Quisisana, or Rest at Last Part 10

"For in this, too, my friend," she said, in concluding her explanations, "you will agree with me: the more carefully we prepare all things needful, and thus show the child, as it were, an image of the safe and sure and peaceful happiness awaiting her, the more swiftly and fondly her fancy will busy itself with that image, and from the fair image to the fairer reality--_il n'y a qu'un pas_. But first we must settle about the villa. There will be no difficulty if you speak seriously to Otto."

"I promise," replied Bertram.

The incident was most opportune, he thought. Here Otto, already hara.s.sed on all sides, was threatened, with huge additional expenditure, before which even his fatal readiness to yield must needs pause at length, as before an absolutely insuperable obstacle. The consequences were clear. He could not simply meet his wife's request by a refusal. There must be a full explanation between husband and wife; there would be a fearful storm, but it had to come, it was absolutely required to clear the sultry atmosphere, to disentangle the wretchedly involved situation. Hildegard's frivolous scheme would burst like a soap-bubble, and at one stroke Erna would be freed from an importunate suitor, and her father from an unworthy and intolerable position.

Yesterday already he had been determined to stand by his friend through all the anxieties, embarra.s.sments, and perils which were bound to ensue. To-day his heart beat anxiously, eager as he was to face those perils, for every peril cleared out of her path and victoriously conquered, was a trophy laid at her feet, hers, for whom he would have willingly shed his heart's blood drop by drop.

Fancy his terror and his indignation when, driving to town with Otto later in the day, he found his friend more removed than ever from any manly resolve.

"The purchase of this villa, dear me--why, if Hildegard cares for it so much--would, after all, be a comparative trifle--really. And then, what I told you yesterday regarding my situation, why, dear me, you know me well enough, old man, to ... to know how I am influenced by pa.s.sing moods. That makes me look at all things accordingly; things are either black or white to me. And yesterday, why, I had a black, a very black mood. To be sure, my factories are not a success, and, indeed, may now and again involve a loss. But, then, look at those fields, and think of the crop we'll have; and with such a prospect I can afford to leave myself a very fair margin, the more so as the harvest in Russia and in Hungary promises to be very bad--so the reports say--and in that case we shall make no end of money. And then--look here--just you read his paragraph in the paper about the railway question. Eh--and the paragraph, I feel sure, is from the pen of the President of our own local Parliament, who is, by the by, a great friend of mine, and has for years been my lawyer. Well, what do you say now?"

"I say," replied Bertram gravely, "that things are exactly in the position which you described yesterday. Your friend here clearly represents only his own, or, if you like, your views and wishes; and will, moreover, naturally put some pressure upon Government, by representing it as impossible for them to decide differently from your wishes and hopes."

"But the Government--which means the Court--is already more than half won over. Lotter a.s.sures me...."

"For Heaven's sake! leave him out of the business."

"Oh, of course, of course; if you are so prejudiced against him that you refuse him even the common credibility which you allow otherwise to everybody!"

"There is no question here of credibility or incredibility," exclaimed Bertram indignantly; "but the thing is this: you are mistaking your illusions and hopes for realities and facts; you are voluntarily blinding yourself lest you see the abyss into which you are about to plunge. And mind this: by your miserable hesitation you are really accelerating the coming of the dreaded moment; nay, you render it only the more dreadful. There is still time; this very day you can go and say to your wife: I have met with losses, terrible losses, and we must needs retrench, and therefore.... Why, man, you will let it come to this, that you must confess to her: We have nothing further to lose; all is gone! Think of this, friend, I entreat you. Your boat is overloaded; away with the ballast which all but sinks it now; overboard with it all! Were it a question of yourself alone, you would be manly enough not to hesitate; and with wife and child on board, whose ruin is certain unless you act at once, you ... cannot, will not act!"

Otto would say neither yea nor nay. Bertram was silent in his despair.

What would come of it all?

And so they arrived in town, having hardly exchanged a word more. They looked over the villa, and again hardly a word was exchanged; just an indifferent remark here and there, nothing more. Otto was apparently annoyed at something, but Bertram saw well enough that this appearance of annoyance was but a.s.sumed to hide his irresolution.

"I know, I know," Otto said at last grumpily, "we are not likely to agree as it is. Had we not better call together upon my lawyer and hear his opinion about the whole business? He is, moreover, on your side, in politics, and will be delighted to make your acquaintance."

Bertram seized eagerly upon so sensible a proposal, and to the lawyer's they drove accordingly; but when they had got to the door, Otto remembered that he had to do some commission for Hildegard: he even explained--

"About those officers who are going to be quartered upon us, don't you know?--extra provisions and that kind of thing. She can never, she thinks, have too much on hand, in case.... Well, well, it's her nature to ..."

And so the broad-shouldered figure of his friend pa.s.sed down the lonely sunlit street; and Bertram added, speaking to himself, this comment, "And your nature is ... to do things by halves only, unless you mean, in this case, to throw the whole responsibility upon my shoulders."

And in this view his friend's lawyer completely confirmed him.

"Look here," said the latter to Bertram, when, after a hearty, mutual welcome, the two had swiftly grown to be confidential with each other, "you may take my word for this, he is most anxious we should have a perfectly unrestrained talk about his affairs, and has backed out of being present simply to avoid having to hear all the disagreeable things we could not spare him; moreover, he might oppose to you and to me, separately, a certain resistance which he would not have the courage to do if he, found us confronting him together. Under these circ.u.mstances I do not consider it indiscreet, but I think I am acting according to the wishes, and I know I am acting in the interest of our common friend, if I now add a few words of explanation to what you know already; then, indeed, you will be thoroughly acquainted with the state of his affairs."

The lawyer then proceeded to describe Otto's position in detail; and to his amazement Bertram found his own conception confirmed throughout.

Why, even his own image of the ballast which required to be heaved overboard to set the ship once more afloat, figured in the exposition.

To be sure, Bertram now learned for the first time how weighty that ballast really was. Thus, to give but one example, Otto had never mentioned, had not even hinted at the fact that Hildegard's elder sister, the widow of the late Secret Counsellor von Palm, and her whole family, lived entirely upon Otto's bounty. "And that," said the lawyer, "is an awful item! For the lady in question is, in every respect, a true sister of your friend's wife. She thinks that death and the end of all things must needs be at hand, if she and hers cannot live on a very grand scale indeed. And then her house in Erfurth is a sort of gathering-place for all who, by rank or position, may aspire to the honour of appearing in such sublime surroundings; half-pay general officers and colonels galore--and the little town was ever full of them--and, of course, the whole number of officers actually on duty in the garrison, and so on, and so on. The girls--and there is half-a-dozen of them--are as bad as their mother, always excepting one dear, sensible creature--not one of the pretty ones, though--whom, I understand, you are about to meet in Rinstedt. Well, if the daughters are extravagant, the two sons--both, as you know, in the army, go on as though their uncle's cashbox had no bottom to it. Three times, four times, already he has paid the debts of those young men, whom, by the by, he cannot bear at all, and this, and all this, simply _in majorem gloriam Hildegardis_, his well-beloved wife, a lady of such an old family that the scions thereof cannot, of course, be measured by the same standard as common mortals."

"And do you not perceive any way of escape from this vicious circle our friend is wandering in?" Bertram asked.

"Only the one you have already pointed to," the lawyer made answer.

"But how the deuce can you advise a man who will not be advised, or rather, who accepts all the advice you give him and never acts upon it for all that ...? And there is one thing yet in which you have, too, judged aright. It is by no means too late yet! If he give up those factories of his which will never pay, even if--and on that his whole hope is now centred--the new line of rails pa.s.ses straight through his estates, and if he meets My Lady with a _sic voleo, sic jubeo_, and if, with one determined cut, he severs the boundlessly costly train from My Lady's garment, leaving it, for all that, a very respectable garment, he would be enabled to discharge his other liabilities gradually, or at once if somebody would, at fair interest, lend him a biggish capital.

This, of course, times being bad, will not be very easy to manage, more particularly if people begin to talk about his being embarra.s.sed."

"And how large, think you, should that capital be?"

"I think that I could settle everything if I had a hundred thousand thalers at my disposal, without there being any formal arrangement with his creditors, or even a voluntary surrender."

"In that case I beg to put the sum mentioned at your disposal."

The lawyer looked up in amazement.

"I had no idea that you were so wealthy," he said simply.

"It does not represent half my fortune. Anyhow, I am not running any risk."

"No, to be sure," replied the lawyer; "I should be able to secure you against any loss; the rate of interest, as I observed before, would be low. But I may tell you beforehand that your generous offer will be refused. I know our friend. He would rather borrow from the most unscrupulous cut-throat of a usurer than from you, for whom he has, as I know, the profoundest respect. For, though you may be the best of friends, you are not his brother, not his cousin, not a kinsman at all.

If you could say to him, you owe it to our family to do so--such an appeal to the family honour, which he holds in the highest esteem, he would comprehend much better. But as it is, his very pride, or his vanity rather--for vanity is distinctly his ruling pa.s.sion--will be hurt; he will appear to be immensely grateful to you, will say that you are his good angel, and--will not accept a farthing from you, as long as he sees, or fancies he sees, any other way out. He may possibly come to his senses when his last hope, the railway, proves illusory. I fear--I am a keen promoter of the project myself, but on different grounds--I fear that will occur presently. Meanwhile, try your luck, or his rather, by all means. But I repeat, you will not succeed with the mere appeal to your friendship."

Bertram, as previously arranged, then called for his friend, and as they drove home together he made his attempt The lawyer's prophecy was literally fulfilled. Otto overflowed in expressions of the greatest grat.i.tude for an offer so thoroughly characteristic of his generous friend, and which, for the sake of their long friendship, he would unconditionally accept--if there were any occasion for it. But that, thank goodness, was not the case.

And then came the wretched old story which Bertram knew by heart already, and to which, for all that, he now listened; not, as before, with disgust, but with an odd feeling of anxiety and doubt. To be sure, mere friendship was not sufficient. He would have required another t.i.tle, one giving the right to demand what now he begged for in vain.

Should he venture upon the word that was trembling on his lips, and that yet was ever beating a cowardly retreat to the tremulous heart?

Cowardly? No! It would have been cowardice, miserable cowardice, if he had spoken it; cowardice, trying to take by miserable money-bribes a fortress invincible to valour and high courage; cowardice and treason, treason to the sanct.i.ty of a love which had hitherto been unselfish and as pure as the heart of the great waters. If things came to the worst, if it was a question of guarding the beloved child against common want, she would be n.o.ble enough not to refuse the helping hand of a protecting friend. But woe to him if that hand were not unsullied; if even the shadow of a suspicion of selfishness fell upon it!

And as they thus drove homewards, with the evening darkening around them, he fixed his eye on high, where now the heavenly lights were appearing in ever-increasing numbers, with ever-growing splendour; and he reverently repeated to himself the poet's great saying of the stars above, in whose majestic beauty man should rejoice without coveting their possession.

XI.

But no poet's word could henceforth stay the wild conflagration which raged in his heart; and every thought by which his mind strove to obtain rest and clearness proved a faint-hearted hireling soldier that takes the first opportunity of deserting to the ranks of the more potent foe. In vain did he recall the arguments by which, in a certain memorable conversation, he had tried to refute Erna's a.s.sertions--it had been a lie, a lie--or, at best, mere theoretical twaddle. His love a reminiscence merely? And of what, pray? Perhaps of that mournful aberration when his heart, his thirty years notwithstanding, was still full of faith and devoid of experience? Or of the coquettish phantom-fights and ugly caricatures of pa.s.sion with which a heart that has ceased to believe, in love, endeavours to deceive itself regarding its own needs? Thee, he exclaimed, thee I have always loved. My whole life has been one unbroken longing for thee; and when now at length I have reached the land of promise, am I solely to see it, bless G.o.d, and die? I am no longer weary of life. Nay, life has never yet appeared so fair to me, and never yet have I so felt the desire and the power to enjoy it. Die we must; die, however empty life may have been; but oh, how better far to die in the full bliss of love! No, no! If I love her, my only reminiscence is one of weary deserts traversed until I reached her: if she could love me, her love should be no mere mirage of an oasis in the future; palms should rustle above her fair head, silvery brooks should run at her feet. Love surely has this potent spell: it can create a paradise on earth!

And from these fairy dreams of future bliss he was startled by the thought that Erna's heart must have already once received some mighty impression. For it was surely pa.s.sing strange that she knew so well how to interpret some of the mysterious symbols in the book of pa.s.sion; that she evidently liked to read in that book. But since all his cautious questioning led to no result, since she spoke of the few young men whom she seemed to know at all either with indifference, or even, as in the case of her two cousins, with a perceptible touch of irony, he could not but conclude that his suspicion was unfounded, and he became more and more familiar with a fond hope, from which he at first recoiled as from a temptation to sheer madness.

But he still had the full use of his senses, and they, had never been so acute as now. How was he to explain that her voice, whenever she turned to him, and particularly when they were alone, was quite different from its usual tone--softer, deeper, more intense? How was he to explain that she--surely without being aware of it--kept sometimes, at table, if he happened to speak eagerly, her gaze fixed upon him for several minutes--that strange, fixed gaze which he had never before met from any human eye, and which reminded him again and again of the gaze of the G.o.ds,--

"Whose eyelids quiver not like those of mortals;"

and then when he ceased to, speak she was like one awakening from a dream, drawing a long breath, which caused her maiden bosom to rise and sink!

Nor were other promising tokens wanting. He had, for good reasons of his own, disregarded Erna's request to be henceforth less kind to Lydia; nay, he had doubled his attentions and courtesies, not only towards the coquettish lady, but towards the Baron too. It seemed so easy now to pardon, to show indulgence, to look at all things from the best and most amiable point of view; and politeness is a veil behind which one may hide so much. At first he had been prepared for opposition or serious displeasure on the part of the proud, self-willed girl; but nothing of the kind occurred; she either seemed not to notice his disobedience, or actually to approve of it; and once or twice, when he somewhat overdid his part, a meaning smile played about her mouth.

Nay, more, she followed, though with evident hesitation, his example; she no longer met Lydia's fantastic exaggerations with short and sharp replies, or with that frigid non-recognition which is more cutting than direct blame: she continued, as on the first evening or two, to sing and play with the Baron; she even suffered herself to be put into the famous terrace picture, and was patient enough to sit to him for a couple of hours, in which the Baron, with his brush, was constantly taking one step forward and two backward, as it were; while he vowed again and again that this was the most grateful, but also the most difficult, task which he had ever undertaken in his life.

And there was yet one thing more which had struck him as peculiarly strange and important. Erna was accustomed to repeat her interlocutors'

names frequently in the course of conversation, and to add them, even to quite trivial phrases or questions. From the first days of his visit he still recalled with delight her sweet "How are you, Uncle Bertram?"--"Yes, Uncle Bertram"--"No, Uncle Bertram." But sweeter, sweeter far it seemed to him that he now no longer heard it--no, not once--that her conversation now was plain yea and nay, as enjoined in Holy Writ, and quite in accordance with the wild wish of his heart.

Hilarie, too, had surely ceased to call her lover--Uncle. Poor Major!

But it served him right, after all, for it was not youth so much that he lacked, as the courage and force of genuine pa.s.sion.

"That man must ever be a youthful man Who is well-pleasing to a maiden's eyes!"