Through Night to Light: A Novel

by Friedrich Spielhagen

And now it was this humble friend who made such a brilliant match, which raised her at once to the very highest rank in society, and actually brought her in connection with more than one sovereign family, while she--Helen dared not think it out. But now, when an opportunity offered to escape from this humiliating position; now, when even her proud mother condescended to proffer a request which she did not dare present in person; now there could be no doubt any longer as to what she ought to do; and Miss Bear, who offered her with troublesome kindness an asylum at her institute, simply did not know how matters stood at that moment.

When Miss Bear had left her, Helen walked up and down in her room with folded arms. At last she stepped to the window and gazed into the autumnal evening. On the sky, heavy dark clouds were drifting slowly; below them light-gray little clouds passed with the swiftness of arrows. The almost bare branches of the slender poplar-trees rocked to and fro in the sharp wind which hissed and whistled through the few leaves, while a crow came flapping her wings, sat for a few moments on the topmost branch of one of the trees, rocking restlessly to and fro, cawed as if the inhospitable treatment was too provoking, and flew away again. Helen opened the window. The cool, damp breath of evening brought her the sharp odor of mouldering leaves. The poplars in the garden rustled louder, and the tall beeches in the park waved ghastly, and every now and then the low roar of the waves of the sea came in monotonous intervals far inland.

She looked out; she did not mind the damp air which in an instant covered her black hair with a dewy veil; she only stared more perseveringly into the evening as it grew darker every moment. Strange visions passed through her mind. Proud palaces rose by the side of blue lakes, in which dark forests were reflected; and from the palace came a merry hunting train with horn and bugle; and at the head of the long procession rode a lady on a small horse by the side of a man who negligently curbed his fiery black horse and never turned his dark face from the young lady by his side; and all, as far as the eye could reach--castle and lake and forests and fields, which spread down, down along the lake, and far, far into the country--all belonged to the young lady and her husband, the knight on the proud horse And then castle and forests and fields sank into the lake, and the lake grew into a sea which beat high up against the white chalk-cliffs with their crown of lofty beech forests; and up there on the high bank, in the glow of the setting sun, stood the same young lady who had been riding on the small graceful horse by the side of a man who was not the cavalier on the black horse, and they looked both out upon the glorious sight as the sun sank in the swelling masses of waves; and as they stood and looked, they folded their hands like praying children, and looked at each other with eyes full of love and overflowing with tears.

The wind rushed wildly through the poplars, and the young girl started up from her reveries. She cast a glance at the dim twilight that was hovering over the park. Two figures--a man and a woman--were passing the open space between the bosquets, walking arm in arm. It was only an instant, but the sharp eye of the young girl had recognized them both; at least she thought she had recognized them. A feeling such as she had never yet experienced overcame her. She must be sure that she had seen correctly--that Oswald Stein had really met Emily Cloten at this hour here in this place. The next moment she had wrapped herself up in a shawl, put on a hat with a close veil, and had hurried down the stairs which led into the garden, and was now standing at the gate that led from the garden into the park. All of a sudden her courage left her. She was ashamed of an impulse that had misled her, and made her take so unwomanly a step, of which she heartily repented. She was just about to turn back again, when the two figures once more came up the avenue which led past the garden gate. She hid behind one of the pillars of the gate, so as not to be seen; but a single glance at the two had convinced her that she had not been mistaken before. There was no doubt: it was Oswald and Emily who were passing her, lost in secret, anxious conversation. Helen's heart beat as if it would burst. She understood now why Emily asked her the other day if she had any news of Oswald Stein; she understood now Emily's anxiety at the ball at Grenwitz, when Cloten and the other young noblemen were loudly threatening Oswald ... Fooled then! and fooled by whom? By a man who could not resist Emily Cloten. Helen crept back to her room, threw aside hat and shawl, and now it was settled that she would return to her parents.

CHAPTER XIII.

Prince Waldenberg had not been able to find anything to interest him in Grunwald until he had become acquainted with Helen Grenwitz. He could not exactly say that he was tired of it, or that the town and the people had been particularly unpleasant to him, for he scarcely knew such a state of mind; at least he never showed any symptoms of weariness or disgust. His stern, rigid face never betrayed pleasure or annoyance; it looked as if his features had been frozen, for all time to come, in the northern climate in which the prince was born, and as if they could not thaw in the glow of love or of hatred. And it was really so, to a certain extent. The ordinary sensations of common mortals were not capable of that sublime self-consciousness which was given to him. He could not laugh at the wittiest anecdote, nor could he look disgusted at a stupidity. His servants never heard a bad word from him; he never showed childish wrath before his soldiers. Nevertheless the men trembled before him, and even the general did not inspire half as much respect as First-Lieutenant Prince Waldenberg; for the servants knew that their master never scolded, but dismissed them upon the slightest neglect, and the men had terrible stories to tell about him in the guardhouse and in the barracks. The rumor was that the prince had the unpleasant habit, if a soldier showed the faintest sign of insubordination of killing him on the spot--a habit which he had quite recently indulged in at the capital, and which had led to his being detached from the Guards and sent to a line regiment in garrison at Grunwald. The story was probably a myth, like so many others; the prince had been sent to Grunwald in order to study fortification and coast and harbor defence, and other useful branches, in preparation for the high position to which he was entitled, if not by his military genius, at all events by his high rank; but the myth proved how the common people, who have a very keen eye for the virtues and the faults of the higher classes, thought about First-Lieutenant Prince Waldenberg. The officers, however, seemed also to treat him on their part with some misgivings, and certainly with great circumspection. No one presumed to speak to him at the mess-table, or at night at the club, or wherever else they happened to meet, in that cordial tone which is generally used between comrades. On the contrary, they rather avoided him, and, when that was not possible, they confined their words to what was indispensable; especially the captain of the company to which the prince was attached--a gentleman like a ball, who barely reached up to the shoulder of his lieutenant, and who felt probably all the smaller by his side as he was not even noble. It was most amusing to hear Captain Miller at drill exclaim, in almost piteous tones, "First-Lieutenant Prince Waldenberg will have the kindness to step forward--a mere thought!" and even the old, gray-headed sergeant could hardly keep from smiling.

The prince was thus very much left to his own company, even at the evening parties, which he occasionally frequented. He met here again his comrades, who had already avoided him at parade, and a lot of old and young country gentlemen, whose talk about tillage and cattle-raising could not exactly interest him much who had more estates than they had acres of land, and more shepherds than they had sheep. As for the ladies--why there were some very pleasant ones among them, like the beautiful Misses Frederika, Nathalie and Gabriella Nadelitz, Hortense Barnewitz, a trifle passée but all the more clever and interesting, Emily Cloten as piquante as she was coquettish--but they were either not to the taste of his highness, or the prince was altogether inaccessible to the charms of the fair sex. For a time, at least, it seemed as if he were not disposed to pay special attention to any one of these ladies.

But no sooner had the prince seen the beautiful Helen Grenwitz in the salons of her mother than the rumor began to spread--nobody knew how--that his highness was very much pleased with beautiful Helen Grenwitz, and that an engagement was not very far off. The report continued to live, and was even confirmed by numerous details, the discovery of which did great honor to the ingenuity of the before-mentioned lovers of gossip and watchers of features. The Countess Grieben knew positively that the prince was spending every evening at the Grenwitz mansion; others had it that he passed the institute of Miss Bear daily after dress-parade, on his superb Tcherkessian stallion; and still others, that he was frequently seen at night walking up and down for hours before the house, concealed in a large cloak. Hortense Barnewitz whispered into Countess Stilow's ear: "Now I know why poor Felix had so suddenly to go to Italy;" and the Countess Stilow whispered in reply: "You'll see, dear Hortense; it will not be a week before Helen, who seemed to be banished forever, will be back again."

A smile of satisfaction lighted up all faces when the prophecy of the toothless Countess Stilow was actually fulfilled, and Helen Grenwitz exchanged her modest little room in Miss Bear's boarding-school for the stately rooms of the Grenwitz mansion.

It was strange, however, that the old baron, who had so urgently desired this step before, should now seem to be least pleased with it of all. The old gentleman had of late become exceedingly capricious, obstinate, and violent, so that one hardly recognized in him the kind good-natured man of former days, and everybody pitied and admired poor Anna Maria, who bore her cross with truly Christian patience and forbearance.