Withered Leaves Volume Iii Part 9

Bller, always ready for service, hurled his wreaths behind the footlights, and gave the signal for applause; the young merchant guards in the pit joined in, also Kuhl and Schner, and several unconcerned listeners in the stalls.

But simultaneously Buschmann and Spiegeler discharged their infernal machines--a hissing arose, as when fire and water are mingled. Others again commanded silence. Rosina began in a frightened voice; her heart, indeed, was heavy, but the power of the music soon carried her away above that dull oppression.

She sang with all her feelings--

"And every power fails, Love remains victor."

She sang with grace, she knew how to impart such fervour even to these light winged pa.s.sages, that, even before a partial judge, she would surely have gained her cause. But here there was not even a question of partizans.h.i.+p, her doom was already decided upon and sealed.

Hardly had she ended the triumphant song of the power of love, when an unrestrained storm broke loose. Her friends' applause was entirely overpowered by the noise and hissing which issued from pit and gallery; for a moment she seemed to stand in the pillory. In vain Basilio sought to waft to the audience a whispered, almost inaudible, _aria_ upon calumny. For a few bars he gained an attentive silence, the song was as appropriate as if improvised, but when he continued to sing--

"How it pa.s.ses from tongue to tongue Nothing but words to inflate the lung, First a smile and then a scowl First a murmur then a howl,"

the storm broke loose afresh; then the people felt staggered, they discovered an audacious accusation in Rossini's semiquavers and demi-semiquavers. The hissing and drumming raged through the "aerial regions." In the pit the hostile parties seemed to have come to actual battle, they were mixed up in dark wild confusion. Spiegeler stamped with his crutches like a madman, and, pa.s.sing it from hand to hand, something was thrust out of the door; it was a figure striking right and left with hands and feet. Baluzzi had given too lively expression to his anger against the singer's enemies, and as he was situated in the hostile camp, his abusive remarks upon the _maladetti_ were not without result. Before the police could prevent this act of self-defence, the Italian, at a signal from Spiegeler, and by united effort, had been rendered harmless.

But, with a feeling of perfect helplessness and internal indignation, Giulia stood defenceless before the raging mob. With the rapidity of lightning the pictures of a whole life-time pa.s.sed before her mind: she saw the joyful movement of a crowd of people coming exultantly towards her, as she had seen it in Florence, Barcelona, London and even here!

What evil demon had metamorphosed the public into a rage-foaming monster! Yet over her career as an actress writhed one widespread shadow, as if beneath a scorching blast her laurel wreaths withered, her future was destroyed. She had but one preserver--him, him alone, and that preservation she could only purchase if she sacrificed her soul's salvation.

Calumny had aroused this storm of public opinion, it was a blind, unjust outbreak; she could defy it with a good conscience. And, yet shuddering internally, she felt as if a Divine judgment were falling upon her; "guilty" cried a voice from within, and her knees tottered.

Then resounded a many-voiced shrill whistle; it originated in the stalls, in which Doctor Sperner and his friends were seated; they had provided themselves with toy whistles,

"Drums and fifes Martial sounds--"

thus he courted Lori's favour, remembering Gethe's lines--

"Maidens and castles Then must they yield, Bold is the struggle For glorious reward."

The shrill whistle was answered by a ringing mocking laugh from every portion of the house. The humiliation, the disgrace were too great.

Giulia fainted, the curtain fell, the performance could proceed no farther.

The crowd dispersed noisily, some persons crowded round the ticket box to demand their entrance money. Lori looked on very triumphantly, her eyes flashed, and Dr. Sperner was permitted to accompany her home.

Kuhl had hastened on to the stage; Giulia had been taken into the drawing-room, where she soon recovered consciousness.

Blanden was her first thought; she implored Kuhl not to communicate the theatrical riot to him, he should beseech all their friends to be silent about it; she should take care that the newspapers containing the report should not fall into his hands, it might excite him, and be injurious to his health, if the news reached him.

Kuhl promised to preserve the secret.

"Really, it is not so bad," added he consolingly, "a little more or less noise does not matter. The dear public itself is a great scandal, a thousand-headed crime against good taste, a million-fold want of sense. What is most wretched pleases it, and yet it is really sincere when its honest displeasure has been roused, if indeed it is possible to transform this sleepy ma.s.s into fire and flame. To be sure it only burns like plum-pudding when spirits have been poured over it and ignited, when the spirits are exhausted then the phlegm remains behind."

Giulia thanked the Doctor for his friendly intentions, and for the slight comfort which she could extract from such daring views. Arrived at home, she sat a long time talking to Beate; she gave her companion money for the journey, and on the following day Beate prepared for her departure to the Orta lake.

CHAPTER VI.

A SLEIGHING PARTY.

A cold East Prussian winter's day--crisp snow upon the roads--the broad fields sleep beneath their white cover. Ashen grey clouds in the sky, but the snow flakes seem to be frozen, and cannot loosen themselves; only now and again one little atom flutters down, or has the icy north wind, which here and there sweeps up a looser snow field, wafted it down from the roofs? It is that spiteful cold which seems to be more fitted for Laplanders than for civilised mortals. The air cuts as if with knives, and the breath of life freezes on men's lips. But this very scorn of Nature who has retired to her ice palace and surrounded herself unapproachably, as if with a threefold s.h.i.+eld, calls forth man's defiance.

Nature must be enjoyed at any price!

The inhabitants of the town, clad in thickly furs, amuse themselves upon the Pregel. Upon the smooth even course that leads inland the chair sleighs fly forward in long rows, the skaters rush in the direction of the north wind which brings them the icy cold greeting from the Baltic Sea, lying beneath the spell of winter, others make circles upon the surface, and display their art which even a great poet has immortalised.

One of the most successful is the gallant skater who makes use of his skates as buskins for the higher flight of love. With what gladsomeness he pushes the sleigh before him; within it sits, buried beneath furs, shawls, rugs, veils, what appears to be a formless ma.s.s, and yet!--he is proud to drive a beautiful woman.

This same emotion of pride fills Wegen's breast so far as anything is to be seen of his face, which is concealed under the fur cap and warm ear-covers; it beams with pleasure. His eyes, it is true, weep, but only because of the north wind, but if they were a couple of tears of joy which he shed he should not be surprised! Olga had never been more affable towards him than to-day, and when he dared to speak of the sleighing privileges, she smiled. No, it is no smile which refuses--he understands it well! The first kiss in prospect,--this point he had never attained with Ccilie! Hah! how his sleigh flew on in advance of all towards the beautiful goal, and if the ice did not shed sparks from beneath steel shoes, it was not his fault, for he was fire and flame, a Hecla in the midst of rigid frost.

Wegen had been in the Province for some time, and Olga, despite the monotony of a winter season in the country, had visited the same relatives as those with whom Ccilie had formerly stayed. Olga had made a much more favourable impression in Masuren than Ccilie; she was not so superior, so clever: she talked with zest of everything that can interest a country young lady and a country "Junker"--and above all, she was beautiful, with that stately vigorous beauty that country squires love, because it gains such prizes as can be obtained by understanding the art of feeding the lower creatures of the animal kingdom.

The rumour of her intimacy with Dr. Kuhl only arose in a very pale form, and was hardly noticed. Wegen visited Olga as frequently as his time permitted him, which it did every day. Olga was always friendly and accessible, not so distant, so enigmatic, so evasive as Ccilie.

Besides, even before others, she showed how much she favoured Wegen, and he was very happy that he should be envied. Such a thing had never befallen him before, it was quite a novel sensation for him. Milbe declared that every _ombre_ player might wish for such a spadille, and Oberamtmann Werner held a conversation with her about his different varieties of wool causing him to entertain deep respect for her intellectual faculties. Even the women and girls were taken with her.

She held the most sensible views upon preserving fruit, she knew the family tree of all the families of Masuren, and even the collateral branches did not disturb her self-possession. Happy Wegen! Never had a winter painted more beautiful flowers upon his window panes!

Blanden's wound had re-called Wegen to the capital; he took his turn with Giulia and Kuhl in nursing his friend. Olga, meanwhile, had also returned to the town, Wegen appeared frequently in Frau von Dornau's modest dwelling, and was always received, even by Ccilie, who had now transformed herself into a well-meaning friend, with special distinction.

Still, however, he had not yet made up his mind to propose! It seemed so humiliating to appear with the same big bouquet of flowers, in the same little room, and once more before the same faded sofa to pour forth his homage and courts.h.i.+p, while the whole furniture merely displayed the one, but very important, difference that Olga was seated upon the sofa instead of Ccilie. The recollection of the figure in the cotillon, _changez les dames_, could not be got rid of in those apartments in which he had first _avanc_ to Ccilie's hand. No, even if he were firmly resolved to propose for Olga it could not be done in that place which was full of mocking, giggling recollections! He cherished bold plans, which at other times were foreign to his mind--he thought of a sudden surprise.

All at once, as if fatigued, he began to push the chair-sleigh more slowly. Dr. Kuhl rushed past him pus.h.i.+ng Ccilie, as did Frau von Dornau, who had to content herself with a hired attendant.

Then Wegen guided her somewhat aside. A whole caravan of sleighs now pa.s.sed them tumultuously, Lori in front with an embroidered rug, a present from the first-cla.s.s! On Dr. Sperner's moustache, her cavalier, hung melancholy icicles, behind her came the slender girls of the first-cla.s.s, mostly driven by cousins; only fat Iduna, deprived of her Theodor Krner, had to be contented with the man servant from the school, who was accustomed to heavy loads.

Now Wegen broke completely out of the course like a shying sleigh horse, guided her sideways over lumpy hillocks of snow, which had been heaped up on the river, and then stopped suddenly in a defile between two large snowdrifts, which yielded him a welcome cover.

"For Heaven's sake, where are we?" said Olga's voice, suffocated by shawls and furs.

"The snow has dazzled me, I have lost my way," cried Wegen, having recourse to a daring falsehood.

Olga uttered a cry of alarm, but only raised herself up in the sleigh to see in what territory she had arrived.

There she stood like a czarina; winter seemed to have built his palace in her honour alone, only to do homage to her; the north wind kissed her fur sleeves, and even if the fur cap surrounded her face enviously, so that but little was to be seen of her red, glowing cheeks, yet her large eyes gazed majestically out of all her winter wraps.

Wegen s.h.i.+vered with the cold; standing still after the violent exercise made him uncomfortable, and the wind blew icily into his face. And yet his state of mind was that of Romeo, when he looked up in the Capulet's garden at the balcony where his Juliet, in a light ball dress, carried on a conversation with the moon and stars.

"What in the world, Herr von Wegen, are we doing?" cried Olga, to whom the adventure began to appear serious, because in his sound senses a sleigh conductor could hardly wander from the proper course. For a moment she actually looked searchingly at Wegen, whether the colour in his cheeks could be called forth honestly by the north wind, or if it owed its origin to a bottle of champagne.

"As chance has so ordained it, that we are alone, hear then, dear Olga, hear what it is that I have had so long at heart."