THE MOUTH OF HELL, page 14
VICTORY BY STRATAGEM.
WHEN Samuel arrived at the parsonage, at the same hour as on the preceding Sunday, he found the entrance closed. He rang the bell. The little stable boy and the servant appeared.
The lad took charge of his horse, and the servant conducted him to the dining-room.
The table was set, but only for two.
Samuel began to wonder.
The servant had left the room, asking him to wait.
A moment later, the door opened. Samuel advanced; then, on seeing the person who entered, he stepped back in amazement.
It was Baron von Hermelinfeld.
The father of Julius was a man of stern, imposing appearance. Of fifty years or thereabouts, tall, with hair grown white through study, a high forehead, keen, deep-set eyes, a proud, manly bearing, a grave, calm, rather sad look.
He came towards Samuel, who seemed thoroughly taken aback.
“You did not expect to see me again, especially here, did you, sir?” said he to Samuel.
“Frankly, I did not,” he replied.
“Sit down. Kind pastor Schreiber had invited you here to-day. He was loth that you should find the house shut. I remained to welcome you.”
“Pardon me! I fail to understand,” said Samuel.
“Yes, I daresay my words appear to you enigmatical, do they not?” rejoined Baron von Hermelinfeld.
“If you are curious to solve the riddle, sit down to breakfast with me; I will acquaint you with the facts.”
“Certainly,” said Samuel, inclining his head.
And putting a bold face on the turn of affairs, he sat down to table opposite to the baron.
There was a pause during which these two men, so closely connected yet so widely opposed, studied each other.
The baron began at last:
“This is what has happened. Help yourself, I pray. You may perhaps be aware that on Monday morning Julius wrote to me. I received his letter at Frankfort. It was a letter full of anxiety and love.”
“I surmised as much,” said Samuel.
“Julius related to me how he had seen Christiane, and all that she had become to him almost from the first — she, his one love, his life, his dream. He spoke of her grace, of her innocence, of her father, and of the peaceful life he might lead in this quiet family and in this quiet valley.
“Now this is what he had to ask me. Rich, noble, celebrated as I was, would I ever sanction his love for a girl, poor, humble and obscure? You had made him doubt it.”
“That’s true,” said Samuel.
“Julius added, however, that in the event of my refusing, because of her position, he would not do what you suggested; never would he seduce Christiane; he loathed the advice and the adviser.
“No, he would not abuse the generous confidence reposed in him by the daughter and the father, he would not dishonour Christiane, he would not purchase a moment’s happiness for himself at the cost of a lifetime of tears for her; he would tear himself away from her dear presence. He would tell Christiane his name, and the decision of his father, and then leave her for ever,”
“All that is really very fine,” said Samuel. “May I trouble you for a little ham, sir?”
“When I received this letter from Julius, breathing such affection and filial devotion,” continued Baron von Hermelinfeld, “I had for four days been reflecting over your bold, blasphemous epistle, for four days I had been debating with myself how in the world I should be able to break the fatal influence which you had usurped over the sensitive, impressionable mind of Julius. And, ten minutes after the receipt of Julius’ letter, I had decided what course to pursue.
“We men of an intellectual and scientific turn of mind are usually supposed to be incapable of taking prompt action, for the sole reason that we do not give up our whole existence to the fruitless excitement of those busy men, who, to convince themselves that they are practical, advance the theory that they are nothing if not that. One might as well accuse birds of not knowing how to walk, because they have wings. At one flutter of their wings they cover a hundred yards. We do more in one day than those others in ten years.”
“You tell me nothing new, sir,” said Samuel; “that has always been my opinion.”
“The messenger waited for an answer,” resumed the baron, “and was due at Landeck the next day at noon. I told him that there was no answer, and expressed a desire that he should not return before the following evening.
“He refused. Julius had promised him a hundred florins.
“I offered him two hundred. He consented.
“That done, without losing a moment, I went to see Pastor Ottfried, one of the luminaries of the reformed church, and a companion of my boyhood.
“I asked him if he knew Pastor Schreiber.
“He was one of his intimate friends.
“Ottfried described him as simple, modest, disinterested, a heart of gold, his thoughts for ever raised to heaven, seeking there his God, and the spirits of two loved ones gone before, his one aim on earth to relieve the unhappiness of others.
“As to Christiane, Ottfried described her in one word; she was a worthy daughter of the pastor.
“On returning I passed through the Zeile; I ordered post-horses, and, that very night, started for Landeck.
“I arrived there on the Tuesday morning. I put up my carriage at Neckarsteinach; went into nearly every house at Landeck, pursuing my enquiries with regard to Herr Schreiber and his daughter.
“Everyone, without exception, corroborated what Ottfried had told me. Never did a more unanimous chorus of heartfelt benediction ascend from earth, imploring God’s blessing on human creatures. The pastor and his daughter were to the honest folk a visible Providence. They were more than the life of this village: they were its soul.
“Ah! whatever you may say, Samuel, virtue brings its own reward. It is glorious to be loved.”
“It is also sometimes profitable,” said Samuel.
“I retraced my steps and entered the Manse.
“In this room where we now sit, I found Julius, Christiane and the pastor.
“Julius, in utter amazement, exclaimed, « My father!’
“‘Baron von Hermelinfeld! ‘ejaculated the pastor, no less astonished.
“‘Yes, sir, I am Baron von Hermelinfeld, and have the honour of asking the hand of your daughter Christiane in marriage with my son Julius.’
“Herr Schreiber was petrified, believing that he had not heard aright, that he was dreaming or had lost his senses.
“Christiane burst into tears and threw herself into his arms. Without knowing why, he too began to weep and then to smile.”
Samuel interrupted the baron.
“It’s an affecting scene,” said he, “but pass it over. As you know, I am not of a sentimental turn of mind.”
Samuel had long since recovered from his surprise. On seeing the baron and hearing his first words, the young man had realised that there was some conspiracy against his influence, and, strife being his natural element, he soon summoned his forces together. Recovering his usual haughty and ironical composure, he listened to what the baron had to say, eating and drinking the while, losing neither a point nor a mouthful, with the most perfectly self-possessed air imaginable.
Baron von Hermelinfeld resumed: “To be brief. Besides, I am at the end of my story.
“I spent the whole of that day with the happy lovers. Poor children! their, happiness repaid me more than enough. They were so grateful, as if the right to undo what God had so well done, had ever lain with me. You know me very little, Samuel, and have formed too low an estimate of my character. I admit that, at times, you have seen me yield to the petty and iniquitous exigencies of the world; but remember this, whilst appearing to submit to them, I waited for an opportunity to make amends. But, let me be frank, let us be just: does not nature seem but too often to decide in favour of society?”
“I understand the delicate allusion, sir,” said Samuel bitterly. “Continue.” The baron resumed: “Why should I have opposed this marriage? Because Christiane is not rich? Julius is rich enough for both. He will have more money than he will know what to do with, when he inherits my brother’s fortune. Because Christiane is not highly connected? Was I, twenty years ago?
“But to come to the point. On Wednesday, I returned to Frankfort; Thursday, I was back at Landeck, furnished with both civil and religious licences, and accompanied by my friend Ottfried.
Yesterday morning, Saturday, Julius and Christiane were married by Ottfried at the church of Landeck. You must forgive Julius for not having invited you to his wedding. I was the cause of his not writing.
“An hour after the marriage, Julius and Christiane started on a year’s journey. They are going to visit Greece and the East, and will return through Italy.
“Herr Schreiber, could not make up his mind to be separated so suddenly from his daughter. He accompanies “them with Lothario as far as Vienna by easy stages. There he will part from them and return to his valley home, leaving them to sunshine and love. Well! what do you say to it all, Samuel?”
“I say,” said Samuel, rising from the table, “that you have most cleverly juggled me out of Julius. The kidnapping has succeeded. I had strained your generosity and disinterestedness to the utmost; you have made the best of a desperate position. It is a bold stroke, and I confess that I have lost the first rubber. But I shall have my revenge.”
He summoned the servant.
“Order my horse round,” said he, “I am leaving at once.”
The baron smiled.
“Are you going in pursuit of them?”
“Good Heavens!” said Samuel; “I shall wait for them. Thank God, I have something else to do, and I have no intention of giving up my whole life to the sole and petty aim of winning a kind of wager. But everything comes to him who can wait. You and Christiane have scored against me this time; my turn will come. You have finished; I begin.”
“I have not finished,” retorted the baron. “During the year that they will be absent, I intend to realise one of Julius’ dreams. I have not remained here for the sole purpose of keeping you company. At a push, a letter posted in time to reach you this morning, when about to set out, would have spared you the inconvenience of coming such a distance to find only servants in the house. I am expecting an architect from Frankfort. I want to buy, and rebuild within the year, the castle of Eberbach. Thus Julius, instead of the ruins he has left, will find his wish realised and the castle of his dreams firmly established on the mountain. For I desire that he should lack for nothing, either in himself, or in his surroundings, and that the love in his heart be completed by the harmony in his life. My weapon against you will be his happiness.”
“Which means that mine will be his misery,” replied Samuel. “But I warn you, tender father, though you may do your utmost, you will not rob me of Julius. He admires me, and I love him. Yes, damn it all!” he continued, replying to a gesture of the baron’s, “I love him as strong, proud souls know how to love the weak, sensitive souls which belong to them. Too long have I stamped my impress on the mind of your son for you to succeed in effacing it now. You will not change his nature, nor mine. You will not make him energetic, nor me scrupulous. You will rebuild him a castle, will you rebuild him a character? His wavering instincts have need of a firm, harsh hand to uphold and to guide them. Is it a child like Christiane who will be able to do this for him? Before a year is over he will regret me. Run after him? Why should I! It is he who will seek me out.”
“Listen, Samuel,” said the baron; “you know me to be a man willing at all times to take up a challenge, or enter into contest. Let me tell you one thing: that which Christiane could not tell Julius, she could tell his father, and she has confided in me. Yes, she revealed to me your astounding threats, and, necessarily, I shall act as her second against you.”
“Very well! so much the better!” said Samuel; “that will make it all the more comfortable for me.”
“No, Samuel, you are unjust to yourself, surely you must be!” rejoined the baron. “You are not so insensible to remorse or, if you prefer it, to appearances. I am determined to leave no stone unturned to bring about a reconciliation between us. Samuel, is it peace? I, too, have perhaps wronged you. I will tear up your letter, and forget your words. You are ambitious and proud; well! I am rich enough and powerful enough to help you without prejudice to Julius. I have, as you know, an elder brother in New York, who has made a fortune in business three or four times larger and more imposing than mine. He has no children, and all he possesses will belong to Julius. His will is made in advance, and I hold a copy of it. I may therefore dispose without scruple of what I have acquired by my own efforts. Samuel, swear to renounce your odious designs and tell me what you want.”
“A mess of pottage?” sneered Samuel. “But you choose an inopportune moment at which to bargain with me after Herr Schreiber’s copious breakfast. I am no longer hungry, and I maintain my birthright.”
The clatter of hoofs was heard beneath the windows of the dining-room, and the servant came to inform Samuel that his horse was at the door.
“Farewell, sir,” said Samuel. “I prefer my freedom to your wealth. Never will I allow a millstone to be tied round my neck, were the millstone of gold. Know that I am one of those ambitious spirits who live willingly on dry bread, — one of those proud souls who wear without shame a shabby coat.”
“One word more,” said the baron. “Observe how, up to the present, your evil designs have turned against you.
The chief reason that induced me to give Julius to Christiane was the letter in which you threatened to take him from me. It is you who have brought about this marriage between these two children; it is your hate which has made their love; your threat which has effected their happiness.”
“Very well, then, you should hope for a continuance of my hatred and my threats, since everything I do against them is likely to prove well for them. Your wish will be consummated. Ah! my hatred brings them success! In that case, you may rely on my working for their prosperity. I shall give you so much proof of affection, rest assured! That will be my way of being your son. Not farewell, sir. In a year, perhaps before a year has passed, we shall meet again.”
And, bowing to the baron, Samuel went out, with a proud look and threatening air.
Baron von Hermelinfeld let his head fall on his breast.
“Ungodly strife,” said he. “He is at war with the world; but am I at peace with the world? And, in Thine impenetrable designs, my God! shall we not be a scourge to each other?”
CHAPTER XXVI.
A SURPRISE.
THIRTEEN months after the events already related, on the 16th July, 1811, at about half-past ten o’clock in the morning, a post-chaise drove away from the Manse at Landeck, and rolled along the same road where the previous year Julius and Samuel had met Gretchen.
Four persons were in the carriage, or rather, five, if we include a tiny pink and white infant, scarcely two months old, who lay asleep in the arms of his nurse, a handsome, healthy-looking peasant, attired in the striking costume worn by Greek women.
The three other travellers were a very young woman in deep mourning, a young man, and a maid.
Seated at the back of the carriage was a valet.
The young woman was Christiane; the young man, Julius; the infant, their child.
It was for her father that Christiane still wore mourning. Herr Schreiber had been dead already ten months. Through going up into the mountain one stormy night, to administer the last consolations of religion to a dying man, the worthy pastor had contracted the germs of that disease which rapidly brought him to the grave. As Christiane needed him no longer, he thanked God for permitting him to rejoin his wife and his other daughter. Slowly, almost gladly, he faded away. Baron von Hermelinfeld sent for Lothario and to the care of Pastor Ottfried he entrusted the grandson of Pastor Schreiber, This sad news passed like a black cloud across the dawn of Christiane’s happiness. She received the intelligence of her father’s death and of his illness at the same moment; it was therefore impossible for her to return and embrace him for the last time. Besides she was already likely to become a mother, and under the circumstances Julius was averse to her travelling any considerable distance. Through excess of precaution, he even refused to continue their journey, and stopped with his beloved in one of the flower-laden Isles of the Archipelago.
The first keen edge of their sorrow gradually wore off. Having now no one in the world but Julius, Christiane lavished all her love upon him, and grief at the loss of her father was by degrees soothed, in the expectation of her child. The mother consoled the daughter.
Thus Julius and Christiane spent the happiest months of their lives, amid all the enchantments which the Orient of the world can add to the Orient of love, their souls steeped in the soft sea-breezes, their pure hearts reflected in the azure of the skies of Greece, their one request of heaven, that this glorious present might last for ever.
Then Christiane became the mother of the little boy whom we have seen asleep in the post-chaise. The doctor advised that, in order to rear the child, it would be wise to return to a temperate climate before the hot weather set in. Julius and Christiane decided therefore to return at once. Landing at Trieste, they travelled by easy stages via Linz and Wiirzburg.
But before returning to Frankfort, they wished to pass through Landeck. Naturally, they went first to the cemetery.; Christiane prayed and wept at her father’s grave. Then she insisted on revisiting the parsonage, which she found occupied by the pastor who replaced Herr Schreiber. This house, where she had lived since childhood and which was now in the possession of strangers, where her memories of the past faded away in the presence of those unknown to her, which held so large a portion of her heart, of her life, of her dreams, and which now belonged to others, this house was painful to her. She suffered more bitterly there than in the churchyard. Her father seemed more dead at the presbytery than at the grave.
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