"'I promise you to look after the child,' said I, about to go; but in vain. She held me by the dress, and begged me to hear first, for God's sake, that it was not tyranny or arbitrary choice that bound her to the child, but a sacred promise. And whether I would or not, I had to listen to a story which the old woman delivered as if she were on the stage, and which, in spite of the whispered tone in which it was given, was, by means of gestures and rolling of the eyes, a perfect specimen of high mimic art. I could not now repeat the words as they came from the lips of the old actress, but only know now that she contrived to announce that she was just forty years old and had been very beautiful. The old song came into my head, which a poet puts into the mouth of his old harpist:
"'I once was young and fair,
But my beauty's gone—ah, where?
On my cheeks were roses red,
And bright curls upon my head.
When I was young and fair!
When I was young and fair!'
"I did not dispute her pretended forty years, and she now unrolled before my eyes a phase of life so varied and irregular, and yet again so full of the poetry of a vagabond existence, that Father Goethe would surely have been glad to have it to insert in 'Wilhelm Meister.' To make a short story of it, Professor Mattoni had really loved her, when, in consequence of a mood, to her inexplicable, he transferred his affection to her fellow-actress. 'I was senseless from pain, Mademoiselle,' she threw in, 'but I governed myself. I became the most indispensable friend of Mattoni's young wife.'
"She now described this person as a dreamy creature, beautiful as a picture but quite uneducated; and the Professor, as an imperious man, who, when he failed to find in his wife the companionship of his soul's creation, treated her worse than a servant-maid. 'En vérité, Mademoiselle, she was stupid; the thickest wall would have—' And she made a gesture, as if to test with her head whether the walls at Bütze were a match for it. 'Oh, the men, even the wisest and best of them are blinded when they love, Mademoiselle! He had received his punishment for his breach of faith toward me.'
"Then followed a description of the Mattoni household, in which Isabella Pfannenschmidt, as my informant was called, heartily interested herself. She became housekeeper for Frau Mattoni, who read novels all day long or played with her cat. The women lived in a little back room, and the Professor occupied two rooms as formerly. They received from him such scanty means of support that often they knew not how to satisfy their hunger. The troupe with which Isabella Pfannenschmidt had an engagement went away from Berlin, but she could not go with them: 'for, Mademoiselle, she and the child would have perished in dirt and misery; she was a person who would go hungry if food were not put right under her nose, rather than get up from her lazy position on the sofa, and the Professor took all his meals at a restaurant. He did not want people to find out that he had a wife and child, anyway. We dared not stir if any one was with him. Susanna's first frock was made from a cast-off red velvet dress, cut over, in which her mother once used to play queens. The father never looked at the charming child till his wife had closed her dreamy eyes forever. Then, as he went up to her bier, and his child reached out her little hand after the few scanty flowers I had bought with my last penny, he was first shaken out of the stupidity of the last few years. He knelt down with the child and prayed God to forgive him his wrong-doing! Well, good intentions are cheap, to be sure! He did give somewhat more for our household expenses, and I was enabled to dress Susanna so we could show ourselves publicly without attracting attention; he even let her have lessons, and she learned bravely. He never inquired for me, and yet I have remained true to him all these long years; it was as if my care and work were a matter of course. He had no longer a look for me, the past seemed to be wiped out from his memory; and yet I have passed my youth in sorrow for his sake, I have taken care of his wife and child, and now—now she is taken from me! What have I done to deserve this?'
"I was truly sorry for the little weeping woman, though the facts as to her age and former beauty might be somewhat different, and though her statement that he once had loved her might not be strictly true; at any rate, she had loved him as truly as a poor, weak woman's heart can love. For his sake she had loved his child, and without a murmur suffered want and hunger for her sake. And now he repaid her by taking the child away from her. Poor Isabella Pfannenschmidt, you have lived in vain! The flame which burns in your heart shines forth triumphantly over all the theatrical trumpery and baubles clinging to you, poor old Isabella! And yet it would be a pity for this child to have to breathe in that dusty, paint-scented atmosphere any longer. No, Isabella, you must go, though the heart of the once gay actress break over it.
"'Susanna will always be fond of you,' I comforted her, 'and never forget what you have done for her.'
"'Oh, that she will—that she will! She has her father's nature,' sobbed the old woman; 'she will forget me, and, what's more, she will be ashamed of me.'
"'You make a sad exposure of the child's heart, my dear,' said I reprovingly.
"She started up. 'Oh, no, no! she really is good.' she murmured, 'very good. And,' she continued, 'I shall not go very far away either, only to the nearest town. What should I do in Berlin? I should die of longing. I will hire a room in S—— and sew for money; I can embroider well, with colored wool and gold thread. And if the longing becomes too great, I can run up the highway, and if need be up here, to look at the house where she lives.'