CHAPTER V.
THE OLD NOBLEMAN AND HIS BEAUTIFUL WIFE
"To Wolfsgarten," was the direction upon the guide-board at the edge of the well-kept forest where they were now driving, on the grounds and territory of the nobleman. Every stranger who asks the way, and makes inquiry concerning the large, plain mansion with steep gables beyond, receives the reply that two happy people live there, who have every blessing except that of children.
There are those who give satisfaction to the soul. Where two sit and talk about them, each feels gratified in being able to perceive and exhibit the pure and beautiful, and is grateful to the other for each new insight; but, strangely enough, people soon tire of talking about the purely beautiful. On the other hand, there are those who furnish an inexhaustible supply of material for conversation which dwells chiefly upon the unlovely features, whilst the attractive are mingled in and brought to the surface with great effort; at the close the speaker feels obliged to add, "But I am no hypocrite when I meet this person in a friendly way, for while there is much to condemn, there is also a great deal that is good." Clodwig was a character of the former, and his wife Bella, born Baroness von Pranken, of the latter sort.
Clodwig was a nobleman in the best sense of the word. He was not one of your affable people, on the same terms with every one. He had a gentlemanly reserve and repose. The independent proprietor, the manufacturer as well as the priest, the day-laborer, the official, and the city-merchant, each believed that he was particularly esteemed and beloved; and all considered him an ornament of the landscape, like some great tree upon the mountain-top, whose shade and whose majestic height were a joy, and a shelter from every storm.
The counsel and help of Clodwig von Wolfsgarten could be counted upon confidently in all exigencies. He had been abroad for a long period, and only since his second marriage, five years since, had he resided at his country-seat. Bella von Wolfsgarten was much more admired than beloved. She was beautiful, many said too beautiful for the old gentleman. She was more talkative than her husband; and when she drove out in a pony-carriage drawn by a span of dappled greys through the country and villages, herself holding the reins, while her husband sat by her side and the footman upon the back seat, everybody bowed and stared. Many old people, who always find some special reason for any new fashion, were inclined to see in this fact of Bella's holding the reins a proof that she had the rule. But this was not so, by any means. She was humble and entirely submissive to her husband. It was often displeasing to him that she so excessively praised, even in his presence, his goodness, his even disposition, and his noble views of life and the world.
Eric had only a dim recollection of the commotion excited in the capital by Bella's marriage, for it happened about the time that he resigned his commission. He had frequently seen Bella, but never the count. The count had been for many years ambassador from the small principality to the papal court, and there Eric's father had become acquainted with him.
Clodwig was known in the scientific world through a small archæological treatise with very expensive designs; for next to music, which he pursued with ardor, he was devoted to the science of antiquity with all that earnest fidelity which was a characteristic of his whole being. It was said in his praise, that there was no science and no art to which he did not give his fostering care. Returning from Rome to his native land, childless and a widower, he became an esteemed member of the assembly of the nobility favoring what is called moderate progress; and during the session, he associated much with the old Herr von Pranken, who was also a member. He soon became interested in Bella von Pranken, a woman of imposing manners, and a brilliant performer upon the piano. Bella was now, if one may be so ungallant as to say so, somewhat passée; but in her bloom she had been the beauty of that court circle, where a younger generation now flourished, to which she did not belong.
Bella had travelled over a good part of the world. In the company of two Englishwomen she had visited Italy, Greece, and Egypt. She had hired an experienced courier, who relieved her from all care. On her return to the court where her father was grand-equerry, she mingled in society with that indifferent air which passes itself off as a higher nature brought into contact with the common-places of daily life. She conversed much with Clodwig von Wolfsgarten, who supposed that the insignificant trifles of social life were considered by her as unworthy of notice, and she gained the credit with him of possessing a refined nature occupied only with higher interests. She constantly and actively participated in Clodwig's fondness for archaeological pursuits. It was a matter of course that they should find themselves in each other's society, and if the one or the other was not present, Bella or Clodwig was asked if the absent one was sick, or had an engagement. Bella had no porcelain figures and nick-nacks of that kind upon her table, but only choice copies from the antique; and she wore a large amber chain taken from the tomb of some noble Roman lady. She possessed a large photographic album, containing views of her journey, and was happy to look over them again and again with Clodwig, and to receive instruction from him. She also played frequently for him, although no longer exhibiting her musical talent in society.
The entire circle for once did something novel: they carried from Bella to Clodwig, and from him to Bella, the enthusiastic speeches of the one about the other; and even personages of the highest rank took part in furthering their intimacy. This became necessary from the timidity they both experienced, when they became conscious of the possibility of a different relation between them. Meanwhile success crowned the attempt, and the betrothal was celebrated in the most select circle of the court.
Mischievous tongues now repeated – for it was but fair that there should be some compensation for the previous excessive good-nature – that two interesting points of discussion had arisen. Bella, they said, had made it a condition of the betrothal, that he should never speak of his deceased wife, and the old Pranken had asked of the physician how long the count might be expected to live. He must have smiled in a peculiar way when the physician assured him that such old gentlemen, who live so regularly, quietly, and without passion, might count upon an indefinite number of years.
In the meanwhile, the conduct of Bella gave the lie to the malicious report that she hoped soon to be a rich young widow. Clodwig had had an attack of vertigo shortly before the wedding; and always after that Bella contrived that he should be, without his knowledge, attended by a servant. She devoted herself with the most affectionate care to the old gentleman, who now seemed to enjoy a new life, and to gain fresh vigor on returning to his paternal estate. At the baths, where they went every summer, Clodwig and Bella were highly esteemed personages. She was admired not only for her beauty, but also for her stainless fidelity, and for her solicitous attention to her aged husband.
CHAPTER VI.
THE RECEPTION DAY
It was yet bright daylight here upon the mountain-height, when they approached the Wolfsgarten mansion. As they were making the last ascent through the park, a beautiful girl in a figured blue summer-suit stood in the path between the green trees. Getting sight of the carriage, she quickly turned back again. Two light-blue ribbons, tied behind, according to the fashion, floated in the evening wind. Her step was firm and yet graceful.
"Ah," said Pranken, "to-day we have hit upon my sister's collation-day. That pretty girl who turned about so quickly is the daughter of the Justice, freshly baked out of the oven of the convent of the 'Sacred Heart' at Aix. You will find her a genuine child of the Rhine, and my sister has given her the appropriate name Musselina; there is in her something of perpetual summer. Through this warm-hearted child we are now already announced to the company."
While he was arranging his hair with his pocket-comb, he continued, —
"The family is very respectable and highly esteemed; the little one is too good to be trifled with; one must have an inferior kind to smoke in the open air."
Pranken suddenly became aware whom he was talking to, and immediately added, – "So would our comrade, Don John Nipper, who was everlastingly betting, express himself. Do you know that the wild fellow has now an affection of the spine, and is wheeled about at Wiesbaden in a chair?"
Pranken's whole manner changed; and springing with joyful elasticity out of the carriage, he reached out his hand to Eric, saying, "Welcome to Wolfsgarten!" Many carriages were standing in the court-yard, and in the garden they found the ladies, who with fans and parasols sat upon handsome chairs around a bed of luxuriantly-growing forget-me-nots, in the centre of which was a red rhododendron in full bloom.
"We are no peace-breakers; don't let us disturb you, good ladies," cried out Pranken from a distance, in a jesting tone. Bella greeted her brother, and then Eric, whom she recognised at once. The wife of the Justice and Fräulein Lina were very happy to renew the acquaintance of yesterday; then were introduced the district physician's wife and sister, the head-forester's wife and her mother, the apothecary's wife, the burgomaster's wife, the school-director's wife, and the wives of the two manufacturers. In fact, all the notabilities of the place seemed to have assembled. The gentlemen had gone, it was said, to view some prospect not very far off, and would soon be back.
The conversation was not very lively, and Eric's appearance awakened interest. The director's wife, a large striking figure – Bella called her the lay figure, for she knew how to dress well, and everything became her – raised her opera-glass and looked round upon the landscape, but took advantage of this survey to get a nearer look at Eric's face. The manner in which she then balanced the glass in her hand seemed to say that she was not altogether displeased with the view.
After the first question, how long it was since Eric had seen the Rhine, and after he had informed them how everything had appeared under a new aspect, and had affected him almost to intoxication, he said it was very pleasant to see the young ladies wearing wreaths of fresh flowers and leaves upon their heads. To this he added the remark, that though it was natural and fitting for ladies to wear wreaths on their heads, it was very comical when men, even on some rural excursion, allowed the black cylinder hat to be ornamented with a wreath by some fair hand.
Insignificant as was the observation, the tone in which Eric uttered it gave peculiar pleasure, and the whole circle smiled in a friendly manner; they at once felt that here was a person of original and suggestive ideas.
Bella knew how to bring out a guest in conversation. "Did not the Greeks and Romans, Captain," she asked, "wear badges of distinction upon the head, while we, who plume ourselves so much about our hearts, wear ours upon the breast?" Then she spoke of an ancient wreath of victory she had seen at Rome, and asked Eric whether there were different classes of wreaths. Without intending it Eric described the various kinds of crowns given to victory, and it excited much merriment when he spoke of the wreath made of grass, which a general received who had relieved a besieged city.
The girls, who stood in groups at one side, made a pretence of calling out to a handsome boy playing at the fountain below, and sprang down the little hill with flying garments. On reaching the fountain, they troubled themselves no further about the little boy they had called to, but talked with one another about the stranger, and how interesting he was.
"He is handsomer than the architect," said the apothecary's daughter.
"And he is even handsomer than Herr von Pranken," added Hildegard, the school-director's daughter.
Lina enjoyed the enviable advantage of being able to relate that she had met him yesterday at the island convent; her father had rightly guessed that he was of French descent, for his father had belonged to the immigrating Huguenots, as his name indicated. The apothecary's daughter, who plumed herself highly upon her brother's being a lieutenant, promised to obtain from him more definite information about the captain.
In her free way, Lina proposed that they should weave a garland and place it unexpectedly on the bare head of the stranger. The wreath was speedily got ready, but no one of the girls, not even Lina, ventured to complete the strange proposal.
Meanwhile Eric was sitting amidst the circle of ladies, and he expressed his sincere envy of those persons who live among such beautiful natural scenery; they might not always be conscious of it, but it had a bracing influence upon the spirit, and there was a keen sense of loss when removed into less interesting scenes. No one ventured to make any reply, until Bella remarked, – "Praise of the landscape in which we live is a sort of flattery to us, as if we ourselves, our dress, our house, or anything belonging to us, should be praised."
All assented, although it was not evident whether Bella had expressed approval or disapproval. Then she asked Eric concerning his mother, and as if incidentally, but not without emphasis, alluded to the sudden death of her brother, Baron von Burgholz. Those present knew now that Eric was of partially noble descent. Bella spoke so easily that speaking seemed a wholly secondary matter to her, while seeing and being seen were the things of real importance. She hardly moved a feature in speaking, scarcely even the lips, and only in smiling exhibited a full row of small white teeth.
Bella knew that Eric was looking at her attentively while he spoke, and composedly as if she stood before a mirror, she offered her face to his gaze. She then introduced Eric, in the most friendly way, to the agreeable head-forester's wife, a fine singer, asking at the same time if he still kept up his singing; he replied that he had been for some years out of practice.
The evening was unusually sultry, and the air was close and hot over mountain and valley.
A thunder storm was coming up in the distance. They discussed whether they should wait for the storm at Wolfsgarten or return home immediately. "If the gentlemen were only here to decide." The pleasant forester's lady confessed that she was afraid of a thunder storm.
"Then you and your sister are in sympathy," said Eric.
"O," said the sister, "I am not at all afraid."
"Excuse me; I did not mean you, but the beautiful songstress dwelling here in the thicket. Do you not notice that Mrs. Nightingale, who sang so spiritedly a few moments since, is now suddenly dumb?" All were very merry over this remark, and now each told what she did with herself during a thunder storm.
"I think," said Eric, "that we can find out not so much the character, as the vegetative life of the brain, the nervous temperament, as it is called, by observing the effect which a thunder storm has upon us. We are so far removed from the life of nature, that when changes take place in the atmosphere that can be heard and seen, we are taken by surprise, as if a voice should suddenly call to us out of the still air, 'Attend! thou art walking and breathing in a world full of mystery!'"
"Ah, here come the gentlemen!" it was suddenly called out. Two handsome pointers springing into the garden went round and round Pranken's dog, who had been abroad, smelling at him inquiringly, as if they would get out of him the results of his experience. The men came immediately after the dogs.
Eric immediately recognised Count Clodwig, before his name was mentioned. His fine, well-preserved person, the constant friendliness of expression on his smoothly shaven, elderly face, as yet unwrinkled, – this could be no other than the Count Clodwig von Wolfsgarten; all the rest had grouped themselves around him as a centre, and exhibited a sort of deference, as if he were the prince of the land. He possessed two peculiar characteristics seldom found together: he attracted love, and at the same time commanded homage; and although he never exhibited any aristocratic haughtiness, and treated each one in a friendly and kindly manner, it seemed only a matter of course for him to take the lead.
When Eric was introduced to him, his countenance immediately lighted up, every feature beaming with happy thoughts. "You are welcome; as the son of my Roman friend you have inherited my friendship," he said, pressing more closely with his left hand the spectacles over his eyes.
His manner of speaking was so moderate and agreeable that he seemed to be no stranger; while there was in the accent something so calm and measured, that any striking novelty was received from him as something for which you were unconsciously prepared. He had always the same demeanor, a steady composure, and a certain deliberateness, never making haste, having always time enough, and preserving a straight-forward uprightness befitting an old man. When Eric expressed the happiness it gave him to inherit the count's friendship towards his father, and that of the countess towards his mother, a still warmer friendliness beamed from Clodwig's countenance.
"You have exactly your father's voice," he said. "It was a hard stroke to me when I heard of his death, for I had thought of writing to him for several years, but delayed until it was too late."
When Eric was introduced now by Clodwig to the rest of the gentlemen, it seemed as if this man invested him with his own dignity. "Here I make you acquainted with a good comrade," said Clodwig, with a significant smile, whilst he introduced him to an old gentleman, having a broad red face, and snow-white hair trimmed very close. "This is our major – Major Grassler."
The major nodded pleasantly, extending to Eric a hand to which the forefinger was wanting; but the old man could still press strongly the stranger's hand. He nodded again, but said nothing.
The other gentlemen were also introduced by the count; one of these, a handsome young man, with a dark-brown face and fine beard and moustache, the architect Erhardt, took his leave directly, as he had an appointment at the limestone quarry. The school-director informed Eric that he had been also a pupil of Professor Einsiedel.
The major was called out of the men's circle by the ladies; they took him to task, the wife of the Justice leading off, for having left them and gone off with the gentlemen, while always before he had been very attentive to the ladies, and their faithful knight. Now he was to make amends.
The major had just seated himself when the girls placed upon his white head the crown intended for Eric. He nodded merrily, and desired that a mirror should be brought, to see how he looked. He pointed the forefinger of his left hand to Lina, and asked her if that was one of the things she learned at the convent.
It soon became evident that the major was the target for shafts of wit, a position which some one in every society voluntarily must assume or submit to perforce. The major conferred upon his acquaintance more pleasure than he was aware of, for every one smiled in a friendly way when he was thought of or spoken about.
A gust of wind came down over the plain; the flag upon the mansion was lowered; the upholstered chairs were speedily put under the covering of the piazza; and all had a feeling of comfort, as they sat sociably together in the well-lighted drawing-room, while the storm raged outside.
For some time no other subject could be talked about than the storm. The major told of a slight skirmish in which he had been engaged in the midst of the most fearful thunder and lightning; he expressed himself clumsily, but they understood his meaning, how horrible it was for them to be murdering each other, while the heavens were speaking. The Justice told of a young fellow who was about to take a false oath, and had just raised up his hand, when a sudden thunder-clap caused him to drop it, crying out, "I am guilty." The forester added laughing, that a thunder storm was a very nice thing, as the wild game afterwards was very abundant. The school-director gave an exceedingly graphic description of the difficulty of keeping children in the school-room occupied, as one could not continue the ordinary instruction, and yet one did not know what should be done with them.
All eyes were turned upon Eric as if to inquire what he had to say, and he remarked in an easy tone, – "What here possesses the soul as a raging storm is down there, on the lower Rhine, and above there, in Alsace, a distant heat lightning which cools off the excessive heat of the daytime. People sit there enjoying themselves in gardens and balconies, breathing in the pure air in quiet contemplation. I might say that there are geographical boundaries and distinct zones of feeling."
Drawing out this idea at length, he was able to make them wholly forget the present. The forester's wife, who had been sitting in the dark in the adjoining room with her hand over her eyes, came into the drawing-room at these words of Eric, which she must have heard, and seemed relieved of all fear.
Eric spoke for a long time. Though his varied experience might have taught him a different lesson, he still believed that people always wished to get something in conversation, to gain clearer ideas, and not merely to while away the time. Hence, when he conversed, he gave out his whole soul, the very best he had, and did not fear that behind his back they would call his animated utterances pertness and vanity. He had a talent for society; even more than that, for he placed himself in the position of him whom he addressed, and this one soon felt that Eric saw farther than he himself did, and that he spoke not out of presumption, but out of benevolence.
There is something really imposing in a man who clearly and fluently expresses his ideas to other people; their own thought is brought to light, and they are thankful for the boon. But most persons are imposed upon by the "Sir Oracle" who gives them to understand, "I am speaking of things which you do not and cannot comprehend;" and the Sir Oracles carry so much the greater weight of influence.
The men, and more particularly the Justice and the school-director, shrugged their shoulders. Eric's enthusiasm and his unreserved unfolding of his own interior life had in it something odd, even wounding to some of the men. They felt that this strange manner, this extraordinary revelation of character, this pouring out of one's best, was attractive to the ladies, and that they, getting in a word incidentally and without being able to complete a thought, or round off a period, were wholly cast into the shade. The Justice, observing the beaming eyes of his daughter and of the forester's wife, whispered to the school-director, "This is a dangerous person."
The company broke up into groups. Eric stood with Clodwig in the bow-window, and they looked out upon the night. The lightning flashed over the distant mountains, sometimes lighting up a peak in the horizon, sometimes making a rift in the sky, as if behind it were another sky, while the thunder rolled, shaking the ceiling and tinkling the pendent prisms of the chandelier.
"There are circumstances and events which occur and repeat themselves as if they had already passed before us in a dream," Clodwig began. "Just as I now stand here with you, I stood with your father in the Roman Campagna. I know not how it chanced, but we spoke of that view in which the things of the world are regarded under the aspect of the infinite, and then your father said, – methinks I still hear his voice, – 'Only when we take in the life of humanity as a whole do we have, as thinkers, that rest which the believers receive from faith, for then the world lives to us as to them, in the oneness of God's thought. He who follows up only the individual ant cannot comprehend its zigzag track, or its fate as it suddenly falls into the hole of the ant-lion, who must also get a living. But he who regards the anthill as a whole – '"
Clodwig suddenly stopped. From the valley they heard the shrill whistle of the locomotive, and the hollow rumbling of the train of cars.
"But at that time," he continued after a pause, and his face was lighted up by a sudden flash of lightning, "at that time no locomotive's whistle broke in upon our quiet meditation."
"And yet," said Eric, "I do not like to regard this shrill tone as a discord."
"Go on, I am curious to hear why not."
"Is it not grand that human beings continue their ordinary pursuits in the midst of nature's disturbances? In our modern age an unalterable system of movements is seen to be continually operating upon our earth. May it not be said that all our doing is but a preparation of the way, a making straight the path, so that the eternal forces of nature may move in freedom? The man of this new age has the railroad to serve him."
Clodwig grasped Eric's hand. Bright flashes of lightning illumined the beaming face of the young man and the serene countenance of the old count. Clodwig pressed warmly Eric's hand, as if he would say, "Welcome again! now art thou truly mine." Love, suddenly taking possession of two hearts, is said to make them one; and is it not also true of friendship?
It was so here. The two confronted each other, not with any foreboding, or excitement of feeling, but with a clear and firm recognition that each had found his own choicest possession; they felt that they belonged to each other, and it was entirely forgotten that they had looked into each other's eyes for the first time only a few moments before. They had become united in the pure thought of the Eternal that has no measure of time; they may have stood there speechless for a long time after unclasping their hands; they were united, and they were one without the need of word, without external sign.
In a voice full of emotion, as if he had a secret to reveal, which he could hardly open his lips to utter, and yet which he must not withhold, Clodwig said, – "In such storms I have often thought of that former period when the whole land from here to the Odenwald was a great lake, out of which the mountain peaks towered as islands, until the water forced for itself a channel through the wall of rock. And have you, my young friend, ever entertained the thought that chaos may come again?"
"Yes, indeed; but we cannot transport ourselves into the pre-human or post-human period. We can only fill out, according to our strength, our allotted time of three score years and ten." The major now came and invited them to go into the inner saloon, where the company had assembled. Clodwig again stroked softly Eric's hand, saying, "Will you come?" Like two lovers who have just given a secret kiss and an embrace, they rejoined the company. No one suspected why their countenances were so radiant.