CHAPTER VII.
[IN THE LAND OF THE LOTUS-FLOWERS.]
Blanden recovered slowly; several relapses occurred, weeks elapsed before he might take his drive with Giulia.
The softened mood of the convalescent was in harmony with the wild spring breeze which was wafted towards them from wood and meadow. The thawing wind had melted the ice on the Pregel, it floated to the sea, and the breezes of spring swept through the air.
They descended from the carriage in the wood, they gathered the last snow drops, the first anemones.
"I love these flowers," said Blanden, "the pretty anemones cannot grow in gloom, they only flourish in places where a fresh breath of air greets them, where the wind plays with their delicate coronets of blossom. Free air, fresh air, breath of life, how I have ever longed for you! I feel myself related to these lovely flowers--and if a soul dwells in these tiny anemones, it is one thirsting after freedom."
Giulia had learned to enter entirely into Blanden's thoughts and feelings, the quiet, familiar intercourse in his sick room had given her leisure to become quite absorbed in his richly stored mind.
Daily she felt more that she could not live without him, and equally so that she owed him her whole life; again and again she told herself that it could be no sin if she made him happy, so long as it was permitted by the fate which she defied. He did not see the sword above her head, she saw it with internal trembling, and yet--she defied it, even if it might fall upon her.
How devoutly she listened to his tales of the land of the lotus-flowers! Ah, how vast was the world, how rich the knowledge of it, how varying the habits! Giulia was almost alarmed when Blanden told her of the woman at Luckwardie, on the hills of the Himalaya, high above the Pomona--every woman there belongs to four brothers.
She lost herself completely in the breath of the fairy tale and flowery land, that is so lovely in its dreams and so vast in its thoughts. One after another Blanden unrolled these magically illuminated worlds of thought conceived by silent thinkers in penitents' garb and hermits' huts. Is the world but the veil, the dream, the existence?--why then is life full of nervous dread? Giulia felt herself strengthened by that dream-world of the Bast, everything painful and impious faded away in that mild, softening twilight.
Blanden, too, seemed to be transfigured by the soothing influence of sickness, in the loneliness of the sick room, far removed from the world: like one of those thoughtful hermits, who, upon mossy banks in sacred groves, amongst flowers and gazelles, ponder upon the mystery of the world. She thus forgot that he, far from belonging to inactive dreamers, had only lately given a proof of western knightliness which is very different from the blood-fearing Hindoo; but yet he was filled with the warmest sympathy for Hindoo thinkers and poets.
"How profound," said he often, "is the blending of the soul with all that their wise men teach. If the form break, the spirit becomes united with the Divine soul of the world, as a bottle in the deep mingles its contents with the sea, if it break against the rocks."
Four lines of poetry, however, were, above all others, ineffaceably impressed in her memory, reflecting her situation, her mood, so truly that she trembled in her very soul when Blanden first recited them to her, verses culled from one of the two great hero books of India, containing such depth of thought as is not to be found either in the heroic poetry of Greece or Germany--
"Oh earthly happiness ever trembling on the brink,
As dew drops kiss the flowers a moment but to sink;
As logs on the ocean may meet and then sever
So men here on earth, and to meet again--never."
Blanden was obliged to kiss the tears from Giulia's eyes, which the grand verses of the Ramayana and the song of "trembling earthly happiness" had called forth.
"You often appear to me," said Blanden, "like a charming Savitri, and although you also are my goddess of fire, I do not mean her, but the child which bore her name. A dark prophecy dedicated the beloved one to death after the lapse of a year, but before the fatal respite drew near, she performed daily penances, praying and fasting; and like a marble goddess standing before the altar, and when the blood-red god of death appeared, with the thin rope in his hand, and had already extracted her beloved one's soul, she knew how to move him by her prayers, entreaties, and her touching faithfulness, until he granted her her husband's life. You, too, with faithful care and touching prayer have won my life from the blood-red Yamna."
"It was my own life," replied Giulia; "without you I could not have lived, you yourself told me that the funereal pile is lighted with sacred fire into which the Hindoo widow casts herself. That pure flame was the fire of your love for me; they die for him who had lived for them, how much more must I have sought death for him who would have died for me?"
Trembling in the bliss of such devoted affection, she thought of Beate and her errand with eagerness as terrified as that with which the Hindoo maidens follow the flower-clad little boats, carrying burning lamps, and which they have confided to the waves of the Ganges; if the lamp extinguish, then extinguishes the light of hope, and a silent desire entrusted to the stream, finds its watery grave. When Blanden told her this, how she had thought of her light-ship that was now tossing upon the waves of the Orta lake; perhaps already the north wind which blew through the passes of the Simplon had extinguished the little lamp of her hopes.
It was a weird shadow which followed her through life. Oh, how she envied the gods and peris who dwelled in enchanted gardens far above the everlasting snow upon the summits of the Himalayas, envied them not the flowers of Paradise, not the ethereal light, not the glorious song of the Gandharvos, not because they drink the Indian ambrosial amreeta in fox-gloves out of the moon, which, for fourteen days, the sun has filled with that drink, but only the one privilege, that of walking in light and casting no shadow behind them. An unshadowed bliss, this for her was unattainable for evermore!
Even the measures of precaution by which she had intended to conceal from Blanden her defeat upon the stage, were only successful for a time. One day a deputation of students, in caps of every hue, came to Blanden. Salomon was the speaker.
"We know, Herr von Blanden, that Fräulein Bollini is your betrothed, we wish you happiness, although the muse of song--her name I cannot recollect this moment, as we sons of the muses care less for them than might be expected--will veil her face. A report is spread abroad that you forbid your betrothed to tread the world-renowned stage."
"It is her own free will," replied Blanden.
"We respect you," continued Salomon, "because you have shown in a knightly manner how a man should defend his lady's honour, and even, although we have no lady-loves, at least no perennial plants, who bear the title of wife or betrothed, we know well how to appreciate such conduct."
A murmur of approval from the students denoted their concurrence in those words.
"Therefore it is that we address you with the entreaty that you persuade your betrothed to appear again upon the stage. We are all now ready to protect her, after having learned with whom that disgraceful outrage originated."
"What outrage?" asked Blanden astonished.
Salomon was surprised at the question.
"But surely you know, Herr von Blanden?--"
"Indeed, I know of nothing!"
The deputation became uncomfortable, the students looked at one another in amazement. Salomon, however, was soon calmed, and at the same time delighted at his own shrewdness, as he imagined he was able to see through the matter; he snapped his fingers and said--
"Then our respected prima donna has concealed this from you out of tender feeling, so as not to cause you any excitement which might be deleterious to your health. But now that the mention of the unpleasant fact has escaped the custody of our lips, you will be able to bear the sad news with manly dignity. Yes, on that evening on which Giulia was to sing Rosina's part, she was hissed, drummed out, and whistled at, until the curtain had to be lowered."
Blanden sprang up wrathfully.
"The worthless creatures; oh, I know--"
"It was a conspiracy," added Salomon.
"Savitri, faithful nurse, this then was your penance," said Blanden dreamily to himself.
"It was desecration of the temple to the muses."
"That is why the criticisms on the 'Barbière di Sevilla' could not be found when I wanted to read them," said Blanden.
"A most unholy alliance between the companions of Spiegeler the reporter, and a clique got together by an officer, carried off a disgraceful victory on that eventful evening. Very few members of the Albertina, alas, were present, but we have now resolved to make Signora Bollini brilliant amends upon her next appearance. The noble clubs of Masuren and Lithuania, the Albertina itself with all its societies; the Hochheimers, Goths, Teutons and Borusses are unanimous, which does not often happen, and even the independent Camels will join the students' union. We shall not permit a small party to be the leaders of taste in the theatre, we will represent the vox populi with overwhelming force, and the pillars of the old shop of the muses shall tremble with the thunder of our acclamations. Long live Signora Bollini!"
"Hurrah!" cried the students, waving their caps.
"I thank you from my heart, gentlemen," said Blanden, "but the decision upon this point rests with the actress."
"But you have much influence over her! We will offer her consolation and compensation. May she console herself with Schiller--
'The mean world loves to darken what is bright;'
then Heine's verses will become true--
'And a new-born song spring softly
From the heal'd heart shoots to-morrow.'
"I am fond of quoting, Herr von Blanden, it is an act of disinterested love of truth; our cultivation consists entirely in half unconscious or unguaranteed quotations. Why not declare openly that Bartel knows on which side his bread is buttered?"
As Salomon began to diverge--a known peculiarity of the versatile talented youth--one of the seniors, whose face, rendered purple by many a cut and thrust, bore artistic marks of kind friends legibly sketched upon it, assumed the reins of the transaction with a firm hand.
"Let the Signora appear, we will protect her! If that clique venture forth once more, we will reply to their second brutal blow with fitting tierce and quart, so that their ears shall tingle."
"I repeat," said Blanden, "that I am very grateful to you, but I cannot even support your wish."
"Why not?" asked Salomon, dissatisfied with the meagre results of his eloquence.
"I do not wish that my betrothed shall be again exposed to the storms of public opinion; I will guide her into a safe haven. The laurels of the European capitals will console her for this small defeat; even for Signora Bollini's laurels, may Frau von Blanden long no more, she will belong to quite another world, and I wish that too violent equinoctial gales should not accompany her to this change in her life, so that she may be able calmly to prepare herself for it. But this, of course, is only my opinion, I shall not interfere at all with my betrothed's resolutions, and she will in any case rejoice at your warm sympathy, and the honor which you intend for her."
Blanden shook hands pleasantly with the students' delegates, while he added, every one of the gentlemen should be welcome who would be present at his wedding.
Soon after, he went to Giulia; he reproached her for having concealed from him the scene in the theatre; she was alarmed that he should have heard of it.
"Silence," said she, "is not always as the German poet says, the god of the happy, but just as often the god of the unfortunate."
"Do you think that I should have rejected you as Rama rejected his Sita, when the opinion of the people turned against her? Do you believe that you are less dear to me, fill my whole heart less, when the senseless mob calumniates you?"
"Oh, that is not the cause of my silence towards you; I feared that you might excite yourself for my sake. I would not let any shadow from without cast its gloom into your sick chamber."
"Oh, you are so gentle and good! Goodness of heart is little prized in the world, and yet all wisdom depends upon it, it alone is the guarantee of happiness. Giulia, shall you appear upon the stage again?"
"Never," replied the singer.
"They would prepare you a brilliant triumph, you would retire from the stage richer by one beautiful recollection! Weigh it well!"
"Is it your wish?"
"Only if you wish it!"
"No, no! I want no more laurel wreaths, and if I retire with a painful memory, my parting from the stage will be all the easier; I want nothing more in the world but your love. Buried be my past, oh, could I but bury it deeply!"
"But not all!" said Blanden, "shall even the beautiful recollection of the magic lake be buried? Every day of happiness was a picture of future enchanting years. Do you remember the charming Indian poem, 'Calidas,' of which I told you? Oh, that Indian poetry is like the madhavya plant, which from its very root is full of flowers. I always think of that lovely Sacontala, and the marriage of Gandarvos, by which upon the flowery seat of the hermit's cave she united herself to the king. Then in the Indian legend ensues a time of long, dreary forgetfulness, but upon our life rests another curse. At last Sacontala saw her beloved one again; misunderstandings were cleared up, and the short enchanting meeting became a lasting alliance. Therefore will I, my lotus-flower, kiss the tears from your cheeks, as King Duschmanta kissed his regained beloved one."
"Then, I will belong only and wholly to you," cried Giulia, amid kisses and embraces, "and even the fame which I conquered shall fade away like visions in the air."
"I feel better every day," said Blanden, "I shall soon go to Kulmitten, and make all preparations for our marriage."
Giulia, as usual, trembled when the eventful day was named.
"If only Beate would return," said she to herself, "perhaps I should be calmer."
Once more before setting out for his estate Blanden made a speech in the Citizen Assembly; he did not wish to break the thread which he had attached here, an active political life should be closely united to the domestic happiness he had ensured. Unfortunately, however, he must learn that his popularity in those circles had suffered seriously. Theatrical adventures and duels were something that the citizen mind could not deem compatible with a pioneer of political liberty. While they suddenly discovered a Don Quixote in him, he found himself at variance with the sentiments of the free citizens. Mutual estrangement ensued: his speech met with a lukewarm reception, the matadors of the assembly, the political doctor, the picturesque humourist, gave no token of approval, and therefore the crowd also remained silent.
Not without a feeling of bitterness did Blanden leave the Gemeinde-garten; a slight veil was spread over his political dreams of the future; should he always remain bound to a life of vagrancy, never be able to raise himself to citizen-like activity, to statesman-like distinction?
Spring was in the air, as he drove home with his foaming team, but an autumnal sensation at his heart he could not suppress.