CHAPTER IV.
Our major paid a morning visit to the pretty widow to take leave, and if
possible with becoming decency to further his son’s intentions. He found her in
the most elegant morning toilet, in the company of an elderly lady, who at once
captivated him by her highly refined and amiable presence. The grace of the
younger, the dignity of the elder one, placed the two in a most admirably
balanced relation; their mutual behavior also, throughout, seemed to suggest that
they belonged to one another.
The younger lady seemed to have just finished a diligently-worked letter-case,
already familiar to us, from yesterday; for, after the ordinary greetings and
reassuring words of welcome, she turned to her friend, and handed her the work
of art, as if again taking up an interrupted conversation. “So you see that I have
finished it after all, though with so much delay and putting off, it scarcely looked
likely that I would.”
“You come just in time, Herr Major,” said the elder lady, “to decide our
dispute, or at least to declare yourself for one side or the other. I maintain that
one never undertakes such a long-drawn work without thinking of some person
for whom it is destined; one does not finish it without some such thought. Look
yourself at this work of art, for so I can fairly call it; can anything of the kind
ever be undertaken without an object?”
Our major had indeed to bestow all his approbation on the work. Partly
worked, and partly embroidered, it aroused not only admiration, but also a desire
to know how it was made. Colored silks predominated, but gold too was not
dispensed with; one did not know whether splendor or taste was the more to be
admired.
“And yet there is still something to be done to it,” replied the beauty, again
untying the knot of the string that fastened it around, and busying herself with
the interior. “I will not wrangle,” she continued, “but I will tell you how I am
disposed towards work of this kind. As young girls, we grow accustomed to
plying our fingers, and to wandering with our thoughts; both habits remain,
whilst we learn by degrees to accomplish the most difficult and elegant kinds of
work; and I do not deny that with every piece of work of this kind I have always
associated the thoughts of persons and circumstances, and joy and sorrow. And
thus what I had undertaken became valuable to me, and what I had finished, I
may well say, became precious to me. As such, then, I was able to regard even
the most trifling thing as something, the lightest work gained a value, and the
most difficult, too, only on this account — that the recollections in this case were
richer and more complete. I therefore always thought of being able to offer such
kinds of work to friends and to those I loved — to worthy and distinguished
persons; they, too, recognized the fact, and knew that I was offering them
something of my very own, which, whilst constituting in many and indescribable
ways, yet at all events, somehow or other, an acceptable gift, was always
accepted graciously as a friendly compliment.”
THE LIEUTENANT DECLARES TO THE FAIR WIDOW.
To such an amiable confession a reply was indeed scarcely possible; yet her
lady friend had the fact to add a few civil words in return. But the major,
accustomed from of old to appreciate the graceful wisdom of the Roman writers
and poets, and to imprint on his memory their luminous expressions, recollected
a few apposite verses, but, lest he should appear as a pedant, took care not to
utter them, or even to mention them. However, in order not to seem stupid and
devoid of wit, he attempted an impromptu paraphrase in prose, which, however,
did not quite succeed, so that the conversation nearly came to a standstill.
The elder lady therefore seized a book that had been laid down on our friend’s
entrance; it was a selection of poetry, which just before had been occupying the
attention of the friends. This afforded an opportunity of speaking about poetry in
general, and yet the conversation did not remain long on the general subject, for
soon the ladies candidly confessed that they had been informed of the major’s
poetical talent. The son, who did not hide his own claims to the honorary title of
poet, had told them beforehand about his father’s poetry, and even recited some
of it; in reality in order to flatter himself with a poetical descent, and, as is the
case with youth, to be able to announce himself, in a modest way, as a
progressive son who carried to a higher pitch his father’s capabilities. But the
major, who sought to withdraw, since he only wished to pass for a man of letters
and an amateur, tried, when no escape remained, at least to back out,
maintaining that the kind of poetry which he certainly had practised was
regarded as only a subordinate and an almost spurious sort; he could not deny
having made a few attempts in the kind which is called descriptive, and, in a
certain sense, didactic.
The ladies, especially the younger, were fond of this kind of poetry; she said,
“When one wants to live rationally and quietly, which, in fine, is the wish and
intention of every human being, what is the good of the sensational kind, that
wantonly allures us without giving us anything, that unsettles us, and yet in the
end abandons us to ourselves again? Yet since I cannot willingly dispense with
poetry of one sort or another, infinitely more pleasant to me is that kind which
transports me into cheerful regions, where I seem to recognize myself again;
which brings home to my mind the sterling worth of the simply rural, carries me
through leafy shades into the forest, unexpectedly commanding from a height the
view of an inland lake, opposite to which perhaps cultivated hills, and then
wood-crowned heights arise, whilst the blue mountains in the background form a
soothing picture. If this is offered me in plain rhythm and rhyme, then on my
sofa I am thankful to the poet for having evolved in my fancy a picture, in which
I can enjoy more at my ease than if I saw it before my eyes after fatiguing travel,
and perhaps under other unfavorable circumstances.”
The major, who in point of fact looked on the present conversation only as a
means of furthering his ends, tried to turn again to the lyrical style of poetry, in
which his son had really achieved something praiseworthy. They did not gainsay
him directly, but they tried jokingly to get him out of the path on which he had
entered, particularly as he seemed to allude to passionate pieces, in which the
son, not without force and ability, had tried to bring before the incomparable
lady the decided inclination of his heart.
“Lovers’ lays,” said the lady, “I care neither to have said nor sung to me;
happy lovers one envies before one is aware of it, and unhappy ones we always
find tedious.”
Hereupon the elder lady, turning to her charming friend, struck in and said,
“Why are we proceeding so indirectly and losing time in ceremonies towards a
man whom we love and honor? Ought we not to confide to him that we have
already the pleasure of knowing in part his charming poem, in which he
describes the sturdy passion of the chase in all its details; and ought we not to
beg him now to withhold longer from us the whole of it? Your son,” she
continued, “has repeated to us with vivacity a few passages from memory, and
made us curious to see it as a connected whole.”
But when the father was a second time about to revert to and extol the talents
of his son, the ladies would not allow this to pass, denouncing it as an evident
evasion for the purpose of declining indirectly to fulfil their wishes. He was not
allowed to get off until he had unconditionally promised to send the poem; but
after that the conversation took a turn, which prevented him from saying
anything more in favor of his son, especially as the latter had dissuaded him
from all importunity.
As it now seemed to be the time to take leave, and the friend too had already
made some movement to that end, the beauty said, with a sort of embarrassment,
which only made her still more beautiful, at the same time carefully arranging
the knot of the letter-case, which had been newly tied: “Poets and amateurs have
unfortunately been long in such sort of repute, that one ought not to rely too
much upon their promises and agreements; pardon me, therefore, if I venture to
call in doubt the word of an honorable man, and on that account purpose, not to
ask, but to give a pledge, a token of faith. Take this letter-case; it has some
resemblance to your hunting-poem: many recollections are attached to it, a long
time has been spent in the work, at last it is finished; avail yourself of it as a
messenger, in which to bring us your pleasing work.”
The major really felt struck at such an unexpected offer; the elegant splendor
of this gift had so little relation to what habitually surrounded him, to everything
else that he made use of, that although offered to him, he scarcely ventured to
accept it; still, he collected himself, and as some treasure of traditional lore was
never lacking to his memory, a classical passage immediately occurred to his
mind. However, it would have been pedantic to quote it, and yet it suggested in
him a bright thought, so that then and there he was able in a neat paraphrase to
tender a friendly acknowledgment, and an elegant compliment in return. And
thus the scene was closed in a satisfactory manner to all the interlocutors.
So, finally, he found himself, not without embarrassment, entangled in a
pleasant connection: he had promised, had pledged himself to send, to write; and
if the occasion in some measure seemed unsatisfactory, still he had to esteem as
a piece of good fortune the fact that he was to remain in pleasant relations with
the lady who, with all her great attractions, was to be so nearly allied to him. So
he took his departure, not without a certain inward satisfaction; for how should
the poet not feel such an encouragement as this, when his faithful and diligent
work, that had so long lain unheeded, was now quite unexpectedly receiving
amiable recognition?
Immediately after his return to his quarters, the major sat down to write, to
inform his good sister of everything, and then nothing was more natural than that
his whole style should betray a certain exultation, such as he himself felt, and
which, by the remarks of his son interrupting him from time to time, was raised
to a still higher degree.
Upon the baroness this letter made a very mingled impression; for although
the circumstance — through which the union of her brother with Hilaria was
likely to be facilitated and hastened — was in itself calculated to satisfy her
completely, still the beautiful widow somehow failed to please her, though she
would not have thought of taking herself to task on that account. We will take
this opportunity of making the following observation:
An enthusiasm for any one woman, ought never to be confided to another;
they know each other too well to believe themselves worthy of any such
exclusive homage. Men appear to them as customers in a shop, where the
tradesman, who knows his wares, has the best of it, and can also avail himself of
the opportunity of displaying them in the best lights; whilst, on the other hand,
the buyer always enters with a kind of innocence; he stands in need of the article,
desires to have it, and but very rarely understands how to look at it with the eyes
of an expert. The one knows very well what he is giving, the other does not
always know what he is receiving. Yet once for all this cannot be changed in
human life and converse — nay, it is even as legitimate as necessary; for all
coveting and wooing, all buying and bartering, depends upon it.
In consequence of this sentiment, rather than reflection, the baroness could not
be entirely satisfied either with the passion of the son or with the favorable
description of the father; she found herself surprised by the fortunate turn of
affairs, and yet she could not banish a foreboding, on account of the double
disparity of age. Hilaria seems to her too young for her brother, the widow not
young enough for the son; in the meanwhile the affair has taken a course which
is not likely to be checked. A pious wish that all might end well arose with a
subdued sigh. To relieve her heart, she seized a pen, and wrote to that friend of
hers so well acquainted with mankind, and after a prefatory narrative, she thus
continued:
“The method of this seductive widow is not unknown to me: she seems to
decline all female company, and only to endure near her a woman who in no
way prejudices her, who flatters her, and if her silent advantages are not
sufficiently obvious, manages by words and an adroit treatment to recommend
her to observation. Spectators, if sympathizers in such a performance, must be
men; hence arises the necessity of enticing them and retaining them. I think no
evil of the beautiful woman; she seems proper and discreet enough, but such a
hankering vanity must doubtless sacrifice something to circumstances, and —
what I regard as the worst — it is not all so considered and designed: a certain
happy natural disposition guides and protects her, and nothing is more dangerous
in a born coquette like her than an abandon resulting from innocence.”
The major, now at length arrived at his country house, devoted the day and
hour to inspection and examination. He found himself in a situation to observe
that a straightforward and well-grasped leading idea is in its execution subjected
to manifold hindrances, and to the traversing of so many chances, to such a
degree that the first idea almost vanishes, and for the moment seems to be utterly
and completely lost, until in the midst of all the confusion the mind again
perceives the possibility of success, when we see Time, the best ally of
invincible endurance, offering us a hand.
And so too, here, there would have been the melancholy spectacle of fair and
wide yet neglected possessions brought into a hopeless condition through the
clever remarks of keen-witted economists, had it not at the same time been
foreseen that a term of years, used with common-sense and honesty, are
sufficient to reanimate what is dead, to bring into circulation what is stagnant,
and so, by method and industry, to attain at last one’s end.
The good-natured Obermarschall had arrived, and with him, in fact, a grave
lawyer; yet the latter caused the major less anxiety than the former, who was one
of those people who have no fixed object, or, if they see one before them,
decline the means of attaining it. Daily and hourly pleasure was the
indispensable requirement of his life. After long hesitation, he had at last
resolved in earnest to rid himself of his creditors, to shake off the burdens on his
property, to put order into the confusion of his household, to enjoy without
further anxieties a respectable and certain income; yet, for all that, not to
discontinue even the smallest item of his previous habits.
On the whole he agreed to everything as to what his brother and sister were to
pay for the undisturbed possession of the estate, and especially of the principal
property; yet he would not completely forego his claims to a certain adjacent
villa, to which every year on his birthday he invited his oldest friends and most
recent acquaintances, nor to the ornamental gardens attached thereto that
connected it with the principal building. The furniture was all to remain in the
villa, the engravings on the walls; and, moreover, the fruit upon the espaliers was
reserved to him. Peaches and strawberries of the most exquisite kind, pears and
apples large and well-flavored, but particularly a certain kind of small gray
apples, which he had been accustomed for many years to offer to the princess-
dowager, were faithfully to be handed over to him. To this were added other
conditions less important, but to the owner, the tenants, the overseers, and the
gardeners, uncommonly burdensome.
For the rest the Obermarschall was in the best humor; for he did not relinquish
the thought that all would ultimately be arranged according to his wishes, and as
his sanguine temperament had anticipated; he therefore only troubled himself
about a good dinner, and in an easy ride of a few hours obtained the requisite
exercise, related story after story, and showed throughout a most cheerful
countenance. In the same manner, too, he took his departure, thanked the major
most handsomely for having treated him in such a brotherly manner, borrowed a
little money, had the store of small gray apples, which this year had succeeded
particularly well, carefully packed up, and with this treasure, which he intended
to offer as a welcome compliment to the princess, he drove away to the
dowager’s residence, where in due course he was received in a gracious and
friendly manner.
The major, for his part, remained behind with totally opposite feelings, and
would have been almost driven to despair at the restrictions that he found before
him, if he had not been aided by that feeling which cheers and revives an active
man when he has the hope of unravelling what is confused, and enjoying what
has been unravelled.
Fortunately the lawyer happened to be an honest man, who, as he had a good
deal else to do, soon settled the question. It was equally fortunate that a valet of
the Obermarschall’s threw himself into it, and, on reasonable conditions,
promised to co-operate in the affair, whereby a successful result might be hoped
for. Satisfactory as this was, however, still the major, as a man of rectitude, felt,
in the shifting pros and cons of this business, that satisfaction was only to be got
through much that was unsatisfactory. But just as to women, the moment at
which their hitherto uncontested beauty will become doubtful is in the highest
degree painful, so also to men of a certain age, though still in the fulness of
vigor, the faintest sense of insufficient power is extremely disagreeable, nay, in
some degree painful.
Another circumstance, however, that occurred, which ought to have disturbed
him, put him into the best humor. His cosmetical valet, who had not left him
even during this country excursion, for some time back seemed to have struck
into a fresh path, to which the major’s early rising, his daily rides and
excursions, as also the admittance of many busy people — or even, during the
Obermarschall’s presence, of many idle ones — seemed to compel him. For
some time past he had excused the major all the small trifles, that only had a
claim to engage the attention of an actor, but so much the more strictly did he
hold fast to certain principal points, which hitherto had been obscured by a less
important hocuspocus. He re-enforced everything which not only aimed at the
appearance of health, but also was seriously supposed to maintain health itself,
but particularly moderation in everything, and variety according to
circumstances; attention likewise to the skin and hair, to eyebrows and teeth, to
hands and nails, the most elegant form and neatest length of which this expert
had long made his care. At the same time he stringently prescribed, over and
over again, moderation in everything that is wont to throw a man off his balance;
after which this professor of the art of beautification asked leave to go, because
he could be of no further use to his master. At the same time one can imagine
that he may well have wished himself back with his former patron, in order to be
able to devote himself once more to the varied pleasures of a theatrical life.
And it really did the major a great deal of good to be again his own master.
The sensible man needs only to keep himself under control, and he is happy. He
could again freely indulge in his old exercise of riding, hunting, and of all
pertaining thereto. The image of Hilaria in such solitary moments again came
pleasantly forward, and he adapted himself to the condition of an engaged man
— perhaps the most charming one that is allotted to us within the sphere of
civilized life.
During a pause in the business that left him some liberty, he hurried to his
estate, where, recollecting the promise given to the beautiful widow, which he
had never forgotten, he rummaged among his poems, that were lying put away in
excellent order; at the same time he put his hand on many note and
memorandum-books, containing extracts from ancient and modern authors
which he had read. Owing to his partiality for Horace and the Roman poets, most
of them belonged to these, and it struck him that the passages chiefly expressed
regrets for past time, and for a vanished state of things and feelings. Instead of
many, we shall insert only the following passage:
Heu! . . . .
Quæ mens est hodie, cur eadem non puero fuit?
Vel cur his animis incolumes non redeunt genæ?
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