Part 43 (1/2)
”Be easy,” said Johann Leopold. ”I promise you to tell my grandfather nothing that need not be told. One question more. What do you know of Johanna?”
”She is with her step-mother. The woman has married again,--the circus-rider Batti, and poor Johanna has joined his troupe.”
It was true, then! Johann Leopold had put no faith in the newspaper notice which Red Jakob had given him, but he now reflected that this was the natural course of things. The artist-blood of her father, and her step-mother's unfortunate second marriage, had, when she had broken with Donninghausen, forced Johanna into the path she had taken. Perhaps, with her intensity of nature, she had meant to erect an insuperable barrier between the past and the present. She had done so. This barrier was as insurmountable in Johann Leopold's estimation as in the eyes of the world. Every drop of blood in his body was in revolt against the rider in Carlo Batti's troupe. And Aunt Thekla's 'Johanna can never live among us again' was the expression of his own conviction.
That was past and done with; but then----? Why could not his relations with Magelone remain what they had been? And why, if he must renounce her, could he not at least retain her image in stainless beauty? Her reception of him to-day, after what had occurred between Otto and herself, was a double treachery. Was she, perhaps, endeavouring from fear of her grandfather, from remorse--from a sense of duty--to conquer her heart? This must not be. It was absolutely necessary that he should resign all illusions; he must at once and forever resist temptation, fair though it was to see.
He looked up with a sigh. Magelone was just coming along the avenue, her airy figure, her light curls flooded with the golden evening glow. She was, in Johann Leopold's eyes, the very ideal of all beauty and grace.
She lightly hurried up the terrace steps, and in another moment had thrown about Johann Leopold's shoulders a fragrant wreath of vines and flowers. ”There! you shall not escape all reception festivities,” she said, archly. ”How will you defend yourself? Flowery chains should not be torn asunder.”
”Why not? Rather a torn wreath than a withered one,” he answered, bitterly, as he tossed the garland aside.
”Ugh! what a tone, and what a face!” cried Magelone. ”They would do for a farewell. But when one returns, and is received as cordially as you have been----” She paused suddenly, sat down beside Aunt Thekla, and looked abroad into the park.
”A return is often sadder than a departure,” said Johann Leopold. ”I have found much change here, and am myself more changed than all, and this you ought to know----Stay, Aunt Thekla!” he begged, as the old lady arose. ”You must hear what I have to say to Magelone.”
For a moment he paused, fearful of losing his self-control, then continued, with apparent calm: ”It is with regard, my dear Magelone, to our grandfather's desire for our marriage. You have tried hard to reconcile yourself to the thought of it, and I--although I saw how difficult this was for you--I persuaded myself for a while that you might succeed. This is over! When I went away I meant to be magnanimous in bestowing upon you a partial freedom; it could only be partial, since you knew me still bound. But now I relieve you of this last fetter; you owe me no further consideration. We are both entirely free.”
His voice had grown clear and firm. As he said the last words he arose.
”Good-night,” he added, offering his hand to his aunt and to Magelone.
”You will have to excuse me. I am fatigued by my journey.”
Magelone gave him her finger-tips without looking at him, but he possessed himself of her hand. ”You know, do you not, that I am your friend?” he asked. ”If I can ever testify this to you by deed, apply to me. Will you promise me this?”
”Certainly. I know well how trustworthy you are!” she cried, derisively, as she withdrew her hand and looked up to him with a strange flickering light in her eyes. ”Moreover, you can do something for me immediately. I want to go away! Beg grandpapa to let me go----”
”My child, what are you thinking of?” cried Aunt Thekla. And Johann Leopold asked,--
”Do you wish to go on my account?”
She tossed her head, and her cheek flushed. ”On your account? What an idea! Why, we are the very best of friends!” she said, still more derisively than before. ”No; it is the old Donninghausen tedium that drives me away. Aunt Thekla knows how I have borne it for years.”
”But, my child, you were away all last winter!” her aunt remonstrated.
”In Hedwig's and Hildegard's nurseries. Am I to regard that as a delight?” exclaimed Magelone. ”I should like for once to have a little pleasure. I want to go to Vienna, to the Walburgs'; and from them, if I can find a good escort, I want to go to St. Petersburg, to Waldemar and his wife. They have invited me so often.”
”Otto's brother. He is probably to be won over to approve their marriage,” was Johann Leopold's surmise, as he replied, ”I will do what I can, dear Magelone. But if, in spite of all I can do, our grandfather still says no,--you know he does not like to have women travel without urgent reasons,--you will find here at hand what you look for in St.
Petersburg.”
He meant, an advocate of the desire of her heart. She did not understand him. ”What I am looking for is deliverance from this place!” she cried, with burning cheeks. ”If grandpapa says no, I shall go without his permission. I have castigated myself sufficiently out of regard for the family.” She gathered up her long white dress, and hurried past Johann Leopold down into the garden.
Aunt Thekla looked beseechingly at her nephew. ”Do not be angry with her; you have each misunderstood the other,” she began. But he interrupted her: ”I am not angry, and I have not misunderstood her. On the contrary, I know what she wishes and needs, and I mean, so far as I can, to help her and Otto. Pray tell her this in your kind, gentle way.
You see I am too awkward to do so.”
With these words he kissed her hand, and went into the house.
The old lady looked after him in painful perplexity. At first it seemed to her advisable to explain to him his error. But what could she say to him? Only that Magelone had been determined to marry him. If he should wish to know more, if he should ask, 'does she love me?' what could she reply? And even if he did not ask this, if he deceived himself for the time, must he not sooner or later--too late, perhaps--discover that she did not love him? And would she, who for a fleeting fancy had not hesitated to destroy Johanna's happiness, could she sacredly guard Johann Leopold's happiness and honour?
”If I only knew what was right!” sighed Aunt Thekla. And it was only after long reflection that she found consolation in the conclusion that if it was the purpose of the Almighty that Johann Leopold and Magelone should be united, they would be so in spite of all misunderstandings, and without any help from an old woman.