"THAT BLASE LIEUTENANT."
It was a sad New Year's day for Doenninghausen. Instead of the double
celebration, with its gay anticipations for the future, there were weary
anxious hours beside a sick-bed. Johann Leopold had not yet recovered
consciousness. The old family physician shrugged his shoulders and
admitted that he was powerless, and the physician summoned from town
pronounced that in his opinion the patient's condition would end either
in death or insanity. Ludwig alone did not relinquish hope, and the
calmness in his face and bearing inspired those about him with courage.
Therefore the Freiherr would not hear of his leaving them. "I beg you,
stay with us! If you can do but little for my grandson at present, I
still must consider your mere presence as a benefit," he said, when
Ludwig requested to be driven to Thalrode.
"Yes, if you possibly can, stay with us," Aunt Thekla added; and Ludwig
could not feel himself justified in refusing the entreaty of the old
brother and sister.
On New Year's evening some of the younger members of the family were
assembled in the drawing-room. Hedwig, the last to join them, went
shivering to the fire, and stretched out her hands before the blaze.
"I am cold to my very bones," she said. "As I passed the ball-room just
now, the door was open, and by the light of the hall-lamp, I saw the
long white-covered table, and thought how soon it might be replaced by
black trestles. Oh, I wish we were away! but Eduard says we mast stay it
out."
"Of course we must!" Hildegard exclaimed. "What would grandpapa think of
our leaving him alone now? At such times the family must hold together."
"I don't see what good our holding together can do," said Magelone.
"With the exception of Johanna, who sees that grandpapa and Aunt Thekla
do not starve beside the sick-bed----"
"They would be taken care of without her," Hildegard interposed.
"However, if she chooses to play Martha, let her; our task will be
different, and much more difficult, at the death-bed and the funeral."
"How can you think of death and a funeral all because of a fall on the
head!" exclaimed Magelone, rising and going to a window-recess.
Hildegard smiled disdainfully. "The fable of the ostrich," she said.
"But what is to be will be, however we may close our eyes to it."
"Do you really think, then, that he will die?" asked Hedwig.
"The physician from town has given him up," Hildegard replied.
Hedwig gazed into the fire. After a pause she said, scarce audibly, "If
he were to die, Otto would be the heir."
"And the wayward Magelone would be _vis-a-vis de rien_," Hildegard
added.
"I do not think so; it would only be the exchange of a lover for her.
Look there!" said Hedwig. She had observed in the mirror that Otto had
arisen from the table, where he had been reading the papers, and had
joined Magelone.
Hildegard smiled with an air of superiority. "Never fear," she said,
with conviction. "Magelone was very well suited for Johann Leopold,
unamiable and misanthropic as he was; but if Otto is ever the heir, he
may fairly look to make a brilliant match, which he will do. I know our
brother."
She might not have been so very sure if she had heard the conversation
in the window-recess.
"Are you sad, Magelone?" asked Otto, as he took her hand. "Are you
grieving for Johann Leopold?"
"Grieving? No; your sisters irritated me," she replied. "I detest to
have mountains made out of mole-hills. Imagine their talking of death
and a funeral!"
"You are right; there is no necessity for giving up all hope so soon,"
said Otto. "But, on the other side, is it not natural that every
possibility should present itself to the imagination? I, too, Magelone,
with all my trying not to look upon the dark side, have not been able to
refrain, since the accident, from asking myself how you would feel,
Magelone, if--if we were to lose Johann Leopold." And he bent over her
so that his moustache nearly touched her cheek as he added, "Would you
grieve?"
"I should be very sorry, as we should all be," she said.
"Not as for the loss of a lover?" he asked again.
She cast one quick glance up at him, and then her eyelids drooped. "I
cannot feign," she whispered. "But why do you tease me so? What does it
matter to you?"
She tried to withdraw her hand from his, but he held it fast.
"Magelone," he whispered,--and there was a passionate tremor in his
voice,--"have you never remembered that if Johann Leopold dies I am his
heir? Understand all that this means: you, too, would then be mine!"
"Hush!" she interrupted him, half in anger, half in terror. "For God's
sake, hush! I will not listen to another word!" And she turned from him
and joined his sisters again.
But his words had fallen upon fruitful soil. Magelone could not but
reflect upon the possibility at which he had hinted, and her fancy
painted a future based upon this possibility. There was an actual
change in her sentiments. Otto's words on this New Year's evening could
not have been uttered in mere dalliance, and her heart responded in
louder throbs than hitherto. There came now and then a fleeting
consciousness of wrong, when she would weep and consider herself
miserably unhappy; but she sought consolation in further imaginings, and
when she encountered Otto there was a degree of suppressed emotion in
her words and looks which lent a new charm to a creature usually so cool
and self-possessed. Otto was, as he confessed to himself, 'awfully in
love with her.'
Days passed without bringing any essential change in Johann Leopold's
condition. "About the same," was the comfortless answer which the
Freiherr made every morning to the anxious inquirers of the family, and
he sat more silent and gloomy than ever at the head of the table. The
only person with whom he sometimes conversed was Ludwig.
"If I could only understand what grandpapa can find in that pretentious
creature," said Hildegard. "He comes and goes, and gives his opinion
quite as if he belonged to us. But where should such people learn to
behave themselves?"
Magelone said, "So this is the famous foster-brother, Johanna's ideal.
The head of a bull-dog on the body of an elephant."
Eduard and Karl, after Ludwig had smoked a cigar with them, pronounced
him a 'first-rate fellow.' Otto found him tedious, and Aunt Thekla
called him the 'gentlest and kindest of men,' while Johanna was
constantly hurt and offended by his cynical tone.
The second day after his arrival she asked him to take a walk with her.
As they walked along under the gray wintry skies, the crows flying
cawing overhead and the snow crackling beneath their feet, Johanna said,
"This is like the good old times when you used to come home at Christmas
for the holidays. Do you remember how we used to make expeditions to
see how our summer resorts looked in their winter dress?"
"Yes," he replied; "but our walk to-day does not remind me of them. Then
your walks with me were not merely occasional; my home was yours.
Remember that since then you have rejected that home and chosen
Doenninghausen."
"I hoped you understood my choice and approved it."
"Understood,--yes; approved,--no," he replied, and changed the subject.
A few days later, after the family had all been together in the
drawing-room, he said, "I really believe, my dear Johanna, that you have
a talent for the stage, you play your part of fine lady so admirably.
You even receive the attentions of that blase lieutenant, who must be
intolerable to you, so graciously that any one who did not know you so
well as I do would be deceived by your manner."
Johanna blushed. "You are mistaken. I think my cousin Otto very
agreeable, and I like to talk with him," she rejoined.
Ludwig laughed bitterly. "Then I am forced to admire you still more. Not
only to seem, but actually to be, what every station in life may
require, to suit one's desires and opinions to one's surroundings,
requires a rare degree of talent."
"You misunderstand me," she said, offended.
"I always did," was his reply.
At the moment Johanna was hurt by such speeches from Ludwig, but she
never resented them for long. Perhaps she had an involuntary suspicion
that his mistrust and misconception sprang from disappointed affection,
or perhaps her heart was full of other things. The explanation she gave
herself was that for the sake of the help and comfort he gave to Johann
Leopold, to her grandfather, and to Aunt Thekla, she must forgive her
childhood's playmate any harshness of demeanour.
For a series of years it had been the custom for all the family to stay
over Twelfth-Night at Doenninghausen, and to leave on the seventh of
January. On the morning of the sixth the Wildenhayns were consulting
with Otto and Magelone as to whether they should depart as usual, or,
without any announcement of their intentions, stay until there was some
change in Johann Leopold, or, lastly, ask their grandfather what his
wishes were in the matter.
"I must go to-morrow; my leave is at an end," said Otto; and he added,
in a tone intended for Magelone alone, "I will come back for the
funeral."
"You should not talk so," she replied, reproachfully. She had been
thinking the same thing herself.
At this moment the Freiherr entered. "Children!" he cried, approaching
the group, "thank God with me. Johann Leopold is out of danger."
There were loud exclamations of delight. Otto's silence was unnoticed.
Magelone grew pale, tottered, and would have fallen if Eduard, who stood
next her, had not caught her in his arms.
"It is nothing,--nothing," she said, recovering herself. The Freiherr
looked keenly at her. "Dear Magelone, compose yourself," he said kindly;
but she could not endure his gaze. She bent down and kissed his hand,
bursting into tears as she did so.
"Nonsense, child! All is well now. Come, come, command yourself!" And as
he conducted her to a seat he said to himself, "She is a warm-hearted
little thing after all, and loves the lad better than I thought."
To reward her, the Freiherr addressed his account of the invalid
especially to her. She was obliged to listen to a detailed account of
Johann Leopold's return to consciousness, and recognition of his
grandfather and Aunt Thekla.
"He is sleeping now," the old Herr concluded. "Christian and Thekla are
watching him like dragons guarding a treasure, but as soon as he wakes
you shall see him, my dear child."
Ludwig entering overheard the last words. "I beg pardon, Herr von
Doenninghausen," he said in his decided way, "but there I must interpose
my veto. The sick man needs entire rest, and I must entreat that no one
except those who have hitherto been with him may enter his room without
my permission."
Hildegard stared in haughty surprise at the venturous mortal who dared
thus bluntly to contradict the Freiherr. "Dear grandfather," she said,
with the intention of provoking the old Herr still further, "if we must
all submit to the doctor's orders we are quite useless here, and had
better depart to-morrow."
She fully expected to hear a grim authoritative, "You will stay, and see
Johann Leopold as soon as possible!" Instead of which the Freiherr
replied, "Yes, children, go. You will come again for the celebration of
his recovery and betrothal." And, without noticing his grand-daughter's
mortification, he joined the Wildenhayns, who were discussing the
patient with Ludwig.
Hildegard drew her sister aside to the window. Otto went up to Magelone,
who was sitting in an arm-chair by the table, meditatively toying with
her bracelets.
"What now?" he asked in a low voice.
She looked up at him, but he could not tell whether the gleam in her
eyes meant pain, anger, or derision.
"What now?" he asked once more, and tried to take her hand, but the
slender fingers eluded his clasp.
"Take care!" she said, composedly. His face flushed. "That means, in
other words, that you are once more Johann Leopold's faithful,
submissive true-love," he said, bitterly. "You are like the cat; she
clings to the house, caring nothing about who its possessor may be."
"For shame! How can you talk to me thus?" Magelone whispered, as she
arose and looked at him with flashing eyes.
Hedwig's attention was roused. "Is it possible that you two are
quarrelling?" she said, approaching them.
Magelone instantly recovered her composure. "No, indeed; we are the best
of friends," she said, smiling, offering her hand to Otto, who, however,
did not kiss it as usual, but, after a slight pressure, relinquished it
and left the room. Magelone vowed inwardly that he should not escape
punishment.
But she had no opportunity for revenge. At meal-times the Freiherr,
elated by Johann Leopold's improved condition, was more talkative than
usual, and Otto took a lively part in the general conversation.
Immediately after breakfast he joined Karl and Eduard for a last ride in
the forest, and after dinner he never left Johanna's side.
She seemed to him more sympathetic than ever to-day. "This is genuine
truth, simplicity, kindness of heart," he said to himself, as he gazed
into her sparkling eyes. What power of expressing love lay in those
eyes! Perhaps if he had chosen they might have spoken love to him.
Perhaps if he took some pains they might still do so. If he were obliged
to depart on the morrow he could return, and in the mean time memory
should plead for him.
The longer he talked with Johanna, the warmer grew his tone, and even
his jesting words took a graver significance. Gradually the words
themselves grew grave.
He had been telling her of his garrison life, of his intercourse with
his comrades, and of the society to be found in the houses of the
married officers. "Pleasant and social as it all looks, and really is,"
he continued, "I find it very hard to leave Doenninghausen,--this time
especially: why, you surely know?"
"I can easily imagine," she replied, with a glance towards Magelone.
Did she not understand, or would she not understand? "I do not know
whether you are right," said Otto. "It is a new experience for me; I am
not yet used to it. Will you help me?"
"I do not understand you," she made answer, blushing beneath his gaze.
"What I desire is presumptuous!" he continued. "How can you help me?
What I have wasted, I have wasted----I must wait for new and better
days."
"What have you wasted?" Johanna asked.
"Opportunities to gain excellence, happiness,--and you!" he replied.
"From the first moment of our acquaintance I knew what you could be to
me, but, instead of testifying this to you, I have squandered my days,
from folly, from habit----" Here he glanced towards Magelone.
Johanna was pained. "Why will you deny----" she began.
Otto interrupted her:
"I deny nothing. I am only trying to explain to you--and, as for that,
to myself also--what is going on within me. You have often heard the
vanity of men bewailed, but not nearly enough, believe me. Against our
better selves, against the demands of our hearts, it gives us over
hopelessly into the power of every coquette who knows how to flatter
this same vanity. Coquetry itself is a flattery that we are powerless to
withstand. Yet how often, while we lie spell-bound, does our soul
thirst, and thirsting perish, unless true love comes to succor it!"
Johanna's heart beat tumultuously, but she tried to appear at her ease,
and said with a smile, and without looking up from her work,--
"Poor true love! How is it to manage if it does not know how to
coquette?"
"No need of that!" Otto rejoined, passionately. "It only needs to show
itself simply and seriously for what it is, to bring to shame all the
spells of sorcery. Believe me, Johanna, if I could ever find it,--and a
single look, a single tone, would reveal it to me,--I should be
liberated forever."
He had taken hold of the end of her embroidery, thus obliging her to
drop her hands in her lap, but she did not venture to speak or to look
up at him.
"Johanna!" he began again, after a pause, in a suppressed tone.
Just then the Freiherr called out, "Come, Otto; I want to take a hand on
this last evening with the Wildenhayns and you."
The young man arose. "_Du sublime au ridicule_," he said, with his
customary smile of gay mockery, as he went to the whist-table, and the
evening passed without any further opportunity for confidential words
with Johanna.
The next morning Aunt Thekla appeared for the first time since the
accident at the breakfast-table, in honor of the departing guests, who
were all going in the ten-o'clock train from Thalrode. She, too, was
full of hope for the invalid, and nodded an assent when the Freiherr
insisted that all the family should reassemble in Doenninghausen to
celebrate Johann Leopold's recovery.
"The Walburgs, of course; if they come, Waldemar will surely not stay
away, and the postponed festival will be all the gayer," the old Herr
concluded.
Magelone looked at Otto; he was calmly sipping his coffee, and she asked
herself, with some anxiety, whether he could really bring himself to
depart without a word of explanation with her.
"Let him--for all I care!" she said to herself, in a burst of offended
feeling, and after breakfast she devoted herself to the children, who
were brought in to say good-by. At the same time--involuntarily,
perhaps--she watched Otto. He spoke with his grandfather and with Aunt
Thekla, and then approached Johanna. Resolved to know what they were
saying to each other, she playfully chased little Johann Eduard around
the room until she came near to the pair, and then, kneeling down to tie
on the child's hat more securely, she heard Otto lament that he should
hear no tidings of Johann Leopold.
"Aunt Thekla never writes," he added, "and grandpapa, only when he wants
to read me a homily. Pray, dear Johanna, write to me sometimes, and tell
me how the invalid's recovery progresses."
In what a tone he spoke! Involuntarily Magelone sprang up to interrupt
their conversation, but Eduard called out at this moment, "Come, hurry;
it is time." Otto kissed Johanna's hand in farewell, and then turned to
Magelone. "_Au revoir_" he said, coldly. Magelone smiled and said as
calmly, "_Au revoir_."
But when embraces and farewells were over and the three carriages drove
out of the court-yard, gazed after by herself and Johanna, she could no
longer control herself, but burst into tears, and hurried into the
house.
The next instant Johanna was at her side. "Dear Magelone," she began,
gently, and would have taken her hand, but her cousin turned hastily
away. "Leave me!" she cried. And, rushing up-stairs to her room, she
closed the door and shot the bolt behind her.
"Oh, this hypocrite!" she exclaimed, and raised her clasped hands to
heaven. "She thrusts herself forward everywhere. I cannot endure it any
longer,--no, I cannot!"
She sank into an arm-chair, and wept in all the _abandon_ of a child.
Suddenly she sat erect, and wiped away her tears. "What folly!" she said
to herself. "Am I helpless and unarmed? I am more beautiful than my
rival; ought I not also to be more skilled,--cleverer? It is worth the
trial. Otto must and shall return to me."