In one of the proscenium boxes were seen the Prussian Amba.s.sador and his wife--returned only a day or two from his vacation. His presence at the theatre to-day was indeed not of his free will, for he would gladly have remained away from this performance, but dared not out of consideration for his position. The Duke himself had disposed of the boxes, and had invited the foreign diplomats and their ladies; there was no possibility of remaining away, particularly as Herr and Frau von Wallmoden had, only a few hours previously, partic.i.p.ated in a large dinner at the ducal palace.

Willibald, who had won permission from his uncle to at least get acquainted with the work of his friend, sat in the parquette. Wallmoden was not pleased with his presence here, but could not well forbid him what he was going to do himself. w.i.l.l.y, who with difficulty had found a seat, had not thought that a member of the opera could be employed in the theatre, but when he opened the programme and came suddenly upon the name of "Marietta Volkmar," whom he was to see to-night, he folded the paper with a quick gesture and hid it in his pocket, regretting now sorely having come to the theatre.

The performance now commenced. The curtain rose and the first scene pa.s.sed quickly. It was a kind of preface, to acquaint the audience with the strange, fantastic world into which they were to be introduced.

Arivana, the ancient, sacred place of sacrifice, appeared in a magnificent and appropriate setting. The most prominent character of the piece, the young priest, who, in the fanaticism of his belief, renounces utterly everything worldly and unholy, enters, and the vow which removes him for time and eternity from the world, and binds him body and soul to his deity, resounds in powerful, soulful verse.

The vow was offered--the sacred fire flamed high, and the curtain fell.

Applause, for which the Duke gave the signal, came from all sides.

Although it was a.s.sured that a work which was encouraged and favored so by all should have a certain success, at least upon its opening night, there was something else mingled in the applause. The audience already felt that a poet spoke to them; his creation had perhaps needed the approval of the Court, but now, since it was before them, it sustained itself. One was attracted and held by the language--the characters--by the theme of the drama, which already betrayed itself in its princ.i.p.al features, and when the curtain rose afresh, intense, expectant silence rested over the vast audience hall.

And now the drama developed upon a background as rich and glowing in color as were its language and its characters. The magnificent verdure, the fairy-like splendor of its temples and palaces, the people with their wild hatred and wilder love, and the severe, iron laws of their belief--all, all, was fantastic and strange; but the feeling and acting of these people were familiar to every one, for they stood under the power which was the same centuries ago, as to-day, and which takes root the same under the glowing sky of the tropics as in the cold North--the pa.s.sion and power of the human heart.

This was indeed a "glowing doctrine," and it preached without restraint the right of the pa.s.sions to storm over law and inst.i.tutions--over oaths and vows--to reach their aims; a right such as Hartmut Rojanow had understood and practised with his unreined will, who recognized no law or duty, but who was all in all unto himself.

The awakening of the pa.s.sion--its powerful growth, its final triumph--were all depicted in transporting language, in words and acts which seemed to originate, now from the pure heights of the ideal, and now from the depths of an abyss.

Not in vain had the poet shrouded his characters in the veil of Oriental legend, but under this veil he dared to speak and indorse that which would hardly have been permitted him, and he did it with a boldness which threw igniting sparks into the hearts of the listeners, enchaining them demoniacally.

Arivana's success was a.s.sured already at the second act. The work was done by artists who belonged to the best on the stage, and they were doing the best playing ever witnessed. Those taking the princ.i.p.al roles especially acted with the perfection of abandon which only real enthusiasm can give.

The heroine's name was no longer Ada. Another form now bore this name--one who was strangely foreign to this excited picture of pa.s.sions; one of those tender, half-fairy-like beings with whom the Indian legends inhabit the snow dwellings upon the icy heights of the Himalayas--cold and pure as the eternal snow which shines upon them.

Only in one single instance, in the parting scene, she floated on spirit's wings through the stormy, excited gathering, remonstrating, entreating, warning; and Egon was right. The words which the poet had put into her lips were, perhaps, the most beautiful of the entire drama. It burst suddenly like pure, heavenly light into the flaming glow of a crater; but the scene was as short as beautiful. Quick as a breath the apparition disappeared again into her snow dwelling, and down yonder at the moonlit bank of the river floated the entrancing song of the Hindoo girl--Marietta Volkmar's soft, swelling voice--under the coaxing charm of which the cry of warning from the heights was dispelled and unheeded.

The last act brought the tragic end; the breaking of the doom over the guilty pair; the death in the flames. This death was no atonement, but a triumph--"a shining, divine death," and with the flames there also flared up to heaven the demoniacal doctrine of the unconditional right of the pa.s.sions.

The curtain sank for the last time, and the applause, which had increased after every act, now grew to a storm. Usually the applause at the court performances was kept within measured bounds, but to-day it broke over the barriers. The flames of Arivana had kindled the enthusiasm with which the whole house demanded the appearance of the author.

Hartmut finally appeared--without embarra.s.sment or timidity--glowing with pride and joy; he bowed acknowledgment to the audience, which today offered him a drink he had never yet tasted in his wildly tossed life. They were intoxicating, these first sips from the cup of fame, and with this intoxicating knowledge, the celebrated poet now looked up to the proscenium box, whose occupants he had long ago recognized. He did not find, however, what he sought. Adelaide was leaning back in her chair, and her face was hidden by her open fan. He saw only the cold, unmoved face of the man who had insulted him so deeply, and who was now a witness of his triumph.

Wallmoden understood only too well what the flash of those dark eyes told him: "Do you dare yet to despise me?"

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

The following morning at an early hour Willibald von Eschenhagen walked through the park, which he wanted to see--at least so he had told his uncle.

The large, forest-like park which was situated directly before the city, was indeed worth seeing, but Willibald paid no attention to the landscape, which did not look very inviting this bleak November day.

Without a glance to right or left he walked quickly forward, taking aimlessly now this and now that path, without noticing that he repeatedly returned to the same spot. It seemed as if he wished with this stormy walk to calm an inner unrest; he had really gone out to be alone in the free, open air.

The young lord tried to persuade himself that it was only the meeting again with the friend of his youth that had taken him so completely out of his composure. He had not heard anything of Hartmut for fully ten years--did not even dare to mention him at home, and now he suddenly saw the lost one again, with the halo of a growing poetical glory around his head. Deeply and wonderfully changed in appearance and manner, in spite of all he was still the Hartmut with whom he had played his boyish games so often. He should have recognized him at the first glance without having been prepared for the meeting.

Wallmoden, on the contrary, seemed to be disagreeably surprised at yesterday's success. He had hardly spoken during the drive home; his wife as little. She had stated in the carriage that the hot air of the theatre had given her an intolerable headache, and retired immediately upon their arrival home. The Amba.s.sador followed her example, and when he gave his hand to his nephew, who wished him good-night, he said curtly: "Our understanding remains the same, Willibald. You are to keep silence toward everybody, whoever it be. Look out that you do not betray yourself, for the name Rojanow will be in everybody's mouth during the next few days. He has had luck again this time--like all adventurers."

Willibald had accepted the remark silently, but he still felt that it was something else which gave the author of Arivana this success.

Under other circ.u.mstances he would have considered this work as something unheard of--incomprehensible--without understanding it, but, strange to say, the understanding for it had dawned upon him yesterday.

One could fall in love without the solemn approval of the respected parents, guardians and relations; it happened not only in India, but it happened here sometimes, too. One could also incautiously and hastily burden oneself with a vow and break it--but what then?

Yes, then came the doom which Hartmut had pictured so horribly and yet so fascinatingly. w.i.l.l.y was transporting in earnest the highly romantic teachings of Arivana into Burgsdorf affairs, and the doom suddenly a.s.sumed the features of Frau von Eschenhagen, who, in her wrath, was surely worse than an angry caste of priests.

The young lord heaved a deep sigh. He thought of the second act of the play, when, from the circle of Hindoo girls who marched to the place of sacrifice, a delicate figure had stepped forth, inexpressibly charming in the white, flowing garments, and the wreath of flowers in her curls.

His eyes had hung riveted upon her, who appeared but twice or thrice upon the stage, but after that her song had sounded from the banks of the moonlit river. It was the same clear, sweet voice which had enchanted the listener at Waldhofen, and now the old mischief, which he had struggled down and thought forgotten, was back again. It stood before him with giant size, and the worst of it was that he did not even consider it longer as a mischief.

The tireless walker now came for the third time to a small temple, open in front, and in which stood a statue, while a bench in the background invited one to rest.

Willibald entered this time and sat down, less from a desire to rest than to be able to follow his thoughts undisturbed.

It was, perhaps, ten o'clock in the morning, and the paths were at this hour almost deserted. Only a solitary pedestrian--a young man elegantly dressed--walked leisurely and with apparent aimlessness along the paths. He seemed to be expecting some one, for he glanced impatiently now toward town, and now toward the Parkstra.s.se which bordered the park for some distance.

Suddenly he came toward the temple and took his stand behind it, where he could keep the path in view without being seen.

In about five minutes a young lady came from the city--a delicate, graceful figure, in dark cloak and fur cape, with her fur cap pressed closely down upon her curly head, and a m.u.f.f in her hand, from which peeped a roll of music. She was pa.s.sing the temple quickly, when suddenly she uttered an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of displeased surprise:

"Ah--Count Westerburg!"

The young man had approached and bowed.

"What a happy coincidence! How could I hope that Fraulein Marietta Volkmar would take so early a walk in the park!"

Marietta stood still and measured the speaker from head to foot. Her voice had a half-angry, half-contemptuous sound as she answered:

"I do not believe in this coincidence, Herr Count. You cross my path too often and persistently for that, although I have shown you sufficiently how annoying your attentions are to me."

"Yes, you are endlessly cruel to me," said the Count, reproachfully, but with undeniable impertinence. "You do not accept my calls, refuse my flowers and offerings, and do not even return my greetings when I pa.s.s you by. What have I done to you? I have ventured to lay homage at your feet in the form of jewels, which you returned to me----"

"With the request that you discontinue such impertinences once for all," interrupted the young girl vehemently. "I protest, besides, against your continued advances. You have actually lain in wait for me here."

"Mon Dieu! I only wished to beg your pardon for that boldness," a.s.sured Count Westerburg, apparently submissive, but at the same time he stepped into the middle of the narrow path, so that it was impossible to pa.s.s. "I might have known that you are unapproachable, for everybody protests that none protects her name so jealously as you, beautiful Marietta."

"My name is Fraulein Volkmar!" cried Marietta, angrily. "Keep your flattering speeches for those who allow such things to be told them. I shall not do it, and if your advances do not cease I shall have to call in protection."

"Whose protection?" sneered the Count. "Perhaps that of the old lady with whom you live and who is always and everywhere at your side, except in your walk to Professor Marani. The singing studies at the old gentleman's are not dangerous, and that is the only walk you take alone."

"Then you knew that I went to the Parkstra.s.se at this hour! Then it is actually an attack! Please let me pa.s.s. I wish to go."

She tried to pa.s.s by him, but the young man stretched out his arms so that he filled the path.

"You will a.s.suredly permit me to accompany you, mein Fraulein. Only look, the path is quite lonely and deserted; there is not a soul around. I really must offer you my escort."

The path seemed, indeed, quite deserted, and another girl might have been intimidated by this reference to her defencelessness, but the little Marietta only drew herself up undauntedly.