Problematic Characters Part 61

"Good-night, you mad boy."

Oswald kissed his pet on his forehead and went in deep thought to his room. He leaned out of the open window and looked down in the garden, lost in meditation. The night was dark; only here and there a single star peeped for a moment through the canopy of clouds. At times a sound came from the trees, as if they were speaking to each other in low, confused murmurs; the fountain of the Naiad splashed gently and abruptly, as if it were telling a weird old story.

"Your life is like this night," said Oswald to himself; "here and there a star, which vanishes again, and then chaos and darkness. You were right, dear Berger, our life is nothing, and quite sad enough to make any man who has sense wish to get rid of it quickly. Now you are where Melitta is, and Oldenburg too. Perhaps you see them pa.s.s by your cell, arm in arm; perhaps that will make your mind return to you, while others lose it at the sight. I might make a little trip to N., to see my good friends. Who knows? The place might prove so pleasant that I might stay there altogether."

"How is Bruno?" asked a voice from below. It was Helen's voice. Oswald saw her white dress s.h.i.+ne in the dark.

"Thank you; he is well," he replied.

"Good-night."

And the light dress vanished in the shrubbery.

"No, life is more than an empty nothing," murmured Oswald as he closed the window. "If Berger had seen this girl, he would not have given up life. And yet he has seen her, admired her, sung her praises even in sweet verses, and yet he has lost his mind--oh, it is a fearful thing this life--dark and ghost-like, and nothing real in it but the sweet voice that bids you good-night!"

CHAPTER VII.

There are in the life of every family, as in that of nations, moments when all the members feel more or less distinctly that something great and extraordinary is going to happen. The dark future casts its shadow far back upon the present, filling the minds of some with dismay and of others with hope, but everywhere causing a restlessness which, in its turn, contributes to bring about the crisis.

Such a time of feverish excitement had come for the company at Castle Grenwitz also. Just now they had been so quiet--But Bruno's accident might have told the acute observer that beneath the smooth even surface, with its polite courtesy and its painful compliance with social forms, there was something seething and heaving; secret love and deep-hidden hate; hostility masked by the appearance of perfect peace and good-will--heartfelt sympathies under the cover of indifference and even antipathy. The very face of life had changed. The stillness, so perfect as almost to become oppressive, which had formerly reigned in the chateau, was now frequently interrupted. Baron Felix, who had little disposition to play the hermit, could not deny himself the pleasure of taking up one or the other of his favorite pursuits. The day after his arrival his two superb saddle-horses had already come, and thus larger excursions were made possible, when the carriage could be escorted by at least two of the gentlemen on horseback. In a remote part of the garden a rough shooting-gallery was knocked up, and during the late afternoon hours the short, sharp crack of rifled pistols could be heard in the quiet rooms that looked upon the garden. As riding, shooting, and hunting are amus.e.m.e.nts which demand numbers, Oswald, Albert, and even Bruno were never safe, lest Felix should come and beg them and plague them till they yielded to his wishes, and became his companions in one or the other of his pastimes. Felix was one of those men who are never idle, without ever being well occupied; he would spend hours at his toilet, and read between Beranger's songs or a few chapters in the _Liaisons Dangereuses_, his two favorite books; or he would play the first bars of a piece of music, stopping abruptly to complete the training of his handsome pointer, and thus continually waste very valuable natural gifts in the pursuit of frivolous and bootless purposes. For Felix had been richly endowed by nature, and even his idle and reckless life had not been able to destroy them all.

No one could mistake the desire for something better that was in him, although it would show itself unfortunately only in a feverish restlessness with which he took up everything that was new, in an ambition to be everywhere the first, or at least to appear to be first, nay, even in his unmeasured vanity, and the incredible attention which he bestowed upon his appearance. He might have been saved, perhaps, if he had ever discovered the higher purposes of life, or at least had been forced to eat the bread of poverty. As it was, he slowly and pleasantly drifted down the current of his pa.s.sions towards the point where he must infallibly sink and drown if a miracle did not intervene to save him.

Could he have been in earnest in the change of life which he so often discussed with the baroness? It may be doubted. He had become tired of living in garrison, and his position was such that when he applied for an extended leave of absence he was given to understand that he had better leave the army altogether, if his health was so very feeble.

Just at that critical moment the baroness came with her offer about Helen. Felix found here a resource of which he had never thought,--for Anna Maria's views of money matters were well known to him from sad experience,--and he seized it with both hands; although he by no means liked the idea of marrying, still he was ready to yield that point.

Great was his surprise, therefore, when he found in his cousin, whom he had never seen before, a girl more beautiful and more attractive than any lady he had ever known before,--a being whom the proudest on earth would be happy to call his own. Thus not two days had gone by before Felix's heart was filled with a pa.s.sion for his fair cousin, which, closely examined, was probably nothing but sheer vanity, but which appeared to him like a miracle. Selfish men are vain of everything, even of their simple and natural feelings, and thus Felix never tired of speaking to the baroness of his love, as of an eighth wonder of the world, and overflowed even towards Oswald with his admiration of his own bold hopes. Was his pa.s.sion returned? Felix did not doubt it for a moment. Had he not so far succeeded in all cases? Had not his luck with women become proverbial among his comrades, each one of whom looked upon himself as a Paris? And had he not seen again and again that love is fond of hiding under the mask of indifference? It is true, his fair cousin seemed to carry the comedy almost too far; she treated him with a coldness, a contempt, which became almost offensive at times--but this did not disturb him in his firm faith in his irresistible charms, and he laughed at the baroness whenever she advised him to be cautious.

For Anna Maria, undisturbed by personal vanity, saw much clearer in this matter than Felix. She could not help even admiring the consistent uniformity of Helen's manner, and the modest firmness with which she uttered and sustained her views; for the baroness valued energy of character above other things, and most so in herself. There was something in the haughty beauty of her daughter which she was compelled to respect--a light from a higher world than that, filled with self-interest and petty ambition, in which she was living herself--Helen had, since that evening on the beach, become, if possible, more quiet and reserved than before. She retired, whenever she could do so, to her room. When she appeared in company she generally attached herself to her father, or tried to manage it so that Bruno became her companion when they walked out. She always had some little service to give him to do; now he had to carry her hat or her mantilla, and now to gather a flower on the other side of the ditch, or to give her his hand in climbing up the steep sh.o.r.e. Bruno performed every duty with a gentle earnestness which often provoked Baron Felix to mockery; but the others, who knew the boy, and the unbridled pa.s.sions in his heart, were unspeakably touched. His whole being seemed to be changed when Helen's eye rested on him. He became gentle and kind, ready to help and to serve; a word from her, a mere sign of her long, dark eyelashes, and he became quiet after a sudden burst of temper. He rarely, however, showed his violence now, except against Felix, for whom he entertained a hatred and a contempt which he hardly attempted to conceal. He always had a scornful word for him in readiness, and the many little exposures to which his unmeasured vanity made him liable, found in Bruno a pitiless censor. He became all the more annoying to Felix as his youth prevented the usual weapons from being used against him, while a skilful blow from above was apt to be parried with still greater skill. Felix himself felt this to a certain degree, and if the boy appeared to him insignificant, he still proved very troublesome. Wherever Helen appeared, there was Bruno also; and if she ever had stayed behind during a walk, and Felix was just on the point of speaking to her of his love, Bruno was sure to join them, as if by agreement, and Felix, who knew nothing at all of botany and mineralogy, had to leave the two to their scientific researches. How would he have wondered if he could have found out that these "researches," as he called them, were broken off the moment he was out of sight, and that Bruno, tearing the flower in his hand to pieces, cried out: "Look, Helen, that is the way you will tear my heart, if you ever love this man Felix!"--"The old story, Bruno?"--"Yes, the old story, and I will tell it as long as there is a breath in my bosom. Do you think I do not know what it means when aunty and Felix put their heads together, and look from time to time stealthily at you? Oh, I have sharp eyes, and good ears, too! Yesterday, as I pa.s.sed them, the fine gentleman said: She'll come to her senses! She--that was you; and come to your senses meant: She will forget her self-respect and marry a wretched, vain peac.o.c.k like myself"--"But how can you imagine such things, Bruno?"--"Well, I think that is not so difficult. And you imagine them too, I know, or why do you look so often straight before you, in deep thought, and then suddenly at Felix or Oswald, as if you were comparing the two with each other? Yes, just compare them! Then you will see the difference between a man and--an ape!"--"Are you very fond of Mr. Stein, Bruno? Is he always so sad and silent?"--"Oh, no! He can be as wild as a colt; I don't know what is the matter with him now, or rather I know it, but----" --"But?"--"But I must not tell--yes, I think I can tell you; for you are not like the others. I always feel as if you ought to look right down into my heart, as they say G.o.d does; as if I ought to have no secret for you."--"But I do not want you to betray a secret"--"I won't betray anything, because Oswald has never said a word to me. I only know that he is so sad and silent since Aunt Berkow is gone. We were talking of it at dinner to-day, how long she would stay away, and whether she would marry again after Uncle Berkow's death, and I saw how Oswald turned pale, and did not raise his eyes from his plate during the whole conversation. And then, when Felix remarked that Baron Oldenburg might be able to answer that question, as he had gone to N. after Aunt Berkow, he suddenly raised his head, with an angry look, and opened his lips as if to say something; but he said nothing and bit his lips; and to-night he is sadly out of humor."--"And all that means----" --"All that means, simply, that Oswald is very fond of Aunt Berkow, and does not like her to be talked about; just as little as I like it when aunty and Felix talk of you."--"Ah, you do not know what you are talking about"--"Of course, that is always the refrain: I don't know what I am talking about! I am a foolish boy, hurrah! hurrah! I have no ears to hear, no eyes to see. Why? Because I am only sixteen, and my beard is not as long as it might be."

How did Helen receive this news? Was she disappointed in her heart? Or did she find another explanation for the melancholy look in Oswald's blue eyes? Perhaps she would not have been able to explain it to herself, but at all events it did not diminish the interest she had felt for Oswald ever since that evening on the strand. She began to observe him more closely than heretofore; she watched every one of his words; she played and sang by preference the music he liked best, and when he appeared once more in the garden in the morning, she was rejoiced. She thanked him in her heart if he, who was so silent everywhere else, always had some kind word for her, and entered cheerfully upon every subject she suggested, sometimes seriously, sometimes jestingly, but always in the cordial manner of an elder brother. Did the charm of Oswald's personal appearance really begin to have an effect upon the proud girl, susceptible as she was for everything beautiful and n.o.ble? Was it jealousy, or was it simply a kind of opposition to the plans of her mother, which appeared daily more clearly, that made her take such an interest in a man whom her aristocratic eye would otherwise have carelessly overlooked? The most contrary sentiments contended in her heart, as often, on a deep blue summer sky, light gray clouds are drifting aimlessly about till the tempest breaks forth in its full power.

CHAPTER VIII.

The baroness had found herself inclined to follow Felix's advice, to take a more active part in the social intercourse of the surrounding n.o.bility. She had reflected on it for some time, and then formed her decision. Not a day pa.s.sed now that the family was not either invited out, or, more frequently, entertaining company at the chateau. People seemed to be delighted at seeing Castle Grenwitz once more the place of meeting for all the busy idlers of the neighborhood, and thus regaining its ancient fame for hospitality. They approved highly of Anna Maria's determination to exchange the convent life which she had led so far for a new life, more brilliant, and more suitable to the old renown of her n.o.ble family; they paid her so many compliments on her powers of conversation, her talent to arrange large entertainments, that she tried to plead the absolute necessity for such an outlay before her own conscience, when it charged her with recklessness in going to all the expense paused by the unusual hospitality.

It had happened in this manner that Oswald had met once more with several persons whom he had seen at the ball at Barnewitz; but none of those for whom he felt a special interest. It was a remarkable accident which brought one afternoon almost all the persons together who had then become better known to him. Some had been invited, others had come by chance. Thus he saw, with very different feelings. Baron Barnewitz and his wife Hortense enter the room; then Count Grieben and a few others; but his interest in the matter became a very special and downright painful one when at last, and quite unexpectedly, another carriage drove up, bringing Adolphus and Emily von Breesen, with their aunt, whose toothless mouth and sharp tongue Oswald had by no means forgotten.

"This way, my fine young gentleman," cried the old lady, when she noticed him after the first introduction. "Why did you not come to see us, as you promised? Was that my reward for holding you up to my nephew as a pattern of a well-bred young man who knows what he owes to ladies?

And for praising your p.r.o.nunciation of French to my niece? Are you very much ashamed? I honor you with my displeasure!"

"I do not deserve it, madam," said Oswald. "I was not able to come as I would have liked to do; and even if I really should have committed such a sin of omission, I am sure I have lost enough to be spared the punishment of your displeasure."

"Oh yes--fine phrases, you never want them. You are not less uncivil, I fear, than the other young men; you are only a little less awkward, and I see I shall have to pardon you. Here is my hand, and now see how you can make your peace with my niece without her scratching out your pretty eyes."

Thereupon the lively old lady turned her back upon Oswald, and left him to a _tete-a-tete_, for which he had no desire just then, with pretty Miss Emily, who stood there before him with slightly flushed cheeks and heaving bosom, not daring to raise her eyes from the ground.

Oswald was determined not to renew the childish and yet dangerous play with the impa.s.sioned girl. He wished and hoped she would have seen her folly. He was rather pleased, therefore, when Miss Emily answered the few indifferent words which he addressed to her with apparent unconcern, and then joined a group of girls who surrounded Helen, and admired the new-fas.h.i.+oned cut of a dress which she wore for the first time to-day.

His meeting with Baron Cloten also was less uncomfortable than he had antic.i.p.ated from his manner when they saw each other at Baron Oldenburg's house. The young n.o.bleman pretended to be very glad to see him again; he inquired eagerly after Oldenburg, spoke of their pistol-shooting at Barnewitz, and asked if Oswald would now give him satisfaction.

Oswald was rather curious to see the meeting between Cloten and Barnewitz. To his great surprise, however, there seemed to be an excellent understanding between the two gentlemen; Oldenburg had evidently proved an excellent diplomat in this affair. The fact was, he had persuaded both that each one was eager to drink the blood of the other, and thus induced the two men to listen to his suggestions for an amicable arrangement, as they found, both of them, life far too pleasant to risk it without very grave provocation. He had represented Cloten's little trifling with Hortense as mere child's play to Barnewitz, and vowed that he was persuaded Cloten had never stood in any other relation to the good lady than many other acquaintances, he himself for instance,--a wretched ambiguity, which the somewhat simple husband, however, gratefully accepted as an evidence of his wife's innocence. The young rustic Don Giovanni, on the other hand, he had advised to be once or twice very rude, and even impertinent to Hortense, in her husband's presence, and, above all, to pick out some pretty girl among his friends, and to court her publicly. Cloten was very glad to get off so cheap; he had followed Oldenburg's advice to the letter, and begun, on the spot, to pay the most devoted attentions to Emily von Breesen. So far, however, he had not been successful in his efforts. Far from it. The thoughtless girl had overwhelmed him with pitiless scorn and scoffing; his a.s.surances of love and devotion were met with ironical remarks, and his chivalrous services were accepted with an indifference which would have driven him to despair if he had been in earnest. And, as it happens in such things, he had gradually come to be in earnest; Miss Emily was by no means one of those young ladies whom one could with impunity see and serve almost daily. She was so charming even in her wanton recklessness, so lovely even in her insolence, that the unlucky bird-catcher caught himself, from day to day, more and more in his own net, and would now have given almost anything for a single kind word from the lips he adored. What was therefore his delight when Miss Emily, whom he hardly dared to approach, to-day met him with the greatest friendliness, chose him as her companion during the promenade they made through the garden, sent him to gather flowers for her, and to bring her a handkerchief she had forgotten at the house, and, in a word, seemed to do everything to make amends in an hour for all the insults of the last weeks!

Cloten was overwhelmed with happiness; his watery blue eyes beamed with delight; he twisted his little moustache unceasingly, and smiled with stupid vanity whenever some one whispered to him: "Well, Cloten, all right, eh?" or, "That's right, Cloten, don't be afraid."

Oswald did not know what to make of the comedy. At first he thought Emily only wanted to show him that she did not want admirers, for he could not believe that so clever a girl, who, with all her faults and foibles, was very lovely and exceedingly pretty, should take a fancy to such a stupid man as Cloten. When evening came the company gradually retired into the rooms adjoining the lawn, but Emily and Cloten remained almost alone outside, and Oswald had at last to fall in with the unanimous opinion of the company, that the engagement between Baron Cloten and Miss Emily could no longer be doubted. He was sorry for the girl, who could throw herself away in this manner; but then he thought again: It was not worth while to reproach yourself so much about so heartless a girl! They are, after all, in all probability, quite worthy of one another. I wonder if Cloten is not ashamed to play such a farce before the eyes of the woman he has loved?

He turned to Hortense, who was standing alone in the embrasure of one of the windows. The pretty blonde seemed to-day to be pleased with this neglect on the part of the gentlemen, although it was most extraordinary, as she generally was one of the best-attended ladies.

"Are you not going to dance to-night, baroness?" asked Oswald.

"Are they going to dance?" she replied, as if awaking from a dream.

"Oh, certainly. They are just carrying the piano into the large salon.

Mr. Timm has offered to play. May I have the honor of the first dance, if I am not too late?"

"Too late? Oh, no! Those times are gone by when I used to be engaged for weeks ahead. I leave that to the younger ones now."

"You are pleased to jest."

"By no means; you are the first who asks me, and as I am afraid you will be the last also, I think I had better not begin at all. I would rather say: Come and sit down a little by me here, and let us have a nice little chat while they are dancing. What do you say?"

"The question requires no answer," said Oswald, drawing up a chair for Hortense.

"Won't you sit down? I am told, doctor, you have a great talent for satire. Let me see a proof of your talent; you cannot be in want of material, if you cast a glance at the company from our place here.

Which of the ladies do you think the prettiest?"

"You mean the least plain?"

"You scamp! It is true, though, that there is not much to be seen that is pretty. A few nice dresses, perhaps. How do you like Helen Grenwitz?"

"I do not see her at all. Where can she be?"

"There, on the right, near the door. She is speaking to her Cousin Felix. How do they stand with each other? Has Cousin Felix yet made his declaration?"

"Certainly not to me."

"I suppose not. But do you think he will propose?"

"No."

"Why?"