Evening was drawing on. The festivities on the Berkow estates had been
participated in by the bridal pair, and, so far at least, had attained
their end. After the happy termination of that perilous incident which
had so nearly compromised the whole proceedings, the original programme
had been strictly adhered to. The young couple, everywhere in
requisition during the afternoon, found themselves at last at home, and
left to each other's company. Herr Schaeffer had just taken his leave,
he was to return to the elder Herr Berkow in the city the following
morning; and the servant, who had been busy with the arrangements of
the tea-table, now disappeared in his turn.
The lamp on the table shed its clear mild light on the pale blue
draperies and costly furniture of the little salon, which, like all the
other rooms in the house, had been newly and splendidly decorated for
the reception of the new mistress, and formed part of the suite
appropriated to her use. The silk curtains, closely drawn, shut from it
the outer world; flowers filled the stands and vases, perfuming the
air, and on a table before a little sofa stood the silver tea-service
ready for use. In spite of all the splendour, it was a perfect little
picture of domestic comfort.
So far, at least, as the boudoir itself was concerned; but the newly
married couple hardly seemed as yet to appreciate its home-like
charm. The bride, still in full dress, stood in the middle of the room
musing, and holding in her hand the bouquet which Wilberg, in Martha's
stead, had had the happiness of offering her. The scent from the
orange-blossoms engrossed her attention so completely, that she had
none left for her husband, and he certainly made no very vigorous claim
upon it. Scarcely had the door closed behind the footman, when he sank
into an armchair with an air of exhaustion.
"It is enough to kill one, this making a show of one's self for ever!
Is not it, Eugenie? They have not granted us a minute's respite since
yesterday at noon. First the ceremony, then the dinner, then a most
fatiguing journey by rail and post, which went on all through the night
and forenoon of to-day, then the tragic episode; here again a
reception, presentation of officials, dinner.... My father did not
remember evidently, when he sketched out the programme, that we possess
anything like nerves. I own that mine are completely unstrung!"
His wife turned her head and cast a very contemptuous glance at the
man, who, in his first tete-a-tete with her, could talk of his nerves.
Eugenie did not appear to have much knowledge of such ailments; not a
trace of fatigue was to be seen on her fair face.
"Have you heard whether young Hartmann's wound is dangerous?" asked she
by way of answer.
Arthur had exerted himself to make an exceptionally long speech; he
seemed surprised that it had obtained so little notice.
"Schaeffer says it is nothing," he returned indifferently; "he has
spoken to the doctor, I think. By the by, we shall have to make the
young fellow some sort of recognition. I shall commission the Director
to see about it."
"Ought you not rather to take the matter into your own hands?"
"I? No, pray spare me that! I hear he is not a common miner after all,
but the son of the manager, a deputy, or something of the kind. How can
I tell whether money, or a present, or what would be the proper thing
to give him? The Director will manage it admirably."
He let his head sink into the cushions again. Eugenie answered nothing;
she sat down on the sofa and leaned her head on her hand. After the
pause of a minute or so, it seemed, however, to occur to Herr Arthur
that he owed his young wife some attention, and that he could not
possibly remain silent and buried in his arm-chair during the entire
hour the tea-drinking would be supposed to last. It cost him an effort,
but he made the sacrifice and actually rose to his feet. Going over to
his wife, he seated himself by her side, took her hand and even went so
far as to attempt passing his arm round her. But it was only an
attempt. With a quick movement, Eugenie drew her hand out of his and
retreated from him, casting a glance at him like that which, yesterday
in church, had so spoiled his father's first embrace. There was the
same cold haughty repulse in her look which said better than any words:
"I am not to be approached by you, or any like you."
But this high disdainful manner, so imposing to the father, proved less
so when employed towards the son, probably because the latter was no
longer to be awed by anything. He appeared neither intimidated nor
disconcerted at this evident show of repugnance, but merely looked up
with some faint surprise.
"Is that disagreeable to you, Eugenie?"
"It is new to me at least. You have hitherto spared me such marks of
affection."
The young man was too apathetic to feel all the bitter meaning of these
words. He took them as a reproach.
"Hitherto? Well, yes, etiquette was rather severely maintained in your
father's house. During the whole two months of our engagement, I had
not once the happiness of seeing you alone. The continual presence of
your father or your brothers laid a restraint upon us which, now we are
together quietly for the first time, may well be laid aside."
Eugenie retreated still farther.
"Well then, now that we are quietly alone together, I declare that such
tender demonstrations, made just to satisfy appearances, and in which
the heart has no share, are positively distasteful to me. I release you
once for all from any such obligations."
The surprise in Arthur's face became a little more marked now; so far,
however, he was not really roused.
"You seem to be in rather a peculiar humour to-day. Appearances! Heart!
Really, Eugenie, I should not have expected to find such romantic
illusions in you of all people."
An expression of deep bitterness passed over her features.
"I took leave of all illusions in life when I promised you my hand. You
and your father were bent on uniting your name with that of Windeg,
which is old and noble. You thought, by doing so, you would obtain
those honours and that society from which you had hitherto been shut
out. Well, you have gained your end. For the future, I must sign myself
Eugenie Berkow!"
She laid a most contemptuous stress on the last word. Arthur had risen;
he seemed to understand at last that this was something more than a
bride's caprice, called forth, possibly, by his negligence during the
journey.
"You certainly do not seem to like the name much. Until to-day, I had
no idea that, in taking it, you had yielded to constraint from your
family, but I begin to think"----
"No one has constrained me!" interrupted Eugenie. "No one has even
persuaded me. What I did, I did voluntarily, with full consciousness of
what I was undertaking. It was hard enough for them at home that I
should be sacrificed for their sakes."
Arthur shrugged his shoulders; it was plain from the expression of his
face that the conversation was beginning to weary him.
"I really do not understand how you can speak in such a tragic tone
about a simple family arrangement. If my father, in making it, had
other objects in view, I suppose the Baron's motives were not of a very
romantic nature either, only he, probably, had still more cogent
reasons for approving of a marriage by which he certainly was not the
loser."
Eugenie started up, her eyes flashed, and a hasty movement of her arm
threw the fragrant bouquet to the ground.
"And you dare to say that to me? After what occurred before your suit
was accepted? I thought, at least, you would blush for it, if indeed
you are still capable of blushing."
The young man's languid, half-closed eyes opened suddenly, large
and full; there came a gleam into them, like a sudden spark shooting
up from beneath dead ashes, but his voice retained its quiet
matter-of-fact tone.
"First of all, I must beg of you to be a little clearer. I feel myself
quite unable to make out these enigmatic speeches."
Eugenie crossed her arms with a rapid movement; her bosom heaved
tumultuously.
"You know, as well as I do, that we were on the brink of ruin. Whose
the fault may have been, I cannot and will not decide. It is easy to
throw stones at one who is struggling with adversity. When a man has
inherited estates overburdened with debt, when he has to maintain the
repute of an old name, to keep up a position in society, and to assure
his children's future, he cannot amass money as you do in your
industrial world. You have always had gold to throw away, your every
wish has been forestalled, every whim gratified. I have tasted all the
misery of an existence, which, wearing of necessity the outward mask of
splendour, was every day, every hour, drawing nearer inevitable ruin.
Perhaps we might yet have escaped, if we had not fallen precisely into
Berkow's nets. He fairly forced his help on us at first, forced it upon
us until he had got everything into his hands, until we, pursued,
entrapped, despairing, literally knew not which way to turn. Then he
came and claimed my hand for his son as the sole price of deliverance.
Rather than offer me up, my father would have braved the worst, but I
would not see him sacrificed, his whole career destroyed, I would not
have my brother's future blighted, our name dishonoured, so I gave my
consent. Not one of my family knew what it cost me!--but, if I sold
myself, I can answer for it to God, and to my conscience. You, who lent
yourself to be the tool of your father's base designs, have no right to
reproach me; my motives were at least nobler than yours!"
She paused, overcome by her emotion. Her husband still stood motionless
before her; there was the same slight pallor on his face as had been
visible at noon, when the danger was just overpast, but his eyes were
veiled once more.
"I regret that you did not make these disclosures to me before our
marriage," said he, slowly.
"Why?"
"Because you would not then have incurred the humiliation of signing
yourself Eugenie Berkow."
The young wife was silent.
"I had not the slightest suspicion of these--these manipulations on my
father's part," continued Arthur, "for my habit is in no way to
interfere with his business concerns. He said to me one day, that if I
chose to sue for the hand of Baron Windeg's daughter, my proposal would
be accepted. I agreed to the plan, and I was formally presented to you,
our betrothal following a few days later. That is my share of the
business."
Eugenie turned away.
"I would rather have had a plain avowal of your complicity than this
fable," she said coldly.
Again the man's eyes opened wide, and again that strange light gleamed
in them, ready to kindle into flame, but ever anew quenched by the
ashes.
"It seems I stand so high in my wife's estimation, that my words do not
even find credence with her?" said he, this time with a decided touch
of bitterness.
Eugenie's fair face expressed the most sovereign contempt, as she
turned it towards her husband, and she answered slightingly:
"You really must excuse me, Arthur, for not meeting you in a spirit of
perfect confidence. Until the day you entered our house for the first
time on an errand I understood but too well--until then, I had known
you only through the city gossip, and it"----
"Drew no flattering portrait of me? That I can well believe. Will you
not have the goodness to tell me what people were pleased to say of me
in town?"
She raised her large eyes and looked him steadily in the face.
"People said that Arthur Berkow only made so princely a display, only
threw away thousands upon thousands, in order to buy the favour of the
young nobility and the right to associate with them, hoping that his
own humble birth would thus be forgotten. People said that in the wild,
dissipated doings of a certain set, he was the wildest, the most
dissipated of all. As to some of the other reports, it would ill become
me as a woman to pronounce upon them."
Arthur's hand still rested on the back of the armchair on which he was
leaning; during the last few seconds it had buried itself involuntarily
deeper and deeper in the silken cushions.
"And you naturally do not think it worth while to attempt to reclaim
this lost sinner, on whom sentence has been passed without appeal?"
"No."
She spoke this 'No' in a freezing tone. The young man's face twitched a
little as he drew himself up quickly.
"You are more than sincere! Never mind, it is an advantage to know
exactly on what footing we are to be together, for together we must
remain for a time, at all events. The step we took yesterday cannot be
recalled immediately, without exposing us both to ridicule. If you
provoked this scene with a view to showing me, that though my
presumption had won your hand, yet I must learn to hold myself at a
respectful distance from the Baroness Windeg--and I fear this was your
sole object--you have gained your end, but"----here Arthur relapsed
into his old languid manner, "but I beg of you, let this be the first
and last conversation of the kind between us. I detest everything which
resembles a scene; my nerves really will not bear them, and it is
always possible to regulate one's life without any such useless
excitement. And now I think I shall best meet your wishes by leaving
you alone. Allow me to wish you good evening."
He took up from the sideboard a silver candelabra, in which lights were
burning, and left the room. Outside the threshold he stopped a moment
and turned to look back. The gleam in his eyes was no longer faint, it
blazed up for one second clear and bright; then all grew dull and
lifeless once more, but the candles flared unsteadily as he crossed the
anteroom, possibly from the current of air, or was it because the hand
which carried them shook a little?
Eugenie remained alone. She drew a deep breath of relief as the
_portiere_ fell behind her husband. As though needing some fresh air
after so painful a scene, she drew the curtains back, half opened the
window, and, stepping on to the balcony, looked out at the balmy spring
evening. The stars shone faintly through the thin transparent clouds
which veiled the heavens, and the landscape without looked indistinct
and shadowy, for the deep twilight had already fallen, clothing
it on all sides with its dusky garment The flowers on the terrace
below filled the air with their fragrance, and the low splash
of the fountains came refreshingly to the ear. Peace and rest were
everywhere--everywhere but in the heart of the young wife, who, to-day,
for the first time, had crossed the threshold of her new home.
It was over at last, the dumb torturing struggle of the last two
months, through which she had been supported by the pain and by the
ardour of the fight itself. For heroic natures there is something grand
in the idea of giving up one's whole future for others, of buying their
salvation with the happiness of one's own life, of sacrificing one's
self in their stead to an inexorable destiny. But now when the
sacrifice was made, when deliverance had been secured, when there was
nothing left to fight for, and nothing to overcome, now all the
romantic glamour, which filial love had hitherto woven round Eugenie's
resolve, faded away, and she began to feel deeply the cold desolation
of the life before her.
The breezy, balmy air of the spring evening seemed to stir in its
depths all the long-repressed anguish of this young soul, which had
demanded its share of love and happiness from life, and which had been
so cruelly robbed of its lawful due. She was young and beautiful, more
beautiful than most, she was of a noble old race; and the proud
daughter of the Windegs had ever adorned the hero of her youthful
dreams with all the brilliant chivalry of her forefathers. That he
should be her equal in name and rank was a thing never questioned ....
and now? Had the husband, who had been forced upon her, possessed that
energy and strength of character which she prized above everything in a
man, she might, perhaps, have forgiven him his plebeian birth; but this
weakling, whom she had despised before she had known him----Had the
insults, which she, with fullest intent, had heaped upon him, and which
would have stung any other man to fury, even roused him from his
apathetic indifference? Had this apathy of his been shaken even for one
moment by the open expression of her contempt? Another, a stranger,
must throw himself before the maddened animals this morning, at the
risk of being trampled to death by them.
Before Eugenie's mental vision rose the face of her deliverer with its
defiant blue eyes and bleeding forehead. Her husband did not even know
whether this man's wound were dangerous, whether it might not prove
mortal, yet both he and she must have perished but for that energetic,
lightning-like deed.
She sank back into a seat and hid her face in her hands. All that she
had suffered and fought against for months pressed in on her now with
tenfold power, and found utterance in the one despairing cry, "My God!
my God! how shall I bear this life?"