CHAPTER VII.
Latterly, while Ferdinanda still kept her bed, Uncle Ernst hardly left his room, and the Schmidt family circle therefore was to a great extent broken up, the two friends had divided their evenings between it and the Kreisels pretty regularly as they said, or very irregularly as Aunt Rikchen said. Reinhold was forced to agree with his aunt, and attempted no further excuses, as he did not want to tell any untruths, and could not acknowledge the true reason. The real truth was that his aunt's perpetual complaints threatened to destroy his last remnant of cheerfulness, while on the contrary he found the comfort and consolation that he so greatly needed in the atmosphere of sunshine which the sweet blind girl diffused around her. Latterly, indeed, even this sunshine had been a little clouded. The two friends had a suspicion, which they did not however impart to the poor girl, that the eccentric old gentleman, having made up his mind, as he said, that he could no longer with honour remain a Socialist, had sacrificed his dislike to speculation to the darling wish of his heart, to provide for Cilli after his own death, and had been speculating eagerly with the scanty means that he had toilsomely scraped together in the course of years. He was very mysterious about it indeed, and denied it roundly when Justus laughingly taxed him with it; but Justus would not be deceived, and even thought he could gather, from a casual expression the other had let fall, that it was the doubtful star of the Berlin-Sundin Railway to which the old man had confided the fragile bark of his fortunes. It seemed some confirmation of this opinion that latterly, when the almost worthless shares had become, in consequence of the new and dazzling prospectus, an object of the wildest speculation, and had consequently risen to double their value, the old gentleman's cheerfulness had returned also, and he had even ventured upon some of the dry witticisms which he only uttered when he was in the brightest spirits. Cilli said that now everything went well with her, and Reinhold, as she asserted this with her sweet smile, tried to stifle another and much worse anxiety--an anxiety which he had once hinted to Justus, whereupon the latter had replied in his careless fashion: "Nonsense! Love is a weakness, angels have no weaknesses; Cilli is an angel, and so--basta!" He found Cilli alone in the modest little sitting-room, in the act of arranging the tea-things on the little round table in front of the hard, faded old sofa. She performed such small household duties with a confidence which would have quite deceived a stranger as to her infirmity, and with a grace which always had a fresh charm for Reinhold. She would not permit any assistance either. "It is cruel," said she, "not to let me do the little that I can do." So he sat now in the sofa corner, which was always his place--the other belonged to her father when he came in from the office--and looked on as she came and went with her gliding step, and as often as she returned to the table seemed smilingly to bid him welcome again and again.
"Where is Justus!" asked she.
"He has just gone to dress."
"How far has he got with you?"
"I shall be finished to-morrow, or the day after."
"Then it will be my turn; I am looking forward to it so--I mean to the portrait. I should so like to know what I look like. However often I do so"--she drew her soft finger slowly along her profile--"and that is just like looking in the glass, yet you never know how you look till a great artist shows it to you in your portrait. Justus is going to do me in life-size too."
"But he might have given you that small satisfaction long ago."
"It is not a small thing, even though he does work so wonderfully quick," answered Cilli eagerly; "every hour, every minute is precious to him; he owes them all to his work. Now that he can make use of me for his work, it is different of course."
"Do you know then, dear Cilli, what we all look like?"
"Perfectly; you are a tall man, with curly hair and beard, and a broad forehead, and blue eyes. Justus is not so tall, is he?"
"He is a little shorter, dear Cilli."
"But only a very little," Cilli went on triumphantly; "and his hair is not so thick, is it?" The last words were said with some hesitation.
"Not at the temples, dear Cilli."
"Only not at the temples, of course!" said Cilli quickly; "but his great beauty is in his eyes--great, flashing artist's eyes, which can take in a whole world! Oh, I know what you both look like, and my father too! I could draw his portrait!" She laughed happily and then suddenly became grave.
"That is why I am distressed, too, when the faces I love are not cheerful. Justus's face is always cheerful, but then he is an artist, and can only live in sunshine; my father, too, has recovered his old cheerfulness, and now you must return to what you were at first--do you remember?"
"Indeed I do, dear Cilli. So many things have happened since then; you know what I mean. They have troubled me, and trouble me still. And then Justus is right, I am an idler; I must manage to get to work again."
"How did the General receive your work?" Reinhold looked up in astonishment; there was nothing surprising indeed in the question. He had mentioned the subject, as he had nearly all, excepting one, the most important--often enough at the tea-table here; but the tone in which Cilli had asked was peculiar.
"How do you mean, dear Cilli?" he asked in return.
"I only wanted to remind you that you had not been idle even here," said Cilli. She was standing opposite to him at the other side of the tea-table, and the light of the lamp fell full upon her pure features, on which was expressed some uneasiness. She seemed to be listening for the step of her father or Justus on the stairs. Then, as everything remained still, she felt her way round the table, sat down on the edge of the sofa, and said, while a deep colour suffused her whole face: "I did not tell you the truth; it was for another reason that I asked you. I have something else to ask you--a very great, very bold request--which you will perhaps grant me, if you are sure, as you ought to be, that it is not idle curiosity that prompts me, but heartfelt sympathy in your weal and woe."
"Tell me, Cilli; I believe there is nothing in the world that I would deny you."
"Well then, is it Elsa von Werben?"
"Yes, dear Cilli."
"Thank God!" Cilli sat still, with her hands in her lap; and Reinhold was silent too; he felt that he could not have spoken at the moment without tears. Cilli knew that he was not ashamed of his confession, but she had to a certain degree forced it from him, and as if in apology, she said: "You must not be angry with me. Good as Justus is, one cannot confide such things in him. I think he would hardly understand it. And you have no one else here excepting me; and I thought perhaps it would not be so hard for you if you could speak openly of your feelings even to blind Cilli." Reinhold took her hand, and carried it to his lips.
"I am as grateful to you, dear Cilli, as a wounded man is when balm is poured upon his wounds, and I know no one in whom I would rather confide than in you, purest, kindest, best!"
"I know that you like me and trust me," said Cilli, warmly returning the pressure of Reinhold's hand; "and I am well punished for my cowardice in having, notwithstanding, kept silence so long; for, only think, Reinhold, I believed at first----"
"What did you believe, dear Cilli?"
"I believed at first that it was Ferdinanda; and I was very, very unhappy about it, for Ferdinanda may be as beautiful as you all say, and as talented, but you would never have been happy with her. You are so kind and so good-tempered, and she is--I will not say ill-tempered, but haughty. Believe me, Reinhold, I feel it, as a beggar feels whether what is given him is from kindness or only to get rid of him. I have never put myself in her way, God knows; but He knows also that she has never gone a step out of her way to say one of those kind words to me which fall so readily from your lips, because your heart is overflowing with them. For some time, too, I trembled for Justus, till I learned to understand his nature, and saw that an artist--inasmuch as he is unlike other men--cannot love either like other men. But you, with your tender, loving heart, how should you not love--and love immeasurably--and be immeasurably unhappy if your love is misplaced! I have said this often to Justus when we were talking about you--at first; now I do not do so any more, for he chatters about everything that comes into his head, and I have observed how carefully you have guarded your secret."
"That I have indeed!" cried Reinhold. "I might almost say from myself; and I cannot think how you have discovered it."
"It seems almost a miracle, does it not?" said Cilli; "and yet it is not one, if you seeing people knew how well the blind hear, how they pay attention to every trifle, and to the tone in which you mention a particular name, as you bring it in at first shamefacedly, and then a little more boldly, as soon as you feel secure, till at last all your conversation is full of the music of the loved name, as in the East the dawn is filled with the name of Allah, cried by the Muezzins from the roof of the minaret. And ah! what sadness there often was in the tone in which you spoke it! What trembling hope of joy breathed in it, when you told me the other day that you were going to spend the evening with her, to pass hours in her company at that large party! They were your only happy hours, my poor Reinhold, for the very next day fell the frost upon the young green shoots, and since then the beloved name has never passed your lips. Are you then quite in despair now?"
"No, dear Cilli," answered Reinhold; "I only see a happiness which I thought I might grasp with my hand, as a child thinks it may grasp a star, vanish from me in grey distance." And Reinhold related everything from the beginning, and how he was certain, though she had never spoken a word of love to him, not even on that delightful evening, that she understood him; and that so noble and high-minded a creature could never trifle with a man's silent, respectful devotion, and therefore the favour with which she distinguished him--her kind words and friendly looks--could not be mere trifling, and if not love was yet a feeling that under happier circumstances might have blossomed into true, perfect love. But circumstances could hardly be more unfavourable than they were at present. So melancholy an event as that which had occurred would in any other case have united the other members of the two families in sympathy; in fact it could only have occurred between two families, the heads of which were so utterly opposed in their social views as were the General and Uncle Ernst. He was himself quite independent of his uncle, and should always assert that independence, particularly in his love-affairs; but Elsa was most especially the child of the house, the daughter of a father she so justly and highly honoured, and he feared the reaction which such an event might produce upon the General, who otherwise--from affection for his daughter and regard for him--might perhaps have sacrificed his class-prejudices, but now--and who could blame him?--would intrench himself doubly and trebly behind these very prejudices, which in his eyes were none. And there was another thing I From some remarks made by the General, at the dinner-table at Golmberg, he had taken the Werbens for one of the many poor noble families; and now Elsa suddenly appeared to him as a wealthy heiress, to whom, if she were really prepared to sacrifice her inheritance to her love, as would be necessary, he had nothing to offer but a faithful heart, and such a modest livelihood as a man like him could at best provide. Under these circumstances every prospect seemed so closed to him, every hope so crushed and forbidden to him by the feelings of simple propriety, that there could be no question of wooing on his part, and that it would require a positive miracle to change for the better the present miserable state of affairs. Cilli's face had reflected every sentiment that Reinhold expressed, as the crystal surface of a calm mountain lake reflects the light and shadows of the sky. But now the last shadow faded before the sunny smile with which she said:
"Love is always a miracle, Reinhold; why should not a second happen? Did you not tell me that Elsa understood and did not resent the silent language of your eyes? And even if, as I suppose, the late sad events have been concealed from her, she must have known the conditions of the inheritance, and also her father's character and views, and yet she had no fear and saw nothing impossible in it, but believed, and so surely still believes, that all things work for the best with true love."
"A pious belief, Cilli, such as well beseems a woman, but very ill beseems a man who is expected and rightly to understand and respect the world and the laws which regulate the world."
"Understand!" said Cilli, shaking her head, "yes! But respect them! How can any one respect what is so senseless, so godless, as that must necessarily be which will not allow he union of two hearts that God has formed for each other? What God has joined together let not man put asunder!"
"Ferdinanda and Ottomar might say that for themselves too, dear Cilli."
"Never!" cried Cilli. "God knows nothing of a love which believes in nothing, not even in itself, and therefore bears nothing: no delay, no remonstrance, however just; no obstacle, however unavoidable; and proves thereby that it is itself nothing but pride, arrogance, and adoration of self. No, Reinhold, you must not do yourself the injustice of comparing your modest, noble love, with that dark, unholy passion! And you ought not either to have such a difficult road before you as those unhappy people. Your path must be free and light as your love; you owe that to yourself and to the woman you love."
"Tell me what I ought to do, Cilli. I will believe in you as if an angel spoke to me!"
"Only be yourself, Reinhold; neither more nor less. You, who have so often opposed a bold front to the merciless, raging elements, must not stoop your head before your fellow-men; you must, when the hour comes, as it perhaps soon will, speak and act as your pure brave heart prompts you. Will you?" She put out her hand to Reinhold.
"I will," said Reinhold, taking her hand.
"And, Reinhold, as surely as these eyes will never see the light of the sun, will that sun shine on your path, and you will live to be a joy to yourself and a blessing to mankind."
"Good gracious, Cilli!" said Justus, opening the door and standing still on the threshold; "are you celebrating Christmas in November?"
"Yes, Justus!" cried Reinhold; "Christmas, for Christmas it is when the heavens open and the messengers of love come down to announce peace."
"Then," said Justus, shutting the door, "I strongly recommend to them my Memorial Committee, which will not hold its peace, but is always plaguing me with suggestions of which each one is wilder and more impossible than the last. I have just found another letter four pages long, which I have answered in as great a heat as it put me into. And now, Cilli, give me a cup of tea with a little rum in it to cool me, for such--ah! here comes Papa Kreisel! and in the best spirits, as I can see by the twinkle of his eye. Berlin-Sundins have gone up another half per cent.; now we shall have a jolly evening!" And a jolly evening it was, and when Reinhold went to his room late at night, he found a letter from the President, containing the official announcement that the Minister approved of his appointment, and he must present himself at once at the place in question, as he must enter upon his duties on the 1st of December at latest. Reinhold let the letter slip from his hand musingly.
"The hour may soon come, she said, and here it is already; it shall find me worthy of her who is purity and truth personified."