"You are very generous, countess, but it would be a greater kindness to these simple people not to put the whole sum into their hands at once.

If I may advise you, just settle upon the little girl a small annuity for life,--that will preserve her from want,--since she must lose her arm, she will hardly be able to support herself. These people will not know what to do with so large a sum all at once."

"Do you invest it for them, then, in the way you think best. An annuity is out of the question: I might die, and then there would be difficulties thrown in the way of its payment. No. I have written to my agent in St. Petersburg for forty thousand roubles more. Then the child will be in possession of fifty thousand roubles, and can live upon this sum in Germany quite comfortably."

"Countess," cried Johannes, looking at her with unfeigned admiration, "do you know what you are doing? It is the gift of a monarch! I cannot, of course, judge of the proportion that this sum bears to your wealth, but it is my duty to warn you that it is far beyond what these people can possibly expect!"

"Heavens, what a talk about a trifle!" cried the countess impatiently.

"I need only a little prudence for a couple of years, and the expenditure will be entirely covered. Even if I should have to deny myself now and then, what is it in comparison with the injury that my heedlessness has inflicted upon the poor child? I would give her more if I had not so many poor relatives whom I must not defraud."

"Such wealth in such hands, Countess Worronska, is a blessing to the poor. I see, for the first time, that this hand can do more than hold the reins and wield the whip, that it can open wide, and scatter with princely liberality what others would ama.s.s and h.o.a.rd. Let me imprint upon it a kiss of fervent grat.i.tude,--I have done you injustice."

"Oh, Mollner," cried the beautiful woman, flushed with delight, "I would give all that I possess, and all that I am, for one such grateful glance from your eyes! I know what the injustice is of which you speak.

You have hitherto despised me, and now you see that there is something in me worthy of admiration. Yes, I have lived wildly,--I have not heeded the restraints imposed upon woman by man, because I did not respect mankind. Now, now I acknowledge them, because at last I have found a human being whom I respect from the depths of my soul, and to whom I would gratefully commit the guidance of my life. I can give what is better than a few thousand roubles. I am capable of the sacrifice of myself! If I thought it would win me your esteem, I would throw away whip and rein. My hand should know only the needle. I would never mount horse again,--never rush from place to place, sipping the froth of this world's delights. I would never stir from this spot, but lie here, clasping your knees, a penitential Magdalene. My wealth I would cast at your feet, and lay aside all splendour that might charm other eyes than yours. All that I have to give, so ardently desired by others, should be yours. I should think it an act of mercy if you deigned to accept my gift. I know how I transgress all law and custom when I, a woman, thus offer myself to him whom I love,--but what would be a departure from womanly delicacy and reserve in others, is for me a return thither. It is not for me to wait proudly for such a man as you to bring me his heart. I am sunk so low that in remorseful humiliation I must sue for esteem and love, try to deserve them by the penitence of a lifetime, and not murmur if they are withheld from me. I feel the disgrace of this; but, oh, if I can only through this disgrace recover my lost honour,--if I can only, by thus transgressing law, cease to be lawless!

Believe me, it is no fleeting emotion that speaks through my lips,--it is the despairing effort of a stray soul to grasp the redeeming power of a true love!"

She could scarcely conclude; overcome by pa.s.sion, she fell upon her knees, stretched out her arms to him as if drowning, and burst into a storm of sobs.

Johannes sought in vain to raise her. He was stunned, as it were, by this volcanic outburst. Suddenly, into the gaping wounds made by Ernestine's coldness, poured the hot lava-stream of a pa.s.sion of which, in the temperate zone of his German intellectual existence, he had never dreamed. He stood as if before some startling natural phenomenon, amazed, overwhelmed, unable to collect himself. One thought filled his mind. Where he longed for love he could not find it, and where he neither desired nor hoped for it he found it in fullest measure. The contrast was too vivid; as if dazzled, he covered his eyes with his hand, and a profound sigh escaped him.

She drew his hand away from his face, and asked, "Mollner, is that sigh for me?"

"For both of us."

"Mollner!" she said, and her voice was deep and rich, and her soft, gentle touch sought his hand, while her dark, glowing eyes were fixed upon him in an agony of suspense. Thus the beautiful majestic woman knelt there, expiating in the torment of that moment her sin in not keeping herself pure for this long-delayed love, looking up to him as to a redeemer, ready to sacrifice for his sake herself and a life of worldly enjoyment,--for him, the simple student, unadorned by any of the studied graces that distinguished the men that had hitherto crowded around her, and unconscious of having ever sought her love. Could this woman, used only to ask and to have, love him thus, and she, the only one who could ever be to him what his whole soul thirsted for,--she for whom he would only too willingly have sacrificed his life, resign him for an illusion, a chimera, that could never give her one moment's joy?

He grew giddy,--he drew his hands from the countess's grasp, and sprang up. She bowed her head upon the lounge that he had just left, and hid her face in her arms, as if awaiting the death-stroke from the sword of the executioner. Now, when she knelt thus in the abandonment of her grief, for the first time he perceived her wonderful loveliness,--but only for one moment,--the next, he turned from her and threw open a shutter, admitting the broad day to chase away the bewildering twilight that filled the room. A cool breeze had arisen,--he inhaled it thirstily, and, when he turned again to the countess, he was calm.

Reflection, so native to him, had conquered his agitation, and by his sufferings for Ernestine's sake he knew how to pity this woman who loved so hopelessly. It was the purest compa.s.sion that beamed in his eyes as he raised her head, but again his glance had upon her the effect of magic.

"Oh, not that look, Mollner! Do not look thus while you sentence me! it makes my doom doubly hard to bear. If you cannot tell me that you love me, turn those eyes away,--their glance would wake the dead!"

"Good heavens! Countess Worronska, how can I find the right words in which to tell you what I must, if you so increase the labour of the task? I pray you, dear friend, listen to me calmly, and think what you impose upon me,--either I must play the hypocrite, or give the worst offence that can befall a woman."

The countess sprang up, and measured him with a look in which pain and anger strove for the mastery. He took her hands and gently forced her to sit down upon the sofa,--she yielded to him mechanically.

"Dear Countess Worronska, for both our sakes let me preserve the temperate self-possession not easy to so ardent and impulsive a temperament as yours, but all the more inc.u.mbent upon the man to whose hands you so confidingly entrust your future destiny. It would be of little avail to tell you that you promise more than you can ever perform. You would not believe me, for the woman who loves thinks no sacrifice too great. But even true affection is subject to natural change. For a time much may be resigned without a murmur, for unaccustomed joy will compensate for unaccustomed privations, but, dear countess, one grows used even to the joy of love, and, though it may not grow cold, it gradually ceases to be an exceptional bliss, and becomes a natural condition, in which the requirements of our nature, the habits of our birth and education, rea.s.sert themselves. And if we are unable to meet these, in spite of our affection we become conscious of a want that may in the end deprive us even of the knowledge of our happiness. This fate is unavoidable in a marriage where upon either side a disproportionate sacrifice is made. Formed as you are, you could never content yourself with the trivial domestic affairs of a German scholar; you would soon pine in such captivity, and, without losing your love for me, in the sincerity of which I believe, you would long for your previous mode of living. Those who have never all their lives long recognized the restraints of homely duty can scarcely reconcile themselves to them, however honest their intentions may be. As soon as you felt that your duties to me imposed a restraint upon you,--and you would feel this sooner or later,--you would be wretched!"

"It is enough, Professor Mollner," cried the countess. "Give yourself no further trouble in persuading me to doubt myself. If you loved me, you could not consider so prudently my advantage in the matter. If you felt for me as I do for you, you would not ask how long we might be happy,--you would enjoy the moment and be willing for it to resign an eternity. Oh, proud and great as you are, you bear the brand of a petty existence upon your brow, although you know it not. In truth, Mollner, your cool repulse does not shame me, for I feel that in the past hour I have been the n.o.bler of the two!"

"You are right, my friend. A woman as beautiful, as high in rank, and as richly endowed as yourself has no cause to blush for having vainly offered to one what thousands covet so greedily. Believe me, if one of us is shamed, it is I, to whom favour has been shown so undeserved, so unhoped-for,--such favour as only the bountiful G.o.ds bestow,--a favour which I can never deserve or repay!" Deeply moved, he took her hand; again her eyes sought his.

"Oh, Mollner, your heart relents,--I see it does. You do not know what love is. Who was there here to teach you? The poor vapid sentiment that they call by its name, suffices, it is true, for domestic use,--little is given, little required,--how were you to differ from the rest? A genuine pa.s.sion would have caused infinite commotion in your commonplace, every-day circles. Only intense feeling can beget intense feeling, and whoever has known none such has never lived. Such a man as you must not close his ears like a coward when pa.s.sion calls. Do not withdraw your hand. This moment must decide whether I remain here or return to Russia. My estates are going to ruin. I must either sell them or return to them myself. Give me the smallest hope of winning your affection, and I will sell all my Russian possessions and live here beneath your dear eyes, in conventual retirement and repose, year after year, until at last you take me to your heart and say, 'I believe in you!' Then--then I will surround you with such a heaven as these cold, timid natures about you do not dream of. One word, Mollner,--no promise, only a hope,--and I am your creature!"

Johannes regarded the pa.s.sionate woman in her demonic beauty with a strange mixture of admiration and horror, sympathy and aversion. At last he adopted a resolution, for he felt that an end must be put to this interview. "Madame," he said,--not without effort, for it was hard for his magnanimous nature to give offence to a woman,--"madame, I see that I must tell you all the truth. Hope nothing. It would certainly inflict a deeper wound were I to tell you I _cannot_ love you,--it would be casting doubt upon your personal charms. What man of flesh and blood could swear that he _could_ not love you--a woman all perfection from head to foot? Such an oath I could not presume to take, for my senses are as keen as other men's. But, countess, I _will_ not love you, and I can swear to what I will, and what I will not do!"

He arose, and the countess arose also, and stood opposite to him, a picture of despair. "And must I content myself with this declaration?

Am I not worth the being told why?"

"Let it suffice you to know that I consider myself bound."

"Aha! to the Hartwich!"

Johannes stretched out his hand with a deprecatory gesture. "Do not utter her name, madame. I will not hear it from your lips."

"It is true, then! That proud, frigid wraith--that phantom, in whose veins there flows not one drop of warm blood--has robbed me of you!

Curse her!"

"Hush! curse her not, madame; it destroys my new-born pity for you!"

cried Johannes. "It is not she that comes between you and me. I could never, never have given you my heart or hand, even had I been entirely free. Do not force me to say to you what no man should say to any woman."

"What is it? Let me drain the last drop in the cup. I will not leave you until I know all."

"Well, since you will have it, listen, and may it prove your cure in a twofold sense. You could bestow upon me, madame, all that the world holds precious, but there is one thing that is no longer yours to give,--your honour! And were a G.o.ddess to descend from the skies for my sake, wanting this jewel, she could be nothing to me. I should send her back to her glories, and choose rather to abide here below, a poor solitary man."

A low cry followed these words, and then silence ensued. The Worronska stood like a statue, with eyes, for the first time in her life perhaps, seeking the ground. Johannes approached her and said quietly, "You can never forgive what I have said. I do not ask you to do it; it is best thus. You will hate me for awhile, and then forget me. I shall, all my life, have a melancholy remembrance of you, for you wished to be kind to me and I was obliged to wound you in return. Pour out your hatred upon me; I deserve it at your hands."

"Mollner," said the beautiful woman, drawing her breath with effort, "at this moment I am expiating all the sins I have ever committed.

Farewell, and if you hear that I have fallen back into my old manner of life, sign the cross above my memory, and tell her whom you love, 'I might have saved that soul, but I would not.'"

Johannes looked at her sadly. "Madame, if the agony of this moment does not make the thought of your former life hateful to you, my love never could have saved you. I disclaim the terrible responsibility you would thrust upon me. I have done what I could. I have told you the truth, and I cannot believe it will be without effect."

"I thank you," said the despairing woman with bitter irony. Then, with one last tender look at Johannes, which he, standing calmly before her, did not return, she turned to go, with the bearing of a queen. He offered to conduct her to her carriage, but she refused his aid. Her face was ashy pale, and not another word pa.s.sed her compressed lips.

He looked after her as she entered her carriage and buried her face in her hands. He saw how her whole frame was shaken with emotion. The carriage whirled away, the dust rose in clouds. Johannes re-entered his lonely room. "Ernestine!" he exclaimed, as if she could hear him, "Ernestine!"

CHAPTER III.

SILVER-ARMED KaTHCHEN.

That was wonderful news for the village of Hochstetten! The oldest people there could remember nothing to match it! The Kellers' terrible accident had turned out the greatest good fortune. The Kellers--poor despised day-labourers that they had always been--had come to be rich people, and were to be richer still. Kathchen might well do without her arm, and, since that was all the harm that had been done her, it really was hardly worth so much money. Many a one had suffered greater injuries, and not a mouse had stirred in their behalf,--not even when everything had been p.a.w.ned in the long idleness that followed. And this lucky child got immense wealth in exchange for her useless little arm!

Where was the justice of that, pray? It would have been some comfort to think that it was devil's money, and could bring the Kellers no good, and that it would be better to starve than to use it. At first, indeed, the Kellers thought of refusing it, but the Reverend Father had been too much for the devil. He had advised the Kellers to erect a crucifix by the side of the road where the accident had occurred, and to give the church three hundred gulden for ma.s.ses for their benefactress's soul. Thus the gift was consecrated, and they could accept it with a clear conscience.

Scarcely four weeks had pa.s.sed, and the cross was already standing by the roadside just, where Kathchen had been run over. It was finer than any other in all the country round; and the Kellers, husband and wife, tossed their heads, as they pa.s.sed it, as proudly as if they had placed the Lord Jesus Christ himself there in person. The cross was ten feet high, and stood upon a pedestal five feet high, upon which were inscribed the words, "Erected to the glory of G.o.d by Pankratius Keller and Columbane his wife, Anno Domini 18--. 'Let little children come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven!'"

And directly beneath was a beautiful painted tablet, whereon all might read, "Wanderer, pause, and mark how wondrously the promise has been kept to our child!" The painting that was to ill.u.s.trate these words represented Kathchen with one arm; the other lay upon the ground, and a broad stream of blood was gushing from the maimed shoulder. A carriage was driving furiously away. Above Kathchen's head the heavens were opened, and the infant Christ was seen in the arms of the Madonna, handing down a silver arm.

This most magnificent and ingenious allegory of the silver blessing that had followed Kathchen's misfortune had cost the poet of the village, the highly-gifted Reverend Father, many an anxious thought; and, in consequence of it, the little girl went universally by the name of "Silver-armed Kathchen," although she persistently refused to verify her nickname by making use of an artificial limb. Her father and mother were the objects of great ridicule and envy, but they did not mind it at all, they could laugh in their turn,--they had plenty of money,--and, what was more, they had, by means of it, gained more favour with the Lord than all those who jeered at them. The host of the "Stag" and the burgomaster were the richest people in the village, but neither of them could boast that he had given three hundred gulden to the Church, and the burgomaster had put up a very mean cross over in the meadow, and, for economy's sake, had had only the head and hands and feet of Christ painted upon it, leaving all the rest of the figure to the imagination.

So they could enjoy their wealth without any misgivings. They knew how high in favour they stood with the Lord; and, besides, Frau Keller had sprinkled the package of notes that Mollner had given her with holy water. She had done this entirely of her own mind. It was impossible to be too prudent in such a case. So now that everything had been done to keep off the Evil One, a blessing would be sure to follow. Little Kathchen, however, thought and felt very differently. She was very unhappy to find that the children stood aloof, staring at her as at some strange animal when she went to sit in the sunshine before the door, and that the big boys called her Silver-arm, and plucked her by the empty sleeve that dangled from her shoulder.

But it was worse than all one day when a cripple came crawling past,--there were many cripples in the country round about, as there always are where human beings are fighting for the mastery with the rude forces of nature. This man stopped before her and muttered, "Oh, yes, you are treated like a princess! Such a poor fellow as myself is worse off than a dog, for when a dog breaks its leg it is shot, but I must hobble about and starve for the sake of Christian charity! Such pious people as you are can always make friends with the Almighty, and therefore a grand coach is sent to drive over you, while only a huge stone in the quarry crushed my hip, and there was no fuss made about it. The grand folks, whose house the stone helped to build, never troubled themselves about the human blood that had sprinkled it. Well, well,--to every one his own!"

And the man went hobbling off upon his crutches, and Kathchen covered her eyes with the one poor hand that was left, and sobbed bitterly.

"Is that my merry little Kathchen that I hear crying?" suddenly asked a familiar voice; and, when the child looked up, she saw Herr Leonhardt approaching, supported by his son.

Young Herr Leonhardt was tall and slender, with a gentle, frank expression of countenance,--such a face and form as one might imagine belonged to the favourite son of the patriarch Jacob. There was a certain poetic grace in the devotion with which he guided the uncertain steps of his blind father. His eyes were bent upon the ground, that every obstruction might be removed against which his father's feet might stumble.