
about him, and that, with Erna, means a good deal, for she is not at
all easily pleased, and is not accustomed to conceal her dislike, if
dislike there be. It is of course difficult to form a correct opinion
of Erna's sentiments; doubly difficult for me, because she has
been so long from home, and we are not always in accord in our
views and tendencies. Again, in Lydia she has never placed full
confidence--which, by the by, I can scarcely wonder at. I only know one
being whom she thoroughly trusts--and you dear friend, are the one!"
"I?"
"Are you surprised to hear this? Surely not? Has not the child always
been so fond of Uncle Bertram, that we, her parents, might have grown
jealous? Has she not ever been your favourite? If she is so no longer,
for goodness sake do not let the poor girl see it. She would be
inconsolable."
"Now, you are laughing at me."
"Indeed, I am not. Ask Lydia. That Lydia often speaks of you, you will
find natural enough, and that now and again a word of bitterness slips
in, you will find pardonable. Erna does not pardon it. In her eyes you
are once and for good raised above all reproach. You are, as it were,
her ideal. It is a downright case of infatuation, and it goes so far
that she once assured us, with all a child's gravity--she was still
almost a child--that if ever she married, Uncle Bertram must be her
husband and she got quite angry when Lydia and I laughed at her."
The beautiful lady smiled, and Bertram succeeded in forcing a smile
too.
"How very funny," he said; "but then very young girls are proverbially
prone to conceive infatuation for some one or other of their masters,
and I think, in Lydia's eyes, I have always been one of her
instructors, in literature and what not. Poor girls! they give their
affections to old Mentor, but they mean young Telemachus. Well, and
there is apparently a young Telemachus on the stage already, if you
have seen aright."
"Just to decide that point," replied Hildegard, "Mentor must not yet
resign his functions. On the contrary, I must entreat him most urgently
to help the mother with his clear vision and his advice, and to use his
old influence with the daughter. I may rely upon this, my trusty
friend, may I not?"
She held out her hand to him with these words. He raised it
deferentially to his lips and said--
"You may rest convinced that Erna's well-being is dearer to me than
anything else in the world."
Hildegard had wished and had expected another, a more definite, answer.
It was still doubtful whether she had really acquired an ally in him.
However, the main point was gained; she had taken the initiative, had
represented the affair from her own point of view, had appealed to
Bertram's friendship, had asked for his assistance, had given him a
proof of her confidence, which he would doubtless accept as
unconditional. This sort of thing is always flattering to a man, always
makes him feel indebted. Of course, a woman must flatter a man if she
would make him feel indebted.
Just then it was anyhow impossible to obtain a more definite assurance
from Bertram, for the Baron and Lydia were ascending the main steps of
the terrace; the Baron, in his temporary capacity as artist, clad in a
costume of brown velvet, and a straw hat with a stupendously broad
brim, and Lydia in such a grotesquely fantastic morning costume as to
suggest the idea that she had been acting as model for some wonderful
sketch of the artist. And indeed she did figure upon the canvas, but
only as a bit of the foreground, which represented a portion of the
terrace, across which you looked down into the valley and at the
village, with the wooded hills rising behind. The Baron was evidently
much pleased with his work, although he declared again and again not to
have half finished it; it was not fair, he added, to apply to a hasty
sketch the same standard of judgment as to a regular studio picture, in
which everything would of course turn out quite different. This,
Bertram could not but think, would be most desirable, but hardly very
probable. This so-called sketch was evidently a picture which had
already been touched and retouched, some portions had been painted over
two, even three times, and divers desultory dilettante endeavours had
failed to bring anything like harmony into the composition.
Nevertheless he politely agreed with the ladies' words of praise, which
flowed freely from Hildegard's lips, while Lydia, as was her wont,
launched out in extravagant eulogy: wonderful, was it not, what
progress the Herr Baron made day by day? At last there was once more a
painter with a mission for historical landscapes on a grand scale! The
resemblance of his genius to that of a Rottmann, a Preller--became more
and more apparent. Nor did she alone think so. Only the other day, at
Court, when they were talking of the pupils at the Academy of Arts, and
some one mentioned the Baron's name, Princess Amelia said, and said
with marked emphasis, "No pupil he, ladies, nay, a master, and a great
master! The Baron is a distinct acquisition for our School of Arts; he
represents a triumph!"
"Yes, it is true; the august lady is very graciously disposed towards
me," asserted the Baron, stroking his natty beard. "I wonder what she
will say to my new sketches."
Fortunately for Bertram, who was planning his escape under some pretext
or other from this painful scene, his host now came up to greet his
friend, and to ask if he felt strong enough and was inclined to go for
a little drive with him; only to the porcelain factory, they would be
back in an hour. Bertram declared his readiness.
"The Baron would surely like to go with you," said Hildegard,
exchanging glances with her husband; "but I fear there is barely
comfortable room even for two in your little trap."
The Baron hastened to assure her that he could not go, anyhow, as he
had promised Miss Erna to try the accompaniment to some new songs with
her.
Hildegard asked Bertram if he would not, before starting, say good
morning to Erna, who would be hurt if he left without having done so.
They called for Erna in vain. It seemed to Bertram that Hildegard only
wished to find time enough to beckon him aside, and to whisper to him
that he need not conceal from her husband what they had been discussing
in reference to Erna. On the contrary, she was anxious to learn Otto's
opinion of the whole matter; he would probably speak with less reserve
to his friend than, alas! to her, and that Bertram would take her side
she felt sure now.
"But Erna is not coming, I see," she exclaimed aloud; "I will not keep
you gentlemen any longer. _Au revoir_--an hour hence."