Albert also had become silent in the quiet garden. "Let us go on," he said; "this is like a graveyard."
They went out of the decayed gates, across the drawbridge, into the forest, on the way to Berkow, the same road under the tall, solemn pine-trees on which Oswald had come in the carriage the first evening of his arrival at Grenwitz, and which he had since seen so often again with very different sensations.
That evening had made a division in his life, the importance of which he only now began to feel. Since that evening the wide world beyond the silent woods had disappeared for him, and a new world had arisen, a paradisiac world, full of love and happiness. And now he felt as if this world also were disappearing, and the old world outside, beyond those silent woods, was lying beyond his reach. Should he ever return into that world with fresh, bold mind? Would he not ever yearn to return to the Blue Flower, which had here bloomed near to him, nearer than ever, so near that the fragrance had entered his very heart? What had become of the high notions which he had formerly loved to dwell upon? What of the great plans he had cherished? Was it all over? And over for the sake of a woman whom he loved, and who yet could never be his own?
No! A thousand times No! He must tear himself away from this intoxicating magic world, and should it break his heart? What mattered it to any one? He had no whole heart to lose besides. But she? What was to become of her?
"I believe your melancholy is contagious, dottore," said Albert, after they had walked for some time silently by each other. "How can a man of your cleverness allow himself to be thus influenced by the weather, or whatever else it may be! You melancholy men are, after all, odd creatures! You are always going from one extreme to the other. Horace's aurea mediocritas has been preached to you in vain. You will not listen to it, because your pride is offended at being taught to be mediocre, and yet you ought to see that we mediocre children of nature are ten thousand times happier than you. Really, dottore, your portrait, taken at this moment, might be hung up among the family portraits of the Grenwitz up stairs; no one would doubt your being a member. They all look so miserably melancholy. It seems to me the whole race shows that every one of them must go to the dogs, one way or another, and surely they have done it, as far as I know, without exception so far. The faces--I examined them to-day after dinner, one by one--would make admirable illustrations for terrible robber and murder stories. They speak of a thousand evil deeds, of nights of hard drinking, and, above all, of many, many fair women who have kissed them till they died of them. For such faces must be perfectly irresistible for women, especially when they belong, as in this case, to rich barons. I was especially struck by Harald, the veritable rat-catcher of Hameln. He is not as handsome as his cousin Oscar, whom you resemble, by the way, strikingly when you look so dismal as just now,--but he looks the very type of this grandly noble and greatly dangerous race, with his large, seductive blue eyes, and his delicate and yet so voluptuous lips."
"You really do me undeserved honor, if you couple me thus unceremoniously with this noble set," said Oswald.
"No, jesting aside," replied Albert, "you really have in your face the fatal feature of the Grenwitz race. I do not mean that as a compliment, for others, for instance I myself, prefer decidedly not to have it. I go even farther than that, I bet my plats against the estate, that if you came in possession of the entail, you would lead the very same life which has heretofore been the hereditary manner of life with the main line. The side branch, which is now in possession, has sadly degenerated."
"You really overwhelm me with your benevolence, and the good opinion you seem to have of my talents and my inclinations."
"You may be as ironical as you choose. I insist upon it, you would do just as these mad barons have done before, in spite of your pretended aversion, which you perhaps only cherish like the dog that is put into traces to pull a wheelbarrow, and snarls at the dog that is running about free."
"But what in heaven's name makes you think so? What justifies your presumption?"