"Hallo, Elsie, do not run so!" shouted the forester, the next day at
three o'clock in the afternoon, as he came out of the forest with his
rifle on his shoulder and crossed the meadow towards the Lodge.
Elizabeth was running down the mountain, her round hat hanging upon her
arm instead of resting upon the braids that glanced in the sunlight, and
as she reached the house she flew laughing into her uncle's arms, which
he extended to receive her.
She put her hand into her pocket, and stepped back a few paces. "Guess
what I have in my pocket, uncle," she said, smiling.
"Well, what can it be? No need to puzzle one's brains long about it.
Probably a little sentimental hay,--a few dried flowers, kept for the
sake of the melancholy associations that they recall,--or some printed
sighs over the woes of the world, bound in gilt pasteboard?"
"Wrong, indeed; twice wrong, Herr Forester, for, in the first place,
your wit glances harmlessly aside from me, and in the next--look here!"
She drew a little box from her pocket, and lifted the cover. There,
upon green leaves, was comfortably lying a large lemon-coloured
caterpillar, with black spots, broad bluish-green stripes upon its back,
and a crooked horn upon its tail.
"By all that is wonderful, Sphinx Atropos!" cried the delighted
forester. "Ah, my sunbeam, where did you find that exquisite specimen?"
"Over at Lindhof, in a potato-field. Isn't it beautiful? There, let us
shut the box carefully, and put it back in my pocket."
"What! am I not to have it?"
"Oh yes; you can have it,--that is if you are inclined to pay for it."
"Zounds! What a girl you have become! Come, give it to me,--here are
four groschen."
"Not for the world. You can't have it for one farthing less than
twelve. When many a ragged, yellow old bit of parchment,--that one can
hardly bear to touch,--is paid for with its weight in gold, certainly
such a perfect piece of Nature's workmanship is worth twelve groschen."
"Yellow old parchment! never breathe such a word into scientific ears,
if you value your reputation."
"Ah, there are none such to be breathed into here in the forest."
"Take care; Herr von Walde----"
"Is hiding in the Pyramids."
"But he might suddenly return and take a certain self-conceited young
person to strict account. He is cock-of-the-walk among learned men."
"Well, for aught I care, they may raise monuments in his honour, and
strew laurels in his path, as much as they choose. I cannot forgive him
for forgetting, in the midst of all that dead lumber, the claims that
the living have upon him. While he is engaged in an enthusiastic
search, perhaps, for some wonderfully preserved receipt by Lucullus, or
lost in investigations as to whether the Romans did actually feed their
fish upon the flesh of slaves, the poor employed upon his estate starve
under the baroness' rule--actually crushed beneath the yoke of modern
slavery."
"Hallo! how his left ear must burn! What a pity that he cannot hear
this confession of faith! Here are your twelve groschen, if you must
have them. You want to buy some trinket or other, a feather, or ribbons
for your hat, hey?" he said, smiling.
She held her hat out at arm's length before her, and contemplated with
admiration the two fresh roses which she had stuck into the simple band
of black velvet that encircled it. "Does not that look lovely?" she
asked. "Do you think I would voluntarily hide my head beneath nodding
plumes when I can have roses, fresh roses? And there is your
caterpillar, and now you shall know why I want to black-mail you. This
morning the poor widow of a weaver in Lindhof came to my mother, begging
a little assistance. Her husband had had a fall, which injured his arm
and his foot, so that he has not been able to earn anything for weeks.
My mother gave her some old linen and a large loaf of bread. She could
do nothing more, as you know. See, here I have fifteen groschen,--from
my money-box,--there is not another farthing in it just now, and three
from little Ernst, who would gladly have sold his tin soldiers to help
the poor woman, and with the price for the caterpillar I shall have a
whole thaler, which I shall carry to the poor thing immediately."
"Let me see. Here is another thaler; and, Sabina," he called into the
house, "bring out a piece of meat from your pickling-tub, and wrap it up
in green leaves. You shall take that too," he said, turning again to
Elizabeth.
"Oh, you dearest of splendid uncles!" cried the girl, taking his large
hand between her slender palms and pressing it tenderly.
"But take care," he continued, "that the piece of good salt meat does
not turn into roses. It would be a sad change for the poor weaver's
wife. You seem to be following in the steps of your saintly namesake."
"Yes; but fortunately I have here no cruel Landgrave to fear. And if I
had, I would tell the truth in spite of him."
"Gracious gods, what a heroic soul it is!"
"But I think the courage to tell a lie would be far greater, even though
it were a pious one."
"True, true, my daughter. I think I could hardly have done it either.
Ah, here comes Sabina!"
The old housekeeper issued from the door, and whilst she wrapped up the
meat for Elizabeth, in accordance with the forester's directions, she
whispered to him that Herr von Walde, who had yesterday arrived from
abroad, had been waiting for him for some time.
"Where?" he asked.
"Here in the dwelling-room."
Now they had been standing directly beneath the open windows of this
room. Elizabeth turned quickly round, blushing scarlet, but could see
no one. Her uncle, without turning, shrugged his shoulders with an
infinitely comical gesture, stroked his long moustache, and whispered,
with a suppressed laugh: "Here's a nice state of things! You have
settled matters finely,--he has heard every word.7"
"So much the better," replied his niece, throwing her head back with an
air of defiance. "He does not hear the truth very often, perhaps."
Then bidding farewell to her uncle and Sabina, she walked slowly away
through the forest in the direction of Lindhof.
At first she was annoyed at the thought that Herr von Walde had been
obliged, entirely against his will, to listen to the judgment which had
been passed upon him. Then she was sure that she should have told him
just the same truth to his face. And as it was scarcely to be supposed
that he would ever trouble himself about her estimate of him, it
certainly could do him no harm that he had been involuntarily the
auditor of a frank, impartial sentence passed upon him, even although
such sentence came from the lips of a young girl. But how had it
happened that he had returned so suddenly and unexpectedly? Fraeulein
von Walde had always spoken of her brother's absence as likely to
continue for several years, and the day before she had had not the
slightest expectation of his return. And then her encounter of the
previous evening flashed into her mind. The old gentleman had said that
he was a traveller returning home; but it was impossible that he, with
his smiling, good-humoured face, could be the grave, haughty proprietor
of Lindhof, who, perhaps, was the person that had remained concealed
beneath the trees while his companion was getting an answer to his
inquiries. But what could Herr von Walde want with her uncle, who, as
she knew, had never stood in any relation to him whatever?
These and similar thoughts occupied her mind upon her way to the
weaver's. Husband and wife were delighted by the unhoped-for
assistance, and heaped Elizabeth with profuse professions of gratitude
as she left the house.
She passed through the village, and directed her steps to Lindhof, where
she had promised to practice as usual. The lesson had not been
postponed, notwithstanding the return of Herr von Walde. The
proprietor's return had worked a great change in the whole look of the
castle. All the windows of the lower story on the south side, which had
so long been dark and closed behind their white shutters, now reflected
the sunlight in a long, shining row. The apartments within were
undergoing a thorough airing and dusting. A glass door stood wide open,
revealing the interior of a large saloon. Upon one of the steps which
led down to the garden at the back lay a snow-white greyhound, with his
slender body stretched out upon the hot stone and his head resting upon
his forepaws; he blinked at Elizabeth as though she had been an old
acquaintance. At an open window the gardener was arranging a stand of
flowers, and the old steward Lorenz was walking through the rooms,
superintending everything.
It was remarkable that all the people whom the young girl met had, as if
by magic, entirely altered their whole expression. Had a tempest swept
through the sultry atmosphere and a fresh breeze filled all the rooms,
so that voices sounded clearer, and bent forms grew straight and
elastic? Even old Lorenz, whose face had always worn so grim and
depressed a look, as though there were a weight of lead upon his
shoulders, shot real sunshine from his eyes, although he was scolding
one of the maids; Elizabeth looked on in surprise. She had only seen
him before gliding about upon the tips of his toes, and in low,
suppressed tones announcing guests to the ladies in the drawing-room.
In amazement at this sudden bursting into bloom of new life and
activity, Elizabeth turned towards the wing appropriated to the ladies.
Here the deepest silence still reigned. In the apartments of the
baroness the curtains were closely drawn. No noise penetrated through
the doors by which Elizabeth passed. The air of the passages was heavy
with the odour of valerian, and when at the lower end of one of the
halls, Elizabeth saw through an open door one human face, what a change
met her eye! It was the baroness' old waiting-maid who looked out,
probably to see who was so bold as to invade the solemn repose of the
corridor. Her cap was set upon her false curls all awry, and the curls
themselves were but loosely put on. Her countenance wore a troubled
expression, and a round, red spot on each cheek, betokened either high
fever or some violent, mental agitation. She returned Elizabeth's
salute shortly and sullenly, and disappeared into the room, closing the
door noiselessly behind her.
When Elizabeth reached Fraeulein von Walde's apartment, she thought that
she had arrived at the last act in the mysterious drama which had begun
in the baroness' rooms, for no "come in" answered her repeated knock.
Not only were the curtains here drawn, but the shutters also were closed
as she saw when she gently opened the door. The profound quiet and the
darkness deterred her from entering, and she was about to shut the door
again when Helene, in a weak voice, called to her to enter. The little
lady lay on a couch at the farther end of the room, her head resting on
a white pillow, and Elizabeth could hear that her teeth were chattering
as if with cold.
"Ah, dear child," she said, and laid her cold, damp hand upon her young
friend's arm, "I have had a nervous attack. None of my people have
observed that I am lying here so ill, and it has been terribly lonely in
this dark room. Pray open the windows wide,--I need air, the warm air
of heaven."
Elizabeth immediately did as she desired, and when the daylight streamed
in upon the pale face of the invalid, it revealed traces of violent
weeping.
The sunshine aroused more life and motion in the room than Elizabeth had
anticipated; she was startled by a loud scream which proceeded from one
corner. There she discovered a cockatoo, with snow-white plumage and a
brilliant yellow crest, swinging to and fro upon a ring.
"Heavens! what a fearful noise!" sighed Helene, pressing her little
hands upon her ears. "That terrible bird will tear my nerves to
pieces!"
Elizabeth's glance rested amazed upon the little stranger, and then
explored the rest of the apartment, which looked like a bazaar. Upon
tables and chairs were lying costly stuffs, shawls, richly-bound books,
and all kinds of toilet articles. Fraeulein von Walde noticed
Elizabeth's look, and said briefly, with averted face: "All presents
from my brother, who returned home quite unexpectedly yesterday."
How cold her voice was as she said it! And there was not the slightest
hint of pleasure to be discovered in her features, swollen with weeping;
the large eyes, usually so soft and gentle, expressed only vexation and
annoyance.
Elizabeth stooped silently and picked up a gorgeous bouquet of
camellias, that was lying half faded upon the floor.
"Oh yes," said Helene, sitting up, while a slight flush appeared on her
cheeks, "that is my brother's good-morning to me; it fell down from the
table, and I forgot it. Pray put it in that vase there."
"Poor flowers," said Elizabeth, half aloud, as she looked at the brown
edges of the white petals, "they never dreamed when they opened their
tender buds, that they were to bloom in such a cold atmosphere!"
Helene looked up into her friend's face with a searching, troubled
glance, and for an instant her eyes expressed regret. "Put the flowers
on the sill of the open window," she whispered quickly, "the air there
will do them good. Oh, heavens!" she cried, sinking back among her
cushions. "He is certainly a most excellent man, but his sudden return
has destroyed the harmony of our delightful home life."
Elizabeth looked almost incredulously at the little lady who lay there,
her clasped hands raised, and her eyes lifted to heaven, as if fate had
decreed her a most bitter trial. If she had failed yesterday to find
the key to Helene's conduct, she was certainly more puzzled than ever
to-day by this incomprehensible character. What had become of all those
sentiments of fervent gratitude that had breathed from every word
whenever Helene had spoken of her absent brother? Had all the sisterly
tenderness which had seemed to fill her heart vanished in a single
moment, so that she now lamented what, according to her own words, she
had so lately regarded as the most delightful thing that could happen?
Even supposing that the returned brother did not sympathize with the
circle in which alone she felt happy, if he should oppose her dearest
wishes, was it possible that coldness and anger could exist between two
beings whom fate had bound together by so close a tie, a tie which must
bring them all the nearer to each other, since one was so helpless, and
the other so alone in the world? Elizabeth suddenly felt profound pity
for the man who had sailed on distant seas and wandered through strange
lands so long, only to be greeted as a disturbing element when he once
more appeared at his own fireside. Apparently there was one tender spot
in his proud heart, love for his sister; how deeply wounded he must be
that she had no loving welcome for him, and that her heart was cold and
hard towards him!
Occupied with these thoughts, Elizabeth arranged the flowers in the
vase. She returned not a syllable to Helene's outbreak, which had so
maligned her brother to stranger ears. And Helene herself, shamed
probably by Elizabeth's silence, seemed to be conscious that she had
lost her self-control, for she suddenly, in an altered voice, begged her
to take a chair and stay with her for awhile.
At this moment the door was violently flung open, and a female figure
appeared upon the threshold. Elizabeth was at some trouble to recognize
in this apparition in its neglected, careless dress, betraying every
sign of great agitation, the Baroness Lessen. Her scanty locks, usually
so carefully arranged, were streaming from under a morning-cap across
her forehead, no longer white and smooth as ivory, but flushing scarlet.
The stereotyped self-satisfaction had vanished from her eyes, and she
presented a most insignificant appearance as she looked shyly into the
room!
"Ah, Helene!" she cried anxiously, without noticing Elizabeth, and her
corpulent figure advanced with unwonted rapidity. "Rudolph has just
sent for the unfortunate Linke to come to his room, and he abused the
poor man so violently and loudly that I heard him in my bed-room on the
other side of the court--Heavens! how wretched I am! The morning has
agitated me so that I can scarcely stand, but I could not listen to such
injustice any longer, and sought refuge here. And those servile
wretches, the other servants, who, while Rudolph was away, scarcely
dared to wink their eyes,--there they stand now boldly beneath the
windows, taking a malicious pleasure in the misfortunes that are
befalling a faithful servant. Everything is destroyed that I had
arranged so carefully and with such pains for the salvation of this
household. And Emil is at Odenberg! How miserable and forlorn we are,
dearest Helene!"
She threw her arms around the neck of the little lady, who started up
pale as ashes. Elizabeth took advantage of this moment to slip out of
the room.
As she passed along the corridor leading to the vestibule she heard some
one speaking loudly. It was a deep, sonorous, manly voice, which grew
louder now and then under the influence of excitement, but there was no
sharpness in its tones even when they were loudest. Although she could
not distinguish a word, the tone thrilled through her,--there was
something inexorable in the intonation of the emphasized sentences.
The echo in the long corridor was deceptive. Elizabeth did not know
whence the voice proceeded, and she therefore ran forwards quickly that
she might the sooner reach the open air. But after a few steps she
heard, as though the speaker were directly beside her, the words,
"To-morrow evening you will leave Lindhof."
"But, most gracious Herr!"--was the answer.
"I have nothing else to say to you! now go!" was uttered in a commanding
tone; and just then Elizabeth, to her terror, found herself opposite a
wide-open folding door. The tall figure of a man stood in the middle of
the room, his left hand behind him, and his right pointing to the door.
A pair of flashing, dark eyes met her own as she passed hastily through
the vestibule and into the garden. It seemed as if that look, in which
there glowed an indignant soul, pursued her and drove her onward.
As the Ferber family were sitting at supper, her father told with
expressions of pleasure how he had made the acquaintance of Herr von
Walde that day at the Lodge.
"Well, and how does he please you?" asked his wife.
"That is a question, dear child, that I might be able to answer if I
should happen to have daily intercourse with him for a year or so,
although even then I cannot tell whether I should be able to give a
satisfactory reply. The man is very interesting to me--as one is
continually tempted to try to discover whether he really is what he
appears,--a perfectly cold, passionless nature. He came to my brother to
learn the particulars concerning the affair between his superintendent
and the poor labourer's widow, because he had been informed that Sabina
had been an eye-witness of the ill treatment she had received. Sabina
was obliged to tell how she discovered the poor woman. He asked about
everything, even the smallest circumstance, but in a very short, decided
manner. What impression Sabina's account made upon him no one could
tell; his looks were utterly impenetrable, not the smallest change of
countenance betrayed his thoughts. He comes directly from Spain. From
the few remarks that he let fall, I judge that his sudden return to
Thuringia is owing to a letter from some one of his friends here,
telling him of the mismanagement of affairs upon his estate and the
unhappiness among his tenantry."
"And his exterior?" asked Frau Ferber.
"Is pleasing, although I have never seen so much reserve and
inaccessibility expressed in a man's bearing I entirely understand how
he has the reputation of boundless haughtiness; and yet I cannot, on the
other hand, convince myself that such exceeding folly can lurk behind
such remarkably intellectual features. His face always wears the look
of cold repose of which I have spoken; but, between the eyebrows, there
is what I might call an involuntary, unguarded expression of what a
superficial observer might think sternness; to me it seems settled
melancholy."
Elizabeth listened thoughtfully to this description. She had already
learned how that cold repose could be entirely laid aside for a time,
and she told her father of the scene which she had witnessed.
"Then sentence has been passed sooner than I anticipated," said Ferber.
"Possibly your uncle may have done his part towards this end by his
strong language,--he does not hesitate when asked for an opinion. He
was so frank with Herr von Walde, that he felt quite relieved and
retained not an iota in his heart of all that had been vexing him in the
course of the past year."