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CHAPTER V.

A  violent  knocking  and  shouting  at  the  outermost  gate  —  an  interchange  of

threatening  and  peremptory  voices  —  lamp  and  torch-light  in  the  courtyard  —

interrupted  the  gentle  singing.  Yet  the  noise  had  subsided  before  they  had

learned the cause of it, but quiet there was not: on the staircase the trample and

quick  discussing  of  men  ascending.  The  door  sprang  open  without  any

announcement;  the  ladies  were  terrified.  Flavio  rushed  in  in  the  most  forlorn

condition,  with  disordered  head,  on  which  the  hair  was  partly  ruffled  up  and

partly hanging down drenched with rain; with tattered clothes, like one who has

been  rushing  through  thorns  and  bushes,  dreadfully  soiled,  as  if  he  had  been

wading through a mire and marsh.

“My father!” he exclaimed, “Where is my father?”

The  ladies  were  out  of  their  wits;  the  old  huntsman,  his  earliest  servant  and

favorite attendant, entering along with him, called out to him, “Your father is not

here; calm yourself; here is your aunt, here is your cousin, see here!”

“Not here! then let me go away and find him. He alone shall hear it, and then I

will die! Let me get away from the lamps, from the light of day. It dazzles me, it

annihilates me.”

The  house  physician  came  in,  seized  his  hand  cautiously,  feeling  his  pulse;

several servants were standing anxiously around.

“What  am  I  doing  on  these  carpets?  I  am  spoiling  them,  I  am  ruining  them;

my wretchedness drips down upon them, my abject destiny defiles them!”

He  rushed  towards  the  door;  they  took  advantage  of  this  effort  to  lead  him

away, and take him to the distant guest-chamber that his father usually occupied.

Mother  and  daughter  stood  aghast;  they  had  seen  an  Orestes  chased  by  furies,

not  ennobled  by  art,  but  in  a  horrible  repugnant  reality,  which  in  contrast  with

the comfort of a splendid dwelling in the brightest glow of waxen lights seemed

only  the  more  fearful.  Terror-stricken,  the  women  looked  at  one  another,  and

each believed that she saw in the eyes of the other the picture of horror that had

impressed itself so deeply on her own.

Only  half  herself,  the  baroness  sent  one  servant  after  another  to  get

information. It was some consolation to hear that he was being undressed, dried,

and taken care of; that half consciously, half unwittingly, he allowed all this to

be done. On repeating their inquiries, they were counselled to have patience.

At  last  the  anxious  ladies  were  informed  that  he  had  been  bled,  and  in  other

respects  every  possible  soothing  remedy  employed;  he  had  been  brought  to  a

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quiet condition, and sleep was hoped for.

Midnight  arrived;  the  baroness  asked  to  see  him  if  he  was  asleep;  the

physician opposed — the physician yielded; Hilaria pressed in with her mother.

The room was dimly lighted, only one candle glistened behind the green screen,

there was little to be seen, nothing to be heard; the mother approached the bed,

Hilaria with eager longing seized the candle and threw the light upon the sleeper.

There  he  lay,  turned  away  from  them,  but  a  very  well-formed  ear,  a  rounded

cheek,  now  somewhat  pale,  peeped  forth  most  gracefully  among  the  locks  that

by this time curled again; a hand lying quietly, with its long, delicate, yet strong

fingers,  attracted  the  wandering  glance.  Hilaria,  breathing  gently,  thought  that

she  even  perceived  his  gentle  breathing;  she  brought  the  light  nearer,  like

Psyche,  at  the  risk  of  disturbing  this  most  wholesome  rest.  The  physician  took

the candle away and lighted the ladies to their rooms.

How these kind persons, so worthy of all sympathy, spent the hours of night,

has  remained  a  secret  from  us;  but  early  the  next  morning  they  both  showed

themselves very impatient. There was no end to their questioning, to their desire

to  see  the  patient,  proffered  diffidently  yet  urgently;  only  towards  midday  the

physician allowed a short visit.

The baroness stepped forward; Flavio extended his hand.

“Pardon, dearest aunt; only a little patience, perhaps not for long.”

Hilaria  came  forward;  to  her,  too,  he  gave  his  right  hand.  “Welcome,  dear

sister.”

This went through her heart: he did not leave hold; they looked at one another,

the  most  beauteous  pair,  a  contrast  in  the  finest  sense.  The  youth’s  black,

flashing  eyes  harmonized  with  the  dark  tangled  locks;  she,  on  the  other  hand,

stood, to all appearance divine in peace, and yet with the agitating past was now

associated the present full of foreboding. That name, sister! — her inmost heart

was stirred.

The baroness spoke: “How are you, dear nephew?”

“Pretty well, but they treat me badly.”

“How so?”

“They have bled me; it is cruel; they have carried it away, it was audacious; it

does not belong to me, it is all — all hers.”

With these words his face seemed to change, but with hot tears he hid his face

in the pillow.

Hilaria’s countenance betrayed to her mother a terrible expression; it was as if

the dear child saw the gates of hell open before her, and for the first time looked

on a monster, and forever. Swiftly, passionately, she hurried through the saloon,

threw herself in the last chamber upon the sofa; her mother followed, and asked

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what, alas! she already perceived.

Hilaria,  looking  up  in  a  strange  way,  cried,  “The  blood,  the  blood!  it  all

belongs  to  her  —  all  to  her,  and  she  is  not  worthy  of  it.  Unhappy  man!  poor

man!”

With these words, the bitterest storm of tears relieved the agonized heart.

Who is there that would undertake to reveal the situation that was developing

itself  from  the  foregoing  scene  —  to  bring  to  light  the  inward  mischief  for  the

women growing from this first meeting? To the patient, too, it was in the highest

degree  hurtful;  so  at  least  affirmed  the  physician,  who  came,  it  is  true,  often

enough  to  impart  news  and  to  give  consolation,  but  who  felt  himself  in  duty

bound to forbid all further visiting. In this also he found a willing obedience; the

daughter did not venture to ask what her mother would not have allowed, and so

the  order  of  the  sensible  gentleman  was  obeyed.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  he

brought  the  welcome  tidings  that  Flavio  had  asked  for  writing  materials,  and

written  down  something,  but  had  forthwith  hidden  it  close  by  him  in  the  bed.

Curiosity  was  now  added  to  their  remaining  restlessness  and  impatience;  those

were painful hours. After some time, however, he brought a scrap, written in a

fine free hand, although hastily; it contained the following lines:

A marvel comes poor Man into the world,

In marvels lost Man to and fro is hurl’d.

With steps uncertain, hard it is to tell

To what dark gate he wends his pathless way;

For in heaven’s living light and midmost ray

I see, I feel but night, and death, and hell.

So  here  once  again  could  the  noble  art  of  poetry  display  its  healing  power.

Intimately associated with music, she heals all sorrows of the soul from its very

depths,  whilst  powerfully  arousing,  evoking,  and  putting  them  to  flight  with

liberating pangs. The physician had convinced himself that the youth would soon

be  well;  sound  in  body,  he  would  soon  feel  cheerful  again,  if  the  passion

weighing upon his mind could be removed or mitigated. Hilaria meditated upon

a reply; she sat down to the piano, and tried to accompany the lines of the patient

with a melody. She did not succeed; nothing in her soul responded to such deep

grief; yet, at this attempt, rhythm and rhyme accommodated themselves to such a

degree to her ideas, that she responded to the poem with soothing cheerfulness,

and taking her time, composed and worked up the following strophe:

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Though still in very depths of woe and pain,

Thou ‘rt destined for the joys of youth again.

Arise and man thyself for health’s quick pace!

To friendship’s clear and heavenly light be led;

Midst good and true ones find a resting-place —

So may life’s joyous dew be o’er thee shed!

The medical friend of the family took charge of the missive; it succeeded, the

youth already replied in a moderate tone; Hilaria continued soothingly, and thus,

little  by  little,  they  seemed  to  gain  daylight  and  open  ground  once  more,  and

perhaps we may be allowed, when occasion serves, to describe the whole course

of this pleasing treatment. Enough, some time was spent most pleasantly in this

sort  of  occupation;  a  quiet  interview  was  being  arranged  beforehand,  and  the

physician no longer thought it necessary to defer it.

In the meantime the baroness had busied herself in sorting and arranging old

papers,  and  this  occupation,  which  so  completely  accorded  with  present

circumstances,  acted  wonderfully  upon  her  excited  spirit.  She  passed  in  review

many  years  of  her  own  life;  deep,  threatening  sorrows  had  gone  by,  the

reconsideration  of  which  strengthened  her  courage  for  the  present  moment;

particularly  was  she  moved  by  the  recollection  of  her  beautiful  friendship  with

Makaria, and  indeed  under trying  circumstances.  The excellence  of  that unique

woman was again brought to her mind, and she at once formed the resolution of

applying  to  her  on  this  occasion  also;  for  to  whom  else  could  she  express  her

present feelings, to whom else candidly avow her fears and hopes?

But  in  the  midst  of  her  researches  she  found  amongst  other  things  her

brother’s miniature portrait, and was forced with a smile to sigh at its likeness to

the  son.  Hilaria  surprised  her  at  this  moment,  possessed  herself  of  the  portrait,

and she too was strangely struck with the resemblance.

Some time passed thus; at last, with the assent of the physician, and attended

by him, Flavio, after having been announced, came in to breakfast. The women

had  been  afraid  of  this  first  appearance;  but  as  it  very  often  happens  in

important, nay, in terrible moments, that something amusing, or even ridiculous,

will take place, so it happened here. The son came in dressed completely in his

father’s  clothes;  for  nothing  of  his  own  suit  was  wearable;  they  had  availed

themselves of the major’s country and home wardrobe, which he had left in his

sister’s keeping in readiness for shooting or house wear. The baroness laughed,

and recovered herself; Hilaria was startled, she knew not why; at all events she

turned her face away, and at this moment would give the youth neither a cordial

word nor a phrase of greeting. However, in order to help the whole party out of

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their  embarrassment,  the  doctor  began  a  comparison  of  the  two  figures.  The

father was somewhat taller, he said, and for that reason the coat was a little too

long; the son was slightly broader, and the coat therefore was too tight across the

shoulders.  Both  differences  of  proportion  gave  a  comical  appearance  to  this

disguise;  yet,  with  these  trifles,  they  escaped  the  momentary  difficulty.  To

Hilaria,  however,  the  likeness  between  the  juvenile  effigy  of  the  father  and  the

fresh living presence of the son remained discomforting — nay, oppressive.

But  now  we  might  well  have  wished  to  see  the  next  interval  of  time

circumstantially  described  by  a  woman’s  delicate  hand,  since  in  our  own  style

and manner we venture to occupy ourselves only with the general. For here the

discourse must again be of the influence of poetic art.

Our Flavio must be credited with a certain amount of talent; but it needed only

too  much  a  passionate,  sensual  impulse,  if  it  was  to  have  any  striking  success;

and it was on that account that almost all the poems dedicated to that irresistible

woman  seemed  in  the  highest  degree  impressive  and  praiseworthy,  and  now,

when  read  aloud  with  enthusiastic  delivery  in  the  presence  of  a  most  amiable

beauty, must needs produce no little effect.

A  young  lady,  who  sees  that  another  is  loved  passionately,  willingly

accommodates  herself  to  the  rôle  of  a  confidante;  she  nourishes  a  secret,

scarcely  conscious  feeling,  that  it  would  certainly  not  be  unpleasant  to  see

herself  gently  elevated  to  the  place  of  the  adored  one.  The  conversation  also

became  more  and  more  significant.  Responsive  poems,  such  as  a  lover  likes  to

compose, because, though but diffidently, he can half-and-half reply to himself,

as from his fair one, what he himself wishes, and what he could hardly expect to

hear  from  her  own  beautiful  lips.  Such  poems,  too,  were  read  alternately  with

Hilaria, and in fact, as it could only be from the one manuscript, into which both

had to look to strike in at the right time, and to this end both had to hold the little

volume,  it  so  came  to  pass  that,  sitting  close  together,  little  by  little  body  and

hand  drew  ever  nearer,  and  at  last,  quite  naturally,  the  contact  was  secretly

maintained.

But amidst these sweet relations, in spite of the charming delight which they

caused,  Flavio  felt  a  painful  anxiety,  which  he  concealed  but  ill,  and  longing

continually  for  his  father’s  arrival,  made  it  evident  that  he  had  to  confide  the

most  important  thing  to  him.  This  secret,  meanwhile,  it  would  not  have  been

difficult to guess with a little reflection. The charming woman, in a moment of

excitement,  provoked  by  the  youth’s  importunities,  may  have  peremptorily

dismissed the unhappy one, and have banished and destroyed the hope which he

had hitherto obstinately cherished. We have not ventured to depict the scene in

which this may have passed, from fear that the fire of youth might fail us here. In

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