Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=lOUBAAAAQAAJ
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
AT ALL LIBRARIES.
BY THE SAME TRANSLATOR.
SACRED VOWS,
By E. WERNER,
_Author of_ "_Under a Charm_," "_Success and How He Won it_," _&c_.
3 VOLS. 31s. 6d.
* * * * *
"The loves of Bruno and Lucie are simply told with that accompaniment
of mysterious sympathy in the inanimate surroundings of their
struggles, which is the highest application of true literary insight
into nature."--_Athenaeum_.
"The incidents are striking * * * * * The whole scene rises before the
reader with as much clearness as if it were represented before him on
the stage."--_Saturday Review_.
"The ability of Werner's Novels is implied in the simultaneous
publication of two translations of 'Sacred Vows.' His scenes are more
than paintings, they are sculptures, and stand out in _alto relievo_,
distinctly conceived and vigorously executed."--_The British
Quarterly_.
* * * * *
REMINGTON & Co., 5, Arundel Street, Strand, W.C.
WITHERED LEAVES.
A Novel,
BY
Rudolf von Gottschall.
FROM THE GERMAN,
By BERTHA NESS.
Translator of Werner's "Riven Bonds" and "Sacred Vows."
THREE VOLUMES.
* * * * *
AUTHORISED TRANSLATION.
* * * * *
VOL. III.
* * * * *
London:
REMINGTON AND CO.,
5, Arundel Street, Stand, W.C.
* * *
1879.
[_All Rights Reserved_.]
CONTENTS OF VOLUME III.
CHAP.
I.--Primavera.
II.--In the Lion's Den.
III.--The Mistress of the Boarding School.
IV.--In the Forest of Juditenkirchen.
V.--Internal Struggles.
VI.--A Sleighing Party.
VII.--In the Land of the Lotus-Flowers.
VIII.--In the Church of San Giulio.
IX.--The Bridal Jewels.
X.--The Wedding Day.
XI.--A Legacy.
XII.--Confessions.
XIII.--To the East!
WITHERED LEAVES.
CHAPTER I.
PRIMAVERA.
_Primavera_--in the midst of winter, which sketched its frozen pictures
upon the window!
_Primavera_--and yet a midsummer of love, which had long since gathered
the blossoms of spring for its transient enjoyment!
And Blanden wooed Giulia with a passion which, possessing no history of
the past, asserting no prior right, only living in his recollections as
if it were the fairy-like charm of a dream, will conquer her love for
the bright day of the present; yes, for the endurance of a life time.
He did not strive to obtain the renewal of former affection; she had
from the very first resisted everything that could encourage such
wooing; he was resolved to win her hand, and to defy those prejudices
which could pronounce his union with a singer to be unsuitable.
But ardent as was his passion, much as her beauty, intellect, talent
and her great knowledge of the world and of life fascinated him, he was
yet by no means disposed blindly to follow his heart's inclination; he
could even not suppress a soft warning voice of suspicion, which he was
obliged to term ungrateful, because it was connected with their own
former meeting--could this admired actress always have withstood the
temptations that beset her upon her path of triumph?
Did not smiling Euphrosyne cast roses into her lap, as the goddess
stood beside victory upon her car of triumph, decking her with laurels?
How many phenomena of theatrical fame do but shine through a dim vapour
which the repute of their evil habits of life spreads around them, and
it was not Blanden's intention to guide one of these beauties, weary of
adventures, into a haven of refuge.
In the town even her enemies did not attack her character; she
possessed admirers, but she favoured none; all that Blanden learned
there, spoke in favour of the singer, but this did not suffice him.
During his travels he had formed many connections in the various
capitals of Europe, in Paris and London, in Rome and Florence;
everywhere he had friends and acquaintances who were familiar with art
and theatrical life. Immediately after the performance of "Norma," when
the thought first was kindled within him of calling this beautiful
woman his own, he had written to all these people to obtain information
as to the actress' life and character. Day by day the replies now came
in; not one single letter contained an accusation, a shred of
suspicion; the testimony that was given to the singer's private life
was most brilliant. No scandal had contributed to the augmentation of
her fame; she owed it entirely to her talent, of which all spoke with
admiration.
Blanden dropped all suspicions, and the project of making Giulia his
wife took still deeper root. He had reason to expect that she would be
ready to resign the stage, as she had frequently lamented the
disappointments to which she was daily more and more exposed in her
artistic career; nor did she conceal a feeling, which caused her
uneasiness, the conviction that the epoch of her glory was at an end,
and that the decadence of her voice was making its announcement gently
but perceptibly. Surely therefore was she often so melancholy; who
would not, with a heavy heart, bear the claims of a day of reckoning as
it crumbles from us one object of pride, one advantage after another,
and with such cruel indifference sweeps away all the flowers of our
life.
_Primavera!_ But there is a spring-time of feeling, which time cannot
kill. It was that which bound Giulia to the wintry provincial town,
when she might have been celebrating her triumphs in the capitals of
the south.
This it was that made her await the arrival of her friend with a
palpitating heart, as she had once awaited him in the moonlight by Lago
Maggiore; and if to her other admirers she made no secret of his
visits; if she denied herself to them as soon as he was present, or
received him at a time when she was inaccessible to others; in so doing
she obeyed no decree of prudence which counselled her not to alienate
her other enthusiastic friends by distinguishing the one; it was a
necessity, a happiness for her to have him quite alone; happiness that
might not be desecrated by contact with the world.
Blanden still exercised the same entrancing magic over her as in those
days of unguarded devotion; she had remained true to him since that
time, little as it was his right or her duty thus to continue faithful.
His image alone accompanied her through life; all emotions to which she
must give expression upon the stage were for him. She confessed it to
him, and he uttered no doubt of such assurances. Blanden's person would
account for such passion; it was distinguished and possessed of a
peculiar charm. An enthusiast, a dreamer, as he had been from his youth
upwards, he seemed to be one still, when, with half-closed languid
eyes, he buried himself in the rich stores of his mental life; but then
they would suddenly flash and open, and gleam with passion and manly
power. In all else he was in perfect harmony; his figure symmetrical,
the well-bred smile upon his lips, full of intellectual superiority;
his conversation, in earnest and in jest, combined sweetness and charm.
As Desdemona to Othello's tales, Giulia listened to the descriptions of
the adventures which Blanden had met with in distant lands and oceans,
he raised her imagination far above the painted decorations of
theatrical life; she was susceptible to all the grandeur and beauty of
nature, to all intellectual struggles; only the unrest and bustle of
her artist's calling prevented her giving herself up to those mental
enjoyments for which she longed now more fervently than formerly. To
her it would have appeared unutterable bliss to belong entirely to the
man in company with whom she might revel in such enjoyments; to the man
who offered her a refuge from the tempests of stage life. With what
just pride she would have borne the name with which that noble scion
represented a family so esteemed in the world!
And yet--from out the past one shoal reared itself in her life: a shoal
upon which all her proud dreams of a future should be wrecked.
In sleepless nights she meditated how she could guide her ship round
that reef; her senses became confused in the rapid flight of thought
from one possibility to another, which, clutched convulsively, never
granted a firm hold; sometimes she rose to the daring venture of
defying those rocks and trying if the high storm-lashed billows of her
life would not bear her over. Her experiences upon the stage became
daily more unpleasant, the enthusiasm of her adherents more disputed by
steady opposition.
These were the results of Spiegeler's malicious condemnation.
On the other hand the poet Schoener prepared one slight pleasure for
her; he who belonged to her warmest admirers, and two years ago had
striven eagerly to gain her favour, but who had been rejected. For a
long time he avoided all intercourse with her, but without bearing any
ill-will remained one of her most zealous adorers. Now, when her
enemies roused themselves, he sought her out again, and, like a
troubadour, devoted his lyre to the noble lady. He read a poem to her,
in which he sang of her as the _primavera_ of Baltic winter, and at the
same time attacked her opponents with epigrammatic arrows, and those
mighty blows which he had acquired in the fencing-school of political
poetry.
The poem appeared in the most important papers, and again increased the
diminishing numbers of Giulia's followers. She was heartily grateful to
him for it, because she perceived that his thoughts were noble and free
from personal motives, that he but followed his own convictions.
The more retiringly Schoener behaved, the more obtrusive became
Lieutenant Buschmann; he could not accustom himself to the idea that he
must retire from so long a siege without success. The uniform
friendliness of the singer seemed to him like scorn; from day to day he
hoped for a more passionate return. Constantly renewed disappointment
embittered him. His character was somewhat violent, he tolerated no
barriers, and once when the singer, through her maid, refused him
admittance on a morning call, he forced himself ruthlessly into her
boudoir, and reproached her passionately.
It was the day after his visit to Frau Hecht's kitchen, when Blanden
met the Italian again in the street. Arrested on the previous evening,
Baluzzi was once more set free.
Blanden took advantage of this chance encounter to lead the
conversation to the amber merchant. Giulia only vouchsafed meagre
information; he was a distant connection of hers, who often importuned
her with petitions, as he had once performed some great service out of
gratitude for which she had taken him under her protection. Then she
broke off the conversation, it was evidently an unwelcome subject. But
she remained abstracted all the evening, and even confounded two
Italian composers with whom she had been familiar from her youth
upwards.
After a sleepless night, Giulia had a long conversation with her
friend.
"It cannot go on so, Beate! The internal conflict consumes me. His
claims become more and more unbounded; how happy I was when he,
fettered by illness or misfortune of long duration, the veil of which
he will not raise, remained in the interior of Russia; I breathed
freely; now more than ever, I am in his bondage."
Beate shrugged her shoulders.
"Notwithstanding all your brilliant receipts, we shall be beggars
again."
"Oh, that is not the worst! I would give up everything if I could
purchase my freedom!"
"That is not his wish! He would spend everything at once; he also
prefers to have a safe reserve for the future."
"Oh, there is a hell that binds us for evermore. _Lasciate ogni
speranza voi che entrale!_ You are clever and cunning, Beate! Try once
more if you cannot set me free. I have no more ideas, no more plans!
Whenever I ponder over it, my senses become desolate and dead. I stare
into vacuity!"
"What can we do?--we must exercise patience. But if it continue thus,
we shall have nothing left."
"Go to him, Beate! Pray, implore."
"To him! You ask no small matter. I should venture into a robber's
cave, late at night--for at an earlier hour he could not be found--into
a gambling hell, for I know he has opened one here!"
"You have already done much for me, make this sacrifice also."
"Oh, I am not afraid, and if I met a lion in the cage, I would pull his
mane; he should do nothing to me. But he will reject my propositions as
he has always done. Yes, even if I found proofs."
"Proofs! They will not give me back my freedom--yes, if he would, if he
became a subject of this country--we could appeal to justice; it would
even decide against the verdict of the church."
"Proofs never do any harm--who knows what may happen? Perhaps his
speculations may some day oblige him to settle down here--then it would
always be well to possess proofs that may be turned against him, but it
will be difficult, almost impossible! However, I will venture to go and
seek him this evening. Perhaps chance may favour me."
"A craving for happiness has come over me, so intense as to strain
every nerve in my bosom. A glance at the smiling horizon brightens our
souls--and yet tears stand in our eyes. We weep with a prescience of
happiness which nevertheless appears to be unattainable. I do not know
why the pictures of my life crowd like feverish visions around me. I
seem to hear the sound of bells in the days of my childhood; I see
myself, dressed, go with the other children over high hills to the
pilgrims' chapel; then another bell ringing sounds in my ear. In those
days I did not know that it was the death-knell of all my life! Then
again I hear the exulting applause of many thousands, whom my song
delights, and yet I would give it all up for one whispered word of
love, of love that had the right to lasting happiness."
Giulia was to sing in the "Somnambula" on that evening; she felt in
harmony with the part, to herself she often appeared to be walking in
her sleep.
Blanden came after the close of the theatre, and was admitted; Beate
hid her dark curls beneath a hood and begged Giulia for a dagger.
"I am going to the bandit, I must protect myself!"
Giulia started; a dagger always awoke gruesome recollections in her.
Blanden smiled, "Probably some masquerade?"
"_Corpo di bacco_," said Beate, "the mask is not wanting, but the fun
is desperately poor."
She received the dagger from her friend, and was dismissed with a kiss.
Outside, Beate gave the maid instructions to be on the alert and to
wait for her even if she should return late. Antonie listened to the
directions with lowered eyelids and humble obedience, but at heart she
had decided differently. She knew that Blanden would stay at least an
hour, and if she should not disturb them, she would follow her own
amusements quite as undisturbedly.
Exactly opposite, in the large hall, there was a people's ball, and
Friederich, a cunning child of Berlin, servant to Lieutenant Buschmann,
had invited her to dance there with him for a little while, and had
promised to fetch her. All were pursuing their own pleasures, why
should she alone pass the time in solitude?
Giulia was melancholy, Blanden in a softened mood.
Outside, jingled the bells of the sleighs, the winter sky, hard as
steel, was covered with clouds, and heavy dense snow-flakes, which fell
down soft as wool, proclaimed that the cold had diminished.
The room was so homelike. The tea, which with all its accompaniments,
had been brought in by Antonie, who was then graciously dismissed,
infused upon the table. The fire crackled on the hearth.
There was nothing to remind one of theatrical tinsel, everything bore
the impress of domestic comfort, to which the busts of the great
masters of art lent a radiance of idealism.
"Only the north knows this homelike comfort," said Blanden, "the
Laplander in his smoky hut, the dweller in Kamskatka who has
unharnessed his dogs, feel it more than the happy children of the
south, who wander beneath palms."
"And more perhaps than we," added Giulia, "because as the crackling
coals upon the hearth, so do fading dreams stir in our souls, and often
burst once more into flames; of what use is this room's repose, if that
in our hearts be wanting?"
"That repose is best found in genial companionship; words have not yet
lost the spell of their magic power; familiar communication from lip to
lip can absolve us, it is the secret of the confessional."
Giulia felt the truth of these words in her inmost heart; how
everything within her urged her to such absolution, and yet--it could
not be, 'twas vain!
Convulsive sobs overcame her, and Blanden was amazed at the intensity
of the emotions which his passing remark had roused. How light her
heart would have been if she could have imparted to her friend all that
engrossed and tortured her day and night!
Yes, if he had only been a friend! But he should be more, be everything
to her, and one candid word could destroy her whole future. Perhaps she
might still succeed in breaking the evil magic to which she had
succumbed. Thus silence must be maintained.
Together they read the recollections of Silvio Pellico; a deep
impression was made upon them by the picture of an artist in chains and
fetters--oh, those were not the worst which hung from the iron ring of
a prison wall.
She displayed the greatest sympathy; to her it was as if the damp air
wafted through the casemates of the Spielberg filled her life, too,
with the same mouldy breath.
She spoke of the castle of Chillon; that little spot had filled her
with intense sadness. There were plenty of dungeon towers for
salamanders and frogs, but this tomb of freedom made such a deeply
melancholy impression, surrounded as it is by the waves of a beautiful
lake, and granting a view of the peaks, high as heaven, of the Savoy
alps, which rise in the air like a fortress of liberty. It is this
contrast that makes such a painful impression, and as if called forth
by deepest emotions, she uttered the beautiful verse out of the "Ruins"
by Anastatius Gruen--
"Oh, shade of my freedom fly not so fast,
For thee my heart yearns and craves ever more,
Like a fugitive bird that has clang to a mast,
When lost to its sight is the far away shore."
Such ardent longing for liberty, for release, was shown in her recital
of these lines, in the tone of her voice, it was like the cry of
distress of a whole life, and at the same time the expression of utter
devotion.
Blanden could not help it, he folded the beautiful woman to his heart,
and pressed a glowing kiss upon her lips.
At that moment some one knocked, and simultaneously the door was thrown
open.
Lieutenant Buschmann entered; disappointment and rage held him
spell-bound, so that he stood as if rooted to the ground; his bold
attack, upon which he had staked his last hope, had been shamefully
frustrated, but at least he possessed the proof that Giulia favoured
another, that her reserve was a lie.
His cheeks, always red, burned like fire, and he stamped his jingling
spurs upon the floor.
Everything had commenced so hopefully. Antonie had gone to the ball
with Friederich, and had entrusted the house and door key to the
latter's care. Under some pretence the officer's cunning servant had
left the ball for a short time, proceeded to his master's dwelling
close by, and delivered up the key of the fortress to that master.
The game so far had succeeded, Friederich was once more dancing merrily
with his unsuspicious partner.
Blanden sprang from the sofa, and stepped defiantly towards the
intruder.
"Has this gentleman the right to intrude here?" he asked Giulia.
"No--by heaven, no! Only by force or cunning can he have obtained
admission. Protect me from him!"
Giulia covered her face with her hands.
"Your conduct is shameless, sir!" cried Blanden to the officer.
"Not another word with you! But one word still with this lady, who has
deceived us all; I owe it to the favour of chance that I have torn from
her the mask with which she has passed before the world as an
inexorable woman."
"You shall leave the room this moment," said Blanden with firm
determination, "I have the right to bid you do so, because Signora
Giulia Bollini--is engaged to me!"
With a loud cry, Giulia sank into the sofa cushions.
"Well, then, I congratulate you upon the Polter-abend,"[1] said
Buschmann scornfully, as he turned upon his heels and left the room
amid the clatter of his spurs.
"What have you done?" said Giulia, as she gazed at Blanden with large
tearful eyes, her hand raised as if in protest, and sobbing with
internal agitation.
"I will protect you against all the world," cried Blanden with,
overwhelming emotion, "my Giulia, my betrothed!"
And she lay in his arms, half unconscious, acquiescent, infinitely
blissful, and desperately defiant of fate.
"Come what may," whispered she, "I am yours."