Gotthold had already been working for half an hour with the zeal of an
artist who has enthusiastically seized upon his subject, and must take
advantage of the present hour, which will not return. Though sky,
earth, and sea should adorn themselves at to-morrow's sunset with the
same brilliant hues, though the hill should cast the same deep shadows
upon the valley and ravines--he would not stand upon the same spot
again to replace what had been forgotten, and complete what had been
begun.
So he sat upon one of the lower stones of the giant's grave, drinking
in, with an artist's glowing eyes, the beauty of the scene and hour,
and with an artist's busy hand creating an image of this beauty. The
colors on the palette seemed to mingle of their own accord, and every
stroke of the brush upon the little square of canvas brought the image
nearer its original with a speed and certainty which astonished the
artist himself. Never before had any work progressed so rapidly, never
had design and execution met so lovingly, never had the enthusiastic
feeling of power made him so happy.
"Is it possible the dream that here alone I can reach the standard I am
destined to attain may be something more than a dream?" he said to
himself, "and is the hidden wisdom of the ancient myth of Antaeus to be
proved again in me? But to be sure we are all sons of earth; it is not
our mother's fault if we struggle toward the distant suns, in whose
strange glow our waxen wings quickly melt. I was such an Icarus
yonder." "Yes, yes," he exclaimed aloud, "Rome, Naples, Syracuse, you
Paradises of artists, what is this poor slip of earth in comparison
with you! And yet to me it is more, so much more, it is my home."
"To which an old friend bids you heartily welcome," said a clear voice
behind him.
Gotthold started and turned.
"Carl Brandow!"
There he stood, his slight, elastic figure resting against the very
block upon which the serpent had lain that morning; and his round, hard
eyes, whose piercing gaze was fixed upon him, reminded Gotthold of the
staring eyes of the reptile.
"To be sure it is I," said Carl Brandow, as he came forward with a
smile intended to be friendly, but which was as cold as the hand he
held out to Gotthold, and in which the latter hesitatingly placed the
tips of his fingers.
"How did you find me here?" asked Gotthold.
"I am an old hunter," replied Brandow, showing his white teeth.
"Nothing escapes me so easily, especially on my own ground. But I will
not boast. The matter was really simple enough. I knew several weeks
ago that you were coming, and this afternoon I heard, when with
Plueggen, of Plueggenhof, Otto Plueggen, we used to call him Straw
Plueggen, you know, to distinguish him from his younger brother, Gustav,
Hay Plueggen, who has inherited Gransewitz--I was saying: I heard from
our new Pastor that you had been in Rammin yesterday evening, and had
driven on to Prora. Of course Plueggen, at my request, instantly sent
his carriage to bring you to Plueggenhof; you were no longer there, but
had set out on foot with Jochen Prebrow for Dollan. Well, of course I
did not remain in Plueggenhof a moment longer, although we had just sat
down to the table to receive you with full glasses. I drove my horses
half to death, and nearly killed my poor wife with fright, in order at
least to meet you on the way, in case you had been cruel enough not to
wait for our return. We arrived and asked for you before we got out of
the carriage: no one had been there. My wife and I looked at each other
in horror. 'There is somebody sitting on the giant's grave,' said my
factotum, Hinrich Scheel, who now came up to the carriage; 'I saw him
there this noon.' 'It's not impossible,' said my wife, that 'he has
learned on the way that we were not at home, and, industrious as usual,
is making use of the time. It was always one of his favorite spots.' I
said nothing, but ran up to the gable-room with my spy-glass, and saw
what Hinrich, in spite of his squint eyes, had seen without any glass;
ran down again, jumped on a horse, and--find here what I sought. That
painting is wonderfully beautiful, really splendid; but now pack up
your traps, if you please! Another day is coming, and this is enough,
and too much for the present. From noon until now is certainly long
enough, even for an artist. How delighted my wife will be!"
Carl Brandow had already thrown Gotthold's travelling bag over his
shoulder, and now seized the box which the latter had been arranging.
"One moment," said Gotthold.
"You can safely trust me with your treasures."
"That is not the point."
"What is it then?"
Gotthold hesitated; but there was no time for deliberation.
"It is this," said he; "I cannot accept your invitation, kindly as it
is expressed and honestly as, I wish to believe, it is meant."
"For Heaven's sake, why not?"
"Because in so doing I should wrong myself, and, in a certain sense,
you also. Myself: because I could not stay in Dollan, in your house,
without being at every step, at every moment, a prey to the most
painful memories; and who would not willingly spare himself such a
trial, if he could avoid it? You: because--it must be said, Brandow! I
have always considered you my enemy, and my sentiments towards you have
been no friendly ones, even up to this very day, this very hour. Who
would invite a man who is not well disposed towards him to his house!"
"Is it possible?" cried Brandow. "Then that straw head of a Plueggen and
the Parson may have been right when they said: 'He won't come!' 'He
will come,' said I, 'if only to prove that he is still the generous
fellow he always was!' No, Gotthold, you must not give me the lie, if
only on account of those silly fellows, and people like them, who would
then have another fine opportunity to make merry over Carl Brandow, who
always aims very high and then comes out at the little end of the horn.
Well, unhappily there is something in it: I am no longer what I was
once, but a poor devil who must learn to be modest; but this time I
won't be, just this time. And now your hand, old enemy! there, that's
right! I knew you better than you knew yourself."
They began to descend the hill, Brandow, who insisted upon carrying
Gotthold's luggage, still talking eagerly in his hasty, often
incoherent manner, Gotthold silent and vainly trying to shake off the
bewilderment that clouded his brain and oppressed his heart; he had
tried to be frank, perfectly frank; but he had not been so: he had not
said the last thing because he could not, because he must appear like a
fool, a coxcomb, if he did, and like a rude unmannerly boor if he did
not, and simply answered: I will not. But would not even that have been
better than for them to meet again?
Gotthold stood still, and threw back his coat and vest; he felt as if
he were stifling.
"It's terribly sultry here in the wood," said Carl Brandow. "It would
have been much nearer if we had gone down the other side, and then
crossed the fields; but we were obliged to make this circuit to get my
horse. There stands the rascal, stamping his shoes off in his
impatience. Now then, en avant!"
Brandow threw the bridle over his arm and Gotthold took a portion of
his luggage, so they walked quickly through the woods by a cross path,
which soon brought them out into the fields. At a short distance, only
separated from them by a few meadows and a broad field of rye, stood
the manor-house, already partly in the shadow which the hill on the
left-hand side of the moor cast far into the valley, while the tops of
the taller trees in the garden and the crests of the huge poplars,
which enclosed the grounds on the three other sides, still glowed in
the light of the setting sun. The little window of the gable-room
glittered and flashed back his rays. Gotthold could scarcely turn his
eyes away; he fancied every moment that it must open and Cecilia appear
and wave her white hand towards him with a gesture of warning: no
nearer, for God's sake, no nearer! And then it seemed to him as if he
were once more back in the old days, when he used to come out with Curt
to spend a precious Saturday afternoon and delightful Sunday, and in
their impatience to reach their goal they ran the last part of the way
at full speed. At every step his agitation increased; he scarcely heard
what his companion was saying to him.
But Carl Brandow was only talking in order to conceal from his guest
the anxiety that oppressed him. Would it not have been better to have
told her of his design, even at the risk of her opposition, or, still
worse, of affording her pleasure? Ought he not at least to have taken
advantage of the last opportunity, and prepared her for the visit by
Hinrich Scheel, instead of expressly commanding him to be silent? Or
would the clever fellow once more, as he had often done, follow his own
counsel and guide an ill-managed affair into the right course? And yet,
what could happen if he suddenly appeared before her with him? Would
she give him the lie in the presence of her guest, say she had known
nothing about his visit, and her husband had told an untruth? It was
certainly possible; but woe be unto her if she did so.
"Here we are," said Carl Brandow, as they reached the old linden before
the door. "Welcome to Dollan! Welcome!"
He had spoken in a very loud tone, standing in the open doorway, and
now shouted, raising his clear voice to its highest pitch, "Hinrich,
Fritz!--where are they all?"
But there was no movement within the house, and no one appeared in the
courtyard.
"It is always just so on Sundays," said Brandow, "Everybody runs wild,
especially if the master is away from home. Rike! Hinrich! Fritz!"
A half-grown lad, in a dirty red waistcoat and top boots, now came
running across the courtyard, and at the same moment a young girl
appeared from the house. Brandow received both with angry words. The
girl answered pertly: she had been with the mistress, who could not
quiet the child; it was still crying about its arm; and the boy
muttered as he took the horse's bridle: he had been obliged to help
Hinrich about Brownlock; he was threatened with the colic.
"Deuce take it!" cried Brandow; "that damned Hinrich, this is what I
get by letting him have his own way! I must leave you alone a moment,
or will you come with me?"
Brandow did not wait for Gotthold's reply, but hurried across the
courtyard with long strides. He must know what was the matter with
Brownlock. And then: Cecilia had enough to do in the nursery; she would
not come out at present.
"What is the matter with the child?" asked Gotthold.
"She fell down just as the mistress got home, and has probably broken
her arm," said the girl, who had been gazing curiously at the stranger
with her merry gray eyes, and now hurried back into the house.