SCENES OF BEAUTY AND OF LOVE
This evening the exercises were devoted to the concept Beauty. They were
to begin with a concert; but not a concert of tones, rather of colors
and lines—charm for the eye, intoxication for the sense of sight—the
delight of seeing, carried to ecstasy.
The hall was only faintly lighted. Toker and his guests were not as
usual on the platform; a white screen surrounded by a golden frame
filled the background. Franka sat in the box that she had occupied on
the evening of Helmer’s address. But this time Helmer was with her. He
had escorted her into the hall, having been, as usual, seated next her
at the dinner-table. The two had not had much opportunity to talk
together, as some one opposite had engaged Chlodwig in an urgent
conversation, and Franka, on her side, was taken possession of by
Gwendoline—who had also accompanied them to the box. In the background
sat Frau von Rockhaus and Malhof.
Franka was scanning the hall with her opera-glass.
“Are you looking for some one?” asked Helmer; “he is sitting there in
the lower tier at the right.”
Franka’s glass followed the indicated direction, and she caught sight of
Victor Adolph, who had turned round and was likewise searching the
audience with his lorgnette. The two glasses met and the prince bowed.
Franka answered the greeting and blushed, as Helmer saw only too well.
“I had a long talk with the prince to-day,” he said; “he is a fine
fellow.”
“Who—the German king’s son?” broke in Gwendoline; “he pleases me, too,
immensely; and if he were not so evidently taken with our Miss Garlett,
I should have a good flirtation with him.”
On the signal for beginning the programme—three loud peals on a bell—a
tall figure of a woman in the costume of a Greek Muse stepped forward
and began to speak:—
Still through the hall the golden bell-tone vibrates low!
List to it, for you will not hear it ringing
A second time to-day.
A simple word which I have still to say
Of prelude or of prologue—call it as you may—
And then the silence show!
For voiceless colors will be together singing
And lines in exquisite harmonies will melt away.
Nor flute nor drum, viola, violin;
The instruments are called but Blue and Gray
And Red and Green and Yellow, bringing in
The rainbow’s soundless orchestra.
This week for Lofty Thinking held its pious rites;
Free spirits have stood forth to plead for Goodness and for Duty,
So let us also worship Beauty.
Let Wonder bear us in its spellbound flights;
Since those alone that have the power to marvel
Possess the power of mounting to the heights.
The speaker retired and the hall was completely darkened. All the more
brilliantly gleamed the great white screen on the platform. A
half-minute of intense expectation passed.
Franka turned to Helmer: “Do you know what is coming?”
“Yes, Mr. Toker gave me an inkling of it. Pictures of landscapes more
magnificent than were ever seen before—except in reality: nature-framed.
The impression is said to be magical.”
Suddenly, the white screen was transformed into a view of a primitive
tropical forest—a remarkably picturesque piece: in the foreground, at
the right and at the left, two gigantic gnarly trees, whose branches
arched upward until they met, forming a kind of triumphal gateway; on
the ground and toward the back a luxuriant growth of unknown plants and
flowers.
“That reminds me of Ernst Haeckel’s marvelous travel pictures,” remarked
Helmer.
It was evidently photographed from nature and in the most brilliant
colors. Polychrome photography had, to be sure, been invented some years
before, but here, for the first time, perfect fidelity to nature had
been attained: not only the succulent green of the foliage, and the
velvet brilliancy of the moss, but something like real light, such as
prevails in the primeval forest, streaming with emerald tints through
the tree-tops and flinging bronze reflections on the brown trunks. Dark
and pale lilac blossoms glowed in the maze of vines, resting here and
there in dense masses among the branches; here and there hanging down
like the sprays of weeping willows; then again, springing from the soil,
tall-stemmed, crimson-red flowers, with broad, wonderfully serrated
calyxes—a flora quite unknown in our temperate zone.
The prologue had not promised too much: no painter could depict such a
scene: it was nature itself. To near-sighted eyes, the picture may have
presented a more or less confused maze of colors; but through the
opera-glass every leaf and every stalk could be seen in its sharp
outlines, and if one looked with a high-powered glass one might have
detected the gauzy wings of some brilliant-colored butterfly sitting
motionless on some flower.
Franka drew a deep breath and murmured: “It is bewitching.”
“Yes, the world grows richer every day,” said Helmer; “but look, there
comes something still more amazing.”
Through the hall swept a subdued murmur of astonishment. Franka pointed
her glass to the platform again: she expected to see another, perhaps a
still more beautiful picture, but it was the same. And yet different....
Was it not alive? Didn’t the vines sway? Didn’t the light dance on the
mossy ground?—Yes—and now a small bird flew from one tree to another—a
gayly feathered little bird gleaming in metallic colors. For a minute or
two the fixed photograph had appeared in the frame, and now the
kinematographic reproduction of the same bit of nature was substituted
for it. To be sure, living pictures were no longer a new marvel, but the
sudden animation of the apparent painting—that was the surprising
effect; and the new victory was that kinematography in colors had been
added to the achievements of this art. For long ages men had been
seeking to imitate, to preserve the life around them—and now, what a
long distance between the first rude attempts at delineating the forms
of animals or the bones of animals, to the living picture accurate in
color and full of motion!
The tropic landscape was followed by one from the Far North: the
luxuriance of warmth by the splendor of the cold: a polar-sea region in
the morning light. The picture must have been taken on board of a ship,
a ship surrounded by glittering icebergs. Here also there was motion;
the spaces of open sea were alive with dancing waves; sea-gulls swept
by; the clouds that moved along the horizon changed their form and
color. A third picture portrayed a bit of the sea-depths. Had a diver
carried his kinematographic apparatus down with him, or was the picture
taken from an aquarium? The question could not be decided; what seemed
to fill the frame was azure water with coral formations on the bottom,
and populated with marvelous creatures. Opaque crustaceans tinier than
grains of sand flew this way and that quicker than a flash; gelatinous
creatures were seen going about in all directions by means of invisible
organs; others proceeded by contracting their feet; diminutive medusæ
moved slowly about, carrying their umbrellas; little sagittate
animalcules dashed in agitated flight like torpedoes; anemones hung
there, like chandeliers; shadow-like, transparent creatures, iridescent,
phosphorescent creatures—beauty, beauty everywhere!
After a brief pause, what followed was the actual Color Symphony
promised in the prologue—a concert for the eyes. The eyes alone should
enjoy it and wholly without accessories of landscape and life. The
framework disappeared; the whole platform was swallowed up in darkness
for a time, and then suddenly flamed up in a crashing chord of ruby-red,
topaz-yellow, and sapphire-blue. Then the colors began to move
rhythmically and dispose themselves into figures; they obliterated one
another and formed new combinations of ever new _nuances_; just as a
solo voice rising above an orchestral accompaniment, now hovers an
emerald-green line in the foreground and depicts—adagio—a vibrant
arabesque like a melody, while the accompanying colors diminish to a
dull silver-gray.
A second line, of the tenderest rose, now curls round the green, as if
it were a second solo voice. Now the duet is swallowed up by a violet
glow and again begins a genuine ensemble of all the instruments:
violin-tones from the golden yellow, flute-tones from the celestial
blue, a trumpet-blast from the red, a drum-tap from the brown. In ever
new forms and interchanging tempos the colors stream together and apart.
Here they cluster into balls; there they tumble in waterfalls or hover
in flakes like soft-falling snow. The most variegated lights and
reflections and beams and flame-gleams and mother-of-pearl tints make up
the ensemble. The color symphony contained also a scherzo wherein the
melodious arabesques are transformed into a whirl of grotesque hopping
figures. The finale introduces a prestissimo with the rapidity of a
tornado, of a blizzard, which finally dies down again into calm
serenity. And ever more and more pallid grow the colors, ever duller the
lights, with a decrescendo dying gradually into the most delicate
pianissimo, until at last the stage again lies in absolute darkness. And
then against the darkness, shining brilliant red, appeared, a hundred
fold in size, the crest of the house, the symbol of beauty: a rose in
full bloom.
After the intermission one of Toker’s famous guests, the German
physicist, delivered a brief address. He also produced a variation on
the theme of the evening. He proved, even more clearly than the animated
pictures could do, the manifold and hidden beauties of nature. He
revealed the wonder-pictures that are discovered by the microscope to
our astonished senses; the splendor of form of the Radiolaria, the
symmetry of the thousand-faceted eyes of insects; the delicate traceries
of mould and mosses invisible to the naked eye; the rich life in a drop
of stagnant water—beauty everywhere.
But in order that the visible world may resolve into beauty, we must
learn two things: to see and to enjoy. Could there possibly be splendor
of color and grace of contour if all living beings were blind? And could
what we see ever be felt as “beautiful” if the spectator remained
without enjoyment? The evolution of organisms required a long time until
the eye was formed; and a second long period stretched between the use
of an organ of sense and the enjoyment that grew out of the use of it.
How long it took for man to learn to enjoy the beauties of nature! In
all ancient literatures no description of nature is to be found in tones
of admiration. The ancient Greeks found delight in the grace of human
bodies, in the noble lines of artistic buildings; but in their songs
there is no trace of enthusiasm over a mountain landscape, or a
seashore. Among our peasantry, living in the midst of the most
magnificent nature, the majority are unmoved by beauty of scenery. The
formation of the organs of sense must be followed by the exercise and
the refining of the corresponding organs of the soul. Then only the soul
may be raised to the inspiring mood which is called the enjoyment of
beauty.
After the conclusion of the physicist’s address, Toker entered Franka’s
box. “To-night, Miss Garlett, you must once more come into our circle,
and you also, Mr. Helmer. This period of talk between ten o’clock and
midnight is certainly the best and most productive recreation after the
labors of the day. And you, Gwen, have you been happy in spending the
whole evening in the company of your idol?—For you must know, Miss
Garlett, that my daughter has conceived the most violent admiration for
you—which I can perfectly understand.”
A little later the Rose-Knighthood had gathered in Toker’s salons. In
spite of the brevity of their acquaintance, many warm friendships had
sprung up among the famous guests of the house. And, indeed, there was
no lack of interesting material for intercourse. The atmosphere was
alive with ideas suggested by the preceding addresses and performances.
“This is the week of wide perspectives,” one of the visitors pertinently
remarked on one occasion.
Frequently distinguished personages invited by Toker from outside joined
the house-company. This evening he had invited Prince Victor Adolph,
among others, to spend the rest of the evening in the Rose-Palace, an
invitation which the young man had accepted with alacrity in spite of
Orell’s comment that it was a very mixed society: “Eccentric people. A
revolutionary flavor. No _milieu_ for Your Royal Highness.”
The night was very warm. When Prince Victor Adolph entered the suite of
salons, many of the guests had taken refuge on the terrace to seek its
refreshing coolness. Franka, for whom the prince was looking, had also
disappeared from the salon. Toker stopped him as he was about to follow
her.
“Fine, that you came, Your Highness. I should like to tell you something
important.”
“Me?” His eyes wandered searchingly.
“Yes, you. There are things which will interest you and which you might
be willing to take hold of and help. I regard you as a young man of high
thoughts and ideals,”—the prince made a gesture of surprise,—“perhaps I
am speaking too unceremoniously?”
“Not that—but what can you know about my mode of thought, Mr. Toker?”
“What all the world knows. You are recognized as an unusual type. You
are interested in questions, a knowledge of which as a general rule does
not reach your circles. The weal and woe of the poorer classes seem to
you important questions. You are certainly an opponent of any war,
instigated from frivolous motives.... Let me tell you what is in
preparation. In your position, as the son of a powerful ruler, you might
perhaps exert an influence which would avert a threatening misfortune.”
“You excite my curiosity.”
“It is as yet a very imperfect world in which individuals have the
opportunity to bring about national conflicts from personal ambition,
and where the good will of individuals is required to forfend such
evils, instead of security being the normal, natural basis of the
intercourse of nations; where one must lay secret plans to save the life
of one’s fellow-men!”
“I am ready to enter into such a plot, Mr. Toker. Speak!”
“Thanks, but you came here this evening to enjoy the society of my
guests, and what I have to say is not so quickly explained. Could you
come to-morrow to my study? I should like to give you a glance at some
of my correspondence which has induced me to venture approaching you.”
“Very gladly, Mr. Toker. Would eleven o’clock suit you?”
“Perfectly. And now I will not detain you any longer.”
Victor Adolph took advantage of this permission to look for Franka. He
found her on the terrace, sitting with only Gwendoline for companion, at
some distance from the others. After greeting the daughter of the house,
he turned to Franka.
“I did not come to see you in your loge this evening, gnädiges Fräulein,
because I knew that I should have the pleasure of finding you here.”
Gwendoline, in accordance with the proverb which she knew so well, “Two
is company, three is none,” found a pretext for going away. Victor
Adolph sat down on the seat which she had vacated. Franka was ill at
ease: she had a suspicion that the prince was not going to talk about
indifferent things. He was silent for a while. That made her still more
uncomfortable, and in order to relieve the situation she began to
speak:—
“How were you pleased with the silent concert?”
“Concert? What concert?” he asked absently.
“The color symphony.”
“I was not looking at the platform, but into an almost perfectly dark
box in which I still could make out the outline of a beloved form.”
Now Franka remained silent. What could she answer to that?
After a rather long pause he remarked: “What a lovely evening!”
“Marvelously beautiful,” replied Franka. The conversation could continue
on this subject. And she added: “So mild, so fragrant, so still.”
“Still? Why, no ... don’t you hear the chirping of insects and the
wavelets breaking on the shore? The night is breathing.”
“As if in peaceful slumber.”
“No, it is not asleep—just see, how its hundred thousand open eyes are
sparkling.”
She looked up at the starry sky. Indeed, there shone a myriad of
glittering eyes. As Franka sat there, bathed in the soft moonlight, with
her head upturned, her large dark eyes directed to the firmament, her
delicate features as it were illuminated with reverence, she seemed more
exquisitely beautiful than ever.
“You are right.... Every instant one or another of the stars seems to
say, ‘I am.’ That is after all the deepest of mysteries, that
unfathomable meaning of the verb ‘to be.’”
“Franka, I love you!”
The words came so abruptly that Franka felt a violent shock. It fell
upon her like a burning bolt. She drew herself up and pushed back her
chair. Victor Adolph was himself startled at his own words; he had not
anticipated making so sudden a declaration of his love. Here once more
were those primitive incitements to passion and love:—the summer night,
the perfume of flowers, the moonlight ... and that bewitching beauty!
Beauty had been the topic of the whole evening: the magic of the tropics
and of the Arctic sea, of Radiolaria and anemones, but there had not
been a word said about the most potent of all the powers of beauty—in a
lovely young woman’s face. What were all the lilies and birds of
paradise, what were all the dancing colors and lights, in comparison to
such a pair of beaming eyes, from which gleamed a human soul?
A short pause ensued, during which both felt their hearts beat faster.
Then Victor Adolph began to speak in a low tone:—
“You must not be angry, Fräulein Garlett ... the audacious words came
almost involuntarily out of my mouth. Honestly, I, myself, as I said
them for the first time, have realized what deep feelings toward you I
cherish. Yes, I love you, sincerely and passionately. I believe you
might crown my happiness with the richest gift one could conceive if
only you would return my love. You must not for an instant misunderstand
me—I offer you my hand. Do not answer now—I desire no hasty answer. You
must first weigh all things in the balance—for there would be
difficulties, reserves.... I am not a free and independent man, and
perhaps great responsibilities will be put upon me....”
Franka stood up: “You asked me not to answer and I beg you, my prince,
my dear prince,”—her voice trembled with deep emotion,—“do not say
anything more.... I am going into the salon now.”
She took a few steps and was soon surrounded by a number of persons. The
tête-à-tête was at an end. The prince, bowing low, went off in another
direction. Franka took no further part in the social festivities but
fled to her room.