Part 5 (2/2)
I was surprised to find several ”Imperiales” on the programme of our little dance, and was told that was the latest craze all over Paris. Now nothing of the kind had ever been heard of in the terpsich.o.r.ean circles I had just left, so naturally I had no notion of what the step might be like. When I attempted it, however, it mattered little whether I danced it correctly or not, for, coming straight as I did from the French capital, I was supposed to know all about it; so the good Leipsickers soon adopted my rendering, and my step became the fas.h.i.+on.
I wanted those two waltzes and the cotillon because Bella was the best dancer in Leipsic. She must have been born under the star of rhythm; some fairy must have beaten time with a magic wand, p.r.o.nouncing a _One_-two-three, _One_-two-three blessing upon her. One would never have imagined that that reserved girl, with the far-away look, was the queen of the ballroom; true, her figure was perfect, but it was not till she waltzed that its graceful and subtle lines revealed themselves.
Curiously the far-away look never left her when dancing; she seemed to be undulating towards some distant goal, wherever that might be.
How few fairies there are to beat time at the baby's cradle! and is it not curious how seldom they go to the little boys? Dancing humanity has had to invent the valse a deux temps, that bids us close our ears to the strains of the syren, Strauss, and take two steps where there should be three. Perhaps there is some malignant fairy to visit the cradles of the little boys. One would think so, to judge by the expressions on the faces of many dancers, expressions varying from that of painful uneasiness to that of abject misery. Poor souls! Some rus.h.i.+ng wildly to destruction, others doomed to crawl out their ballroom existence, gravitating within the narrow circle of the chandelier!
Friday came, and the ball.
But I have nothing to tell about it. Bella was not there. No, Bella could not be there--she was ill.
Ill--then very ill--dangerously ill. Soon she was dead!
It all came so rapidly, it must be told rapidly, breathlessly.
When? How?--She died on Sunday night at eleven o'clock--It can't be true!--It was true.
How incredulous we are when first called upon to realise the truth! how slow to understand and believe that what was but yesterday a living form must be accounted dead to-day! Anguish rises rebellious: It cannot be.--It is a dream, a grievous mistake, to be explained away presently.
Love's giant strength would wrench its victim from death's grasp. Hope, the very last to yield--or is it but an after-glow of hope?--will catch at shadowy straws, ere it submits and sinks to rise no more.
None but the father, mother, and sister were at the bedside when the young life ebbed away. Poor tortured souls! May they be strong enough to bear the heavy trial. That night the father never shed a tear, nor the next day, nor the next. It would have been better had grief found a natural channel. He spoke but little, and mostly sat by the bed as if in deep thought, until they carried her away.
The white wreaths had come,--and the black hea.r.s.e; and graceful lilies, their long stems bound together with white ribbons. Black c.r.a.pes too, and sable hues, to harmonise with a world of sorrow and darkness.
Then the blinds went up, and the world went on as before. I looked out of the window; I recollect a boy's cap had got cast adrift on the branch of a tree just opposite the house of sadness; a little crowd had collected to do justice to the incident. ”Would it get off, or gradually perish where it hung?” was the question of paramount interest to that particular little world.
But does the world really go on as before? Not quite. A fraction of our globe has been disturbed, a balance lost. The blow that struck down one brother or sister wounds many hearts, reverberates in circles small or large, and it will take time to restore that fraction's equilibrium. It is as when we break the peaceful surface of the water. First a thud, a gash; next a circle, small, but broken and restless; then a larger one and a larger, each and all gradually calming down to be at rest, with the smooth untroubled waters beyond.
When a link in the chain of existences, near and dear to us, is snapped asunder, we instinctively seek to close up the gap, to join hands and succour one another. So Frida's heart went out to her father as he sat brooding, with his eyes fixed on the desk with the little bust. It was not till much later that I knew what she had suffered. She wished to throw her arms round his neck and cry her little aching heart out, and love him with her dead sister's love and her own, and let him cry too, that love and sorrow could mingle. But he sat there, so forbidding, so strange, that her arms fell, and her tears flowed back to the aching heart. Then she went up to him and stood by his side. The word ”father”
quivered on her lips; she knew not why, but she dared not p.r.o.nounce it.
Her mother came in and stood waiting too, hoping he would turn round, but he did not move. ”Dearest mine,” she said, ”speak to Frida.”
He lifted his head slowly, as if it were a great weight, his lips moved with an effort, and looking vacantly at his poor love-seeking child, he said, ”Never, never!”
Days pa.s.sed, and melancholy settled deeper and deeper on the sufferer.
He would occasionally show something of the old tenderness for his wife, and sometimes a spark of grat.i.tude would for moments light up the darkness of his moods. But mostly he sat brooding, prostrate, heart-stricken. If she spoke to him of Frida he would wave his hand as if to beg her to forbear, and would keep on repeating to himself the words, ”Never, never!”
She had insisted one day; she had hoped to break the spell, when he rose angrily, he the mildest of men. ”Never, never mention her name to me again,” he said sternly, then, gradually recovering himself, he returned to his seat and relapsed into silence.
The well-known physician and psychologist, Dr. Reclam, was in daily attendance on the patient. He was an old friend of the Magister's, and put heart and soul into the task of restoring him to health. He had said, ”No, she must not show herself for the present, it would be to no purpose; but you must not let a day pa.s.s without mentioning her name in some way or other; we must not allow the blight to settle upon him undisturbed.” Soon he advised change of air and surroundings. So the Magister and his wife left for Sonnenthal, a place far away in the country, where a cousin of his owned a large farm. He had spent part of his childhood there, and it was hoped that early a.s.sociations, and the soothing influence of some old trusted servants who would be around him, might go far to restore his mind to peace and rest.
Frida remained in Leipsic; she left the darkened home, and went to stay with an uncle, a well-known lawyer. He was a good man at heart, but one of those whose hearts lie so deeply hidden away that there is no getting at them. He had a boy we all hated; his heart-strings must have been hopelessly knotted and tangled, or he would never have tortured that poor kitten as he did. With the a.s.sistance of his friend, the carpenter's son, he--But no, I will not tell, for I am firmly convinced that the very mention of evil begets evil. Such is man; moulded perhaps after the Divine image in some respects, he has in his composition quite as much of his brother beasts as of divinity. Curious lord of creation!
As if there were not enough misery in the world as it is, he must needs go out of his way to torture kittens.
In this crisis of her life Frida found two friends, absolutely devoted and sympathetic: Helene and her husband. They, more than anybody, helped her through those first sad weeks. How mistaken the girls had been when they thought Helene worldly and heartless. My little flirt was then, and has proved herself through life, the most steadfast and reliable of us all. Her two brothers, the chubby boys, were now students at the Leipsic University, qualifying themselves for future town-councillors.h.i.+ps and civic honours, coupled, I presume, with some German subst.i.tute for turtle soup.
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