"Life's a tortured, booming gurge,
Winds of passion strike and urge,
And transmute to broken surge
Foam-crests of ambition.
Death, men say, is like a sea,
That ingulfs mortality,
Treacherous, dreadful, blindingly,
Full of storm and terror."
--M. FIELD.
Let us now return to the wedding festival. It was celebrated in the
Hotel R----. The beautiful, spacious drawing-room had been adorned
with exquisite plants and flowers, which concealed the walls, while
fountains here and there rustled their melodies during the pauses of
the music. Around the table, on which hundreds of wax tapers glowed
in rich silver candelabra, while the rarest viands and choicest wines
in the world vied with one another, sat a large company, partly of
the nobility, partly of those representing the aristocracy of
money--outward show concealing inward emptiness, as false hair the
bald heads.
In the center sat enthroned the young bridal couple; Arnold more
attentive and amiable than usual; his bride cold and stately as ever.
It seemed as though the greater part of life had been spent before a
mirror, in order to regulate every movement of her body, every
expression of her face, after the strictest model of propriety. Had
she as well, one was tempted to ask, educated and molded her heart
with even a tithe of this care and consistency?
An old proverb says: "Out of one wedding two usually come." This
would appear probable to-day, from all indications. Herr Von
Lenkseuring had for the past six weeks been devotedly attentive to
the chosen one of his heart, and Eugenie Von Kahring looked upon her
suitor with no unfriendly eyes.
A trick of fate, perhaps also some human intervention, had decreed to
have them both neighbors at table. That was a favorable opportunity.
The young man softly whispered to his fair companion many little
phrases which made her blush for joy.
Lady Von Kahring looked benignly on the pair. When Eugenie should
have married this rich young man, and Arnold had just performed a
deed which had produced rejoicing, then were not the wishes of her
heart as well as the necessities of her house satisfied? Still she
was in anxious suspense; the fortune of her step-daughter lay in a
well-formed contract in her father's hands, and the embarrassments of
her husband had reached their utmost limit; indeed he could scarcely
wave them off until this very day, when a large sum of money was due,
and must be in his hands. Surely Banker Kouzky could not deny him
the favor of a loan. His honor was their honor; his daughter now
bore the name of their son.
"To the one we love," said Banker Kouzky, laughingly, to his new
relative Eugenie, as he leaned over the table toward her. "I think
we not only have a newly wedded pair at table, but a betrothed one,"
he added, jestingly, to Lady Von Kahring, and in tones so loud that
the neighbors of the baroness all smiled and looked at Herr Von
Lenkseuring and Eugenie. The former seemed ready to receive
congratulations then and there; but Eugenie begged him to speak to
papa and mamma first, and not to make any announcement here. The
scene passed, but not until the news had traveled the circuit of the
table. But the air was stifling; all were oppressed, and, by
universal consent, the table was deserted, and all withdrew to the
adjoining salon. Here dance-music quickened the blood in the veins
of the young people, while the older guests sought the smaller rooms
or cozy corners in groups, as they found it congenial. Every one was
perfectly free and unrestrained.
But what have the two old gentlemen, Baron Von Kahring and Banker
Kouzky, to say so softly and earnestly to each other in yonder
window-niche?--the baron growing more and more persuasive, the banker
more and more cold and reserved. On the baron's forehead stand great
drops of perspiration, while the banker's countenance remains as
unmoved as that of a speculator when one would seek to read therein
the rise or fall of stocks on the 'change. At length he remarks,
icily:
"Herr Baron, do not mistake; my daughter and my money are two very
different things. The one I have given; make no expectation on that
account of the other."
The baron talked so earnestly it seemed as though one could hear his
vehement words. It was in vain. At length he became silent and
exhausted. The banker turned away smiling. Near by a game of cards
was being arranged, and he said, suavely: "Shall we join this party?"
At this juncture an old general approached the two, with a wine-glass
and bottle in hand:
"Baron, this is to the welfare of your house, on which has been
grafted to-day a new branch."
"Long may it live!" replied the baron, accepting the glass and
draining it; but his eyes were sunken and his countenance ashy.
The banker added his thanks, touched his glass to both, and laughed
cordially.
The next morning Wulf was up betimes to prepare for his departure.
He hoped nothing from this home-going; but he embraced it, as his
only method of escape, with gratitude.
His landlady rushed into the room, pale with terror:
"Herr Ericksen! Herr Ericksen! Do you know what has happened?"
"What has happened?" inquired Wulf.
"Baron Von Kahring has committed suicide. He shot himself last
night."
Wulf grasped the table. Every thing whirled in the room.
"Arnold?" he cried.
"No, the old baron. It was almost three o'clock when he returned
from the wedding. An hour later his servants heard a fearful report,
and hastening to his side, found him dead. So the milkman has just
told me."
Away with apathy and weakness! Wulf hurried to the Kahrings. How
changed every thing was! Despite the early hour, crowds of people
were running hither and thither in great excitement. No servant
announced him, and he passed unhindered to the baron's chamber. What
a sight! Arnold and Banker Kouzky were there alone.
Poor Arnold! Slaughtered in vain. Wulf hastened toward him to
embrace him, but he was repulsed. The old banker, standing coldly
near, shook his head. He thought: "Could he not have taken a simple
powder if he were determined upon this? That would have made no fuss
and trouble like this. A physician's certificate for apoplexy might
have been secured, and I should not have grudged the money for that;
but----" and with an air of disgust he gazed upon the lifeless form.
The young baroness entered, and drew her husband to an adjoining
room. Her heart was cold; education and custom had formed a crust of
ice over it; but as this violent deed had interrupted the course of
every-day life, so it also penetrated this hard coating, and the warm
spring of love that exists in most women's hearts gushed forth
freely. She had always been restricted and restrained by a sense of
propriety, and it was well now that she could act. If we could have
wished a loving hand to rest upon the old baroness, Eugenie, and
Theodora, they had no reason henceforth to complain of any want of
care and sympathy from Arnold's wife. Like a warm current this love
fell upon her husband, and, in spite of all other thoughts, it burned
his soul like fire. Had he deserved it? She, to whom he had behaved
as though he had only married her for money? She, who now bore a
stained name, and who must, with all her short-sightedness, realize
the motives of those around her? But true love is a rose which
blooms in the midst of thorns; in the springing clover fields it
seldom thrives.
The first sad days over, the stunning effects were gradually relaxed;
visits of condolence and letters of sympathy came from all sides.
Herr Von Lenkseuring wrote that as he stood at such a distance from
the respected Kahring family, he dared not intrude; but ventured to
send this token of sympathy in such an extraordinarily sad calamity,
etc. Lady Von Kahring received the communication in good faith, but
Eugenie wept hot, bitter tears. In the very last book he had given
her stood the words: "Faithful even in misfortune."
Soon after this occurrence wagons came to carry trunk after trunk to
the railway-station. The young baron, with his wife, his mother, and
sister, set out upon a long journey through Austria. Through the
young baroness's influence her father was persuaded to accept the
responsibility of settling the estate. They are now off to the far
south, where we shall leave them to begin a new life; leave them for
the present in the hope that, having experienced the emptiness of
this world's happiness, they will strive for the higher and better
way.
The once elegant apartments of the Kahring mansion stand deserted and
lorn, awaiting another division of life to be enacted therein.