A LEGACY.
The sight of the ruins, constantly before the eyes of the newly-married
couple, must have given a bitter flavour to their honeymoon.
And yet, Blanden was happier than he had ever been, in the possession,
which he believed to be ensured, of a beloved wife. He gazed upon the
Castle ruins, upon the ruins of his past, but in his Giulia's smile he
saw the promise of an abiding, beautiful future.
The Ordensburg, the dining-hall, the Madonna's image, all should rise
anew in the old form out of the rubbish. To attain this Blanden had
sent for architects, who were well-known artists, to Kulmitten, so as
to restore the building in accordance with the old foundations. Giulia
took warm interest in all these plans, and often looked over Blanden's
shoulder at the sketches of elevations over which he pored. Of course
no art could compensate for the value of its historical age and
associations, with the dining-hall the poetry of the olden days was
destroyed, the new creation could but become a clever imitation.
Several friends, especially Wegen and Olga, too, sometimes came to
visit them, but the intercourse was not very lively, and Blanden wished
to live alone with his love, and the object of that love. Often they
sailed upon the lake or walked alone in the woods, upon the oak tree
dykes, past the ponds filled with tall reeds; in that solitude which
reminded her of primeval forests, Giulia forgot the world, the spell of
her doom, the secret menaces of fate; and when Blanden's fowling piece
brought down the water-fowl, and the broad belt of the fir forest sent
back the echoes of the shot, Giulia felt as glad and as free as if she
were living with a settler in the back woods, and as though prairie
fires blazed between her and human society.
Owing to the fire and its mysterious cause, Kulmitten had fallen into
still worse repute amongst the proprietors and their wives in the
neighbourhood.
"There, we have it," said Frau Baronin Fuchs, to her husband, "gorgeous
fireworks for their wedding! It is lucky that the dead cannot speak;
that poor burned child who was drawn out of the flames, and probably
set the place on fire, doubtlessly omitted to protest, in time, against
the banns, and thus, in her fashion, made up for it on the wedding day.
Of course she was a forsaken lover! The one loses her life in water the
other in fire! Who knows which elements, those who remain may select,
for naturally they have not come to an end yet. There was so much
love-making in that community that it would be a school for a whole
life-time!"
But not only to her husband, everywhere on the neighbouring estates,
wherever her dapple-greys carried the clear-sighted Frau Baronin of
firm morals, she uttered, with triumphant eloquence, her unpleasing
belief in the just punishment that had befallen this knight of the
rueful countenance. Outlaw and excommunication rested once again upon
the master of those estates, and many crossed themselves when they
spoke of the fire at Kulmitten Castle, of the ruins of the old nest of
the Order, as the happy possessors of brand-new knightly castles
contemptuously termed it, and of the Signora, who, out of the depths of
the theatre, had risen to such a height, and whose family in the
Apennines probably drove mules, or were even related to Fra Diavolo and
other bandits of noble descent.
One day a young married couple were announced, Dr. Sperner and his
wife. The principals of the school from the provincial capital, were
making a tour of visits to the parents of their pupils, and hoping thus
to obtain new ones. Dr. Sperner's moustache was a sign-board that did
its duty. He still possessed the key to the mothers' hearts although it
was now discreetly hidden by him in the key-basket of conjugal bliss.
Lori had married soon after Blanden, whose conquest she had certainly
only contemplated in daring dreams, was irretrievably lost. On that
evening, in the theatre, on which the Doctor had distinguished himself
by the active part he had taken in punishing the immoral _prima donna_,
he had quite won Lori's heart; the schoolmistress' pride melted like
snow in March, nothing remained but the little girl, who gladly gave
herself into the strong man's keeping. There was an end of the
commanding and dictating Fraeulein. Lori stepped down from the lofty
pedestal, upon which she had placed herself with such dignity, and
acknowledged her master in him, who, shortly before, had declared
himself to be her white slave. Now the plantation belonged to them
both, and the world maintained that it was Lori who had become the
white slave. Sperner possessed all the qualifications for a despot, and
it was in vain that she prepared to defend herself against his vigorous
energy with the pin-pricks of her wit. Yet she could still occasionally
celebrate tiny triumphs with it when the Doctor, in one or the other of
the classes, distinguished a few favourites according to his old bad
custom. She was implacable towards these successors of Iduna. She took
possession of their copy-books after her husband had already corrected
them, and let her red pen run riot through their pages until they
resembled a corn field overgrown with poppies. Then their domestic
peace was seriously imperilled, and the first-class listening at the
door, had the satisfaction of witnessing noisy scenes between the
conductors of the establishment. How differently Fraeulein Sohle had
maintained discipline! Yes, even some lovely eyes peeping through the
keyhole pretended to have seen how Dr. Sperner's moustache, the terror
and glory of the school, played a suffering part in these disputes. At
last, however, the Doctor gained his point, Lori was merely, by
courtesy, the principal of the school.
Although this couple's last kindly relation to Giulia had consisted in
the homage which they paid to her talent in the theatre by hissing and
whistling, it did not, in the least, prevent them paying a friendly
visit to Herr and Frau von Blanden. Times change, and besides, in those
days, they were a portion of the public, the most irresponsible
creature that the world contains, because the individual disappears
within it like a wave in the ocean, which none can make permanently
stationary?
Lori was most agreeable; she could not sufficiently regret that Frau
von Blanden had said farewell to the stage. Since her retirement there
had been a total lack of all real interest, and nothing was heard but
commonplace ballad-singing for salaries and wages, without any of the
divine spark.
Sperner, too, kissed the lady's hand with the very lips which had
given the signal whistle in the pit, and looked up at her with such
true-hearted eyes that she could not but believe in his genuineness. He
was one of those honest men whose frank manner, whose warm impulsive
speeches inspire confidence at once, one of those men, with open hearts
and open shirt collars, whose genuineness, as Kuhl said, is nothing but
studied hypocrisy, while behind the mask of their honesty lurks the
vilest deception.
Blanden led his guests round the Castle and into the apartments of the
old stronghold, which Lori surveyed with peculiar ill-nature. They
ascended the tower, which had been temporarily restored. Yet the view
over the wide woods to the limits of the estate, fading into the sky on
the horizon, awoke a disagreeable emotion in Frau Sperner. She thought
of her home, of the gravel walk, of the narrow cells in which she
housed those entrusted to her care--how small, how miserable compared
with such a magnificent possession; she thought of Dr. Sperner, who
brought nothing to the union but his moustache, a box of clothes,
another of books, and an undeniable talent as a dictatorial teacher in
the school and conjugal lord, and a heavy shadow overclouded her life.
Blanden stood transfigured before her like a being of a higher order.
Giulia had remained behind in the chapel with the Doctor. Lori looked
at Blanden with an expression, in which lay the pain of deceived
affection, combined with one of sad resignation. But Blanden said,
smilingly--
"You will surely call me to your assistance against the bold tutor, who
took so much upon himself! Verily he has set a crown upon his boldness
now, robbed you of heart and name, trodden Fraeulein Baute's door plate
in the dust, and upon the long suffering metal written the name of the
wild man who was so dreadful. Can I help you, my Fraeulein? Shall I call
him out? I am ready as ever for knightly duty!"
"Laugh away, a knight may be needed at all times, and a man who is a
savage does not at once become tame in marriage. Herr von Blanden, we
may call ourselves teachers, but nevertheless we always remain pupils
in life."
It was well that Giulia and Sperner appeared, or Lori would have fallen
into Blanden's arms upon the Castle leads, if he had shown the least
inclination to bear so precious a burden.
At any rate Frau Sperner had the satisfaction of driving back to the
town in Herr von Blanden's elegant carriage. Reclining in the soft
cushions, drawn by the four high stepping horses, she could indulge in
dreams of being the mistress and owner of this team! How contemptible
the Doctor appeared at that moment; he possessed no carriages and
horses, castles and villages, forests and meadows, and yet assumed a
mien as if his frown were dreaded in a circumference of thirty square
miles. And he was really living upon borrowed capital. That was all the
grandeur!
With a sigh she leaned back in the cushions and closed her eyes, and in
a half dream of delight she saw herself as Frau von Blanden with
Sperner seated in his proper place, upon the box in a splendid livery,
thrashing the horses and stroking his moustache.
A few days after this visit, Blanden had to cross the frontier to see a
landowner in Russian Poland about agricultural matters and the new
buildings, for which he hoped to find desirable materials. Giulia bade
him a fond farewell, as though she had a presentiment that it would be
farewell for a long, long time. The road from Kulmitten first led along
a beautifully situated road on the estate, then between little lakes on
either side; farther on, at several places, the traveller might easily
imagine himself to be in Arabia Petraea, for the highway went past hills
which had been strewn with a shower of stones. Here not a tree grew,
not a shrub, it was a limitless waste. The horses, too, had difficulty
in making their way through the stony _debris_, for Blanden had already
to diverge from the main road, because his friend's estate was only
accessible along by-ways. It was a toilsome drive, twilight overtook
them before the frontier was reached. Meanwhile the landscape had again
assumed a different character; the hills were covered with woods, and
in the hollows between them small lakes which terminated in swamps. The
carriage wheels often ran so closely to their edge that only the light
of the carriage lamps and the driver's caution preserved them from some
mishap. Some of these morasses were so deep that it would be fatal to
sink into them. Suddenly the carriage dropped below into a copse
dividing two lakes or swamps; a string of carts which had been driven
up one behind another, and would not move on, blocked the road. The
coachman became impatient, but he was bidden to wait; Blanden sprang
out of the carriage and climbed up a little eminence close to the road,
however, it was too dusk to be able to overlook the whole train. He saw
a few dark figures moving about amongst the carts, and some of them
were armed with guns.
At last the cry "Forward!" resounded. The line of carts was set in
motion, it was possible to proceed. Blanden had to act as rear-guard.
Thus they went on for some time alternating from wooded hills to swampy
vallies, then they stopped again, a post with the Russian colours
showed that the frontier was reached. That "halt!" was not given in the
loud voice of the "forward," but in a whispered tone. Blanden became
impatient, he knew already that he had fallen amidst a caravan of
smugglers, which could only seek to cross the frontier on by-roads, in
the dead of the night. Then suddenly the soundless silence was
disturbed by noisy cries; shots and din of conflict followed, the
horses in Blanden's carriage reared, the coachman could hardly keep
them in hand. More shots. Cossacks on fleet horses dashed upon the
foot-wide margin that separated the carts from a swamp on the right
hand from a steep wooded hill on the left. They overpowered the drivers
of the carts, bound them safely, and mounted the waggons themselves. A
Cossack also seated himself beside Blanden's coachman, obliging him to
deviate from his course and follow to the frontier station.
As they drove past the scene of conflict he saw that it had cost the
lives of several victims; a wounded Cossack was lifted up and placed in
one of the carts, two officials from the frontier searched a wildly
overgrown bank running out into the swamp, evidently they expected to
find a wounded smuggler there. As the road became wider, and passed
through a plain of meadows, one cart was left behind to bring on a few
more prisoners, and several Cossacks galloped back to catch some
runaway smugglers. Clearly the attack on the column of carts had been
unexpected and sudden, and doubtlessly its leader had formerly often
succeeded in crossing the frontier unperceived by these remote roads.
Blanden was supremely annoyed at this compulsory divergence; almost an
hour elapsed before they reached the station, near which was an inn. He
knew the inspector of the frontier personally, and also had papers with
him fully proving his identity, and setting the matter beyond doubt
that he was in nowise connected with the band of smugglers.
The Cossack upon the box, who had escorted him safely, took leave, and
for his unwelcome trouble received a _trink-geld_ that he accepted with
eloquent gestures. It was too late at night to drive to his friend's
estate, they had turned off in an exactly opposite direction. Blanden
had the horses taken out, and resigned himself to the fate of spending
the rest of the night in that miserable inn.
Gradually the carts arrived with the Cossacks. Blanden had preceded
them. The waggons contained jewellery, silks, and linen; he learned
that a bold speculator, who accompanied the train himself, hoped to do
a great stroke of business with it. He had not yet been caught. Blanden
overheard all this in the inn parlour, when he walked impatiently up
and down, waiting for the wretched meal which he had ordered.
Outside there was incessant running to and fro; shouting, ordering,
rolling of cartwheels, and stamping of horses, echoed through the
night. A company of infantry had been summoned from the neighbouring
town, because they had to deal with the most dangerous traders of the
East Prussian forests, who thoroughly understood the little frontier
struggles, and amongst whom were several reckless axe-bearers and
dreaded shots.
It was late when one more conveyance arrived, from out of which a
groaning man was lifted; he had been found upon the bank in the swamps,
where he had sought to conceal himself in the wild profusion of
overgrowth.
"He will not live much longer," said the host, returning, after having
gleaned the information outside, "but, besides the room which I have
given up to you, there is not an empty spot in the house."
"I will gladly resign it," replied Blanden. "I shall not be able to
sleep any more; put the unhappy man in my room."
Accompanied by two Cossacks, the wounded man was carried into the
parlour where the landlord told him he could be accommodated in the
upper room, which this gentleman had relinquished to him. Out of a
cloak which concealed the rest of his face two great glowing eyes fixed
themselves upon Blanden. A sudden quiver passed through the wounded
man. He was carried out and up the stairs.
"Who is the man?" asked Blanden.
"So far as I can hear," said the host, "he is a dealer, who, in
transporting his goods--whether from greediness and anxiety, whether
from delight in such adventures--does not leave the matter to competent
professional smugglers, but assumes the management himself. Certainly,
this time it is a great expedition, which might have entirely provided
a princely ball at Warsaw with jewels and silk. He has fared ill
to-day! He defended himself and fired a revolver, but was mortally
wounded."
The servant of the house then entered and begged Blanden to go to the
wounded man, who urgently requested it.
"The poor man will not part from life without thanking me," said
Blanden.
He went up the stairs and entered a room meagrely lighted with a feeble
oil lamp. Against the wall stood a wretched bedstead, upon which lay a
straw mattress. At the head of the bed sat a Cossack, his lance in his
hand.
"Make room, good fellow," said the wounded man's voice, "let the
gentleman come to me! You can stand on guard as well as sit. I am no
longer dangerous."
He had spoken Russian. The Cossack drew back while Blanden went up to
the bed, but his sensation of pity suddenly gave place to one of
astonishment, when, in the man doomed to die, he recognised the amber
merchant.
"Signor Baluzzi!" cried he shocked, for he suddenly recollected that
this man stood in some mysterious relation to Giulia.
"I shall soon be dead," said Baluzzi, while spasmodic gasps interrupted
the words brought out with such difficulty. "_Corpo di bacco!_ I should
not have believed that it would come so soon, but I feel it is to be,
and the frontier official, who was a surgeon formerly, says so too.
People follow many trades here."
"I am sorry for you, Baluzzi! How could you enter upon so insane an
undertaking?"
"Insane? _L'assicuro di no!_ I have often had the most splendid
success, but misfortune must befall all in time; you, too, Herr von
Blanden, and I am glad, because I have the right to hate you."
The Italian's dim eyes gleamed, he clenched his hand convulsively, and
then let it fall again upon the pillow.
"What do these insinuations mean?--speak! If you have a secret to
confide to me do not hesitate, for it might easily become too late."
"A secret of a strange kind," said Baluzzi, as he tossed about and
groaned. "Haha, now it will come upon her, too. This bullet speeds
beyond the frontier--and into her heart! I foretold it to her when she
gave me up in her unworthy pride. I was too weak. I let myself be
dazzled by the gold that she promised and gave me! But now it is all
over, death is approaching, it needs no bribe. Now I will speak! That
was the agreement. I shall hold firmly to it!"
"You speak in riddles," said Blanden.
"As she will no longer rest in my arms, neither shall she in yours,"
said the Italian. "I shall assert my rights. I shall preserve them with
my last breath, long as I may have denied them. That is worthy of a
brave man. She is mine, and belongs to this death-bed."
"Of whom do you speak?" cried Blanden, more astonished.
"Of Giulia, your--mistress!"
"Hah, you scoundrel," cried Blanden, "I shall be forgetting that a
dying man is before me, that these words are the unnecessary attacks of
an expiring intellect."
"You are mistaken," said Baluzzi, but pain compelled him to stop for a
time and to speak more softly. "I speak the truth."
"Fool--united to me at the altar!"
"Null and invalid, null and invalid!"
"Is there anything you wish, Baluzzi? I will gladly carry it out, but
to listen longer to your wandering speech is impossible."
"Wandering speech! Haha--am I a madman? Do I tear off the bandage which
the wretched surgeon, the old frontier official, put on? Do I grope in
the air half unconsciously? No, my mind is clear, clear as yours,
clearer, perhaps, at this moment. I can understand that the world
begins to go round with you when I repeat that 'Giulia can only be
your mistress, because she is--my wife!'"
"Your wife, madman!"
Blanden shouted in a torrent of anger, then he shuddered. Various dark
impressions, for which hitherto he could not account, swept suddenly
over him, the possibility of what was incredible lay before him like a
deep fearful abyss.
"She has deceived you, _carissimo_!"
"Oh, then--then I should envy you the merciful bullet which struck you,
envy you your approaching death," cried Blanden, beside himself, "but
it cannot be, Giulia could not thus deceive me."
"She wanted to belong to you for ever, and she did not mind a crime."
"She must have dreaded the disclosure every moment."
"There you have an ardent daughter of our country! She would be happy
at any price."
"You should have come forward long since, have opposed it."
"I did not do it. I was accustomed to turn away from her, to be silent.
It was more advantageous for me! She paid well for my silence, but that
she should treat me with contempt ate silently into my vitals, and I
vowed to be avenged upon the overbearing woman as soon as the hour
should have struck."
Bach one of these replies, which Baluzzi gave in a low expiring voice,
was a deathblow for Blanden. Not only could he not refute them, but
they bore the impress of truth.
The dark recollection of the Lago Maggiore, of Giulia's agonised bursts
of anguish, of the force of circumstances which she lamented, of
Baluzzi's appearance on the shore of the lake, and at the gate of the
villa, all returned overwhelmingly upon him. He had many times asked
casual questions which she had always answered crossly and evasively,
and only in order to avoid marring the peace of their honeymoon had he
refrained from an enquiry which might easily be misinterpreted. With
the keen sharpness of a knife this thought quivered through his brain,
and a dread feeling of pain rent his heart, and yet with every excuse
which his anxious reason could discover, he tried to stem the coming
evil.
"Your wife, you say, your wife, but where were you married?"
"In the church of San Giulio, on the island, in the lake of Orta."
"I will assume that you are speaking the truth, assume it without
believing it. But then she was your wife years ago. She is divorced."
"Our Church knows no divorce," murmured Baluzzi softly to himself.
"Your laws--"
"Do not recognise it either!"
"Well, then, she has been divorced in some other country where it is
permitted."
"I have always remained a subject of Italy, and even here--I had
grounds enough for a divorce--remember the villa at Stresa--but I would
not."
Baluzzi made a sign of denial. He groaned, and pressed his hand upon
his heart. He could not speak any more.
"Horrible," cried Blanden; then he began to perceive what Giulia's
heart must have gone through in its passionate love for him--the
unbounded deception became comprehensible. He could not but acknowledge
to himself that he should never have made his, this vagrant's wife,
even if she had been divorced. Giulia had told herself the same, and
therefore concealed the past from him.
But that he should realise the possibility, could realise it, seemed to
him like inexpiable injustice to Giulia.
The man, sick unto death, was a prey to wild delirium, but even through
madness there runs one connecting thread, on which it hangs its
pictures, and is often more sharp-sighted, more rational than sound
sense.
A pause ensued. The Cossack, who was weary, began to whistle a song
which is sung on the shores of the Don by the girls of his race.
Baluzzi had somewhat recovered.
"You still doubt? Pray call in the officer of the frontier."
Under the impression that the Italian felt weak, and needed some
surgical assistance, Blanden hastened down the stairs and returned with
the chief guardian of the frontier. The latter felt Baluzzi's pulse,
and shook his head.
"One favour! Show this gentleman what you found sewn up in my coat."
Annoyed, but unwilling to refuse a dying man's entreaty, the officer,
with an enquiring glance at Blanden, went into his office, and
returned, bringing another Cossack with him as watchman.
Out of a rough wooden box close at hand at the time, he took a
sparkling diamond coronet. Even the Cossacks drew nearer with covetous
glances.
Only one stone was wanting in the ornament. Blanden started back as if
stung by an adder.
"My, her diamonds! Our family jewels! Robber!
"I a robber? Did she wear these diamonds on her wedding day? Did she
complain that she had lost them? It is a gift that she gave to me--one
of the many with which she bought my silence. I came to her on the
evening before her wedding. Kaetchen showed me the road through the
tower and the subterranean passage, and cleared the way--poor child, it
was there, too, that she died the following day in the fireworks, which
she let off in honour of the bridal couple. These diamonds are my
honestly gained property."
Now Blanden said no more. Groping about blindly he sought an
explanation, but all excuses were denied to him. Desperate, he buried
his face in his hands, and stamped as if in an impotent rage with his
fate.
"He is dying," said the official, pointing at Baluzzi, whose features
suddenly became overshadowed.
But he raised himself once more with a powerful effort, and cried in a
shrieking half-failing voice--
"Thrust her from you, the adulteress. Where am I? The brand upon her
brow, the chains of the galley rattle about me--"
"And if it were so," cried Blanden, "the proofs are wanting. The secret
goes with you to the grave. I alone have the right to punish her."
"You are wrong," said Baluzzi, gathering up his strength once more.
"Revenge I have vowed to her, I keep my oath, the proofs are not here,
not at hand, but they are in safe keeping. The accusation I carried for
long, carefully sealed up in my breast pocket. Beate burned the page in
the registry in San Giulio, but a legal copy at the See in Milan proves
the marriage. And this accusation is my legacy, the lightning that
strikes the worthless woman, even before I die."
"This accusation--" cried Blanden, almost breathlessly.
"Bears the address of the nearest court in the district, shows all
proofs, and is in the hands of Wild Robert, who fled with me on to the
bank in the swamps. The ball hit me--it missed him. He promised me,
even if it cost his life, to take the papers there. He knows the way
through the morass, and if he had to hew down bush and tree with an axe
to make a bridge for himself, the bailiffs have not caught him.
Triumph! Chains and fetters for her--she has despised me, I, too, may
despise her--thus I die--gladly!" And with these words, which were
already interrupted by the rattle of approaching death, he bowed his
head and passed away.
As if out of his mind Blanden rushed into the night, ran along lonely
roads, sprang over ditches and fences, hurried up and down--he felt as
though he must fly from himself.
His Giulia had deceived him, she was a criminal, his marriage
invalid--the myrmidons of the law were already knocking at the door of
his Castle! He repeated all this to himself mechanically, hopelessly,
as though he were conning a lesson. It was impossible that all this
could concern himself.
After two hours of rapid flight through the night, which just began to
yield to the dawn in the east, he returned to the inn, asked for ink
and paper, and wrote to Giulia--
"Baluzzi is dead, he fell in a smuggler's fight, and dying confessed to
me that you are his wife, and never were divorced from him! Shortly
before his death he sent in an accusation against you. It cannot all be
true, confirm the untruth with a few lines; they will find me with the
proprietor of Opaczno."
He obtained a messenger and despatched him to Kulmitten with his
letter.
It would have been impossible for him to return now, look into Giulia's
eyes, hear from her own lips that she was the wife of that wretch.
He gave some orders and money for Baluzzi's burial, and then drove to
Opaczno.
Fixedly he gazed at the morning, he saw none of the objects past which
he drove, for him a heavy shadow lay upon all earthly things.
She whom he had so proudly loved, seemed like a spectre to him, a bride
of Corinth, a vampire, which had sucked his blood, his life.
And yet--in the midst of his wrath at the deception, he was seized with
fear, with pity for her, an inexpressible feeling of pain, that gnawed
at his heart.
He felt as if the mild god of Hindoostan, the old King's son, laid a
hand upon his brow like a healing doctor, and whispered to him, "Have
pity upon all creation!"