Countess Erika's Apprenticeship Part 13

She had become acquainted with him in Paris, where he was secretary to the Prussian legation, and she married him there; afterwards he took up his abode in Berlin, where he held a distinguished position in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. In moments of insolent frankness she was wont to describe him as an automaton whose key was in the possession of whoever might be Minister of Foreign Affairs. Once wound up, he could perform all the duties of his office during the few hours in which they were required of him; when they were over he was a lifeless wooden figure-head--nothing more. A wooden figure-head whom one is obliged to drag after one in life conduces but little to one's comfort, especially when the wooden figure-head is of the dimensions of Count Ernst Lenzdorff, and of this his wife shortly became aware. With great courtesy and skill she removed him from her life as soon as possible, placing him somewhere in the background upon a suitable pedestal,--the best place for wooden figureheads, and one where they can be made to look very effective.

The Countess's only son was the very image of his father, and quite as imposingly wooden.

If Emma, following her mother-in-law's example, could have courteously and respectfully put him upon a pedestal in some corner where he would not have been in her way, she might have led a very tolerable life with him. The mistake was that she attempted to make him happy.

Poor Emma! As if one possibly could make a wooden figure-head happy!

Young Count Lenzdorff was extremely uncomfortable in view of his wife's exertions to make him happy. What ensued was of a very unedifying character: from being simply a state of contented indifference, the marriage became a decidedly irksome bond. Nevertheless it was most unfortunate for Emma when Edmund Lenzdorff, two years after their marriage, lost his life in a railway accident. Had he lived, her existence might at least have been a quiet one; in time she would have relinquished her ill-judged attempts to make him happy, and have found an object in life in the education of her child; while, as it was, he was no sooner dead than her existence began to totter uncertainly, like a ship from which the ballast has been removed.

At first she sickened, as her mother-in-law expressed it, with an attack of acute philanthropy. She haunted the most disreputable corners of Berlin in search of cases of misery to be relieved, never allowing a servant to accompany her, because, as she explained, it might humiliate the poor. Upon one of her excursions her watch was s.n.a.t.c.hed from her, and another time she caught spotted fever. This was very annoying to the Countess Anna, but she forgave her, with--as she was wont to declare--praiseworthy courage, in view of the terrible disease.

Six months afterwards Emma married Strachinsky; and this her mother-in-law did not forgive her.

Since then fourteen years had pa.s.sed, fourteen years during which she had had nothing whatever to do with poor Emma. And now she was sorry.

Again and again did the Countess Anna revert to the education given to the young girl asleep in the next room.

A woman who could so educate her child, and who could continue so to influence her after her death, was no ordinary character.

Of course she had had fine material to work upon. And the old Countess was conscious of an emotion never awakened within her by her son, yet now aroused by her grand-daughter,--pride in her own flesh and blood.

"A splendid creature!" she murmured to herself once or twice, then adding, with a sneer at her own lack of perception, "and I was fool enough to think her ugly at first. Whom does she resemble? she is not in the least like her mother,--nor like my son!" Still pondering, she paused in her monotonous pacing to and fro, strangely thrilled. Going to an antique buhl cabinet with a mult.i.tude of drawers, she opened one of them,--a secret drawer, which had long been undisturbed,--and began to look through its contents. At last she found what she sought, a lithograph representing a young girl, _decolletee_, and with the huge sleeves in fashion in 1830. A very charming young girl the picture portrayed,--Countess Lenzdorff when she was still Anna von Rhodern.

The little faded picture trembled in the old lady's hand: it worked upon her like a spell, carrying her back to a time long forgotten,--a time when life had been to her something different from a farce with a tragic ending, by which one might be vastly entertained, but in which one should scorn to play a part. She was suddenly deeply pained at sight of the beautiful, grave, proud young face: it suggested to her something that had begun very finely and ended in unutterable bitterness, something through which the best and most genial part of her had been destroyed, or at least paralyzed. Hark! What was that? A low, suppressed sob! another! They came from the adjoining room. The old Countess dropped the little picture, and, with a candle in her hand, went to her grand-daughter's bedside. When she heard her grandmother coming, Erika closed her eyes, feigning sleep, but she had not time to wipe away the tears from her cheeks.

Her grandmother set the candle upon the table, and then, bending over the girl, whispered, softly, "Erika!" Erika did not stir. How pathetic she looked!--pale and thin, and yet so n.o.ble and charming in spite of the traces of tears.

The Countess sat down upon the edge of the bed and stroked the girl's wet cheeks. "Erika, my darling, what is the matter? Are you homesick?"

Then Erika opened her large eyes and looked gloomily at her grandmother. She answered not a word, but compressed her lips. How could her grandmother ask her if she was homesick, when all that she had of home was a grave?

For one moment the old Countess hesitated; then, lifting the reluctant girl from the pillows, she clasped her to her breast, pressing her lips upon the golden head, and murmuring softly, "Forgive me, my child, forgive me!" For one moment Erika's obstinate resistance was maintained; then she began to sob convulsively; and then--then her grandmother felt the slender form nestle close within her arms, while the weary young head fell upon her shoulder and a sensation of sweet, young warmth penetrated to the Countess's very heart, which suddenly grew quite heavy with tenderness.

Erika was soon sound asleep, but her grandmother still felt no desire to retire to rest. "I will write to Goswyn," she said to herself. "I must tell him she is charming, and that I will make her happy."

CHAPTER VI.

Nine months had pa.s.sed since Erika's arrival in Berlin. She had travelled much with her grandmother, pa.s.sing the time in Schlangenbad, Gastein, and the Riviera. As soon as she had become further acquainted with her, Countess Anna had relinquished all thoughts of sending her grand-daughter to a boarding-school. "What could you gain from a boarding-school?" she said. "H'm! Have your corners rubbed off? In my opinion that would be matter of regret. And as for your education, there's too much already in that head of yours for a girl of your age; but that we can't alter, and must make allowance for." And she tapped Erika on the cheek, and looked at her with eyes beaming with pride.

Erika had come to be the centre of her existence, her idol, the most entertaining toy she had ever possessed, the most precious jewel she had ever worn. Moreover, she was the late-awakened poetry of her life, the transfigured resurrection of her own youth. That was all very natural: she was not the first grand-mother in the world who had thought her grand-daughter a phenomenon; and it would have mattered little in any wise if she had not thought it necessary to impress her grand-daughter with the high opinion she entertained of her. Everything that she could do to turn the young girl's head she did, all out of pure inconsequence and love of talking, because never in her life had she been able to keep anything to herself. For in fact she was as unwise as she was clever: her cleverness was an article of luxury, something with which she entertained herself and others, with which she theoretically arranged the most complex combination of circ.u.mstances, but which never helped her over the simplest disturbance of her daily life. She was thoroughly unpractical, and was aware of it, without understanding why it was so. Since she could not alter it,--indeed, she never tried to,--she evaded every difficult problem of existence, with the Epicurean love of ease which was her only enduring rule of conduct.

Her affection for Erika was now part of her egotism. She was never weary of exulting in the girl's beauty and brilliant qualities; she felt every annoyance experienced by her grand-daughter as a personal pang, every triumph as homage paid to herself; but she never thought of the responsibility she had a.s.sumed towards this lovely blossom unfolding in such luxuriance. She was convinced that Erika's life would develop of itself just as her own had done, and in this conviction she felt not the slightest compunction in spoiling the girl from morning until night, and in absolutely forcing her to consider herself the centre of the universe.

With almost equal impatience grandmother and grand-daughter awaited the moment when Erika should enchant the world of Berlin society.

And now it was the beginning of February, and the first Wednesday-afternoon reception of Countess Anna Lenzdorff after her return from Italy. She, whose social indolence had long been proverbial, had sent out numerous cards, many of them to people who had long since supposed themselves forgotten by her. All this, too, without any idea of as yet introducing her grand-daughter to society, but simply that people "might have a glimpse of her."

As a result of the Countess Anna's suddenly developed amiability towards Berlin society, this reception was largely attended. Erika presided at the tea-table in a toilette of studied simplicity and with a regal self-consciousness due to the enthusiasm which her grandmother displayed for her various charms, but which the girl had the good taste to conceal beneath an attractive air of modesty. She did not rattle her teacups awkwardly, she upset no cream, she never pressed a guest to take what had once been declined; in short, she committed none of the blunders so frequently the consequence of shyness in young novices; and she was, as her grandmother expressed it, simply "wonderful." Full forty times the old lady had presented "my grand-daughter," with the same proud intonation, observing narrowly the impression produced upon each guest,--an impression almost sure to be one of pleased surprise; whereupon Countess Lenzdorff--the same Countess Lenzdorff who had been always ready to ridicule, and to ridicule nothing more unsparingly than the mutual admiration characteristic of German families--would begin, in a loud whisper of which not one word escaped Erika's ears, to enumerate her grandchild's unusual attractions: "What do you think of this child who has dropped from the skies into my house to brighten my old age? 'Tis my usual luck, is it not? A charming creature; and what a carriage! Just observe her profile,--now, when she turns her head,--and the line of the cheek and throat. And to think that I was actually reluctant to receive the child! Oh, I treated her shamefully; but I am atoning to her for the past. I spoil her a little; but how can I help it? I thought it would be such a bore to have a young girl in the house, but, on the contrary, she makes me young again. No need to stoop to her intellectually: she is interested in everything. At first I was going to send her to school. H'm! there is more in that golden head of hers than behind the blue spectacles of all the school-mistresses in Germany. And that is not what interests me most: she has a certain frank honesty of nature that enchants me. Oh, she certainly is remarkable."

There the Countess Lenzdorff was right,--Erika was remarkable,--but she was wrong in parading the child before her acquaintances: first because it bored her acquaintances,--when are we ever entertained by listening to the praises of somebody whom we hardly know?--and again because her exaggerated laudation of her grandchild excited the antagonism of her listeners. On this first reception-day she laid the foundation of the unpopularity from which Erika was to suffer long afterwards.

The afternoon was nearing its close; the lamps were lit; three or four ladies only, all in black,--the court was in mourning at the time,--were still sitting in the cosiest corner of the drawing-room.

Close by the hearth sat a tiny old lady, Frau von Norbin, _nee_ Princess Nimbsch, with a delicately chiselled face framed in silver-gray curls, a face the colour of a faded rose-leaf, and with a thin clear voice that sounded like an antique musical clock and seemed to come from far away. She was about ten years older than Countess Anna, but had been one of her most intimate friends from childhood, belonging also to an old Courland family, which had given the Vienna Congress a good deal of trouble. She had known Talleyrand in her youth, and had corresponded with Chateaubriand. Countess Lenzdorff had a water-colour sketch of her as a young girl with a wreath of vine-leaves on her head, her hair hanging about her shoulders in Bacchante fashion, and with very bare arms holding aloft a tambourine. The rococo sentiment of the faded sketch contrasted strangely with the old lady's dignified decrepitude and poetically softened charm.

Opposite her, and evidently very desirous to stand well with her, sat a certain Frau von Geroldstein, wife of a wealthy merchant who had purchased a patent of n.o.bility in one of the petty German states, without, as he learned too late, acquiring any court privileges for his wife. Indignant at the pettiness of the German sovereign in duodecimo, he had established himself in Berlin, where his wife hoped to find a suitable stage for her social efforts. She had been there three years without finding any aristocratic coigne of vantage for her pretensions; in despair she had fallen back upon celebrities, artists, professors, politicians (even democrats), to lend a certain splendour to her _salon_. After at last finding her aristocratic vantage-ground at a watering-place in the shape of a General's widow, with debts, and a daughter of forty whom she alleged to be twenty-four, she annoyed her old acquaintances extremely. It was the business of her life to extort forgiveness from society for having once invited Eugene Richter to her house. Society never forgives, but it sometimes forgets if it be convenient to do so. It began to find it convenient to forget all sorts of things about Frau von Geroldstein, not only her political acquaintances, but also that her husband had made his fortune by furnishing army-supplies of doubtful quality.

Frau von Geroldstein was so available, and was besides so ready to make any concessions required of her. She threw Eugene Richter overboard, and developed a touching enthusiasm for the court chaplain Dryander.

She bombarded society with invitations to dinners which were excellent, and at which one was sure to meet no undesirable individuals. She paid endless visits, and possessed in fullest measure the article most indispensable to the career of social aspirants,--a very thick skin.

She was about twenty-five years old, and was gifted by nature with a very small waist, which she pinched in to the stifling-point, and with a face which would have been pretty had it not given the impression, as did everything else about her, of artificiality. Of course her court mourning was trimmed with three times as much c.r.a.pe as that of any other lady present; and today she had made it her special business to win the favour of little Frau von Norbin. She had offered her three things already,--her riding-horse for Frau von Norbin's daughter, her lawn-tennis ground (she had a wonderful garden behind her house, which no one used), and her opera-box; but Frau von Norbin's manner was still coldly reserved. At last Frau von Geroldstein discovered from a remark of Countess Lenzdorff's that the old lady's princ.i.p.al interest lay in a children's hospital of which she was the chief patroness. Frau von Geroldstein instantly declared that the improvement of the health of the children of the poor was positively all that she cared for in life: when might she visit the hospital? Countess Lenzdorff smiled somewhat maliciously when Frau von Norbin, caught at last by this benevolent birdlime, plunged into a conversation with Frau von Geroldstein upon the most practical mode of nursing children.

Meanwhile, Countess Lenzdorff turned for amus.e.m.e.nt to a young maid of honour, a charming person, whose delicate sense of humour had been uninjured by the debilitating atmosphere of the court, and who was now detailing the latest misfortunes of a certain Countess Ida von Brock.

This Countess Brock was a notorious figure in Berlin society. She was usually called the twelfth fairy, since she was frequently omitted in the invitations to some social 'high ma.s.s' (the word was of Countess Lenzdorff's invention) and was then sure to appear uninvited and to do all kinds of mischief by her malicious gossip. Every winter she looked out for fresh lions for her menagerie, as her _salon_ was called in familiar conversation,--for artists sufficiently well bred to consort with men of fashion, and for men of fashion sufficiently intelligent to appreciate artists. Since, thanks to her numberless eccentricities and indiscretions, she had quarrelled with all sorts of people, she was always obliged to entreat a few influential friends to procure for her her anthropological curiosities. Some time ago she had applied to Countess Lenzdorff to provide her with 'twelve witty Counts,'--an order which Countess Lenzdorff had declined to fill, upon the plea that the supply was just then exhausted.

During the previous winter the glory of her _salon_ had been a hypnotizer, a young American for whom the Countess Ida had been wildly enthusiastic.

Mr. Van Tromp was his name; he had a dome-like forehead, and he cost nothing; he was quite ready to sacrifice his time without pay for the pleasure of mingling in good society,--a pleasure more highly prized by an American, as is well known, than by any European aspirant. At the close of the season the Countess's footman had unfortunately put aqua-fortis in the chambermaid's tea, and, as the Countess ascribed the crime to the influence of Van Tromp, she straightway relinquished her hypnotic pastime, the more willingly as most of her other guests considered it a rather dangerous game.

Van Tromp was informed of this when he next visited the Countess. He acquiesced in her decision, and amiably and unselfishly hoped that without any further exercise of his peculiar talent she would allow him to visit her 'as a friend.' Countess Brock, however, wrote him a note thanking him for his great kindness, but at the same time insisting that she could not possibly allow him to waste his time at her house; the people frequenting it were in fact quite too insignificant to a.s.sociate with so great a man as himself.

This mode of turning out of doors people whom she could no longer make use of she called treating them with delicacy and tact. What Mr. Van Tromp thought of it is not known: he revenged himself, however, by writing a book upon Berlin society, which, as it was full of scandalous stories and appeared anonymously, lived through twenty-five editions.

With a view of making her Thursday evenings attractive this year, Countess Brock had determined to have some one of her favourite modern dramas read aloud at each of them, and had engaged the services of a handsome young actor with a broad chest and a strong voice as reader.

The readings had begun the previous week with a German translation of Dumas' "_Femme de Claude_."

The young maid of honour had been present, and she declared it "comical beyond description."

There were several young girls among the audience, and scarcely had the handsome young actor with the powerful voice reached the middle of the second act when there was a rustling in the a.s.sembly, caused by a mother's conducting her daughter from the room. This went on all through the evening. Whilst the reader pursued his way with enthusiasm, each scene frightened away some two or three delicate-minded individuals, until the hostess found herself left almost entirely alone with the handsome young actor and a few gentlemen. "I persisted in remaining," the maid of honour continued, amid the laughter of her audience, "but I a.s.sure you----"

At this moment the servant announced "Frau Countess Brock," and there entered a woman of medium height, in a large high-shouldered seal-skin coat, for which departure from the prescribed court mourning a long c.r.a.pe veil atoned, a wonder of a veil, draped picturesquely over a Mary Stuart bonnet and hanging down over a slightly-bent back. Her grizzled hair was arranged above her forehead in curls, and her face, which must once have been handsome, was disfigured by affected contortions, sometimes grotesque, sometimes malicious, often both together.

Countess Lenzdorff immediately presented her niece to the new-comer, but the 'wicked fairy' paid no heed, and Erika made her a graceful courtesy which she did not see. She gave additional proof of near-sightedness by almost sitting down upon Frau von Norbin, and by mistaking Frau von Geroldstein for a distinguished auth.o.r.ess aged seventy.

Frau von Norbin smiled good-naturedly, and Frau von Geroldstein declared the blunder delicious. Privately she was furious, not at being mistaken for an aged woman, but at being supposed to be an auth.o.r.ess.

However, she could endure it, since she had arranged a visit with Frau von Norbin to the children's hospital for the next afternoon. That was a triumph, at all events.

"H'm! h'm! what were you all laughing at when I came in?" asked the 'wicked fairy,' taking a seat beside Countess Lenzdorff.

Upon which a rather embarra.s.sed silence ensued, and she went on with a sigh: "At my disaster, of course. Yes, yes, I know, Clara,"--this to the maid of honour,--"you will tell the _desastre_ to all Berlin. It was terrible!--Oh, thanks, no,"--this with a polite grin to Erika, who offered her a cup of tea. "That frightful actor!" she wailed, raising her black-gloved hands, palms outward,--a gesture peculiarly her own and used to express the climax of despair. "I have already denounced him to our princ.i.p.al managers: he never will get any position in a Berlin theatre. Think of his insolence in reading my guests out of my drawing-room and showing me up as a lover of questionable literature."

"Was the drama one of his selection?" asked Countess Lenzdorff.

"No; I chose it myself. But, good heavens! the piece was of no importance. The mode of delivery was everything. All he had to do was to skip lightly over the questionable parts; instead of which he fairly roared them in the faces of my guests."

"Evidently he liked them best," the maid of honour said, with a laugh.

"Of course," the 'wicked fairy' went on, indignantly; "these people have neither tact nor sense of decency. Well, I have forbidden the man my house for the future."