Quisisana; or, Rest at Last

by Friedrich Spielhagen

"But, but--he'll surely think better of it--he is not the one to run away from any woman, even if she should number forty years or thereabout; and--and ..."

And so the faithful Konski, after having given a most incredulous shake of the head, set to work, and continued to unpack his master's travelling boxes.

II.

Meanwhile Bertram, had already crossed the bridge which spanned the brook at the bottom of the garden terrace, and was hurrying along to the village along the line of meadows. His hostess, Hildegard, had said at dinner that she meant to-day, like every Thursday afternoon, to visit her newly-founded Kindergarten; so he thought there would be no difficulty in finding her. He had been a frequent visitor at Rinstedt, and knew every lane in the village; and the Kindergarten, they said, was on the main road, not far from the parsonage. Well, and what did he mean to say to Hildegard when he met her? First, of course, make sure of the facts. But there was little need for that. Konski was a smart fellow, who was not likely to have made a mistake; and then he was on such excellent terms with the omniscient Mamsell Christine! He would ask her what had induced her to break through the agreement to which she had now adhered for the last twenty years. And yet--what a needless question! Why, women are never consistent! And in such things they always like to assist each other and work into each other's hands, even if they are by no means specially fond of each other. And now it seemed as if there were special fondness between these two. His beautiful hostess had, quite contrary to her wont, sung Lydia's praises in every possible variety of way! And then, take the fact that she had sent her own daughter to Lydia's pension, and had left the girl there in the small Residenz for three years. Poor Erna! Fancy her for three years under the care of that crazy woman! Poor Erna--the beautiful creature with the great, deep, blue eyes! That should never have happened. It was a positive insult to him. He had urged every argument against it; had found out a supremely suitable place in Berlin for her; had offered to undertake careful personal supervision; had urged them to confide the child to his care, to give the child an opportunity of seeing something of life under its larger, nobler aspect. And they had said yes to everything; had thanked him so very much for his exertions, his kindness; and at the last moment they had contentedly plumped back into the beloved mire and stagnant waters of the pettiness of life in the small Residenz. To be sure, My Lady herself had been brought up in that social quagmire, and still cherished with plaintive delight recollections of bygone splendour, and mourned in secret over her own hard fate which had not permitted her, like Lydia, to sun herself all the days of her life in the immediate rays of princely favour, but had doomed her to marry a man who was not nobly born--a man rich enough, forsooth, but bearing the unaristocratic name of Bermer, and having friends of similarly unaristocratic names, to whom, for all that, one had to be civil. Yes, a real Baron--a Baron von Lotter-Vippach--would, of course, be infinitely preferable! And fancy her, fancy My Lady forcing the Baron's company upon him after he had expressly urged that, being only half convalescent, he needed perfect repose; and would, if they were to have company in the house, rather in the meanwhile deny himself the delight of seeing his old friends, and would come to them in spring instead on his return from Italy!

Yes, something like this he would say to his beautiful hostess, in perfect calmness and good temper, of course, only tinged with a touch of finest irony.... And this new building by his side--why, it must surely be the Kindergarten!

So it was. But the girl who was in charge of the children who were playing on the garden-plot in front of the building, said to him, in answer to his question, that My Lady had left half an hour ago; had gone to the parsonage, she thought. A couple of boys who were running about told him My Lady had gone to the village-mayor along with the parson.

The mayor's farm was situated at the opposite end of the village. Bertram started off in that direction, but before he had got half way he bethought himself that the parson would probably walk back with Hildegard, and that in that case he would of course have no opportunity of speaking plainly to her. So he turned back, determined to wait for her near the parsonage, which she was bound to pass on her way home. And yet, how could he wait? He could not tell whether he would have time left to carry out his intended flight; nay, every moment brought Lydia nearer, every moment he must expect to see the carriage whirl her past him where he stood. What? was he to stand here like this, and be compelled to bow to her? Never! To the left a narrow lane led direct to the forest, which, higher up, almost bordered on the mansion-house. This road back was somewhat longer than the one he had come by, and was steeper too; but anyhow it was much shorter than the carriage-drive, for that branched off from the high road in the main valley at the entrance to the side valley, thus intersecting the whole length of the village, and ultimately wound its long serpentine road up the high hill crowned by his friend's stately mansion. This way he would gain an advance of a good half-hour anyhow. It was to be hoped that his friend and host, Otto Bermer, had meanwhile returned from the coal mines; they lay in the opposite direction. He'd make a clean breast of it to Otto, and make Otto take his farewell compliments to My Lady. Poor Otto! "The grey mare was the better horse," no doubt; and poor Otto would not relish the task; but what was to be done? And did not he, Bertram, anyhow enjoy the doubtful reputation of being selfishness incarnate! Well, then, this done, they would swiftly get some conveyance or other ready for him. If required, Konski could stay behind with boxes and such-like impedimenta; and in two or three hours' driving, first through the forest, to avoid the danger of meeting her, then along the high road, he would reach Fichtenau. He was fond of Fichtenau. There he would rest in that evergreen dale for a few days, and recover from the fatigue of the journey and from this day's manifold annoyances. Anyhow, he would have escaped from Lydia, have broken away from the snare which those women had set for him! He owed this satisfaction to himself, and perhaps the reflection would smooth the rough forest path he had now entered upon.

For it was rough, was that path; much more so than he remembered it being formerly. Much rougher and much steeper too; in fact, most, most--abominably steep. Never mind; by following the tiny brooklet which was murmuring in the glen by his side, and which fell into the big brook in the valley below, he must speedily reach the little bridge leading to the opposite side; and then a smooth, or at least a fairly smooth, path would lead him on to the mansion.

What on earth could she have to do, she and the parson, at the mayor's? Something, probably, about getting appropriate quarters for those who were coming to the manœ vres; to be sure, My Lady, never idle, must needs take an interest in everything! Or perchance it was some charitable purpose, something for the sick, for the poor; in the pursuit of such noble aims My Lady never spared herself now, that is never since Royalty had set the example, and made it fashionable! And anyhow, it was hardly polite, in one so uniformly polite as My Lady, to leave the house and walk right away to the far end of the village with one guest already in the house, and with other guests expected every minute. Possibly--possibly My Lady was not unwilling to avoid the one guest; and the others, to be sure, must needs drive past the mayor's house. What more natural than, in such a case, to enter the carriage that brought the new guests; whilst driving with them through the village, what more simple than to give a confidential hint or two, just the merest suggestion, as to the treatment of the bird which she had captured--oh, so cleverly! No, no, My Lady--not captured yet ... not yet!

But where was the little bridge? It ought to have appeared long ere this. What! Climb down the steep glen, get your feet wet in the brook below, and climb up again the opposite side? Perish the thought! Why, everything seemed to go against him to-day!