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[Illustration: "My son'. My only child! Do you not know your mother?"
Hartmut retreated, startled. "My mother is dead," he said in a low
tone. Page 26. _The Sign of Flame_.]
THE SIGN OF FLAME.
FROM THE GERMAN OF E. WERNER
TRANSLATED BY
EVA FREEMAN HART AND E. VAN GERPEN
"Give me a nook and a book,
And let the proud world spin round."
A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS,
52-58 DUANE STREET, NEW YORK
Copyright, 1902. BY A. L. BURT COMPANY.
THE SIGN OF FLAME.
Translated by Eva Freeman Hart and E. Van Gerpen.
THE SIGN OF FLAME
CHAPTER I.
Through the gray fog of an autumn morning a flock of birds took flight;
sweeping now, as if in farewell, close to the firs, so recently their
home--rising now to a goodly height, directing their flight toward the
south, and disappearing slowly in the veiled distance.
The gloomy eyes of a man standing at a window of the large castle-like
mansion situated at the edge of the forest, followed this flight.
He was of tall stature and powerful in physique; the erect bearing
would have betrayed the soldier even without the uniform which he wore:
his features not handsome but strong; hair light, and eyes blue; in
short, a typical German in appearance; but something like a shadow
rested on those features, and the high brow bore deeper furrows than
the years seemed to warrant.
"There, the birds are already leaving," he said, pointing to the flock
which fluttered in the distance until lost entirely in the mass of fog.
"The autumn is here in nature and also in our lives."
"Not yet in yours," interrupted his companion. "You are standing in
full strength at the height of your life."
"Perhaps so considering years; but I feel as if old age would approach
me sooner than any one else. I feel much like the autumn of the year."
The other gentleman, who was in civilian dress, was probably older than
his companion. His stature was of medium height and frail. At first
sight he appeared almost insignificant beside the powerful form of the
officer, but the pale, sharply outlined face bore an expression of
cold, superior calm; and the sarcastic line around the thin lips proved
that behind the cold composure expressed in his whole manner something
deeper lay concealed.
He now shook his head with displeasure.
"You take life too hard, Falkenried," he said reproachfully; "you have
changed remarkably in these last years. He who has seen you as a young
officer, merry as the day, would not recognize you now. And why all
this? The shadow which once clouded your life has long ago vanished;
you are heart and soul a soldier; you receive distinction at every
opportunity; an important position is assured you in the near future;
and, what is best--you have kept your son."
Falkenried did not reply; he folded his arms and again looked out into
the gray distance. The other continued:
"The boy has grown as handsome as a picture in these last few years. I
was quite surprised when I saw him, and even you confess that he is
extraordinarily gifted, and, moreover, in several respects is endowed
with absolute genius."
"I wish Hartmut were less gifted and had more character instead,"
Falkenried said in almost harsh tones. "He can make poetry and learn
languages as if it were play, but as soon as he begins earnest study he
remains far behind the others; while as to military strategy, nothing
whatever can be done with him. You have no idea, Wallmoden, what iron
severity I have to bring to bear on that."
"I only fear that you do not accomplish much with this severity,"
interrupted Wallmoden. "You should have followed my advice and sent
your son to the University. That he is not cut out for a soldier you
ought now finally to see."
"He must and shall be fit for it; it is the only thing possible for his
unruly disposition, which chafes under every curb and feels every duty
a burden. The University--the life of a student--would give him fullest
liberty. Nothing but the iron discipline to which he has to bow keeps
him in check."
"Yes, for a while; but can it force him in the future? You should not
deceive yourself. His are, unfortunately, inherited faults, which may
possibly be suppressed, but never uprooted. Hartmut is in appearance
the image of his mother; he has her features--her eyes."
"Yes, I know," Falkenried said, gloomily, "her dark, demoniacal,
glowing eyes, which knew how to charm everything----"
"And which became your ruin," completed Wallmoden. "How did I not warn
and implore against them, but you would not listen to anything. Passion
had taken hold of you like a fever and held you in bonds altogether. I
have never been able to understand it."
A bitter smile flitted around Falkenried's mouth.
"I believe that. You, the cool, calculating diplomat who carefully
measure every step, are safe from such charms."
"I should at least be more careful in my choice. Your marriage brought
misfortune with it from the beginning. A wife of foreign race and
blood--of wild Slavian nature, without character, without any
understanding for that which is custom and duty to us, and you with
your strict principles--your irritable sense of honor--it had finally
to come to such an end. And I believe you loved her up to the
separation in spite of everything!"
"No," said Falkenried harshly. "The illusion vanished in the first
year. I saw only too clearly--but I shuddered at the idea of laying my
domestic miseries open to the world by a divorce. I bore it until no
choice was left me--until I finally--but enough of it!"
He turned quickly, and again looked out of the window. There was
suppressed torture in the sudden breaking off.
"Yes, it needed much to tear a nature like yours from the roots,"
Wallmoden said seriously; "but nevertheless the separation left you
free from the unfortunate claim, and with that you should have also
buried the reminiscences."
"One cannot bury such reminiscences; they always rise up again from the
supposed grave, and just now----" Falkenried broke off suddenly.
"Just now--what do you mean?"
"Nothing; let us speak of other things. You have been at Burgsdorf
since the day before yesterday. How long do you intend to stay?"
"Perhaps two weeks. I have not much time at my disposal, and am
Willibald's guardian really only in name, since the diplomatic service
keeps me mostly in foreign countries. In fact, the guardianship rests
in the hands of my sister, who rules everything, anyhow."
"Yes, Regine is well up to her position," assented Falkenried. "She
rules the large estates and numerous people like a man."
"And issues commands from morning to night like a sergeant," completed
Wallmoden. "With all due appreciation for her excellent qualities, I
always feel a slight rising of the hair at the prospect of a visit to
Burgsdorf, and I return from there regularly with shattered nerves.
Real primitive conditions rule in that place. Willibald is actually a
young bear, but the ideal of his mother for all that. She does her best
to raise him an ignorant young country squire. All interposition is of
no use, for he has every inclination for it, anyway."
The entrance of a servant interrupted them. He handed a card to
Falkenried, which the latter glanced at hastily.
"Herr Egern, Solicitor. Very well, show the gentleman in."
"Have you a business engagement?" asked Wallmoden, rising. "I will not
disturb you."
"On the contrary, I beg you to remain. I have been advised of this
visit, and know what will be discussed. It concerns----"
He did not conclude, for the door opened and the one announced entered.
He seemed surprised not to find the officer alone, as he had expected,
but the latter took no notice of the surprise.
"Herr Egern, Solicitor--Herr von Wallmoden, Secretary of the
Ambassador."
The barrister bowed with cool courtesy, and accepted the offered chair.
"I probably have the honor of being familiar to you, Herr Major," he
began. "As counsel for your wife, I had occasional cause to meet you
personally in that suit for divorce."
He stopped, and seemed to expect an answer, but Major Falkenried only
bowed in mute assent. Wallmoden now began to be attentive. He could now
understand the strangely irritable mood in which he had found his
friend upon his arrival.
"I come to-day also in the name of my former client," continued the
lawyer. "She has asked me--may I speak freely?"
He cast a glance at the Secretary, but Falkenried said shortly:
"Herr von Wallmoden is my friend, and as such is familiar with the
case. I beg you to speak without restraint."
"Very well, then--the lady has returned to Germany after long years of
absence, and naturally wishes to see her son. She has already written
to you on that behalf, but has not received an answer."
"I should consider that a sufficient answer. I do not desire this
meeting, and therefore shall not permit it."
"That sounds very harsh, Herr Major. Frau von Falkenried has
surely----"
"Frau Zalika Rojanow, you mean to say," interrupted the Major. "She
resumed her maiden name, so far as I know, when she returned to her
country."
"The name is of no consequence," replied the lawyer calmly. "The sole
consideration here is the perfectly justifiable wish of a mother, which
the father cannot and must not deny, even when, as in this case, the
son is given to him unconditionally."
"Must not! And if he should do it, notwithstanding?"
"Then he oversteps the borders of his rights. I would like to ask you,
Herr Major, to consider the matter calmly before speaking such a
decided 'No.' The rights of a mother cannot be so completely cancelled
by a decision of the court that one may even deny her a meeting with
her only child. The law is upon the side of my client in this case, and
she will enforce it, if my personal appeal is ignored as was her
written request."
"She may try it then. I will let it come to the test. My son does not
know that his mother is alive, and shall not learn it just yet. I do
not wish that he should see and speak to her, and I shall know how to
prevent it. My 'No' remains unchanged."
These remarks were given quietly, but upon Falkenried's features there
lay an ashy paleness, and his voice sounded hollow and threatening. The
awful excitement under which he labored was apparent; only with supreme
effort could he force himself to outward calm. The lawyer seemed to
understand the fruitlessness of further effort. He only shrugged his
shoulders.
"If this be your final decision, then my errand is, of course,
finished, and we must decide later upon further moves. I am sorry to
have disturbed you, Herr Major."
He took his leave with the same cool politeness with which he had
entered.
Falkenried sprang up and paced the room stormily after the door had
closed upon the lawyer. A depressing silence reigned for a few moments,
after which Wallmoden spoke half audibly.
"You ought not to have done that. Zalika will hardly submit to your
'No.' If you remember, she carried on a life-and-death struggle for her
child at that time."
"But I remained victor. I hope she has not forgotten that."
"At that time it concerned the possession of the boy," interrupted the
friend. "The mother now only requests to see him again, and you will
not be able to deny her that when she demands it with decision."
The Major came to a sudden standstill, but there was a scarcely veiled
contempt in his voice as he said:
"She dares not do that after all that happened. Zalika learned to know
me in our parting hour. She will take care not to force me to extremes
a second time."
"But she will perhaps try to obtain secretly what you refuse her
openly."
"That will be impossible; the discipline of our school is too strict.
No relations could be started there of which I would not be notified
immediately."
Wallmoden did not seem to share this confidence; he shook his head
doubtingly.
"I confess that I consider your keeping, with such persistence, the
knowledge of his mother's existence from your son a mistake. If he
should hear it now from another source--what then? And you will have to
tell him finally."
"Perhaps after two years, when he enters life independently. He is
still but a scholar--a mere boy. I cannot yet draw the veil from the
tragedy which was once enacted in the home of his parents--I cannot."
"Then at least be upon your guard. You know your former wife--know what
can be expected from her. I fear there are no impossibilities for that
woman."
"Yes, I know her," said Falkenried with boundless bitterness, "and just
for that reason I will protect my son from her at any cost. He shall
not breathe the poison of her presence for even an hour. Rest assured,
I do not underrate the danger of Zalika's return, but as long as
Hartmut remains at my side he will be safe from her, for she will not
approach me again. I pledge you my word for that."
"We will hope so," returned Wallmoden, rising and giving his hand, "but
do not forget that the greatest danger lies in Hartmut himself. He is
in every respect the son of his mother. I hear you will come with him
to Burgsdorf the day after tomorrow?"
"Yes; he always spends the short autumn vacation with Willibald. I
myself can probably stay only for the day, but I shall surely come with
him. Au revoir!"
The Ambassador's Secretary departed, and Falkenried again approached
the window, glancing only hastily after the friend, who bowed once
more. His glance was again lost with the former gloom, in the gray
masses of fog.
"The son of his mother!"
The words rang in his ears, but there was no need for another to tell
him that. He had long known it, and it was this knowledge that furrowed
his brow so deeply and caused those heavy sighs.
He was a man to offer himself to every open danger, but he had
struggled in vain, with all his energy for years, against this
unfortunate inheritance of the blood in his only son.
CHAPTER II.
"Now I request that this utter foolishness shall end, for my patience
is exhausted. There has been an awful turmoil in all Burgsdorf for
three days, as if the place were conjured. Hartmut is full of
foolishness from head to toe. When once he gets free from the rein
which his father draws so tight there is no getting on with him. And
you, of course, go with him through thick and thin, following
obediently everything that your lord and master starts. You are a fine
team!"
This lecture, delivered in very loud tones, came from the lips of Frau
von Eschenhagen of Burgsdorf, who sat at breakfast with her son and
brother.
The large dining-room was in the lower story of the old mansion, and
was a rather bare room, the glass doors of which led to a broad
terrace, and from there into the garden. Some antlers hung upon the
whitewashed walls, giving evidence of the Nimrod proclivities of former
owners. They were also the only ornament of the room.
A dozen straightback chairs standing in stiff rows like grenadiers, a
heavy dining table, and two old-fashioned sideboards constituted all of
the furniture, which, as one could see, had already served several
generations.
Articles of luxury, such as carpets, wallpaper or paintings, were not
there. The inmates were apparently satisfied with the old, inherited
things, although Burgsdorf was one of the richest estates in the
vicinity.
The appearance of the lady of the house corresponded fully with the
surroundings. She was about forty years old; of tall, powerful figure,
blooming complexion, and strong, heavy features, which were very
energetic, but which could never have been beautiful. Nothing escaped
easily the glance of those sharp, gray eyes; the dark hair was combed
back plainly; the dress was simple and serviceable, and one could see
that her hands knew how to work.
This robust person lacked gracefulness, certainly, but possessed
something decidedly masculine in carriage and appearance.
The heir and future lord of Burgsdorf, who was scolded in this way, sat
opposite his mother, listening, as in duty bound, while he helped
himself bountifully to ham and eggs. He was a handsome, ruddy-faced boy
of about seventeen years, with features which might portray great good
nature, but no surplus of intellect. His sunburned face was full of
glowing health, but otherwise bore little resemblance to his mother's.
It lacked her energetic expression. The blue eyes and light hair must
have been an inheritance from the father. With his powerful but awkward
limbs he looked like a young giant, and offered the completest contrast
to his Uncle Wallmoden, who sat at his side, and who now said with a
tinge of sarcasm:
"You really ought not to make Willibald responsible for the pranks and
tricks. He is certainly the ideal of a well-raised son."
"I should advise him not to be anything else. Obeying of orders is what
I insist upon," exclaimed Frau von Eschenhagen, slapping the table with
such force as to cause her brother to start nervously.
"Yes, one learns that under your regime," he replied, "but I would like
to advise you, dear Regine, to do a little more for the mental training
of your son. I do not doubt that he will grow up a splendid farmer
under your leadership, but something more is required in the education
of a future lord, and as Willibald has outgrown tutors, it may be time
to send him off."
"Send him----" Frau Regine laid down knife and fork in boundless
amazement. "Send him off!" she repeated indignantly. "In gracious name,
where to?"
"Well, to the University, and later on let him travel, that he may see
something of the world and its people."
"And that he may be totally ruined in this world and among these
people! No, Herbert, that will not do. I tell you right now. I have
raised my boy in honesty and the fear of God, and have no idea of
letting him go into that Sodom and Gomorrah from which our dear Lord
keeps the rain of fire and brimstone by His long-suffering alone."
"But you know this Sodom and Gomorrah only by hearsay, Regine,"
interrupted Herbert sarcastically. "You have lived in Burgsdorf ever
since your marriage, but your son must one day enter life as a man--you
must acknowledge that."
"I do not acknowledge anything," declared Frau von Eschenhagen
stubbornly. "Willy shall be a thoroughly capable farmer. He is fitted
for that and does not need your learned trash for it. Or do you,
perhaps, wish to take him in training for a diplomat. That would be
capital fun!"
She laughed loudly, and Willy, to whom this proposition seemed as
ridiculous, joined in in the same key.
Herr von Wallmoden did not indulge in this hilarity, which seemed to
jar upon his nerves. He only shrugged his shoulders.
"I do not intend that, indeed; it would probably be lost pains; but I
and Willibald are now the only representatives of the family, and if I
should remain unmarried----"
"_If?_ Are you contemplating marriage in your old age?" interrupted his
sister in her inconsiderate manner.
"I am forty-five years old, dear Regine. That is not usually considered
old in a man," said Wallmoden, somewhat offended. "At any rate, I
consider a late contracted marriage the best, because then one is not
influenced by passion as was Falkenried to his great misfortune, but
one allows reason to guide the decision."
"May God help me! Must Willy wait until he has fifty years upon his
back and gray hairs upon his head before he marries!" exclaimed Frau
von Eschenhagen, horrified.
"No; for he must consider the fact that he is an only son and future
lord of the estates; besides, it will depend upon an individual
attachment. What do you say, Willibald?"
The young future lord, who had just finished his ham and eggs, and was
now turning with unappeased appetite to the _wurst_, was apparently
greatly surprised at having his opinion asked. Such a thing happened so
seldom that he was now thrown into a spell of deep musing, declaring as
the result of it:
"Yes; I shall probably have to marry some time, but mamma will find me
a wife when the time comes."
"That she will, my boy," affirmed Frau von Eschenhagen. "That is my
affair; you do not need to worry about it at all. You will remain here
in Burgsdorf, where I shall have you under my eyes. Universities and
travels are not to be considered--that is decided."
She threw a challenging glance at her brother, but he was regarding
with a kind of horror the enormous amount of eatables which his nephew
was piling upon his plate for the second time.
"Do you always have such a healthy appetite, Willy?" he asked.
"Always," assured Willy with satisfaction, taking another huge piece of
bread and butter.
"Yes; God be thanked, we do not suffer from indigestion here," said
Frau Regine, somewhat pointedly. "We deserve our meals honestly. First
play and work, then eat and drink, and heartily--that keeps soul and
body together. Just look at Willy, how he has prospered with that
treatment. He need never be ashamed to be seen."
She slapped her brother upon the shoulder in a friendly manner at these
words, but so heartily that Wallmoden hastily pushed his chair out of
her reach. His face betrayed plainly that his hair was "standing on
end" again; but he gave up the enforcing of his rights as guardian in
the face of these primitive conditions.
Willy, on the contrary, apparently discovered that he had turned out
extraordinarily well, and looked very pleased at this praise of his
mother, who continued now rather vexedly:
"And Hartmut has not come to breakfast again! He seems to allow himself
all sorts of irregularities here at Burgsdorf, but I shall lecture the
young man when he comes, and make him----"
"Here he is already!" cried a voice from the garden.
A shadow fell athwart the bright sunshine that poured in through the
open window, in which there suddenly appeared a youthful form, which
swung itself through from the outside.
"Boy, are you out of your senses that you enter through the window?"
exclaimed Frau von Eschenhagen indignantly. "What are the doors for?"
"For Willy and other well-raised people," laughed the intruder
mirthfully. "I always take the shortest route, and this time it led
through this window."
With one jump he landed in the middle of the room from the high sill.
Hartmut Falkenried, like the future lord of Burgsdorf, stood at the
border between boyhood and manhood, but beyond that likeness it
required but a glance to see the superiority of Hartmut in every
respect.
He wore the cadet uniform, which became him wonderfully, but there was
something in his whole appearance indicative of a revolt against the
strict military cut.
The tall, slender boy was a true picture of youth and beauty, but this
beauty had something strange and foreign about it; the movement and
whole appearance had a wild, unruled element; and not a feature
reminded one of the powerful, soldierly figure and grave composure of
the father. The thick, curly hair of a blue-black color, falling over
the high brow, denoted a son of the South, rather than a German; the
eyes also, which glowed in the youthful face, did not belong to the
cold, calm North; they were mysterious eyes, dark as night, yet full of
hot, passionate fire. Beautiful as they were, there was something
uncanny about them.
And now the laugh, with which Hartmut looked from one to another of the
assembly, had more of the supercilious about it than of a boy's hearty
mirth.
"You introduce yourself in a very unconventional manner," said
Wallmoden sharply; "you seem to think that no etiquette is to be
observed at Burgsdorf. I hardly think your father would have permitted
such an entrance into a dining-room."
"He does not take such liberties with his father," said Frau von
Eschenhagen, who fortunately did not feel the stab which lay for her
also in her brother's words. "So you finally come now, Hartmut, when
we have finished breakfast? But late people do not get anything to
eat--you know that."
"Yes, I know it," returned Hartmut, quite unconcerned; "therefore I got
the housekeeper to give me some breakfast. You can't starve me out,
Aunt Regine. I am on too good terms with all your people."
"So you think you will be able to take all sorts of liberties
unpunished," cried the lady of the house angrily. "You break all the
rules of the house; you leave no person nor thing in peace; you stand
all Burgsdorf upon its head! We shall know how to stop all that, my
boy. I shall send a messenger over to your father to-morrow, to ask him
to kindly come for his son, who can be taught no punctuality or
obedience."
This threat was effective; the boy grew serious and found it best to
yield.
"Oh, all that is only jesting," he said. "Am I not to utilize the short
vacation----"
"For all sorts of foolishness?" interrupted Frau von Eschenhagen.
"Willy in all his life has not done so many pranks as you in these last
three days. You will ruin him for me by your bad example and make him
also disobedient."
"Oh, Willy can't be ruined; all pains are thrown away with him,"
confessed Hartmut frankly.
The young lord did not look, indeed, as if he had any inclination to
disobedience. Quite unconcerned by all this conversation, he calmly
finished his breakfast by still another piece of bread and butter; but
his mother was highly incensed over this remark.
"You are doubtless extremely sorry for that," she exclaimed. "You
have taken pains enough to ruin him. Very well, it remains as I
said--to-morrow I write to your father."
"To come for me? You will not do that, Aunt Regine. You are too good to
do that. You know very well how strict papa is--how harshly he can
punish. You surely will not accuse me to him--you have never done so
before."
"Leave me alone, boy, with your flatteries." Frau Regine's face was
still very grim, but her voice already betrayed a perceptible wavering,
and Hartmut knew how to take the advantage offered. With the artless
frankness of a boy, he laid his arm around her shoulders.
"I thought you loved me a little bit, Aunt Regine. I--I have
anticipated this trip to Burgsdorf so joyously for weeks. I have longed
until I was sick, for forest and lake, for the green meadows and the
wide, blue sky; I have been so happy here--but, of course, if you do
not want me, I shall leave immediately; you do not need to send me
away."
His voice sank to a soft, coaxing whisper, while the large, dark eyes
helped with the pleading only too effectively. They could speak more
fervently than the lips; they seemed, indeed, to have peculiar power.
Frau von Eschenhagen, who to Willy and all Burgsdorf, was the stern,
absolute ruler, now allowed herself to be moved to compliance.
"Well, then, behave yourself, you Eulenspiegel," she said, running her
fingers through his thick curls. "As to sending you away, you know only
too well that Willy and all my people are perfectly foolish about
you--and so am I."
Hartmut shouted in his happiness at these last words, and kissed her
hand in fervent gratitude. Then he turned to his friend, who had now
happily mastered his last sandwich, and was regarding the scene before
him in quiet amazement.
"Are you through with your breakfast at last, Willy? Come on; we wished
to go to the Burgsdorf pond--now don't be so slow and deliberate.
Good-by, Aunt Regine. I see that Uncle Wallmoden is not pleased in the
least that you have pardoned me. Hurrah! Now we are off for the woods."
And away he dashed over the terraces and down to the garden. There was
in this unruliness an overflowing youthful happiness and strength that
were enchanting; the lad was all life and fire. Willy trotted behind
him like a young bear, and they disappeared in a few seconds behind the
trees and shrubberies.
"He comes and goes like a whirlwind," said Frau von Eschenhagen,
looking after them. "That boy cannot be restrained when once the reins
are slackened."
"A dangerous lad!" declared Wallmoden. "He understands how to rule even
you, who otherwise rule supreme. It is the first time in my knowledge
that you pardon disobedience and unpunctuality."
"Yes, Hartmut has something about him that really bewitches a body,"
exclaimed Frau von Eschenhagen, half vexed over her yielding. "When he
looks at one with those glowing, black eyes, and begs and pleads
besides, I would like to see the one who could say no. You are right;
he is a dangerous lad."
"Yes, very true; but let us leave Hartmut alone now and consider the
education of your own son. You have really decided----"
"To keep him at home. Do not trouble yourself, Herbert. You may be an
important diplomat and carry the whole political business in your
pockets, but nevertheless I do not surrender my boy to you. He belongs
to me alone, and I keep him--settled!"
A hearty slap upon the table accompanied this "settled," with which the
reigning mistress of Burgsdorf arose and walked out of doors; but her
brother shrugged his shoulders, and muttered half audibly: "Let him
become a country squire, for all I care--it may be best, anyhow."
CHAPTER III.
In the meantime, Hartmut and Willibald had reached the forest belonging
to the estate. The Burgsdorf pond, a lonely water bordered by rushes in
the midst of the forest, lay motionless, shining in the sunlight of the
quiet morning hour.
The young lord found for himself a shady place upon the bank, and
devoted himself comfortably and persistently to the interesting
occupation of fishing, while the impatient Hartmut roamed around,
starting a bird here, plucking rushes and flowers there, and finally
indulging in gymnastics upon the trunk of a tree which lay half in the
water.
"Can you never be quiet in one place? You scare off all the fishes,"
said Willy, displeased. "I have not caught a thing to-day."
"How can you sit for hours in one spot waiting for the stupid
fishes--but, of course, you can roam through field and forest all the
year round whenever you like. You are free--free!"
"Are you imprisoned?" asked Willy. "Are not you and your companions out
of doors every day?"
"But never alone--never without restraint and supervision. We are
eternally on duty, even in the hours of recreation. Oh, how I hate
it--this duty and life of slavery!"
"But, Hartmut, what if your father should hear that?"
"He would punish me again, then, as usual. He has nothing for me but
severity and punishment. I don't care--it's all the same to me."
He threw himself upon the grass, but harsh and disagreeable as his
words sounded, there was in them something like a pained, passionate
complaint.
Willy only shook his head deliberately fastening a new bait to his hook
meanwhile, and deep silence reigned for a few moments.
Suddenly something dashed down from on high, lightning-like; the water,
just now so motionless, splashed and foamed, and in the next moment a
heron rose high in the air, carrying the struggling, silver-shining
prey in his bill.
"Bravo! that was a splendid shot," cried Hartmut, starting up, but
Willy scolded vexedly. "The con---- robber strips our whole pond. I
shall tell the forester to keep an eye on him."
"A robber!" repeated Hartmut, as his eyes followed the heron, which now
disappeared behind the tree-tops. "Yes, surely; but it must be
beautiful--such a free robber's life high up in the air. To dash down
from the heights like a flash of lightning--to grab the booty, then
soar high with it again where no one can follow--that is worthy of the
chase."
"Hartmut, I actually believe you have a good notion to lead such a
robber's life," said Willy, with the deep horror of a well-raised boy
for such inclinations.
His companion laughed, but it was again that harsh, strange laugh which
had in it nothing youthful.
"And if I should have it, they would know how to get it out of me at
the cadets' school. There is obedience--discipline--the Alpha and Omega
of all things, and one finally learns it, too. Willy, have you never
longed for wings?"
"I? Wings?" ejaculated Willy, whose full attention was again directed
to hook and line. "Nonsense! who could wish for impossibilities?"
"I wish I had some," cried Hartmut, flaming up. "I wish I were one of
the falcons of which we hear. Then I would soar high up into the blue
air--always higher and higher toward the sun, and would never, never
come back."
"I think you are crazy," said the young lord calmly; "but I have not
caught anything yet; the fish will not bite at all to-day. I must try
another spot."
He gathered up his fishing paraphernalia and went to the other side of
the pond.
Hartmut threw himself upon the ground again.
How could he expect that the stolid, matter-of-fact Willibald should
harbor thoughts of flying!
It was one of those autumn days which seem to charm back the summer for
a few short hours--the sunshine was so golden, the air so mild, the
woods so fresh and fragrant. Thousands of brilliant sparkles danced
upon the water; the rushes whispered low and mysteriously as the air
breathed through them.
Hartmut lay quite motionless, listening to this mystery of whispering
and fluttering. The wild, passionate flame, which had flared up almost
uncannily when he spoke of the bird of prey, had disappeared from his
eyes. Now they were riveted dreamily upon the shining blue of the sky,
with a consuming longing in their depths.
Light footsteps drew near, almost inaudible on the soft forest soil;
the bushes rustled as if brushed by a silken garment, and parted; a
female figure emerged noiselessly and stopped short, fixing an intent
look upon the young dreamer.
"Hartmut!"
He started and sprang up quickly. He did not know the voice, nor the
stranger, but it was a lady, and he bowed chivalrously.
"Gracious lady----"
A slender and trembling hand was laid hastily and warningly upon his
arm.
"Hush--not so loud--your companion might hear us, and I must speak with
you, Hartmut--with you alone."
She stepped back again and motioned him to follow. Hartmut hesitated a
moment. How came this stranger, whose face was closely veiled, but who,
to judge by her dress, belonged to the highest class, at this lonely
forest pond? And what was the meaning of the familiar "thou" from her
to him, whom she saw now for the first time? But the mystery of the
encounter began to interest him, and he followed her.
They stopped under the protection of the bushes where they could not be
seen from the other side, and the stranger slowly raised her veil.
She was no longer in her youth--a woman still in her thirties--but the
face with the dark, flashing eyes possessed a strange fascination, and
the same charm was in the voice, which, even in the whisper, was soft
and deep, with a foreign accent, as if the German which she spoke so
fluently was not her native tongue.
"Hartmut, look at me. Do you really not remember me? Have you not kept
some recollection from your childhood that tells you who I am?"
The young man shook his head slowly, and yet there arose in his mind a
remembrance, misty and dreamlike, that told him he did not now hear
this voice for the first time--that he had seen this face before in
times long, long past. Half timidly, half transfixed, he stood there
gazing upon the stranger, who suddenly stretched out both arms toward
him.
"My son! my only child! do you not know your mother?"
Hartmut retreated, startled.
"My mother is dead," he said in a low tone.
The stranger laughed bitterly; it sounded exactly like that harsh,
unchildlike laugh which had come from the lips of the lad only a short
while ago.
"So that is it; they have called me dead. They would not leave you even
the memory of your mother. But it is not true, Hartmut. I live--I stand
before you. Look at me! look at my features, which are yours also. They
could not take those from you. Child of my heart, do you not feel that
you belong to me?"
Still Hartmut stood motionless, looking into the face in which he saw
his own reflected as in a mirror. There were the same features,
the same abundant, blue-black hair; the same large, deep black
eyes--yes--even the strange demoniac expression which glowed like a
flame in the mother's eyes, glimmered as a spark in the eyes of the
son. The natural resemblance showed that they were of the same blood,
and now the voice of that blood woke up in the young man.
He did not ask for explanations--for proofs; the confused, dream-like
recollections suddenly became clear. Only one more second of
hesitation, then he threw himself into the arms which were open for
him.
"Mother!"
In the exclamation lay the glowing devotion of the lad, who had never
known what it was to possess a mother, and who had longed for it with
all his passionate nature.
His mother! As he lay in her arms while she overwhelmed him with
passionate caresses--with tender, fond names such as he had never
heard, all else disappeared in the flood of overwhelming delight.
Several minutes passed thus, then Hartmut disengaged himself from the
embrace which would have detained him.
"Why have you never been with me, mamma?" he asked vehemently. "Why did
they tell me that you were dead?"
Zalika drew back. In a moment all the tenderness vanished from her
face; a light kindled there of wild, deadly hatred, and the answer came
hissing from her lips:
"Because your father hates me, my son, and because he did not wish to
leave me even the love of my only child when he thrust me from him."
Hartmut was silent with consternation. He knew well that no one dared
mention his mother's name in his father's presence--that his father had
once silenced him with the greatest harshness when he had ventured to
ask for her, but he had been too young to muse over the why.
Zalika did not give him time for it now. She stroked the dark, curly
hair back from the high forehead, and a shadow rested on her face.
"You have his brow," she said slowly, "but that is the only thing to
remind of him; everything else belongs to me--to me alone. Every
feature tells that you are wholly mine. I knew it would be so."
Again she embraced him, overwhelming him with caresses, which Hartmut
returned as passionately. It was an intoxication of happiness to
him--like one of the fairy tales of which he had so often dreamed, and
he gave himself up to the charm unquestioningly and unreservedly.
But now Willy made himself heard on the opposite bank, calling loudly
for his friend, and reminding him that it was time to return home.
Zalika started.
"We must part. Nobody must know that I have seen you and spoken with
you, particularly your father. When do you return to him?"
"In eight days."
"Not until then?" The tone was triumphant. "I shall see you every day
until then. Be here at the pond to-morrow at the same hour. Dispense
with your companion under some pretext, so that we may be undisturbed.
You will come, Hartmut?"
"Certainly mother, but----"
She did not give him time for an excuse, but continued in the same
passionate whisper:
"Above all, be silent to everybody; do not forget that. Farewell, my
child, my beloved only son. Au revoir!"
One more fervent kiss upon Hartmut's brow, then she vanished in the
bushes as mysteriously as she had appeared. It was quite time, for
Willy appeared on the scene, his approach being heralded by his heavy
stamping upon the forest ground.
"Why do you not answer?" he demanded. "I have called three times. Did
you fall asleep? You look as if you had been startled from a dream."
Hartmut stood as if stunned, gazing upon the bushes in which his mother
had disappeared. At his cousin's words he straightened himself and drew
his hand across his brow.
"Yes, I have been dreaming," he said, slowly; "quite a wonderful,
strange dream."
"You might rather have been fishing," said Willy; "just see what a
splendid catch I got over on the other bank. A person ought not to
dream in broad daylight. He ought to be properly occupied, my mother
says--and my mother is always right."
CHAPTER IV.
The families of Falkenried and Wallmoden had been friendly for years.
As owners of adjoining estates they visited each other frequently; the
children grew up together, and many mutual interests drew the bonds of
friendship still closer.
As both families were only comfortably well off, the sons had their own
way to make, which, after completing their education, Major Hartmut von
Falkenried and Herbert Wallmoden had done. They had been playmates as
children, and had remained true to that friendship when grown to
manhood.
At one time the parents thought to cement this friendship by a marriage
between the--at that time--Lieutenant Falkenried and Regine Wallmoden.
The young couple seemed in perfect accord with it, and all looked
propitious for the match, when something took place which brought the
plan to a sudden end.
A cousin of the Wallmoden family--an incorrigible fellow who, through
divers bad capers, had made it impossible to remain at home, had, long
ago, gone out into the wide world. After much travel and a rather
adventurous life, he had landed in Roumania, where he acted as
inspector upon the estates of a rich Bojar. The rich man died, and the
inspector thought best to retrieve his lost fortunes and position in
life by marriage with the widow.
It was consummated, and he returned to his old home, accompanied by his
wife, for a visit to his relatives, after an absence of more than ten
years.
Frau von Wallmoden's bloom of youth had long passed, but she brought
with her her daughter by her first marriage--Zalika Rojanow.
The young girl, hardly seventeen years old, with her foreign beauty and
charm of her glowing temperament, burst like a meteor upon the horizon
of this German country nobility, whose life flowed in such calm, even
channels.
And she was a strange object in this circle, whose forms and manners
she disregarded with sovereign indifference, and who stared at her as
at a being from another world. There was many a serious shaking of
heads and much condemnation, which was not uttered aloud, because they
saw in the girl only a temporary visitor, who would disappear as
suddenly as she had come into view.
Just about this time Hartmut Falkenried came from his garrison to the
paternal estates, and became acquainted with the new relatives of his
friends. He saw Zalika and recognized in her his fate. It was one of
those passions which spring up lightning-like--which resemble the
intoxication of a dream, and are paid for only too frequently with the
penance of the whole life.
Forgotten were the wishes of the parents, his own plans for the
future--forgotten the quiet affection which had drawn him to his
playmate Regine. He no longer had eyes for the domestic flower which
bloomed young and fresh for him; he breathed only the intoxicating
perfume of the foreign wonder-plant. All else disappeared before her,
and in a quiet hour with her he threw himself at her feet, confessing
his love.
Strangely enough, his feelings were returned. Perhaps it was the truth
of extremes meeting which drew Zalika to a man who was her opposite in
every respect; perhaps she was flattered by the fact that a glance, a
word from her could change the grave, calm and almost gloomy nature of
the young officer to enthusiasm.
Enough, she accepted his proposal and he was permitted to embrace her
as his betrothed.
The news of this engagement created a storm in the whole family circle;
entreaties and warnings came from all sides; even Zalika's mother and
stepfather opposed it, but the universal disapproval only increased the
determination of the young couple, and six months later Falkenried led
his young wife into his home.
But the voices who prophesied misfortune to this marriage were in the
right. The bitterest disappointment followed the short term of
happiness. It had been a dangerous mistake to believe that a woman like
Zalika Rojanow, grown up in boundless freedom and accustomed to the
uncontrolled, extravagant life of the families of the Bojars of her
country, could ever submit herself to German views and conditions.
To gallop about on fiery horses; to associate freely with men who spent
their time in hunting and gambling, and who surrounded themselves in
their homes with a splendor which went hand in hand with the most
corrupted indebtedness of estates--such was life as she had known it so
far, and the only life which suited her.
A conception of duty was as foreign to her as the knowledge of her new
position in life. And this woman was to accommodate herself now to the
household of a young officer of but limited means, and to the
conditions of a small German garrison!
That this was impossible was proved in the first weeks. Zalika began by
throwing aside every consideration, and furnishing her house in her
usual style, squandering heedlessly her by no means insignificant
dowry.
In vain her husband entreated, remonstrated; he found no hearing. She
had only sarcasm for forms and rules which were holy to him; only a
shrug of the shoulder for his strict sense of honor and ideas of
decorum.
Very soon they had the most vehement controversies, and Falkenried
recognized too late the serious error which he had committed. He had
counted upon the all-powerful efficacy of love to battle against those
warning voices which had pointed out the difference of descent,
education and character, but he was forced now to recognize that Zalika
had never loved him; that caprice alone, or a sudden outburst of
passion, which died as suddenly, had brought her to his arms.
She saw in him now only the uncomfortable companion who begrudged her
every pleasure of life; who, with his foolish--his ridiculous ideas of
honor, fettered and bound her on every side. Still, she feared this
man, whose dominant will succeeded always in bowing her characterless
nature under his rod.
Even the birth of little Hartmut was not sufficient to reconcile this
unhappy marriage; it only held it, apparently, together. Zalika loved
her child passionately; she knew her husband would never permit her to
keep it if they separated. This alone retained her at his side, while
Falkenried bore his domestic misery with concealed pain, putting forth
every effort to hide it at least from the world.
Nevertheless, the world knew the truth; it knew things of which the
husband did not even dream and which were kept concealed from him
through sheer compassion.
But finally the day came when the deceived husband was told what was no
secret to others.
The immediate result following was a duel in which Falkenried's
opponent fell. Falkenried himself was imprisoned, but was soon
pardoned.
Every one knew that the offended husband had only vindicated his honor.
In the meantime, steps were taken for a divorce, which was granted in
due time. Zalika made no opposition. She dared not approach her
husband; she trembled before him since that hour of separation, when he
had called her to account; but she made desperate efforts to secure the
possession of her child, fighting as for life.
It was in vain. Hartmut was given unconditionally to his father, who
knew how to prevent every approach of the mother with iron
inflexibility.
Zalika was not even allowed to see her son again, and it was only after
convincing herself entirely on that point that she left--returning to
the home of her mother.
She had seemed lost to and forgotten by her former husband until she
suddenly reappeared in Germany, where Major Falkenried now held an
important position in the large military school at the Residenz.
* * * * *
It was about a week after the arrival of Hartmut at Burgsdorf. Frau von
Eschenhagen was in her sitting-room with Major Falkenried, who had but
just arrived.
The topic of their conversation seemed to be very serious and of a
rather disagreeable nature, for Falkenried listened with a gloomy face
to his friend, who was speaking.
"I noticed Hartmut's changed demeanor the third or fourth day. The boy,
whose mirth at first knew no bounds, so that I even threatened to send
him back home, suddenly became subdued. He committed no more foolish
pranks, but roamed for hours through the woods alone, and when he
returned was always dreaming with his eyes open, to such an extent that
one had almost to awake him. 'He is beginning to get sensible,' said
Herbert; but I said, 'Things are not going right; there is something
behind all this,' and I questioned my Willy, who also appeared quite
peculiar. He was actually in the plot. He had surprised the two one
day. Hartmut had made him promise to keep silent, and my boy positively
hid something from _me, his mother!_ He confessed only when I got after
him seriously. Well, he will not do it a second time. I have taken care
of that."
"And Hartmut? What did he say?" interrupted the Major hastily.
"Nothing at all, for I have not spoken a syllable to him about it. He
would probably have asked me why he should not see and speak to his own
mother, and only--his father can give him the answer to that question."
"He has probably heard it already from the other side," said Falkenried
bitterly; "but he has hardly learned the truth."
"I fear so, too, and therefore I did not lose a minute in notifying you
after discovering the affair. But what next?"
"I shall have to interfere now," replied the Major with forced
composure. "I thank you, Regine. I apprehended trouble when your letter
called me so imperatively. Herbert was right. I ought not to have
allowed my son to leave my side for an hour under the circumstances.
But I believed him safe from every approach here at Burgsdorf. And he
anticipated the trip with such pleasure--he longed for it almost
passionately. I did not have the heart to refuse him. He is happy,
anyway, only when absent from me."
There was deep pain in the last words, but Frau von Eschenhagen only
shrugged her shoulders.
"That is not the fault of the boy alone," she said straightforwardly.
"I also keep my Willy under good control, but nevertheless he knows
that he has a mother whose heart is full of him. Hartmut does not know
that of his father. He knows him only from a grave, unapproachable
side. If he had an idea that you idolize him secretly----"
"He would abuse the knowledge and disarm me with his caressing
tenderness. Shall I allow myself to be ruled by him as every one else
is who comes into his presence? His comrades follow him blindly
although he brings punishment upon them by his pranks. He has your
Willibald completely under control--yes, even his teachers treat him
with particular indulgence. I am the only one he fears, and
consequently the only one he respects."
"And you think by fear alone to succeed with the boy, who is doubtless
now being overwhelmed with the most senseless caresses! Do not turn
away, Falkenried; you know I have never mentioned that name to you, but
now that it is brought forward so prominently, one may speak it. And
since we happen to be upon the subject, I tell you frankly that nothing
else could be expected since Frau Zalika's appearance. It would have
done no good to have kept Hartmut from Burgsdorf, for one cannot treat
a seventeen-year-old lad like a little child. The mother would have
found her way to him in spite of all--and it was her right. I would
have done just so, too."
"Her right!" cried the Major angrily. "And you tell me that, Regine?"
"I say it because I know what it is to have an only child. That you
should take the child from its mother was right--such a mother was not
fit for the raising of a boy--but that you now refuse to let her see
her son again after twelve years is harshness and cruelty, which hatred
alone can teach you. However great her faults may be, that punishment
is too severe."
Falkenried stared gloomily before him--he might have felt the truth of
the words. Finally he said, slowly:
"I would never have thought that you would take Zalika's part. I
offended you bitterly once for her sake--I broke a bond----"
"Which had not even been tied," interrupted Frau von Eschenhagen. "It
was a plan of our parents--nothing more."
"But the idea was dear and familiar to us from childhood. Do not
attempt to excuse me, Regine; I only know too well what I did at that
time to you and--to myself."
Regine fixed her clear, gray eyes upon him, but there was a moist gleam
in them as she replied:
"Well, yes, Hartmut; now since we are both long past our youth, I may,
perhaps, confess that I liked you then. You might have been able to
make something better of me than I am now. I was always a self-willed
child--not easy to rule; but I would have followed you--perhaps you
alone of all the world. When I went to the altar with Eschenhagen three
months after your marriage, matters were reversed.
"I took the reins into my own hands and began to command, and since then
I have learned it thoroughly---- But now, away with that old story,
long since past. I have not thought hard of you because of it--you know
that.
"We have remained friends in spite of it, and if you need me now, in
advice as well as deed, I am ready to help you."
She offered her hand, which he grasped.
"I know it, Regine, but I alone can advise here. Please send Hartmut to
me. I must speak to him."
Frau von Eschenhagen arose and left the room, murmuring as she went:
"If only it is not too late already! She blinded and enraptured the
father once. She has probably secured her son now."
CHAPTER V.
Hartmut entered the room and closed the door behind him, but remained
standing near it. Falkenried turned toward him.
"Come nearer, Hartmut; I must speak with you."
The youth obeyed, drawing near slowly.
He already knew that Willibald had had to confess; that his rendezvous
with his mother had been betrayed; but the awe with which he always
approached his father was mingled to-day with defiance, which was not
unnoticed by the Major.
He scanned the youthful, handsome person of his son with a long, gloomy
glance.
"My sudden arrival does not seem to surprise you," he began; "you
probably know what brought me here."
"Yes, father, I surmise it."
"Very well, we do not need then to continue with preliminaries. You
have learned that your mother is still living. She has approached you
and you are in communication with her. I know it already. When did you
see her for the first time?"
"Five days ago."
"And since then you have spoken with her daily?"
"Yes, near the Burgsdorf pond."
Question and reply alike sounded curt and calm.
Hartmut was accustomed to this strict, military manner, even in his
private intercourse with his father, who never allowed a superfluous
word, a hesitation or evasion in the answers. This tone was kept up
even to-day to veil his painful excitement from the eyes of his son.
Hartmut saw only the grave, unmoved face; heard only the sound of cold
severity as the Major continued:
"I will not make it a reproach to you, as I have never forbidden you
anything regarding it; the subject has never been mentioned between us.
But since matters have gone so far, I will have to break the silence.
You thought your mother dead, and I have silently allowed you to think
so, for I wished to save you from reminiscences which have poisoned my
life. I meant that your youth, at least, should be free from it. It
seems that it cannot be, so you may hear the truth."
He paused for a moment. It was torture to the man, with his delicate
sense of honor, to talk on this subject before his son, but there was
no longer a choice--he must speak on.
"I loved your mother passionately when a young officer, and married her
against the wish of my parents, who saw no good to result from a
marriage with a woman of foreign race. They were right, the marriage
was deeply unfortunate, and we finally separated at my desire. I had an
undeniable right to demand the separation, and also the possession of
my son, which was granted me unconditionally. I cannot tell you any
more, for I will not accuse the mother to the son; therefore let this
suffice you."
Short and harsh as this explanation sounded, it yet made a strange
impression upon Hartmut. The father would not accuse the mother to him,
who had been hearing daily the most bitter accusation, abuse and
slander against the father.
Zalika had put the whole blame of the separation upon her husband, upon
his unheard-of tyranny, and she found only too willing a listener in
the youth whose unruly nature suffered so intensely under that
severity. And yet those short, earnest words now weighed more than all
the passionate outbursts of the mother. Hartmut felt instinctively upon
which side the truth stood.
"But now to the most important point," resumed Falkenried. "What has
been the subject of your conversation?"
Hartmut had not expected this question, and a burning blush suffused
his face. He was silent and looked to the ground.
"Ah, so! you do not dare to repeat it to me; but I request to know it.
Answer, I command you!"
But Hartmut remained silent; he only closed his lips more firmly, and
his eyes met his father's with dark defiance.
Falkenried now drew nearer.
"You will not speak? Has a command from that side, perhaps, made you
silent? Never mind, your silence says more than words. I see how much
estranged from me you have become, and you would become lost entirely
to me if I should leave you longer under that influence. These meetings
with your mother must be ended. I forbid them. You will accompany me
home to-day and remain under my supervision. Whether it seems cruel to
you or not, it must be so, and you will obey."
But the Major was mistaken when he thought to bow his son to his will
by a simple command.
Hartmut had been in a school during these last days where defiance
against the father had been taught him in the most effectual manner.
"Father, you will not--you cannot command that," he burst forth now
with overpowering vehemence. "It is my mother who is found again; the
only one in the whole world who loves me. I shall not let her be taken
from me again as she has already been taken. I shall not allow myself
to be forced to hate her because you hate her. Threaten--punish me do
whatever you will with me, but I do not obey this time. I will not
obey."
The whole unruly, passionate nature of the young man was in these
words; the uncanny fire flamed again in his eyes; the hands were
clenched; every fibre throbbed in wild rebellion. He was apparently
decided to do battle against the long-feared father.
But the burst of anger which he so confidently expected did not come.
Falkenried only looked at him silently, but with a glance of grave,
deep reproach.
"The only one in the whole world who loves you!" he repeated slowly.
"You have, perhaps, forgotten that you still have a father."
"Who does not love me, though," cried Hartmut in overwhelming
bitterness. "Only since I have found my mother have I known what love
is."
"Hartmut!"
The youth looked up, startled by the strange, pained tone which he
heard for the first time, and the defiance which was about to break
forth again died on his lips.
"Because I have no pet names and caresses for you; because I have
raised you with seriousness and firmness, do you doubt my love?" said
Falkenried, still in the same voice. "Do you know what this severity
toward my only, my beloved child has cost me?"
"Father!"
The word sounded still timid and hesitating, but no longer with the old
fear and awe; it now contained something like budding faith and trust;
like a happy but half-comprehended surprise, and with it Hartmut's eyes
hung as if riveted upon his father's features. Falkenried now put his
hand upon his son's arm, drawing him nearer, while he continued:
"I once had high ambitions, proud hopes of life, great plans and
aspirations, which came to an end when a blow fell upon me from which I
shall never be able to rally. If I still aspire and struggle, it is
from a sense of duty and because of you, Hartmut. In you centers all my
ambition; to make your future great and happy is the only thing which I
yet desire of life; and your future can be made great, my son, for your
gifts are extraordinary ones; your will is strong in good as well as
evil. But there is yet something dangerous in your nature, which is
less your fault than your doom, and which must be taken in hand in
time, if it is not to develop and dash you into destruction. I had to
be severe to banish this unfortunate tendency; it has not been easy for
me."
The face of the youth was covered by a deep blush. With panting breath
he seemed to read every word from his father's lips, and now he said in
a whisper, in which the suppressed joy could scarcely be hidden:
"I have not dared to love you so far. You have always been so cold--so
unapproachable, and I----"
He broke off and glanced up at his father, who now put his arm around
Hartmut's shoulders, drawing him still closer to him. Then eyes looked
deep into eyes, and the voice of the iron man broke as he said, lowly:
"You are my only child, Hartmut, the only thing which has remained to
me from a dream of happiness that dispersed in bitterness and
disappointment. I lost much at that time and have borne it; but if I
should lose you--you--I could not bear it."
His arms closed around his son tightly, as if they could never be
detached. Hartmut had thrown himself sobbing upon his father's breast,
and father and son held each other in a long, passionate embrace.
Both had forgotten that a shadow from the past still stood
threateningly and separatingly between them.
* * * * *
In the meantime, Frau von Eschenhagen, in her dining-room, was giving
Willy a curtain lecture. She had done so, in fact, this morning, but
was of the opinion that a double portion would not come amiss in this
case. The young heir looked completely crushed. He felt himself in the
wrong, as well toward his mother as toward his friend, and yet he was
quite blameless. He allowed himself to be lectured patiently, like an
obedient son, only throwing an occasional sad look over at the supper
which already stood upon the table, although his mother did not take
any notice of it at all.
"This is what comes of having secrets behind the backs of parents," she
said severely, concluding her lecture.
"Hartmut is getting what he deserves in yonder; the Major will not
treat him very mildly. I think you will let playing helpmate in such, a
plot alone in the future."
"But I have not helped in it," Willy defended himself. "I had only
promised to be silent and I had to keep my word."
"You ought not dare to keep silence to your mother; she is always an
exception," Frau Regine said decidedly.
"Yes, mamma, Hartmut probably thought so, too, when it concerned his
mother," remarked Willibald, and the remark was so correct that she
could not well say anything against it; but that angered her the more.
"That is different--entirely different," she said curtly; but the young
lord asked persistently:
"Why is it entirely different?"
"Boy, you will kill me yet with your questions and talking," cried his
mother angrily. "That is an affair which you do not and shall not
understand. It is bad enough that Hartmut has brought you in connection
with it at all. Now do you keep quiet, and do not concern yourself
further about it. Do you hear?"
Willy was dutifully silent. It was perhaps the first time in his life
that he had been reproved for too much talking; besides, his Uncle
Wallmoden, who had just returned from a drive, entered now.
"Falkenried has already arrived, I hear," he said, approaching his
sister.
"Yes," she replied. "He came immediately upon receiving my letter."
"And how has he borne the news?"
"Outwardly very calm, but I saw only too well how it rent his
heartstrings. He is alone now with Hartmut, and the storm will probably
burst."
"I am sorry; but I prophesied this turn of affairs when I learned of
Zalika's return. He ought to have spoken then to Hartmut. Now I fear he
will but add a second mistake to the first one by trying to accomplish
a separation by force and dictating. This unfortunate obstinacy which
knows only 'either--or'! It is least of all in the right place here."
"Yes, the meeting yonder lasts too long for me," said Frau von
Eschenhagen with concern. "I shall go and see how far the two have
gotten, whether it offends the Major or not. Remain here, Herbert; I
shall return directly."
She left the room, which Wallmoden paced disconsolately. His nephew sat
alone at the supper table, about which nobody seemed to think. He did
not dare to begin eating by himself, for a regular turmoil reigned
to-day in Burgsdorf, and the Frau Mamma was in a very ungracious mood.
But fortunately she returned after a few minutes, and her face was
beaming with satisfaction.
"The affair is settled in the best way," she said in her short and
decided tone. "He has the boy in his embrace. Hartmut is hanging upon
his father's neck, and the rest will arrange itself easily now. God be
praised! And now you may eat your supper, Willy. The confusion which
has disturbed our whole household has come to an end."
Willy did not allow himself to be told twice, but made brisk use of the
coveted permission. But Wallmoden shook his head and muttered: "If it
were only truly at an end!"
CHAPTER VI.
Neither Falkenried nor his son had noticed that the door had been
quietly opened and closed again. Hartmut still clung to his father's
neck. He seemed to have lost in a moment all awe and reserve, and was
overwhelmingly lovable in his new-found, stormy caresses, the charm of
which the Major had rightly feared would disarm him. He spoke but
little, but again and again he pressed his lips upon the brow of his
son, looking steadily into the beautiful face, full of life, which
pressed so close to his own.
Finally Hartmut asked in a low voice: "And--my mother?"
A shadow passed again over Falkenried's brow, but he did not release
his son from his arms.
"Your mother will leave Germany as soon as she is convinced that she
must in the future, as in the past, stay away from you," he said, this
time without harshness, but with decision. "You may write to her. I
will allow a correspondence with certain restrictions, but I cannot--I
dare not permit a personal intercourse."
"Father, think----"
"I cannot, Hartmut; it is impossible."
"Do you hate her, then, so very much?" asked the youth reproachfully.
"You wished the separation--not my mother--I know it from herself."
Falkenried's lips quivered. He was about to speak the bitter words and
tell his son that the separation had been at the command of honor; but
he looked again in those dark, inquiring eyes, and the words died
unspoken. He could not accuse the mother to the son.
"Let that question rest," he replied gloomily; "I cannot answer it to
you. Perhaps you will learn my reasons later and will understand them.
I cannot spare you the hard choice now. You can belong only to one--the
other you must shun. Accept it as a doom."
Hartmut bowed his head; he might have felt that nothing further could
be gained. That the meetings with his mother had to end when he
returned to the strict discipline of the school, he knew; but now a
correspondence was permitted, which was more than he had dared to hope
for.
"Then I will tell mamma so," he said in a crestfallen way. "Now, since
you know everything, I may see her openly, may I not?"
The Major started; he had not considered this possibility.
"When were you to see her again?" he asked.
"To-day, at this hour, at the Burgsdorf pond. She is surely awaiting me
there now."
Falkenried seemed to battle with himself. A warning voice arose in him
not to allow this leave-taking, yet he felt that to refuse would be
cruel.
"Will you be back in two hours?" he asked finally.
"Certainly, father; even earlier if you desire it."
"Go, then," said the Major, with a deep breath. One could hear how
reluctant was the permission which his sense of duty forced from him.
"We shall drive home as soon as you return. Your vacation ends shortly,
anyway."
Hartmut, who was just about to leave, came to a standstill. The words
recalled to him what he had entirely forgotten in the last half hour:
the discipline and severity of the service which was awaiting him.
Heretofore he had not dared to betray his aversion to it openly, but
this hour which banished the awe of his father broke also the seal from
his lips. Obeying a sudden impulse, he turned and put his arms again
around the neck of his father.
"I have a request," he whispered, "a great, great request which you
must grant me; and I know you will do it as a proof that you love me."
A furrow appeared between the Major's eyebrows as he asked with slight
reproach: "Do you require proofs of it? Well, let's hear it."
Hartmut nestled still more closely to him; his voice had again that
sweet, coaxing sound which made his prayers so irresistible, and the
dark eyes implored intensely, beseechingly.
"Do not let me become a soldier, father. I do not love the calling for
which you have decided me. I shall never learn to love it. If I have
bowed until now to your will, it has been with aversion, with secret
grumbling, and I have been unbearably unhappy, only I did not dare to
confess it to you."
The furrow on Falkenried's brow sank deeper, and he released his son
slowly from his embrace.
"That means, in other words, that you do not like to obey," he said
harshly, "and just that is more important to you than to any one else."
"But I cannot bear any compulsion," Hartmut burst forth passionately,
"and the military service is nothing but duty and fetters. To obey
always and eternally--never to have a will of your own--to bow day
after day to an iron discipline and strict, cold forms by which every
individual movement is suppressed. I cannot bear it any longer.
Everything in me demands freedom for light and life. Let me go, father;
do not keep me any longer in these bonds. I die--I suffocate under
them."
To a man, who was heart and soul a soldier, he could not have done his
cause greater harm than by these imprudent words. It sounded like a
stormy, glowing prayer. His arm yet lay around his father's neck, but
Falkenried now straightened himself suddenly and pushed him back.
"I should consider the service an honor and no fetter," he said
cuttingly. "It is sad that I should have to recall that to my son's
mind. Freedom--light--life! You think perhaps that one can throw
himself at seventeen years into life and grasp all its treasures. The
longed-for freedom for you would be only recklessness, ruin,
destruction."
"And what if it should be so!" cried Hartmut, totally beside himself.
"Better go to ruin in freedom than to live in this depression. To me it
is a chain--a fetter--slavery----"
"Be silent! not a word further," commanded Falkenried so threateningly
that the youth grew silent despite his awful excitement. "You have no
choice, and take care that you do not forget your duty. You must become
an officer and fulfill your duty completely as does every one of your
comrades. When you are of age, I no longer have any power to hinder
you. You may then resign, even if it give me my deathblow to see my
only son flee the service."
"Father, do you consider me a coward?" Hartmut burst forth. "I could
stand a war--I could fight----"
"You would fight foolhardily and rush blindly into every danger; and
with this obstinacy which knows no discipline you would destroy
yourself and your men. I know this wild, boundless desire for freedom
and life to which no barrier, no duty is sacred. I know from whom you
have inherited it and where it will finally lead; therefore I keep you
securely in the 'fetters,' no matter whether you hate it or not. You
shall learn to obey and to bow your will while yet there is time; and
you shall learn it. I pledge my word to that."
Again the old, inflexible harshness sounded in his voice; every line of
tenderness, of softness, had disappeared, and Hartmut knew his father
too well to continue supplication or defiance. He did not answer a
syllable, but his eyes glowed again with that demoniac spark which
robbed him of all his beauty; and around his lips, which were pressed
closely together, there settled a strange, bad expression as he now
turned to go.
The Major's eyes followed him. Again the warning voice came to him like
a presentiment of evil, and he called his son back.
"Hartmut, you are sure to be back in time? You give me your word?"
"Yes, father." The answer sounded grim, but firm.
"Very well. I shall trust you as a man. I let you go in peace with this
promise which you have given me. Be punctual."
Hartmut had been gone but a few moments when Wallmoden entered.
"Are you alone?" he asked, somewhat surprised. "I did not wish to
disturb you, but I saw Hartmut hasten through the garden just now.
Where was he going so late?"
"To his mother, to take leave of her."
The Secretary started at this news. "With your consent?" he asked
quickly.
"Certainly, I have permitted him to go."
"How imprudent! I should think that you knew now how Zalika manages to
get her own way, and yet you leave your son to her mercy."
"For only half an hour to say farewell. I could not refuse that. What
do you fear? Surely no force. Hartmut is no longer a child to be borne
into a carriage and carried off in spite of his resistance."
"But if he should not refuse a flight?"
"I have his word that he will return in two hours," said the Major with
emphasis.
"The word of a seventeen-year-old lad!"
"Who has been raised a soldier and who knows the importance of a word
of honor. That gives me no care; my fear lies in another direction."
"Regine told me that you were reconciled," remarked Wallmoden, with a
glance upon the still clouded brow of his friend.
"For a few moments only; after that I had to become again the firm,
severe father. This hour has showed me how hard the task is to bend, to
educate this roving nature. Nevertheless I shall conquer him."
The Secretary approached the window and looked out in the garden.
"It is twilight already, and the Burgsdorf pond is half an hour's
distance," he said, half aloud. "You ought to have allowed the
rendezvous only in your presence, if it had to take place."
"And see Zalika again? Impossible! I could not and would not do that."
"But if the leave-taking end differently from what you expect--if
Hartmut does not return?"
"Then he would be a scoundrel to break his word!" burst out Falkenried;
"a deserter, for he carries the sword already at his side. Do not
offend me with such thoughts, Herbert; it is my son of whom you speak."
"He is also Zalika's son; but do not let us quarrel about that now.
They await you in the dining room. And you will really leave us
to-day?"
"Yes, in two hours," the Major said, calmly and firmly. "Hartmut will
have returned by that time. My word stands for that."
CHAPTER VII.
The gray shadows of twilight were gathering in forest and field,
becoming closer and denser with every moment. The short, foggy autumn
day drew near its close. Through the heavy-clouded sky the night
lowered sooner than usual.
A female figure paced impatiently and restlessly up and down the bank
of the Burgsdorf pond. She had drawn the dark cloak tightly around her
shoulders, but was unmindful of her shivering, caused by the cold
evening air. Her whole manner was feverish expectation and intense
listening for the sound of a step which could not as yet be heard.
Zalika had arranged the meetings with her son for a later hour, when it
was desolate and dim in the forest, since the day Willibald had
surprised them and had to be admitted into the secret. They had parted,
however, before dark, so that Hartmut's late return should not cause
suspicion at Burgsdorf. He had always been punctual, but now his mother
had waited in vain for an hour.
Did a trifle detain him, or was the secret betrayed? One had to expect
that, since a third party knew it.
Deathlike silence reigned in the forest; the dry leaves alone rustled
beneath the hem of the gown of the restlessly moving woman.
Night shades already lingered under the tree-tops; a cloud of mist
floated over the pond where it was lighter and more open; and over
there where the water was bordered by a marsh, whitish-gray veils of
mist arose yet more thickly. The wind blew damp and cold from over
there, like the air of a vault. A light footstep finally sounded at a
distance, coming nearer in the direction of the pond with flying haste.
Now a slender figure appeared, scarcely recognizable in the gathering
dusk. Zalika flew toward him, and in the next moment her son was in her
arms.
"What has happened?" she demanded, amidst the usual stormy caresses.
"Why do you come so late? I had given up in despair seeing you to-day.
What kept you back?"
"I could not come any sooner," panted Hartmut, still breathless from
his rapid run. "I come from my father."
Zalika started.
"From your father? Then he knows----"
"Everything."
"So he is at Burgsdorf? Since when? Who notified him?"
The young man, with fluttering breath, reported what had happened, but
he had not finished when the bitter laugh of his mother interrupted
him.
"Naturally they are all in the plot when it concerns the tearing of my
child from me. And your father, he has probably threatened and punished
and made you suffer for the heavy crime of having been in the arms of
your mother?"
Hartmut shook his head.
The remembrance of that moment when his father drew him to his breast
stood firm, in spite of the bitterness with which that scene had ended.
"No," he said in a low voice; "but he commanded me not to see you
again, and requested irrevocable separation from you."
"And yet you are here? Oh, I knew it!"
The exclamation was full of joyous victory.
"Do not triumph too soon, mamma," said the youth bitterly. "I came only
to say farewell."
"Hartmut!"
"Father knows it. He allowed me this meeting, and then----"
"Then he will grasp you again, and you will be lost to me forever, is
it not so?"
Hartmut did not answer; he folded his mother in his arms, and a wild,
passionate sob, which had in it as much of anger as pain, escaped his
breast.
It had now grown quite dark; the night had commenced; a cold, gloomy
autumn night, without moon or star shining, but over there upon the
marsh where lately the veils of mist floated, something now shot up
with a bluish light, glimmering dimly in the fog, but growing brighter
and clearer like a flame; now appearing, now disappearing, and with it
a second and a third. The will-o'-the-wisp had commenced its ghostly,
uncanny play.
"You weep," cried Zalika, pressing her son closely to her; "but I have
seen it coming long ago, and if your Eschenhagen had not betrayed us,
the day you had to return to your father would have brought your forced
choice between separation or--decision."
"What decision? What do you mean?" asked Hartmut, perplexed.
Zalika bent over him, and, although they were alone, her voice sank to
a whisper.
"Will you bow feebly and defenselessly to a tyranny which tears asunder
the sacred bond between mother and child, and which stamps under foot
our rights as well as our love? If you can do that, you are not my son;
you have inherited nothing of the blood that flows in my veins. He sent
you to bid me farewell, and you accept it patiently as a last favor.
Have you really come to take leave of me, perhaps for years? Actually,
have you?"
"I have to," interrupted the youth despairingly. "You know father and
his iron will. Is there any possibility of anything else?"
"If you return to him, no. But who forces you?"
"Mamma, for God's sake!" shrieked Hartmut, terrified. But the
encircling arms did not release him, and the hot, passionate whisper
again reached his ear:
"What frightens you so at the thought? You will only go with your
mother, who loves you devotedly, and who will henceforth live for you
alone. You have told me repeatedly that you hate the vocation which is
forced upon you, that you languish with longing for freedom. There is
no choice there for you; when you return your father will keep you
irrevocably in the fetters. If he knew that you would die of them, he
would not let you free."
She had no need to tell that to her son; he knew it better than she
did. Only an hour ago he had seen the full inflexibility of his father,
his hard "You shall learn to obey and bow your will."
His voice was almost smothered in bitterness as he answered:
"Nevertheless, I must return. I have given my word to be back at
Burgsdorf in two hours."
"Really," said Zalika, sharply and sarcastically; "I thought so.
Usually you are nothing but a boy, whose every step is prescribed;
whose every moment counted out; who ought not even to have his own
thoughts; but as soon as the retaining of you is concerned, you are
given the independence of a man. Very well; now show that you are not
only grown in words, but that you can also act like a man. A forced
promise has no value. Tear asunder this invincible chain with which
they want to bind you and make yourself free."
"No--no," murmured Hartmut, with a renewed attempt to free himself. But
he did not succeed. He only turned his face and looked with fixed eyes
out into the night, into the desolate, silent forest darkness and over
yonder where the will-o'-the-wisp still carried on its ghostly dance.
Those quivering, tremulous flames appeared now everywhere; seeming
to seek and flee from each other, they floated over the ground,
disappearing or dissolving in the ocean of fog, only to reappear
again and again. There was something ghastly yet fascinating in this
spectre-like play; the demoniac charm of the depths which that
treacherous mire concealed.
"Come with me, my Hartmut," implored Zalika, now in those sweet,
coaxing tones which were so effectively at hers as well as at her son's
command. "I have foreseen everything and prepared for it. I knew that a
day like this had to come. My carriage awaits me half an hour's
distance from here. It will take us to the next station, and before
anybody at Burgsdorf thinks you will not return, the train will have
carried us into the far country. There are freedom, light and
happiness. I will lead you out into the great distant world, and after
you know that, you will breathe with relief and shout like a redeemed
man. I myself know how one released feels. I too have borne that chain
which I riveted myself in foolish error, but I would have broken it in
the first year but for you. Oh, it is sweet, this freedom. You will
feel it, too."
She knew only too well how to succeed. Freedom, life, light! These
words found a thousand-fold echo in the heart of the young man, whose
passionate thirst for freedom had been so far suppressed. This promised
life shone with a magic splendor like a beacon before him. He needed
only to stretch forth his hand and it was his.
"My promise," he murmured with a last attempt to gather strength.
"Father will look at me with contempt if----"
"If you have reached a great, proud future?" Zalika interrupted him
passionately. "Then you can go before him and ask if he dares consider
you with contempt. He would keep you upon the ground while you have
wings which will carry you high up. He does not understand a nature
like yours; he will never learn to understand it. Will you languish and
go to ruin for only a word's sake? Go with me, my Hartmut--with me, to
whom you are all in all--out into freedom."
She drew him along, slowly but irresistibly. He still resisted, but did
not tear himself away; and amidst the prayers and caresses of his
mother this resistance slowly gave way--he followed.
A few moments later the pond lay wholly deserted; mother and son had
disappeared; the sound of their steps died away. Night and silence
brooded alone. Only over yonder in the fog of the marsh fluttered that
noiseless spectral life. It floated and vanished, rose and sank again
in restless play--the mysterious sign of flame.
PART II.