Читать книгу The Breaking of the Storm - Spielhagen Friedrich - Страница 21

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"Not yet, Aunt Rikchen," said the new-comer. "How are you all? I must apologise, Herr Schmidt, for coming so late. Captain Schmidt? Should have known you from the family likeness, even if I had not heard you were expected to day. Delighted to make your acquaintance. Now no ceremony, Aunt Rikchen; I only want a bit of bread and butter and a cup of tea, if there is one, nothing more. How goes the world with you, Fräulein Ferdinanda? The 'Shepherd Boy' has got a capital place in the first room by the window. My bust's in the second--not so bad except for that abominable reflected light; but my group in the third! Night and darkness surrounds them; nor will silence be wanting--the silence of the public--broken by the shrill cackle of the critics. We poor artists! Might I ask you for a piece of sugar, Herr Schmidt?"

Reinhold could hardly help laughing. The appearance, manners, and speech of this bearded, partially bald-headed little sculptor, his cheerfulness, friendliness, and ease, all formed such a marvellous contrast to the rather stiff and irritable tone of the former occupants of the table. And now he was asking Uncle Ernst for a bit of sugar! It seemed rather like asking a lion to dance! But the lion did what he was asked, and did it amiably, with a kindly smile such as was seldom seen on that stern face.

"He succeeds better than I do," thought Reinhold. "More shame to me."

At sight of this man, who with the innocence of a child seemed able to go about the world either not seeing, or at least not caring for its dangers, Reinhold quite recovered his usual temper, and hailed with joy the appearance of this more cheerful addition to the party. The sculptor on his side was attracted by the powerful-looking man, the frank open countenance, clear blue eyes, and curly brown beard; his own small, restless, rather red eyes constantly turned in that direction, and he addressed his conversation mostly to him.

"Don't let your uncle put you out of conceit with Berlin," said he. "Let me tell you it is a charming place, and is getting more so every day. We have now got the only thing that was wanting--money, and when our pockets are full of money, you don't know all that we can do here in Berlin. Berlin is to be the capital of the world. Don't look so indignantly at me, Fräulein Ferdinanda. It is an old story for us, but Captain Schmidt is probably not in the secret yet, and we must warn him lest he should be utterly overpowered with astonishment when the sublime image of the monster is unveiled before him to-morrow, with its hundreds and thousands of heads, legs, and arms. What trouble we take over it. We feed the monster with our heart's blood. I am nothing but skin and bone as it is, and that reminds me that I have got another commission, Aunt Rikchen."

"Another monument in memory of our victories?" asked Aunt Rikchen eagerly.

"Of course! You must know, Captain Schmidt, that no small town exists, however insignificant, but must have its monument. And why not? The good people in Posemuckel are quite as proud of the six brave fellows whom they sent into the field, as we are of our six hundred or our six thousand, and are anxious to let posterity know how Tom, Dick, and Harry fought and conquered in so many battles and skirmishes, and that Fritz Haberstroh, widow Haberstroh's only son, was shot dead as a door-nail at Sedan for the honour and glory of the German Empire. And quite right and proper too, I think, and the fact that they always collect a few pounds less than will pay any living man to make anything for them, is not their fault."

"And how do you get over that difficulty?" asked Reinhold.

"He just puts a new head on an old statue, and the Victory of Germany is ready," said Uncle Ernst.

"I protest utterly against such atrocious calumny," cried the sculptor. "I tried the experiment only once, by taking away the venerable head of a Homer, who had stood for a long time in my studio, and changing him into a Germany; but it was only on account of those splendid folds, those really perfect folds, of which Hähmel in Dresden had spoken so very highly!"

"And the experiment failed?" asked Reinhold.

"Yes and no," answered Justus, rubbing his bald forehead. "No, because my Germany stands firmly fixed upon her sandstone pedestal in Posemuckel, and with the uplifted left hand holding a laurel wreath, blesses the German Fatherland and her faithful Posemucklers, while the right hand, heavily armed, sinks wearily by her side; but when the veil was drawn away, and the schoolboys sang 'Nun danket alle Gott,' then I still saw my venerable, dusty old Homer of blessed Dresden memory; the laurel wreath in the left hand became again a lyre, the sword in the right hand a Plektron. And I thanked heaven too, but it was because my fine classic folds were in Posemuckel, and not on the Dönhofsplatz here."

And the sharp red eyes of the sculptor twinkled, and every feature of his happy face that was not hidden by the rough beard sparkled with fun. Reinhold joined heartily in the laugh, as the last trace of discord vanished, and even Uncle Ernst looked from under his bushy eyebrows at the cheerful little man much after the fashion of a good-natured lion permitting a little dog to jump and bark round him.

"I wish, though, that your Germany was in the Dönhofsplatz," said he.

"Why?"

"An old and venerable trunk upon which some clever conjuror has placed a new head, which does not fit it--that seems to me a perfect picture of the new German unity, and it would be a very good thing if our compliant representatives could see it whichever way they turned."

Justus laughed heartily, as if Uncle Ernst had perpetrated the mildest of jokes.

"Listen to that," said he, turning to Reinhold.

"That is so like your uncle. His ruling passion is jealousy! He is jealous of the Almighty having made the beautiful world."

"For shame, Justus!" said Aunt Rikchen.

"And of a poor little earth-worm like myself, for every noble statue that leaves my studio. He feels that of course he could have done it so much better, and so far he is right. He is a born artist, a Michael Angelo--at least in imagination--a Michael Angelo without arms. And every stroke of the saw which cuts the marble into steps or such like contemptible articles goes through his heart, for each time he thinks, what might have been made or shaped out of this!"

"Do not talk such nonsense," said Uncle Ernst.

"It is the simple truth," cried Justus, still addressing Reinhold. "He has ideas in abundance, great ideas, sometimes not quite practical--somewhat Titanic, after the manner of Michael Angelo--but no matter. One can cut them down to one's own dwarf-like proportions and secretly laugh when he is brought face to face with the completed work, and shaking the Titanic head, murmurs, 'I had imagined something quite different. They have spoilt my idea again!'"

Uncle Ernst at this point did indeed shake his head, though not at all angrily, but with a somewhat grim enjoyment, such as Reinhold had not seen him express during the whole evening. "Can he be as susceptible to flattery as other tyrants?" thought Reinhold.

"And what is the new commission?" he asked.

"A most noble commission," answered Justus, swallowing his third cup of tea. "This time they really have got money--no end of money; that is to say, of course there will not be any over for me; it will all be spent in the actual cost of materials, unless your uncle will provide the marble, which, considering how he hates the whole business, there is very little chance of; but, at all events, the matter can be properly set going. I have been thinking it over on my way here from the committee, where it has all been pretty nearly settled."

"Well, tell us about it," said Uncle Ernst.

He had thrown himself back in his chair, and was puffing great clouds of smoke up to the ceiling from a cigar which he had just lighted. Reinhold had wished to abstain from smoking, out of respect to the ladies, but his uncle would not allow it, and said his womankind were accustomed to it. Justus, who did not smoke, was rolling little pellets of bread into a ball; he was evidently already at work.

"It is the old story, to begin with," said he; "three or four steps--we will say three--of sandstone, supporting a quadrangular pedestal of granite, upon which is a square box, upon which box finally stands Germany--Germany this time without any classic folds. The box is for the inscription--there are a lot of brave Fritzes and Johanns to be mentioned--laurel wreaths, badges, etc.; that is all easy enough. But the bas-reliefs on the pedestal--there is the difficulty. Siemering has done everything in that line that is to be done so well, and, besides, has so much more space than I have, that every one will say: 'Siemering, of course--this is all copied from him.' But it is no use thinking of that; if one has got to make a horse, he must have four legs; and if one has got to portray a campaign, there must be the march out at one end, and the return home at the other, and a fight in the middle, and patriotic ambulances; and not a line of that can be omitted. If you can't be original in your conception of the whole, you must be in detail; and as my originality entirely depends upon the merits of my models, this time I shall be wonderfully original, because my models will be wonderfully good. Departure of one of the Landwehr--for the whole thing must be popular--one of the Landwehr--Captain Schmidt."

"I?" exclaimed Reinhold, astonished.

"You and none other; I made up my mind to that an hour ago. Heaven has sent you to me, and the fact of your having been promoted from the ranks during the campaign will be very useful to me; you will know why presently. To continue. Aged father straining his son to his heart at the moment of departure." Justus lowered his voice, and glanced at the servant who had waited upon them and now left the room. "Of course old Grollman, with his queer old face, with its hundreds of wonderful wrinkles, will always be my model for the aged fathers. More of the Landwehr in the background, three or four of our workmen--fine handsome heads. Number two: Office of the District Relief Committee. Women bringing offsprings; Aunt Rikchen, as a member of the committee, examining, with a critical glance, the heaped-up offerings--that will be perfect! In one corner Cilli making lint--superb!"

"That is a very fine idea," said Uncle Ernst.

"Who is Cilli?" asked Reinhold.

"An angel," answered Justus, applying himself still more eagerly to his occupation of shaping his bread pedestal. "She is the blind daughter of good old Kreisel, your uncle's head clerk, who of course officiates as superintendent, bending over his desk and making a list of the offerings. He alone will make my work immortal. Thirdly: Battle Scene. A mounted officer waving his sword; the Landwehr, with fixed bayonets, rushing to the attack; 'Forwards! march! hurrah!' commanded by our Captain here, already promoted to be a non-commissioned officer--you see now?--and so on. Fourthly: the Return Home. The loveliest girl in the town presenting laurel wreaths--of course Fräulein Ferdinanda, now the daughter of the burgomaster; the burgomaster, a stately personage, Herr Ernst Schmidt."

"I beg you will leave me out of the question!" said Uncle Ernst.

"I beg you will not interrupt me," cried Justus. "Where in the whole world should I find so perfect a representative of the good old genuine German burgher?"

"The old genuine German burgher was a Republican," grumbled Uncle Ernst.

"So much the better," cried the sculptor. "A monument of victory is also a monument of peace. What would victory have done for us if it had not brought us peace? Peace without and peace within, irrespective of party feeling! The stronger the party feeling expressed on the faces of my figures, so much the more apparent will be the deep patriotic symbolicism that my work will show forth. So my burgomaster must let people see his Republican principles and hatred of the nobility a hundred yards off, as my general must be a concentration of feudalism and aristocraticism. And there, again, I have got quite as classic a model in its way--General von Werben."

Reinhold looked up startled; the name came so unexpectedly, and Ferdinanda had said to him before, "My father hates the Werbens!"

And, indeed, Uncle Ernst's face had suddenly become black as night, and the ladies were in evident fear that the storm might burst upon them at any moment. Ferdinanda's beautiful features were suddenly covered with a rosy flush, and as suddenly turned deadly pale. Aunt Rikchen glanced at the sculptor with a quick, anxious look, and furtively shook her head as if in warning; but he did not seem to observe anything of all this.

"It will be the culminating point of the whole thing," cried he. "On the proud warrior's face shall be a look of satisfaction, mingled with the suppression of bitter party feeling, as though he were saying, 'Dissension between us is at an end for ever;' and my general leans down from his horse and stretches out his hand to the burgomaster, who grasps it with manly emotion, which says, as plainly as any words, 'Amen!'"

"Never!" exclaimed Uncle Ernst in a voice of thunder. "Before I grasp his hand, let my right hand wither! And whoever offers me such an insult, even in effigy, between that man and me there shall be war to the knife." And he drew the knife, which he had seized, across the table, threw it aside, pushed his chair back, and staggered to his feet.

But it was only an explosion of Berserker wrath; for, as Reinhold sprang up to support him, he completely recovered his steady bearing, and said, in a voice whose forced calm contrasted strangely and painfully with the previous wild outbreak:

"We have sat too long after dinner; it stops the circulation, and then all the blood goes to the head. Good-night, Reinhold; I shall see you again to-morrow morning. Good-night all of you."

He was gone.

"What, in Heaven's name, is the meaning of that?" asked Justus.

He still sat there, the rough bread model of his monument in his hand, with wide-open staring eyes, like a child who sees a black devil jump out of a harmless-looking box. "What in the world is the matter?"

"What possessed you to mention that unlucky name?" said Aunt Rikchen. "Goodness me! that was the only thing wanting, and now you have done it!"

Ferdinanda, with a half-sigh, tried to rise from her chair; but, pressing her hand to her heart, fell back again immediately, deadly white, her beautiful head sinking against the cushion.

"What is the matter with you?" cried Aunt Rikchen. "Water--quick!--and ring the bell!"

Reinhold filled a tumbler from the water-jug, Justus flew to the bell; a maid-servant hurried in soon, followed by a second, and all the women busied themselves over the fainting girl.

"I think we are in the way here," said Reinhold, and led Justus, who was still overpowered with astonishment, into the hall.

"Now can you explain this to me?" exclaimed Justus.

"I had hoped to get some explanation from you," answered Reinhold. "I only know that my uncle hates the General, has done so since '48, so I suppose something must have happened between them then."

"By-the-way, yes. Now I recollect," cried Justus; "Aunt Rikchen did once tell me about it, but I had quite forgotten it; and even if I had not, how could I know that the old madman would get into such a state about it? Shall I come up with you?"

"Thanks, I can find my way. And you?"

"I live at the back here over my studio. You must come and pay me a visit to-morrow, and we will talk further over this wonderful business. Do you stay long?"

"I had meant to, but after this scene----"

"Oh, you must not think too much about that; I know him well. To-morrow there will not be a trace of it. He is a capital old fellow through it all. Felicissima notte! a rivederci!"

Reinhold easily found his way to his room through the well-lighted stairs and passages. The candles stood on the table, but he did not light them, the crescent moon gave light enough, and a warm breeze came in at the open window, by which he stood in deep thought.

"What a pity," he murmured; "I should have liked to cast anchor here for some time, and might have got on with the old gentleman. He seemed to me rather queer, and sometimes lets go the rudder, but it is not a very uncommon thing, and perhaps it will all pass over by to-morrow. I could soon learn his ways. He drank at least three bottles, and his eyes were bloodshot and wild before he flew out in that way. I am afraid it is rather a family failing; our old sailor grandfather--but it is not the worst of faults, and we Schmidts cannot be expected to have the aristocratic manners of the Werbens. Ferdinanda is unquestionably very handsome; the sculptor was right: 'the prettiest girl in the town!' And yet, the noble carriage, the inexpressible grace of movement, the beautiful look of the eyes, the ever-changing and always sweet expression of the features--she cannot be compared with Elsa, and indeed who could? Then she has not spoken three words. Is there nothing behind that beautiful forehead? Is that gloomy silence only a cloak whose 'classic folds' she has borrowed perhaps of her master to conceal her insignificance? I had pictured to myself something quite different when first I saw her. There was some life about her when she cut short that introduction at the railway station, and hurried me away. Certainly since then I have discovered why it was painful for her. Capulets and Montagues, only divided by a garden wall. What was that?"

The moon had risen higher; the shrubbery walk at the bottom of the garden, down which Reinhold could see some distance from the window where he stood, was in parts quite light between the bushes. Across one of the light spots a female form had just glided, only to disappear, and did not pass into the light again. But she must do so if she belonged to the house; the path went round a grass-plot in its immediate vicinity, and lay in the full light of the moon, and by leaning out a very little he could easily see over it. But why should she belong to the house? On one side of the garden was a small outhouse in which there was a lighted window. The figure might have come from thence. "And at any rate," thought Reinhold, "it is no business of yours, and you can go to bed."

He was just about to shut the window when he observed the figure again, this time in the path which ran along the wall, or wooden paling (he could not distinguish which), that on the left hand separated the garden for a little way from the neighbouring one. The wall, or paling, was overshadowed by high trees on that side. The moon shone on the right hand, but the distance was too great to distinguish with certainty more than the outline of the dark figure, as it slowly walked up and down the path, and finally stood still close to the wall, so that Reinhold could no longer see the shadow which before had been perceptible on the light background. It seemed, however, as if she leaned her head against the wall for a long time, staying in this attitude for at least two or three minutes, then she stooped and took up something, which for a moment shimmered white in the moonlight, and which she pressed to, or perhaps concealed, in her bosom. And then she came away from the wall and farther into the garden, slowly walking up and down between the bushes as she had done before on the path, but each time coming nearer till she reached the grassplot. Then she stood still, and seemed to take a sweeping glance over the house; then she came over the grass-plot. It was Ferdinanda!

Involuntarily he withdrew from the window. "Why of course! Why should it not be Ferdinanda trying to calm her shaken nerves by taking a walk in the cool night air? Her slow gait, her repeated halting--of course the leaning against the wall was a return of the fainting! He ought to have run to her assistance and picked up her handkerchief which she had let drop, instead of stopping here playing the spy! It was too bad!"

He shut his window quietly, without venturing to light any candles in the present uneasy state of his conscience, but helped himself as well as he could by the light of the moon, which certainly was bright enough, so bright indeed that long after he was in bed he lay and watched the silver rays, through an opening in the curtains, shining further and further in upon the wall, till at last the usual deep and profound sleep closed his eyelids.