Withered Leaves: A Novel. Vol. 1 (of 3)

by Rudolf von Gottschall

Eva, accompanied by her adopted parents, appeared in a simple blue dress, a wreath of wild flowers in her hair, and amongst them gleamed the bells of the campanula. What a contrast between her dress and the townish splendour with which Frau Kalzow had decked herself, even several doubtful diamonds were not missing. The satin rustled around her stalwart but bony form, as if in wondering amazement, and as though it did not belong to her. The old Regierungsrath had brought out his stiffest neckcloth at the same time as his most solemn demeanour; every movement told how nearly this festivity concerned him, and what reflected rays of importance it shed upon his poor self. But it was not merely in her simple dress that Eva's beauty possessed such a touching charm. Intense mournfulness that alternated with suddenly aroused eagerness overspread her countenance. She had been expecting her mother's arrival during the whole day, she had rushed in feverish haste to the window as each carriage drove up to the Kursaal, and the futility of this incessant agitation acted depressingly and paralysingly at last, so that several times she burst into tears. Frau Kalzow consoled her with saying her mother might still come; she was written to punctually, and at the proper time, it was possible that the letter by some mischance might not have arrived equally punctually. She did not dare to think of any illness, they would surely have received the intelligence by writing. Nevertheless, to the bride the whole betrothal ceremony appeared upset and saddened by her mother's absence. The good wishes of her women friends offered little compensation for it, they were mostly but the friends of yesterday. Kanzleirath's Minna spoke hers really most honestly; she liked Blanden, too, but she was too phlegmatic to be jealous, and too good natured not to give her best wishes to every bride upon her path through life.

The room had filled, the village inhabitants pressed around the open doors, some of the village beauties were invited to the dance beneath the pear tree. The orchestra commenced the overture to Der Freischütz. While one portion of the householders and fishermen of the place listened attentively to the music, the others were drawn away by an unhoped for distraction, because in the garden outside, Doctor Kuhl amused himself in making Nero and the Forester's bull-dog compete in jumping over tables and benches, while he declined the delights of the music in a defiant manner. Only when the spirit-like tremolo of the "Waldschlucht" had died away and a voice began to sing the Erl-king to a pianoforte accompaniment, did Kuhl push a table outside against the window, spring on to it with both dogs, and between the poodle and bull-dog listened devoutly to his Cäcilie's song, for it was she who, accompanied by Wegen, executed Schubert's entrancing melody with more passion than he had given her credit for. When the orchestra then played Haydn's Symphony in C sharp, Kuhl sprang down again from his improvised opera-box, and indulged in gymnastic amusements such as are seen at fairs and annual markets, gradually drawing the interest of the public standing outside completely away from the dream world of music. Even the choruses of Mendelssohn's songs, "Come fly with me and be my wife," and "There fell a frost at midnight's hour," could only rouse the athletic doctor to momentary attention. "That Müller von Stallupönen," he muttered to himself, "has already let a frost at midnight fall upon the flowers of the betrothal-day; what icy cold will reign later on at that hour!"

Eva sat, stirred with silent emotion, on the decorated chair. So often as the door was opened, when a late comer arrived, she turned her glance in that direction, and sprang up from her seat several times, as if she expected to greet her mother in each lady who entered. Blanden even perceived her agitation; he enquired its cause, but she did not venture to confess to him that even on this day she still yearned for another person, for her mother. Had he not listened very indifferently to a conversation in which she mentioned her mother, and, as it appeared, had intentionally broken it off; yes, a friend even told her she had heard him say to Doctor Kuhl, when passing by, he had quite enough with one mother-in-law.

At the conclusion, Müller von Stallupönen had arranged for an overture of his own composition to be performed by his orchestra. What young composer would allow such a rare opportunity to escape of calling his musical conceptions into life with real instruments? Blanden and Eva thanked him politely for that symphony which, from henceforth, he christened the "Betrothal symphony," and intended to issue to the world under that title. The audience of visitors had applauded briskly, it is true, but had really found the deep thoughtfulness of the composition very tedious. The unlearned lovers of music especially wondered at it; they like to carry some tune home with them. For the abundant counter-point and fugues which worked most artistically into and amongst one another, debarred any one from reaching the enjoyment of that transitory and despised foam which many half-cultivated people designate as melody, and which they would gladly extract as easily gained from the vast undulations of a musical genius penetrating into the depths.

Now a brilliant entertainment commenced; Blanden and Wegen did the honours. Eva sat beside Cäcilie, to whom she confidentially communicated her hopes and fears; that astute Fräulein von Dornau was not at a loss for reasons with which to pacify the betrothed. Nevertheless, the latter could not attain a happy state of mind.

"Just look at Evchen," said Lori to her sister Euphrasia. "Does not the poor child glance incessantly at the door, as if she expected a ghost, or some former lover, who would put his veto upon this new betrothal?"

"Indeed, in this mixed company," said Euphrasia, "one might easily imagine oneself transported to a Polish diet, where such 'vetoes' are the order of the day."

"Cäcilie comforts the poor child," said Lori. "She reposes upon her laurels. Did you not remark how, when performing the Erl-king, she looked down upon Herr von Wegen's rather light-coloured head, and with peculiar fervour, at the words: 'I love you; I'm charmed with your beautiful form?'"

"Olga," said Emma, "meanwhile enjoys herself intensely at the supper-table; she has drawn her chair as closely as possible to the roasted capercailzie, and does her duty by the sweets."

"I believe," said Lori, "that girl has really no soul; she is an Undine, but of that vigorous species which is only to be found splashing about at sea-side watering-places. Her body is a dense veil that hangs around her soul."