The Children of the World Part 53

At this moment they heard the beat of a horse's hoofs on the forest road behind them, and, looked back to distinguish the rider, who was approaching at a rapid trot. "Who's that!" said Toinette, "the doctor?

I'll wager he's following us, because he'll have no rest till he discovers on what terms we stand toward each other. He's no gentleman, and has never made any pretensions to being one. His highest idea, his ambition, and his G.o.d, is prudence, which, of course, turns around no other point than his own miserable advantage. He instantly sees the weakest side of every man just as in his capacity of doctor, he searches for the seat of disease, and treats him accordingly. Of course he hates me; for physically I'm in such perfect health, that his skill is lost upon me, and whatever else I lack, is inaccessible to his diagnosis, while he knows I see through him. Beware of him. Even his frankness is only cunning calculation. Well, Doctor," she called to the approaching horseman, "have you decided to join the hunt after all?

You'll just be in at the death."

The rider, with a powerful hand, checked his steaming horse directly before the countess and respectfully raising his oddly shaped broad-brimmed hat, answered: "Her Excellency is fond of joking. I'm known to have an aversion to the shedding of blood, except in my trade.

My motive for riding my brown horse out of breath is a diplomatic mission, on which no one but myself sent me, but which, as a loyal servant to my employers, I must discharge."

"To the point. Doctor, to the point! You're interrupting a very interesting conversation. So--?"

"Then I almost regret having undertaken the mission," replied the little man with an imperceptible expression of sarcastic mischief hovering around his withered lips. "Their Highnesses the Prince and Princess, with a train of followers of high and low degree, arrived an hour ago on their way to Italy, whither His Highness Prince Bataroff accompanies them. They greatly regretted not finding the family at home but as they intend to spend the night at the castle, strictly forbade that any messenger should be sent to the ranger's house to announce their arrival. The princess instantly retired to the room she occupied on her previous visits, and the distinguished gentlemen will amuse themselves by shooting at a target, as they're too tired to follow the hunt. I thought therefore the countess might perhaps desire to receive the news at once. If I was mistaken, it's the same as if I'd said nothing. No one at the castle knows what road I took."

A slight shadow had darkened Toinette's beautiful face. "Why to-day!"

she murmured to herself, then with a slight bend of her head to the officious messenger, she added aloud: "Very well, Doctor, I thank you.

Ride on to the ranger's house, but let your horse have time to breathe.

It's not at all necessary for you to overtake the hunting party, until the gentlemen have had time to breakfast quietly; do you understand?

With me, of course, it's rather a different matter. I shall return immediately. Adieu, Doctor. You've again shown what a diplomat is lost in you; perhaps Prince Bataroff can help you to a career in Russia.

I'll recommend you to him."

The little gentleman bowed with a constrained smile, evidently not feeling exactly flattered, as he probably detected an under current of meaning in the words, then for the first time greeted Edwin with a wave of the hand, and, as his horse was already moving forward, drew his hat again over his high forehead, which despite the rain, he had bared.

The countess stood a moment lost in thought. Not until the doctor, whose horse had proceeded on a walk, had ridden a long distance into the forest, did she suddenly look up. "Yes," she said, "we're still here!" Then turning to Edwin with a bitter smile: "do you see how difficult it is for me to get into practice in the art of being happy?

I'm not even allowed half a day with an old friend. Perhaps it's best not to accustom myself again to a kindly voice. My aristocratic sister-in-law--but you are not yet aware that the prince is my brother; I mean my father's son, though of course that is a profound family secret, which however everybody knows. I'm very fond of this brother, and on closer acquaintance confess I felt ashamed of the by no means flattering description I gave you of my princely admirer. You'll see that he's a thoroughly manly gentleman; dear me, he might become still more, but the cares of government his little wife imposes upon him, give him no time. I ought to say nothing about this ph[oe]nix, but put you to the test at once, though to be sure if she only stays one day, she'll bewitch you and give no time for the disenchantment which would surely ensue in the following twenty-four hours. Her character consists in having none at all and in knowing the fact; therefore every day she tries, with great expenditure of theatrical talent, to support a totally different _role_; to-day the artless, to-morrow the sentimental, the day after the heroic, always in every character a lovely little princess, spoiled by happiness and the world. My poor brother, who has some of my taste for the genuine, not only in luxury but in his intercourse with society, of course doesn't like these continual changes and deceptive appearances, and would even be unhappy if the charming fair-haired little juggler hadn't made him madly in love with her. Besides, there's yet another bond between them: in their leisure hours, between dinner and the theatre, both study theology.

Nothing is more comical than to hear this child, amid the usual prattle of the drawing room, uttering long perorations about Calvinism and the guardianship of the Lord. You must broach the subject, it's worth the trouble. She's given me up, after long efforts at conversion. I made no secret of my G.o.dlessness and afterwards regretted it. How is she to understand why I repel with loathing and horror the thought that all I suffer is the work of an omniscient, omnipotent, and yet all merciful Father? If the elements of my nature, which debar me from happiness, have been found and united by a great blind dispensation of the course of the world, and I must go to ruin under this evil combination--it's a disagreeable, but not an unendurable thought. But a G.o.d-father, who, _de coeur leger_, or out of pedagogical wisdom, makes an unhappy creature like me wander about so sadly between heaven and earth, that he may afterwards, to make up for lost time, allow me some gratification in eternity--no, dear friend, all the aristocratic and plebeian theology in the world can't make this theory plausible to me.

But come, we'll get into the carriage; I mustn't keep my guests waiting. The prohibition to inform us, was of course only a pretense.

If we didn't come, they'd be very much vexed, as they would not believe any well trained servants would heed such a command."

With these words, she walked rapidly toward the carriage, which Jean had already turned, and without waiting for Edwin's a.s.sistance, sprang lightly in. The latter remained standing beside the door.

"Don't be angry with me, dearest friend," he said in a voice trembling with emotion, "but I feel utterly unable to return with you now, to see strangers and unite in the light conversation of general society. Allow me to take leave of you for a few hours. It's an old uncivil habit, that only in complete solitude can I hear what my poor soul says to me on some occasions. The forest is so beautiful, and the rain has ceased; I'll wander hap-hazard through the thickets. This evening at any rate I'll be with you, in case you need me."

"I'll impose no restrictions upon your liberty," replied the beautiful woman, without turning her eyes from her horses' heads. "You're right to avoid what's contrary to your nature and happy in being able to do so! But you'll compensate me for these lost hours to-morrow--day after to-morrow--the whole week. No; no objections! You want to restore me to the old habit of being happy, and it will not be done so very quickly.

I've forgotten too much. Adieu, dear friend,--until this evening!"

She cracked the whip Jean had handed to her, the tall lad in the green and silver livery sprang into the back seat, and away dashed the light carriage, as if the horses wished to doubly indemnify themselves for the unwelcome rest.

Edwin stood still a long time watching the flutter of Toinette's grey veil, then with a heavy sigh, turned away and plunged into the network of paths leading from the high road.

CHAPTER VII.

So deep a silence reigned here, that when he paused, he fancied he could hear the sap rising through the trunks of the trees. The wind, which had brought the rain, had changed, the brightest summer sky arched over the cool forest. From the thicket of pines, a narrow path wound through large tracts of hilly beech woods, past which the hunt had rushed at so great a distance that the deer and hares had not been startled from their repose, and let the lonely pedestrian pa.s.s by with more curiosity than fear. But he scarcely disturbed them by a glance; his gaze was turned inward; he was questioning his own heart, yesterday so peaceful, and now agitated by a wild horde of painful thoughts.

He understood this impetuous heart well enough not to deceive himself a moment as regarded the nature of the storm within. So fixed was his habit of taking seriously everything he felt, and his honest endeavor never to spare or palliate anything pernicious in his nature, that even midst the indescribable confusion into which the last hour had plunged him, he said steadfastly to himself as soon as he was alone: "You're lost, if you remain." He felt, with deep horror, how all that four years of the deepest, purest happiness had done to stifle the memory of his old struggles, was baffled in a single moment. He did not deceive himself about the matter, it was not commiseration for his friend's cheerless fate that burned so pa.s.sionately in his soul. If he had found her radiant in happiness, pride and love, he would have felt no differently.

But to know she was unhappy and that in suffering this misery she had become a true woman, loving and needing love, that she clung to him and to his firm soul--as she thought it--as to a last stronghold, fanned the flames within him, and broke his resolute will.

What he owed himself, himself and his pure, faithful, n.o.ble wife, rose so clearly in his mind amid all the confusion, that without shame, and in the firm conviction that nothing could avail against his final victory over these dark powers, he repeated Leah's name. He spoke to her as if she were walking beside him, as if he were telling her about his condition. "No, child," said he, "fear nothing for either of us. We shall never part, never, never! Only have patience with me; the elements are let loose and playing foot-ball with my heart. But such a heart, child, which you have taken in your keeping and drawn to you--no, it will not be thus played with long. If it is painful, dearest, this storm, this rending and tearing within--it will pa.s.s away, I hope, without your perceiving it. It's not true that we are helpless drops of water in the sea of pa.s.sions. We can recollect ourselves, cling fast to what is right and good, like a mussel to the cliff from which no surge can tear it. To be sure, the cliff might totter, but the happiness we have found together is imperishable and I will cling to it. And yet--can it be the same as of old, if we are forced to remember how unhappy this poor woman will always be?"--

He lost himself in a dull reverie over the thought of what might be, if he had no duties, and need not consider any one except the woman who had clutched his hand like a person sinking in a bottomless gulf. If he had only found her so four years ago!

Leah's image grew dim, he saw at this moment only the form of his first, lost love, as he had now found her again--a shudder ran through his frame, as he still felt the pressure of her hand on his arm, and thought of the dark l.u.s.tre of her eyes and those lips which he had only once kissed on that drive through the moonlight. He smiled in the midst of his horror, and yet he could scarcely breathe, so heavily did the sultry atmosphere weigh upon his breast; without knowing what he did, he repeated two lines of one of Ruckert's poems:

The taper's dim and flickering light She has re-kindled with her smile--

So in happy wretchedness, forgetting where he was, he staggered through the dense forest. He felt as if he were wandering through a region far away from the world, where every thing that binds and separates human beings, all strictly drawn lines of duty, were abolished and overgrown by the wild luxuriance of the powers of nature, where a poor mortal wanders aimlessly about, and so long as he remains in the enchanted wilderness must give himself up to the sweet torture of hidden fires.

Several shots, which echoed in the distance, and the strange whining yelp of the hounds suddenly roused him from this bewilderment. He perceived that he was in danger of approaching within range of the hunt. For one moment he thought how little was needed to reduce the conflict in his mind to peace; a stray bullet--and all would be over.

But he felt no temptation to provoke this solution, far less could he resolve to follow the track of human beings. He hastily bent his steps in the opposite direction and then once more allowed his movements to be directed by chance.

He had probably wandered to and fro for about an hour, when he entered one of the numerous paths only wide enough to permit the pa.s.sage of the wood cutters' carts which intersected the forest in straight lines. He was about to cross it, and to plunge into the thicket on the opposite side, when a strange procession, approaching at a measured pace scarcely a gun shot from the spot, made him pause, in spite of his desire to shun the presence of man. First rode the little high shouldered doctor, holding an eager conversation with a huntsman who walked beside him. Behind them four peasants, who seemed to have been acting as beaters, carried a litter, on which, lying upon coverlets hastily rolled up into cushions, a stout figure was stretched, the upper part of the body, despite the uncomfortable position, in constant motion, the head turning first to the right and then to the left, and the arms employed in eager gesticulation. The rear of the train was closed by two hors.e.m.e.n, dressed exactly alike and mounted on horses of the same color, in whom Edwin already recognized the brothers Thaddaus and Matthaus von der Wende. They seemed, as usual, to be perfectly silent, but hung their heads sorrowfully, and in their wonderful resemblance to each other looked still more comical on horseback than on foot.

When the caravan had approached still nearer, Edwin saw that the shapeless struggling ma.s.s, under which the bearers gasped, was his neighbor of the preceding night, the fat landed-proprietor. The jovial gentleman who, in spite of a wide bandage around his left foot, was in excellent spirits and from time to time broke the deep silence of the forest with his roars of laughter, now turned on his couch, recognized the pedestrian and calling him by name, nodded kindly and beckoned him to approach. The bearers were very glad to set down the litter while Edwin listened to the story of the accident, which the stout gentleman related with much humor. He had taken his position under a large beech on the edge of an opening in the forest. The twin brothers, who even in hunting were inseparables, had posted themselves on the opposite side.

As the wounded stag, with a sudden turn dashed through the glade, two shots suddenly echoed from that other side; the brothers, who in their zeal for the chase had failed to remember the position of their fellow huntsman, hit him instead of the stag. Whether he owed the bullet in his leg to Matthaus or Thaddaus would remain undecided till the day of judgment. As faithful twins, they had both taken deeply to heart the Christian blood that had been spilled, and he was now vainly endeavoring to console them for an accident which was really not worth mentioning. "The only person who's a gainer by the affair is yourself, Herr Doctor," he concluded with a pleasant laugh. "You'll be shown to another room in the castle, where you'll be no farther molested by my nightly snores, for the physician-in-ordinary will need to watch lest fever should set in, and will meantime take up his quarters in your room. But such a tough old skin as mine is not so sensitive, that one need make any special fuss about a little hole in the leg. If it should grow worse, I'll call you to my a.s.sistance, honored sir. You deal, I hear, in philosophy; that must be good medicine for a man when he's obliged to lie still, and is fairly beside himself for weariness two weeks before the rye harvest. Ha! ha! ha! And tally-ho!"

He shook Edwin cordially by the hand, and the procession again moved on.

The little doctor now allowed the litter and the melancholy couple that brought up the rear to preceed him, and pausing watched the procession for a time; then with a cunning twinkle in his eyes dismounted. "I'll overtake them," he said joining Edwin, and allowing his docile animal to crop the fresh gra.s.ses along the edge of the path. "I'm very glad to have met you here, Herr Doctor; I've something to communicate which it's unnecessary for other ears to hear, and here we're quite alone. I see by the direction you were taking, that you're not in a hurry. If it suits your pleasure, we'll stroll comfortably along the road; I'll not detain you long from pursuing your fancy for untrodden paths."

"As you please," replied Edwin dryly, making no attempt to conceal how little he desired the companionship forced upon him.

But the little doctor pretended not to notice his reluctance. He was silent for a time and seemed to be considering how most skillfully to begin his disclosures.

"Honored Herr Doctor," he said at last, "or perhaps in memory of your father, I may be permitted to say my dear friend; pardon me if I speak to you of a perhaps extremely uninteresting person--my own insignificant self. You should know--and in spite of our recent acquaintance, have doubtless already noticed--that the foundation of my character is frankness and honesty. Clever men soon learn that it's not worth their while to play a part; _le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle_.

But unfortunately in the universal masquerade people perform together, it's difficult for the very persons who go unmasked to make others believe that they show their own countenances. 'Take off your nose, Herr Doctor!'--'But, Madame, I a.s.sure you it grows on my face'--'Who will believe that? You're much too cunning a fox, when your profession compels you to thrust your nose into everything, to use your own for the purpose.' This is what we're told, my honored friend, and no matter how much it nettles the real nose to be taken for _papier mache_, n.o.body pities it. People compa.s.sionate only the simple, and G.o.d knows they don't need it for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

He sighed and took from a small gold box, which looked as if it might be a present from the late countess, a pinch of snuff, as if he wanted to console his nose for its sad destiny of being misunderstood.

"You now perceive," he continued, as Edwin obstinately remained silent, "that nothing can be more offensive to a man whose princ.i.p.al maxim is frankness and honesty, than to have those whose opinions he values believe him an intriguer. They thereby imply either that they don't think it worth while to understand his character, or consider him too pitiful a wight to venture to show himself as G.o.d created him. This mortification, I must confess, is not a new experience to me, but old as I am I can't yet summon up sufficient philosophy to endure it with composure. So long as my patroness, the count's mother, lived, I was now and then compelled to submit to humiliations, and forced to see that I was considered an insignificant though useful man, a harmless domestic animal, fed at the general crib. Since the young countess came into the house--you, my friend, as I know, have long been attached to her, of course in a very beautiful, intellectual relation, far beyond all suspicion. But for that very reason, I think you'll be just the person to do me a real service with the n.o.ble lady, whom no one can more sincerely respect than I."

Edwin looked keenly at the little man. He really could not decide, whether his quiet respectful demeanor was a mask or the outward expression of his "frankness and honesty." "I'm curious to learn in what this service can consist," said he.

"It's a very simple matter, my dear fellow, merely to aid the countess in forming a somewhat better opinion of her most obedient servant; nothing exaggerated, only mere fairness and justice. The countess, as you've perceived, treats me with an aversion which, in the presence of a third person, is concealed behind the veil of sarcastic courtesy. If she meets me alone, even under the most favorable circ.u.mstances, I'm an object on which to vent her displeasure, or I see her charming little foot make a movement as if it longed to crush some worm or reptile, and only refrained in order that the sole of the dainty shoe might not be soiled. You'll admit, that for a man of my years this is not exactly pleasant."

"But have you understood her aright? Why should she feel such a pa.s.sionate dislike to--"

"To a harmless domestic animal? Ha! ha! Because even the most innocent creatures are made responsible for--hm! You understand me--I won't say too much; but that the flower of mutual happiness, _felicitas pratensis_, does not flourish on the soil of this marriage, but is robbed of air and light by all sorts of weeds, can scarcely--as I've seen you engaged in the most confidential conversation with Her Excellency--have escaped your notice."

A deep flush crimsoned Edwin's face, and he was on the point of sending the insolent spy about his business with a sharp answer, when the thought of how unwise it would be to give the wily diplomat a direct refusal, restrained him. "Perhaps you're mistaken in regard to the degree of confidence the countess bestows upon me," he answered dryly.

"Well, well, let that pa.s.s," laughed the little doctor, pausing a moment beside his horse, which was quietly grazing. "I'll do no violence to your discretion, heaven forbid! But I--you may think what you please of it--must unbosom myself entirely, that my old friend's son may see my hands are clean. I know why the countess hates me; she has not left me in doubt. You see, my worthy friend, ever since the child was born--you understand me--since that time the marriage has been practically the same as cancelled. Why so? Perhaps you know more about it than I. And between ourselves, what concern is it of mine? I didn't make the match; if it doesn't turn out happily, why should I concern myself about it? But it's not to be expected that my former pupil and present lord and master, the count, would take the matter so phlegmatically. He asked me to discover the reason of his wife's sudden dislike, which increased till she retired into convent-like seclusion.

He asked _me_, why I had never even had the honor of feeling my beautiful mistress' pulse; at the utmost she might consult me if one of her waiting maids had a sore finger; for she seemed to have formed an unfavorable opinion of me at our first meeting. So nothing could be done by me. Besides, I was convinced that no physical cause lay at the bottom of her strange antipathy to her husband. What could it be?

You've seen him. He may not be quite so irresistible as he considers himself; but as she didn't always dislike him--in short, the matter seemed to belong to some other province than medicine. But we advanced no farther than this. I counseled patience. But at thirty years of age, when a man is madly in love, and moreover accustomed to have his orders obeyed on his own domain, from his mother down to the youngest groom--you understand that patience could not last long. There were scenes, touching and brutal; for several months, every day brought different weather, as sunshine or storm was tried to dispel the unapproachable virtue in which this singular being enwrapped herself.

At last--this I have partly from the count himself, partly from the maid, a person who would allow herself to be hacked into kindling wood for her mistress--he seized upon a perfectly desperate expedient, from which any sensible person who had any knowledge of this lady's character would have dissuaded him; he attempted to give her, in a cup of tea, a sort of love potion, whose princ.i.p.al ingredient was morphine, in order--you understand--that old heathen Morpheus, has already performed a great many just such services--but this time it seems he conducted the matter awkwardly--and in short the plan failed and everything was spoiled."

"Horrible!" exclaimed Edwin. "This--this is certainly--"

"Had you no suspicion of it?"