Problematic Characters Part 15

The storm in Oswald's heart had pa.s.sed by. Like a soft spring breeze the thought came to him: She could not and would not tell you that if she did not think you deserved her confidence and her friends.h.i.+p. And he felt a sense of unspeakable happiness in this thought. It was one of those solemn, sublime moments which flash once or twice through the night of every man's life--one of those moments when we see the heavens open, and the angelic choir go up and down singing. Peace! Peace! unto our ready heart ...

In this blissful disposition he looked over the other drawings which Melitta had made during her Italian journey--landscapes in clear, well-defined lines; sketches from cities, palaces, streets, and ruins; between, a lazzaroni face or a dreamy girl's countenance. Then came studies from the antique, generally very painstaking studies; then again some subject was drawn over and over till it satisfied Melitta's keen criticism. A head of the Venus of Milo was particularly fine. On one of the following pages was the whole statue.

"Where did you draw that?" asked Oswald. "Surely not from a copy?"

"No, from the original! had become half a Catholic in Italy, and when I saw the lofty form in the Louvre in Paris, I said to myself, This, and no other, is your saint! Oh, you cannot imagine how beautiful she is!

how beautiful and good! and this expression of heavenly goodness, which is not found in any other Venus, not, in fact, in any other antique head, but only in the Venus of Milo, touched me even more deeply than her heavenly beauty. When I saw that statue I felt for the first time in my life how it might be possible to _pray_, to pray sincerely, earnestly, before an image made by the hand of man. Why do you look so solemn and thoughtful? Here, take that pencil and write under the statue what you have just been thinking, for I saw you were making verses."

Oswald took the pencil which Melitta offered him, half in earnest, half in jest, and wrote, with a trembling hand, while Melitta was looking over his shoulder:

Away in Paris, in a lofty hall, Amid the forms of ancient G.o.ds untold Of fairest marble, and like marble cold, She thrones on her high pedestal.

She, whom in secret, silent lawn, When dreamy mists were floating o'er the brook, Anchises in his mighty arms once took, Till she escaped from him at early dawn.

The G.o.ddess died. They found the fair remains And bore the lovely corpse up to the fane, Where, altho' dead, she in her realm still reigns.

But ah! the faithful pray to her in vain!

No more her G.o.dlike face to bend she deigns, Prefers eternal calmness to maintain!

Oswald put down the pencil and looked up at Melitta. His glance met hers. For a few moments their eyes rested upon each other as if they wished to read in each other's souls.

Then old Baumann appeared in the door leading to the adjoining room, from which the clinking of plates and gla.s.ses had been heard for some time; he had a napkin on his arm, and said, as solemnly as the statue in Don Giovanni:

"Ma'am, dinner is ready!"

"Quick, come before our porridge is cold," called out Melitta.

"Let me only look at these few leaves," said Oswald. "I see there are but a few more."

"There is nothing worth looking at there," said Melitta, almost impatiently.

"Why, here is the Park at Grenwitz," exclaimed Oswald, as he turned over the last leaf in the act of rising. "The lawn behind the chateau.

Here the Flora, there Bruno in full career----"

"And here are you!"

"Where?"

"There."

"That misty outline?" said Oswald, pointing at a spot by the side of the Flora where the faint traces of a figure were still perceptible, which had been rubbed out.

"That misty outline?" laughed Melitta. "I wished to draw you as you really looked, but I did not succeed. Now you shall appear as Erlkonig, who tries to catch Bruno--bodily, I mean, for his soul is yours already. How in the world did you manage to tame the wild leopard in so few days?"

"Only by a little sincere affection. Shakespeare calls flattery an infallible means to catch men; but I think love is a much safer one, and at the same time much n.o.bler."

"And is not love the greatest flattery?"

Oswald and Melitta had exchanged these words while they were going into the adjoining room, a lofty, beautiful room, filled with old-fas.h.i.+oned furniture of great value. In the centre stood a small round table, on which refreshments were set out most invitingly. Old Baumann stood straight, like a taper, his napkin on his arm, behind one of the two high-backed, richly carved arm-chairs, and waited for some acknowledgment of his signal merits and for further orders.

"Well, what does our magic table have to offer?" said Melitta, sitting down, and inviting Oswald, by a gesture of the hand, to follow her example.

"Cold roast meat--preserves--charming, Baumann! Mam'seile will be angry that we could do so well without her."

"The housekeeper has come back from Fashwitz," said Baumann, opening a bottle at a side-table.

"I dare say she has never been away," whispered Melitta, smiling. "What have we to drink for our guest, Baumann?"

"Steinberger Cabinet, forty-two," said Baumann, filling Oswald's gla.s.s with the golden wine.

"And for myself?"

"Fresh spring water, perhaps a little raspberry-juice," replied Baumann, coolly, placing the bottle, with the cork in it, before Oswald.

"That will not satisfy me to-day, Baumann! How is it about our champagne?"

"No more, ma'am."

"But they sent us a box only the other day?"

"Has never been opened. Is down in the cellar."

"Ah, what a pity!" cried Melitta. "And I am almost peris.h.i.+ng with thirst, and must needs have such a desire for champagne just to-day!"

"Well, well," said Baumann, comforting her, "maybe we can manage it."

Whereupon he marched out.

"You see, I have to beg for everything in my own house," said Melitta.

"But why do you not eat? And what a little piece you have taken! The worst, too, in the dis.h.!.+ Oh, what unpractical creatures you men are! I see I shall have to take pity on you."

And although Oswald a.s.sured her that he had no appet.i.te at all, she insisted upon helping him to the best that the table offered.

"You do not like it," she said at last, quite sadly, when she saw that the young man hardly touched the dishes. "Are you unwell?"

"I was never better in my life. But have you never felt as if eating and drinking were the most superfluous things in the world, and as if the G.o.ds of Olympus themselves, who only needed nectar and ambrosia, were the most wretched creatures, because they ate and drank?"

"Oh, yes! I have often felt so," replied Melitta. "I remember I felt so when my aunt took me to my first ball. But that is long, long ago, and since then my feelings have, as far as I remember, never had anything to do with my appet.i.te."

In spite of this boast, however, Melitta also treated everything on the table, except some preserves, as a mere show-dinner. The sweet fire which made her bosom rise, and gave new l.u.s.tre to her beautiful eyes, needed no food from the hands of Ceres. For the first time that day there were pauses in the conversation. Neither ventured to speak of that which filled their hearts to overflowing, and everything else appeared so little, so insignificant! They were both overcome by an embarra.s.sment which they in vain tried to conceal under an a.s.sumed indifference. Both felt that a strong, unseen hand was gently lifting the mask which we all use in daily life to hide our real faces. When we hear the voice of the G.o.d of love, asking us in our paradise: "Where art thou?" we conceal ourselves and dare not answer ...

They felt almost relieved when old Baumann came in, bringing the merry child of Champagne in its silver cradle filled with ice, which he placed before Oswald on the table. How he could have succeeded so suddenly in bringing the desired wine from the deep cellar and out of the box, this was one of those enigmas which the old man loved dearly, and which he considered, beyond the power of man to divine. Opening the bottle with skilful hand, he filled the foaming wine into the tall graceful gla.s.ses, and looked highly pleased when his mistress drank the sweet beverage almost with eagerness, and then, holding up her empty gla.s.s, exclaimed: "_Encore_, Baumann! and take a gla.s.s for yourself and drink our guest's health!"

The old servant did as he was ordered, filled a gla.s.s at the sideboard, and then drawing nearer to the table, he said:

"First your health, ma'am! for that I value above all. And may G.o.d always let your eyes s.h.i.+ne as brightly as they do now! And then your health, sir! And may Heaven bless your coming into this house, so that nothing but peace and happiness may follow it. And that is old Baumann's hearty wish."