The Romance of the Canoness Part 9

I did my best to calm him, and, as I had the reputation among my paris.h.i.+oners of being an enlightened and not fanatical preacher, succeeded in partially soothing him and inspiring his soul with some degree of trust in G.o.d's mercy.

As I returned through our own village in the gathering dusk of twilight, I saw a little group of children standing in front of the tavern, staring at two dusty, shabby carriages. The first was an ordinary, four-seated calash, with a torn leather covering, and a broken spring under the box, temporarily mended with ropes. The second vehicle was a large, windowless box on a rough platform, such as is commonly used for a furniture-van. Of the people traveling in this extraordinary equipage I saw only two persons, who were sitting on the little bench beside the tavern-door, a bold-eyed, pale-faced young fellow, not more than twenty, who, with his straw hat trimmed with a dirty blue ribbon, pushed far back on his head, and his hands thrust into his pockets, was saying to his companion, amid frequent yawns, all sorts of things I could not understand. He had a bottle of beer beside him, from which he occasionally filled a gla.s.s, held it up to the light, and then emptied it at one draught.

The girl by his side was probably sixteen or eighteen years old. Her appearance was disagreeable to me at the first glance, though no one could have helped owning that her prettiness was more than the mere beauty of youth. But the bold way in which she turned up her little nose, the scornful looks she cast at the villagers, and especially the soulless laugh with which she greeted her companion's jests, were thoroughly repulsive to me.

Her dress was as shabby as the vehicle in which she had arrived. But she had fastened a huge red bow into her black hair, and fancied herself sufficiently adorned in comparison to the barefooted children.

Her little dirty hand held a few flowers, which she continually bit with her sharp white teeth, and then spat the leaves out of her mouth again.

The landlady, who came forward when she saw me stop before the house, told me that they were actors. There was a married couple, too, but they were in their room. The manager had gone up to the castle to speak to the baron.

I don't know why the sight of the poor traveling players was so repulsive to me. One might almost believe in some prophetic gift of the soul, for I had long been cured of my aversion to actors by Fraulein Luise's opinion of them.

So I did not linger long, but briefly reported to my old pastor how I had found his paris.h.i.+oner in the village--we were now one in heart and soul, including the pastor's wife--and then walked rapidly to the castle. As I turned from the elm avenue into the court-yard, I instantly perceived that something unusual was occurring. A groom was leading up and down a saddled horse, which I recognized from the silver-mounted bridle as Cousin Kasimir's. During the months that had pa.s.sed since the latter's rejection, he had only come to the castle when he had some business matter to settle with the baron, and never remained to dine or to spend the evening. Yet this surely could not be the cause of the general excitement. Almost all the servants were standing, whispering together, near the staircase, on whose upper step the baron's valet and the cook--the two most zealous gatherers and diffusers of everything that happened in the household--had stationed themselves like two sentinels. They were so thoroughly absorbed in their office of listening, that they did not even move as I pa.s.sed.

True, this task was certainly made very easy for them.

Voices were ringing through the s.p.a.cious entrance-hall in tones so loud and excited that every word could be distinctly heard outside of the lofty doors. Within I saw the master of the house, his face deeply flushed, and beside him Cousin Kasimir, with his hat on one side of his head and in his hand a riding-whip with which he beat time to his uncle's words; behind the gla.s.s door appeared the faces of the two children and Mademoiselle Suzon, pressed closely against one another, while opposite to the baron stood a handsome, finely formed man, the cause and center of the whole scene, whom I had no difficulty in recognizing as the manager of the company of actors.

He was showily dressed in a blue coat with gilt b.u.t.tons, black trousers, red velvet vest, and light cravat. Yet, this somewhat variegated attire was by no means unbecoming to him, since it made his symmetrical and not over-corpulent figure more conspicuous. His head was gracefully poised on his broad shoulders; but at first I only saw the l.u.s.trous black locks that fell rather low on his neck, then, as he turned his face, the finely cut profile and light-gray eyes, whose expression was both honest and self-conscious. He held in his left hand a pair of yellow gloves and a black hat, while he gesticulated eagerly with his right, making a red stone in his large seal ring glitter.

"Only one night, only this one night, Herr Baron," I heard him say in a resonant, somewhat theatrical voice, which, however, had a certain cadence that touched the heart. "If I must give up proving to you and your honored family, by a recitation, that you are not dealing with an ordinary strolling company, but with an artist by the grace of G.o.d--"

"I forbid you to utter the name of G.o.d uselessly," the baron vehemently interrupted. "The calling you pursue has nothing in common with G.o.d or divine things. We know what spirit rules those who devote themselves to your profession. And, in short, I shall not change what I have said."

"I will not discuss the matter further, Herr Baron," replied the actor with quiet dignity. "But consider, there is a sick woman in my company, who has been made much worse by the journey here over the rough roads.

If she is permitted to rest this one night, we shall continue our way to-morrow with lighter hearts. Therefore I most earnestly beseech--"

"You have nothing to beseech; I have expressed my will," cried the baron furiously, pa.s.sing his hand through his beard, which with him was always a sign of extreme anger. "I have told you that the control of the police regulations in the district intrusted to my care is in my hands, and that I could not reconcile it to my conscience if to-morrow, on the Lord's day, a few paces from the house in which his word is preached, one might meet a company of strolling players, whose depravity is stamped upon their brows. You will therefore return to your people at once, and see that they are ordered outside the limits of the village within an hour."

These words were accompanied with such an unequivocal gesture toward the door that I believed the final decision had been uttered. But the actor stood motionless, save that he turned his head toward the side where the stairs led to the upper story, and, as my glance followed his, I saw what had silenced him, though I did not instantly perceive the true cause. In the dusk above us, on the central landing, stood the tall, slender figure of the Canoness.

All eyes were involuntarily fixed upon her where she leaned, as though turned to stone, against the railing. She had grown deadly pale; life seemed to linger only in her eyes.

"Fraulein," I heard the stranger exclaim in a tone of the most joyful surprise, "you appear before me like an angel of deliverance. Can you refuse to say a word in my behalf? Consider that the point in question is not so much my sorely insulted dignity as an artist, as a simple duty of benevolence. Through a mistake, in taking what I supposed to be a short cut, I came here. For two years I have had the privilege of giving performances in the cities of Pomerania and the Mark, and, after spending several weeks in L----, I intended to go to R----, where I meant to practice my art during the last months of summer. I should probably have reached the railway-station to-day, had not the lady who plays the old woman's parts in my company been taken violently ill. And now the Herr Baron, as you have heard, wants to turn us out of his territory as though we were a band of gypsies. You, who know me, Fraulein, will not hesitate to be my security; you will explain to the baron--"

The n.o.bleman did not let him finish.

"Do you dare, sir!" he shrieked (his voice sounded like the creaking of a weatherc.o.c.k in a storm), "do you presume to appeal to my own niece for support? Do you wish to shake the foundations of the authority on which the life of every Christian family is founded? Such unprecedented insolence--"

His voice suddenly failed, he tore open his coat to get more air, and his hand groped around as though seeking some weapon to expel the intruder by force.

Just at that instant we heard from the staircase the firm voice of the Canoness, only it sounded somewhat deeper than usual.

"Consider what you are doing, uncle. It would ill beseem the honor of this house to turn from its threshold a suppliant who asks of you nothing save what Christian love and G.o.d's command alike enjoin upon you as a duty. I know this gentleman. I know him to be an admirable artist, and a man of unsullied honor. To refuse him admittance to your house is your own affair, but to deny him permission to rest for a night in the village below, especially when a human life is perhaps at stake, is an act you can not justify before G.o.d or man."

A deathlike silence followed these words. No sound was heard in the s.p.a.cious hall save the gasping breath of the baron, who was vainly striving to speak. Then the actor's fine baritone, in which there now seemed to me a slight tone of affectation, echoed on the stillness.

"I thank you, most honored lady, thank you from my heart, for bestowing your sympathy upon a misunderstood disciple of Thalia. True, I expected nothing else from your n.o.ble soul. Will you now fill up the measure of your goodness by explaining to your uncle--"

A sharp cracking sound interrupted him. Cousin Kasimir, who during the whole scene had been casting furious glances around him and only waiting for a moment when he might interfere, struck his riding-whip violently against the top of his high boot and advanced a step.

"Silence!" he shouted, his mustache quivering with excitement. "You have heard that you have nothing more to ask or expect here, and if you carry your insolence so far as to throw upon a member of this family the suspicion of standing in any relation whatever to the head of a band of jugglers, the baron, whose patience amazes me, will have you driven out of his grounds by the field-guard. Do you understand, sir?

And, now, without further ceremony--"

He advanced another step toward him and, with a threatening gesture, raised the hand that held the whip. But the actor did not cease playing his _role_ of hero for an instant.

"Who are you, sir?" he exclaimed, without yielding an inch, "that you dare to a.s.sume a tone whose ill-breeding befits no cultured man. You seem to be abandoned by all the Muses and Graces, and I pity you. It can hardly surprise me that a country n.o.bleman has never heard the name of Konstantin Spielberg. But in any other place I would call you to account for speaking of my company of artists, which has been honored by the concession of a distinguished government, as a band of jugglers.

In this house, and out of respect for the ladies present, I can only say that I include you among the profane _vulgus_ whose opinion I despise."

He raised his right arm with an impressive gesture, as though hurling an anathema against some worthless heretic or insulter of majesty, and at the same time, with expanded chest and locks tossed back, fearlessly confronted his foe. Then something happened which drew from me a low exclamation of terror. The riding-whip whizzed through the air and struck the uplifted hand of the artist, who staggered back, speechless with pain and rage.

"Scoundrel!" cried the n.o.bleman's sharp voice, "dare--dare you tell me to my face--"

But he could say no more. The Canoness, whose approach had been unnoticed, suddenly stood between the furious men with her tall figure drawn up to its full height.

"Back!" she said imperiously to the young n.o.bleman. It was only one word, but uttered in a tone that must have pierced to the very marrow of his bones, for I saw him turn as white as chalk, stammer a few unmeaning words, and draw his head between his shoulders. But, without vouchsafing him even a glance, she went up to the ill-treated stranger, seized the hand hanging loosely down, on which a deep-red mark was visible, and stooping, pressed a hasty kiss upon it.

Then in a loud voice, trembling with secret emotion, she said: "Forgive this poor creature, he does not know what he is doing. And now shake off the dust of this house from your shoes. You will hear from me again."

Once more a deathlike stillness pervaded the hall. But it lasted only a few minutes. Then we heard the actor say: "I shall be your debtor to my dying day, most gracious lady."

The next instant he turned toward the door, pa.s.sed me with haughty, echoing strides, and went out upon the steps.

Spite of my terrible excitement, I retained sufficient deliberation to look keenly at him. For the first time I saw his full face, whose remarkable regularity of feature and a certain dreamy l.u.s.ter in the eye aroused my astonishment. Nevertheless, he did not attract me. I thought I detected in his expression, instead of manly indignation, a trace of satisfied vanity, Such as may be seen in an actor who has just made an effective exit and, while the curtain is falling, tells himself that he is an admirable fellow. I could not help thinking involuntarily how different would be my feelings if such a girl had done _that_ for me, how humbly, enraptured by such divine favor, my heart would s.h.i.+ne from my eyes. And he seemed to be merely reflecting how brilliantly he had retired from the stage, not at all how he had left his fellow actor upon it.

I gazed anxiously at the heroine of this improvised drama. She was standing motionless, her eyes fixed with a look full of earnestness and dignity upon the door through which the man whom she had protected had disappeared. Her face looked as though chiseled from marble, her hands hung by her side, and ever and anon a slight tremor ran through her frame.

The master of the house also stood as if he were turned to stone. Not until Cousin Kasimir went up and whispered something to him did any semblance of life return. He drew a long breath, then, without moving from the spot, said: "Go to your room, Luise, and wait there for what more I have to say. Until then I leave you to your own conscience."

He turned quickly away and walked, followed by Cousin Kasimir, through the gla.s.s door, which he banged noisily behind him, into the dining-room, whither the three watching faces had shrunk, startled, from the panes.

Luise still stood lost in thought, showing no sign that she had heard the imperious words. But, just as I was about to approach her and a.s.sert my modest claim of friends.h.i.+p, she seemed to suddenly awake, but without taking any notice of me. I heard her say to herself: "It is well! Now it is decided!" Then she quietly pressed her hand on her heart as if she felt a pang there, nodded thoughtfully twice, and walked slowly up the steps of the great staircase, while I looked after her in gloomy helplessness.

As soon as I found myself again alone and recalled all the events I had just witnessed, I felt, with a certain sense of shame for the pettiness of my nature, that fierce jealousy was consuming every other emotion.

So she had known and honored this man in former days. She had even placed him on so high a pedestal in her thoughts that the proud woman--before whom, in my opinion, the best and n.o.blest must bow and hold themselves richly compensated by one kind look for every annoyance they encountered--did not for an instant consider herself too good to kiss his hand.

And he had received this homage as if it were his due, and thanked her with a cold, high-sounding speech.