Elsa's old cook sat on her stool, with her elbows resting upon her
knees, staring at the brick floor; August, who was leaning against the
window, went on silently cutting his nails with his knife; and
Ottomar's servant was perched upon the table, swinging his long legs.
"It has just struck twelve," said the cook, with a despairing look at
the hearth, on which the kettle still hung in solitary state over the
fire, as it had done since early morning. "Can neither of you at least
open your mouths?"
"What is there to say?" answered August. "It will always be likely to
happen with us soldiers."
"It's a sin and a shame!" said the cook.
"A 1," affirmed August.
The Dutch clock ticked, the kettle bubbled. Friedrich let himself slide
off the table, and stretched his arms.
"I can't say that I am generally much in favour of these parades," he
said, "but it is my opinion that to-day we servants might as well have
joined it."
"Yes; the young master always has the best of it," said the cook. "It
is well to be out of range of the firing. If I had been in his place, I
would have paraded them to-day."
She smoothed down her apron. August shook his head.
"With us military men, that would----"
"Oh, stuff!" interrupted the cook. "Military here, military there! If
any one dismissed my father, I should dismiss him, and that pretty
sharp, too!"
She gave her apron another energetic pull, stood up, walked to the
hearth, turned the kettle round, and then, as that manifestly did not
help matters, began to cry vehemently, from a sense of her
helplessness.
"Hullo!" said the lady's-maid, who just then stepped into the kitchen,
"have the lamentations broken out here also?"
She sat down on the stool from which the cook had risen, and stroked
down her black silk apron as the other had her coarse kitchen one.
"There, I've had enough of it! I can't stand playing at nursing old
women who faint every time anything goes wrong in the house! And to be
turned out of the room by the young lady because one treads too
heavily, and told to send that stupid goose Pauline, doesn't suit me
any better! And, moreover, I am not accustomed to a party once a
fortnight at the outside, and now I suppose even that will come
to an end! No, I thank you! To-morrow they may look out for another
lady's-maid, if such like require another lady's-maid, indeed! And----"
"There, I've had enough of that!" said the cook.
"I may talk, I suppose, if I like!" said the lady's-maid.
"But not in my kitchen!" cried the cook, sticking her still strong arms
akimbo, and walking up to the audacious speaker. "What! you will talk
about 'such like' here, in the face of an old, respected servant, who
has been twenty years in the house, or eight years like August, to say
nothing of Friedrich, although he also is a respectable man, and would
rather have gone to the parade to-day than sit here and see such
misery! Do you know who 'such like' are? All your tag and rag, from
whom you ran off to us--they are 'such like,' with their yard-long
trains, and fallals and crinolines! And you are 'such like,' you
shameless hussy, you! and if you don't leave off grinning this very
minute, and get up off my stool, and clear out of my kitchen, I'll give
you a couple of boxes on the ear that will make you remember 'such
like' to the end of your days!"
"I shall not dispute with you," said the lady's-maid, getting up in
haste, and slipping towards the door from under her antagonist's raised
arm. "You are too----"
"Out with you!" said the cook.
"Too vulgar!"
And the lady's-maid slammed the door behind her.
"That is one of the A 1's," said August.
"A regular one," said Friedrich.
"And you are dunderheads," cried the cook, "to put up quietly with such
a thing!"
"One should not enter into any discussion with such a person," said
Friedrich.
"The house-door bell has rung," said August, delighted to be able to
break off the conversation, which was taking so disagreeable a turn.
"Our master can hardly be back yet? And we cannot receive any one
to-day?"
"That depends," said the cook. "Our poor young lady has not seen a soul
to-day, and the poor thing must want to speak out. But it must be to a
real friend."
"Of course," said August, buttoning his livery-coat, "one of the A 1's.
Herr von Schönau or----"
"Well, make haste and go upstairs."
"Ah! the Captain!" cried August, seeing Reinhold in the anteroom.
The Captain stood high in August's favour, and the Captain, who always
looked so amiable, looked so grave to-day.
"The Captain, of course, knows all about it already," said August.
"For heaven's sake!" cried Reinhold, "what has happened? Is any one ill
in the house?"
"Ill--yes," said August, "but only from fright. Fräulein Sidonie
fainted immediately, and so of course we heard all about it. The
Lieutenant is, of course, gone to the parade, and will not be back till
evening, as he is on duty afterwards at the barracks; and I had to put
all the General's orders on his uniform, and he went to his Excellency
the Minister and the other Excellencies to say so-and-so; and our young
lady is with Fräulein Sidonie; but she will certainly wish to see you,
and if you will come in here and wait----"
August had ushered Reinhold, who, in his bewilderment, followed him
mechanically, up the stairs, and opened the door of the drawing-room.
Reinhold remained alone for a few anxious moments. What could have
occurred to have caused the family such a shock as he saw reflected
even in the servant's face? And to-day, of all days! As if his heart
were not heavy enough already!
A light step crossed the floor of the dining-room and over the carpet
in the next room, and Elsa stepped in, holding out her hand to him.
"You have come to take leave. I know all from Fräulein--from Meta."
"I have come to take leave," answered Reinhold; "but before we speak of
that, tell me, if you can, what misfortune has happened to you? It must
be some misfortune."
He still held her hand in his, and gazed, himself pale from emotion and
sympathy, into her pale lovely face, with the beloved brown eyes,
which, formerly so bright and happy, now looked so anxious and
sorrowful.
"My father would reproach me if he heard me call that a misfortune of
which he affirms himself to be proud. And yet--who knows how it appears
to him in his heart, or how he bears it in his heart, and how he will
bear it?"
She suppressed her sorrowful emotion with a deep-drawn breath, and
offering Reinhold a chair, and herself taking a place on the sofa,
continued in a calm voice:
"My father has been passed over in the promotion for which he stood
next! You know what that means. He has just gone to offer his
resignation in person to the Minister!"
"Good God!" said Reinhold, "an officer of his high character, of his
vast services to the nation--is it possible!"
Elsa sat there, her fixed burning eyes looking down, a bitter smile
trembling on her lips, while she slowly nodded her head once or twice.
Reinhold saw how forced was the self-command with which she had come to
meet him, how deeply she felt the insult which had been offered to her
father.
"And to think," he said in a low voice, "that I myself assisted to
bring about this catastrophe. Your father has repeatedly impressed upon
me what difficulties he had to struggle with, how precarious, how
insecure his position was, and that a mere trifle might suffice to make
it untenable----"
Elsa shook her head. "No, no!" she said, "it is not that. My father was
determined to retire if ever this unhappy concession was carried
through against his will. But that they should not even have waited,
even given him time to carry out his resolution, that is what he
resents, and what I fear will make his proud heart bleed."
The tears ran from her fixed eyes down her pale cheeks. Reinhold's
heart was full to overflowing with love and sympathy. A voice within
him cried out, "My poor, poor darling," but he dared not speak out yet.
Elsa had dried her tears with her handkerchief.
"You must not look so miserable," she said, trying to smile; "my father
has done his duty, and you have done your duty. Is not the
consciousness of this the best, the only consolation in such a case as
this, which we must accept whether we will or no?"
"Certainly," said Reinhold; "and yet how sad it sounds from such lips."
"Because I am a girl," said Elsa. "I think it is just we girls who can
do so little for ourselves, who are often so helpless in the face of
circumstances, who are not early enough impressed with this idea. What
would have become of me in these last few days if I had not done so. If
I had not at least tried to do so, so far as lay in my power. And now
to-day, when I have heard every thing from my father about Ottomar----"
Reinhold looked up startled.
Elsa's eyes had fallen, a burning colour had come into her cheeks; she
went on slowly in a low voice, "I have learnt everything!"
"Could not that, at least, have been spared you?" said Reinhold after a
silent pause.
"I think not," said Elsa, again looking up. "I think that my father
followed a right impulse this morning when he told me everything, as to
a friend (and, oh! how thankful I am to him for it, and proud!), told
me of his position, of our position--confided to me even that. Oh! I
cannot get rid of the thought that it would have been better, that it
would have turned out better--for us all, if I had known it, if not
from the beginning, at least after that terrible morning. Only a
woman's hand could, had it still been possible, have smoothed out the
entangled threads of all the faults and follies there and here. What
would I not give for the minutes that have been irreparably lost. Ah! I
know I should have found the words to touch Ottomar's and your cousin's
hearts. Poor Ferdinanda! What must she have suffered? What must she
suffer? And my poor Ottomar, too! He is really not so guilty as he
perhaps appears to you. It is not your fault that you have not
learnt to know him better, that the wish of my heart has not been
fulfilled--that you might become true friends. We know now why he
shunned you, as indeed he did even his best friends, Schönau and the
others--even myself--all of us. And so he has strayed so far, so
helplessly away in the loneliness of his heart. And yet I know him from
earlier, better days, how tender, how loving and affectionate his heart
was; how susceptible he was to all that was beautiful and good, even if
he had not the strength to let it ripen in him, to live for that alone.
But it must be very difficult in the life that he leads, that he must
lead, which I also have led in my way, and have enjoyed myself in
it--all these prejudices of rank, these social fetters, which we no
longer feel as such, because we have grown up amongst them and can
never free ourselves without a hard struggle. And if he failed in this
struggle, the strange circumstances of our family will certainly have
contributed to it; and, lastly, the rebuff which he has experienced in
the person of his father, whom, I know, in the bottom of his heart he
deeply reverences. I will not defend him, when, passionate and
hot-headed as he is, he rushed out of the house--we none of us knew
what he intended--and returned engaged to Carla; but he must not, he
cannot be utterly condemned."
She gazed anxiously, with clasped hands, into Reinhold's face, a bitter
feeling was stirring in him. If she spoke so eloquently of the singular
position in which her brother was at the decisive moment, was not this
position hers also? Would not she so speak at the last moment for
herself? So decide for herself? or was it already on her account that
she spoke? Had she so decided? Was he to read her decision between the
lines?
"I always find it difficult," he said, "to condemn any one--in men's
hearts there are so many depths, which no lead can reach--and I have
not condemned your brother. On the contrary, I have for his sake and--I
cannot deny it--for yours----"
His voice shook, but he collected himself by a strong effort and went
on quietly, "Done every thing which a brother would at such a time do
for a brother. I have even set my uncle's friendship and affection,
which are very dear to me, at stake, and I fear, lost them. That it was
all in vain, that I must let that be, which I foresaw would be to those
most nearly concerned a deadly blow, which would more or less recoil
upon us all without exception--I do not know whether I need tell you
how hard this has been to me, how hard it is!"
"You do not need," said Elsa. "Take the thanks of the sister for the
brother. You do not perhaps believe how grateful I am to you, and how
your words have comforted me. Since this morning, through all the
trouble which has come upon us, I have continually asked myself how you
would be affected by it. I have longed to hear these words from you.
Now that I have heard them my heart feels lighter, and now, between us
two at least, all will be again as it was."
"Do you believe that? do you really believe it?" asked Reinhold.
The smile died away upon her lips. She gently drew back the hand which
she had given him, and which he firmly held; the blood flew again into
her cheeks, which then became whiter than before.
"Have I been mistaken?" stammered Elsa.
"I do not think so," said Reinhold, "because, forgive me, I cannot
think that at this moment you have been quite sincere. And--you have
yourself said it--what brought ruin upon your brother, and upon my
cousin, save that they were not open, neither to themselves, nor to
each other, nor to their friends--that they never had the courage of
their opinions--that they never had the true courage of their love?
Well! I, for my part, will not and dare not burden my soul with this
reproach. I will keep my conscience free, however heavy my heart may
remain. May I speak out what is in my heart? and will you answer me as
your heart dictates?"
She sat there, pale and motionless, only the hand which she had given
him, and which now lay in her lap, trembled.
"I will," she said, in a low voice.
"Well then," said Reinhold, "I came to take leave of your father, and
before I took leave of him, to thank him from the bottom of my heart,
for the kindness with which he had overwhelmed me, and for the
confidence with which he honoured me. Perhaps, thought I, since I still
remain in your neighbourhood, and my duties will also often bring me
here, he would then have said that he hoped and wished to see me again.
And I must have replied, that as an honourable man I could only take
advantage of this permission under one condition. And I should have
said 'That condition, General, is impossible. I have had the fullest
opportunities in this unfortunate business, and in the many
confidential conversations with which you have honoured me, of entering
into your thoughts and feelings; you have condescended even to initiate
me into the circumstances of your family, and I am convinced that you
will never of your own free will, grant me the hand of your daughter
whom I love.'"
Elsa neither answered nor stirred, only her bosom rose and fell wildly.
"'Whom I have loved,'" continued Reinhold, in a voice trembling with
emotion, "'I may say from the first moment that I saw her. Since then I
have thought of her every hour of the day; and when I lie awake at
night, her image stands out before my soul, clear, steadfast,
immovable, like the north star; and I am as sure as that I am a living
man, that this love can only end with my life.' That is what I should
have said to your father."
"And then," said Elsa softly, "then should you have come to me?"
"Yes," said Reinhold, "then I should have come to you."
A lovely colour lay upon her cheeks; her eyes resting full and
steadfastly upon him, gleamed through tears, whilst her voice seemed as
if it would cry out for joy, and again trembled with emotion.
"I should have said to you, that I was unutterably happy in the
knowledge that I was loved by you, and that I love you with my whole,
whole heart, and will so love you for evermore."
They held one another in a close embrace. He kissed her hair, her
forehead, her lips; she leant her head, sobbing, on his shoulder.
"Oh! my God! is it possible? This morning--even when I came in at the
door--here, see! see! I wanted to give you this--my treasure! I meant
to part with it, to renounce all happiness. And now, now! I may keep
it, may I not, and look to my lord, as the needle does to the pole? I
have learnt it from it."
She kissed the compass and let it slip again into her pocket, and threw
her arms again round Reinhold, and said:
"And now, my dearest, that you know that I will be true to you, waking
and sleeping, and will be your wife, and will follow you to the ends of
the world whenever you call me, do not call me yet, but leave me here
with my father, whose support and comfort I am in this affliction, with
my Aunt Valerie, who clings to me in the anguish of her heart. Ah!
there is so much suffering which I only partly guess, but which does
not therefore the less exist, and which I know will overflow so soon as
I turn my back. It will perhaps come even now, and I cannot check it,
but I shall have done my duty, you know, as Meta would say."
The old sweet smile gleamed in the brown eyes which shone upon him. "We
must just have patience and be sensible, and love each other very, very
much, and then everything must come right, will it not, my darling?"
"The man who knows himself beloved by you," whispered Reinhold, "can
only fear one thing in this world--not to deserve your love."