They sat, and stood about, with glasses in their hands, and talked of the piece and the declamation. They all agreed that Doctor Winimer had this time, as always, surpassed them all, and that Miss Marie Kubel had not yet spoken loud enough, although, generally speaking, she might be said to have made some progress. The gentlemen gave each other marks, as they did with their school-boys, and of course all received the highest number. The ladies spoke of the sublime poet, of the chaste nobility of his verses. Miss Ida Snellius insisted that Schiller reminded her frequently of Euripides, whereupon the circle fell into a learned discussion, in which the words Sophocles, Goethe, Schiller, Aristophanes, aeschylus, Euripides, Don Carlos, Oedipus upon Colonos, and Wallenstein, were tossed to and fro like snow-flakes.
Oswald looked for the author of the "Cornflowers," whom he had lost sight of since the beginning of the pause. He found her in a window-recess of the second room (otherwise the chaste bed-chamber of the two Misses Clemens), whispering eagerly to her husband. He was about to withdraw modestly so as not to disturb the _tete-a-tete_, but Primula rose as soon as she saw him, seized his hand and drew him into the recess.
"Speak low," said Primula, with the hollow voice of a ghost.
"What is the matter?" asked Oswald, in the same tone.
"You shall tell me whether I ought to read!" breathed Primula; "Jager has no sensibility for such a disgrace."
"Oh! yes, dearest Augusta," whispered the professor; "but I should like to avoid a scene; I pray you, darling, what will the people say when--oh, I cannot think of it."
"I should be disposed to agree with the professor," said Oswald. "I do not see how you can be saved after being once entrapped into this lion's den."
"Is the author of the 'Cornflowers' a murderer--a wretched assassin?"
whined Primula. "Never, never!"
"It is disgraceful," chimed in Oswald; "but the interpreter of Chrysophilos is in the same position, and you see he bears his hard fate with dignity."
A pressure of the hand from the professor rewarded Oswald for this flattery.
"Oh, you men have no feelings for insults," sobbed Primula. "Well, I will try, but if----"
The stormy ringing of the president's bell from the adjoining room cut Primula short. She stepped ahead of the two gentlemen with the air of one who has formed a resolution, happen what may.
"Now it will soon be our turn," said Doctor Winimer, as they took their seats under continued ringing of bells, to Oswald; "don't be afraid, and read bravely on. Even if you do not do very well the first time, it will be better the second time, and practice makes the master."
"Whom I admire and revere in you," replied Oswald, bowing.
"Well, well," said Doctor Winimer, rubbing his hair, with a smile; "it might be better. To be sure when I recently heard Holtei, who is probably the best reader in Germany, the old saying _Anch' i sono pittore_ came at once into my mind."
"I believe it," said Oswald.
The bell ceased to ring, and Doctor Broadfoot, as Colonel Butler, raised his voice, and cried so that the windows rattled:
"He is inside. Fate led him hither."
The murderous night at Castle Eger progressed now rapidly from scene to scene. Oswald was so curious about the manner in which Primula would take her fate, especially since he had seen her excitement grow apace as the fatal moment approached, that he could hear the words of Fraulein Neubrunn, "The Swedish captain is here," without excitement.
He actually asked Princess Thekla--Thusnelda, quite coolly, and without the slightest palpitation of the heart, to pardon him for his "rash, inconsiderate words." Nor did he notice the uncalled-for warmth of feeling with which Miss Clemens recited the words:
"A fatal chance has made you, A stranger, quickly my familiar friend,"
although her tone made Doctor Winimer feel bitter pangs in his heart.
Miss Fredegunda looked most significantly at her Doctor Broadfoot. He did not notice the murmured applause which followed his recital of the death of the cavalry-colonel; and the following scenes also passed unnoticed, till at last the fatal net encloses Wallenstein altogether in its meshes, and dark Colonel Butler distributes, in the secrecy of his rooms, the parts to be taken by the murderers. Already Major Geraldine has hurried off with his bloody commission, and--now the moment comes, when (on the stage) the curtain parts and the grim captains Devereux and MacDonald present themselves in collar and tall riding-boots, and long swords at their side, before the commander of their regiment.
"What is she going to do?" thought Oswald, as he saw the face of the sufferer turn pale and red by turns; "she is not going to read."
But Primula overcame the noble indignation which made her heart swell, cleared her voice, and said, with the soft voice of a saint who surrenders himself into the hands of the executioners:
"Here we ARE, general!"
The lady manager, who thought the accent ought to have been upon the word _we_, because there were two murderers, availed herself of the right conferred on her by -- 73 of the regulations, and said:
"Here WE are, general!"
That was too much. The string was overstrained; it snapped asunder; the insulted poetess rose, closed her book with a jerk, and said with pale lips:
"I am sorry if I disturb the company by my declaration that I am unable to read any more. But as I--can--not even--read a part--which--I must force myself--violently--to read--"
She could say no more, but fell back into her chair and broke into convulsive weeping.
The consternation which this scene produced in the harmless company could not have been greater. They rose suddenly from their seats; they crowded around the sobbing poetess; they asked one another what was the matter with Mrs. Jager? and the professor if his wife was subject to such attacks? Nobody suspected the true cause of her condition, which the gentlemen tried to remedy by persuasion, and the ladies by Cologne water. But Primula would accept neither the one nor the other. After a few seconds she rose from her chair, declared decidedly that she must go home, and went out without saying good-by to any one, hanging on the arm of her husband, who had made a very foolish face during the whole scene.
At the moment when the company, extremely surprised by the disappearance of such honored guests, were still standing about in the sitting-room and discussing the facts, a letter was handed to Oswald, which, as the parlor-maid said, "a young man had brought, who was waiting for an answer."
Oswald opened the note, which contained only the words:
"Make haste and come away. I am waiting below.--Timm."
Oswald did not neglect such an admirable pretext to escape from a company which became every moment more and more intolerable to him. He said he had received news which required him to return home instantly.
The next moment he had joined Timm in the street.
"Heaven be thanked that I could get away," he cried, seizing Timm, who was delighted to see him, by the arm, and dragging him with him.
"Thought so," said Mr. Timm, "thought you were suffering infernal pains; meant to help you, poor fellow. Come, let us wash down the learned dust which you have swallowed, with a bottle of golden wine."
Book Second.
CHAPTER I.
"The Boarding-School for Young Ladies," in the suburbs of Grunwald, was not exactly a house of correction for young girls who were incorrigible at home, as the students of Grunwald and other wicked people maintained; nor was the principal of the institution, Miss Amelia Bear--known as the She Bear--altogether the female dragon which malicious tongues represented her to be. It is true, no one could deny that during the day the curtains were almost invariably down in the windows looking upon the street, and that after nine o'clock in the evening no light was to be seen in the whole house. The boarders were never seen in public, except in solemn procession, walking two and two, and with a teacher at the head and a teacher at the end; no letter passed the threshold of the house, going out or coming in, which was not first subjected to a close scrutiny in Miss Bear's study, and stamped there, so to say, with the official seal; but these and similar regulations are either common to all "boarding-schools for young ladies," or there was, in certain cases, a special reason for them. The institution was intended for the "higher classes," whose female offspring was counted upon for its support; this meant almost exclusively the high nobility of the district, as the daughters of persons not noble rarely sought admission, and still more rarely found admission. Now it happens that young ladies of rank born and bred in the country, and enjoying the twofold privileges of country life and an exceptional social position, accustomed to manage from their twelfth year their ponies with the skill of circus-riders, and at thirteen often more familiar with the humbugs of society than other girls ever become--that such girls are not to be treated as leniently as other daughters of Eve. They are used to the society of busy idlers as their only male companions: young land-owners, officers on furlough, and other men of frequently very loose morals; and great is the danger, therefore, that this inborn and inbred sovereign haughtiness may bloom forth abundantly, and bear equivocal fruit, unless they are restrained in time and with method.
This was the excuse which Miss Bear's friends made for the draconic laws of her institution; she was the responsible keeper of this precious but fragile ware, and who could wonder at the stern glance of her once perhaps beautiful eyes, and the crowd of wrinkles on her brow, which seemed to deepen and to multiply every year? Like so many among us, she was what she was, not because she wished to be so, but because she was forced to be so. It was her vocation to look stern, and to frown, as it is the vocation of others to smile forever, and to wear as smooth a face as they can produce. But as the greatest psychologist of our day has taught us that one may smile and smile forever, and yet be a very great rascal, so it is also possible to look like a chief inquisitor, and yet to have a truly womanly, gentle, and kindly heart.
Miss Amelia Bear was the living proof of such a possibility. Miss Amelia Bear had had a very hard time of it all her life long. She was the poor daughter of a poor village minister, and began at fourteen her thorny career as a governess in noble country families. In those days she was very pretty, and therefore exposed to many temptations; but her prudence and her cleverness had helped her to escape from all dangers, till she was old enough to be left alone, and to procure for herself a kind of independence by establishing a school upon the savings of long years and the presents she had occasionally received. Her honorable character was known to everybody; and this, and the experience she had gained in the field of education, justified such an enterprise, while her numerous relations to noble families promised almost certain success. She preferred the nobility, because the nobility preferred her; and she hesitated to accept girls of other families, because she was sure to lose or not to receive for one such boarder, six from the nobility.