Quisisana; or, Rest at Last

by Friedrich Spielhagen

XXI.

The mirth and fun of the feast were at their height now. The commander-in-chief had ordered that at twelve o'clock all officers should be in their respective quarters, including those who had been told off to the houses of the ranger, the mayor, and the other chief denizens of the village. It was past eleven o'clock already. No time was to be lost, if the guests wished to drain the cup of delight which the hospitable mansion-house proffered in such abundance.

"Vivat Champagne!" exclaimed one of the young officers, taking a glass of the foaming wine from the salver which a footman offered him.

"And pretty girls!" returned his friend von Köppingen, emptying his goblet at one draught, replacing it on the salver, and turning upon his heel to hurry to the fair Augusta, with whom he was engaged to dance the Rheinländer, the music of which the orchestra was just playing.

"And where have you been, Ringberg?" asked another comrade, Herr von Rollintz; "been gambling a little?"

"You know I never play," replied Kurt, who was leaning against the door.

"Nor dance? Well, well, you are always so sensible; I feel half dead already, upon my honour! And yet I have to dance this Rheinländer with the belle of the ball. I am looking for her everywhere; have you seen her, perchance? Ah, there she is!"

Von Rollintz flew right across the room to meet Erna, who was just entering from the tea-room. A minute later the pair whirled past Kurt; von Rollintz, with radiant and glowing face, chattering even during the dance, Erna still and pale, the long dark eyelashes lowered.

Kurt gazed gloomily after them; then he turned away and began pacing the verandah. After a little while he saw, at the end opposite to him, a gentleman ascending the steps, in whom, as soon as the bright light fell upon him, he recognised Bertram. The young man advanced rapidly two or three steps, then paused hesitatingly.

"Why, after all!" he murmured, "everything now would be in vain."

Bertram, who had gone up to one of the windows of the ball-room, was now slowly coming along the verandah. It was painful to Kurt to meet the man to whom, but a minute ago, he had been willing to apply for help. So, happening to be just in front of the card-room, he slipped in.

"He avoids me," said Bertram to himself. "In that case the mountain will indeed have to go to Mahomet!"

As he was about to look for Kurt in the card-room, he saw, on his way past the open doors of the ball room, Lydia in conversation with one of the older officers, a conversation carried on by Lydia with her customary abundance of gesture and the frequent use of her fan. He drew nearer, and, as he had hoped, her ever-roving glance had soon lighted upon him. A slight movement of his eyes was sufficient for the highly experienced lady, who left the Major with a jesting word, and tripped up to Bertram.

"You have something to tell me, dear friend?"

"Can you spare me one minute?"

"One minute? For you?"

She gave a sentimental glance at Bertram and started.

"Merciful Heaven!" she exclaimed, "you are ill. You wish the doctor sent for; but there is one here, nay, there are two,--pray let me...."

"Pray remain here," said Bertram, seizing her by the hand as she was hastening away. "It is true that I feel rather worn out--a consequence of the unrest and noise to which I am not accustomed--but otherwise perfectly well. Let us sit down there!"

He pointed, to a couch near, and sat down; Lydia followed him with trembling knees, shaking all over, feeling her heart rising to her throat. The whole unusual approach of Bertram who was generally so reserved, his pallor, his solemn manner--all this could have but one reason, one meaning--and what was she to reply? Act surprise and terror, of course! But not too long, just a few moments of half fainting, with her head leaning back against the wall and her eyes turned rapturously towards the chandelier.

"My dear friend--for I must appeal to your friendship--to your love...."

"Good Heavens!" murmured Lydia.

"To the love which you doubtless cherish for Erna, and which has, I assume, misled you to this last extremely equivocal step of yours."

"Good Heavens!" murmured Lydia again, but this time with accents of the greatest terror, as of some one who suddenly feels the ground beneath him giving way.

"I will not reproach you," continued Bertram, "which indeed I have no right to do. I was wrong myself in not taking you into my confidence in reference to Erna, in wrapping myself in secrecy and silence, and thus all but compelling you to act alone and independently in order to help our dear child to what, let us trust, will prove her lasting happiness. But the remedy which you applied came too soon and was too strong; it has not had the desired effect, at least not in the meantime; indeed, at present things look desperately bad. Do not ask me how I have learned this, I may tell you later on, when perhaps you will tell me, too, how you discovered the secret which both guarded so carefully. All this does not matter just now; but one thing is of the greatest importance, and this I heartily beg you will grant me. We must henceforth act in common, take no one into our confidence of whom we cannot be sure that he aims at the same thing as we do--namely, at Erna's happiness. And I think you will do best if you leave me to judge when this is the case. Are you agreed?"

Poor Lydia was sadly embarrassed. For her terrible disappointment it was some compensation that Bertram himself had evidently no matrimonial intentions with reference to Erna, and that he was offering Lydia his alliance and friendship. How gladly would she have agreed! How gladly said yes to everything, averring that she would blindly obey his behests. But alas, in addition to her first indiscretion which he had so kindly pardoned, she had meanwhile committed another which he would scarcely pardon.

"It is too late, I see," said Bertram, who had not failed to notice the terribly anxious expression of her mobile countenance. "You have already told Hildegard."

"No, no--not Hildegard--worse! far worse!" murmured Lydia, wringing her hands and casting down her eyes. "In my anxiety, my--ye Heavens! I cannot excuse myself on any other ground--in my tender anxiety, for you ... the Baron ... you ..."

"Pray speak distinctly," said Bertram, repressing his anger. "I must know all. The Baron ..."

"He was so angry with you ever since that miserable letter--no, I cannot tell you that; I am too much ashamed of myself--but Erna has already pardoned me, and so will you. We had all lost our heads. He asserted that you alone were to blame for his failure with Erna. And that Otto had not given him the money--a great big sum--three thousand thalers--was your doing too, he said. This morning already, before he drove away, he vowed in my presence that he would inflict a terrible vengeance upon you; and at dinner, when he sat next to me, he talked dreadfully, and drank ever so much champagne--and I knew--I thought I knew--I saw that Erna and Ringberg--Erna had denied him altogether; and the girls--Augusta, you know, and Louise--told me that Ringberg used constantly to meet her at their house ...! Erna was so excited when the regiment came, and ..."

"Go on!" cried Bertram.

"And now the Baron wanted to make you suffer for it. And I really could not tolerate it, seeing that perhaps I had contributed to the Baron's wrath against you."

"And so you told the Baron all?"

Lydia was sitting with rigid, tearful eyes, and started in terror as Bertram quickly rose.

"What would you do?"

"Try if I can repair the mischief a little."

"Let me go, I entreat you! and I will tell the Baron ..."

"And I wish you to tell him nothing. I wish you to remain where you are, and to appear as unconcerned as possible to all, specially to Erna, if she should come to you, which, however, I doubt; and mind that you do not betray one word of what we have been discussing here. Will you promise that?"

"I promise everything you wish."

"I shall not be ungrateful."

Lydia gazed after him with tears in her eyes as he hurried away. "I shall not be ungrateful," he had said; and saying that, he had pressed her hand--for the first time since they had met--and supposing, supposing that it came to pass after all!

Major von Keberstein approached her again, and said laughingly-- "You seem to have had quite a long confidential conversation with the gentleman who carried you off so abruptly from my side. And then a poor old bachelor like me is not to get jealous!"

"I will do my best now to make up for it."

"It will take you all your time, we shall have to tramp back to our quarters in ten minutes."

"Can you not throw in half an hour?"

"Not for worlds!" exclaimed the major, replacing his watch which he had been consulting. "My orders are very strict."

"Then I must claim the ten minutes at least," she rejoined, gathering her robe together and making way for the stout old gentleman by her side on the couch.

In the adjoining card-room, too, the guests were bent upon making the most of the last few minutes by doubling and trebling their high stakes. All the players now were civilians, chiefly neighbouring proprietors, who could afford to lose a few hundreds. Some of the officers had at first joined in the game, but only at first, and with very small stakes, as if to show that, so far as they were concerned, the whole thing was a little harmless social amusement--nothing more. When heavier sums began to be staked, they had at once ceased playing, and had gradually melted away. The Oberförster, or ranger, who was only looking on, thought that this had been done in obedience to a signal from the Colonel himself, who had passed through the card-room on his way out.

"All the better," the Baron had sneered; "then we shall remain snugly among ourselves. Faites votre jeu, Messieurs!"

And indeed the Baron, so the gentlemen present thought, had good reason to find his position a snug one. He was winning almost without interruption. The heap of bank-notes and gold coins by his side was ever increasing; among the bank-notes were already a good few slips, on which the players had written their names and the amount of their stakes; his gains were said to be several thousands. He asserted that it was nothing like that sum, and repeatedly offered to let some one else take the bank; but no one cared to accept his offer; and thus the losers had no right to grumble, although for some time now they had been, as one of them said, hurrying in pursuit of their own money. They had need to hurry if they would overtake the money which was ever fleeting. The Baron's proposal that the game should cease punctually at half-past eleven, the time fixed for the conclusion of the ball, had been agreed to, and it was now almost a quarter past. The Baron saw already, from the large stakes which the players were venturing, that, as the cards were more than ever in his favour, his gains would be doubled; his jubilant mirth proved the excitement he was labouring under; he had some funny word for every card he dealt, every deal he scored, and all the while his eyes were glowing, and his busy hands were twitching nervously. Suddenly there was a change. One of the players had staked a sum equivalent to the total of his losses during the evening--and had won! This daring play, and the success which had crowned it, stimulated the others; and now everything went against the banker. In a few minutes his heap had dwindled down to less than half, and it became evident that if, during the remaining quarter of an hour, the bank were pursued by the same bad luck, it must needs end with a considerable balance the wrong way. The jests of the Baron became more and more bitter; presently he took to whistling savagely through his closed teeth, interspersing this with muttered curses; his eyes, now roving restlessly around the room, seemed repeatedly to be fixing themselves upon same one within the room. Suddenly he stopped in the middle of a deal, and exclaimed, with a semi-audible curse-- "You are bringing me bad luck, sir! You are in my way, sir!"

These words, which he had uttered in the most violent way, were accompanied by a fierce look at Kurt, who, to avoid meeting Bertram, had entered the room a few minutes ago, and had since been standing with folded arms among the spectators, who, attracted and enchained by the sight of the maddening game, had, in ever-increasing numbers, grouped themselves around the board of green cloth. The scene had not had any attraction for him; his mind was far away; he had stared mechanically before him without seeing anything; nor had he heard the Baron's words; he only felt it disagreeable that several gentlemen near him were looking hard at him. One of them thought it incumbent upon himself to whisper to Kurt that the Baron had meant his remarks for him. Kurt, under the impression that Lotter had been asking him to join in the game, and not wishing to say it aloud, replied in a courteous whisper to the gentleman who had called his attention to the fact that the Baron had meant his remarks for him--

"I am sorry, but I never play."

He accompanied this by an apologetic shrug of the shoulders towards the Baron, and turned upon his heel. As soon as he was free of the crowd surging around him, he made for the door leading to the verandah, hoping that there he would be left to himself and to his own sad thoughts.

The Baron burst into a hoarse, mocking laughter when he saw Kurt turn; he went on dealing, with trembling hands, then jumped suddenly to his feet, exclaiming--

"Excuse me, but I must ask the gentleman, what he means by shrugging his shoulders."

He flung the remaining cards upon the table, and was rushing towards the door through the crowd of amazed and excited spectators, whom he pushed rudely aside if they did not make way quickly enough. Before he reached the door, however, Bertram faced him, barring the way.

"What do you want?" the Baron hissed through his teeth.

"I want to call your attention to the fact that you are the guest of this house, and that you are on the point of basely violating its proffered hospitality."

Bertram had spoken firmly, but in so low a voice that the Baron alone could hear him. His look, too, was perfectly calm; even those next to him, who saw but his face, whilst the Baron was turning his broad back upon them, could not but think that it was simply some indifferent communication.

The Baron was speechless with wrath. Bertram gave him no time to break out. He continued in the same low, incisive tone--

"I see that you quite understand me. I need scarcely add that I am at any time at your service, should you consider yourself in need of a comment upon the lesson which I have given you."

"You shall hear from me, and forthwith!"

"The sooner the better!"

He bowed slightly; then, raising his voice as he turned to the others, he said--

"A thousand pardons, gentlemen; but I was commissioned by our amiable host to remind you that his military-guests have, alas! to retire already; and that they will be wishing to bid you farewell."

As if in confirmation of Bertram's words, the music just then broke off in the adjoining ball-room, the door flew open, and quite a host of officers came rushing in. There could no longer be any question of resuming the game, even if the players had been willing, which they, however, certainly seemed not to be. Some of the older ladies had come in, looking for their husbands; some others, young ones, followed; the room was overflowing with guests; the players had difficulty in getting back to the table to pocket their stakes. Not a few of them had yet to square accounts with the Baron; they crowded round him, but he was shoving the remnant of his gains--gold coins, bank-notes, I.O.U.s--higgledy-piggledy into his pockets, and when questioned, as he constantly was, replied with surly mien and in briefest words, and repelled rather than answered their questions--muttering that they might apply to-morrow; and that, in this confusion to-night, the devil himself could neither hear nor impart information.

Bertram had eagerly watched, this scene, keeping close to the door which led to the verandah. He made sure that the Baron's time was meanwhile absolutely taken up, and that he would, not be able to think of following Kurt and inventing some new reason for a quarrel, since the first attempt had failed. Under any circumstances, the Baron would have to settle with him first; and then he saw how, breaking away from the players who were still surrounding him, the Baron hurried up to meet Herr von Busche, who, looking very heated and flushed, was just coming from the ball-room. The two gentlemen Bertram knew to be, as shooting companions, on good, though not on specially friendly terms; anyhow, there could be no doubt as to the subject of their present discussion in yonder far-away corner, where the Baron was gesticulating, while Herr von Busche, the young gentleman from the Woods and Forests' Office, listened intently, now and again shaking his head, and at last nodding it, more, it seemed, in courtesy than in assent. Then Bertram remembered that it was time for him also to look out for a second.

Looking for Ringberg, he saw him on the verandah, which now was filled by the guests, among a small group of officers, already with helmets and overcoats on, who were bidding him good-bye. These departing heroes had their quarters in the village; they were in a mighty hurry; a couple of servants were in readiness with lanterns to light up the shorter way to the village, down the terraces; fair Hildegard had, indeed, been mindful of everything needed. As the other officers were hastening down the steps, Bertram stepped up to Kurt.

"Can you spare me a minute, Lieutenant Ringberg?"

Kurt was evidently very much surprised, but he at once bowed his assent.

"To be sure, a minute will not suffice, if, as I hope, you will grant my request."

The young man's bronzed cheeks assumed a yet deeper hue, as he said--

"Pray, speak; and be assured beforehand that it will be a pleasure and an honour to me to be of use to you in any way."

"Then have the kindness to give me your arm and to accompany me into the garden, that I may tell you uninterruptedly what is the matter. Well, it is briefly this: Baron Lotter--I do not know whether you have had the doubtful pleasure of making his acquaintance--a friend of our host's, by the way, with whom he and I have been staying here for the past week,--thinks himself insulted by me, and, according to the usual code and my own conviction, he has good cause for it. It is an old feud resulting from a certain mutual rivalry as to the respective consideration and influence which he and I claim, or think we may claim, in this house, an old feud about to be ultimately settled. The actual occasion of the quarrel is merely accidental, and, as such, absolutely irrelevant. I mention this particularly to enable me to add the request that in the subsequent negotiations, supposing that you are willing--well, very well, then, and I am really obliged to you--that in these negotiations you may lay absolutely no stress upon that occasion, nay, that you may avoid touching upon it at all. You will please accept the conditions for the hostile meeting exactly as they may be proposed by the other side; I have my own reasons for wishing to be particularly obliging in that respect. Only the fixing of time and place troubles me. Here of course the duel cannot take place. I should therefore propose some spot near town. This would suit me all the better, as I have, anyhow, announced my intention of leaving this place to-morrow, and could, therefore, remain in town for a short while without attention being called to it; and as the Baron also was to leave to-morrow too, and as he also must pass through town, the delay will be very brief for him. The only question now is: Whether and when do you think you can be free yourself?"

"In no case," replied Kurt, "before to-morrow afternoon, but then for certain, because, if circumstances were less favourable, I could then get leave of absence from the Colonel--without, of course, mentioning the special reason why I needed it. Circumstances are, however, favourable, and, if our suppositions are at all correct, and if the big sham-fight is once over, the regiment will, sometime to-morrow afternoon, be somewhere between this and town, and may even have to bivouack there. Under any circumstances, I shall be able to attend punctually at the time required.

"This," said Bertram, "will do excellently. So we are now free from this trouble; and this, I think, is all that we need settle in the meantime. Now it may be as well if I put you in communication with Herr von Busche. I have no doubt that he is to be the Baron's second. If required, a question from you, as to whether he chanced to have a commission, a message, for me, would at once settle things."

They had meanwhile come again near the verandah, and just then Herr von Busche was coming out of the card-room, looking round apparently in search of some one. Bertram and Kurt hurried their advancing steps, and he again turned swiftly round, to speak to Bertram, the moment he had recognised him, saying--

"I am so glad, Herr Doctor, to have met you at last, since I was about to do myself the honour of bringing you a message of some importance. I have already been looking, and looking in vain for you, in all the rooms."

"A thousand pardons," replied Bertram; "but I, myself, have not in the meantime been idle in this affair. May I now have the pleasure of introducing to you the Premier-Lieutenant Ringberg, who ..."

"I have already had the honour," said Herr von Busche with a bow.

"All the better. Then I will no longer disturb you, gentlemen. You will find me in my rooms. Good-bye till then."

He shook hands with Kurt, bowed to Herr von Busche, and left them both, as they retreated into the semi-obscurity of the shrubbery, until, passing along the verandah and the side building, he reached a postern, from which a stair led, straight from the garden, to his rooms.