CHAPTER IV.
"Not yet, Aunt Rikchen," said the new-comer. "How are you all? I must apologise, Herr Schmidt, for coming so late. Captain Schmidt? Should have known you from the family likeness, even if I had not heard you were expected to day. Delighted to make your acquaintance. Now no ceremony, Aunt Rikchen; I only want a bit of bread and butter and a cup of tea, if there is one, nothing more. How goes the world with you, Fräulein Ferdinanda? The 'Shepherd Boy' has got a capital place in the first room by the window. My bust's in the second--not so bad except for that abominable reflected light; but my group in the third! Night and darkness surrounds them; nor will silence be wanting--the silence of the public--broken by the shrill cackle of the critics. We poor artists! Might I ask you for a piece of sugar, Herr Schmidt?"
Reinhold could hardly help laughing. The appearance, manners, and speech of this bearded, partially bald-headed little sculptor, his cheerfulness, friendliness, and ease, all formed such a marvellous contrast to the rather stiff and irritable tone of the former occupants of the table. And now he was asking Uncle Ernst for a bit of sugar! It seemed rather like asking a lion to dance! But the lion did what he was asked, and did it amiably, with a kindly smile such as was seldom seen on that stern face.
"He succeeds better than I do," thought Reinhold. "More shame to me."
At sight of this man, who with the innocence of a child seemed able to go about the world either not seeing, or at least not caring for its dangers, Reinhold quite recovered his usual temper, and hailed with joy the appearance of this more cheerful addition to the party. The sculptor on his side was attracted by the powerful-looking man, the frank open countenance, clear blue eyes, and curly brown beard; his own small, restless, rather red eyes constantly turned in that direction, and he addressed his conversation mostly to him.
"Don't let your uncle put you out of conceit with Berlin," said he. "Let me tell you it is a charming place, and is getting more so every day. We have now got the only thing that was wanting--money, and when our pockets are full of money, you don't know all that we can do here in Berlin. Berlin is to be the capital of the world. Don't look so indignantly at me, Fräulein Ferdinanda. It is an old story for us, but Captain Schmidt is probably not in the secret yet, and we must warn him lest he should be utterly overpowered with astonishment when the sublime image of the monster is unveiled before him to-morrow, with its hundreds and thousands of heads, legs, and arms. What trouble we take over it. We feed the monster with our heart's blood. I am nothing but skin and bone as it is, and that reminds me that I have got another commission, Aunt Rikchen."
"Another monument in memory of our victories?" asked Aunt Rikchen eagerly.
"Of course! You must know, Captain Schmidt, that no small town exists, however insignificant, but must have its monument. And why not? The good people in Posemuckel are quite as proud of the six brave fellows whom they sent into the field, as we are of our six hundred or our six thousand, and are anxious to let posterity know how Tom, Dick, and Harry fought and conquered in so many battles and skirmishes, and that Fritz Haberstroh, widow Haberstroh's only son, was shot dead as a door-nail at Sedan for the honour and glory of the German Empire. And quite right and proper too, I think, and the fact that they always collect a few pounds less than will pay any living man to make anything for them, is not their fault."
"And how do you get over that difficulty?" asked Reinhold.
"He just puts a new head on an old statue, and the Victory of Germany is ready," said Uncle Ernst.
"I protest utterly against such atrocious calumny," cried the sculptor. "I tried the experiment only once, by taking away the venerable head of a Homer, who had stood for a long time in my studio, and changing him into a Germany; but it was only on account of those splendid folds, those really perfect folds, of which Hähmel in Dresden had spoken so very highly!"
"And the experiment failed?" asked Reinhold.
"Yes and no," answered Justus, rubbing his bald forehead. "No, because my Germany stands firmly fixed upon her sandstone pedestal in Posemuckel, and with the uplifted left hand holding a laurel wreath, blesses the German Fatherland and her faithful Posemucklers, while the right hand, heavily armed, sinks wearily by her side; but when the veil was drawn away, and the schoolboys sang 'Nun danket alle Gott,' then I still saw my venerable, dusty old Homer of blessed Dresden memory; the laurel wreath in the left hand became again a lyre, the sword in the right hand a Plektron. And I thanked heaven too, but it was because my fine classic folds were in Posemuckel, and not on the Dönhofsplatz here."
And the sharp red eyes of the sculptor twinkled, and every feature of his happy face that was not hidden by the rough beard sparkled with fun. Reinhold joined heartily in the laugh, as the last trace of discord vanished, and even Uncle Ernst looked from under his bushy eyebrows at the cheerful little man much after the fashion of a good-natured lion permitting a little dog to jump and bark round him.
"I wish, though, that your Germany was in the Dönhofsplatz," said he.
"Why?"
"An old and venerable trunk upon which some clever conjuror has placed a new head, which does not fit it--that seems to me a perfect picture of the new German unity, and it would be a very good thing if our compliant representatives could see it whichever way they turned."
Justus laughed heartily, as if Uncle Ernst had perpetrated the mildest of jokes.
"Listen to that," said he, turning to Reinhold.
"That is so like your uncle. His ruling passion is jealousy! He is jealous of the Almighty having made the beautiful world."
"For shame, Justus!" said Aunt Rikchen.
"And of a poor little earth-worm like myself, for every noble statue that leaves my studio. He feels that of course he could have done it so much better, and so far he is right. He is a born artist, a Michael Angelo--at least in imagination--a Michael Angelo without arms. And every stroke of the saw which cuts the marble into steps or such like contemptible articles goes through his heart, for each time he thinks, what might have been made or shaped out of this!"
"Do not talk such nonsense," said Uncle Ernst.
"It is the simple truth," cried Justus, still addressing Reinhold. "He has ideas in abundance, great ideas, sometimes not quite practical--somewhat Titanic, after the manner of Michael Angelo--but no matter. One can cut them down to one's own dwarf-like proportions and secretly laugh when he is brought face to face with the completed work, and shaking the Titanic head, murmurs, 'I had imagined something quite different. They have spoilt my idea again!'"
Uncle Ernst at this point did indeed shake his head, though not at all angrily, but with a somewhat grim enjoyment, such as Reinhold had not seen him express during the whole evening. "Can he be as susceptible to flattery as other tyrants?" thought Reinhold.
"And what is the new commission?" he asked.
"A most noble commission," answered Justus, swallowing his third cup of tea. "This time they really have got money--no end of money; that is to say, of course there will not be any over for me; it will all be spent in the actual cost of materials, unless your uncle will provide the marble, which, considering how he hates the whole business, there is very little chance of; but, at all events, the matter can be properly set going. I have been thinking it over on my way here from the committee, where it has all been pretty nearly settled."
"Well, tell us about it," said Uncle Ernst.
He had thrown himself back in his chair, and was puffing great clouds of smoke up to the ceiling from a cigar which he had just lighted. Reinhold had wished to abstain from smoking, out of respect to the ladies, but his uncle would not allow it, and said his womankind were accustomed to it. Justus, who did not smoke, was rolling little pellets of bread into a ball; he was evidently already at work.
"It is the old story, to begin with," said he; "three or four steps--we will say three--of sandstone, supporting a quadrangular pedestal of granite, upon which is a square box, upon which box finally stands Germany--Germany this time without any classic folds. The box is for the inscription--there are a lot of brave Fritzes and Johanns to be mentioned--laurel wreaths, badges, etc.; that is all easy enough. But the bas-reliefs on the pedestal--there is the difficulty. Siemering has done everything in that line that is to be done so well, and, besides, has so much more space than I have, that every one will say: 'Siemering, of course--this is all copied from him.' But it is no use thinking of that; if one has got to make a horse, he must have four legs; and if one has got to portray a campaign, there must be the march out at one end, and the return home at the other, and a fight in the middle, and patriotic ambulances; and not a line of that can be omitted. If you can't be original in your conception of the whole, you must be in detail; and as my originality entirely depends upon the merits of my models, this time I shall be wonderfully original, because my models will be wonderfully good. Departure of one of the Landwehr--for the whole thing must be popular--one of the Landwehr--Captain Schmidt."
"I?" exclaimed Reinhold, astonished.
"You and none other; I made up my mind to that an hour ago. Heaven has sent you to me, and the fact of your having been promoted from the ranks during the campaign will be very useful to me; you will know why presently. To continue. Aged father straining his son to his heart at the moment of departure." Justus lowered his voice, and glanced at the servant who had waited upon them and now left the room. "Of course old Grollman, with his queer old face, with its hundreds of wonderful wrinkles, will always be my model for the aged fathers. More of the Landwehr in the background, three or four of our workmen--fine handsome heads. Number two: Office of the District Relief Committee. Women bringing offsprings; Aunt Rikchen, as a member of the committee, examining, with a critical glance, the heaped-up offerings--that will be perfect! In one corner Cilli making lint--superb!"
"That is a very fine idea," said Uncle Ernst.
"Who is Cilli?" asked Reinhold.
"An angel," answered Justus, applying himself still more eagerly to his occupation of shaping his bread pedestal. "She is the blind daughter of good old Kreisel, your uncle's head clerk, who of course officiates as superintendent, bending over his desk and making a list of the offerings. He alone will make my work immortal. Thirdly: Battle Scene. A mounted officer waving his sword; the Landwehr, with fixed bayonets, rushing to the attack; 'Forwards! march! hurrah!' commanded by our Captain here, already promoted to be a non-commissioned officer--you see now?--and so on. Fourthly: the Return Home. The loveliest girl in the town presenting laurel wreaths--of course Fräulein Ferdinanda, now the daughter of the burgomaster; the burgomaster, a stately personage, Herr Ernst Schmidt."
"I beg you will leave me out of the question!" said Uncle Ernst.
"I beg you will not interrupt me," cried Justus. "Where in the whole world should I find so perfect a representative of the good old genuine German burgher?"
"The old genuine German burgher was a Republican," grumbled Uncle Ernst.
"So much the better," cried the sculptor. "A monument of victory is also a monument of peace. What would victory have done for us if it had not brought us peace? Peace without and peace within, irrespective of party feeling! The stronger the party feeling expressed on the faces of my figures, so much the more apparent will be the deep patriotic symbolicism that my work will show forth. So my burgomaster must let people see his Republican principles and hatred of the nobility a hundred yards off, as my general must be a concentration of feudalism and aristocraticism. And there, again, I have got quite as classic a model in its way--General von Werben."
Reinhold looked up startled; the name came so unexpectedly, and Ferdinanda had said to him before, "My father hates the Werbens!"
And, indeed, Uncle Ernst's face had suddenly become black as night, and the ladies were in evident fear that the storm might burst upon them at any moment. Ferdinanda's beautiful features were suddenly covered with a rosy flush, and as suddenly turned deadly pale. Aunt Rikchen glanced at the sculptor with a quick, anxious look, and furtively shook her head as if in warning; but he did not seem to observe anything of all this.
"It will be the culminating point of the whole thing," cried he. "On the proud warrior's face shall be a look of satisfaction, mingled with the suppression of bitter party feeling, as though he were saying, 'Dissension between us is at an end for ever;' and my general leans down from his horse and stretches out his hand to the burgomaster, who grasps it with manly emotion, which says, as plainly as any words, 'Amen!'"
"Never!" exclaimed Uncle Ernst in a voice of thunder. "Before I grasp his hand, let my right hand wither! And whoever offers me such an insult, even in effigy, between that man and me there shall be war to the knife." And he drew the knife, which he had seized, across the table, threw it aside, pushed his chair back, and staggered to his feet.
But it was only an explosion of Berserker wrath; for, as Reinhold sprang up to support him, he completely recovered his steady bearing, and said, in a voice whose forced calm contrasted strangely and painfully with the previous wild outbreak:
"We have sat too long after dinner; it stops the circulation, and then all the blood goes to the head. Good-night, Reinhold; I shall see you again to-morrow morning. Good-night all of you."
He was gone.
"What, in Heaven's name, is the meaning of that?" asked Justus.
He still sat there, the rough bread model of his monument in his hand, with wide-open staring eyes, like a child who sees a black devil jump out of a harmless-looking box. "What in the world is the matter?"
"What possessed you to mention that unlucky name?" said Aunt Rikchen. "Goodness me! that was the only thing wanting, and now you have done it!"
Ferdinanda, with a half-sigh, tried to rise from her chair; but, pressing her hand to her heart, fell back again immediately, deadly white, her beautiful head sinking against the cushion.
"What is the matter with you?" cried Aunt Rikchen. "Water--quick!--and ring the bell!"
Reinhold filled a tumbler from the water-jug, Justus flew to the bell; a maid-servant hurried in soon, followed by a second, and all the women busied themselves over the fainting girl.
"I think we are in the way here," said Reinhold, and led Justus, who was still overpowered with astonishment, into the hall.
"Now can you explain this to me?" exclaimed Justus.
"I had hoped to get some explanation from you," answered Reinhold. "I only know that my uncle hates the General, has done so since '48, so I suppose something must have happened between them then."
"By-the-way, yes. Now I recollect," cried Justus; "Aunt Rikchen did once tell me about it, but I had quite forgotten it; and even if I had not, how could I know that the old madman would get into such a state about it? Shall I come up with you?"
"Thanks, I can find my way. And you?"
"I live at the back here over my studio. You must come and pay me a visit to-morrow, and we will talk further over this wonderful business. Do you stay long?"
"I had meant to, but after this scene----"
"Oh, you must not think too much about that; I know him well. To-morrow there will not be a trace of it. He is a capital old fellow through it all. Felicissima notte! a rivederci!"
Reinhold easily found his way to his room through the well-lighted stairs and passages. The candles stood on the table, but he did not light them, the crescent moon gave light enough, and a warm breeze came in at the open window, by which he stood in deep thought.
"What a pity," he murmured; "I should have liked to cast anchor here for some time, and might have got on with the old gentleman. He seemed to me rather queer, and sometimes lets go the rudder, but it is not a very uncommon thing, and perhaps it will all pass over by to-morrow. I could soon learn his ways. He drank at least three bottles, and his eyes were bloodshot and wild before he flew out in that way. I am afraid it is rather a family failing; our old sailor grandfather--but it is not the worst of faults, and we Schmidts cannot be expected to have the aristocratic manners of the Werbens. Ferdinanda is unquestionably very handsome; the sculptor was right: 'the prettiest girl in the town!' And yet, the noble carriage, the inexpressible grace of movement, the beautiful look of the eyes, the ever-changing and always sweet expression of the features--she cannot be compared with Elsa, and indeed who could? Then she has not spoken three words. Is there nothing behind that beautiful forehead? Is that gloomy silence only a cloak whose 'classic folds' she has borrowed perhaps of her master to conceal her insignificance? I had pictured to myself something quite different when first I saw her. There was some life about her when she cut short that introduction at the railway station, and hurried me away. Certainly since then I have discovered why it was painful for her. Capulets and Montagues, only divided by a garden wall. What was that?"
The moon had risen higher; the shrubbery walk at the bottom of the garden, down which Reinhold could see some distance from the window where he stood, was in parts quite light between the bushes. Across one of the light spots a female form had just glided, only to disappear, and did not pass into the light again. But she must do so if she belonged to the house; the path went round a grass-plot in its immediate vicinity, and lay in the full light of the moon, and by leaning out a very little he could easily see over it. But why should she belong to the house? On one side of the garden was a small outhouse in which there was a lighted window. The figure might have come from thence. "And at any rate," thought Reinhold, "it is no business of yours, and you can go to bed."
He was just about to shut the window when he observed the figure again, this time in the path which ran along the wall, or wooden paling (he could not distinguish which), that on the left hand separated the garden for a little way from the neighbouring one. The wall, or paling, was overshadowed by high trees on that side. The moon shone on the right hand, but the distance was too great to distinguish with certainty more than the outline of the dark figure, as it slowly walked up and down the path, and finally stood still close to the wall, so that Reinhold could no longer see the shadow which before had been perceptible on the light background. It seemed, however, as if she leaned her head against the wall for a long time, staying in this attitude for at least two or three minutes, then she stooped and took up something, which for a moment shimmered white in the moonlight, and which she pressed to, or perhaps concealed, in her bosom. And then she came away from the wall and farther into the garden, slowly walking up and down between the bushes as she had done before on the path, but each time coming nearer till she reached the grass-plot. Then she stood still, and seemed to take a sweeping glance over the house; then she came over the grass-plot. It was Ferdinanda!
Involuntarily he withdrew from the window. "Why of course! Why should it not be Ferdinanda trying to calm her shaken nerves by taking a walk in the cool night air? Her slow gait, her repeated halting--of course the leaning against the wall was a return of the fainting! He ought to have run to her assistance and picked up her handkerchief which she had let drop, instead of stopping here playing the spy! It was too bad!"
He shut his window quietly, without venturing to light any candles in the present uneasy state of his conscience, but helped himself as well as he could by the light of the moon, which certainly was bright enough, so bright indeed that long after he was in bed he lay and watched the silver rays, through an opening in the curtains, shining further and further in upon the wall, till at last the usual deep and profound sleep closed his eyelids.
CHAPTER V.
The next morning was lovely. The bright sun shone into his room from a blue and cloudless sky as Reinhold pushed the curtains aside and opened the window. Beneath him the dewdrops glistened upon the blades of grass in the round plat; in the bushes and amongst the branches of the tall trees, through which a soft breeze was playing, the golden light shone and twittering birds were flitting about. Reinhold cast a shy glance towards the left, upon the division between the two gardens, which he now perceived to be a high paling. If that garden were the same of which young Werben spoke yesterday, then those overhanging trees hid a secret amidst their green shadows, a secret which his rapidly-beating heart again whispered to him eagerly, passionately, as though there were nothing else in the world worth the trouble of beating for.
A knock at the door sounded. Reinhold hastily put on his coat. It was not his uncle, only Justus Anders' favourite model for aged fathers, the grey-haired, grey-bearded servant with the wonderfully expressive wrinkles in the withered face.
His master had inquired several times for the Captain; just now again when he came in for his second breakfast (he drank his coffee always at five o'clock, sometimes earlier), and he got quite angry at the Captain not having made his appearance. Fräulein Ferdinanda had been working in her studio since nine o'clock; but Fräulein Rikchen was downstairs in the dining-room waiting to make the Captain's coffee.
Reinhold had in honour of the day dressed himself in his best, or, in sailor language, put on his shore clothes, so he was able to follow the old man immediately, and to go in search of Aunt Rikchen. He was glad to be able to have a little gossip alone with his aunt, and notwithstanding the silence of last night, he did not fear that she had forgotten the art of gossip.
Aunt Rikchen sat at one end of the breakfast table behind the coffee-pot, and knitted (her spectacles quite on the tip of her nose) with extreme rapidity, so lost in occupation and thought that she did not observe Reinhold's entrance, and now jumped up with a little, nervous shriek. But she stretched out her hand to him with a smile which was meant to be very friendly, though her eyes were full of tears, which disappeared as suddenly as they came and left no trace.
"I have made fresh coffee for you," said she; "I thought that you were probably terribly spoilt in such matters."
"I am not spoilt in that way nor in any other!" answered Reinhold brightly.
"Ah! the good old Schmidt blood!" said Aunt Rikchen. "Just like your poor dear grandfather, whom you are as like as two peas." At these words her eyes refilled with tears and were as hastily dried.
"I think Uncle Ernst must be the image of him," said Reinhold, "and I am not very like him."
"Not like him!" cried Aunt Rikchen, "then I do not know what likeness is! Though for that matter I know nothing--so he says."
She had taken up her knitting and was again working with nervous haste: there was considerable bitterness, too, in the tone of the last words, which came sharply and pointedly from between her compressed lips.
"He" evidently meant her brother; but Reinhold thought it better to tack about a little before he steered for that course.
"How do you mean, dear aunt?" said he.
"You won't understand," answered Aunt Rikchen, with a sharp look over her spectacles; "you won't see how he behaves to his only sister, and that he tyrannises over me and tyrannises over us all--there is no doubt about that."
"But, my dear aunt, that is my uncle's way, and you cannot expect anything else from him."
"But I can," exclaimed Aunt Rikchen, "for he always behaves worse to a poor thing like me. And why? Because he thinks I might take too much upon myself, and might end by contradicting him when he talks about his politics, and geography, and history, and all the stuff he crams his head with. We women understand nothing of all that! it is not our province; he alone understands it, and it is all to be kept for him. Of course it is all for him alone when he takes the books from under our noses and the newspapers out of our hands. He himself learnt nothing when he was a boy, and he ought to know how disagreeable it is to sit by without speaking, and having no idea whether Timbuctoo, or whatever it is called, is a town, or a fish, or an animal, and not daring to ask--he ought to know that!"
The knitting-needles clicked more nervously, the spectacles had slipped so far down her nose that they could not slip any farther without coming off; and it would have been impossible for the sharp words to find an outlet if the thin lips were to be more closely pressed together.
"Certainly it is not right of my uncle," said Reinhold, "to be so thoughtless of other people's feelings and to be so contemptuous of other people's desire for information; but it is often so with autodidactic persons."
"With whom?" asked Aunt Rikchen.
"With people who have no one but themselves to thank for their education. I once knew an old negro who without any assistance, but entirely by his own intense industry, attained the rank of ship's-captain, and really was unusually well-informed in nautical science and astronomy--that means knowledge of ships and stars, aunt--the result being that he looks upon every one else as helpless ignoramuses."
"And what does that mean?"
"People who know nothing."
"But your uncle is not a negro," said Aunt Rikchen; "and even a negro, if he has a daughter who is celebrated for her beauty all over Berlin, and might make a grand and rich match every day if she would, only she won't, and in matters of will she is quite his daughter, and no man could persuade her even if he stood on his head. And Anders assures me that she has very great talent, and everybody says so; I don't understand anything about it, indeed I don't understand anything, but of course he thinks it all stuff and nonsense."
"And yet I could imagine that my uncle is secretly very proud of Ferdinanda."
"Why?" Aunt Rikchen glanced inquiringly at Reinhold over her spectacles.
"Once or twice last night I saw him look at her with an expression in his eyes which I could not otherwise account for."
"Do you think so?" Aunt Rikchen had let her knitting fall into her lap, and her eyes once more filled with tears, which this time did not disappear. "Do you know," said she, "that is what I have often thought, I often think that it is impossible that he should love no one, for he cannot bear to see an animal suffer, and he delights in lending a hand in moving the great blocks of marble so that the strong horses may not be overworked. But in that way he overworks himself, and cares and works for every one whoever it may be, and they often do not deserve it, and repay him with the basest ingratitude. And then he must needs drink wine, for no Christian man could get through what he undertakes, and I have no objection to a glass or so; I often drink one myself when I am quite overdone, and it does me a great deal of good and comforts my old bones; but two bottles--or three--I am convinced that he will have a fit of apoplexy."
The tears broke through their former restraint and fell in torrents down her sunken cheeks. Reinhold too was touched; there was so much true love in this acknowledgment of her brother's good qualities, in this anxiety for him--an anxiety which he secretly felt was not without grounds.
"My dear aunt," said he, "you need not be so anxious. We Schmidts are a hardy race, and my uncle may do more than most people. Besides any one coming as I do fresh and unaccustomed amongst you, can see I think better and clearer what he really is; and I don't mind saying, my dear aunt, that I should not be surprised if my uncle purposely showed the rough side of his nature so that all the world should not know how soft and sympathising his heart really is. I have known more than one man like that."
"Have you?" said Aunt Rikchen eagerly, as her tears once more dried up. "Well, you have been a great deal about the world and have seen a great many people: heathens, and negroes, and Turks, and amongst them you may often see things that are not proper for a Christian; and even my stupid mind can understand things of that sort, but can you explain to me how it is possible that a father with a heart such as you speak of, could be on the terms with his son that he is on with Philip? explain that to me!"
"But I don't know on what sort of terms he is with his son, my dear aunt! There seems to be a complete break between them."
"Yes! is not it dreadful?" said Aunt Rikchen. "And the scenes that take place! Goodness me! when I think of it! But that is all over now; they have not met for two years, and Philip does not need our help now! he is getting so fearfully rich, he has made millions, Justus says, and is now building a house in the Wilhelmstrasse, where every square yard costs five thalers, or five hundred, or five thousand--I never can remember figures; and Anders has got to make four--or four and twenty statues for the hall and staircase, and the steps are to be of canary marble--that is what they call it, is it not? And I do not see the disgrace of that when a man has raised himself from being an ordinary builder as he was. Do you?"
"Till I know how he has raised himself, my dear aunt----"
"What! what!" cried Aunt Rikchen, "are you beginning to ask that already? What can he have done so very bad? Has he stolen it? Has he committed a burglary somewhere? or turned incendiary? or footpad? Wait till he does--wait till he does!"
"But indeed I have said nothing against Philip; I am utterly unprejudiced!" cried Reinhold.
"Yes, quite unprejudiced!" answered Aunt Rikchen, "when you take every earthly opportunity of flattering him and buttering him up till he is as proud as the grand Turk! And though Philip may sometimes be a little reckless and selfish, he has always been kind to me; and only yesterday when I met him in the Potsdamerstrasse he said: 'If ever you are in want of money, aunt, come to me; you can have as much as ever you want.' I do not want any, thank heaven! for he supplies me with all that is needful; but a nephew, who, meeting his poor old aunt in the Potsdamerstrasse in broad daylight, offers her any amount of money, is no robber, and no murderer, say I. And now you must manage to meet him; he does not generally inquire after or interest himself in any one, but he has always taken the greatest interest in you, and always marks your journeys on the map with a red pencil. And that is just as it should be. I don't mean about the pencil, but that clinging to one's family. I could go through fire and water for him! for him! for all of them, it is all the same to me; either a man is a Schmidt or he is not a Schmidt--he has either got the Schmidt blood in his veins or he has not. Perhaps that is rather a narrow view to take--borné, don't you call it? but it is my view, and I shall live and die in it. And when I am dead and buried you will then begin to see what a good old aunt I was to you all. But what I wanted to say was that Ferdinanda and Justus were talking of going to the exhibition to-day and wanted to know whether you would go with them? Of course I shall stop at home. I don't understand these sort of things; in fact, I don't understand anything."
The spectacles had fallen to their lowest possible point; the needles worked with inconceivable rapidity. Reinhold fancied he still heard them clicking even when he found himself in the garden, into which a glass-door led from the dining-room.
CHAPTER VI.
He drew a deep breath. Here in the open air the sun shone so brilliantly, while the house seemed so full of dismal ghosts.
"Good heavens!" said he to himself; "can there be a more terrible lot than to go creeping and groping through life with unenlightened mind, like my poor aunt here!--always dreading treachery and deceit, sin and sorrow; seeing no more of the sunshine, of all the might and beauty of the world, than if she were blind, like that poor girl!"
A young girl was groping her way along the iron railing that divided the courtyard from the garden, which was on rather a higher level. She moved with slow and careful steps, holding in her uplifted left hand a plate, on which appeared to be slices of bread-and-butter, and with her right hand outstretched lightly touched every third rail. It was by these careful movements that Reinhold recognised the blind girl, even before she stood still, and, slightly raising her head, turned her face towards the sun. The sun was very powerful, but her eyelids never even quivered. She had opened her eyes wide, as a flower turns its open petals to the sun, and lovely as a flower was the expression of the sweet, pure, child-like features.
"Poor poor Cilli!" murmured Reinhold.
He had remembered the name from last night's conversation, and that the blind girl was the daughter of Kreisel, Uncle Ernst's head clerk. And the man who had been standing in the doorway of the low building a little way off, which from the desks in the windows seemed to be the counting-house, and now came towards the girl across the intervening part of the courtyard, must be her father--a little old man with a perfectly bald head, that shone in the sun like a ball of white marble.
The blind girl instantly recognised his footsteps. She turned her head, and Reinhold saw the two thick blonde plaits, as they fell so far over her shoulders that the ends were concealed by the stonework supporting the railing. She nodded repeatedly to the newcomer, and when he was by her, bent her head that he might kiss her forehead, and held up the plate with both hands, from which he took a slice of bread-and-butter and began to eat at once, at intervals saying a few words, which Reinhold in the distance could not catch, any more than he could the girl's answers. But he could have sworn that they were words of love that were thus exchanged, as from time to time the old man stroked the blonde hair with his left hand (the right was occupied with the bread-and-butter), while a happy smile played upon the girl's sweet face, which he now saw in profile. And now the old gentleman had finished his second slice of bread-and-butter, and taking a white handkerchief out of his pocket, he shook it out of its folds and wiped his mouth with it, then refolded it in its original creases and put it back in his pocket, while the girl, as before, presented her forehead for a kiss. The old man hobbled away, and stood in the door waving his hand; the blind girl waved her hand and nodded in return till he disappeared, exactly as if she could see what she really only heard with her acute ear, or calculated by the time it took, it being evidently a daily habit. Then again she raised her eyes to the sun with the self-same expression of child-like innocence on the pure face; and taking in her right hand the plate, which before she had held in her left hand, retraced her steps as she had come, lightly touching every third rail with the tips of her fingers.
Reinhold had observed the whole scene without moving. The poor blind girl could not see him, and the old man had not once looked that way.
Now for the first time he recollected himself. The touching scene had riveted his attention as though by a charm, and the charm had not left him, as he followed the blind girl's movements with breathless attention; mentally he touched each third rail as she did, as though he himself were groping along by the railing, following her light and graceful movements step by step. He waited for her reappearance from behind a white-thorn bush which grew against the railing, and now hid her from his sight, as a sailor waits for the reappearance of a star which he is observing, and which, as he gazes, is for some moments obscured by over-shadowing clouds. But she did not reappear as the moments passed, and the bush seemed to be moving. Perhaps she was trying to gather a branch and could not manage it. In a moment he was through the garden gate and at her side.
A thorn from the bush protruding through the railing had caught hold of the end of her little white apron as it was blown about by the wind, and would not let go, though she patiently exerted all her efforts to extricate it.
"Allow me," said Reinhold.
Before he came up to her she had raised herself from her stooping attitude, and turned her face towards him, which as he spoke was suffused with the loveliest blush. But there was not the slightest trace of embarrassment or terror in the pure features.
"Thank you, Captain Schmidt," said she.
The sweet, melodious tone of her voice harmonised wonderfully with the bright child-like smile that accompanied the words.
"How do you know, Fräulein Cilli, who it is that is speaking to you?" said Reinhold, as he stooped down and freed the light material from the thorn.
"From the same person who told you that my name is Cilli, and that I am blind--from Justus."
"Will you take my arm, Fräulein Cilli, and allow me to see you home? I suppose you live in the house that is just in front of us?"
"I walk safer alone; but give me your hand. May I feel it for a moment?"
She put out a small, soft white hand to him, which Reinhold touched with a feeling of awe.
"Just what he said," she murmured as though speaking to herself. "Strong and manly--a good, a true hand."
She let go his hand, and they walked on side by side, she by the railing again, feeling the rails, he close to her side, never turning his eyes from her.
"Did Anders tell you that too?" he asked.
"Yes; but your hand would have told me without that. I know people by their hands. Justus's hand is not so strong, though he works so much; but it is as good."
"And as true," said Reinhold.
Cilli shook her head with a laugh, that was as sweet and soft as the twittering of the swallows.
"No, no," said she, "not as true! He cannot be, for he is an artist; so he can have but one guiding star--his Ideal--that he must look up to and follow, as the kings followed the star in the East, which going before them stopped at Bethlehem over the house in which the Saviour was laid in a manger; but beyond that he must be free, free as the birds in the branches overhead, free to come and go, free to flit and flutter and sing to his heart's content."
They had reached the end of the railing. Before them stood the house in which Cilli lived. She rested the tips of her fingers upon the iron pillars which ended the railing, and raised her face with a strange dreamy expression on it.
"I often wish I were an artist," said she; "but I should like better still to be a sailor. Sometimes I have wonderful dreams, and then I fly over the earth on wide-spread wings. Below me I see green meadows and dark forests, and corn-fields waving their golden grain; silver streamlets wander down the hill-sides and mingle their waters in the broad rivers which glitter in the light of the sun as it sinks to the horizon. And as it sinks, and the waters, with the church spires reflected in them, take a rosy hue, a terrible anguish overwhelms me, as I feel that it will sink before I can see it--this sun which I have never seen, of which all I know is that it is above all things beautiful and great and glorious. And when the sun is so low that in another moment it must disappear, there lies before me, boundless, illimitable, the great ocean! It is impossible to describe what I feel then, but I fancy it must be what the dead feel when they rise to everlasting joy, or what great and good men feel when they have done the deed which renders them immortal."
A couple of swallows flitted chirping through the air. The blind girl raised her sightless eyes.
"They come over the sea, but I cannot, I never can get beyond the shore, never beyond the shore!"
For the first time a shadow came over the charming face that was uplifted to Reinhold, but the next moment it was once more lighted up by the bright, child-like smile.
"I am very ungrateful," said she, "am I not? How many people never see the sea even in their dreams as I do, and did only last night! Justus passed our window--we always have lights very late--and he called out that you had arrived, and were so nice and pleasant, and had told so many wonderful things about your long voyages. You must tell me about them. Will you?"
She stretched out her hand to him again.
"Indeed I will," cried Reinhold. "I am only afraid that your dreams are more, immeasurably more, beautiful than anything I can tell you about."
The blind girl shook her head.
"How strange! that is what papa always says, and even Justus, though he is an artist, and the whole world lies before him as beautiful as on the first day of creation, and now you say it, who have seen the whole world. I can look at the sun without flinching; you must hide your eyes from its glory. I--I cannot see the loving smile upon my dear father's face, cannot see the faces of those I love. How can my world be as glorious and lovely as yours? But of course you only say that not to make me sad. You need not be afraid; I envy no one. From my heart I can say that I grudge no man his happiness, especially those who are so good, so intensely good as my father and Justus!"
The face that was turned to him beamed once more with the brightest sunshine.
"When once I begin to chatter there is no stopping me, is there? And I have kept you all this time, when you have so much to do of far greater importance. I shall see you again."
She gave his hand a slight pressure, and then withdrew her own, which she had left in his till now, and stepped towards the door, which was only separated from her by the width of the path which on this side lay between the garden and the house. Then, however, she stood still again, and said, half turning over her shoulder:
"Was not Justus right when he said you were kind? You did not smile when I said I should see you again!"
She went into the house, feeling the door-posts with her finger-tips, turned once more as she stood on the threshold, nodded, and stepped into the hall.