The music-stand in Franzensbad is torn down, the whining potpourries
have ceased, the park is deserted, legions of dry leaves whirl on the
sand, and exchange cutting remarks with the autumn wind upon the
perpetual change of every earthly thing, which short-sighted humanity
calls transitoriness.
It is the 18th of October, the "certain Baron Lanzberg's" wedding-day.
The week of torture in which he could not resolve to tell the severe
Elsa of his betrothal is past, and when he at length resolved upon it,
he received only a sad glance and a silent shrug of the shoulders as
answer from her--past are the happy hours of the betrothal time--almost
past.
If the intoxication, the confusion which never becomes consciousness is
happiness, then Felix was very happy in this time. Passion had numbed
everything in him which did not refer to the present or to the 18th of
October. He existed only in a feeling of longing and expectation. He
had no time to tell himself that Linda's happy coquetries proved a very
flippant conception of the serious situation--he himself had forgotten
the gravity of the situation. He did not think, he only felt and saw a
white, ever-changing face, a face which can smile in at least two
hundred ways--felt a perpetual warm excitement, felt something like an
electric shock when two soft lips touched his temples and left them
quickly like butterflies which will not be caught, when two soft hands
played round his neck.
Yes, ft is the 18th of October, Felix Lanzberg's wedding-day.
The wedding was to be solemnized at Castle Rineck, the Harfinks' new
possession, and in a white circular chapel, with small windows shaded
by ivy, and an altar-piece which was dark as the Catholic religion.
The castle is crowded with guests, mostly honest manufacturers, who are
proud of their fortunes acquired by their own ability, and others also
less honest, who, after they have retired from business, wish to know
nothing more of their money-making past.
Needless to say, the wedding preparations were unpleasant to the
infatuated Felix. The bride had joined in his request for a quiet
wedding, for the contact with so much industry of which a considerable
part had not yet become "finance," little pleased her; but the parents
could not let the opportunity pass without displaying their wealth to
the astonished throng.
The afternoon is gray and moist. Mrs. von Harfink--for the past week,
no longer through the obligingness of her acquaintances, but through
the obligingness of a democratic ministry thus titled--Mrs. von
Harfink, then, composes a toast for her husband to deliver at the
wedding dinner. Raimund stands beside the piano--to sing while sitting
might injure his voice--and strives to render the cry of the Valkyrs in
Wagner's worthy accents; a sympathetic poodle seconds him in this
melodious occupation.
Outside in the park Linda wanders alone through the damp October air.
The dead foliage lies thick on the lawn, and between the leaves shines
the grass, bright and fresh as hope which lies under all the load of
shattered joys of broken life, undisturbed.
The bushes, glowing in autumnal splendor, look like huge moulting birds
who shiveringly lose their feathers. Many flower-beds are already
empty, only a couple of stiff georginias and chrysanthemums still raise
their heads proudly and solitary in the universal desolation.
Linda is quite alone; her friends, none of whom are very dear to her,
are too zealously busied with cares of the toilet to disturb her
solitude; they are also afraid to expose their complexions to the
morning air. Linda feels no anxiety about her complexion, it is too
beautiful for that. With her loosened hair which, brown as the dead
leaves, falls over her back, and with the red cloak, in which she has
wrapped herself, she is a bright spot in the park.
[Illustration: She is a shy bride and not at all melancholy.]
She is not a shy bride, and not at all melancholy. Her eyes shine, her
lips quiver with excitement--distinguished acquaintances, foreign
entertainments of which she will be queen. In mind, she already sees
herself on the arm of one and another prince of the blood royal. She
could clap her hands with joy that to-day at six o'clock she will no
longer be called Harfink.
She remains standing beside a pond where near the bank four swans,
shivering and melancholy, swim round a yellow bath-house. Then a hand
is laid lightly on her shoulder. "Felix!" whispers she with the
charming smile which she always has in readiness for her betrothed.
"No, not Felix--only Eugene," replies a gay voice, and blond, handsome,
with clothes a trifle too modern, and a too pronounced perfume of
Ylang-ylang, her cousin and former admirer stands near her.
"Ah, have you really come?" says she, joyously.
"Why naturally," replies he. "You do not think that for the sake of a
few forlorn chamois I would stay away from your wedding?" Rhoeden has
come from Steinmark, to be the cavalier of his cousin's second
bridesmaid.
"We had already begun to fear--that is, Emma was afraid," said Linda,
coquettishly. "Naturally it was indifferent to me."
"Wholly indifferent? I do not believe it," said he. His arm has slipped
down from her shoulder, he has seated himself upon a low iron garden
chair, from which, with elbows on his knees, his face between his
hands, with the boldness which she likes so well in him, he can look at
her as much as he pleases.
"Wholly indifferent!" she repeats, and throws a pebble between the
swans, who dip their black bills greedily in the green water.
"O Lin! You naughty Lin! And nothing that concerns you is indifferent
to me!" he groans. "The Trauns did not wish to let me go from them--but
rather than not see you to-day I would have fought a duel with all the
Trauns in the world!"
Linda has slowly approached him; flattered vanity speaks from her
shining eyes and glowing lips. He seizes her hand and draws her to him.
"Do you know, Lin, that I was once absurdly in love with you?"