The Undying Past Part 60

Night and silence still reigned in the castle, only Christian, who despite the burden of years would not relinquish the service of himself mixing the "Gnadiger Herr's" warm cognac, stood with lamp and taper in the doorway, and greeted him with a tremulous "Good morning."

Then followed a smart gallop to the fields, where the work-people already nervously awaited him. Their lanterns flashing out of the darkness showed him the way. A sonorous morning greeting, returned by a chorus of voices; a rapid survey of the waggons; a few _donner wetters_! in addition--for in German country places no workman feels at home unless he is sworn at--and then, amidst a tremendous din, the procession of waggons heavily, but withal adroitly, got under way.

Half an hour later, they drew up at the Wengern ferry. The black river lay there in the darkness, yawning and gurgling like a huge monster gifted with invisible and destructive life. Over it the wind whistled and sighed, although not a twig stirred on the plains. The ferry-raft oscillated, the horses neighed anxiously, confused cries and words of command rang out through the air. The heavily loaded waggons rumbled, amidst the cracking of whips and rattling harness, down the precipitous decline of the d.y.k.e, as if they were bound to roll headlong into the abyss. They got on to the shaking landing-stage, where the bar brought the horses to a halt, and these swerved to one side in their nervousness, and tried to bite each other's flanks. The ferry could take ten at a time, the rest had to wait for the second journey. A curious feeling of panic seized Leo every time the rope slackened and the pulleys began to work. He rode up and down the bank and watched the fleet embark. It seemed to glide into s.p.a.ce, and was swallowed up in darkness. Only the reflection of the lanterns made trembling threads of light across the black water. On the other side of the ferry the train divided, for it would have been a waste of time for the first relay to await the second.

When the last waggon had crossed, Leo's enjoyment began. He loosened the curb, in order to gallop the quicker after the receding carts. His limbs, numb from cold or wet, thawed, a tingling sensation of welcome warmth pervaded his body and winged his thoughts. So long as the race lasted, all trouble was forgotten. The early morning cramp of worry--a symptom which once had been unknown to his robust physique--grew less, and finally disappeared. The first suggestion of light that lay on the earth--dreamy and full of promise--found for a few moments a reflection in his soul.

With the rosy dawn, the first waggon made its entry into Munsterberg, and drew up at the station shed, near which was the great pair of scales. A tedious hour of wrangling and counting followed. Then he turned his face towards home. And in the castle dining-room, when grandmamma called the children to coffee, Leo made his appearance, too.

Sometimes he was covered with dust, sometimes drenched with rain. With clattering of spurs, and amidst barking of dogs, he would come into the room, and with a weary "Good morning," hurl his cap into a corner.

His day's work only began now in earnest, and when he entered his bedroom at night, he dropped into a chair as if felled by a sudden blow. Often he could scarcely find the strength to undress, and two or three times the pitiless pole had tapped and surprised him still sitting at his table, with flushed face and smoking lamp.

There was little time left for visits to Uhlenfelde, and Leo felt happy at having a valid pretext for excusing himself. Yet it seemed to him scarcely right to avoid meeting Felicitas alone. She might ask why he had been untrue to his word? She had a certain claim to his society, and he began, too, to be devoured with a longing to see and converse with her without Ulrich being present. He hoped for a favourable opportunity, such as the last had been, but it did not occur. So he counted, with a beating heart, the hours till he should be certain of Ulrich's absence, and meanwhile he stayed at home.

Then came an evening when the representatives of the Agricultural a.s.sociation were holding their monthly meeting in Munsterberg, and he, no longer able to restrain himself, started with a kind of sad defiance for Uhlenfelde.

It was dark when he landed on the opposite bank. The wind was boisterous and cold, and he felt half frozen. Old Minna met him in the vestibule, the factotum of the old love intrigue, whose mediating offices he recalled with a shudder.

She explained to him, blinking and nodding, that the gracious little mistress wasn't well; that the gracious little mistress was suffering from cramp of the heart, but, nevertheless, the gracious one would receive him.

The familiarity with which the toothless, clapping mouth smirked up at him was revolting, and still more revolting was it that he found himself smiling back at her. But it was necessary to keep on good terms with her. Was she not an accomplice?

Shuddering, he hardly knew whether from cold or excitement, he paced up and down between the pillars. It was some time before the old hag returned.

The gracious little mistress had been lying down, but begged him to wait a few minutes. She would make her toilette as quickly as possible, that was to say, not completely, because such old friends needn't stand on ceremony with each other.

Leo compressed his lips. Had she chosen to be more explicit still, he must have endured it.

In Lizzie's sanctum, two lamps with rose-coloured shades were burning.

Cushions and rugs were scattered about in confusion on the couch, as if some one had a moment before disturbed them by hastily jumping up. An open book lay face downwards on the carpet. He picked it up. The t.i.tle was "The Golden Road to Virtue: Experiences of a Sinner."

He began to turn over the leaves haphazard. In the highly coloured style of a tract, a newly converted sinner related her marvellous rescue from vice with a sort of coquettish fervour, which made him fancy he saw the play of uplifted eyes with which this drawing-room Magdalene sought to lure the Saviour, like another lover, into her net.

But from Leo, the Goth who since his school-days had read the very worst literature, even such trash as this wrung a certain unwilling respect.

"She is doing her best according to her lights," he thought, and laid the book down with care. Yes, she was in earnest.

When she entered the room, he noticed at once the dark rims which pain had left round her eyes, and the paleness of her lips.

And yet she had never seemed to him more beautiful. She wore a careless artistic _negligee_ of blue cashmere, bordered with creamy lace, which acc.u.mulated on her breast into a filmy cloud. Her hair, only simply dressed, curled in countless small rings over brow and cheeks, and was ma.s.sed on the crown of her head into a knot of curls, which was surrounded by a double circlet of gold. Leo remembered to have seen such heads in picture-galleries, bathed in golden tints and standing out in relief against a purple half-light, as if emerging from some background of mystery.

"You have been suffering?" he exclaimed, extending both hands towards her.

"I? Who told you so?" she replied, with a tired smile, as she sank into an easy-chair.

"Minna told me."

Instead of answering, she lifted her eyebrows languidly, and stretched out a limp hand for a cushion to support her neck. She must have just been scenting herself, for her person exhaled the opoponax perfume more overpoweringly than ever.

Leo felt signs already of the enervating stupefaction which always took possession of his brain in this atmosphere. It began like a slight pressure on the temples, spreading to his forehead, and finally encompa.s.sing his whole head with iron spans.

Felicitas buried her face in the hollow of her supporting arm and remained motionless.

"Good G.o.d! What ails you?" he demanded.

She raised her head slightly, and smiled at him hopelessly.

"What ails me, Leo? I wish that I had never been born. That's all."

"A pious wish, at least," he answered, with an unsuccessful attempt to sneer. "Now tell me frankly, Lizzie," he exhorted, "why do you rave against yourself like this? There is no sense in it. Tell me--why?"

"Because I am learning to repent."

A spasm shot through him, as if he were about to make an effort to protest against the word, but he no longer had the power. The life that he had been leading for the last two months had been nothing but a vain struggle against self-reproach and repentance. Hence the wrecking of his whole character. He got up, and in silence paced with unsteady steps the rosy, dimly lighted boudoir. Then he came close to her and leant against the edge of her chair.

She looked up at him with plaintive eyes; then, sighing deeply, pressed her face against his arm.

He would have drawn back, but he did not wish her to see that he thought this contact less harmless than she did.

"Leo, I suffer unspeakable agony," she whispered.

He drew his arm away from her abruptly, and sat down opposite her.

"So all the happiness you are giving Ulrich," he asked, "is nothing but a delusion and a sham?"

"Do you expect me to make it a reality?"

"I expect nothing. I only wish--I ..." He could not go on. His thoughts moved tardily, clumsily. He only knew that her astonished, resentful question had not displeased him so much as it ought to have done.

"The promise I made you," she continued, "I have honestly kept to the best of my ability. I have tried to be a good housewife, worthy of him, a wife of whom he need not be ashamed. But the penance I have imposed on myself is terrible. I suffer tortures that no man can have any idea of."

"And do you imagine that I am lying on a bed of roses?" he responded.

"You! What do you want?"

Then he burst forth. "I? Ah, woman, little do you know what I endure. I am in torment; I appear to myself polluted from head to foot. I scarcely know how to look honest people in the face. I think every one is pointing the finger of scorn at me. If it goes on like this, I must go out of my mind. Isn't that bad enough?"

She let her eyes rest on him full of curiosity.... Something like stealthy joy shone in them, for since the long, long ago he had never poured out to her such confidences, from the depths of his being.

"Can I help you?" she murmured.

He laughed stridently.

"Oh, please, Leo!"

"Don't talk of your helping," he answered; "help from your side would be only a fresh crime. Besides, how could you? Only one person can help me, and that is Ulrich."

"For G.o.d's sake!" she cried out, "you are not thinking of----"