The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 11. Francke Kuno

The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 11 - Francke Kuno


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asks him whether he dances? Reinhold says he does, but is waiting for the chat which the General had requested. The General proceeds to unfold the railroad scheme, and elicits Reinhold's opinion. At the close of the ball, the General finds a letter telling of Ottomar's escapade with Ferdinande.]

      The last carriage had rolled away; the servants were cleaning up the rooms under the direction of Sidonie; Else, who had usually relieved her aunt of the duties of the house, had withdrawn with the excuse that she felt a little tired, in order to allow the pleasant echo of the delightful evening to pass through her thoughts again while she sat in the quiet of her room, undisturbed by the clatter of chairs and tables. It would not have been at all necessary for him to dance the Rhinelander with such grace; she would have given him in the waltz, also, the great flaming favor which she had placed at the bottom of the basket, and which she drew, luckily, with a bold grab, when it came her turn to fasten it with her trembling hands next to the iron cross on his breast. Yes, her hands had trembled and her heart had throbbed as she accomplished the great work and now looked up into his beaming eyes; but it was for joy, for pure joy and bliss. And it was joy and bliss also which now let her fall asleep, after she had laid her greatest treasures, the sketch-book with his picture and the little compass, upon her dressing-table, and put out the light – but again lighted it to cast a glance at the compass-box and assure herself that "it was always true" and "sought its master," and then opened the sketch-book at the place where it always opened of itself, to look at his picture once more – no, not the picture – it was horrible! – but at the signature: "With love!" Secretly, very secretly to impress a kiss upon it, and then quickly, very quickly, to put out the light, to press her head into her pillow, and, in her dreams, to look for him to whom she was ever true, dreaming or waking – who, she knew, would ever be true to her, waking or dreaming.

      Ottomar, too, had taken leave of the ladies, as the last guests left, with a hasty, "Good-night! I'm tired enough to drop! Where is Father?" and had gone downstairs without waiting for an answer to his question. In the hall which led to his room he had to pass his father's room. He had stopped a moment. His father, who had gone down a few minutes before, was certainly still up, and Ottomar had, on such occasions, always knocked and said at least, through the open door, "Good night!" This time he did not do it. "I am tired enough to drop," he repeated, as if he wished to excuse himself for the violation of a family custom. But, on reaching his room, he did not think of going to bed. It would not have been any use as long as the blood was raging through his veins "as if I were crazy," said Ottomar, opening his uniform covered with cotillion favors, and throwing it down. He opened his vest and collar, and got into the first piece of clothing that came to his hand – his hunting jacket – and seated himself with a cigar at the open window. The night was perceptibly cool, but the cool air was grateful to him; lightning flashed from the black clouds, but he took no notice of it; and thus he sat looking out on the black autumn night, puffing his cigar – revolving his confused thoughts in his perturbed mind, and not hearing, because of the throbbing of his pulse in his temples and the rustling of the wind in the branches, that there had twice been a knock at his door; shrinking like a criminal, as now the voice sounded close in his ear. It was August.

      "I beg your pardon, Lieutenant! I have already knocked several times."

      "What do you want?"

      "The General requests the Lieutenant to come to him at once."

      "Is Father sick?"

      August shook his head. "The General is still in his uniform and doesn't look sick, only a little – "

      "Only a little what?"

      The man ran his fingers through his hair. "A little strange, Lieutenant! I think, Lieutenant, the General – "

      "The devil! Will you speak?"

      August came a step nearer, and said in a whisper, "I think the General received a bad letter a while ago – it may have been half-past eleven. I didn't see the one who brought it, and Friedrich didn't know him, and he probably went away immediately. But I had to take the letter to the General myself, and the General made a curious face as he read the letter – "

      "From a lady?"

      August could not suppress a smile in spite of the genuine concern which he felt for his young master. "I – he said – they looked differently – one will get over that in time – a highly important letter – "

      "These damned Manichæans!" muttered Ottomar. He did not understand the connection; the next note was not due for eight days – but what else could it be? His father would make another beautiful scene for him! Oh, pshaw! He would get engaged a few days earlier, if he must get engaged, if it were only finally to put an end to the disgraceful worries from which he had no rest at night in his room, and couldn't smoke his cigar in peace!

      He threw his cigar out of the window; August had taken his uniform and removed the cotillion favors. "What's that for?"

      "Does the Lieutenant prefer to put on his uniform?" asked August.

      "Nonsense!" said Ottomar. "That was just lacking to – "

      He broke off; for he could not tell August – to make the tedious story still more tedious and more serious. "I shall simply explain to Papa that in the future I do not intend to molest him further with such things, and prefer to have my affairs finally arranged by Wallbach," he said to himself, while August went on ahead with the light – the gas lights in the hall were already extinguished – down the hall, and now stopped at his father's door.

      "You may put the light on the table there, and as far as I am concerned, go to bed, and tell Friedrich to wake me at six o'clock in the morning."

      He had spoken these words more loudly than was necessary, and he noticed that his voice had a strange sound – as if it were not his own voice. It was, of course, only because everything was so still in the house – so still that he now heard the blood coursing in his temples and his heart beating.

      "The damned Manichæans!" he muttered again through his teeth, as he knocked at the door.

      "Come in!"

      His father stood at his desk, above which a hanging lamp was burning. And the lamps were still burning on the brackets before the mirror, there was an uncanny brightness in the room, and an uncanny order, although it was just exactly as Ottomar had seen it as long as he could remember. He ought really to have put on his uniform after all.

      "I beg pardon, Papa, for coming in négligé. I was just about to go to bed, and August was so insistent – "

      His father still stood at the desk, resting one hand on it, turning his back to him without answering. The silence of his father lay like a mountain on Ottomar's soul. He shook off with a violent effort the sullen hesitation. "What do you want, Papa?"

      "First, to ask you to read this letter," said the General, turning around slowly and pointing with his finger to a sheet which lay open before him on his desk.

      "A letter to me!"

      "Then I should not have read it; but I have read it."

      He had stepped back from the desk, and was going up and down the room with a slow, steady step, his hands behind him, while Ottomar, in the same place where his father had stood without taking the sheet in his hands – the handwriting was clear enough – read:

      "Highly Honored and Respected General:

      "Your Honor will graciously excuse the undersigned for venturing to call your Honor's attention to an affair which threatens most seriously to imperil the welfare of your worthy family. The matter concerns a relationship which your son, Lieutenant von Werben, has had for some time with the daughter of your neighbor, Mr. Schmidt, the proprietor of the marble works. Your Honor will excuse the undersigned from going into details, which might better be kept in that silence in which the participants – to be sure, in vain – strive to preserve them, although he is in a position to do so; and if the undersigned requests you to ask your son where he was this evening between eight and nine o'clock, and with whom he had a rendezvous, it is only to indicate to your Honor how far the aforementioned relationship has already progressed.

      "It would be as foolish as impermissible to assume that your Honor is informed of all this and has winked at


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