While happiness was reigning in the home upon old Gnadeck, a sad event
occurred in the valley.
Two peasants from Lindhof, who, provided with torches, had been looking
for Elizabeth, heard, as they were proceeding from their village to the
forest, a loud growling at a little distance,--it sounded like an angry
dog. Not far from them lay stretched across the road a human form,
while a large dog lying beside it, as if to defend it, had placed both
his forepaws upon its breast. The animal became infuriated at the
approach of the men, and, gnashing its teeth, threatened to fly at them.
They were afraid, and ran back to the village, where they met a party
bearing torches, and among them the forester, who had just heard from
Herr von Walde's servant of Elizabeth's safety.
Instantly all hastened to the spot which the frightened peasants
described. This time the dog did not growl. He whined, and crept to the
forester's feet; it was Wolf, his watch-dog, and there lay Bertha,
apparently lifeless. She was bleeding profusely from a wound in her
head, and her face was as pale as death.
The forester did not speak, he shunned the sympathetic glances of the
by-standers; anger and pain strove for the mastery in his features. He
raised Bertha from the ground, and carried her into the first house in
the village; it was the poor weaver's. Then he sent a messenger for
Sabina. Fortunately, the Waldheim physician was with one of his
patients in the village. He was sent for, and soon brought the poor
girl to herself. She recognized him, and asked for water. Her wound
was not dangerous, but the physician shook his head and looked meaningly
at the forester, who was anxiously watching him.
The doctor was a blunt man, with rather rude manners. He suddenly
approached the forester, and said a few words to him in a slight
undertone. The old man staggered back as though from a mortal blow,
stared absently at the doctor without replying a word,--and then left
the house without looking at the sick girl.
"Uncle, uncle, forgive me!" she cried after him in heart-breaking tones,
but he had already vanished into the dark night.
And now Sabina made her appearance in the doorway. A maid followed her,
bearing a huge bundle of linen upon her head, and a basket upon her arm,
containing bandages, provisions, and all manner of necessary articles.
"Gracious Powers! what have you been doing with yourself, Bertha?" cried
the old woman with tears in her eyes, as she saw the pale face, and the
bandaged head lying upon the pillow. "And to-day, too, when I thought
you went out looking so much better,--you had such beautiful red
cheeks!"
The girl buried her face in the bedclothes, and began to sob
convulsively.
The physician told Sabina what was to be done, and strictly forbade the
invalid to converse or even to speak.
"Must I be silent?" cried Bertha, raising herself in bed. "Ah! silence
may be easy for such an old man, whose blood runs cool and calm in his
veins. But I must speak, Sabina, and if it kills me,--so much the
better!"
She drew the old housekeeper towards her upon the bed, and, weeping
bitterly, confessed all to her.
She had had a love affair with Hollfeld, who had promised to marry her,
and had induced her to swear solemnly that she would keep silent
concerning their relations to each other, and not claim her rights until
he should authorize her to do so; for, as he told her, he must first
influence his mother and his relatives at Lindhof to accede to his
wishes. The unthinking girl promised all that he asked,--and in
addition vowed solemnly that no human being should hear one word from
her lips until she could proclaim her proud secret to the world. The
meetings of the pair usually took place in the convent-tower or in the
pavilion in the park. No one discovered them. The baroness' suspicions
were aroused by some slight circumstance,--she fell into a violent rage,
and forbade Bertha ever to show her face at Lindhof Castle.
Still Bertha's lofty hopes were unshaken, for Hollfeld consoled her, and
referred to the future. But then came Elizabeth Ferber, and he was an
altered man from that moment. He avoided Bertha, and when she compelled
him by threats to an interview, he treated her with a coldness and
contempt that excited the girl's passionate nature to frenzy.
When at last she became convinced that she had to do with a man utterly
devoid of honour, the whole horror of her situation was laid bare before
her. She fell into a state of the wildest despair, and then began her
nightly escapades. Sleep scarcely visited her eyes, and she grew more
composed only when she could shriek out her agony and woe in the lonely
forest.
At last came the end to the tragedy,--the same end that has befallen
such tragedies hundreds of times before, and that will continue to
befall them,--for the warning example convinces the understanding but
never touches an unsuspecting, loving heart. Hollfeld offered the poor
girl a sum of money if she would relinquish her claims and leave that
part of the country. He pretended that his mother and his Lindhof
relatives forced him to marry the newly-made Fraeulein von Gnadewitz.
Bertha denounced him as an unprincipled liar, and rushed from his
presence. In a frenzy of rage she presented herself before his mother
and told her all.
Thus far Bertha continued her sad tale connectedly, only interrupted by
her violent gestures, sobs, and tears. She paused for a moment, and an
expression of inextinguishable hatred distorted her countenance.
"That horrible woman," she cried at last, gasping for breath, "has the
Bible always upon her lips. She knits and sews night and day for
missionaries, who are to carry the word of God to the heathen, that they
may be converted; but they cannot in their ignorance be more inhuman and
cruel than this Christian in her pride. She wishes to root out
idol-worship, and sets up herself for an idol, surrounding herself by a
crowd of fawning, flattering hypocrites, who declare that she is one of
the elect,--not as other people are. Woe to the upright, honest man who
refuses to consider her as such,--his crime is blasphemy! She thrust me
from her doors, and threatened to have the dogs hunt me from the park,
if I ever showed my face there again. From that time I do not know what
became of me," she said, sinking back exhausted among the pillows, and
pressing her hands upon her aching forehead. "I only know that I awaked
and saw the doctor's face bending over me. He told my uncle of my
disgrace,--I heard him. What will become of me!"
Sabina had listened to this confession with horror and grief. She had
always advocated the strictest purity and decorum, and had been, as
Bertha well knew, a stern and inflexible judge in such unhappy cases as
that of the wretched girl. But her heart was full of love and pity.
She looked down upon the crushed sinner before her with tears of
compassion, and soothed the weary head upon her kind old breast. She
was rewarded by seeing the poor girl fall asleep in her arms, like a
child worn out with weeping.
Soon nothing was heard in the little room but the quiet breathing of the
sick girl and the ticking of the clock. Sabina put on her spectacles,
drew an old worn copy of the New Testament from her basket, and watched
faithfully by the bedside until the bright dawn looked in at the
windows.
Bertha did not die, as she had hoped to do in consequence of her
agitating confession. On the contrary, she recovered very quickly,
nursed and tended by Sabina and Frau Ferber. There was no return of her
insanity. The wound in her head, which had been caused by a fall upon a
sharp stone, had produced a most beneficial result in the copious loss
of blood which had ensued.
The forester was beside himself at the disgrace which Bertha had brought
beneath his honest roof. For some days he would not even listen to his
brother's calm, soothing words. After Sabina had communicated to him
Bertha's confession, he rode to Odenberg to call "the worthless
scoundrel to account;" but the servants there informed him, shrugging
their shoulders, that their master had started upon a journey; they
could not tell whither, or when he would return. Herr von Walde's
search for him was also without result.
Bertha herself declared that she would never again hear of her betrayer,
whom she now regarded with a hate as fervent as had been her love. A
few weeks after her recovery she left the weaver's hut,--she never again
entered the Lodge,--to go to America. But she did not go alone. One of
her uncle's assistants, a fine young fellow, begged for his dismissal,
because he had always loved Bertha in silence, and could not find it in
his heart to let her go alone into the wide world. She had promised to
be his. They were to be married in Bremen, and sail thence for the New
World, where he would lead a farmer's life. Herr von Walde provided the
pair with a considerable sum of money; and, at Frau Ferber's and
Elizabeth's request, the forester silently consented that Sabina should
rob the overflowing store of linen that his deceased wife had
accumulated, to furnish the household of the emigrants.
* * * * *
Upon a gloomy autumn day a well-packed travelling carriage left Castle
Lindhof and slowly rolled towards L----. Her haughty arrogance all
vanished, the baroness sat huddled together in one corner of it. Her
brilliant part at Lindhof was played; she was reluctantly returning to
her small rooms and reduced circumstances.
"Mamma," said Bella, in her shrill, childish accents, as she opened and
shut the carriage window and drummed against the seat with her feet,
"does the castle belong now to Elizabeth Ferber? Will she drive in our
beautiful carriage with the white damask cushions? Can she go into your
room whenever she pleases and sit in the embroidered arm-chairs? Old
Lorenz says that she will be the mistress there now, and that all her
orders must be obeyed."
"Child, do not torment me so with your chatter," groaned the baroness,
burying her face in her pocket-handkerchief.
"It is very unkind of Uncle Rudolph to send us away," the child
continued, without heeding what her mother said. "You know we have no
silver dishes to eat from in B----, have we, mamma? Shall we dine at a
restaurant, mamma? and will you dress your own hair while Caroline
washes and irons? Why----"
"Silence!" her mother interrupted the flood of speech that so tormented
her.
Bella cowered terrified in a corner, and did not look up until the
carriage was rolling over the stone pavement of L----. The baroness
cast a hasty glance at the Princely castle, then drew her veil over her
face and burst into tears.
In consequence of Bertha's confession there had been a stormy interview
between Herr von Walde and the baroness, which had ended in the
departure of the latter. Helene repulsed her with aversion when she
appealed to her, and she was forced to enter the travelling carriage,
which appeared punctually before the castle at the hour appointed by its
master. There was one consoling drop in her cup of misfortune,--Herr
von Walde had provided the means for Bella's education, upon condition
that it should be more sensibly conducted than heretofore.
Almost at the same hour in which the Baroness Lessen was leaving Lindhof
forever, the Countess von Falkenberg presented herself in the boudoir of
the princess, who had returned with her husband a few days before from
the baths.
The countess made as profound an obeisance as her uncertain limbs would
permit, but showed a degree of haste that she would have stigmatized in
another as contrary to all rules of etiquette. She held an open letter
in her hand, which had been somewhat crushed by her trembling fingers.
"I am most unhappy," she began in an unnatural tone of voice, "to be
obliged to impart to your highnesses a most scandalous piece of news.
Oh, mon Dieu, who would have thought it! Well, if even in our own
sphere all sense of shame, all dignified self-consciousness, is at an
end,--if every one is to heed the dictates of low and vulgar
impulses,--no wonder that the halo surrounding us is dimmed, and the mob
ventures to attack the throne itself!"
"Calm yourself, my dear Falkenberg," said the prince, who was present,
with evident amusement. "Your preface is somewhat after the magnificent
style of a Cassandra. But as yet I see no signs of earthquake; and to my
great satisfaction I observe,"--and he glanced out of the window at the
quiet market-square with a smile,--"that my faithful subjects are quite
composed. What have you to tell us?"
She looked up surprised,--his sarcastic tone made her falter.
"Oh, if your highness only knew!" she cried at last. "That man, upon
whose pride of birth I so relied, Herr von Walde, informs me that he is
betrothed. And to whom? to whom?"
"To Fraeulein Ferber, the niece of my brave, old forester," the prince,
smiling, replied. "Yes, yes, I have heard something of this; Walde
knows what he is about, I see. The little girl is a miracle of beauty
and loveliness they say. Well, I hope he will not keep us waiting long
to make her acquaintance, but will present her to us soon."
"Your highness," cried the paralyzed countess, "she is the daughter of
your highness' forester's clerk!"
"Yes, yes, my good Falkenberg," chimed in the princess, "we know that.
But be calm; she is I assure you of noble rank."
"Will your highness graciously permit me," rejoined the old lady, her
face crimson, as she pointed to the crumpled letter, "here it stands in
black and white,--his betrothal with a person of low birth,--here is the
name, Ferber, and no other, and just so it will be written upon von
Walde's genealogical tree forever. It actually seems as if the man
paraded it with a sort of ostentation. The inconceivable indifference
of these people in refusing to assume the name of von Gnadewitz shows
plainly enough that they have nothing in common with that aristocratic
family. Their noble blood has utterly degenerated in the course of
years, and, according to my notions of nobility, the girl is and always
will be of low birth. I sincerely pity poor Hollfeld, who is, as your
highness knows, of stainless descent; by this misalliance he will lose
at least half a million,--and the poor Lessen, too, from whom I have
just had a few sad lines,--she leaves Lindhof to-day, of course to
escape from such scandalous proceedings."
"Those are matters affecting your own personal feeling, and of course I
say nothing with regard to them," rejoined the prince, not without
severity. "But I herewith request you to announce to the princess and
myself the fact, as soon as Herr von Walde wishes to present his bride
to us."
In the next room, the door of which was open, Cornelie was merrily
turning upon her heels and snapping her fingers.
"Aha! and that was why Sir Bruin wished to escape the tongues of certain
eloquent ladies!" she cried, with a stifled laugh. "Cornelie, where was
your usual penetration with regard to the masculine heart? Oh, the
thing delights me for old Falkenberg's sake," she said, in a whisper, to
another young lady who sat at the window embroidering. "Now for at
least two weeks we shall have the pleasure of seeing how the loyal
creature will look daggers at their highnesses whenever their backs are
turned, while all the honey of the promised land will overflow her
withered lips as soon as the sun of their royal smile shines upon her.
I could wish that every man whom we know would follow Herr von Walde's
silly example!"
"Good Heavens! Cornelie, are you insane?" cried her companion at the
window, dropping her needle from her fingers.
At the same time that every drop of blood in the Falkenberg's
aristocratic veins was so outraged, Doctor Fels returned to his home,
and went to the nursery, where his wife was bathing her baby and
superintending the knitting fingers of her two little daughters.
"Rejoice with me, dear love!" he cried, with sparkling eyes, as he stood
upon the threshold of the door. "Lindhof will have a mistress, and such
a mistress! Gold Elsie, our beautiful Gold Elsie! Do you hear, my
darling? Now the sun will shine brightly there. The healthy atmosphere
has conquered, and the evil spirit that actually dropped mildew upon
poor human souls has fled. I have just seen it drive past in Herr von
Walde's travelling carriage. The announcement of the betrothal has
fallen upon our worthy town like a bomb-shell. I tell you it is
wonderful to see the long, incredulous faces! But the news has not
surprised me at all. I have known what must happen ever since Linke's
murderous attempt. Since I drove that evening to Lindhof by Herr von
Walde's side, to see whether the excitement had produced no ill effects
upon the brave child, I have known well that his hour had struck, that
he had a heart indeed, a heart full of fervent, passionate love."
* * * * *
Let us pass over a space of two years, and once more enter the old
Gnadeck ruins. We shall ascend the mountain by a broad well-kept road,
leading to the castle gate, which has exchanged its rusty bolts and bars
for more convenient fastenings.
We remember with a shiver the cold, damp court-yard behind this gate,
shut in by gloomy colonnades on three sides, while the crumbling
buildings threatened to bury us beneath their ruins. We remember the
lonely basin in the centre, that, surrounded by the lions of stone, has
waited in vain during so many years for the silver stream that should
fill it.
Remembering all this, we ring the bell. At its clear sound, a fresh,
trim maiden opens the massive gate, and invites us to enter. But we
start back almost dazzled, for from the open gate what a flood of light
and colour greets us! The ruins have vanished, the high wall that
surrounded them alone remains, and we are for the first time aware how
extensive is the space which it encloses.
We do not tread upon the echoing pavement of a courtyard, a smooth
gravel-walk is beneath our feet; before us stretches a level, well-kept
lawn. In its centre stands the granite basin, and from the threatening
jaws of the lions are pouring four powerful streams of water. The
chestnuts still remain the faithful guardians of the fountain, but since
their boughs have been bathed in heaven's air and light they have grown
strong and young again, and are now covered with a wealth of fan-like
blossoms. We wind among the gravel paths that intersect the lawn,
delight our eyes with the groups of shrubbery, still very young, that
are so tastefully scattered here and there, and with the gay beds of
carefully tended flowers.
Before us lies the home. Its four walls are free now to the air and
light, and have put on a fresh bright garment; but its front is far more
stately than it used to be. New windows are seen on every side. Ferber
has had four rooms added to it; for when the forester retires to private
life, he and Sabina are to live there also. In the family
dwelling-room,--from whose two high windows can now be seen the same
view formerly seen only from Elizabeth's room above,--Herr von Walde has
had the trees thinned so that her parents might always have the home of
their darling before their eyes,--stands the young Frau von Walde. She
has been kept in the house for several weeks, and her first expedition
has been to carry her first-born to her parents' home. There he lies in
her arms. Miss Mertens, or rather the happily married Frau Reinhard,
has just removed the veil from the little thing. The minute, plump, red
face shows, in the eyes of the mother, an unmistakable resemblance to
Herr von Walde. Ernst is laughing loudly at the vague movements of the
fat little fists, which are stretching out in all directions. But the
forester stands with his own powerful hands behind him, and an
expression of great anxiety, as if he feared that if he moved he might
do the frail atom an injury. He is no less delighted with his
grand-nephew than are Elizabeth's parents with their grandchild. He has
outlived his distress concerning Bertha, and basks in Elizabeth's
happiness, which was a great surprise to him at first, and which he
maintained he was obliged to become accustomed to anew every morning.
Not, indeed, that he thought such good fortune one whit too great for
his darling,--he would have thought the richest of earthly crowns well
placed upon Elizabeth's head; but it was so strange to him to see his
sunny Gold Elsie by the side of her grave, thoughtful husband.
Elizabeth is happy in the fullest sense of the word. Her husband adores
her, and his words have proved true,--the expression of stern melancholy
has faded forever from his brow.
Just now the young wife is looking tenderly at the little creature in
her arms, and then down into the valley, whence Herr von Walde will soon
appear to conduct her to her home. Her glance grows sad for a moment,
and tears fill her eyes, as they rest upon a lofty gilded cross,
glimmering among the trees upon the shore of the lake,--beneath those
rustling boughs Helene has slept for a year. She died in Elizabeth's
arms, praying God to bless the dear sister who had so helped her to bear
her burden of woe until her spirit could soar away from its frail mortal
tenement.
Hollfeld has sold Odenberg, and no one knows in what corner of the earth
he hides his discontent at the overthrow of all his plots.
THE END.
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