The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 11

Mieting followed her hero without allowing herself to be deterred by anything, even Aunt Rikchen's spectacles. – "And that is not a matter for jest," said Mieting, as she related that evening the experiences of the session; "I would rather face the lorgnette of Baroness Kniebreche. For behind that is nothing but a pair of dimmed eyes, for which I feel anything but fear; but when Aunt Rikchen lets her spectacles slip down to the point of her nose, she only begins to see clearly, so that one might become anxious and uneasy if one had not a good conscience – and you know, Else, something unusual must have happened between you and the Schmidts, has it not? It is, to be sure, still mysterious, for the good lady mixes up everything, like cabbage and turnips; but she had nothing good to say of the Werbens, like my Papa about the Griebens, who continually dig away his line, he says; and you have dug away something from the Schmidts, and that, you will find, is the reason why Reinhold has become distant. We shall not learn it from him, but Aunt Rikchen can't keep anything secret, and we are already the best of friends. I am a good girl, she says, and can't help being so; and the dove that brought the olive branch to the earth did not know what it had in its beak, and I saw that Reinhold, who was in the studio, winked at her, and Mr. Anders also made a really wry face and looked at Reinhold – the three know something; that much is clear, and I mean to find it out, depend upon it!"

But Mieting did not find it out, and could not, for Aunt Rikchen herself did not know the real situation and the others did not let her into the secret. Mieting's communications contributed by no means to Else's pacification, even though Else had at least had the pleasure during the first few days of hearing about Reinhold through Mieting – how he had come into the studio and kept them company for a while, and how he had looked; but even this source of consolation flowed less freely and appeared gradually to dry up entirely. One day he had been there scarcely five minutes; another day he had only gone through the studio; a third, Mieting had not seen him at all; on the fourth she did not know whether she had seen him or not. Else supposed she knew what to think of this apparent indifference – that Mieting had learned something which she did not wish to tell her, or had convinced herself otherwise of the hopelessness of her love, and that the detailed account which she gave of her other experiences and observations, in the studio, were only to serve to conceal her embarrassment.

It was, accordingly, with only divided interest that Else listened to these accounts – how Mieting rose daily in the favor of Aunt Rikchen, who was really a fine old lady and had her heart in the right place, even if her spectacles did always sit crooked on the point of her nose; and how the kind old woman had something specially touching for her, for she too would look like that in fifty years. But a pretty young blind girl, who came every day, had touched her still more deeply, because Mr. Anders wanted to model them side by side on the same relief; when she spoke, it was just as if a lark sang high, high up in the blue air on a Sunday morning, when all is quiet in the fields; and Justus said that Nature had never but once brought forth a contrast like her and Cilli, and if he succeeded in reproducing that, people would be permitted to speak to him only with their hats in their hands. – There was another, next to Justus' studio, which aroused her curiosity, because the occupant never showed herself, and she could form no idea of a lady who kneaded clay, or hammered around on marble – least of all of a marvelously beautiful, elegant lady, such as Justus says Miss Schmidt is. – "For you know, Else, a sculptor differs in appearance from a baker only in that he has clay instead of dough in his fingers, and is powdered with marble-dust instead of flour, so that one can hardly consider such a queer human child as a decent gentleman, much less as an artist, and the only one who always looks so clean and neat, in spite of his working jacket, and is more wonderfully handsome than any one I have ever seen in my life – that one is not an artist, Justus says, for he cannot do anything but point and carve – but you, poor child, possibly do not know at all what pointing means? Pointing, you know, is that which one does with a bill-stork or a stork-bill – "

And now followed a very long and confused explanation, from which Else understood nothing but Mieting's wish to talk of anything but what was engrossing her heart. – "The work will be finished," said Else to herself, "and the entire success of the beautiful plan will consist in my not being able to consider Reinhold's reserve as accidental."

But the work seemed not likely to be finished. – Such a face he had never seen, said Justus; one might just as well model clouds in springtime, which changed their form every moment. – And, again, when the relief was done – "you can't believe how horrible I look, Else, like a Chinese girl!" – Justus had set himself to finish his "Ready to Help," and – "then I cannot leave the poor fellow in the lurch, who tortures himself so; for you know, Else, it is not simply a question of the head, but of the whole figure – the posture, gestures – of new motives, you know – but I think you, poor child, do not know at all what a motive is. Motive is when one does not know what to do, and suddenly sees something, in which, in reality, there is nothing to see – let us say, a cat or a washtub – "

It was the longest, and also the last, explanation which Mieting drew from the abundance of her newly acquired wisdom for her friend. During the next few days Else had more to do about the house than usual, and another matter urgently claimed her attention. After two months of negotiation the final conference was held at her father's house to consider the future management of the Warnow estates, in which, with the three votes of von Wallbach, Privy Councilor Schieler, and Giraldi, against the vote of the General, who had his dissenting view with his reasons recorded in the minutes, it was decided that the whole complex should be sold as soon as possible, and Count Golm be accepted as purchaser, in case the conditions of the sale arranged by the family council were agreed upon.

He came from the council pale and exhausted as Else had never before seen him. "They carried it through, Else," he said. "The Warnow estates, which have been in the possession of the family for two hundred years, will be sacrificed and bartered. – Your Aunt Valerie may answer for it if she can. For she, and she alone, is to blame for letting an old respected family ignominiously perish. If she had been a good and true wife to my friend – what is the use of lamenting about things that are passed! It is foolish even in my eyes, not to say in the eyes of those to whom the present is everything. And I must admit they acted quite in the spirit of our time – wisely, reasonably, in the interest of all of you. You will all be at least twice as rich as you are, if the sale turns out as favorably as the Privy Councilor prophesies. It is very unlike a father, Else, but I hope he may triumph too soon. The Count, whom he mentions as purchaser, can only pay the silly price – for the actual total value of the estates is scarcely half a million, much less a whole million – in case he is sure they will take the enormous burden from his shoulders immediately – that is, if the scandalous project, the perilous folly of which for the State I so clearly demonstrated with the aid of the General Staff and Captain Schmidt, should go through. If it did go through, if the concession were made, still it would be a violation of the little bit of authority to which I lay claim, and I should regard it as if I had been passed over in the recent advancements. I should ask for my discharge at once. The decision is pending. For Golm it is a vital question; he will either be ruined or a Crœsus; and I shall be an Excellency or a poor pensioner – quite in the spirit of the times, which plays va banque everywhere. Well, as God wills it! I can only gain, not lose, for the highest and best; my clear conscience, the consciousness of having stood by the old flag, of having acted as a Werben must act, nothing and no one can take from me."

So Else's father spoke to her, in a state of agitation which appeared in every word, in the vibrant tone of his deep voice, although he sought to compose himself. It was the first time he had thus taken her into his personal confidence, and made her the witness of a strife which he formerly would have fought out himself in his proud silent soul. Was it chance, or was it intended? Had the vessel, already too full, only run over? Or did her father have an intimation – did he know her secret? Did he wish to say to her: "Such a decision will perhaps confront you; I wish, I hope, that you, too, will remain true to the flag which is sacred to me – that you will be a Werben?"

That was in the forenoon; Mieting had accepted an invitation for dinner, by way of exception, from a friend of her mother, after she had had her sitting. She would not return before evening. For the first time Else did not miss her friend; she was glad to be alone, silent, busy with her own thoughts. They were not cheerful – these thoughts; but she felt it her duty to work them out to the last particular, to become clear in her own mind, if it were possible. She thought that it would be possible, and felt, in consequence, a silent satisfaction, which, to be sure, as she said to herself, would be the sole compensation for all that she had secretly given up.

And in this spirit of resignation she received with calm composure the news which Mieting brought to her when she came home, and which would have filled her with sadness under other circumstances – Mieting had to go away; she had found a letter from her Mama at the house of the lady from whom she came, in which her Mama so bitterly complained of her long absence that she could not do otherwise than leave at once – that is, early in the morning. How she felt about it she would not and could not say.

It was a strange state of mind in any case; while she seemed one moment about to burst into tears, the next she broke into laughter which she tried in vain to suppress, until the laughter turned to tears again. And so she went on the rest of the evening. The next morning the feeling had reached such a height that Else was seriously concerned about the strange girl, and urged her to put off the journey until she should be quieted to some extent. But Mieting remained firm; she had decided, and Else would agree with her if she knew all, and she should know all – but by letter; she couldn't tell her verbally without laughing herself to death, and she mustn't die just now for reasons which she again could not give without laughing herself to death.

And so she went on until she got into the carriage in which August was to take her to the station. She had declined all other company most positively – "for reasons, Else, you know, which – well! You will read it all in the letter, you know, which – Good-by, dear, sweet, my only Else!"

With that Mieting drove off.

In the evening August, not without some formality, handed Else a letter which Miss Mieting had given him at the last moment before her departure with the express direction that he should deliver it promptly at the stroke of nine in the evening, twelve hours later. It was a letter in Mieting's most confused hand, from which Else deciphered the following with some difficulty:

Six o'clock in the afternoon.

Dear Else!

Don't believe a word of all that I told you when I came home. – Oh, that won't help you any! You first read this letter – I am writing it right here at Madame von Randow's in order to lose no time – August is to give it to you when I am gone – thus, not a bit of it is true; my mother hadn't written at all; I lied; I have been lying to you and deceiving you most monstrously for a week, for I have not been going there during that time on your account, and that would have been the most injudicious procedure, as I am convinced that your Reinhold has long since noticed how matters stand with us and has kept out of the way even before we had an idea of it, and you may believe, Else, that two such men, when they are such good friends, stand by each other in such matters in a way that we girls couldn't improve upon. And for dear, blind Cilli we thought we needed to have no further concern, because she always smiled so cheerfully when we teased each other, and then, too, she couldn't see, and the eyes play such an important part in a matter of that kind, you know! Indeed, it began with the eyes, for up to that time all went well. But when he came to them he said: "At this point I shall have to determine what the color of your eyes really is; and I was puzzling my brain about that all those days." I declared they were yellow; Aunt Rikchen thought they were green; he himself thought they were brown – and Cilli, who was to decide the matter, said she was convinced that they were blue; she was so cheerful, and cheerful people must have blue eyes. So we jested to and fro and each day he began again with my eyes and, because one can't speak of eyes very well without looking into them, I looked into his eyes while he looked into mine, and I don't know whether you have ever had the same experience, Else – when one has done that a few days, one begins to see more clearly what is going on back of the eyes – very curious things. I tell you that a shudder goes over one; one doesn't know sometimes whether to laugh at the one who is looking, and give him a snip on the nose, or to take to crying and fall on his neck.

So I had felt a few times, and this noon again – only a little worse than before. The assistants were off at dinner, and Aunt Rikchen had gone to look after the house; only he and I and Cilli were there, and Justus wanted to work on, if we were willing, to finish the work. But he didn't work industriously, as was his custom, and I noticed that, and didn't sit as quietly as usual, and we – that is, he and I – played all sorts of pranks with Lesto, who had to pretend that he was dead, and bark at me as if he were mad, and I pretended to want to hit his master, and other nonsense, till suddenly we heard the door which leads into the garden close and – Heavens! Else! how shall I describe it to you – Cilli had gone away without our noticing it; we must thus have been a bit boisterous, and for that reason became quiet now, still as mice, so that one could have heard a pin drop, if one had dropped, and I was so embarrassed, Else, so embarrassed, you know! And still more embarrassed when all of a sudden he kneeled close before me – I had seated myself, because my knees were shaking – and then looked me again in the eyes, and I looked at him, you know I had to, Else! – and asked, but very gently, what that meant. That means, he said – but also very gently – that you must once for all declare yourself. I'll give you a snip on the nose if you don't get up, said I, but still more softly – I'll get up – but so close to my ear that I could not strike his nose, but had to fall in all seriousness upon his neck, whereat Lesto, who thought the life of his master was at stake, began to bark dreadfully, and I, to pacify Lesto and to get Justus up from his knees, said yes to everything he wished, that I loved him, that I'd be his wife, and whatever else one says at such a dreadful moment.

And now, just think, Else! – When we had spent five minutes in pacifying Lesto, and were about to leave – for I said I had sworn to be sensible, and to be a credit to you, and not to remain a second with such a dangerous man in such a lonesome spot, with all the horrible marble figures – and we went to the rear arm in arm – suddenly, Cilli came toward us from among the marble figures, as white as marble herself, but with a heavenly smile on her face, and said that we must not be angry, that the door had shut and she could not get it open, and she had heard everything – she heard so easily – and it sounded so loud in the studio. Oh, Else! I was so ashamed that I could have sunk into the floor, for I'm sure we didn't stop with words, but the heavenly creature blushed as if she had been able to see, took me by the hand, and said I should not be ashamed – one need not be ashamed – of an honorable, true love, and I didn't know at all how happy I was, and how proud I should be, but I would gradually find it out, and should be thankful for my proud joy, and love Justus very much, for an artist needs love very much more than other people. Then she took Justus' hand and said, "And you, Justus, you will love her as much as the sunshine without which you cannot live!" And, as she said that, the sunbeam fell from the high window of the studio directly upon the sweet girl, and she looked transfigured – so supernaturally beautiful, with her poor blind eyes turned upward, that at last I couldn't keep from weeping, and had great difficulty in composing myself. And she said, "You mustn't stay here in this disturbed condition; you must go home at once and tell your mother about it, and no one else before her; for the fact that I know it is an accident, for which you are not to blame." And I promised her everything that she asked of me, and I now realize that the angel was perfectly right, for I am entirely out of my senses with joy, and can't talk anything but nonsense for very joy, and that I don't dare to do, because I have sworn to be sensible, and to do credit to you. Tomorrow morning I leave – tomorrow evening at eight o'clock I shall be home, at half-past eight I shall have told my mama, and at nine o'clock August will give you this letter, for after Mama you come next, of course. That I told Cilli outright, and she agreed to it, and her last word was: Ask God that your friend may be as happy as you are now. That I will do, Else, depend upon it, and depend in every other respect, too, upon your friend, who loves you above all else.

P. S. In "all," "he" is of course excepted! I'm dreadfully sorry, but it can't be helped, you know!

"The dear, foolish child!" exclaimed Else with a deep sigh, when she had finished the letter – "I grant it with all my heart." And as she thus sat and thought about it – how wonderfully it had all come about, and how happy the two would be in their love – her eyes became more set, her breathing more difficult, and then she pressed her hands to her eyes, bowed her head upon Mieting's letter, and wept bitterly.

[It is the day of the sale of the Warnow estates to Count Golm, Giraldi is busy with letters, business papers, political matters from Paris and London, and church affairs from Cologne and Brussels. The papers are in English, French, Italian and German, and he makes his comments on each document in the language in which it is written. Among the letters is one from a priest in Tivoli, referring to his child. Bertalde is announced, and says she is tired of having Ottomar in her arms yearning for Ferdinande. She tells Ferdinande of Ottomar's love. Giraldi assures her of his good will toward Ottomar, to whom he has given a hundred thalers. She caresses and kisses Giraldi for it. Antonio is announced, Bertalde is led out by François, but in the confusion Antonio recognizes the girl as the lady in black, whom he had seen in Ferdinande's studio. Antonio gives Giraldi a letter from Justus' desk, which Giraldi notes and returns, asking him to show him other such letters. Giraldi impresses Antonio with his marvelous power to accomplish what he wishes.]

"You shall see, Carla, he won't come today, either," said Madame von Wallbach, trying to get a more comfortable position in her armchair.

"Je le plains! Je le blâme, mais– "

Carla, who sat on the right, shrugged her shoulders, and made a pianissimo gesture with her right hand.

"Miss von Strummin has left, too, without making us a farewell call."

"The silly little thing!" said Carla, making the return motion with her hand.

"And Else has not even been here to excuse this rudeness."

"So much the worse for her," said Carla.

"I wash my hands in innocence," said Madame von Wallbach, rising slowly and going into the reception room, which one of the dinner guests had entered.

Carla was also just about to rise, but remained seated when she heard that it was a lady, and one, too, of little importance. She dropped her hands into her lap and looked down thoughtfully.

"He's not half so clever; sometimes he doesn't understand at all what I say. – I even believe he's un peu bête; but he – worships me. Why should I renounce all my admirers for the sake of a betrothed who does not trouble himself about me? Of late he has scared them all away."

The door into the vestibule opened behind her; only more intimate friends entered this room, her room, when there were small parties; the one who entered must be either Ottomar or the Count. She had not heard anything, but, as the steps approached over the rug, she passed her fingers dreamily over the piano: "The Grail is already sending for the tardy one – "

"My dear Miss Carla!"

"O dear Count!" said Carla, glancing up and extending her left hand half over her shoulder to the Count, while her right played "My Dear Swan." "Don't you want to say good-day to Luise? She is with Madame von Arnfeld in the reception room."

The Count had drawn the hand extended to him so carelessly to his lips. – "And then?" asked he.

"You may come back here – I have something to tell you."

The Count came back in half a minute.

"Bring up your chair – not so near – so – and don't be disturbed by my drumming. – Do you know, dear Count, that you are a dangerous man?"

"But, my dear lady!" exclaimed the Count, twirling the ends of his mustache.

"You must be, if Luise thinks so. She has just given me a most charming curtain lecture."

"Great Heavens! What shall I do! Everybody worships you! Why shouldn't I be allowed to do what everybody does?"

"Because you are not everybody, because" – Carla raised her eyes; the Count was always as if intoxicated when he was permitted, unhindered by the lorgnette, to look into those blue eyes, beneath whose languid drooping lids a mysterious world of tenderness and coyness seemed to be hidden.

"Because I came too late?" he whispered passionately.

"One must not come too late, dear Count; that is the worst mistake in war, politics, everywhere. You must bear the consequences of this mistake —voilà tout!"

She played: "Only one year at thy side could I have wished to be, as witness of thy joy." – The Count gazed before him in silence. – "He is taking that seriously," thought Carla; "I must give him a little encouragement again."

"Why shouldn't we be friends?" she asked, extending her left hand while the right intoned: "Come dwell with me! Let me teach thee how sweet is the bliss of purest love!"

"Gladly, gladly!" exclaimed the Count, pressing a long, fervent kiss upon the extended hand. "Why shouldn't we be friends!"

"Isn't it true? – 'Friendship of pure souls is so sweet!' But the world is not pure; it likes to besmirch that which shines; it demands, guarantees; give it the only possible lead in this case; get married!"

"And you advise me to do that?"

"I do; I shall have an incalculable advantage from it; I shall not lose you altogether. I cannot ask more; I do not ask more."

And Carla played with both hands: "Let thyself be made to believe there is a joy that hath no pang!"

"Great Heavens, Carla – my dear lady, do you know that something like that, in almost the same words – "

"You have just heard from Mr. Giraldi," said Carla, as the Count grew embarrassingly silent. "Just express it frankly; it will not offend me; he is the wisest of men, from whom you can conceal no secrets even if you would and – I don't wish to; you – should not wish to, either. He loves you very much; he wishes the best for you. – Believe me! Trust him!"

"I believe it," said the Count – "and I should trust him unconditionally if the union in question had not also a little bit of business flavor in it. You know I bought the Warnow estate today. I should hardly have been able to assume such a great risk, should not have assumed it at all, if they had not intimated that I should have at least half of the purchase price in the form of a dowry."

"Fi donc!" said Carla.

"For Heaven's sake, dear lady, don't misunderstand me!" exclaimed the Count. "It is understood, of course, that this intimation could have come from no one else in the world but Mr. Giraldi, as attorney of the Baroness – "