CHAPTER III.
It was Sunday morning. The office was closed, and Reinhold at last had a free morning before him, which certainly was seldom his good fortune. He was in the garden house, to the entire and special possession of which he had at last attained, to be sure only after many struggles and by repeated reference to his musical studies, which were considered highly disturbing in the house. It was here alone that the young man was in any degree safe from the constant control of his parents-in-law, which extended even into the young couple's dwelling, and he seized every free moment to take refuge in his asylum.
The so-called "garden" was of the only description possible in an old, narrowly-built, densely populated town. On all sides high walls and gables enclosed the small piece of ground, to which air and sunshine were sparingly given, and where a few trees and shrubs enjoyed but a miserable existence. The garden's boundary was one of those small canals, which traversed the town in all directions, and whose quick, dark stream formed a very melancholy background; beyond this, again, walls and gables were to be seen; the same prison-like appearance, which clung to Almbach's whole house seemed to reign over the only free space belonging to it.
The garden house itself was not much more cheerful--the single large room was furnished with more than simplicity. Evidently the few old-fashioned pieces of furniture had been set aside from some other place as superfluous, and been sought out in order to fit up the room with what was absolutely necessary. Only in the window, round which climbed some stunted vines, stood a large, handsome piano, the legacy of the late Music Director, Wilkens, to his pupil, and its magnificent appearance contrasted as singularly and strangely with the room as did the figure of the young man, with his ideal brow and large flashing eyes, behind the barred office windows of the dwelling-house.
Reinhold was sitting writing at the table, but to-day his face did not wear the tired, listless expression, which rested upon it whenever he had the figures of the account books before him; his cheeks were darkly, almost feverishly red, and as he wrote a name rapidly on the envelope, lying on the table, his hands trembled as if with suppressed excitement. Steps were heard outside, and the glass door was opened; with a quick gesture of annoyance the young man pushed the envelope under the sheets of music lying on the table, and turned round.
It was Jonas, servant of the Captain, who for a few days only had accepted the hospitality offered by his relations, and then had migrated to a dwelling of his own. The sailor saluted and entered in his peculiarly rough and somewhat uncouth manner, and then laid some books on the table.
"The Herr Captain's compliments, and he sends the promised books from his travelling library."
"Is my brother not coming himself?" asked Reinhold astonished. "He promised surely."
"The Captain has been here some time," replied Jonas, "but they have got hold of him in the house; your uncle wished to have a conference with him on family affairs; your aunt requires his help to make some alteration in the guest room, and the bookkeeper wants to catch him for his society. All are fighting for him; he cannot tear himself away."
"Hugo appears to have conquered the whole house in the course of a single week," remarked Reinhold ironically.
"We do that everywhere," said Jonas, full of self-consciousness, and appeared inclined to add more about those conquests, when he was interrupted by his master's entrance, who greeted his brother in the most cheerful humour.
"Good morning, Reinhold! Now Jonas, what are you staying here for? You are wanted in the house. I promised my aunt that you should help at the dinner to-day. Go at once to the kitchen!"
"Amongst the women!"
"Heaven knows," said Hugo, turning laughingly to his brother, "where this man has learned his hatred for women. Certainly not from me; I admire the lovely sex uncommonly."
"Yes, unfortunately, quite uncommonly," muttered Jonas, but he turned away obediently and marched out of the room, while the Captain came quite close to Reinhold.
"To-day there is a large family dinner!" he began, imitating his Uncle Almbach's pedantic, solemn voice so well as almost to deceive any one. "In my honour of course! I hope you will pay proper respect to this important ceremony, and that you will not again behave in such a manner, that I can at the utmost use you as a butt for my too developed amiability."
Reinhold knitted his brows slightly--
"I beg you, Hugo, do be sensible for once! How long do you intend to continue this comedy, and amuse yourself at the expense of the whole house? Take care, lest they find out what your amiability consists of, and that you are really only ridiculing them all."
"That would indeed be bad," said Hugo, quietly, "but they will not find me out, depend upon that."
"Then do me the kindness, at least, of ceasing your horrid Indian tales! You really go too far with them. Uncle was debating with the bookkeeper yesterday about the battle with the monster serpent, which you served up for them lately, and which, even to him, appeared unheard of. I became extremely confused in listening to them."
"It put you to confusion?" mocked the Captain. "If I had been there, I should immediately have given them the benefit of an elephant hunt, a tiger story, and a few attacks of savages, with such appalling effects, that the affair of the giant snake would have appeared highly probable to them. Be easy! I know my hearers; the whole house oppresses me almost, with its acts of sympathy."
"Excepting Ella," suggested Reinhold, "it is certainly remarkable that her shyness towards you is quite invincible."
"Yes, it is very remarkable," said Hugo with an offended air. "I cannot allow any one in the house to exist who is not entirely persuaded of my perfections, and have already set myself the task of presenting myself to my sister-in-law in all my utterly irresistible charms. I do not doubt at all that she will thereupon immediately join the majority--you are not jealous, I hope."
"Jealous?--I? and on Ella's account?" The young man shrugged his shoulders half-pityingly, half-contemptuously.
"What are you thinking of?"
"Well, there is no danger! I have sought an interview with her already, but she was entirely occupied with the young one. Tell me, Reinhold, where does the child get those wonderful, blue, fairy-tale-like eyes from? Yours are not so, besides there is not the least resemblance, and, excepting his, I do not know any in the family."
"I believe Ella's eyes are blue," interrupted his brother indifferently.
"You believe only? Have you never convinced yourself then? Certainly it may be somewhat difficult; she never raises them, and, under that monstrous cap, nothing can be seen of her face. Reinhold, for Heaven's sake, how can you allow your wife such an antediluvian costume? I assure you, for me that cap would be grounds sufficient for a divorce."
Reinhold had seated himself at the piano, and let his hands glide mechanically over the notes, while he answered with perfect indifference--
"I never trouble myself about Ella's toilet, and I believe it would be useless to try and enforce any alterations there. What does it matter to me?"
"What it matters to you how your wife looks?" repeated the Captain, as he seized some sheets of music on the table, and turned them over lightly, "a charming question from a young husband! You used to have a sense of beauty, too easily aroused, and I could almost fear--what is this then? 'Signora Beatrice Biancona on it.' Have you Italian correspondents in the town?"
Reinhold sprang up, confusion and annoyance struggled in his face, as he saw the letter, which he had pushed under the music, in his brother's hands, who repeated the address unconcernedly.
"Beatrice Biancona? That is the prima donna of the Italian Opera, who has made such a wonderful sensation here? Do you know the lady?"
"Slightly," said Reinhold, taking the letter quickly from his hands. "I was introduced to her lately at Consul Erlau's."
"And you correspond with her already?"
"Certainly not! The letter does not contain one single line."
Hugo laughed aloud, "An envelope fully addressed, a very voluminous sheet of paper inside it, with not a single line! Dear Reinhold, that is more wonderful than my story of the giant snake. Do you expect me really to believe it? There, do not look so savage, I do not intend to force myself into your secrets."
Instead of answering, the young man drew the paper out of the unsealed envelope, and held it to his brother, who looked at it in astonishment.
"What does it mean? Only a song--notes and words--no word of explanation with it--just your name below. Have you composed it?"
Reinhold took the paper again, closed the letter and put it in his pocket.
"It is an attempt, nothing more. She is artiste enough to judge of it. She can accept or reject it."
"Then you compose also?" asked the Captain, whose face had become serious all at once. "I did not think that your passionate liking for music went so far as creating it yourself. Poor Reinhold, how can you bear this life, with all its narrow, confined ways, wishing to stifle every spark of poetry as being unnecessary or dangerous? I could not do it."
Reinhold had thrown himself upon the seat before the piano again.
"Do not ask me how I endure it," he replied, with suppressed feeling. "It is enough that I do it."
"I guessed long since that your letters were not open," continued Hugo; "that behind all the contentment with which you tried to deceive me, something quite different was concealed. The truth has become plain to me, during one week in this house, notwithstanding that you gave yourself all conceivable trouble to hide it from me."
The young man gazed gloomily before him. "Why should I worry you, when far away, with anxieties about me? You had enough to do to take care of yourself, and there was a time, too, when I was contented, or at least believed myself so, because my whole mental being lay, as it were, under a spell, when I allowed everything to pass over me in stupid indifference, and I offered my hand willingly for the chain. I have done it; well, yes! But I must carry it my whole life long!"
Hugo had gone towards him, and laid his hand upon his brother's shoulder.
"You mean your marriage with Ella? At the first news of it, I knew it must be my uncle's work."
A bitter smile played round the young man's lips as he answered scornfully--
"He was always a splendid master of calculation, and he has shown it again in this case. The poor relation, taken up out of kindness and charity, must consider it happiness that he is raised to be son and heir of the house, and the daughter must be married some time; so it was a case of securing, by means of her hand, a successor for the firm, who bore the same name. It was neither Ella's nor my fault that we were bound together. We were both young, without wills, without knowledge of life or of ourselves. She will always remain so--well for her. It has not been so fortunate for me."
One would hardly have credited those merry brown eyes with the power of looking so serious as at this moment, when he bent down to his brother.
"Reinhold," said he, in an undertone, "on the night when I fled to save myself from a caprice, which would have ruined my freedom and future, I had planned and foreseen everything, excepting one, the most difficult--the moment when I should stand by your bed to bid you farewell. You slept quietly, and did not dream of the separation; but I--when I saw your pale face on the pillow, and said to myself that for years, perhaps never again, should I see it, all longing for freedom could not resist it--I struggled hard with the temptation to awake and take you with me. Later, when I experienced the thorny path of the adventurous homeless boy, with all its dangers and privations, I often thanked God that I had withstood the temptation; I knew you were safe and sound in our relation's house, and now"--Hugo's strong voice trembled as with suppressed anger or pain--"now I wish I had carried you with me to want and privation, to storm and danger, but at any rate to freedom; it had been better."
"It had been better," repeated Reinhold, listlessly; then rising as if reckless, "Let us cease! What is the use of regrets, which cannot change what is past. Come! They expect us upstairs."
"I wish I had you on my 'Ellida,' and we could turn our backs on the whole crew, never to see them again," said the young sailor, with a sigh, as he prepared to follow his brother's bidding. "I never thought things could be so bad."
The brothers had hardly entered the house, when Hugo's indispensability began to show itself again. He was in request, at least on three sides, at once. Every one required his advice and help. The young Captain appeared to possess the enviable power of throwing himself directly from one mood into another, as, immediately after his serious conversation with his brother, he was sparkling with merriment and mischief, helped every one, paid compliments to each, and at the same time teased all in the most merciless manner. This time it was the bookkeeper who caught him, as Jonas expressed it, to explain the affairs of his society; and while the two gentlemen were discussing it, Reinhold entered the dining-room, where he found his wife busied with preparations for the before-named guests.
Ella was in her Sunday costume to-day, but that made little alteration in her appearance. Her dress of finer material was not more becoming; the cap, which inspired her brother-in-law with such horror, surrounded and disfigured her face as usual. The young wife devoted herself so assiduously and completely to her domestic duties, that she hardly seemed to notice her husband's entrance, who approached her with rather lowering mien.
"I must beg you, Ella," he began, "to have more regard for my wishes in future, and to meet my brother in such a manner as he can and would expect his sister-in-law to do. I should think that the behaviour of your parents, and every one in the house, might serve as an example for you; but you appear to find an especial pleasure in denying him every right of relationship, and in showing him a decided antipathy."
The young wife looked as timid and helpless at this anything but kindly expressed reproof, as she did when her mother desired her to interfere about her husband's musical "mania."
"Do not be angry, dear Reinhold," she replied, hesitatingly, "but I--I cannot do otherwise."
"You cannot?" asked Reinhold, sharply. "Of course, that is your never-failing answer when I ask anything of you, and I should have thought it was seldom enough that I do address a request to you. But this time I insist positively that you should change your demeanour towards Hugo. This shy avoidance and consequent silence whenever he speaks to you is too ridiculous. I beg seriously that you will take more care not to make me appear too much an object of pity to my brother."
Ella appeared about to answer, but the last unsparing words closed her lips. She bowed her head, and did not make any further attempt to defend herself. It was a movement of such gentle, patient resignation as would have disarmed any one; but Reinhold did not notice it, as at the same moment the old bookkeeper was heard taking leave in the next room.
"Then we may count upon the honour of your membership, Herr Captain? And as regards the election of a President, I have your word that you will support the opposition?"
"Quite at your service," said Hugo's voice, "and of course only with the opposition. I always join the opposition on principle whenever there is one; it is generally the only faction in which there is any fun. Excuse me, the honour is on my side."
The bookkeeper left, and the Captain appeared in the room. He seemed inclined to redeem the promise he had given to his brother, and at the same time to convince the young wife of his perfections, as he approached her with all the boldness and confidence of his nature, with which a certain knightly gallantry was mingled.
"Then I owe it to chance that at last I see my sister-in-law, and she is compelled to remain with me a few moments? Certainly she never would have accorded me this happiness of her own free will. I was complaining bitterly to Reinhold this morning about your repelling me, which I do not know that I have merited in any way."
He wished to take her hand, even to kiss it, but Ella drew back, with a, for her, quite unwonted decision.
"Herr Captain!"
"Herr Captain!" repeated Hugo, annoyed. "No, Ella, that is going too far. I certainly, as your brother, have a right to the 'thou' which you never refused to your cousin and childish companion, but as you, from the first day of my arrival, laid so much stress on the formal 'you,' I followed the hint you gave me. However, this 'Herr Captain' I will not stand. That is an insult against which I shall call Reinhold to my assistance. He shall tell me if I must really bear hearing myself being called 'Herr Captain' by those lips."
"Certainly not!" said Reinhold, as he turned to leave, "Ella will give up this manner of speaking to you, as well as her whole tone towards you. I have just been speaking distinctly to her about it."
He went away, and his glance ordered his wife to remain, as plainly as his voice demanded obedience. Neither escaped the Captain.
"For goodness sake, do not interfere with your husband's authority! Would you command friendliness towards me?" cried he after his brother, and turned again quickly to Ella, while he continued, gallantly, "that would be the surest way to prevent my ever finding favour in my beautiful sister-in-law's eyes. But that is not required between us, is it? You will permit me, at least, to lay the due tribute of respect at your feet, to describe to you the joyful surprise with which I received the news--"
Here Hugo stopped suddenly, and seemed to have lost his train of ideas. Ella had raised her eyes, and looked at him. It was a gleam of quiet, painful reproach, and the same reproach lay in her voice as she replied, "At least leave me in peace, Herr Captain. I thought you had amusement enough for to-day."
"I?" asked Hugo, taken aback. "What do you mean, Ella? You do not think--"
The young wife did not let him finish. "What have we done to you?" she continued, and although her voice trembled timidly at first, it gained firmness with every word. "What have we done to you that you always scoff at us, since the day of your return, when you acted a scene of repentance before my parents, until the present moment, when you make the whole house the target for your jokes? Reinhold certainly tolerates our being daily humiliated; he looks upon it as a matter of course. But I, Herr Captain--" here Ella's voice had attained perfect steadiness, "I do not consider it right that you should daily cast scorn and contempt over a house in which you, after all that has passed, have been received with the old love. If this house and family do appear so very meagre and ridiculous to you, no one invited you here. You should have remained in that world of which you are able to relate so much. My parents deserve more respect and mercy even for their weaknesses; and, although our house may be simple, it is still too good for the scoffs of an--adventurer."
She turned her back upon him, and left the room without waiting for a single word of reply. Hugo stood and gazed after her, as if one of the impossible scenes out of his own Indian stories had just been acted before him. Probably, for the first time in his life, the young sailor lost, with his presence of mind, the power of speech also.
"That was plain," said he at last, as he sat down, quite upset; but the next moment he sprang up as if electrified, and cried--
"She has them in truth; the child's beautiful blue eyes. And I discovered them only now! Who, indeed, would look for this glance under that horrible cap? 'We are too good for the scoffs of an adventurer.' Not exactly flattering, but it was merited, although I expected least of all to hear it from her! I shall often try that."
Hugo moved as if going into the guest room, but he stopped again on the threshold, and looked towards the door, by which his sister-in-law had retired. All signs of mockery and mischief had entirely vanished from his face; it bore a thoughtful expression as he said, gently, "And Reinhold only believes she has blue eyes! Incomprehensible!"
In the large concert-room of H----, all the elite of the town seemed to be gathered on the occasion of one of those concerts which, set on foot for some charitable purpose, were patronised by the first families, and whose support and presence there was considered quite a point of honour. To-day the programme only bore well-known names, both as regarded the performances as well as performers; and besides, it was arranged by means of the highest possible prices that the audience should consist principally, if not entirely, of persons belonging to the best circles of society.
The concert had not commenced, and the performers were in a room adjoining, which served as a place of assembly on such occasions, and to which only a few specially favoured of the outside world had the right of entrance. Therefore the presence was the more remarkable of a young man who did not belong either to the favoured or the performers, and who kept aloof from both. He had entered shortly before and addressed himself at once to the conductor, who, although he did not appear to know him, yet must have been informed of his coming, as he received him very politely. The gentlemen around only heard so much of the conversation, that the conductor regretted not to be able to give Mr. Almbach any information: it was Signora Biancona's wish; the Signora would appear directly. The short interview was soon over, and Reinhold drew back.
The group of artists, engaged in lively conversation, broke up suddenly, as the door opened and the young prima donna appeared; she had not been expected so soon, as she usually only drove up at the last moment. Every one began to move. All tried to outdo one another in attentions to their beautiful colleague, but to-day she took remarkably little notice of the wonted homage of her surroundings. Her glance on entering had flown rapidly through the room, and had at once found the object of its search. The Signora deigned to reply to the greetings only very slightly, exchanged a few words with the conductor, and withdrew at once from all further attempts at conversation with the gentlemen, as she turned to Reinhold Almbach, who now approached her, and went towards the farthest window with him.
"You have really come, Signor?" she began in a reproachful tone, "I did not believe, indeed, that you would accept my invitation."
Reinhold looked up, and the forced coldness and formality of the greeting began already to melt as he met her gaze for the first time on that evening.
"Then it was your invitation," he said. "I did not know if I was to consider the one sent by the conductor in your name, as such. It did not contain a single line from you."
Beatrice smiled. "I only followed the example set me. I, too, have received a certain song, whose composer added nothing to his name. I only retaliated."
"Has my silence offended you?" asked the young man, quickly. "I dared add nothing. What--" his eyes sank to the ground--"what should I have said to you?"
The first question was indeed unnecessary; as the devotion of the song seemed to have been understood, and Signora Biancona looked the reverse of offended as she answered--
"You appear to like the wordless form, Signor, and always to wish to speak to me in notes of music. Well, I bowed to your taste, and have determined to answer also only in our language."
She laid a slight but still marked emphasis upon the word. Reinhold raised his head in astonishment.
"In our language?" he repeated slowly.