A Noble Name; or, Dönninghausen

One evening, while she was playing a little thing of Chopin's, he, leaning against the grand piano, became absorbed in contemplation of her. Suddenly she looked up. Their eyes met.

"Do not look at me so," she whispered, continuing to play, while her cheek flushed crimson, as her look held fast his own, and an evil smile of triumph hovered upon her half-open lips.

On another occasion he said, suddenly dropping his jesting for a passionate tone, "What a grief it is, Magelone, that we cannot belong to each other!" She looked up at him angrily; then suddenly her eyes were veiled in sadness, and, with a sigh, she turned and left him.

On both these occasions Johanna was seated only a few steps from the pair, reading the papers aloud to her grandfather. Otto came nigh to reproaching her in his heart for her calm confidence in him.

Weeks passed by; the spring in all its pomp and loveliness had taken full possession of mountain and valley, but the workmen at Tannhagen were so far behindhand that it was necessary to postpone the marriage. The Freiherr, to whom delay was always intolerable, for a few days after this postponement went about, as Magelone expressed it, like a hungry lion, seeking to devour the poor workmen who had caused the mischief. Otto, to whom she said this, laughed, but his laughter was forced.

"Oh, the workmen are not to be the victims; he has selected me!" he replied. "That there may be no further delay, I am to take up my abode to-morrow in Tannhagen to hasten them. In that wilderness!"

"If I had only known it sooner!" Magelone exclaimed. "Elfrida invited me to Klausenburg for a few weeks; she wants me to help her to embroider your wedding-present, and I said 'yes.' I depended upon you! Now it will be stupid enough."

Otto muttered an imprecation. "Can you not excuse yourself?" he asked.

"Not possibly," she replied. "Grandpapa has given his royal consent. And do you suppose it is much more amusing here? A betrothed couple just before marriage – I could not stand it any longer!"

She laughed mockingly, then her lips quivered, and, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes, she turned to go from him.

Otto detained her. "I will not let you go!" he exclaimed, in a low, passionate tone. "I will see the tears that make me happy! We will indemnify ourselves for this last piece of good fortune of which chance tries to rob us. You will not always be embroidering or walking with Elfrida. Since I must be on service at Klausenburg for a part of every day, we can meet daily in the forest, and see each other where all these eyes are not upon us!"

He confronted her in a window-recess, and held both her hands fast in his own. She tried to extricate herself. "Let me go! let me go! What you say is odious!" she whispered.

At this moment Johanna appeared. "Are you quarrelling again?" she asked. "What is the matter now?"

"It is Otto's fault; he is so rude. Poor Johanna, you will have a hard time with him!" Magelone said; and as she passed Otto she gave him a glance compounded of forgiveness and provocation.

It had rained. The Freiherr, who dreaded the damp air, retired to try to get a nap after the second breakfast, and Johanna, taking advantage of her liberty, had Elinor saddled, and rode towards the Forest Hermitage to ask after Christine.

The lonely ride did her good. The weight that had of late oppressed her heart, the vague sensation of estrangement between Otto and herself, vanished in the bright fulness of life that encompassed her here in the forest on every hand. She thirstily drank eager draughts of the pungent air exhaled in the sunshine by the drenched earth; she listened delightedly when amid the humming, buzzing, twittering, and chirping around her she distinguished the merry song of the finch, the call of the wild dove, or the shrill, exultant note of the black thrush as it echoed through the woods. The voices of the birds awakened a thousand happy memories within her. "Otto!" she whispered, and soul and body thrilled with ecstasy. Yes, all doubt and suspicion were treachery, a sin against the Giver of such 'good and perfect gifts.'

She rode on as in a dream, and yet her soul and sense were never more alive and open to the rich life about her. Not a note in the delicious symphony of spring escaped her ear; no play of colour was lost to her eye in the million glittering drops tossed by the breeze from the branches.

Suddenly Leo began to bark, and Elinor pricked her ears. There was a rustling in the bushes on one side of the way; a man appeared from them and lifted his cap. It was Red Jakob.

Johanna reined in her horse. "Good-morning!" she said, kindly. "How is Christine? I am on my way to her."

"Thanks, gracious Fruleen; she is better," he replied in an undertone, as he came nearer. "She does not sleep well at night yet, but she gets rest during the day. She is asleep now." And with a lowering glance he added, "Shall I waken her, or will the gracious Fruleen wait awhile? I could show her a rare sight to pass the time."

Another time Johanna might have been warned by his malicious grin not to heed him, but now she did not observe it, and asked him where this wonder was to be found.

"Not far from here," he replied; "but the gracious Fruleen must dismount. I'll tie the horse, and then there is a little climb up the rocks. She must not speak, and she must step very softly, or she will spoil it all."

"'Tis a bird's-nest," Johanna said, gayly. And springing from her horse, she bade Leo stay by Elinor, and followed Jakob along a path which seemed to be but seldom used, for it was rank with weeds, and was obstructed by hanging branches of the trees. Her guide cautiously opened and bent back these to allow her to pass. Sometimes he looked round and laid his finger on his lips, then crept on, while his eyes sparkled and his sharp white teeth were buried deep in his under lip.

He reached a rocky turning, stooped to listen, and beckoned to Johanna to approach. In an instant she stood beside him; he quickly tore asunder the bushes with his sound arm and then retreated, leaving Johanna to confront, in measureless amazement, Otto and Magelone. They were sitting upon a low rock, clasped in each other's arms, and he was passionately kissing her smiling lips.

Red Jakob's burst of discordant laughter aroused them from their ecstasy.

"Johanna!" Otto cried, springing to his feet.

His voice dissolved the spell that had held her bound. With a shudder she pressed her hands to her temples, and when Otto would have grasped her arm she turned from him and tried to flee back through the thicket. Magelone, who had sat like one crushed, started up and hurried after her. "Hear me! hear me!" she cried, clutching at Johanna's riding-skirt. "I will not let you go so proudly, so – so – "

"Magelone, hush, I conjure you!" Otto entreated.

She shook her head frantically. "No, no! I will speak at last, and Johanna shall hear me. I have borne her falsehood long enough; her pride, her contemptuous airs I will not bear. She shall blush before me – me!"

And as she finished this sentence, which she uttered in desperate haste, she relinquished her hold of Johanna's skirt, stepped close to her side, and whispered in her ear, while her glittering eyes were riveted upon the pale face, "Do you know why he asked you to marry him? To save me from grandpapa's anger. The note that fell into grandpapa's hands was written for me – for me! Ask himself if this is not so."

Involuntarily Johanna's glance followed the direction of Magelone's hand. Otto, very pale, his lips tightly compressed, stood with his eyes bent on the ground. Magelone, beside herself with shame and anger, grasped his arm and shook it. "Speak!" she cried. "I require you on your honour to tell the truth. For whom was the note intended? For whom?" she repeated, as he took both her hands in his. "You are cowardly and despicable if you do not speak now. For whom was the note intended?"

"For you," he said, sternly; and then, almost flinging her hands from him, he went up to Johanna. "Do not condemn me!" he entreated. "Let me explain to you – "

But she did not or would not hear him. She hurriedly broke through the bushes, which closed behind her, and when Otto would have followed her, a scream from Magelone recalled him to where she knelt sobbing convulsively, gazing wildly about her. He could not leave her alone thus.

"Pray stand up, and do not cry," he said, impatiently, seizing her hands. She obeyed like a terrified child: she arose and dried her tears.

"What is to be done now?" he asked. And when, instead of answering, she only looked up at him with a helpless expression, he added, bitterly, "You must have had some end in view in bringing about the scene that has just occurred."

"I? End in view?" she repeated. "Was it my fault that we – that Johanna appeared?"

"Let us have no subterfuges!" he hastily interrupted her. "You know perfectly well that I do not allude to her appearance, but to the acknowledgment which, in your madness, you wrung from me. It is that which has made all reconciliation impossible. Johanna might forgive a momentary madness – "

Magelone flushed. Could he say this to her? "I did not know you wished her to forgive!" she exclaimed.

Without noticing the interruption, Otto continued: "And I believe that I could have induced her to do so. She is magnanimous and unselfish – "

"Why, then, are you still here?" Magelone interrupted him again, and her eyes flashed. "Make haste, make haste, and cast yourself into the arms of this magnanimous, unselfish being! At her feet, if need be." With a laugh, she turned and would have left him.

He barred her way. "Stay!" he said, with decision. She obeyed involuntarily. And as she stood before him with downcast eyes, and hands loosely clasped in front of her, he went on, in a hard, stern tone: "You know perfectly well that your revelations with regard to the reason for my betrothal have made my marriage impossible. But have you also reflected that I lose at the same time my means of subsistence, and that after this scandal you also will find it impossible to live on at Dönninghausen as you have done? Therefore I ask, What is to be done?"

Magelone mutely shrugged her shoulders. After a pause, Otto went on: "For us both you may be sure there remains open only one of two courses: either we must together escape immediately out into the wide world, and, unfortunately, we have no means to enable us to do so, or we must go to our grandfather like repentant sinners, throw ourselves upon his mercy, and ask his aid. The quicker we do this the better. Come, let us go instantly!"

With these words he would have taken her hand, but she recoiled from him. "No, I thank you!" she cried, in her old mocking way. "I am not yet sunk so low as to accept this sacrifice at your hands. Good heavens, what have I done? Allowed a cousin to flirt rather too desperately with me! Why, grandpapa and Johann Leopold will both easily forgive me this 'momentary madness.' Do you not think so?"

Otto changed colour. "Possibly," he replied, with forced composure. "Attempt your own rescue. Your skilful hands will be doubly skilful in the recapture of the heir – "

"And your magnanimous Johanna's heart doubly unselfish when her possession of the name of Dönninghausen is at stake," Magelone interposed. And, with an easy inclination, she gathered up her skirts and walked past Otto towards the rocky incline which led from this spot down to Castle Klausenburg. Her slender figure was poised for a second on the edge of the cliffs, then glided into the thicket; once more there was a glimpse of a fluttering blue ribbon, then it, too, vanished in the depths of green, and Otto was left alone with his shame, his indecision, his futile anger, his vague emotions.

At first it seemed intolerable to him to allow her to depart thus. He would have hurried after her; at least she should know how he loathed and despised her. But he reflected that in her vanity she would look upon his anger as an outbreak of despair at her loss, while in reality he regarded it as a deliverance that she had rejected the aid he felt bound in honour to offer her.

Instead of following her, he turned in the opposite direction, and as he hurried back along the path which had so often led him of late to meet her, memory recalled with torturing distinctness the coquettish arts by which she had sought to enslave him. And for the sake of this vain, heartless, calculating creature he had trifled away his own and Johanna's happiness! Everything about his betrothed which had previously displeased him was forgotten by him. She now seemed the embodiment of all goodness and loveliness.

Was she really lost to him? If he went to her with a frank confession of his folly and an appeal for forgiveness, would she not forgive and forget? Would she not be all the more likely to do so, knowing that his very means of existence depended upon it? There was some satisfaction in the fact to which Magelone had so scornfully referred, that he had his name to bestow in exchange. He greatly preferred giving to receiving. The longer he reflected upon the state of affairs the more he was persuaded that Johanna would lose more than himself by breaking off their engagement. And in this conviction he felt not only that he was justified in rejecting all proposals to terminate it, but that it was his duty to do so. When he reached the cross-roads leading respectively to Tannhagen and Dönninghausen, he turned without hesitation into the latter, that the 'wretched affair' might be arranged as soon as possible. He had even gone so far as to resolve upon exercising the greatest patience and moderation should Johanna, after the fashion of womankind, attach an exaggerated importance to his desperate flirtation.

But when, penetrated by the convincing force of his contemplated entreaties and representations, he reached Dönninghausen and asked for Johanna, he learned that she had not yet returned from her morning ride. What should he do, – go to meet her? No; a rider always had a pedestrian at a disadvantage. He determined to wait for her. After giving orders that he should immediately be informed of the Fräulein's return, he went into the park, to avoid any conversation with Aunt Thekla. He had never before found waiting so difficult. He tried to smoke, but after a couple of whiffs he threw his cigar away. He paced up and down the avenue in growing impatience, and, what was worst of all, his confidence diminished with every minute that passed.

Upon leaving Magelone and Otto, Johanna, unconscious whither she was going, plunged into the forest. The birds sang as before; the quivering sunbeams played among the tree-tops; sparkling drops fell from the branches or shimmered in the white anemones that were everywhere pushing forth out of last year's dry leaves. All this Johanna perceived with a strange distinctness, but she felt aloof from it all, confronted with one terrible consciousness which she could neither appreciate nor name.

At last she reached the borders of the forest, and looked around her with sad, dull eyes. Before her lay a deep stretch of moorland; below, in the valley, were the Dönninghausen meadows in their fresh green. Among them wound the road to Klausenburg. She was familiar with it all, but it was no longer what it had been, nor was she herself, nor life, the same. Her heart was so weary and desolate, her tired feet would bear her no farther. She threw herself down on the heather with a sigh. Suddenly the bushes behind her crackled and rustled. She looked round. It was Leo, who rushed out and lay, whining for joy, at her feet. He leaped up upon her, gazing at her wistfully out of his faithful eyes, – his faithful eyes! The spell was broken; all her misery lay clearly revealed to her; the sense of it filled her heart. And, throwing her arms around the dog, who seemed to understand his mistress's woe, she leaned her forehead upon his neck and burst into bitter tears.

She was sitting weeping thus when Red Jakob and Christine, who had followed Leo, emerged from the thicket. Jakob paused, but Christine ran to Johanna and threw herself upon her knees beside her. Johanna raised her head. At sight of her pale face and fixed melancholy eyes Christine's tears also flowed.

"Oh, dear Fräulein," she cried, "please, please do not be angry! Jakob has told me all. It was very wrong; but in deed and in truth he did not mean ill – "

"Never mind, Christine," Johanna interposed, rising and wiping her eyes.

But the young wife held her fast by her skirt and begged all the more fervently: "Please do not be angry with Jakob; please do not!"

He, too, now approached. "Christine, don't go on as if I had committed a crime," he said, his tone and air betraying increasing anger. "I could not look on and see how the pair of them were deceiving our Fruleen. You know that they did not meet for the first time to-day. And did I not see, too, how the fine gentleman behaved to you? Did I not see it?" With these words he raised his clinched fist and shook it.

"Oh, Jakob, you did not mean to speak of that!" Christine said, in her gentle, soothing way. "A gentleman like that doesn't mean anything when he jokes and laughs with one of us – "

"But I mean something, curse him!" shouted Jakob – and the savage sparkle of his eyes gave him more than ever the look of some beast of prey – "I'll kill him like a dog – " He suddenly fell silent before Johanna's sad, reproachful gaze. "Just like a wounded deer when it's dying," he said to himself; and he added aloud, "Indeed, indeed I meant well, if the Fruleen could only believe it!"

Johanna collected herself. "I believe it," she made answer, after a short pause; "and it is because I do so that I am convinced that, for my sake, neither of you will tell any one of what has passed."

"The Fruleen may rely upon us for that," said Jakob, standing erect. And Christine, weeping, pressed her lips to Johanna's hand. Johanna gently withdrew it from her clasp. "I must go now," she said. "Which way had I better take the soonest to find my horse?"

Jakob offered to bring the horse. Christine might conduct the Fruleen to the large beech-tree on the Dönninghausen road, and he would take Elinor to her. Johanna agreed, and Jakob hurried off, while she followed her guide to the appointed spot.

Jakob soon appeared with the horse. Johanna jumped into the saddle, hurriedly bade the pair farewell, and galloped away.

"As if death were behind her," Christine thought, as she gazed anxiously after her until the trees hid her from sight.

CHAPTER XXII

DÖNNINGHAUSEN OBSTINACY

When Johanna reached Dönninghausen, old Martin informed her that Squire Otto had been waiting for her a long while. For a moment she gazed at the old man, as if she had not understood him; then she replied, "I can see no one," and wearily went up the castle steps.

Martin shook his head as he looked after her, and as soon as he had taken Elinor to the stables betook himself to the park to inform Otto that the Fräulein had returned.

"The Fräulein looked as white as the wall," he added, with the familiarity of a man who had been a servant in the house for more than forty years. "And her eyes were twice the size they usually are. Sure she must be ill!"

Otto muttered an imprecation. He could not possibly go away without further question; to do so would give rise to all sorts of commentaries by the servants. Besides, the bell was just ringing for the second breakfast; not to obey its summons would be regarded by his grandfather as a transgression of the rules of the house, and it was more than ever incumbent upon Otto to keep the old man in good humour.

"This is another of my unlucky days. I should like to know whether other men have as much to bear as I," he said to himself as he walked towards the castle. "I wonder how Johanna will receive me? She cannot yet have told my grandfather anything, and she will have at least to control herself. Perhaps it is best it should be so. The necessity of preserving appearances may bring her to her senses."

But his hopes proved fallacious; Johanna did not appear. Aunt Thekla reported, with an anxious face, that hearing that Johanna was prevented by a violent headache from coming to breakfast, she had been to look after her, and had found her terribly pale.

"She was lying on the lounge," the old lady went on, "with her eyes closed, and could only say, in a faint voice, 'All I want, dear aunt, is rest!' I thought the fresh air would do her good; but when I began to draw aside the curtains she started up, begging me not to do so, but to leave her in darkness: he did not wish to see or to hear anything; and then she sank back and lay perfectly quiet."

"Have you sent for the doctor?" the Freiherr interposed.

"No; she forbade it; I can't tell why. Her indisposition is her own fault; she has been taking one of those wild rides again, and does not want to confess it. Indeed, dear Johann, you must forbid her riding so much."

"Nonsense!" cried the Freiherr. "What has riding to do with it? You women could not exist without your headaches. Johanna is following the fashion. But what the deuce is the matter with you, lad?" he blurted out, turning to Otto, half laughing, half vexed. "Letting every dish pass you untasted, and looking like – have you a headache out of pure sympathy? Don't drive me altogether wild!"

Otto tried to control himself; but Aunt Thekla's suspicions had been aroused and would not be laid to rest. After breakfast, while the Freiherr was reading the papers, she drew Otto into one of the window-recesses, and said, with decision, "Something has occurred between Johanna and you. Tell me what it is. You know how I love you both."

Otto would have refused to satisfy her anxiety; but when he looked into his aunt's kind, pleading eyes, he remembered how often he had as a boy appealed to her, and never in vain, for aid, and it struck him that he could find no better intercessor. "You are right, my dear aunt," he replied, kissing her hand. "I will make my confession to you, hard though it is. You are my last, my sole hope, – and you will help me, I know, and not reproach me. Heaven knows I do that enough myself!" And he told her, briefly, and with as much frankness as he could command, the history of his betrothal, and of to-day's wretched scene in the forest.

The old lady listened with the most painful and contradictory sensations. Her integrity, her sense of honour, were outraged by the treachery of Otto's and Magelone's conduct towards Johanna, and yet her warm, kindly heart could not forbear pitying Otto in the midst of his complaints and self-reproaches, and her stern loyalty to the Dönninghausens impressed upon her the conviction that now, as at all other times, the first consideration was the preservation of the honour of the name. She was quite ready, at Otto's request, to undertake the task of reconciliation, and went up to see Johanna.

The curtains were still closed, but Johanna was no longer lying down. With hands clasped in front of her, she was restlessly walking to and fro. When the door opened, she turned and came towards it.

"My poor, dear child," Aunt Thekla began, but paused in dismay, as, even in the dim light, she distinguished the expression of Johanna's countenance. Not a trace was to be seen of weakness or of need of sympathy: the pale face was as if carved in marble. Nothing that the old lady had prepared to say would fit this occasion.

"Are you better?" she asked at last, to put an end to the distressing silence.

"Yes, dear aunt; do not trouble yourself about me," Johanna replied, with forced composure.

Aunt Thekla sighed. It grieved her that the young girl had so little confidence in her, but it should not deter her. "Come, sit down by me; I want to talk with you," she said, taking her seat on the lounge. And when Johanna mechanically obeyed, she added, "You need put no force upon yourself; Otto has made a frank confession to me."

"Scarcely frank!" Johanna said, contemptuously.

"You do him injustice!" Aunt Thekla cried. "He said not one word to excuse himself; on the contrary, he accused himself bitterly. If you could have heard how he repents and longs for your forgiveness, you would grant it him with all your heart."

"I cannot," Johanna said, without looking up.

"Oh, do not say that! You not only can, but you must forgive. Do we not pray every day, 'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us'?"