Part 18

He had risen and was now pacing up and down the room; then he stepped to the open window. Kurt had kept his seat, thinking that Bertram would turn to him again. But he did not. The young man grew embarrassed. Reverence forbade him to disturb the dreamer. Never before had Kurt met one whose presence had thus thrilled him as with a breath of highest, purest vitality. And to this consciousness, which seemed to lift him out of and above himself, was joined the painful feeling which humiliated him in his own sight: that he had but just now been petty enough to say a bitter word about the woman of whom he yet knew, that she had come here to bring the greatest of all sacrifices that a loving heart can bring. And he, Bertram, knew this too; for Alexandra had said to Kurt: I have confessed all to Bertram! What a painful discord his own evil words must have been in the pure and high-souled Bertram's ear! And now Bertram, who had in all good faith shown him so much sympathy, had found him ungrateful, had turned from him, now and for ever.

He would, he must go!

But invisible fetters seemed to chain him to the spot; and as he sat there, angry with himself, in gloomy thought, it was no longer only the heavy, weary limbs that refused to obey him. His thoughts, too, flitted and wandered beyond his control. Something like a dense veil sunk upon his eyelids, and he saw surrounding objects but momentarily, indistinctly; the lighted candles upon the table seemed to be far-off bivouac fires, then they turned to dim and distant stars, then were lost in night and darkness.

Bertram had carried the candles to the writing-table, and shadows now rested upon the weary sleeper. Then he returned to the sofa and spread a coverlet over him.

"Poor lad! I saw how you were struggling against your sleepiness. The examination was a long one. But I could not spare you, and you have done well!"

He stood gazing upon him.

"And, like this, his head will rest by the side of hers--on one pillow!"

He drew his hand over his eyes, stepped noiselessly back to the writing-table, and presently his pen was gliding lightly and gently over the paper.

"My dear child,--I may henceforth with good right call you so, since Fate gives me one opportunity after another, to prove myself a good, and, I hope, also a thoughtful, father to you. But an hour ago I had to calm and comfort my beloved child, and yet dared not give her true comfort, dared not express my full and firm conviction that a good, upright heart always makes choice of the right thing at once. For good and upright as my dear child's heart is, yet it is a very defiant heart too, and would rather be miserable in its own way, than happy and blessed in other people's way; and it would have steeled itself against my persuasion and against my testimony, and would again and again have reverted to this: You do not know him! But now I say to you: I do know him; and you must accept my testimony as that of a man of great experience and knowledge of the human heart, of a man whose eyes--sharp as human eyes go--love for you and care for your welfare have filled with divine perspicuity. I know him now, after one hour spent here in my room in confidential conversation, as though I had known him from childhood, stalwart young man as he is; and even as I sit writing this, he is sleeping, under my watchful care, the sweet sleep of exhausted youthful vigour, notwithstanding his painful anxieties and the bitter sorrow of his heart. I have been watching him in his sleep. Sleep is a terrible betrayer of narrow minds and feeble hearts. Here there is nothing to betray, and sleep can but put its soft yet sure seal upon the beauteous image of a great and noble soul. And even as this soul, helpless and resistless as it were, is in my keeping, receive it, loved one, from my hands, as a great and glorious gift of the gods on high, who have deemed me worthy to be their envoy and the executor of their sacred decision.

"I promised you not to leave as long as you had need of me. You need me no longer, and I shall leave in the morning without bidding you farewell. From your mother, too, I shall take leave in writing; she knows my weakness for vanishing noiselessly from society. It is a long journey that lies before me, and we shall not soon meet again. Separation is death for a time, and time, again, is nought but a tiny speck, and its complement is eternity. A noble human being should plan his thoughts and action not in reference to the former, but the latter. Let, therefore, what I now say to you, for the brief space wherein we shall not behold one another, be said for evermore: Fare thee well, _Lebe wohl!_ that is, live according to the bidding of your heart, as you hear it when you listen to it in secret silence and reverence! Howsoever this our life may be shaped, it is no longer our concern, but that of the powers on high, over whom we have no influence, and therefore it matters nothing to us. Once more then: _Lebe wohl!_

"My kindliest greetings to sweet Agatha! She is your true friend. I always felt that she would counsel nothing that I would not counsel myself.

"And another is your friend, too, though you do not think her to be one. You know I am speaking of the Princess. She also will leave your house to-morrow, not without making an attempt to prove to you that she is your friend. Be good to her for my sake; in that case I feel convinced that you will part from her with kind and grateful feelings, and that she herself will have inspired them. Whatever she may say to you, I guarantee its truth. Hers is one of those natures that may go astray, but that can never be untrue.

"Should you have a message to send me, send if through your father, whom I shall see in W---- tomorrow. Should I have anything else to say to you, I will send my message through Kurt, whom also I shall meet again to-morrow.

"And now remember your promise to be my good and obedient child; and again, and for the last time: _Lebe wohl!_"

He had put the letter into an envelope, and now turned in his chair, looking towards the sofa. His young guest was still lying in the same position, only his head had fallen back a little. Perhaps deeper shadows were now falling on the forehead and on the closed, eyes, whilst chin and lips stood out in brighter light and bolder relief; anyhow, the features that appeared so soft awhile ago seemed sharper, and the expression of almost feminine gentleness was turned to one of manly resolution, nay, of angry indignation.

"Thus Simon Peter may have contracted his brows, thus his lips may have quivered that night! And yet he could sleep, although he knew what was to happen. Even as this one, knowing, yet sleepeth!"

Again he stood by the open window, leaning against it.

A dead silence; only at times the night wind came rushing past, and there was rustling and roaring among trees and shrubs. In the village, veiled in mist, a dim red light gleamed faintly here and there. At times confused sounds, as of far-off horses' tramp and the measured step of soldiers on the march, with clashing of arms. Then deep, dead silence again, and then, piercing the deep silence, the half-smothered crow of a cock. Over the edge of yonder mountains the moon--almost at the full--hung, bloody-red, in the vapour which came steaming up from the woods.

"Did you look so mournfully up to it that night? And had all the heavenly stars to expire for Him too, that He might remember the heaven within His heart?

"Alas! He knew that He was dying for the world. I humbly claim but to die for her,--she is my world.

"One cannot choose one's own Gethsemane. One must take it as it comes, whether to the sound of the last trump on the Day of Judgment, ringing through the hearts of all the generations of men, or in deep and world-forgotten loneliness and secrecy, whither human eye shall never penetrate, any more than it penetrates into the nethermost depths of the sea.

"And this is my silent Gethsemane!"

The moon had sunk behind the hills, and the cool morning breeze came floating along. Bertram was about to close the window when he heard from afar a short, sharp sound, soon succeeded by other similar sounds, succeeding each other so swiftly that the echo could clearly continue the scattered noises and reverberate them as thunder. And now shrill, long-drawn trumpet-blasts were heard, mingling with the beat of the drum.

Bertram quickly turned to the sleeper, who was not, for his sake, to neglect his military duties. But already Kurt had staggered up from his sofa-corner, his eyes wide open, though still veiled by slumber, and his arms stretched out, clutching the air, as though in search of some weapon.

"I--I--not you! I will fight him! Give me the pistol!"

Bertram touched his shoulder.

"They are sounding the assembly in the village!"

"Oh! I thought ..."

He brushed his hand across his eyes.

"I have been asleep! Pardon me. How good you are! You have been watching for me. Is it long since ...?" and he pointed to the window.

"Not half a minute."

"Then I am in good time!"

He had already fastened his sword, and seized his helmet.

"Excuse my hurry. You know ..."

"No excuses! A matter of course. _Au revoir_."

He held out his hand to the young man, in whose fine features, now full of life again, he noticed a strange quiver. Kurt evidently wanted to say something, and could not hit upon the right word. So he only pressed Bertram's hand vigorously.

"Well, _au revoir!_"

He hurried away. Bertram stood gazing at the door through which the slender young figure had vanished.

"Heaven be thanked! It is at least no disgrace to yield to him. He is thoroughly sound and sweet,--mind and body alike!"

XXIII.

In the mansion-house which had until now been hushed in slumber, many voices were heard shouting, and the tramp of horses came echoing from the court-yard. A smart, heavy step was heard below in the passage.

"Which door?"

"The second, Colonel. Allow me, Colonel."

But Bertram had already opened the door, and Colonel von Waldor came rushing in.

"Good evening, friend, or rather good morning. A good thing that I met your servant at once--otherwise I might have been hunting for you ever so long--I have only one minute to spare--where is Ringberg? Your servant said he was here."

"He left five minutes ago, when they were sounding the assembly."

"That came unexpectedly, eh?" cried the Colonel. "An hour before the time--I did it on my own responsibility. His Excellency will be furious--wait for the attack, forsooth!--in such an exposed situation--not if I know it!--we shall have to retreat ultimately as it is--so I'll give them some trouble first. But that does not concern you. Here is something that does, a little, and which will greatly please you. Read this!"

Waldor drew a folded paper from between a couple of buttons in his uniform and handed it to Bertram. The telegram was in French, and in the following! words:--

"I sincerely congratulate Madame la Princesse. Lawsuit definitely gained.

Your obedient servant, Odintzov."

"Odintzov," Waldor explained, "is our Petersburg lawyer and business-man, a most trustworthy fellow. What do you say now?"

"That I do congratulate you heartily. How did you get hold of this?"

"See what it is to be in luck! I knew that the lawsuit would soon be decided, though Alexandra refused to believe it. So I gave orders that any telegram arriving, by day or by night, was to be straightway sent here by mounted express. Returning just now from the outposts, close to Rinstedt, I overtook on the high-road a fellow trotting along in front of me. 'Telegram from Rinstedt?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Princess Volinzov?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Give it to me.' The beggar had got rid of the telegram before he knew what was up. I read it by the light of my cigar; hence this stain. May I trouble you for an envelope? Or perhaps you would be so kind as to hand it to the Princess with my respectful compliments? It would give her double pleasure. I can assure you that you are still as fortunate as ever with the sex! Alexandra quite raves about you. Good! Now, you may both put your wise heads together and settle how and when the battle, which is won, is to be utilised for the benefit of our young _proteges_. I give you two _plein pouvoir_. I should say, let them dangle a little longer. I could come over with Kurt, never saying a word of this to him. We would have a nice little supper. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I have the exquisite pleasure of presenting my future wife to you--the Princess Alexandra Paulovna.' Capital! The amazed look in the eyes of our beautiful hostess is worth doing it for. And then the young ones immediately afterwards--only, of course, you must first pitch into the little girl properly; she seems to have a bit of a will of her own. All right, you'll see to it all between you, no doubt. Good-bye, _mon cher_! You are looking deucedly fagged. That's the result of being so much indoors. I have been on my legs since four o'clock yesterday morning, and feel as fresh as paint. Is this Kurt's glass? Oh, bother all ceremony! It is not the first that he and I have been using the same glass."

He filled the glass and drained it at one draught.

"Capital wine that! Well, good-bye, and _au revoir!_"

The Colonel had rushed off again.

"And thus," said Bertram with a smile, "one conquers the world. Perhaps it looks harder than it really is."

He again sat down at the writing-table and took up a fresh sheet of paper.

"Gracious Princess,--Waldor has just left me, after handing me, for transmission to you, the enclosed telegram, on the contents of which I beg to offer my hearty congratulations. I am sorry I must do so in writing, for a few hours hence I shall leave this--secretly--not to return. Business that will brook no delay makes this imperative, and I have not told Waldor of it. He hopes to find me here this evening, that I may be a witness to the amazement which the announcement of your engagement will cause in this friendly circle, as all obstacles to it are now removed. I am sincerely sorry that I cannot afford him that pleasure--for to him it would really be a pleasure.

"I regret it the more, because I must prepare a worse disappointment for him. For I consider it, in the interest of our _proteges_, to be desirable--necessary, if you wish--that you, My Lady, should also leave to-morrow; without waiting for Waldor's evening visit. The communication which you were resolved to make to our fair young friend Erna, before Waldor had given you _plein pouvoir_ (which he now begs to do through me), will only have the right calming effect if you strike the proper note on Erna's heart, and then let it ring out full and clear. In life, as on the stage, a good ending has to be provided for. This is missed if one lingers on the stage, when once the decisive word has been spoken.

"And what about the communication itself?

"I should deem it presumptuous on my part, were I to venture to advise Claudine's clever friend on this point. She knows that one is compelled to say the whole truth only in a court of law. In life it is sufficient, nay, it is often requisite in the interest of humanity, to say nothing but the truth, to be sure, but, of the truth, only what is needful and useful--to use the words which Lessing puts into the mouth of his wise Jew Nathan.

"And, now, let me add to my requests, a word of deep and sincere gratitude that you deemed me worthy to make the acquaintance of Claudine and of yourself. Your friend is perhaps more interesting and intellectual--at least you said so--but your heart is a thousand times more noble.

"I have always paid due respect to intellectual capacity; but before a noble heart I gladly and reverently bend my knee."

Silence had for a long time been reigning again in the mansion-house. The combat, too, though it had commenced in the immediate vicinity, was now being continued a long way off, and one only heard something like the rumbling of a distant thunder-storm. The candles on Bertram's writing-table had all but burned down to the sockets; he turned his wearied eyes towards the window, through which the dull grey morning light was coming. Konski came into the room.

"What time is it?"

"Just five, sir."

"So late? Well, I am ready. Did you get hold of a carriage?"

"It is waiting at the bridge below."

"Did you get if from the mayor?"

"Yes, Herr Doctor. At first he was making no end of excuses; for they all want to drive to the man[oe]vres, every man of them; and Herr von Busche has ordered a trap, too, for the afternoon. He'll have to be content with a common cart and a sack. Never mind that, though!"

"Why should you look so miserable about that?"

"It isn't about that at all, Herr Doctor."

"Well?"

"It is because I do not like to let the Herr Doctor drive away like this. Can you not take me with you?"

"Impossible! You see yourself that you have a couple of hours' work before you yet. These sealed packets are to go into the small portmanteau which you keep by you. These letters you will deliver, when the ladies have risen. This money is for the servants. Do not forget any one, and do not be stingy, Konski! And remember me kindly to your Aurora. And now my cloak, please, and so good-bye, Konski."

"Am I not at least to see the Herr Doctor to the carriage?"

"No."

"Herr Doctor, do not be angry; I really mean so well by you, and Aurora does too. We have been speaking of nothing else. And she swears that the Herr Doctor, if he wished it, could have Miss Erna for the asking."

"Then tell your Aurora that the Herr Doctor does not wish it, and that the Herr Doctor has better things to do than to spoon and fool about, like you and her."

He had held out his hand to the faithful servant, and now he was gone. A minute later, Konski, standing mournfully by the window, saw the dark figure striding swiftly past the lawn, and vanish behind the terrace-wall. He closed the window with a sigh.

Bertram lessened his pace, as soon as he knew himself unobserved. Slowly he descended the steps to the second terrace. Here was the leafy grove which, on the left, led to the platform beneath the plantain-tree. He glanced timidly that way. His foot had already touched the next step, he wanted to get down,--to get away,--but something like a magic spell drew him to the spot.

There, in this chair, she had sat; he was facing her; and the golden sunbeams had flitted through the dense foliage, and the birds had been holding a gleeful festival in the branches, and from the gardens below fairest fragrance of flowers had been wafted up, and his heart had been full of light and joy, and of all the blissfulness of spring. And now! and now!

"Thou sacred dawn of early morn, forgive me! You quiet trees and bushes, tell it not! I have borne what man can bear; more, I cannot."

And pressing his hand to his face, he wept.

XXIV.

In the little-garden, under wide-spreading chestnut-trees, the lawyer and Bertram were sitting, about four o'clock in the afternoon, at a table covered with books, documents, and papers. From, the small garden one could look across a narrow court-yard, at the windows of the office, where they had just begun to make a fair copy of the will, which had been settled after long deliberation.

"And now, most grave and most conscientious of men, seeing that you go into this election campaign as into actual war, let us drink that victory may be on your side--that is, on ours, on the side of liberty, and right--and that the victor be granted, over and above his allotted time, as special allowance for special services rendered, a respectable series of not inglorious years, at least as many as this '68 Ruedesheimer wine numbers!"

The lawyer took a venerable-looking bottle, from a side table, filled a couple of green goblets, and touched Bertram's with his own.

"I thank you for the kindly wish, and drink to its fulfilment, although as you know, I have well-founded reasons for assuming that it will not occur."

"Nonsense!" cried the lawyer. "I am not a giant either, but I confidently expect to outlive all the giants among my contemporaries. What does Wallenstein say?--'Es ist der Geist der sich den Koerper bauet' (It is the mind that builds, this frame of ours). And I would add, that also keeps the building together, even if it were shaky in every joint; and that is assuredly far from being the case with you."

Bertram smiled absently. His looks were wandering away to the garden gate.

"I wonder where Otto can be?" he said. "I urgently asked him to be here at four o'clock at the latest."

"I am in no hurry at all," replied the lawyer. "After having had to keep you waiting the whole forenoon, my entire evening is at your disposal instead; or, if you insist upon leaving at five, we can have another second witness in, and you can communicate to our friend in writing those points which have special reference to him."

"I am most anxious to do so by word of mouth."

Upon the wretched pavement of the narrow street which lay behind the garden wall, a carriage came hurriedly thundering along.

"_Lupus in fabula!_" exclaimed the lawyer. "Any one coming from Rinstedt would have to pass this way."

As he spoke, Otto's broad-shouldered figure appeared in the little yard.

The two men had meanwhile risen from their seats below the chestnut-trees, and had gone to meet the newcomer.

"What tricks are these of yours?" Otto was saying, "to cut away from the village in the middle of the night in a trap? What will people think? Why, that I am driving my guests from my house! But, of course, you intellectual people never can do things like the rest of us mortals; always something out of the way! Eh, old fellow?"

He brought his hand with a laugh down upon Bertram's shoulders; but the laugh was forced, and, indeed, in all his look and manner there was painful unrest.

"I am sorry that I must leave you gentlemen alone for a little," said the lawyer, with a meaning look at Bertram; "but you can call me at any time from the office. By the way, there is an empty glass here, Bermer. You must be thirsty after your drive along the hot road, and you have not in your own cellars at Rinstedt a better Ruedesheimer than this."

He turned his back upon the friends now, and forthwith the last trace of forced mirth vanished from Otto's face. He had flung himself into a garden chair, and there he sat, his elbows leaning on his knees, his hands put to his full round cheeks, staring fixedly in front of him.

"This has been a day which I shall remember!" he said.

"You have spoken to your wife?"

Otto nodded.

"In detail?"

"Well, yes; that is to say ..."

"That you might have spoken in greater detail. It does not matter, however, as long as you have informed her of your situation in the main. That has surely been done?"

"Been done!" exclaimed Otto. "Great Heavens! it was fearful! At first she seemed to think that I had gone mad; at least she looked so ... so frightened at me, don't you know, and wanted to ring the bell. But I told her that I was, unfortunately, still quite in my right mind, and perfectly sober, although yesterday I did perhaps, in my despair, drink a little too much. And then, I do not know how it came about, but one word led to another; and when she told me that the whole thing was my own fault, and the outcome of my bad economy and my costly foibles,--she could not mean anything more by this, than that I like to drink a good glass of wine and to smoke a decent cigar;--why, then, something passed within me that I cannot describe. I felt as though my very heart were turning, and as though I had never loved her in all my life. And then there was no longer any need to hunt for appropriate words; they came fast enough, and harder, too, than I liked at last. It was horrible!"

Otto gave a deep sigh and drained his glass.