Problematic Characters Part 40

"Not worth reading?" said Albert; "we'll see that directly. Poets have no clear idea of their productions. Think for a moment that I had written these verses and felt impelled to read them to you? Listen!

'She loves me.' The beginning is as original as truthful. But you must admit that so old a subject cannot well be treated in a novel manner in our day. Albert read the two sonnets which he found in the paper clearly and intelligently, almost with a certain air of feeling. Oswald was grateful to him. He had been afraid the impudent fellow would have profaned his poems, which he only valued, after all, as true expressions of what he had really felt. He was glad to get off so cheap.

"Do you never make verses?" he asked, taking the paper, and adding it to some others, which seemed likewise to contain poetry.

"I?" said Mr. Timm, refreshing himself heartily from his gla.s.s, "Heaven save me! I am much too practical. Practical and poetical views of the world agree like cat and dog. When the little kitten Poetry mews in her tenderest tones, the dog Prose begins to bark furiously and the little enthusiast is silenced. Why would you, for instance, die instantly, 'if Fate should deny you such wondrous bliss?' That is as unpractical as it can be. Why should you poets anyways insist upon purposely spoiling all the little pleasure that is left us on this melancholy planet? But, to be sure, I talk as the blind man talks of colors. Perhaps you are, after all, better off in your home in the clouds than we on this dark earth, where one has to suffer much of corns and other earthly sensations which are unknown to you airy dwellers on high. I have often wished I had a decided talent for one or the other arts: poetry, music, operations on corns, painting, grimacing, sculpture, prestidigitation--anything, any notion, which might console me when the waves of life wash over my head. I remember I once saw a badger at a fair, who showed me what a blessing such a talent is in misfortune. All the other brutes, without talents, were running about like mad in their cages, or roared from hunger and rage, or at best resigned themselves to their fate in despair. But Master Badger, true to his artistic instinct, worked indefatigably at the imaginary den in his cage, scratching, scratching, all the time scratching, from morn till evening. This evidently made him forget hunger and cold, even his captivity; he found perfect happiness in the exercise of his talent, even under such desperately unfavorable circ.u.mstances. I wish I were a badger!--That Cognac is really capital! You ought to take a gla.s.s too, doctor, to drive away those clouds on your Apollo brow. When I was a boy people looked upon me as a marvel because I could imitate everything, precisely as the magpie whistles what others play. That boy will be a great genius, said the foolish people, whenever I astounded them by some _tour de force_ of my memory, which retained good things and bad things equally well. I wish I had been forced to sit still and to study, like the other poor boys whose compositions I then wrote, and who are now great men, while I am little better than a vagabond. But _vive la joie! vive la bagatelle!_ There must be vagabonds also in the world, simply because otherwise there would be no staid, respectable people. Vagabonds are the salt of the earth, or at least the seeds flying about which scatter vegetation over the whole earth, instead of letting it be confined to a few spots. Vagabonds founded Carthage, vagabonds founded Rome. An honest fellow, born in Europe without a cigar in his mouth--gold spoons are out of fashion, I believe--can do nothing better than to emigrate to America, if he feels an earnest desire to smoke a really good cigar and does not choose to steal it, or if he has not the good luck to stumble over a nice young man like yourself, who keeps cigars and Cognac for his friends, and listens to their idle talk till his eyes droop with sleepiness. Upon my word! I have diminished the contents of that bottle by a third! How swiftly all here below pa.s.ses away! _Buona notte, Don Oswaldo!_ Sleep well and dream _dolcemente_ of the _begli occhi della donna bella, amata, immaculata_ of your sonnets. I for my part will follow Hamlet's example and go to my prayers, for unfortunately I have not even a talent for sleeping, much less for dreaming. Good-night, _dottore!_"

"Good-night!" said Oswald, rising half asleep from his sofa and accompanying Mr. Timm to the door.

"Not a step farther, _dottore_," said the latter. "Everything with moderation!" and when the door had closed behind him he remained standing there a moment, put the thumb of his right hand to his nose, quickly moving the other four fingers--a gesture which was less complimentary to Oswald than expressive of the childlike, ingenuous mind of Mr. Timm.

CHAPTER VI.

The oppressive heat which had prevailed of late was followed by a few cool, rainy days.

On such days Castle Grenwitz looked more grim and lonely even than ordinarily. On other days, if no one else came there, the light of the sun at least entered in at the windows, and penetrated into all the rooms, even those locked-up staterooms in the upper stories, with their costly though faded brocade furniture, and greeted here and there a portrait which it knew now for a hundred years or more. On other days, if no one else was merry, the sparrows at least twittered, who had made their nests in the crevices of the old tower and the stucco-ornaments of the new addition, and who quarrelled as unconcernedly about their private affairs as if the baronial mansion was a common cottage or a miserable barn. And if you felt, in spite of all that, too lonely and deserted in the chateau, you could go down into the garden, where the flowers shone in much fairer and brighter colors than the tapestry and the chairs and the sofas in the staterooms, where gay b.u.t.terflies hovered over the gay flowers, where the birds were caroling, the bees humming busily, and everywhere rich, active life was going on, full of joy and brightness for him who had eyes to see and ears to hear.

On rainy days all that was changed. Then the portraits on the wall could tell each other undisturbed old, old stories, to their hearts'

content, and the curious sunlight would never so much as see them blush; then even the sparrows were at peace for a time, or fought at least in silence for the best and the driest places, and in the garden the flowers hung their rain-washed heads, and all the rich, gay life looked as if it had died out. In the wet walks and over the parterres cold winds played with each other, and mercilessly tore pretty, delicate flowers to pieces, and upset tall beanpoles, and swept up the trees to shake the branches, and make an infinite ado.

This melancholy weather harmonized with Oswald's state of mind. Since the day he had pa.s.sed at Barnewitz a great change had taken place in him, which he could hardly explain himself. He felt as if suddenly a close veil had fallen on his eyes, which made everything look to him discolored and unattractive; he felt as if a hostile hand had mixed a drop of wormwood with his cup of life, from which he had recently drunk so eagerly. Even the image of the beautiful lady who was enthroned in the holiest of his heart seemed to have lost its magic power. Where was now all the happiness he used to feel when he recalled her and the sunny hours he had spent with her? Where the restless longing to see her face, to hear her voice? Where the feverish impatience with which he followed the course of the sun and wished for the night, so he might steal down the narrow stairs that led from his room into the garden and hasten to the forest, to spend hours and hours watching around the forest chapel? And yet he knew that she was mourning for him now in her solitude; that she had long since forgiven his boyish defiance and his childish impatience; that not a word of reproach, not a glance of reproof would receive him if he should return; that she would open her arms wide, and welcome him to her loving heart! Alas! It was not she whom he doubted, nor her love; it was himself and his own love that he doubted! Oldenburg's last words: Who of us is still able to love with all his heart? Who of us still has a whole heart? fell again and again upon his ear like the low tolling of a bell, like the song at the grave. And a voice which he could not silence whispered to him, wherever he went and stood, by night and by day: Not you! Not you!--Is it not written in the lines of your hand? Did not the brown woman in the forest see it at the first glance? Not you! Not you!--And when you fell at Melitta's feet, and when you stammered the vow of love and faithfulness, did she not hastily and anxiously close your lips, as if she wished to save you from the crime of perjury: Oh, do not swear! I may swear to you love now and evermore, but not you! not you!

Rainy weather! How the wind drives the big drops against the panes, so that they become dim, like eyes that have wept too much! How heavy and low the clouds are drifting, the gray mourning cloaks, as if they must touch the tops of the poplar trees on the castle wall with their hems!

Ah! that I was lying out there beneath the wet black soil, relieved of all anguish of doubt or repentance! Ah! that I could partake of the deep peace of Nature! Be one with the elements! Rush along with the wind, flare up to heaven with the flame, pa.s.s away with the water of the stream in the ocean!

Are the wise men of the East right when they say that the whole life of man is but one great mistake? Are we all of us lost sons, who have forsaken our good old father's house to feed upon the husks? And is it true that we may return to him at any time, if we only wish to do so with all our heart? Who of us has still a whole heart for living or for dying? Not you! Not you!

Self-confidence is like the cloud sent by the G.o.ds, which surrounds us, and then we are enabled to walk unhurt through all the troubles of life, and when we fall to fall like heroes, with the death-wound on our brow or in our brave hearts. Doubt of ourselves is like a sudden vertigo, which seizes us on a steep height, which chills our blood, loosens the strength of our sinews, and at last hurls us irretrievably into the abyss.

In such painful moments man is apt to join any one who wanders merrily along the path of life, defying the perils of the road, as a lost child in the woods runs up to the first one it meets.

Such a bold wanderer Oswald thought his new acquaintance, and thus it came about that he sought in these evil days most industriously the company of Albert Timm, who was ever ready to laugh and to joke and to play tricks. This readiness surprised him all the more, as he was generally most fastidious in the choice of his friends.

Albert needed as little time to make himself perfectly at home in a new place as the Arab needs to pitch his tent. Arrangements he had none to make. He left it to his things, which were not many in number, to seek their place in his room. If one boot preferred standing bolt upright on top of a chair, and the other liked to lie on the floor, heel upwards--he did not object. If his dress-coat, the only really respectable garment he owned, preferred to forget its existence, rolled up in a little ball and put away between sorted linen in a corner of his melancholy little portmanteau, he did not disturb its enjoyment.

And he himself, the happy owner of all these treasures, was standing there in his shirt-sleeves, in spite of the cool weather, bending over his drawing-board, whistling, drawing, singing, and laughing at Oswald, who came to visit him on account of what he called his mute's look.

"Dottore, dottore!" he said, "you look as if you suffered excruciating pain from the grog which I have drunk last night. Upon my word, you disgrace the weather! Did you ever sit, as a boy, in a garret window, sending from a short clay pipe beautiful soap-bubbles into the bright air, while down stairs among the leaden soldiers a half-finished exercise was lying, which was to earn you, a few hours later, a sound whipping on the part of your teacher? You see, that is a picture of life. Our knowledge is a half-finished exercise, and our best exercises remain fragments; the most brilliant soap-bubbles will burst, and the hardest whipping is forgotten in an hour or two. All is vanity, but especially our regret that all is vanity! Why? I did not make the world, and, as far as I know, you did not make it Why, then, should we two rack our brains about it? I rack my brains about nothing, for instance, not even about this line, which I have evidently made too short, and which I must now at random extend gracefully till it meets this angle--by the by, a most romantic corner of the wood, where I met a most charming little red-cheeked peasant girl, who, no doubt, is the cause of my mistake. Well, no matter! The account does not always tally, why else should we have fractions, and the Grenwitz entail remains, for all that, a very beautiful invention, especially for that poor boy Malte. Is the boy really as stupid as he looks?"

"By no means," replied Oswald, who shared the little sofa in the room with a tin box for dried plants, from which a stocking of blue yarn was bashfully peeping forth. "Malte can count up to five, and considerably beyond. He has a decided talent for many things, especially for arithmetic, while Bruno, who lacks that talent, remains a long way behind him."

"Yes, Providence is wise," said Albert, preparing his sepia within a little porcelain vessel; "it gives to him who is to eat turtle-soup in life, a gold spoon at his birth, and he to whom she doles out the ship-biscuit of poverty receives kindly a number of hollow teeth, so that he need not be long annoyed by his hard fare. I, for my part, received by mistake a set of excellent teeth, and thus I relish my hard-tack prodigiously,--so much, in fact, that I can never feel very angry at these empty-headed, thick-bellied children of my step-mother Nature, who are eating turtle-soup with gold spoons, and are thoroughly spoilt in the bargain. But one thing I should like, and that is, if there should turn up a claimant to the codicil in the last will of Baron Harald, who died in delirium tremens, and no doubt now sleeps in the bosom of Father Abraham."

"Then you know the sad story?" asked Oswald.

"Who does not know it?" replied Albert, lighting a cigar and seating himself on the back of his chair so that his feet rested on the seat of the chair. "Do they not publish it every year, to the infinite dismay of the haughty Anna Maria, who is as miserly as she is haughty? Still, I hardly think it has been done these last years!"

"I am only astonished," said Oswald, "that I never heard a word of the whole story till I came here, and never read anything about it in the papers."

"You know n.o.body reads court advertis.e.m.e.nts, proclamations, and the like, as long as he has nothing to hope and nothing to fear from such advertis.e.m.e.nts. Nor would I, in all probability, know anything more of the original idea of this defunct baron, if my father had not felt a lawyer's interest in the matter, and, I believe, himself had something to do with it. Perhaps he was engaged in forming the codicil to the testament, or in writing the latter. The proclamation was, besides, expressed in very vague terms, and amounted to little more than this: The young lady in question, or her child, male or female, if one had been born within a certain period, I do not exactly remember when, were called upon to present their claims--of course, duly authenticated in all formality since a considerable legacy had been left to them by Baron Harald, who had been 'gathered to his fathers,' probably a set of men not much better than their profligate descendant. The amount of the legacy was not mentioned. I, however, know, as many other people also know, that it amounts to nothing less than the two magnificent estates of Stantow and Baerwalde, situated on this very island. I know them very well, since I surveyed them only last summer."

"It would indeed be a charming surprise for our amiable family here if such a claimant should present himself," said Oswald.

"I should think so," replied Albert "Unfortunately there is very little prospect for it, as the bequest only continues valid twenty-five years, and then relapses into the family. Of these twenty-five years, at least twenty-two or three must have elapsed, for I am now twenty-six, and I recollect I always used to regret that I had not the prescribed age."

"Why?"

"I might have indulged at least in the charming uncertainty, whether I might not by chance be the Ivanhoe who wanders about on earth, unknown and driven from his paternal inheritance; who has to make friends with swine-herds in spite of his knightly descent, and to borrow money from dirty old Jews, until he can at last drop his incognito and lead the beautiful Rowena home as his wife, although I would, for my part, attach less importance to the last-mentioned event."

"Did you ever communicate this wish to your father, when you conversed with him about this mysterious affair? It would have been so peculiarly complimentary to him."

"I do not remember; but if I ever did it, my father was liberal enough to think such a childish idea perfectly natural. We cannot help ourselves in that respect: we must have a father, although this wise inst.i.tution is at times highly inconvenient, as, for instance, when we have done a foolish thing, or mean to do one; and therefore I do not see why I should not prefer a father who leaves me two magnificent farms, to another father who sends me into the wide world as the crocodile pitches its young into the water, I mean, with two rows of excellent teeth and nothing to bite withal. It matters very little to me, I am sure, if the former has adopted in his life oriental Mahommedan views with regard to certain usages, which are differently interpreted in Christian countries."

"That is a matter of taste," said Oswald.

"Certainly," replied Albert, "although I am persuaded that if you give one hundred men the alternative, not as a problem, but in tangible reality, ninety-nine would confess to share my views--perhaps with a blush of modesty--or they might claim to hold your view, but they would seize the bequest, nevertheless, if they could. Did not even the great Goethe feel such a temptation, although his tall size made him naturally look for golden apples higher up, and suggested to him an emperor as father, while I would be content with a baron!"

"The great Goethe was, at the time when he felt thus tempted, very small Goethe, and had, like other children, childish notions."

"Well, I do not know whether the old Excellency would not have bid the two estates welcome, too; for in certain matters, for instance, in a preference of roasted apples over raw potatoes, we all of us remain children, even at the age of Methuselah. But let that be. If you are specially bent upon being your father's son, I would do wrong to interfere with your enjoyment. What do you say, doctor; shall we continue our philosophic conversation as peripatetics in the open air?

The sky looks, to be sure, still like a wet rag, but it has ceased raining, at least for the moment, and I, for my part, prefer swimming about in a deluge to sitting all day in Noah's ark, even if I should be compelled to stay there, if we may believe the record thereof, without the corresponding representative of the fair s.e.x. You know how to swim?"

"Oh yes!" said Oswald, laughing.

"Well, then, put on your cap and let us go; the boys are busy down stairs, and can dispense with their Mentor for an hour, I am sure."

The two new friends went down the narrow staircase, which led close to Oswald's room, through the immensely thick wall into the garden. It had ceased raining; the wind also did not blow any more, but the sky was still covered with heavy lowering clouds, which seemed to sink lower every moment. The raindrops were standing in the flowers like bright tears in overflowing children's eyes. Now and then a wailing sound was heard in the broad branches of the trees, where little birds sat shivering; all else was silent like the grave.

Inexpressible sadness filled Oswald's heart. Life seemed to him nothing but a heavy, hara.s.sing dream, through which beloved forms were gliding with veiled faces. He thought of Melitta as if she were dead.

Albert also had become silent in the quiet garden. "Let us go on," he said; "this is like a graveyard."

They went out of the decayed gates, across the drawbridge, into the forest, on the way to Berkow, the same road under the tall, solemn pine-trees on which Oswald had come in the carriage the first evening of his arrival at Grenwitz, and which he had since seen so often again with very different sensations.

That evening had made a division in his life, the importance of which he only now began to feel. Since that evening the wide world beyond the silent woods had disappeared for him, and a new world had arisen, a paradisiac world, full of love and happiness. And now he felt as if this world also were disappearing, and the old world outside, beyond those silent woods, was lying beyond his reach. Should he ever return into that world with fresh, bold mind? Would he not ever yearn to return to the Blue Flower, which had here bloomed near to him, nearer than ever, so near that the fragrance had entered his very heart? What had become of the high notions which he had formerly loved to dwell upon? What of the great plans he had cherished? Was it all over? And over for the sake of a woman whom he loved, and who yet could never be his own?

No! A thousand times No! He must tear himself away from this intoxicating magic world, and should it break his heart? What mattered it to any one? He had no whole heart to lose besides. But she? What was to become of her?

"I believe your melancholy is contagious, dottore," said Albert, after they had walked for some time silently by each other. "How can a man of your cleverness allow himself to be thus influenced by the weather, or whatever else it may be! You melancholy men are, after all, odd creatures! You are always going from one extreme to the other. Horace's _aurea mediocritas_ has been preached to you in vain. You will not listen to it, because your pride is offended at being taught to be mediocre, and yet you ought to see that we mediocre children of nature are ten thousand times happier than you. Really, dottore, your portrait, taken at this moment, might be hung up among the family portraits of the Grenwitz up stairs; no one would doubt your being a member. They all look so miserably melancholy. It seems to me the whole race shows that every one of them must go to the dogs, one way or another, and surely they have done it, as far as I know, without exception so far. The faces--I examined them to-day after dinner, one by one--would make admirable ill.u.s.trations for terrible robber and murder stories. They speak of a thousand evil deeds, of nights of hard drinking, and, above all, of many, many fair women who have kissed them till they died of them. For such faces must be perfectly irresistible for women, especially when they belong, as in this case, to rich barons. I was especially struck by Harald, the veritable rat-catcher of Hameln. He is not as handsome as his cousin Oscar, whom you resemble, by the way, strikingly when you look so dismal as just now,--but he looks the very type of this grandly n.o.ble and greatly dangerous race, with his large, seductive blue eyes, and his delicate and yet so voluptuous lips."

"You really do me undeserved honor, if you couple me thus unceremoniously with this n.o.ble set," said Oswald.

"No, jesting aside," replied Albert, "you really have in your face the fatal feature of the Grenwitz race. I do not mean that as a compliment, for others, for instance I myself, prefer decidedly not to have it. I go even farther than that, I bet my plats against the estate, that if you came in possession of the entail, you would lead the very same life which has heretofore been the hereditary manner of life with the main line. The side branch, which is now in possession, has sadly degenerated."

"You really overwhelm me with your benevolence, and the good opinion you seem to have of my talents and my inclinations."