A WAGER AND AN ADVISER.
Johanna was much agitated. Again she felt bitterly her separation from
Doenninghausen, and she was also suddenly assailed by anxiety with regard
to her future. The young man was right. When she should be no longer of
use as Lisbeth's nurse she could not remain with her step-mother; and
what then?
At times, when while sitting at her writing-table, she had felt some
consciousness of power,--she had hoped to be able to maintain herself by
literary labour. At other times she doubted. Now, when the question
seemed to her more grave than ever before, she seemed to hear her
father's words of discouragement, 'as devoid of talent as her mother.'
But why, then, was she so irresistibly impelled to give life to the
creatures of her fancy? and how had she been able in all her misery to
forget herself in so doing, if she were not called to avail herself of
the talent which she possessed?
She stood at the window, with throbbing pulses, and gazed out into the
twilight. Over in the garden a thrush was singing its evening song in
the top of an old pear-tree. Ah, that song! Its ecstasy would always
recall to the girl the most wretched hour of her existence. 'Called?'
Had she not also thought herself called to be a partaker in the bliss of
love? How true the words of Holy Writ, 'Many are called, but few are
chosen!'
The evening and a great part of the night were passed by Johanna in a
wild turmoil of thought. She began the new day with a weary head and a
heavy heart. All the more cheerful was Batti during the morning ride; he
shouted and laughed louder than ever. Suddenly he broke off, and,
guiding his horse close to her side, he said, "I am tiring you with my
nonsense, but you must excuse me to-day. I have just had a letter which
puts me quite beside myself. If the devil does not put in his oar, we
shall go to St. Petersburg this autumn."
Johanna was startled. How would Lisbeth bear the long journey and the
severity of the Russian winter?
"Helena knows nothing about it yet. I shall not tell her until
everything is ship-shape," Batti continued; "she makes such a row. But I
tell you immediately, because we have no time to lose. Better go to work
at once. St. Petersburg is the best place in the world for your debut."
"My debut!" Johanna exclaimed, in surprise.
"Pray let us have no fol-de-rol nonsense!" Batti quickly rejoined. "No
need for us to play hide-and-seek with each other! I need you, you need
me; let us confess this much at once. Your manners, rather
haughty,--coolly distinguished, I might say,--will be a fine nut for the
St. Petersburg gentlemen to crack. You will look like a queen beside my
two laughing, coquettish blondes. Besides, you have talent, enthusiasm,
energy, and look better on horseback than anywhere else. You have no
family connection. Even without appearing as an equestrienne you have
contrived to be exiled and repudiated. Nothing could be more admirably
arranged. So be sensible; do not hesitate any longer. Mount the horse
that an honest hand saddles and bridles for you, and then halloo! huzza!
for the brilliant future I promise you. Why the deuce should you
hesitate? You'll find no better teacher than myself, and no better
chance than in my circus. I should like to know what objections you can
make?"
"None," Johanna replied. "I know that your intentions are the kindest,
and I thank you cordially, but it cannot be!"
Batti laughed. "'Tis odd that no lady is without affectation!" he
exclaimed. "Let it alone, however; it does not become you."
"It is not affectation," Johanna replied. "Ask Helena if I am not
paralyzed by a mere appearance in public----"
"That can be overcome," Batti interposed.
"Hardly! The mere thought of those myriad eyes upon me----!" And she
shuddered. "But I will be honest. Even if I could overcome my timidity,
I should reject your proposal out of regard for my grandfather."
"Oho!" cried Batti, and his face flushed with anger. "My art is as
honourable as any----"
"I am not disputing that," Johanna interrupted him gently; "but here we
have to do with the invincible prejudices of an old man. As you know, he
never forgave my mother's marriage."
"And you would have regard for that old ass?" shouted Batti.
"I respect and love my grandfather," said Johanna.
Batti was silent for a while. Then he shook his head, and laughed.
"Ah, by Jove! there comes the Princess again," he said. "Keep that air;
it becomes you famously. The regard you talk of is pure folly; but you
shall have your way. I should have liked to see your father's name on my
playbills; but then, if it must not be, we can find another; and another
nationality too if you like. Mademoiselle So-and-so, Miss
This-and-that,--we'll arrange all that. Is there any Carlo Batti to be
found in the parish register? There I am called Heinrich Rauchspatz,
after my father, who kept a grocer's shop in a little town in North
Germany. Good old Rauchspatz had his prejudices too. He thought that to
have one of his name appear as an equestrian artist might affect the
respectability of his firm. Oh, what a row there was! On the other hand,
I could not bring myself to measure out molasses and weigh out snuff to
customers, so we struck a bargain. He let me off. I changed my name to
Carlo Batti, and I think I have done it credit. So now choose a name you
like, and it shall be yours."
"I cannot; believe me, I cannot," Johanna replied. "Thank you again, but
let me beg you to say no more about it. It distresses me, and can lead
to no result."
For a while they rode on in silence, and then Batti said, "One word
more, Fraeulein Johanna. Have you considered that if you accede to my
plan you insure yourself a brilliant future and a certain income? You
are now _vis-a-vis de rien_."
Johanna blushed. Twice had she heard this in the last twenty-four hours.
"I am, perhaps, not quite so helpless as you think," she said, in a
voice that faltered. "I hope I possess another talent worth cultivating.
I have--you are the first to whom I have mentioned it--I have been
trying to write."
Carlo Batti gave a long, low whistle. "A curious taste!" he said; "that
for riding on a snail when you might have a race-horse! 'But every elf
must please himself.' If you should change your mind you know where to
find me. I shall always be ready to repeat my offer."
"How kind you are!" said Johanna. "Thank you again; and do not be angry
with me." As she spoke she held out her hand to him.
He shook it kindly. "Angry, no!" he said; "but I will not deny that it
vexes me. But let us say no more about it. We have not had our gallop
yet."
And away they went along the Herrenhausen Avenue.
Batti's disappointment was, however, too great to be dissipated by the
ride. The longer he thought of Johanna's refusal the more it irritated
him, and when at his daily breakfast at the hotel he met Dr. Stein, the
latter instantly asked what ailed his 'dear friend.'
"I have been vexed; but I do not want to talk about it," Batti shouted,
as if to take all present into his confidence.
"Then let us have our breakfast," said the other. "A glass of wine will
wash away your ill humour."
"Ill humour! Who told you that I was ill-humoured?" Batti shouted again,
as he took his seat. And even before the wine was brought Dr. Stein had
learned that Batti's boasted scheme with regard to Johanna had come to
nothing.
"Perhaps you did not offer her enough," he said.
"It never came to that," Batti replied. "No, the money question does not
touch _her_; it is her fine relatives that stick in her crop. Although
the stuck-up crowd will have nothing to do with her, the only reply she
has for me is regard for them. 'Tis enough to drive one mad!"
Dr. Stein appeared to reflect. "What will you give me for taming your
bird for you?" he asked, at last.
Batti shrugged his shoulders. "I could have done it myself if any one
could," he replied. "I have more influence with her than you have."
"I'll lay you a wager!" cried the young man. "A dozen of champagne that
I drive the haughty fair into your circus."
Batti eyed him suspiciously. "What do you mean to do?" he said.
"That's my secret," said Stein, with a malicious smile. "A dozen of
champagne. Yes or no?"
"Done!" cried Batti, shaking the hand offered him. At first the business
seemed to him hardly fair; but it was not his nature to torment himself
with suspicions. If Dr. Stein won, Johanna would be the gainer; if he
lost, all would remain as it was. And Batti's ill humour vanished. When
he saw Johanna again he not only conducted himself towards her with
great friendliness, he even succeeded in suppressing all reference to
his plans for her. His task of self-control was made easier for him by
a summer rain, which prevented the morning ride for several days.
Johanna had all the more leisure to ponder her plans for the future.
There was much to arouse her anxiety. She had no idea of the value of
literary labour; she knew no one who could advise and help her. She
could hardly expect that Ludwig Werner, who could have done so, would
sympathize with her desire; and, moreover, she was separated from him by
many leagues of sea and land.
Through all her care and anxiety she persisted in writing. Her strong
healthy nature rebelled against the pressure that had been brought to
bear upon it. Grief and pain seemed but to increase her ability to work,
and when one day Dr. Wolf was again announced, she had just completed
her first story.
The pale little man, with his quiet, melancholy eyes, was so sympathetic
to her that involuntarily she held out her hand as to a friend, and
suddenly it occurred to her that she could ask of him the advice which
she needed. She had learned at Doenninghausen, through Loebel Wolf, the
_nom de plume_ of his son, and had discovered that she had read various
of his essays and criticisms with much interest and pleasure. If his
verdict upon her literary attempt should be favourable, she could
proceed with confidence.
She told him how in her changed circumstances she had occupied herself,
and she informed him also that she had begun to write some time before
leaving Doenninghausen. Suddenly she paused, unable to proceed.
He came to her aid. "If you think that I can be of any service to you,
pray command me," he said.
"I do wish to ask a favour of you," she said. "Will you read over my
attempt, and tell me frankly what you think of it?"
"Gladly. You look as if you could bear the truth," the young man
replied. And while Johanna was wrapping up her manuscript, he added,
"And your answer for the Freiherr? May I say that you accept his
proposal?"
With trembling hands she laid the package on the table before him. "I
cannot," she said. "Do not misunderstand me. I do not act, as you think,
from a want of tenderness. On the contrary, I know that my refusal will
gratify my grandfather."
Dr. Wolf looked at her inquiringly.
"If the jewels are mine, I cannot--as they are a family heirloom--sell
them. If they are not mine, I do not choose to lend myself to a farce,"
she said.
"You know what induced the Freiherr to make the proposal."
"Why does he not tell me that he cares for me, and would like to help
me?" the girl cried. "If he does not consider me worthy of his sympathy,
I cannot accept his aid."
Dr. Wolf arose. "You are right," he said, with a gentle smile. "You are
the old Freiherr's genuine grand-daughter." With these words he took his
leave, carrying with him her manuscript.
The next evening she received a note from him. He wrote: "I have just
finished your story, and I cannot refrain from wishing you 'God-speed.'
In spite of the deficiencies manifest in your work,--all _technique_
must be learned,--it shows much decided talent, a strange mixture of
grace and force. The form is not always correct, betraying the beginner;
but the colours are fine, and in spite of the optimism of your views,
which produces upon me the effect of a fairy-tale, the personages and
situations of your story are full of undeniable truth and life. As soon
as my time permits I will come to discuss details by word of mouth."
Johanna clasped her hands upon the note. "God-speed!" she said to
herself, smiling through her tears.