he replied in a low voice. "We are freed from the oppression of daily
petty considerations and customs, and are drawn nearer to the Creator.
We feel as if we were called to rise above the world, part of which we
survey at our feet. Even the most faint-hearted must feel the wings of
his soul expand, and that which he dared not utter or even think in the
midst of the din, and cares of every day life, here spontaneously flows
from his heart to his lips."
Suddenly the sound of trumpets and flutes reached them from below, and
they saw a band of music followed by a crowd, slowly advancing in
solemn procession, as it issued out of one of the narrow streets, and
marched across the market-place. The brass of the instruments sparkled
in the sun and some of the people wore bouquets in their hats.
"Apparently a wedding," remarked Valentine. "But where is the bride?"
interposed Eugenie. "It rather seems to me to be one of those
expeditions which now daily proceed to the vintage accompanied by
singing and music. But you have just mentioned weddings; that reminds
me of the great aim of our excursion. Come let us descend." He appeared
not to have heard her. "Eugenie," he said, "if we had stood up here
fourteen years ago, all would have been different."
"Who can say if it would have been better. I am inclined to think that
all that happens to us is well, and for our good."
He had pulled out the apple, and held it before him on the stone
parapet.
"Do you really believe that Eugenie?"
"Yes, I do."
"And if I had told you then, what escaped from my lips, the first
evening we again met, what would have been your answer?"
"That question, is a matter of conscience, my dear friend," she
replied, carelessly, "which even up here a hundred feet above the every
day world you are not justified in asking. Before I could give you a
clear and concise answer, I should have to read through some chapters
in the book of my life, which I have not perused for many a year." "And
that truly is a trouble which I cannot expect you to take," he replied
in a pained, harsh tone. "Besides it would be useless labour as the
writing must have long since faded. I forgot that though the chapters
in my book, end in a blank, yours have a continuation." Saying these
words he leant over the parapet, and the apple he held in his hand
rolled as if by accident over the edge. In its fall it struck one of
the many pinnacles which surrounded the spire, and broke into several
pieces, which flew, describing wide curves, into the street.
"What have you done Valentine?" exclaimed Eugenie; "where shall we be
able to steal another apple? Only fruits of stone can be plucked here.
But now let us hasten down."
"You are right," he replied, indifferently, "here every thing is of
stone; I did not think of that." Then he remained silent till they
reached the streets. The gloom however, which had settled on his
countenance, could not hold out against the unconstrained gaiety of his
companion. His brow cleared before they had taken many steps on their
way to the inn. She had taken his arm through the narrow tortuous
streets, her cloak, which in the warm sunshine had become too heavy for
her, hung loosely from her shoulders. As they walked along, they joked
merrily at the smell of the new wine, which met them at the entrance of
every cellar and courtyard and even pervaded the precincts of the old
dilapidated church, and at the large vats which obstructed their way.
When they reached the inn, the hour of the table d'hote had passed, so
they sat down alone in the large room, at a small table, where they
were amply provided with the best wine of the country; but Eugenie
wished for a bottle of that year's vintage. She said she longed to
taste that beverage the scent of which she had so abundantly enjoyed
during her walk--
When she had tasted it, she praised the sweet and turbid drink.
"It resembles first love," remarked Valentine, "beware of its strength;
it will turn your head."
"At my age there is no danger of that," she replied, smiling. "I am an
old woman already, and take my daily nap after dinner. To-day this bad
habit will be of great service to me."
She then retired to a room prepared for her, and Valentine remained
alone in company of the wine and his thoughts. The uneasiness of the
morning had passed, and he no longer pondered on what would be the end
of all this. The voice of a good genius secretly whispered in his ear
that fate now smiled on him. He looked around, as if to ascertain that
no one was near, and then hastily took a sip from Eugenie's glass, with
the devout superstition that it would help him to divine her thoughts.
As however no enlightenment on this point was vouchsafed him, he
consoled himself with the thought that without doubt, she was asleep at
that moment, and so could think of nothing. He represented her to
himself reclining on the sofa, her small feet crossed, and her head
drooping on her shoulder. A sensation of happiness thrilled through
him; he felt as if he must hasten upstairs, kneel before the fair
sleeper, and press her hand to his lips. But he soon rejected this
thought, lighted a cigar and patiently waited for Eugenie's appearance.
It certainly seemed as if the new wine had confirmed its reputation,
for more than an hour passed before the door was opened, and his fair
companion re-appeared.
"Good morning," she exclaimed, "how long have I slept? truly this wine
though it seems so harmless, is even in its cradle as powerful as an
offspring of the gods. It will be late before we reach the home of your
fair ones."
"We never can reach it late enough," he replied, laughing. "Think of
what you promised me on your honour as a knight," she said, with a
menacing gesture, "and hasten our departure. What a careless mother I
am, instead of spending my poor boy's last holiday with him, I stroll
about the country making the acquaintance of new wine, and old
churches."
In spite of Valentine's efforts to hasten their departure the day had
waned before they reached their destination. The fog had gathered
again, when the carriage slowly ascended the hill on which the town was
built, and rattled over the bad pavement. Valentine lifted Eugenie from
the carriage when it stopped at the inn, and silently walked by her
side through the streets to the doctor's house. She remarked that he
was greatly agitated, and she almost felt pity for him, but they had
already mounted the stone steps which led up to the neat little house,
the knocker had sounded, and a moment afterwards the door was opened by
a stout little man with large gold spectacles.
"Why, what's this!" cried the merry old gentleman, pushing back his
spectacles. "What gives me the unexpected pleasure of seeing you so
soon again? I hope there is nothing wrong about the horse----but I see
you have brought company with you, and I have left you standing out
there in this rude manner. You must excuse me, fair lady; you see we
are still barbarians in this remote corner of the world. I beg you will
honour, my humble roof. But now tell me seriously my dear friend _is_
there anything the matter with Almansor? Unfortunately you will find no
one but myself at home, my dear Madam; my daughters will be
inconsolable when they hear that during their absence----but I will
send for them this very moment; but stop a bit! why confound me, I
remember now, I have already sent for them, they will be here in a few
minutes. To the left Madam if you please, will you kindly walk in here,
most honoured guests?"
They entered the room, the door of which the lively little man had
opened for them. In the centre stood a table laid for four, on which
there were cold viands and a bottle of new wine. The whole was lighted
up by the faint twilight which stole through the window. "Now you can
judge for yourself, my most honoured friend, how we are treated by our
children," resumed the doctor. "Those naughty girls of mine run away,
and leave their papa to wait for his supper. We will play them a trick
however, nothing but the empty dishes, shall they find on their return.
But what a fool I am, inviting you to supper without considering that
this scanty meal is in no way fit for such charming visitors.
Unfortunately the cook is gone to summon them, so there is no one
to----But please to be seated at least, take off your hat and cloak,
and make yourself comfortable--Welcome to L---- most honoured lady. Now
my friend _do_ tell me has the horse?"----
"I can relieve your mind on that point my dear doctor," Valentine at
last interposed. "I value Almansor's excellent qualities more than
ever, since he has found favour in the eyes of my betrothed, to whom I
have the pleasure of introducing you." Eugenie bowed to their amazed
host. She checked the words which had risen to her lips, and only a
severe look reproved Valentine for this arbitrary assertion, so
contrary to their treaty.
Had the little doctor entertained other hopes since yesterday's visit?
Had he attached greater importance to it than mere horse-dealing?--With
a low bow he stammered forth his congratulations, and thanked Valentine
for honouring him with this visit. However he soon recovered his jovial
equanimity and laughingly said: "Well, you are the most complete
hypocrite and false hearted friend! Did you not on this very spot abuse
matrimony so vehemently, that you even alarmed, and terrified such an
old widower as I am? and then to come next day accompanied by your
betrothed----Well, she certainly is bewitching enough to convert a
heathen.--Pardon me, pardon me, Madam."
Valentine laughed. "I can assure you, doctor; that none but you are
responsible, if after all my yesterday's heresy has been retracted."
"I? you are joking."
"No, I am speaking in good earnest. For you have, or rather your horse
has been of great assistance to me in winning this fair lady's hand.
This morning when mounted on Almansor, I rode up to the window behind
which stood my beloved one, the sight melted the hardness of her heart,
and she acknowledged herself conquered. Hardly had I recovered my
senses, which were somewhat confused by this unexpected victory than I
declared that you should be the first person to hear of our engagement,
so we ordered a carriage and drove to L---- and now permit your
grateful and overjoyed friend to embrace you."
"Ah!" exclaimed the delighted doctor, "my fancy for horses has caused
me many vexations, but this master-stroke of Almansor's makes ample
amends for it all. No my dear young lady, you need not take it amiss
that your betrothed has divulged your secret. I esteem you all the more
highly since I find that you acknowledge a man to be only complete on
horseback. Now leave it all to me, my eye ranges all over the country,
and if some day I should find a lady's horse worthy of cantering by the
side of Almansor----"
"It shall be _mine_; let us shake hands over it, doctor, and the first
time I ride with my wife, you shall accompany us."
"Agreed," cried the little man, and energetically shook hands with his
guest. "But where are those girls, confound them; just when all is
ready to celebrate this happy event they are wanting."
"Are your daughters on a visit in the town?" asked Eugenie.
"Yes, my dear young lady, they have been invited to one of the autumnal
grape gatherings, by a friend of mine, who has daughters of the same
age. I have no doubt, that the affair will finish off with a dance;
however I exercised my paternal authority, and strictly enjoined them
to come home before evening. I will not again allow them to dance at
this season of the year, for every time they have done so, they have
brought home bad colds. Now they will miss you delightful visit, and it
serves the disobedient hussies quite right--but they really must come I
will have them fetched home instantly! halloo Henry!" he shouted to a
farm-servant, whom he had seen passing, from the window; "just run over
to the Kitzinger garden and tell Margaret to bring them home
immediately. Now you see," he continued, turning to his guests, who sat
side by side on the sofa without looking at each other, "how little
respect a father enjoys. You must educate your children with more
severity. Ah! if my wife still lived, it would all be different."
Eugenie blushed and remained silent, but Valentine exclaimed: "No, no
Doctor, don't disturb your daughters in their merry making. It is true
that I have praised them so much to my dear Eugenie that she will not
leave L---- without having made their acquaintance, but there will be
time for that to-morrow, for the moon does not make its appearance,
and I hear that we shall be well provided for at the inn of the
Crown."--"Are you not of my opinion darling," he said turning to
Eugenie, and suddenly approaching his lips to hers.
"Valentine," said the young woman, and drew back quickly, "you seem to
have forgotten what you promised me."--"Now what do you say to that
Doctor? She reminds me of my promise, and does not keep hers. Eugenie
have you not vowed to agree to all my wishes, and are you justified in
refusing a kiss to your betrothed. Come now let us seal our engagement
as students seal their fellowship. We have not yet done so."
"That is right!" exclaimed their host. "This is only new wine, but in
the cellar...."
"Don't trouble yourself my dear friend; is not new wine sweet, turbid,
and intoxicating like first love. And you must know. Doctor, that the
fair charmer before you has been worshipped by me from the time I
entered college and though fate parted us in later days. 'Old love
fades not,' as the people say, and you know that 'the voice of the
people, is the voice of the gods.' So we will perform the sacred act
with none other but new wine. Fill your glass. Doctor!"
He had risen with these words and again turned towards Eugenie, with
two full glasses in his hand. She sat on the sofa suffused with
blushes, and her eyes fixed on the ground. Maidenly confusion sealed
her lips, she tried to speak, but could not utter a word, so she took
the glass mechanically. He then knelt before her, twined his arm within
hers after the fashion of the students and emptied his glass at one
draught. She took a sip from hers with half averted face. Valentine
then threw away his glass and kissed her lips.[5]
"That's right," said the doctor. "You need not blush fair lady, if an
old man like myself is present at so solemn an act. All I ask as a
reward for my good offices, is that I should be permitted to assist at
the wedding."
Valentine silently nodded, and remained standing for a while before
her, pensively gazing on her calm brow.
"My dear Doctor," he then began, "you must make some allowance for two
people who are nearly out of their senses with joy. It is no trifling
matter, I assure my dear friend, when one's betrothal is only of a few
hours standing; particularly as this cruel lady love of mine tormented
me so relentlessly with her wicked tricks, and her apparent
indifference struck me dumb, and made me feel as timorous as a bashful
youth. It was so years ago, when she was still in her mother's house,
and I used often to think that I should no longer be able to stand it,
but must plunge into the water to cool my smarting wounds. Then when we
again met after many years of separation she was just the same. How
often, by some jesting word has she not checked the confession which
hovered on my lips, that my feelings for her had remained unaltered;
and who knows how all would have turned out, had it not been for you,
my dear Doctor. Now, however, you see she has quite changed, and you
would never believe how much of subtleness and womanly art lies hidden
beneath those demure eyelids."
"Nay, you calumniate me, dear Valentine," she said, and raised her
beautiful moist eyes to his. "It is only natural that I should not show
my feelings so openly here, in a house which is yet strange to me,
though it may not appear so to you."
"And whose is the fault, if not mine," cried the doctor, "or rather of
those disobedient damsels who leave all the duties of a host to me."
"Well, where are they? what are they about, why are they not with you
Margaret?" he angrily asked the cook who had now entered the room.
"You see. Sir, the master and mistress of the house pressed the young
ladies to stay for the evening," replied the old woman staring at the
two visitors with wondering eyes. "They promised that the young ladies
should not dance too much, and Miss Clara thought that if I put it in
that light to you Sir!..."
"Deuce take it," cried the doctor, in a passion, "but they must come
home immediately!"
"Nay, my dear Doctor," Eugenie said, entreatingly. "Pray do not burthen
our consciences with this cruelty."
"Heaven forbid," Valentine hastily added. "Tomorrow there will be time
enough."
"Well, let us go after them," proposed the doctor, "what do you say to
closing this eventful day with a dance?"
"Are we not better here," replied Valentine, "we do not know your
friends, and would greatly prefer remaining another hour under your
hospitable roof if you will permit us to do so. Is it not so Eugenie?"
She nodded. The old gentleman then rubbed his hands delightedly, and
declared that he had not felt so pleased for many a year. He sent the
maid into the cellar and the larder and made her bring all that was to
be found in the house, in spite of the entreaties of his visitors not
to make so much ado for them. When they were at last sitting gaily and
comfortably together, the doctor exclaimed with a look of satisfaction:
"Now if the girls but knew what they have missed by their
disobedience!"
Valentine smilingly looked at Eugenie who had now completely recovered
her usual calm demeanour and gave with composure her opinion on the
subject of the future arrangement of their life, which Valentine had
proposed, and played her part admirably.
When the clock struck ten, she arose. "I am afraid, we can await your
daughters no longer;" she said, "to-morrow, when they have rested after
their dancing we will return."
"I will not detain you," replied the doctor, "for I verily believe that
they will not come home, till I go and fetch them myself. That is the
way they treat their old father. I will forgive them, however, this
time an account of the pleasure they have procured me of having your
society all to myself. But I rely on your promise to return to-morrow,
and perhaps, you will understand my paternal weakness when you see
these naughty daughters of mine."
So they all set forth; the doctor had insisted on accompanying them to
the door of the hotel; there he left them, and they silently followed
the waiter who carried the light before them. He opened two adjoining
rooms and after wishing them good night disappeared.
Valentine stretched out his hand to Eugenie. She pressed it, and said
calmly, looking up at him,
"Good night to you, my dear friend, sleep well, and au revoir
to-morrow."
Then she entered her room and closed the door behind her.
After remaining quiet for some time he knocked gently at the door which
separated the two rooms.
"Eugenie," he whispered.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Your good night of before, was against our treaty."
"Against what treaty?"
"That which we solemnly ratified with the doctor's new wine."
"I think we have had enough of this acting I only agreed to the pledge
because I thought it lay in my part."
"Can we not continue in earnest, what we began in jest. At all events
it was a solemn vow made before witnesses."
"Well, then I will make up for it to-morrow morning, and now once more
good night." But no movement showed that she had turned from the door.
So after a pause Valentine began again,
"And all the rest may I not consider it as true?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, all that we acted this evening."
"That is a good deal."
"Eugenie."
"Well."
"Can that be too much which alone can give me back the life and
happiness you have taken from me a thousand times?"
"When I consider...."
"Oh, Eugenie, say that I may throw myself at your feet, that I may
kneel before you. Do open the door--!"
"Gently, gently, my dear friend. You certainly deserve some punishment.
What! is this all your courage? You can only speak out what weighs on
your mind behind the shelter of a closed door! I will bet anything that
you have even put out the light hoping that the darkness may give you
confidence. You dare not acknowledge your love for me in the face of
day. You are a poor hero indeed. But I will now confess to you that I
have owed you a grudge for many a year."
"You are jesting again, Eugenie."
"No, this time I am thoroughly in earnest. If in former years you had
as little courage as now, why at all events could you not have been as
cunning. Was there no door then behind which you could have owned to me
what now comes too late!"
"Too late? No, Eugenie; where are the years that separate us from that
time? Is it not the same timid lad of those days who now stands here,
and implores you to lighten the darkness around him with a heavenly ray
from your eyes. Can you leave me to despair?"
He waited some time for an answer. Suddenly the door was noiselessly
opened, and she stood before him smiling, but with tears in her eyes.
"One kiss freely given you, as a token of forgiveness for all you have
made me suffer," she said.
He folded her in his arms and she softly passed her hand across his
brow, saying: "Here, there are many lines, but our hearts are still
fresh and youthful, and to-morrow we will begin life anew where we left
it off fourteen years ago."
She pressed her lips to his, and with his arm round her waist, he led
her to the window. The moon had dispersed the fog, and a gentle
autumnal breeze wafted the scent of the grapes through the open
casement.
"Let US drive back to-night, my darling," she said. "I could not sleep
now, and the air is quite mild. Go, while you order the carriage, I
will write a few lines to the doctor, and tell him not to expect us
to-morrow: Is it true, Valentine, can it be true, that we have at last
told each other what we knew years ago?"--
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: A part of Switzerland on the frontiers of Italy.--The
Translator.]
[Footnote 2: Not the Lombardy poplar, but the populus Alba, or Abele
tree, which is wide spreading.--The Translator.]
[Footnote 3: Name of a promenade at Meran.--The Translator.]
[Footnote 4: Lauben. A provincial term for arcades.--The Translator.]
[Footnote 5: This is an old custom at the German universities when
a new comer enters the Fellowship--they call it "Bruederschaft
trinken."--The Translator.]
THE END.
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PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER.
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End of Project Gutenberg's The Dead Lake and Other Tales, by Paul Heyse