JOHANNA TO LUDWIG.
"DOeNNINGHAUSEN, May 10, 1874.
"I must confess, my dear Ludwig, that I laughed heartily over
your last letter,--that is, over the lecture at the end of it.
Nevertheless, you are right, and I will pay it all heed.
"So you do not want me to send you 'philosophic
observations,'--'thot we doa wer awnselves,' our peasants
say,--but a minute description of my daily life. Listen, then,
you dear snappy old friend, to the record of my days.
"Whilst you were writing the letters from Suez and Aden, which
only arrived the day before yesterday, in the midst of the
tropical verdure and sunshine which they describe, our northern
spring was announcing its approach, as usual, with wind and
rain. But now it is here in all its beauty, and I enjoy it as
much as possible in the open air.
"Before our first breakfast, which is really the only time I
have entirely at my own disposal, I walk or ride; after it I
always ride with my grandfather; and when, as is frequently the
case, Aunt Thekla and Magelone either pay visits or receive
them, I sit with the old Herr in the balcony of his study,
which projects directly into the tops of the lindens. We follow
your wanderings on the map, or I read aloud to him in some book
of travels, which brings us near you in spirit. But late in the
evening, when we have all said 'good-night' to one another, I
slip out once more into the park, to listen to the rustle of
the trees and to the 'songstress of the night,' the
nightingale, trilling among the shrubbery on the shores of the
little lake.
"You see, grandpapa and the spring are almost my only society,
and it is very pleasant. After Johann Leopold left us, by
grandpapa's desire I made several visits among the neighbours.
They received me courteously, returned my visit, and invited me
again, but--perhaps it is my own fault--I do not feel quite
comfortable among them. Grandpapa's dictatorial, almost
menacing tone in which he introduced me as 'my grand-daughter
Johanna' seems to ring in my ears, and I ask myself how I
should have been received if I had presented myself without
this 'open sesame,'--only bearing my father's name, of which I
am so proud. I may possibly be doing some of these people
injustice, but not all of them. At any rate, my mistrust of
them serves to alienate me from them mentally, and therefore it
is best to mingle with them as little as possible. I do not
know whether grandpapa is aware of this feeling on my part,
but, at all events, he lets me do as I please.
"May 18.
"According to Aunt Thekla, society about here is unusually gay
this year. A Herr von Rothkirch is visiting at Klausenburg, who
enlivens young and old; and one day there is a picnic, and the
next a _bal champetre_, and the next an excursion to some point
of interest in the neighbourhood. Magelone is in her
element,--she dresses and flirts, and has a 'divine time.' Aunt
Thekla shakes her head sometimes, but grandpapa says, 'Let her
do as she chooses, we are not all alike. I cannot take it ill
of the little thing that she does not mope and sigh like a girl
forsaken of her lover; and if she finds Doenninghausen dull
without Johann Leopold, it is well that she can find amusement
elsewhere.' How grandpapa can believe that Magelone loves
Johann Leopold is more than I can comprehend. She herself tells
every one who will listen that she is only contracting a
_mariage de raison_. At times I have felt sure that she loves
another; or is she right when she maintains that she cannot
love?
"And, after all, what is love? Is it a spell to which we
accidentally succumb, or does it result from certain
requirements of our being which bestow us helplessly upon
another? How, for example, was it possible for Christine to
fall in love with Red Jakob? He is almost repulsive to me, but
she is in bliss.
"They married in April, and went to live at the Forest
Hermitage. Of course grandpapa had to know: I chose my time,
and told him the story as pathetically as I could. Johann
Leopold was right,--I did not succeed in softening his heart.
'A fine reformation, truly,' he said, 'with the fellow tied
fast by the arm. Johann Leopold can, of course, employ
whomsoever he pleases, but I'll have nothing to do with the
rascal, and so long as my eyes are open he must not show
himself on Doenninghausen land; on that condition I'll not
interfere with him.'
"So on one of our first fine mornings I rode up to the Forest
Hermitage alone. The bridle-path winds up the Klettberg through
a magnificent hemlock forest, and then along the summit for
some distance. The light comes brighter and brighter through
the trunks, glimpses are caught here and there of distant
views, bathed in a magic blue mist, which vanish the next
moment. Then the path turns about a rock, and with a long
breath you find yourself on a plateau that emerges from the
forest like an island in the ocean. Around you, below you, far
as the eye can reach, lie the wooded peaks, gleaming in the
golden morning light, while far and near yawn a myriad dark
chasms, tempting to the eye and to the imagination.
"Christine's joyful welcome roused me from my rapt delight in
gazing. When I turned towards her I saw the Forest
Hermitage,--the Observatory, as Johann Leopold called it,--a
two-storied pavilion, with a high, pointed roof. Red Jakob was
just coming out of his door. Even without his lame arm, I
should have recognized him by his thick tawny curls, although
his rather low stature and delicate frame were a disappointment
to me. After all that I had heard of him, I had expected a
giant. As he approached me and uttered a few words of
gratitude, I had a disagreeable sensation; there was something
in his eyes reminding me of a beast of prey lurking for a
victim,--did you notice this?--and when he laughed and showed
his dazzlingly white, pointed teeth, I was almost afraid of
him.
"This impression was strengthened by the bitterness which
fairly saturates his rude humour. Christine, fortunately, takes
it all in jest, and only laughs. When, after I had admired
every nook and corner of her small domain, she conducted me to
her sitting-room, and with fresh exclamations of delight made
me sit down upon a hard old leathern sofa, her husband said,
with a scornful laugh, 'Don't make so much of your belongings,
or the gracious Fraeulein will think you took such a miserable
cripple as myself only for the sake of what you got with him.'
"She looked at her red-haired monster with a blissful smile.
'There now, Fraeulein, he is always joking like that,' she made
reply. 'Because he thinks I might grieve for coming to him,
poor as I was, he makes believe that he cares nothing for all
that we have; but he really likes it as well as I do.'
"With these words she left the room, and I heard her bustling
about in the kitchen. Red Jakob took a seat opposite me. 'Yes,
yes, it is a great thing to set up as superintendent,' he said,
and laughed so that all his pointed teeth showed between his
red lips. 'And if I now and then lay hold on a fellow using his
shooting-iron where he ought not, I can show myself as honest
as an old thief turned detective.'
"'You should not say such bitter things,' I said to him. 'My
cousin, Johann Leopold, likes you, and you know it.'
"He shook his head. 'No, gracious Fruleen! they don't like a
fellow like me. They keep him, and the Squire always did
that,--but why? Because he is the master, and I am like his
horse or dog; he will feed it while it can walk,--no longer. Do
not contradict me; I know it all from experience. So long as
the Squire and I were playmates, the old Herr was well pleased
that I knew more about hunting than even the gamekeeper
himself, and that nothing that could run or fly escaped my
rifle. 'You must get Jakob to teach you. You must do as Jakob
does,' was the cry; so that at last I really thought I was a
fine fellow and could not go astray. Not exactly that, I thank
you! When the Squire cared no longer for trapping game and
shooting birds, there was no place for me; and all that I had
been praised for I was obliged to do in secret, as though it
were a sin. It might be,--but I don't think it! No, I don't
think it. Why did I have keen sight and a sure hand----Ah,
indeed, I have the last no longer!'
"He arose and looked out of the window, that I might not see
his face.
"'You ought to have been gamekeeper,' I said.
"'True, and the Squire meant I should be, and the old Herr
wanted it, and I tried it; but I can't write well enough for
the head place, and I cannot submit to be ordered about by the
gamekeeper, and the gamekeeper's wife and assistants. I
preferred to earn my bread as a woodcutter, and nothing went
wrong until the accident.'
"Christine here made her appearance with coffee, and gave
another turn to the conversation; but as I was going Red Jakob
said, 'Gracious Fruleen, I have observed that you think me an
ungrateful man. I am not that. I never in my life forgot a
benefit that came from a kind heart without pride or arrogance.
I never shall cease to be grateful for what you did for
Christine; and if you ever need me, I'll go through fire and
water to serve you.' And his cruel eyes flashed so that I was
frightened. God save me from such a helper!
"I am sorry the man is so antipathetic to me, for Christine's
sake. Her devotion to me is really a pleasure, and I take great
delight in seeing the fresh young creature busy about her
little house. I have been two or three times since to visit
her, and Jakob was always 'away in the grounds,' as Christine
says proudly. The rough fellow really seems to have a sincere
love of nature. He has discovered a charming lookout about a
hundred steps from the Hermitage, and has cleared away all
branches and bushes that could obstruct the view, and made a
grassy mound there upon which I could lie and dream for hours.
Christine regretted that Jakob was not at home to do the
honours of the surrounding landscape; but what do I care to
know how the mountain-peaks, piled up in all directions, are
named; or whither leads the road that winds over this or that
eminence; or the name of the factory smoking in the forest
depths? The unknown distance allures and occupies my thoughts.
I never weary of asking, Do you hold concealed aught for me?
while I gaze with indifference across the familiar valley at my
feet. Nestling against the rocks on the summit of which I sit
lies Klausenburg, with its towers and turrets. 'The same
foolish old Johanna!' I hear you say. Dear Ludwig, it is easy
for you men, roaming abroad in the world whither you will, to
exalt the virtues of content and domesticity. Permit us, who
must sit quietly at home, to indulge in what dreams we will.
"And this reminds me of my step-mother, who has not yet found
an abiding-place. A little while ago I had a letter from her,
the first since I left her. She has been unable to procure an
engagement--a failure which she ascribes to the machinations of
her rivals, who would, if they could, prevent her from any
advantageous employment of her talents; and she assures me
that were it not for the assistance of a friend, whose name she
does not mention, she must long since have succumbed to their
persecutions. She writes that my little sister grows prettier
and more like herself every day; that the child has also
inherited her talent, and has lately appeared with great
success in a juvenile ballet. Strange to say,--although I
myself always desired nothing more eagerly than a career upon
the stage, and although the majority of great actresses have
made their _debut_ very early,--I cannot endure the thought of
my little Lisbeth making her appearance now before the public,
and I vainly try to answer the question as to what would have
been my father's wish in the matter. But why write this to you,
who despise and condemn the actor's profession? It comes from
my old habit of talking to you of everything that is occupying
my mind. Kind and really paternal as my grandfather is, I could
not speak of this to him. I did not even venture to tell him
that I had received the letter, and Aunt Thekla, with all her
sympathy for me, would be helpless here.
"As usual, my letter has grown to a volume. When will it reach
you? When will you read it? Answer me soon, and tell me of your
grand, great world, as I do you of my circumscribed existence.
Wherever you go I follow you in heart and thoughts."
Early in June there came surprising news from Waldemar. He had obtained
a position in the suite of the ambassador to St. Petersburg, wished to
take his bride thither, and had persuaded her parents to consent to a
hasty marriage. Now he wrote to invite his family to be present at it on
the 15th of the month. An old-fashioned celebration, after his
grandfather's taste, was out of the question, since the Walburgs were in
deep mourning for the death of an uncle.
The Freiherr, as the head of the family, felt that his presence, even at
this quiet marriage, could not be dispensed with. Aunt Thekla, on the
contrary, shrank from taking so long a journey. "It is seventeen years
since I have been more than a few miles away from the Doenninghausen
domain," she said. "The thought of meeting all those strangers frightens
me. I think I could scarcely make a respectable curtsey to them. Please,
dear Johann, let me stay at home." And the Freiherr, after he had
laughed at her and tried to persuade her, acceded to her wishes.
He was all the more inexorable towards Magelone. She longed to accompany
him to Vienna. In imagination she revelled in delicious toilettes, saw
herself with crowds of admirers, completing conquest after conquest, and
returning laden with who could tell what spoils of victory, when her
grandfather's 'no' cut short all her dreams and aspirations.
"If you were free as you appear to be, or bound outwardly as you are in
spirit, I should not object," he said; "but, as you are,
misunderstandings might arise that had better be avoided. And I think,
too, that you ought to remain here, out of regard for Johann Leopold."
Magelone knew that when her grandfather spoke thus he was not to be
contradicted; but she was vexed enough at having placed herself in an
ambiguous position, and when she went to bed she cried herself to sleep,
like a child who has lost its Christmas-gift by its own fault.
On the same evening Aunt Thekla, when she was alone with her brother,
ventured timidly to propose that he should take Johanna to Vienna with
him.
"I have already thought of it," he replied. "I should like to give the
child a pleasure, and, moreover, she is the truest Doenninghausen of them
all,--she would have done me credit. But to introduce her by that name
which she clings to so nonsensically--I cannot bring myself to do it."
Thus it was that the Freiherr started on his journey accompanied only by
old Christian. Aunt Thekla's preparations for it were sufficient for a
voyage around the world. Now and then she reproached herself for saving
herself all the inconveniences and fatigue of travel while thus sending
her old brother into the world alone; but he would not listen to her.
"Don't behave as if I were too infirm to bear a railway journey," he
said at last, rather impatiently. "Our Emperor is just my age, and he
travels from one end of his kingdom to the other."
This example silenced the old lady's anxiety and helped her to undergo
her brother's departure with dignity. But when, having accompanied him
as far as Thalrode, she returned without him, and reflected that each
flying minute bore him farther and farther from her, and that days and
perhaps even weeks must pass before she should hear his step or see his
dear handsome face again, it was all over with her, and she atoned by
floods of tears for her previous fortitude.
"Dear aunt, do not cry any more," Magelone said to her in the course of
the afternoon. "You behave as if grandpapa were going to his own
funeral. Come, let us drive out, to Klausenburg, to Remmingen,--wherever
you will,--it will divert your mind."
"I don't wish to have it diverted," sighed Aunt Thekla. "To think of my
dear good Johann, or to do something for him, is the only consolation I
can have. Come, Johanna, let us dust the archive-room thoroughly. You
know grandpapa cannot endure to have a servant enter it."
Johanna declared her willingness for the task. Magelone took up her
embroidery with a yawn; really this eternal stitching in all the heat
was insufferable!
She seated herself at the piano and began a nocturne of Chopin's; but
the idea of playing when there was no admiring audience! Her hands
dropped wearily upon the keys, which sent forth an echoing chord, and
the elfish eyes were veiled.
"Oh, to have to stay here when they are so happy in Vienna" sighed
Magelone. "And all for the sake of Johann Leopold, who cares as little
for me as I do for him! And, of all places, in this horrid
Doenninghausen, where there never is the slightest diversion!"
Her thoughts were interrupted by a slight noise; the door was cautiously
opened, and a tall figure appeared on the threshold. "Otto!" she
exclaimed. And the next moment he clasped her in his arms and kissed
her.
"But, Otto," she said, reproachfully, as she extricated herself from his
embrace, "what is the matter with you? what brings you here? It must be
something very extraordinary," she added, startled by the dark fire in
his eyes and the strange rigid look about his mouth.
He laughed bitterly. "You would ridicule me if I told you that a desire
for a reconciliation with you brought me hither, and more still when you
hear that I have other reasons to give other people. But all the same it
is a fact that the breach between us grows more intolerable to me every
day."
"Why did you not write?" asked Magelone.
"Because you made Johanna your go-between. She wrote me so cold and
stiff a note. The wind at Doenninghausen seems to blow from a quarter
strangely unfavourable to me."
Magelone knew only too well what had influenced the tone of Johanna's
letter; she blushed slightly and turned away her eyes, but before she
could reply Aunt Thekla and Johanna entered the room.
"You came to escort your grandfather?" the old lady said, after
salutations had been exchanged. "Unfortunately, he left this morning."
"So they told me in Thalrode," the young man replied. "But I am not
going to Vienna. I have come to you, dear Aunt Thekla. You must help me.
Come, sit down, and let me make my confession. Please stay; you must
hear it too," he added, as Johanna and Magelone were about to leave the
room.
Aunt Thekla sat up stiffly. "Confession?" she repeated, in a troubled
tone. "Otto, you have not been----" she hesitated.
"Playing again?" He completed her sentence, as he took a chair opposite
her. "Yes, dear aunt; unfortunately, I have broken my promise and
played, and have lost. Do not reproach me, I entreat; I do that myself.
Rather let us consult how I can be extricated from my embarrassments;
nay, even more than that,--how I can be relieved in my extremity."
"Otto, how could you?" Magelone exclaimed, reproachfully. Aunt Thekla
stared at him in dismay, and Johanna was mute with terror.
Otto shrugged his shoulders. "It is easy to ask and to condemn. Try
being mewed up in a wretched garrison, where you have lost interest in
what amuses others, because you have learned to wish for something
better and higher. Find yourself disappointed in your wish,"--here both
Johanna and Magelone were convicted by his reproachful glance,--"and
then in your desolation and distress see others enjoying the
intoxicating, all-engrossing delights of play. I wonder whether your
lofty virtue would hold out?"
Aunt Thekla was weeping. "Poor boy!" she whispered to herself. Johanna's
heart beat fast. Magelone smiled, half in scorn, half flattered. After a
pause Otto went on, turning to Aunt Thekla: "Gambling debts must, as you
know, be paid within four-and-twenty hours. I had nothing, and only knew
of one way out of the difficulty; that is, I gave a note. If it is not
paid in a week----" He broke off and looked gloomily on the ground; then
added, "When the invitation to Vienna came, I instantly concluded that
grandpapa would accept it, and I determined in his absence to apply to
you, dear aunt. You will not leave me in the lurch."
The old lady sighed. "Certainly not, if my few hundreds can help
you----"
"I need nearly three thousand thalers," Otto interrupted her.
"Three thousand!" cried Aunt Thekla. "Wretched boy! Never in my life
have I had so much at once."
"The bailiff would give you the money at any time," said the young man;
"and if grandpapa were angry at first----"
"Otto, what are you thinking of?" his aunt interposed, hastily. "It
would be actual robbery! I will not listen to such a thing. Moreover,
the bailiff never would do it."
Otto changed colour. "Then there is nothing for it but to send a bullet
through my brains," he said in an undertone, as if to himself.
Aunt Thekla again burst into tears. "If I could only help you!" she
said. "But if I stake everything that I have, my money, my few trinkets,
my laces----" Suddenly a thought occurred to her. "Magelone, you can
help!" she cried. "Your beautiful pearl necklace,--Loebel Wolf will
certainly advance you the needed sum upon it, and when Johann Leopold
comes back he will redeem it."
For a moment Magelone was speechless with terror. Her pearl necklace,
the only thing she had been able to save from the wreck of her fortune,
must it, too, go? She could not let it if she would, for had she not
vowed, when money, plate, trinkets, everything, in short, had been
swallowed up in paying poor Willfried's debts, never, never again, even
for the dearest being on earth, to offer up such a sacrifice? But of
course she could not explain this now, when Otto, Aunt Thekla, and
Johanna were all looking at her so expectantly. A happy thought came to
her aid. "Gladly--gladly would I give it up," she stammered, and the
tone of her voice, the tears in her eyes, must convince her hearers how
sincere was her regret that she could not do so, "if I only had the
necklace; but I was anxious about its safety, and I gave it to
grandpapa, who locked it in his safe."
"But how would my Christmas-gift do?" cried Johanna. "If it is worth so
much----"
"Oh, child, how could I forget it?" Aunt Thekla interrupted her. "Of
course it can help us. But you have no Johann Leopold who will redeem
it," she added, less hopefully. And Otto rising, said, "No, thank you,
Johanna; I cannot accept such a sacrifice from you."
Johanna, too, rose. "You must!" she cried, and her eyes sparkled. "Tell
him, Aunt Thekla, that he must. If I am not a near enough relative to
help him, he must reflect that it is the right of all of us to help to
avert a family misfortune----" She paused, and hurried from the room.
"How good she is!" said Aunt Thekla.
"More than good,--magnanimous!" murmured Otto, who was pacing the room
with folded arms, and Magelone once more marvelled at 'this girl's
extraordinary luck; everything redounded to her honour and glory.'