CHAPTER IV.
Beatrice drew a paper out of the roll of music which she held in her hand. "I have waited in vain for the author of this song to come to me, in order to hear it from my lips and receive my thanks for it. He has left to strangers that which was his duty. I am accustomed to be sought, Signor. You seem to expect the same."
There certainly lay some reproach in her voice, but it was not very harsh, and it would have been hardly possible, as Reinhold's eye betrayed only too plainly what this staying away had cost him. He made no reply to the reproach, did not defend himself against it, but his glance, which seemed magnetically bound by the brilliantly beautiful apparition, told her that his self-restraint was caused by anything rather than indifference.
"Do you think I have sent for you to hear the air which is put down in the programme?" continued the Italian, playfully. "The audience always desires this air da capo; it is too trying for a repetition; I propose, therefore, instead of this, to sing--something else."
A deep glow covered the young man's features, and he stretched out his hand, as if with an unconscious movement, towards the paper.
"For mercy's sake! surely not my song?"
"You are uncommonly alarmed about it," said the singer, stepping back, and withdrawing the music from him. "Are you afraid for the fate of your work in my hands?"
"No, no!" cried Reinhold passionately, "but--"
"But? No objections, Signor! The song is dedicated to me, is handed over to me for good or evil. I shall do with it what I choose. Only one more question. The director is quite prepared; we have practised the performance together, but I should prefer seeing you at the piano when I appear before the audience with your music. May I count upon you?"
"You will trust yourself to my accompaniment?" asked Reinhold, with trembling voice. "Trust yourself entirely without first trying it? That is a risk for us both."
"Only if your courage fail, not otherwise," explained Beatrice. "With your power over the piano I have already made acquaintance, and there is certainly no question as to whether you are sure of the accompaniment to your work. If you are as sure of yourself before this audience as you were lately at the party, we can perform the song without hesitation."
"I will risk all, if you are at my side," Reinhold exclaimed, passionately. "The song was written for you, Signora. If you decide differently for it, its fate lies in your hand. I am ready for all."
She answered only with a smile, proud and confident of success, and turned to the conductor who at that moment drew near. Then ensued a low, but lively conversation in the group, and the other gentlemen regarded with undisguised displeasure the young stranger who quite monopolised the attention and conversation of the Signora and, to their great annoyance, occupied her until the signal for the commencement of the concert was given.
The room, in the meanwhile, had filled to the very last seat, and the dazzlingly-lighted place, in conjunction with the rich toilets of the ladies, offered a brilliant sight. Consul Erlau's wife sat with several other ladies in the front part of the room, and was engaged in conversation with Dr. Welding, when her husband, accompanied by a young man, wearing a captain's uniform, came up to her seat.
"Herr Captain Almbach," he said, introducing him, "to whom I owe the rescue of my best ship and all its crew. It was he who came to the help of the 'Hansa,' when already almost foundered, and it is entirely to his self-sacrificing energy--"
"Oh pray, Herr Consul, do not let Frau Erlau immediately anticipate a storm at sea!" interrupted Hugo, "we poor sailors are always so maligned as regards our adventures, that every lady looks forward with secret horror to their inevitable relation. I assure you though, Madame, that you have nothing to fear with me. I intend my conversational attempts to be confined to the mainland."
The young sailor appeared indeed to understand very thoroughly the differences of the society in which he moved. It never entered his head here, when the opportunity was offered him, to recount adventures, which in his relative's house he lavished so liberally. The Consul shook his head a little dissatisfied.
"You appear wishful to laugh away all recognition of your services," responded he. "I am not the less in your debt, even if you do make it impossible for me to discharge it in any way. Besides, I do not believe the relation of this adventure would injure you with the ladies, quite the contrary. And as you refuse all account of it so positively, I shall reserve it myself for the next opportunity."
Frau Erlau turned with winning friendliness to Hugo.
"You are no stranger to us, Herr Captain Almbach, even for your family's sake. Only lately we had the pleasure of seeing your brother at our house."
"Yes--only once," added the Consul, "and then merely by chance. Almbach appears unable to forgive me that my mode of living varies so from his own. He purposely keeps himself and all his family at a distance, and for years has stopped all visits from our godchild--we hardly know what Eleanor looks like."
"Poor Eleanor!" remarked Frau Erlau, compassionately. "I fear she has been intimidated by a too strict bringing up, and being kept much too secluded. I never see her otherwise than shy and quiet, and I believe in the presence of strangers she never raises her eyes."
"She does though," said Hugo, in a peculiar voice. "She does sometimes, but certainly I doubt if my brother has ever seen her do so."
"Your brother is not here, then?" asked the lady.
"No. He declined to accompany me. I do not understand it, as I know his infatuation for music and especially for Biancona's singing. I am to see this sun of the south, whose rays dazzle all H----, rise to-day for the first time."
The Consul cautioned him laughingly with his finger.
"Do not scoff, Captain; rather protect your own heart against these rays. To you, young gentleman, such things are most dangerous. You would not be the first who had succumbed to the magic of those eyes."
The young sailor laughed confidently.
"And who says then, Herr Consul, that I fear such a fate? I always succumb in such cases with the greatest pleasure, and the consolatory knowledge that the magic is only dangerous for him who flees it. Whoever stands firm, is generally soon disenchanted, often sooner than he wishes."
"It appears you have had great experience already in such affairs," said Frau Erlau, with a touch of reproof.
"My God, Madame, when year after year one flies from country to country, and never takes root anywhere, is nowhere so much at home as on the rolling, ever-moving sea, one learns to look upon constant change as inevitable, and at last to love it. I expose myself entirely to your displeasure with this confession, but I must really beg of you to look upon me as a savage, who has long forgotten, in tropical seas and countries, how to satisfy the requirements of North German civilisation."
Yet the manner in which the young Captain bowed and kissed the lady's hand as he spoke, betrayed a sufficient acquaintance with these requirements, and Dr. Welding remarked, drily, as he turned to the Consul--
"The tropical barbarism of this gentleman will not distinguish itself very badly in our drawing-rooms. So the hero of the much talked of 'Hansa' affair is really the brother of the young Almbach to whom Signora Biancona is just now according an interview in the assembly-room?"
"Whom? Reinhold Almbach?" asked Erlau, astonished. "You heard just now that he is not here."
"Certainly not, according to the Herr Captain's views," said Welding, quietly. "According to mine, he positively is. Pray do not mention it! To-night's concert seems intended to bring us some surprise. I have a certain suspicion, and we shall see if it be well-founded or not. The Signora likes theatrical effects, even off the stage; everything must be unexpected, lightning-like, overwhelming; a prosaic announcement would spoil everything. The conductor is, of course, in the plot, but was not so easily persuaded. We shall await it."
He ceased, as Hugo, who until now had been talking to the ladies, came to them, and immediately after the concert commenced.
The first part and half of the second passed, according to the programme, with more or less lively interest for the audience. Only towards the close did Signora Biancona appear, whose performance, notwithstanding all that had so far been heard, formed the point of attraction of the evening. The audience received and greeted their favourite, whose pale features were more charming than ever, with loud applause. Beatrice was indeed radiantly beautiful as she stood under the streaming light of the chandelier, in a flowing gauze dress strewn with flowers, and roses in her dark hair. She acknowledged it with smiling thanks on all sides, and, when the conductor, who undertook the accompaniment, had seated himself at the piano, began her recitative.
This time it was one of those grand Italian bravura airs, which at every concert and on every stage are certain of success, and demand the audience's applause without at the same time fulfilling higher requirements. A number of brilliant passages and effects made up for the depth, which was really wanting in the composition, but it offered the Italian an opportunity for perfect display of her magnificent voice. All these runs and trills fell clearly as a bell from her lips, and took such entrancing possession of the hearers' ears and senses, that all criticism, all more serious longings, vanished in the pure enjoyment of listening. It was a charming playing with tones--to be sure, only playing, nothing more--but combined with the finished certainty and grace of the performance, it acted like electricity upon the audience, who overwhelmed the singer more lavishly than usual with applause, and stormily encored the air da capo.
Signora Biancona seemed also inclined to accede to this wish as she came forward again, but at the same moment the conductor left the piano, and a young man, who had hitherto not been observed among the other performers, took his place. The spectators stared in astonishment, the Consul and his wife gazed at him in surprise; even Hugo at the first moment looked almost shocked at his brother, whose presence he had not suspected, but he began to guess at the connection. Only Dr. Welding said quietly, and without the least surprise, "I thought it!" Reinhold looked pale, and his hands trembled on the keys; but Beatrice stood at his side--a softly-whispered word from her mouth, a glance out of her eyes, gave him back his lost courage. He began the first chords steadily and quietly, which at once told the audience it was not to be a repetition of their favourite piece. All listened wonderingly and eagerly, and then Beatrice joined in.
That was certainly something very different from the bravura air just heard. The melodies which now flowed forth had nothing in common with those runs and trills, but they made their way to the hearers' hearts. In those tones, which now rose as in stormy rejoicing, and again sank in sad complaint, there seemed to breathe the whole happiness and sorrow of a human life; a long-fettered yearning seemed at last to struggle forth. It was a language of affecting power and beauty, and if it was not quite understood by all, yet all felt that there was a sound of something powerful, everlasting in it; even the most indifferent superficial crowd cannot remain void of feeling when genius speaks to it.
And here genius had found its mate, who knew how to follow and perfect it. There was no more talk of a risk for both, as the one met the idea of the other. The most careful study could not have given so perfect a mutual understanding as was here created in a moment and by inspiration. Reinhold found himself comprehended in every note, grasped at every turn, and never had Beatrice sung so enchantingly, never had the spirit of her singing displayed itself so much. She took her part with glowing abandon; the talent of the singer and the dramatic power of the actress flowed together. It was a performance which would have ennobled even the most insignificant composition--here it became a double triumph.
The song was ended. The breathless silence with which it had been listened to continued a few seconds longer; no hand moved, no sign of applause was heard; but then a storm broke forth, such as even the fêted prima donna had seldom heard, and at any rate is unknown in a concert-room. Beatrice seemed only to have waited for this moment; in the next she had stepped to Reinhold, seized his hand, and drawn him with her to the foot-lights, introducing him to the audience. This one movement said enough; it was understood at once that the composer stood before them. The storm of applause for both raged anew, and the young musician, still half-bewildered by the unexpected success, holding Beatrice's hand, received the first greeting and first approbation of the crowd.
Reinhold only returned clearly to consciousness in the assembly-room, whither he had accompanied Signora Biancona; a few moments of solitude still remained to him; beyond, in the concert-room, the orchestra was playing the finale to a most indifferent audience, which was still completely impressed by what it had just heard. Beatrice withdrew her arm which lay in that of her companion.
"We have conquered," she said, softly; "were you satisfied with my song?"
With a passionate movement, Reinhold seized both her hands, "Ask not this question, Signora! Let me thank you, not for the triumph, which was more yours than mine, but that I was also permitted to hear my song from your lips. I composed it in the recollection of you--for you alone, Beatrice. You have understood what it says to you, otherwise you could not have sung it in such a manner."
Signora Biancona may have understood it only too well, but in the glance with which she looked down at him there lay still more than the mere triumph of a beautiful woman, who has again proved the irresistibility of her power. "Do you say that to the woman, or the actress?" asked she, half-playfully. "The road is now open, Signor, will you follow it?"
"I will," declared Reinhold, raising himself determinedly, "whatever opposes me, and whatever form my future may take, it will have been consecrated for me, since the Goddess of Song herself opened the gate to me."
The last words had the same tone of passionate adulation which Beatrice heard from him once before; she bent closer towards him, and her voice sounded soft, almost beseeching, as she answered--
"Do not then avoid the Goddess any more so obstinately as hitherto. The composer will surely be allowed to come to the actress from time to time. If I study your next work, Signor, shall I have to discover its meaning alone again, or will you stand by me this time?"
Reinhold gave no reply, but the kiss which he pressed burningly hot upon her hand, did not say no. Nor did he this time bid her farewell--this time no recollection tore him away from the dangerous proximity. Whatever arose in the distance that time with gentle warning, had now no place in a single thought of the young man's mind. How could, indeed, the faint, colourless picture of his young wife exist near a Beatrice Biancona, who stood before him in all the witch-like charms of her being, this "Goddess of Song," whose hand had just conducted him to his first triumph! He saw and heard her only. What for years had lain hidden within him--what, since his meeting with her had struggled and fought its way out, this evening decided the beginning of an artist's career, and of a family drama.
The following days and weeks in the Almbachs' house were not the most agreeable. It could naturally not remain concealed from the merchant that his son-in-law had appeared before the public with his composition, and for this reason, that Dr. Welding, in the morning paper, gave a detailed account of the concert, in which the name of the young composer was mentioned. But neither the praise which the usually severe critic accorded in this instance, nor the approval with which the song was everywhere received, nor even the intervention of Consul Erlau, who, taking Reinhold's part very eagerly and decidedly, upheld his musical gifts, could overcome Almbach's prejudices. He persisted in seeing in all artistic efforts an idling as useless as it was dangerous--the real ground of all incapacity for practical business life, and the root of all evil. Knowing as little as most people that it had been almost an act of compulsion by which Signora Biancona had forced Reinhold to appear publicly, he regarded the whole as a pre-arranged affair, which had been undertaken without his knowledge and against his will, and which made him almost beside himself. He allowed himself to be so carried away, that he called his son-in-law to account like a boy, and forbade him, once for all, any farther musical pursuits.
That was, of course, the worst thing he could have done. At this prohibition, Reinhold broke out into uncontrollable defiance. The passion which, despite all that fettered it outwardly and held it in bounds, formed the groundwork of his character now broke out into a truly terrific fury. A fearful scene ensued, and had Hugo not interposed with quick thought, the breach would have become quite irremediable. Almbach saw with horror that the nephew whom he had brought up and led, whom he had tied to himself by every possible bond of family and business, had outgrown his control completely, and never thought of bending to his power. The strife had ceased for the time present, but only to break out afresh at the first opportunity. One scene succeeded another; one bitterness surpassed another.
Reinhold soon stood in opposition to his whole surroundings, and the defiance with which he clung more than ever to his musical studies, and maintained his independence out of the house, only increased the anger of his father and mother-in-law.
Frau Almbach, who shared her husband's opinion entirely, supported him with all her strength; Ella, on the contrary, remained, as usual, quite passive. Any interference or taking a part was neither expected nor desired; her parents never thought of crediting her with the very least influence over Reinhold, and he himself ignored her in this affair altogether, and did not even seem to grant her the right of offering an opinion. The young wife suffered undeniably under these circumstances; whether she felt the sad, humiliating part which she, the wife, played--thus overlooked by both factions--set aside and treated as if incapable--could hardly be decided. At her parents' bitter and excited discussions, and her husband's constant state of irritation, which often found vent at trifling causes, and was generally directed against her, she always showed the same calm, patient resignation, seldom uttered a beseeching word, never interfered by any decided partisanship, and when, as usual, roughly repulsed, drew back more shyly than ever.
The only one who remained now, as before, on the best terms with all, and kept his undisputed place as general favourite, was, strange to say, the young Captain. Like all obstinate people, Almbach resigned himself more easily to a fact than to a struggle, and forgave more easily the direct but quiet want of regard for his authority, such as his eldest nephew had shown him, than the stormy opposition to his will which was now attempted by the younger one. When Hugo saw that a hated calling was forced upon him, he had neither defied nor offended his uncle; he had simply gone away, and let the storm rage itself out behind his back. Certainly, he did not hesitate later to enact the return of the prodigal son to ensure his entrance into the house to which his brother belonged, and his restoration to his relations' favour. Reinhold possessed neither the capability nor the inclination to play with circumstances in this way. Just as he had never been able to disguise his dislike to business life, and his indifference to all the provincial town interests, so he now made no secret of his contempt for all around him, his burning hatred for the fetters which confined him--and it was this which could not be pardoned. Hugo, who espoused his brother's side positively, was permitted to take his part openly, and did so on every occasion. His uncle pardoned him this, even looked upon it as quite natural, as the young Captain's mode of treatment never let it come to a rupture, while with Reinhold, the subject only needed to be touched upon in order to cause the most furious scenes between him and his wife's parents.
It was about noontide, when Hugo entered the Almbachs' house, and met his servant, whom he had sent before with a message to his brother, at the foot of the stairs. Jonas was really nominally only a sailor in the "Ellida;" he had long had his discharge from the ship, and been appointed solely to the young Captain's personal service, whom he never left, even during a lengthy stay on shore, and whom he followed everywhere with constant, unvarying attachment. Both were of about the same age. Jonas was truly far from ugly; in his Sunday clothes he might even pass for a good-looking fellow, but his uncouth manner, his rough ways and his chariness of speech never allowed these advantages to be perceived. He was almost on an enemy's footing with all the servants, especially the women of Almbach's household, and none of them had ever seen a pleasant expression on his face, nor heard a word more than was absolutely necessary. Even now he looked very sour, and the four or five dollars he was just counting in his hand seemed to excite his displeasure, judging from the savage way he looked at them.
"What is it, Jonas?" asked the Captain, approaching, "are you taking stock of your ready money?"
The sailor looked up, and put himself in an attitude of attention, but his face did not become more pleasant.
"I am to go to the nursery garden and get a bouquet of flowers," he grumbled, as he put the money in his pocket.
"Oh! are you employed as messenger for flowers?"
"Yes, here too," said Jonas, emphasising the last word, and with a reproachful glance at his master, added, "I am used to it, to be sure."
"Certainly," laughed Hugo. "But I am not used to your doing such things for others than myself. Who has given you the commission?"
"Herr Reinhold," was the laconic reply.
"My brother--so?" said Hugo, slowly, while a shade flitted across his features, so bright just now.
"And it is a sin the sum I am to pay for it," muttered Jonas. "Herr Reinhold understands even better than we how to throw away dollars for things which will be faded to-morrow, and we at any rate are not married, but he--"
"The bouquet is of course for my sister-in-law?" the Captain interrupted shortly. "What is there to wonder at? Do you think I shall give my wife no bouquets when I am married?"
The last remark must have been very unexpected by the sailor, as he drew himself up with a jerk, and stared at his master in the most perfect horror, but the next minute he returned reassured to his old position, saying confidently--
"We shall never marry, Herr Captain."
"I forbid all such prophetic remarks, which condemn me without further ado to perpetual celibacy," said Hugo quickly, "and why shall 'we' never marry?"
"Because we think nothing of women," persisted Jonas.
"You have a very curious habit of always speaking in the plural," scoffed the Captain. "So I think nothing of women; I thought the contrary had often roused your ire?"
"But it never comes to marriage," said Jonas triumphantly, in a tone of unconquerable conviction, "at heart we do not think much of the whole lot. The story never goes beyond sending flowers and kissing hands, then we sail away, and they have the pleasure of looking after us. It is a very lucky thing that it is so. Women on the 'Ellida'--Heaven protect us from it!"
This characteristic account, given with unmistakable seriousness, although again in the unavoidable plural, appeared to be full of truth, as the Captain raised no objection to it. He only shrugged his shoulders laughingly, turned his back upon the sailor, and went upstairs. He found Reinhold in his own rooms, which lay in the upper story, and a single glance at his brother's face, who was walking angrily up and down, showed him that something must have happened again to-day.
"You are going out?" asked he, after greeting him, while looking at the hat and gloves lying on the table.
"Later on!" answered Reinhold, recovering himself. "In about an hour. You will stay some time?"
Hugo overlooked the last question. He stood opposite his brother, and gazed searchingly at him.
"Has there been a scene again?" he asked half-aloud.
The moody defiance, which had disappeared for a few moments from the young man's face, returned.
"To be sure. They have attempted once more to treat me like a schoolboy, who, when he has accomplished his daily appointed task, is to be watched, and made to render an account of every step he takes, even in his hours of recreation. I have made it clear to them that I am tired of their everlasting guardianship."
The Captain did not ask what step the quarrel was about; the short conversation with Jonas seemed to have explained all that sufficiently; he only said, shaking his head--"It is unfortunate that you are so completely dependent upon our uncle. If later on it end in a regular rupture between you, and you leave the business, it would become a question of existence for you--your income goes entirely with it. You, yourself, might trust wholly to your compositions, but to think they could support a family yet would be making your future very uncertain from the beginning. I had only myself to act for; you will be compelled to wait until a greater work places you in the position of being able to turn your back, with your wife and child, upon all the envy of a small provincial town."
"Impossible!" cried Reinhold almost madly. "By that time I shall have foundered ten times over, and what talent I possess with me. Endure, wait, perhaps for years? I cannot do it, it is the same thing to me as suicide. My new work is completed. If only in some degree it attain the success of the first, it would enable me to live at least a few months in Italy."
Hugo was staggered.