Latterly, while Ferdinanda still kept her bed, Uncle Ernst hardly left
his room, and the Schmidt family circle therefore was to a great extent
broken up, the two friends had divided their evenings between it and
the Kreisels pretty regularly as they said, or very irregularly as Aunt
Rikchen said. Reinhold was forced to agree with his aunt, and attempted
no further excuses, as he did not want to tell any untruths, and could
not acknowledge the true reason. The real truth was that his aunt's
perpetual complaints threatened to destroy his last remnant of
cheerfulness, while on the contrary he found the comfort and
consolation that he so greatly needed in the atmosphere of sunshine
which the sweet blind girl diffused around her. Latterly, indeed, even
this sunshine had been a little clouded. The two friends had a
suspicion, which they did not however impart to the poor girl, that the
eccentric old gentleman, having made up his mind, as he said, that he
could no longer with honour remain a Socialist, had sacrificed his
dislike to speculation to the darling wish of his heart, to provide for
Cilli after his own death, and had been speculating eagerly with the
scanty means that he had toilsomely scraped together in the course of
years. He was very mysterious about it indeed, and denied it roundly
when Justus laughingly taxed him with it; but Justus would not be
deceived, and even thought he could gather, from a casual expression
the other had let fall, that it was the doubtful star of the
Berlin-Sundin Railway to which the old man had confided the fragile
bark of his fortunes. It seemed some confirmation of this opinion that
latterly, when the almost worthless shares had become, in consequence
of the new and dazzling prospectus, an object of the wildest
speculation, and had consequently risen to double their value, the old
gentleman's cheerfulness had returned also, and he had even ventured
upon some of the dry witticisms which he only uttered when he was in
the brightest spirits. Cilli said that now everything went well with
her, and Reinhold, as she asserted this with her sweet smile, tried to
stifle another and much worse anxiety--an anxiety which he had once
hinted to Justus, whereupon the latter had replied in his careless
fashion: "Nonsense! Love is a weakness, angels have no weaknesses;
Cilli is an angel, and so--basta!"
He found Cilli alone in the modest little sitting-room, in the act of
arranging the tea-things on the little round table in front of the
hard, faded old sofa. She performed such small household duties with a
confidence which would have quite deceived a stranger as to her
infirmity, and with a grace which always had a fresh charm for
Reinhold. She would not permit any assistance either. "It is cruel,"
said she, "not to let me do the little that I can do."
So he sat now in the sofa corner, which was always his place--the other
belonged to her father when he came in from the office--and looked on
as she came and went with her gliding step, and as often as she
returned to the table seemed smilingly to bid him welcome again and
again.
"Where is Justus!" asked she.
"He has just gone to dress."
"How far has he got with you?"
"I shall be finished to-morrow, or the day after."
"Then it will be my turn; I am looking forward to it so--I mean to the
portrait. I should so like to know what I look like. However often I do
so"--she drew her soft finger slowly along her profile--"and that is
just like looking in the glass, yet you never know how you look till a
great artist shows it to you in your portrait. Justus is going to do me
in life-size too."
"But he might have given you that small satisfaction long ago."
"It is not a small thing, even though he does work so wonderfully
quick," answered Cilli eagerly; "every hour, every minute is precious
to him; he owes them all to his work. Now that he can make use of me
for his work, it is different of course."
"Do you know then, dear Cilli, what we all look like?"
"Perfectly; you are a tall man, with curly hair and beard, and a broad
forehead, and blue eyes. Justus is not so tall, is he?"
"He is a little shorter, dear Cilli."
"But only a very little," Cilli went on triumphantly; "and his hair is
not so thick, is it?"
The last words were said with some hesitation.
"Not at the temples, dear Cilli."
"Only not at the temples, of course!" said Cilli quickly; "but his
great beauty is in his eyes--great, flashing artist's eyes, which can
take in a whole world! Oh, I know what you both look like, and my
father too! I could draw his portrait!"
She laughed happily and then suddenly became grave.
"That is why I am distressed, too, when the faces I love are not
cheerful. Justus's face is always cheerful, but then he is an artist,
and can only live in sunshine; my father, too, has recovered his old
cheerfulness, and now you must return to what you were at first--do you
remember?"
"Indeed I do, dear Cilli. So many things have happened since then; you
know what I mean. They have troubled me, and trouble me still. And then
Justus is right, I am an idler; I must manage to get to work again."
"How did the General receive your work?"
Reinhold looked up in astonishment; there was nothing surprising indeed
in the question. He had mentioned the subject, as he had nearly all,
excepting one, the most important--often enough at the tea-table here;
but the tone in which Cilli had asked was peculiar.
"How do you mean, dear Cilli?" he asked in return.
"I only wanted to remind you that you had not been idle even here,"
said Cilli.
She was standing opposite to him at the other side of the tea-table,
and the light of the lamp fell full upon her pure features, on which
was expressed some uneasiness. She seemed to be listening for the step
of her father or Justus on the stairs. Then, as everything remained
still, she felt her way round the table, sat down on the edge of the
sofa, and said, while a deep colour suffused her whole face: "I did not
tell you the truth; it was for another reason that I asked you. I have
something else to ask you--a very great, very bold request--which you
will perhaps grant me, if you are sure, as you ought to be, that it is
not idle curiosity that prompts me, but heartfelt sympathy in your weal
and woe."
"Tell me, Cilli; I believe there is nothing in the world that I would
deny you."
"Well then, is it Elsa von Werben?"
"Yes, dear Cilli."
"Thank God!"
Cilli sat still, with her hands in her lap; and Reinhold was silent
too; he felt that he could not have spoken at the moment without tears.
Cilli knew that he was not ashamed of his confession, but she had to a
certain degree forced it from him, and as if in apology, she said: "You
must not be angry with me. Good as Justus is, one cannot confide such
things in him. I think he would hardly understand it. And you have no
one else here excepting me; and I thought perhaps it would not be so
hard for you if you could speak openly of your feelings even to blind
Cilli."
Reinhold took her hand, and carried it to his lips.
"I am as grateful to you, dear Cilli, as a wounded man is when balm is
poured upon his wounds, and I know no one in whom I would rather
confide than in you, purest, kindest, best!"
"I know that you like me and trust me," said Cilli, warmly returning
the pressure of Reinhold's hand; "and I am well punished for my
cowardice in having, notwithstanding, kept silence so long; for, only
think, Reinhold, I believed at first----"
"What did you believe, dear Cilli?"
"I believed at first that it was Ferdinanda; and I was very, very
unhappy about it, for Ferdinanda may be as beautiful as you all say,
and as talented, but you would never have been happy with her. You are
so kind and so good-tempered, and she is--I will not say ill-tempered,
but haughty. Believe me, Reinhold, I feel it, as a beggar feels whether
what is given him is from kindness or only to get rid of him. I have
never put myself in her way, God knows; but He knows also that she has
never gone a step out of her way to say one of those kind words to me
which fall so readily from your lips, because your heart is overflowing
with them. For some time, too, I trembled for Justus, till I learned
to understand his nature, and saw that an artist--inasmuch as he
is unlike other men--cannot love either like other men. But you, with
your tender, loving heart, how should you not love--and love
immeasurably--and be immeasurably unhappy if your love is misplaced! I
have said this often to Justus when we were talking about you--at
first; now I do not do so any more, for he chatters about everything
that comes into his head, and I have observed how carefully you have
guarded your secret."
"That I have indeed!" cried Reinhold. "I might almost say from myself;
and I cannot think how you have discovered it."
"It seems almost a miracle, does it not?" said Cilli; "and yet it is
not one, if you seeing people knew how well the blind hear, how they
pay attention to every trifle, and to the tone in which you mention a
particular name, as you bring it in at first shamefacedly, and then a
little more boldly, as soon as you feel secure, till at last all your
conversation is full of the music of the loved name, as in the East the
dawn is filled with the name of Allah, cried by the Muezzins from the
roof of the minaret. And ah! what sadness there often was in the tone
in which you spoke it! What trembling hope of joy breathed in it, when
you told me the other day that you were going to spend the evening with
her, to pass hours in her company at that large party! They were your
only happy hours, my poor Reinhold, for the very next day fell the
frost upon the young green shoots, and since then the beloved name has
never passed your lips. Are you then quite in despair now?"
"No, dear Cilli," answered Reinhold; "I only see a happiness which I
thought I might grasp with my hand, as a child thinks it may grasp a
star, vanish from me in grey distance."
And Reinhold related everything from the beginning, and how he was
certain, though she had never spoken a word of love to him, not even on
that delightful evening, that she understood him; and that so noble and
high-minded a creature could never trifle with a man's silent,
respectful devotion, and therefore the favour with which she
distinguished him--her kind words and friendly looks--could not be mere
trifling, and if not love was yet a feeling that under happier
circumstances might have blossomed into true, perfect love. But
circumstances could hardly be more unfavourable than they were at
present. So melancholy an event as that which had occurred would in any
other case have united the other members of the two families in
sympathy; in fact it could only have occurred between two families, the
heads of which were so utterly opposed in their social views as were
the General and Uncle Ernst. He was himself quite independent of his
uncle, and should always assert that independence, particularly in his
love-affairs; but Elsa was most especially the child of the house, the
daughter of a father she so justly and highly honoured, and he feared
the reaction which such an event might produce upon the General, who
otherwise--from affection for his daughter and regard for him--might
perhaps have sacrificed his class-prejudices, but now--and who could
blame him?--would intrench himself doubly and trebly behind these very
prejudices, which in his eyes were none. And there was another thing!
From some remarks made by the General, at the dinner-table at Golmberg,
he had taken the Werbens for one of the many poor noble families; and
now Elsa suddenly appeared to him as a wealthy heiress, to whom, if she
were really prepared to sacrifice her inheritance to her love, as would
be necessary, he had nothing to offer but a faithful heart, and such a
modest livelihood as a man like him could at best provide. Under these
circumstances every prospect seemed so closed to him, every hope so
crushed and forbidden to him by the feelings of simple propriety, that
there could be no question of wooing on his part, and that it would
require a positive miracle to change for the better the present
miserable state of affairs.
Cilli's face had reflected every sentiment that Reinhold expressed, as
the crystal surface of a calm mountain lake reflects the light and
shadows of the sky. But now the last shadow faded before the sunny
smile with which she said:
"Love is always a miracle, Reinhold; why should not a second happen?
Did you not tell me that Elsa understood and did not resent the silent
language of your eyes? And even if, as I suppose, the late sad events
have been concealed from her, she must have known the conditions of the
inheritance, and also her father's character and views, and yet she had
no fear and saw nothing impossible in it, but believed, and so surely
still believes, that all things work for the best with true love."
"A pious belief, Cilli, such as well beseems a woman, but very ill
beseems a man who is expected and rightly to understand and respect the
world and the laws which regulate the world."
"Understand!" said Cilli, shaking her head, "yes! But respect them!
How can any one respect what is so senseless, so godless, as that must
necessarily be which will not allow the union of two hearts that God
has formed for each other? What God has joined together let not man put
asunder!"
"Ferdinanda and Ottomar might say that for themselves too, dear Cilli."
"Never!" cried Cilli. "God knows nothing of a love which believes in
nothing, not even in itself, and therefore bears nothing: no delay, no
remonstrance, however just; no obstacle, however unavoidable; and
proves thereby that it is itself nothing but pride, arrogance, and
adoration of self. No, Reinhold, you must not do yourself the injustice
of comparing your modest, noble love, with that dark, unholy passion!
And you ought not either to have such a difficult road before you as
those unhappy people. Your path must be free and light as your love;
you owe that to yourself and to the woman you love."
"Tell me what I ought to do, Cilli. I will believe in you as if an
angel spoke to me!"
"Only be yourself, Reinhold; neither more nor less. You, who have so
often opposed a bold front to the merciless, raging elements, must not
stoop your head before your fellow-men; you must, when the hour comes,
as it perhaps soon will, speak and act as your pure brave heart prompts
you. Will you?"
She put out her hand to Reinhold.
"I will," said Reinhold, taking her hand.
"And, Reinhold, as surely as these eyes will never see the light of the
sun, will that sun shine on your path, and you will live to be a joy to
yourself and a blessing to mankind."
"Good gracious, Cilli!" said Justus, opening the door and standing
still on the threshold; "are you celebrating Christmas in November?"
"Yes, Justus!" cried Reinhold; "Christmas, for Christmas it is when the
heavens open and the messengers of love come down to announce peace."
"Then," said Justus, shutting the door, "I strongly recommend to them
my Memorial Committee, which will not hold its peace, but is always
plaguing me with suggestions of which each one is wilder and more
impossible than the last. I have just found another letter four pages
long, which I have answered in as great a heat as it put me into. And
now, Cilli, give me a cup of tea with a little rum in it to cool me,
for such--ah! here comes Papa Kreisel! and in the best spirits, as I
can see by the twinkle of his eye. Berlin-Sundins have gone up another
half per cent.; now we shall have a jolly evening!"
And a jolly evening it was, and when Reinhold went to his room late at
night, he found a letter from the President, containing the official
announcement that the Minister approved of his appointment, and he must
present himself at once at the place in question, as he must enter upon
his duties on the 1st of December at latest.
Reinhold let the letter slip from his hand musingly.
"The hour may soon come, she said, and here it is already; it shall
find me worthy of her who is purity and truth personified."