Problematic Characters: A Novel

by Friedrich Spielhagen

"Oswald, listen to me! Do you love me now, at this moment, as you think you can love a woman upon earth?"

"Yes, Melitta!"

"Well, then, Oswald, I love you, now and forever!"

The storm had passed; the refreshed, fragrant forest was silent again and at rest, and over the forest rose brightly from the purple evening sky the beautiful star of Venus.

CHAPTER XV.

What a strange feeling it is when we enter, in travelling, at early morn the streets of a town! The sun is gilding the steeple, the air is fresh and cool, the birds are singing in the linden-trees before the old gable-houses on the market-place--nature is awaking and blooming forth in morning beauty--and men are still lying in the bonds of sleep, within their musty, oppressive chambers. The traveller can hardly understand why no shutter opens, and no smiling face appears, to enjoy with him the glorious morning.... It is the same feeling which overcomes the lover who has just been assured of the return of his love, who looks around with beaming eye, and would like to press flowers and all to his overflowing heart. But the flowers do not mind him, and the people have the same everyday faces, worn with care or heavy with sleep and evil dreams. The sun of his love, which rouses him to a new life, has neither light nor heat for the others in the musty, oppressive chambers of their joyless, unloving existence.

Oswald felt this as he awoke on the following day, after a short, restless sleep, which had rolled like a Lethe stream over the recollections of the day before. But the soul receives impressions which no sleep can efface, unless it be the last, the eternal sleep; and thus he also had scarcely opened his eyes when the image of that glorious woman stood bright and clear before his soul. What had happened, up to that moment when the Venus image floated down to him in the forest chapel, he had forgotten; what had happened afterwards, till he had pressed Melitta once more in his arms, not far from the carriage, to which she had accompanied him through the forest, he knew it no more. But the kisses which he had given and received were still burning on his lips; the sweet breath which had mingled with his own was still there, and the loving eyes that had rested on his were still shining brightly before him. Oh, those eyes, sparkling with animation, those two bright stars which the morning dawn cannot efface, how they still shone, and sparkled, and pursued him everywhere! He saw them when he closed his eyes; he saw them when he looked out of the window up to the bright morning sky; he saw them when he lost himself in the blue shadows which filled the spaces between the tall trees down in the silent, dewy garden. He felt as if he could have wept unto death, as if he could have shouted for joy, as if his whole being might float away like a harmony of sweet sounds.... There are moments in our life when our bodies seem to us a mockery. We would like to fly away, and we are chained to the spot; we would pour forth a world of sensations in eloquent words, and our tongue stammers; we would like to be entirely different, and we remain the selfsame men. Oh, that is a torment equal only, perhaps, to that of a person in a trance, when they close the coffin and he cannot raise a finger nor move his lips to tell them--I am alive!... Oswald slipped on tiptoe into the boys' room. He wanted to see at least one dear face, Bruno's face. The first dawn was peeping into the room through the closed curtains; it was quite cool there. Bruno had again left the window open all night, as he liked to do. Oswald closed it, for the morning air was blowing in and Bruno's face was heated by a restless dream. Again he was lying there, as in the first night when Oswald saw him, with his arms crossed on his breast, dark defiance on his weird, beautiful face. But when Oswald kissed him on his forehead he did not open his eyes, as before, to smile upon him in blissful dreams; he did not open his lips, as before, to whisper to him the touching words: I love you! the dark brows almost met, and pain contracted the proud lips. At any other time Oswald would have looked upon this as a mere accident, but now, in his momentarily softened humor, it pained him. "Is he still angry," he thought, "because I left him at home yesterday? Does he feel that he has no longer all my love? And yet, do I not love him all the more now?" He pushed the hair gently from the boy's forehead; he wrapped the covering closer around his delicate limbs, and crept out of the room again, with heavy heart. A sad anticipation of a great sorrow passed through him. Was it to happen to him, to Bruno, and alas! perhaps, even to her, after this blessed happiness! He hastened down into the garden to breathe more freely in the open air, and wandered about in the walks and avenues, and shook the dew from the branches into his feverish face, and looked with his dim, wearied eyes into the pious, childlike eyes of the flowers. In the kitchen-garden he found the gardener at work. He was a man, at least, and Oswald longed to hear a human voice. He spoke to the man, a thing he had never done before; he asked him if he was married? Whether he had any children? Did he love his children very much? The man gave him those awkward, half answers, which such people generally return to our questions--it is not that they feel less than the higher classes, but they are not accustomed to analyze their feelings and to clothe them in appropriate words. It is this which often gives them the appearance of indifference. He became more talkative when he was questioned about his work; he spoke with delight of the glorious weather, magnificent sunshine, alternating with warm rains and thunder-storms. But Oswald only heard him half, and left the old man suddenly, who lifted his cap, looked after him in astonishment, shook his head and continued his work. Oswald wandered on and on restlessly, but soon the garden felt too confined; he passed through the open space enclosed by the high wall, and hurried out into the fields, from the fields into the forest, and on and on towards the roar which fell upon his ear, first indistinctly, then louder and louder.

Then he stepped out from under the beech-trees, which formed a dense canopy overhead with their broad branches, upon the chalk cliffs, and the holy, eternal sea lay before him, vast and infinite. Far out the white combs of the waves glittered in the light as they came on with irresistible power, and broke at his feet with incessant thunder amid the enormous rocks on the beach--wave after wave, ever new ones and new ones, innumerable, overwhelming, marvellous. Not a sail was to be seen in the whole view, only, far on the horizon a dark trail of smoke was moving slowly from east to west It came from the smoke-stack of a steamer--who knows from whence? and whither bound? Above the foaming breakers white gulls were fluttering; now they threw themselves screaming into the briny flood, and now they reappeared and winged their way whither? High up in the air a sea-eagle was drawing his majestic circles, higher and higher, till it appeared to Oswald's eye but a black moving point. But even the magnificent sight of the sea could not fill Oswald's heart to-day. The ocean is not as large and not as deep as the heart of man; and however he had formerly admired the music of the waves, he had heard a more marvellous music a few hours ago. He envied the eagle, however. "One beat of your powerful wings and you fly over forests and fields far off to Melitta's house."

He started up and hastened back to the château, up to the top of the tower; perhaps he could see Melitta's house from there; and he shouted with the joy of surprise as he really could discern the uppermost gable-end of her house rising just above the edge of the forest. He shuddered with mysterious delight; he felt as if he had touched the hem of her garment. In love, as in religion, everything is mystical. Why are millions of faithful believers strengthened when they turn their faces to the East at prayers? Why is it a comfort to lovers merely to stretch out the hand in the direction of the beloved one?

The hour at which Oswald usually began his lessons had struck. He went to his room, but he did not find the boys, who, contrary to the rules of the house, were still down stairs at breakfast. His own breakfast was on the table.