Читать книгу Louisa of Prussia and Her Times - L. Muhlbach - Страница 16

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It was yet early in the morning; the blinds of all the windows in the Taubenstrasse 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 assiduously occupied with packing up things generally; straw was wrapped around the furniture, and then covered with linen bags. The looking-glasses 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 God 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 passion, turned his back upon us and swore never to see us again. The creditors, the debts, the embarrassments, 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 God 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 passion 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 noble 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. God has given you a noble mind, a powerful intellect—make good use of your surpassing abilities. Become as great and illustrious 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 ship, grasp the helm and steer it out upon the ocean. You are the man to pilot the ship, 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, passed his hand across his quivering face and whispered: “I have deeply wronged her; may God 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 gods 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-glasses 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 class. 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!”

“And if I now tell you for the hundredth, but not the last time, that I have not got any money?”

“Then I shall go to the war department and attach your salary.”

“Ah, my dear friend, there you would be altogether too late,” exclaimed Gentz, laughing. “My honorable landlord has outstripped you as far as that is concerned; he has attached my salary for a whole year, and I believe it is even insufficient to cover what I owe him.”

“But in the d—l’s name, sir, you must find some other means of satisfying my claim, for I tell you I shall not leave this room without getting my money.”

“My dear Mr. Werner, pray do not shout so dreadfully,” said Gentz, anxiously; “my ears are very sensitive, and such shouting terrifies me as much as a thunderstorm. I am quite willing to pay you, only point out to me a way to do it!”

“Borrow money of other people and then pay me!”

“My dear sir, that is a way I have exhausted long ago. There is no one willing to advance me money either on interest or on my word of honor.”

“But how in the d—l’s name are you going to pay me then, sir?”

“That is exactly what I don’t know yet, but after a while I shall know, and that time will come very soon. For I tell you, sir, these days of humiliations and debts will soon cease for me. I shall occupy an exalted and brilliant position; the young king will give it to me, and—”

“Fiddlesticks!” exclaimed Wemer, interrupting him; “do not feed me with such empty hopes after I have fed you with delicacies and quenched your thirst with my champagne.”

“My dear sir, I have not partaken all alone of your good cheer; my friends have helped me, and now you ask me alone to pay the whole bill. That is contrary to natural law and to political economy.”

“Mr. Counsellor, are you mocking me with your political economy? What do you know about economy?”

“Ah, I am quite familiar with it, and my book on English finances has brought me fame and honor.”

“It would have been better for you, Mr. Counsellor, if you had attended to your own finances. All Berlin knows in what condition they are.” “Nevertheless, there were always excellent men putting a noble trust in me, and believing that I would repay the money I borrowed of them. You are one of those excellent men, Mr. Werner, and I shall never forget it. Have a little patience, and I will pay you principal and interest.”

“I cannot wait, Mr. Counsellor. I am in the greatest embarrassment myself; I have to redeem large notes in the course of a few days, and unless I can do so I am lost, my whole family is ruined, and my reputation gone; then I must declare myself insolvent, and suffer people to call me an impostor and villain, who incurs debts without knowing wherewith to pay them. Sir, I shall never suffer this, and therefore I must have my money, and I will not leave this room until you have paid my claim in full.”

“In that case, my dear sir, I am afraid you will have to remain here and suffer the same distressing fate as Lot’s unfortunate wife—”

“Sir, pray be serious, for my business here is of a very serious character. Five hundred dollars is no trifle; a man may squander them in a few days, but they may cause him also to commit suicide. Pay me, sir, pay me; I want my money!”

“For God’s sake, do not shout in this manner. I told you once already that I cannot stand it. I know very well that five hundred dollars is a serious matter, and that you must have your money. I will make an effort, nay, I will do my utmost to get it for you; but you must be quiet. I pledge you my word that I will exert myself to the best of my power in order to obtain that amount for you, but in return you must promise me to go home quietly and peaceably, and to wait there until I bring you the money.”

“What are you going to do? How are you going to get the money? You told me just now you were unable to borrow any thing.”

“But somebody may give me those miserable five hundred dollars, and it seems to me that would do just as well.”

“Oh, you are laughing at me.”

“By no means, sir. Just be still and let me write a letter. I will afterward show you the address, and thereby let you know from whom I am expecting assistance.”

He walked rapidly to his desk, penned a few lines, and placed the paper in a large envelope, which he sealed and directed.

“Read the address,” he said, showing the letter to Mr. Werner.

“To his excellency the minister of the treasury, Count von Schulenburg-Kehnert, general of artillery,” read Werner, with a hesitating tongue, and casting astonished and inquisitive glances upon Gentz. “And this is the distinguished gentleman to whom you apply for the money. Mr. Counsellor?”

“Yes, my friend; and you must confess that a minister of finance is the best man to apply to for money. I have written to his excellency that I stand in urgent need of five hundred dollars today, and I request him to extricate me from my embarrassment. I ask him to appoint an hour during the forenoon when I may call upon him and get the money.”

“And you really believe that he will give you the money?”

“My dear sir, I am perfectly sure of it, and in order to satisfy you likewise, I will make a proposition. Accompany my footman to the minister’s house, carry the letter to him yourself, and hear his reply. You may then repeat this reply to my footman, go home in good spirits, and wait there until I bring you the money.”

“And if you should fail to come?” asked Werner.

“Then that last remedy you alluded to, suicide, always remains to you. Now go, my dear sir. John! John!”

The footman opened the door with a rapidity indicating that his ears probably had not been very far from the keyhole.

“John,” said Gentz, “accompany this gentleman to the house of Minister Schulenburg-Kehnert, and wait at the door for the reply he will repeat to you. And now, Mr. Werner, good-by; you see I have done all I can, and I hope you will remember that in future, and not make so much noise for the sake of a few miserable dollars. Good gracious, if I did not owe any one more than you, my creditors might thank their stars—”

“Poor creditors!” sighed Mr. Werner, saluting Gentz, and left the room with the footman, holding the letter like a trophy in his hand.