SUMMER DAYS.
Broad sunlight lay upon the comfortable mansion of Schoenthal. Frau von
Rosen was better than she had been for years, but she was still obliged
to spare her eyes, and so Alma had undertaken to advise Dr. Nordstedt
from time to time of the condition of his patient. The less there was
to tell of her, however, the more there always seemed to be to say.
Nordstedt was now looked upon by the whole family more as a friend than
as a physician, and, busy as he might be, he always found time to
answer Alma's letters. As Walter was to spend his summer holidays at
Schoenthal, Herr von Rosen invited Dr. Nordstedt to pay them a visit at
the same time.
"But, papa, what are you thinking of? He never will come," said Alma.
Nevertheless he came.
"What a pity it is that Thea has not yet come home!" said Alma. "She
would be so much pleased with Dr. Nordstedt, and he would like her so
much."
Frau von Rosen gazed thoughtfully at her daughter. How did she know so
well whom Dr. Nordstedt would like? She began to shake her head, but
not for long, for Nordstedt had grown dear to her, and she only glanced
shyly now and then at her husband, wondering if the same thoughts that
had occurred to her had been suggested to him also, and what he would
say. But it really was all his fault. Why had he invited the doctor to
the house?
One evening Herr von Rosen said to her, "We are thought to be people of
very advanced ideas, mamma. Do you not think we should justify the
opinion entertained of us if we chanced some day to marry our daughter
to a man of the people?"
"It seems to me," she replied, "that everything would depend upon who
the man was, and what confidence we could repose in him."
"Aha! Then, in principle, you would not be opposed to such a match? Of
course, I am only discussing such things in general."
"In general, then, I have no objection to the bourgeoisie, although I
once thought I could favour none save sons-in-law of rank. But what is
the use of growing older if one grows no wiser?"
Then there was a pause, which was ended by Herr von Rosen's saying,
"Alma certainly never would have been happy with Lothar Eichhof."
Frau von Rosen sighed. She laid her hand on her husband's shoulder, and
said, softly, "Do you think Thea is happy?"
"Ah! her letters have struck you too?"
"Not only that, but she has now been three months away from Eichhof. It
was all very well for her to go to the baths, but to visit my sister
afterward and stay there so long,--I cannot understand it. Mountain air
is good for the child, she says. Possibly; but Eichhof air would be
equally good for him. And we so seldom see anything of Bernhard----"
"Bernhard has a great deal to do at present."
"Ah, my dear, I can easily see that you do not believe that to be the
only reason. I often lie awake thinking of it all. I cannot comprehend
it."
"Wait until Thea comes home. She is a clever woman, and she loves
Bernhard; she will make matters all right again. You remember how she
behaved about his agricultural interests. At all events, we must know
nothing until we are told. Not even a parent should interfere between
man and wife."
Frau von Rosen assented. "But yet it is hard," she rejoined; "and if
anything has estranged them from each other, be sure it is the result
of the grand state in which they are obliged to live. Love is more
likely to nourish amid simple, comfortable surroundings."
The next day the family and their guests were taking their coffee when
the post-bag was brought in. There was a general distribution of
letters and newspapers, and among the former was a thick envelope for
Alma from Adela Hohenstein.
There had been a brisk correspondence carried on of late between the
two girls, and Alma was as familiar with Adela's quiet life in her
country home as was Adela with Alma's walks and rides with her guests,
and even with the conversations carried on among them.
"It is very charming here," Adela wrote. "My plants and my animals
flourish finely. Papa is contented, and we love each other dearly.
But--you see there is a but--it is very quiet. The people about us are
strangers to us, and those whom we know are far away. I go to walk just
when you do, but I am quite alone. Since my Fidele died I have not even
a dog, for the one I have now is too stupid to care to go with me.
While I walk, papa writes his book, which, however, between ourselves,
will not come to anything, because poor papa has forgotten so much. But
it gives him pleasure, and so I let him believe that it will be good,
and go to walk alone. And sometimes I am quite low in my mind and could
envy you your guests. Not Walter, of course, but Dr. Nordstedt is so
nice; and even Walter is a human being, and an old acquaintance
besides. Papa, too, thinks--but then he had better write you himself
what he thinks. I only want to tell you that I am no longer so
seriously angry with Walter as I told you I was in Berlin. I have been
thinking about it since I have been so much alone, and I have reflected
that it is folly to be angry with any one for as long as I have been
vexed with Walter. To be sure, you do not know the cause I had for
anger, and I certainly had good cause; but nevertheless I am angry with
him no longer, and he need not refuse papa's invitation on my account.
You may tell him so."
Alma read this strange letter twice, and just as she finished it Herr
von Rosen said, "Baron Hohenstein has written to me, Dr. Nordstedt,
asking whether you and Walter will not stop and pay him a little visit
on your way home. He says he has received so much hospitality in your
house that he should like to requite it. You will go directly past his
retreat, and----"
"Don't decide against this plan; I have something to tell you from
Adela," Alma whispered to Walter, who was just opening his lips to
declare that the visit would be impossible.
Dr. Nordstedt read the Freiherr's kind invitation, and then declared,
with a glance at Walter, the state of whose mind he guessed, although
he knew nothing of it positively, that he felt inclined to go. After
breakfast Alma took occasion to deliver Adela's message to Walter. The
young man hesitated at first whether to rejoice or be vexed. Adela was
no longer angry with him! As if she had ever had any cause to be so. He
had laid his heart at her feet, and she had thrust it from her. The
bitterest moments of his life he had experienced upon her account. No
human being had ever so grieved and wounded him as she had done. And
now she sent him word that she was no longer angry with him. What a
confusion of ideas there must be in that fair curly head! But in spite
of his vexation his heart beat faster, and there was a joyous light in
his eyes. Was not a desire to see him again at the bottom of her
message? Did she not say "I am no longer angry with you" only because
pride and mortification kept her from saying, "Do not be angry with me
any longer"? Of what avail was it that he had so often convinced
himself that he would forget her,--nay, that he had forgotten her? Her
image was more vividly distinct than ever in his mind, and in spite of
all his self-remonstrances he was delighted at the thought of this
visit, and counted the days that must elapse before it could begin.
One day Herr von Rosen invited him to drive with him to Rollin, where
he and Alma had long owed a visit. Dr. Nordstedt stayed with Frau von
Rosen, and the three others set out upon a lovely afternoon. How
strange were Walter's sensations upon seeing the fine old pile once
more! The memories connected with it took more vivid shape in his mind.
There were the two old lindens beside the court-yard gate stretching
their leafy arms above the tall old wooden crucifix, and upon the other
side was the ancient oak, in which the storks were wont to build. But
between these unchanged trees two brand-new gothic gate-posts had
lately been erected, and as the carriage rolled along the avenue Walter
saw that the old house had been decorated with all kinds of turrets and
bow-windows. The arbour of clematis had been replaced by a sloping
terrace; the elder-bushes in front of the house had been exchanged for
closely-trimmed acacias, and instead of the climbing roses, which had
been killed by the various renovations, the shield and baronial crest
of the Hohensteins were conspicuous between the windows of the upper
story. A footman in elegant livery received the guests. The hall was
redolent of fresh paint and new carpets, and the doors creaked upon
their hinges, as though discontented with the new order of affairs, but
no footstep could be heard upon the luxurious rugs and carpets. Hugo
Hohenstein received them in the hall in his customary _blase_ but not
inelegant manner. He conducted Alma to the drawing-room, and presented
the party to his wife, who greeted them with a curtsey that was
needlessly low, but maintained towards them generally an air of cool
reserve, which finally had a paralyzing effect upon them all. The young
hostess had perhaps not received a satisfactory amount of attention
from her husband's acquaintances, and was fearful of compromising
herself; at all events, she was evidently embarrassed, perfectly
courteous but perfectly cold, so that when the gentlemen retired to
smoke a cigar, Alma found it very difficult to carry on a conversation.
She admired several treasures of art that were displayed on shelves and
brackets, as well as the entire arrangement of the drawing-room. Frau
von Hohenstein replied that it was all very simple, and that she was
sure that Fraeulein von Rosen was accustomed to a far greater degree of
elegance. But something in her expression gave the lie to her words,
and Alma's heart grew heavy, for she could not but remember, as these
conventional phrases were being exchanged, the many delightful talks
she had had with Adela in this very room.
"Walter's sensations were very similar to Alma's, while Hugo Hohenstein
conducted the gentlemen through the gardens, where stiff flower-beds
but poorly replaced the rose-hedges. The trees in the park, too, were
much thinned, and part of the pond had been drained to give place to
more trim flower-beds.
"When the pond was drained a ring was found," said Hugo,--"a golden
ring, set with a blue or green stone. I have it now; and I should like
to know how it came in the pond."
The blood mounted to Walter's cheeks, but he said nothing, until
shortly afterwards, when he was shown the ring in the smoking-room.
Then he could not refrain from remarking, "I think your sister,
Fraeulein Adela, used to wear that ring. If I am not mistaken, there is
a date engraved upon it,--the date of your parents' betrothal----Ah!
there it is: 'August 28, 1830.' Does that coincide with your knowledge
on the subject?"
"To be sure! I never thought of that. Really, it is remarkable how
stupid everything is when one comes to investigate it. Some interest
attached to the ring so long as no one knew how it came in the pond.
But now that we know all about it, it turns out to be perfectly
commonplace."
"Would you like to see my collection of weapons?" he asked, after a
while. "I have some rare pieces." He opened a cabinet and displayed its
contents to his guests. "They really are fine, are they not?" he said.
"I am thinking now of making an Egyptian collection. I intend going to
Egypt; it is a fearful bore to stay at home forever."
"Ah!" said Herr von Rosen. "What does your lady wife say to that?"
Hugo von Hohenstein looked at his neighbour with undisguised
astonishment, then he smiled with an air of superiority. "_Mon Dieu!_"
he said, "we did not marry to be bored. My wife will probably visit a
French watering-place, or something of the sort." He suppressed a
slight yawn, and thought how impossible it was to be entertained by
these _gentilshommes campagnards_, who, with their old-fashioned ideas,
were really quite out of place in the modern world.
Herr von Rosen ordered his carriage.
"_A propos_, since you are shortly to pay my governor a visit, my dear
Eichhof, why not take the ring with you?" said Hugo.
"Walter had already thought of doing so, but had not made up his mind
how to propose it. He took the ring, and his heart beat fast. Fate
willed that the ring he had cast away in anger should now be returned
to him; he would accept the omen,--it was the talisman of his good
fortune that he had thus regained. Therefore on the drive home to
Schoenthal he was in the gayest humour, while Herr von Rosen and Alma
could not recover from the impression the visit had made upon them.
They had had a fleeting glimpse of a modern fashionable marriage, and
both were prompted to make a comparison which pained them.
"He is going to Egypt and she to France," Herr von Rosen thought, "and
this they call not being 'bored.' And my daughter and my son-in-law,
too, have put miles between them. Are they afraid of being 'bored'?
Good heavens! have home-life and home-happiness lost all charm for the
young people of the present day?"
Alma on her part thought of the cool courtesy with which Hugo
Hohenstein and his wife treated each other, and then her thoughts
travelled to Thea and Bernhard. Would they at some future day treat
each other thus, or even more coldly and stiffly? She longed to see
Thea again; now when her first sharp pang for Lothar's death was past,
and when her mother was so nearly well, the secret in which she was a
sharer weighed heavily upon her youthful soul. The world was so fair
and sunny, and people were so kind, and Dr. Nordstedt--no, he had
nothing to do with it; but she felt so calmly happy that her heart was
full of gratitude to God for this lovely world. But then, when she
remembered Thea and Lothar, she felt that she was wrong to be happy and
to enjoy. Oh, there was so much sorrow in the world after all!
And to-day, after the visit to Rollin, she felt in a particularly
melancholy mood. Rollin had impressed her as so sadly changed, she
missed Adela everywhere; she thought of how changed too Eichhof would
be when Thea finally returned thither, and she remembered that their
guests were to leave Schoenthal on the morrow.
Occupied with these thoughts, she went out alone in the evening into
the park, while the rest were sitting on the veranda. Frau von Rosen
soon reentered the house, and asked her husband to come with her, as
she wished to speak with him. Nordstedt and Walter were left alone.
Nordstedt drummed with his fingers upon the garden-table, near which he
sat, in a nervous way quite unlike him. He arose once or twice, then
seated himself and drummed again, saying, at last, "I will go find
Fraeulein Alma; the evening is damp, she may take cold."
"Well, then, come," said Walter, evidently regarding his companionship
as indispensable.
Nordstedt stood one moment in silence, then put both hands upon his
young friend's shoulders, and said, gently, "Let me go alone; I have
something to say to Fraeulein Alma."
"Nordstedt, is it possible?" Walter ejaculated, having already during
his visit at Schoenthal made up his mind that it was not Adela who had
wrought the change in Nordstedt which had so surprised and annoyed him
in Berlin.
Nordstedt looked abroad into the moonlight. "Much is possible, my dear
fellow; nothing is certain!" he said. And without another word he
descended the steps of the veranda and walked alone: the moonlit path
towards the park.