The Children of the World Part 28

"Brava, bravissima! You're the singing-bounding-lion-teaser in the fairy tale."

"An _in_cantatrice!" cried Mohr from his dark corner after having made a terrible noise applauding alone.

"Spare your enthusiasm, gentlemen," laughed the saucy girl, turning on her heel. "There are better things in store! And the lion's share of the lion teaser belongs to my strict teacher. Now: 'Ye who know the instinct of the heart--'" and without waiting for the accompaniment, she began the aria she had shortly before studied with Christiane.

The musician accompanied the song only with single chords. She was now sitting completely in the dark, having shaken her head in reply to Mohr's question whether she would have a light. Her thoughts were far from Pergolese, Mozart, and all her other musical saints. Above the piano hung an old fashioned oval mirror, directly opposite to the window in whose recess Edwin and Toinette were sitting. As the sunset glow slowly died away, she could distinctly see the expression with which Edwin's eyes rested upon the calm face of the beautiful girl.

During dinner, her first jealous pain at meeting him with such a charming companion had almost disappeared, for he had not paid any particular attention to his lovely cousin. Now it suddenly flashed upon her, that this indifference had been, only a mask, and a feeling of inexpressible bitterness overpowered her, when she recalled the pleasure she had felt at the courteous kindness with which he had treated her. Now, sitting opposite the stranger in the crimson sunset, what a different language his eyes spoke! With the prophetic insight of a hopeless pa.s.sion, she perceived that he loved this girl. And she could not even hate him for it. For had not the stranger every charm she lacked? To be sure, the keen eyes of jealousy told her that he met with no response to his feeling, the response that he deserved, and that she would have given. This cold blooded enchantress, even while Edwin's eyes were fixed upon her profile as a supplicant gazes upon the miracle-working image of a saint, could look unmoved at the dry branches without; her hand did not touch his, which he had laid on his knee as if seeking it, her soul--if she had one--where was it? And he, why did not his pride rebel against serving here without wages, when elsewhere he might have ruled? But rule over what? she asked herself. A heart which no one had ever tried to conquer, which no one seemed to consider a boon to possess, he least of all. Had he not lived under the same roof with her for years, and not felt the slightest desire to approach the woman who daily spoke to him in harmonies, poured forth her inmost feelings in accents so intelligible to him?

It was this feeling that now overpowered her, and in addition to all the exciting emotions of these hours, the gayety, and the unusual indulgence in wine, fairly intoxicated her senses. A wild, fiendish rage took possession of her soul. When the aria from Mozart was over, she said curtly: "You are not in good voice, child; the champagne is beginning to revenge itself. You mustn't sing another note, or you'll be terribly hoa.r.s.e to-morrow." And without heeding Marquard's remonstrance, she commenced a stormy improvisation. A string broke with a rattling sound--she did not notice it; a second and third--she played steadily on. Mohr, who had pushed his chair behind hers, while Marquard sat in the darkness on a little sofa beside Adele, was in a perfect delirium of ecstacy. He had never heard her play so before, and was musician enough to say to himself that the greatest masters would be delighted if they could hear her improvise in such a mood. More than once he turned toward the two couples and enthusiastically tossing his long arms, endeavored to attract their attention to what this wonderful genius was producing. But he seemed to be alone in his admiration, at least to Marquard as he incessantly whispered in the ear of the singer, this remarkable playing seemed nothing more than the roaring of a storm, and Edwin, at this moment, believing himself unnoticed as the light without had at last wholly died away, had caught a curl of Toinette's hair and was holding it in his hand. Now he cautiously bent forward and pretending to fasten the string of the curtain, hastily pressed the soft tress to his lips. At the same moment the fourth string snapped, a sharp discord rang through the powerful pa.s.sages, and the player started up pushing back her chair. "No more!" she cried in a hollow tone. "It's killing me! Air! Air!"

"For G.o.d's sake, Fraulein, what is the matter!" exclaimed Mohr, who had also sprung to his feet. "You're tottering, you'll faint--here, lean on me--shall I get you some water, take you into the open air?"

"No, no, it's over! Leave me! Why do you seize me so rudely? I'm well, perfectly well--at least I shall be perfectly well when I'm alone. The wine, the music, the darkness--give me my hat and cloak, I'll go out into the air a moment, then it will all pa.s.s off."

In the greatest perplexity he did as she requested, but she had spoken in so low a tone that the others scarcely noticed what was pa.s.sing at the piano. Marquard alone hastily cast a glance at her. "Is the champagne revenging itself on you too?" he called in a jesting tone.

"You ought to drink a cup of coffee, it will soothe your nerves. Or is genius made giddy by its own lofty flights?" There was no reply Mohr accompanied her to the door. "Stay here," she whispered imperiously.

"But you'll come back again?"

"When this feeling has pa.s.sed away." With these words she left him, and in a greatly agitated mood he returned to the piano. It gave him pleasure to sit down in her chair and touch the same keys over which her hands had just dashed. But he did not play; only now and then he softly struck a chord, as if to caress the strings she had handled so roughly. Besides he listened constantly, but nothing stirred, and after a time he knew that she was not coming back again.

Suddenly he started up. "My friends," said he, "Fraulein Christiane has taken French leave of us. But as it's growing very dark and she did not feel particularly well, I think it would be better for me to follow and if necessary offer my services as escort, in case she cannot find a carriage. Marquard, will you attend to matters here and tell me tomorrow my share of the reckoning, Fraulein Christiane's expenses of course included. Good night and a pleasant evening!"

Before any one could reply, he put on his grey felt hat and disappeared also. Half an hour later two droschkys drove away from the PaG.o.da. The first was occupied by Marquard and Adele, the second by Edwin and Toinette. The first, whose windows were closed to shut out the cool evening air, and which seemed in no hurry to reach its destination, soon turned off from the highway into the darker avenues of the Thiergarten as if with the intention of leaving its companion behind.

In the second carriage the window on Toinette's side was open, although the breeze was somewhat damp and chilly. But the beautiful girl said she liked it, that the music had gone to her head, and in fact her cheeks were burning. As they drove on, talking about the people with whom they had spent the last few hours, the conversation gradually became less fluent and finally ceased, the moon rose above the tree tops, and aided by the extreme clearness of the autumn air soon cast a bright silvery light over the trees by the way side and the stones on the road. It was charming to gaze into the more densely shaded portions of the park, where mysterious lights and shadows played, where now a statue appeared in dazzling whiteness, and anon a black clump of shrubbery defied the power of the light. Edwin had looked out of his window for a long time, absorbed in thoughts which were both sad and cheerful. Once he fancied he saw a female figure walking swiftly along, which as he bent forward seemed to perceive him and hastily retreated farther into the shadow of the trees. He turned to Toinette, to tell her his supposition that Christiane had preferred to traverse the long distance to the city on foot, and made the discovery that his companion had fallen asleep. The moonlight was flickering over her little hands, that lay ungloved in her lap. In the dim light that surrounded her head, he could see her white teeth glitter as she smiled. For a time he restrained himself, though the pulses in his temples throbbed violently, but at last this smile on her lips was stronger than all his resolution. He cautiously bent toward her, and after a pause of five minutes, during which he felt her breath on his eyes, lightly pressed a kiss on the half parted lips.

She instantly awoke, so suddenly that he drew back in alarm, glowing with blushes. "Where are we," she whispered. "Dear me, what bright moonlight! I believe I've been asleep. It's very impolite, isn't it?

But people are wearied even by pleasure. I haven't enjoyed myself so much for a long time."

She talked gaily on; He could not discover whether she had felt the kiss or thought she had only dreamed of it. To be sure, he had not noticed that she returned it.

One more short hour, and he helped her out of the carriage in Rosenstra.s.se. She thanked him cordially and repeatedly for the delightful day. "We'll continue the cure to-morrow," she called, just as she was closing the door of the house. With these words she dismissed him, and absorbed in blissful dreams, he pursued his way home through the quiet streets.

CHAPTER V.

Beloved Sun, To all benign, Hold in thy heart This child of thine!

Sleeping I lay In fevered dreams, Softly thou com'st, With healing beams;

Hov'ring gently With smile so bright, Flooding my lone cell With golden light,

Till the prisoned soul From bondage free, Like opening buds Unfolds to thee.

Forcing thy way Over the towers, Mid roofs, through tree tops, Among green bowers,

Caressing me gently Powerful one!

Folding me closely Beneficent Sun!

Few earthly joys Have fallen to me, All I possess Are given by thee;

Refreshing fruit Thou dost bestow, And strengthening bread As white as snow;

Another gift The maiden fair, With rosy cheeks And golden hair--

Thou mak'st her bloom, Child of the sun, A joy and blessing To me alone,

To this frail form A halo lend, Till she draws near On me to tend.

Of her bereft, Hopeless I sigh, Nothing remains Only to die,

So that thine eye Alone may keep, Watch over my grave, And dreamless sleep.--

The sheet on which these verses were written, lay on Balder's knees.

Soon after Edwin left him, he had seated himself at the window in the sunlight, and began his holiday by taking a sheet of paper and pouring forth the feelings that filled his soul. We know that he was never happier than when his heart of its own accord began to sing, and his hand could scarcely write fast enough to seize the melodies he heard.

But to-day he was particularly happy. His unusual capacity for finding pleasure in everything, even the smallest trifle, seemed heightened by the joy of convalescence. He gazed through the closed window a long time at the white cat, that lay on the sill blinking sleepily, sunning itself, and pretending not to see the sparrows that ventured close up to it. A small white cloud was drifting slowly across the blue sky. He became absorbed in the spectacle, as if he beheld the most wonderful pictures, until his eyes ached from staring at the radiant heavens; then he rose and walked slowly through the room, drawing the lame foot after him almost as if he were dancing, and from time to time pressing to his lips the last of the oranges Marquard had recently brought him, to drink in the fragrance and juice at the same time. Sometimes he thought of his brother, and how pleasantly the hours must be pa.s.sing with him, sometimes of Reginchen, whose voice was distinctly audible in the front of the house, as she sat at the open windows of the kitchen working and singing to herself; then he paused before Edwin's book shelf, drew out at random one of the volumes, with all of which he was familiar, and read half a page only to restore it to its place again to meditate on what he had read. He even took up his tools as if to use them, but remembered that he had promised Edwin to rest at least a week. True, he considered this rest very unnecessary, for he had never felt stronger and better, or breathed more freely.

When Reginchen brought up his dinner at noon, she noticed his unusual gayety and cheerfulness. "Your sickness has done you good, Herr Walter," said she.

"No," he answered smiling, "it was your nursing, Reginchen."

"Well, it's all the same," she answered. "But why didn't you go into the country with the Herr Doctor? (she always gave Edwin this t.i.tle.) No one who's well would stay at home to-day."

"Are you going into the country too, Reginchen?"

"I indeed! I'm the house dog to-day. My parents went to a christening at eleven o'clock, the journeymen of course all went off too, and there's n.o.body in the house except the old couple; _she's_ sick, and _he_ to keep her company is sick and cross, too. You may think I am joking; but just ask their girl. If he even has a cold, she worries so that she can neither eat nor drink, and is obliged to go to bed. It's comical, isn't it, but very pleasant to see two old people still so fond of each other."

"'Still?' I should think people would love each other more and more the longer they knew each other."

"Certainly! The longer the dearer. But it isn't always so. Would you like to grow old, Herr Walter?"

"If the people I love grow old with me, certainly."

"I shouldn't," she answered. "I used to think nothing could be worse than to die. But now--you'll laugh at me--I am often fairly disgusted with life, though I can complain of nothing. I feel so oppressed and anxious, and nothing pleases me; I wish for I know not what, and fear I know not why. You're so clever, Herr Walter. What is the cause of this?"

"Dear Reginchen"--and he seized her hand and gazed into the frank face which was turned toward him with innocent curiosity. He was seeking for words to intimate to her, that it was the exuberance of youth and the yearning desire for love which disgusted her with her everyday life; perhaps he meant to summon courage to confess that he too had the same feelings. But she suddenly withdrew her hand.

"Didn't you hear? The old lady has rung for me; heaven knows what she wants. Her girl has gone, because it's her Sunday out, and there's n.o.body to wait on her but me. Eat your dinner, Herr Walter, perhaps if I have time, I'll come up again for five minutes. You're altogether too lonely, and on Sunday too!"

She glided out of the room. He was almost glad that they had been interrupted. What could he have said to her, without entirely betraying himself? And if she had learned his feelings and confessed her love for him what would have followed? Would it not have been a betrothal, and must not Edwin have been told? And yet it seemed impossible that any one should know of this wonderful fairy dream. And could it be possible? He thought of his delicate health, his seclusion from the world, his youthfulness--he had seen but twenty years--was he one to step forward, like other men, and say: "here's a girl whose husband I wish to become, with whom I desire to found a home, and--rear children!" As this thought pa.s.sed through his mind though entirely alone he blushed crimson and shook his head. Then he sat down to the table, and as he ate the simple food with a good appet.i.te, his confidence in his destiny increased and he became very well satisfied and silently resolved if she came up in the afternoon, to tell her that he thought he knew what she desired and feared:--To give her heart to another heart, and lose her own life to celebrate a joyful resurrection in another.

But he had long finished his dinner, and the cat had licked the plates so clean that they shone in the sun, and still his little housekeeper kept him waiting. For the first time in his life he felt a weary impatience that he could not dispel. He heard the clock strike four and then five; the sunlight faded, and he suddenly felt an eager desire to get out of the desolation of his "tun" into the open air. How long it was since he had had the blue sky over him, or even put his head out of the window! A feeling of exultation thrilled his heart, as he took his old black cloak and cap from the chest of drawers, and thus equipped glided lightly down stairs. His heart throbbed as violently as if he were setting out on a long and dangerous journey, and yet he was not going out of the house at all, but only down into the courtyard, where he would wait till the young girl came, glide up behind her, and see her astonishment at finding him below.

In spite of the gathering twilight, the air in the courtyard was very mild, as if a remnant of the warmth of the sun which during the day had shone into the s.p.a.ce between the four walls, still lingered there. Not a breath of air was stirring, and there was no sound either in the house or street. Balder felt almost like a boy who is playing hide and seek, as he entered the arbor covered with the yellow and almost leafless bean vines, sat down on the little bench, and noticed that no one coming from the front of the house could see him, as the poles were so close together and the black pump intervened. Besides he wrapped himself carefully in his cloak and turned up the collar, so that not even his fair hair could betray him.