Part 14 (1/2)
CHAPTER XII.
FREDERICK GENTZ.
It was yet early in the morning; the blinds of all the windows in the Taubenstra.s.se were as yet firmly closed, and only in a single house an active, bustling life prevailed. At its door there stood a heavy travelling-coach which a footman was busily engaged in loading with a large number of trunks, boxes, and packages. In the rooms of the first story people were very active; industrious hands were a.s.siduously occupied with packing up things generally; straw was wrapped around the furniture, and then covered with linen bags. The looking-gla.s.ses and paintings were taken from the walls and laid into wooden boxes, the curtains were removed from the windows, and every thing indicated that the inmates of the house were not only about to set out on a journey, but entirely to give up their former mode of living.
Such was really the case, and while the servants filled the anterooms and the halls with the noise of their preparations, those for whom all this bustle and activity took place were in their parlor, in a grave and gloomy mood.
There were two of them--a lady, scarcely twenty-four years of age, and a gentleman, about twelve years older. She was a delicate and lovely woman, with a pale, sad face, while he was a vigorous, stout man with full, round features, and large vivacious eyes which at present tried to look grave and afflicted without being able to do so; she wore a travelling-dress, while his was an elegant morning costume.
Both of them had been silent for awhile, standing at the window, or rather at different windows, and witnessing the removal of the trunks and packages to the travelling-coach. Finally, the lady, with a deep sigh, turned from the window and approached the gentleman who had likewise stepped back into the room.
”I believe the trunks are all in the carriage, and I can set out now, Frederick,” she said, in a low and tremulous voice.
He nodded, and extended his hand toward her. ”And you are not angry with me, Julia?” he asked.
She did not take his hand, but only looked up to him with eyes full of eloquent grief. ”I am not angry,” she said. ”I pray to G.o.d that He may forgive you.”
”And will YOU forgive me, too, Julia? For I know I have sinned grievously against you. I have made you shed many tears--I have rendered you wretched and miserable for two years, and these two years will cast a gray shadow over your whole future. When you first entered this room, you were an innocent young girl with rosy cheeks and radiant eyes, and now, as you leave it forever, you are a poor, pale woman with a broken heart and dimmed eyes.”
”A DIVORCED wife, that is all,” she whispered, almost inaudibly. ”I came here with a heart overflowing with happiness--I leave you now with a heart full of wretchedness. I came here with the joyous resolution and fixed purpose to render you a happy husband, and I leave you now with the painful consciousness that I have not bestowed upon you that happiness which I sought so earnestly to obtain for myself. Ah, it is very sad and bitter to be under the necessity of accepting this as the only result of two long years!”
”Yes, it is very sad,” he said, sighing. ”But after all, it is no fault of ours. There was a dissonance in our married life from the start, and for that reason there never could be any genuine harmony between us.
This dissonance--well, at the present hour I may confess it to you, too--this dissonance simply was the fact that I never loved you!”
A convulsive twitching contracted the pale lips of the poor lady. ”You were a great hypocrite, then,” she whispered, ”for your words, your solemn vows never made me suspect it.”
”Yes, I was a hypocrite, a wretch, a coward!” he exclaimed, impetuously. ”They overwhelmed me with exhortations, supplications, and representations. They knew so well to flatter me with the idea that the beautiful, wealthy, and much-courted heiress, Julia Gilly, had fallen in love with me, the poor, unknown Frederick Gentz, the humble military counsellor. They knew so well to depict to me the triumph I would obtain by marrying you, to the great chagrin of all your other suitors.
Flattery intoxicates me, and a success, a triumph over others, fills me with the wildest delight. My father spoke of my debts, my creditors threatened me with suits and imprisonment--”
”And thus,” she interrupted him--”thus you sacrificed me to your vanity and to your debts--you falsely vowed a love to me which you never felt, and accepted my hand. My father paid your debts, you solemnly promised to all of us not to incur any new ones, but you utterly broke your pledges. Instead of squandering hundreds as heretofore, you henceforth lavished thousands, until my whole maternal property was gone--until my father, in a towering pa.s.sion, turned his back upon us and swore never to see us again. The creditors, the debts, the embarra.s.sments, reappeared, and as I had no money left with which to extricate you from your difficulties, you thought you owed me no further respect and were not under the necessity of remembering that I was your wife. You had a number of love-affairs, as I knew very well, but was silent.
Love-letters arrived for you, not from one woman with whom you had fallen in love, but from G.o.d knows how many. I was aware of it and was silent. And when you were finally shameless enough to let the whole city witness your pa.s.sion for an actress--when all Berlin spoke contemptuously of this flame of yours and of the follies you committed in consequence--then I could be silent no longer, and my honor and dignity commanded me to apply for a divorce.”
”And every one must acknowledge that you were perfectly right. As a friend I could not have given you myself any other advice, for I shall not and cannot alter my nature. I am unable to accustom myself to a quiet and happy family life--domestic felicity is repulsive to me, and a feeling of restraint makes me rear and plunge like the n.o.ble charger feeling his bit and bridle for the first time. I can bear no chains, Julia, not even those of an excellent and affectionate wife such as you have been to me.”
”You can bear no chains,” she said, bitterly, ”and yet you are always in chains--in the chains of your debts, your love-affairs, and your frivolity. Oh, listen to me--heed my words for once. They are as solemn as though they were uttered on a death-bed, for we shall never see each other again. Fancy a mother were speaking to you--a mother tenderly loving you. For I confess to you that I still love you, Gentz--my heart cannot yet break loose from you, and even now that I have to abandon you, I feel that I shall forever remain tenderly attached to you. Oh, true love is ever hopeful, and that was the reason why I remained in your house, although my father had applied for a divorce. I was always in hopes that your heart would return to me--oh, I did not suspect that you had never loved me!--and thus I hoped in vain, and must go now, for our divorce will be proclaimed to-day, and honor forbids me to remain here any longer. But now that I am going, listen once more to the warning voice of a friend. Frederick Gentz, turn back! Pursue no longer the slippery path of frivolity and voluptuousness. Break loose from the meshes of pleasures and sensuality. G.o.d has given you a n.o.ble mind, a powerful intellect--make good use of your surpa.s.sing abilities. Become as great and ill.u.s.trious as Providence has intended you if you but be true to yourself. See, I believe in you, and although you only seem to live for pleasure and enjoyment, I know you are destined to accomplish great things, provided you strive to do so. Oh, let me beseech you to change your course, and to emerge from this whirlpool of dissipation and profligacy. Close your ears to the alluring songs of the sirens, and listen to the sublime voices resounding in your breast and calling you to the path of glory and honor. Follow them, Frederick Gentz--be a man, do not drift any longer aimlessly in an open boat, but step on a proud and glorious s.h.i.+p, grasp the helm and steer it out upon the ocean. You are the man to pilot the s.h.i.+p, and the ocean will obey you, and you will get into port loaded with riches, glory, and honor. Only make an effort.
Remember my words, and now, Frederick Gentz, in order to live happily, never remember me!”
She turned round and hastily left the room. He stood immovable for several minutes, dreamily gazing after her, while her words were still resounding in his ears like an inspired prophecy. But when he heard the carriage roll away on the street, he started, pa.s.sed his hand across his quivering face and whispered: ”I have deeply wronged her; may G.o.d forgive me!”
Suddenly, however, he drew himself up to his full height, and a gleam of intense joy burst forth from his eyes. ”I am free!” he exclaimed, loudly and in a tone of exultation. ”Yes, I am free! My life and the world belong to me again. All women are mine again, Cupid and all the G.o.ds of love will boldly flit toward me, for they need not conceal themselves any longer from the face of a husband strolling on forbidden grounds, nor from the spying eyes of a jealous wife. Life is mine again, and I will enjoy it; yes I enjoy it. I will enjoy it like fragrant wine pressed to our lips in a golden goblet, sparkling with diamonds. Ah, how they are hammering and battering in the anteroom! Every stroke of theirs is a note of the glorious song of my liberty. The furniture of my household is gone; the pictures and looking-gla.s.ses are all gone--gone.
The past and every thing reminding me thereof shall disappear from these rooms. I will have new furniture--furniture of gold and velvet, large Venetian mirrors, and splendid paintings. Oh, my rooms shall look as glorious and magnificent as those of a prince, and all Berlin shall speak of the splendor and luxury of Frederick Gentz. And to whom shall I be indebted for it? Not to any wife's dower, but to myself--to myself alone, to my talents, to my genius! Oh, in regard to this at least, poor Julia shall not have been mistaken. I shall gain fame, and glory, and honors; my name shall become a household word throughout all Europe; it shall reecho in every cabinet; every minister shall have recourse to me, and--hark! What's that?” he suddenly interrupted himself. ”I really believe they are quarrelling in the anteroom.”
Indeed, a violent altercation was heard outside. Suddenly the door was pushed open, and a vigorous, broad-shouldered man, with a flushed and angry face, appeared on the threshold.
”Well,” he exclaimed, with a bitter sneer, turning to the footman who stood behind him, ”was I not right when I told you that Mr. Counsellor Gentz was at home? You would not announce me, because your master had ordered you not to admit any visitors of my cla.s.s. But I want to be admitted. I will not permit myself to be shown out of the anteroom like a fool, while the counsellor here is snugly sitting on his sofa laughing at me.”
”You see, my dear Mr. Werner, I am neither sitting on my sofa nor laughing at you,” said Gentz, slowly approaching his angry visitor. ”And now let me ask you what you want of me.”
”What I want of you?” replied the stranger, with a sneer. ”Sir, you know very well what I want of you. I want my money! I want the five hundred dollars you have been owing me for the last twelve months. I trusted your word and your name; I furnished you my best wines--my choicest champagne and the most exquisite delicacies for your dinner parties. You have treated your friends; that was all right enough, but it should have been done at your expense, and not at mine. For that reason I am here, and you must pay me. For the hundredth and last time, I demand my money!”