Hugo had gone across into his brother"s study, where he found him alone. The piano stood open, but Reinhold himself lay extended on the couch, his head thrown back on the cushions. The face, with its half-closed eyes and high forehead, with its dark hair falling over it, looked alarmingly pale. It was an att.i.tude, not of repose, but of the most supreme fatigue and exhaustion, and he barely changed it at his brother"s entrance.
"Reinhold, really this is too bad of you," said the latter, coming up to him. "Half the town is in commotion with your opera; in the theatre everything is in a whirl; people openly fight for tickets. His Excellency the Director does not know where his head is, and Donna Beatrice is in a regular state of nervous excitement. And you, the real promoter of all this disturbance, dream away here in _dolce far niente_, as if there were no public nor operas in the world."
Reinhold turned his head towards the new comer with a feeble, indifferent movement; his face showed that his dreams had been anything but sweet.
"You were at the rehearsal?" asked he. "Did you see Cesario?"
"The Marchese? Certainly, although he was no more at the rehearsal than I was. This time he preferred to give a performance himself in the higher equestrian art; I have just paid a high tribute of admiration to his bravery."
"Cesario? How so?"
"Well, he rode no less than three times up and down the same street, and regularly under a certain balcony; let his horse curvet so senselessly that one dreaded an accident every moment. He will break his own and his beautiful animal"s neck too, if he should try that often. Unfortunately this time mine was the only, probably not much wished for, physiognomy which he saw at the window."
The evidently irritable tone of these words caught Reinhold"s attention--he half raised himself up.
"At which window?"
Hugo bit his lips; in his anger he had quite forgotten to whom he spoke. His brother remarked his hesitation.
"Do you mean the Erlau"s house?" asked he, quickly. "It seems to me you often visit it."
"Sometimes, at least," was Captain Almbach"s quick response. "You know I have always enjoyed the privilege of neutrality there; even when the battle was raging most fiercely in my uncle"s house, I have a.s.serted this old privilege there, and it is tacitly recognised by both parties."
Reinhold had raised himself entirely, but the eagerness had quite disappeared from his features; in its place was a dark expression of enquiry, as he said--
"Then Cesario has also the _entree_ of the Erlau"s house? Of course you introduced him there."
"Yes, I was so--stupid," said Captain Almbach, speaking angrily, "and I seem to have caused something very charming by it. We had hardly left Mirando when Don Cesario--who cannot resolve to sacrifice his freedom---who rides past the only lady in the neighbourhood without looking at her even--loses no time on the strength of that introduction in making himself agreeable at the Villa Fiorina; and this was done, the Herr Consul tells me, in so pleasant and modest a manner that it was impossible to repulse him; the more so, as our departure from Mirando removed the only cause of their seclusion. Then he was fortunate enough to discover Herr Doctor Conti, who was making his _villegiatura_ somewhere in the vicinity, and bring him to the Herr Consul. The doctor"s treatment produced results beyond all expectation, and Don Cesario is almost looked upon in the family as the saviour of life, which he knows how to make use of. Trust one of those women-haters! They are the worst of all; Jonas has just given me a speaking example of it. He has started a wonderful theory of pity, in which he believes firmly as in the Gospel; but all the same, it has caught him hopelessly, and the aristocratic Marchese Tortoni is on the same path."
It could not have escaped any calm observer, that under the Captain"s mocking speech, which was usually only dictated by mischief, a bitterness lay concealed which, with all his scoffing, he could not quite control; but Reinhold was far from calm. He had listened as if he would read every word from off his brother"s lips, and at the last remark he started up wildly.
"On what path? What do you mean by it?"
Hugo stepped back as if struck, "My G.o.d, Reinhold, how can you fly out like that? I only meant--"
"It concerns Ella, does it not?" interrupted Reinhold, with the same violence. "To whom else can these attentions be paid?"
"Certainly, to Ella," said Captain Almbach. It was the first time for months that this name had been mentioned between them. "And just for this reason, it can and must be indifferent to you."
Simple as the remark was, it seemed to hit Reinhold unexpectedly hard.
He strode up and down the room once or twice, and at last stopped before his brother.
"Cesario has no idea of the truth," said he, in a suppressed voice; "he made some enthusiastic remarks to me at the beginning. I may have betrayed to him, involuntarily, how much they pained me, as since then he has not touched the topic again."
"Erlau appears to have given him a similar hint," added Hugo. "He tried to find out something about it from me--if any and what connection existed between you and that family. I naturally avoided it, but he seems to suspect some former enmity between you and Erlau."
Reinhold looked down gloomily. "This connection will indeed not long remain a secret. Beatrice knows it already, and, as I fear, from a very unsafe source, whence no silence can be expected. Cesario must learn it sooner or later, after what you have just disclosed to me. He is romantic enough to take anything of the sort seriously, and give himself up, with his whole soul, to a hopeless pa.s.sion."
Captain Almbach leaned with folded arms against the piano, a slight pallor lay upon his face, and his voice trembled faintly, as he answered--
"Who tells you that it is hopeless?"
"Hugo, that is an insult," stormed Reinhold. "Do you forget that Eleonore is my wife?"
"She was," said Captain Almbach, emphasising the word strongly. "You surely think now as little of a.s.serting such rights as she would be inclined to admit them."
Reinhold was silent. He knew best with what determination even the slightest appearance of any right was denied him.
"You have both been satisfied with mere separation," continued Hugo, "without requiring judicial divorce. You did not need it, and what restrains Ella from it I understand only too well. In such a case final decisions as to the possession of the boy must be made. She knew that you would never quite sacrifice your paternal rights, and trembled at the thought of giving you the boy even for a time. Your tacit resignation of him was sufficient for her; she preferred to give up all satisfaction, in order to remain in undisturbed possession of her child."
Reinhold stood there as if struck by lightning. The glow of agitation which had so lately coloured his brow disappeared; he had become deadly pale again, as he asked, in a suppressed voice--
"And this--this you think was the sole reason?"
"So far as I know Ella, the sole one which could prevent her completing the step which you had commenced."
"And you think that Cesario has hopes?"
"I do not know it," said Hugo, seriously, "but we both know that nothing stands in the way of Ella"s freedom, if she were really disposed to a.s.sert it still. You forsook her, gave her up entirely for years, and all the world knows why it was done, and what kept you continuously away from her. She has not only law, but also public opinion on her side, and I fear the latter would compel you to leave the boy with her. Beatrice stands terribly in the way of your paternal rights."
"You think that Cesario has hopes?" repeated Reinhold, but this time the words sounded moody and full of menace.
"I believe that he loves her, loves her pa.s.sionately, and that sooner or later he will try to woo her. He will then certainly learn that the imaginary widow was the wife of his friend, and still bears that friend"s name, but I doubt if this will exercise any influence upon him, as not the slightest shadow falls upon Ella. Only your friendship may receive an irrecoverable blow; but even without this, it would be at an end, so soon as pa.s.sion speaks; consider this, Reinhold, and do not let yourself be carried away to any rash act. You broke your bonds in order to set yourself free. Thereby you also made Eleonore free--perhaps for another."
Captain Almbach"s voice fell at the last words, and, as if to suppress or conceal some violent emotion, he turned quickly to depart. Although his brother"s agitation, whom he left alone, did not escape him, he had not the remotest suspicion of the firebrand which his words threw into the other"s breast.
If Reinhold had shown almost nothing but fatigue and indifference lately to those around him, if a sensation often overcame him that for him there was an end of life and love, this moment proved that the same wild pa.s.sion could still rage in his heart which had once drawn the young artist away from his bonds at home; and the manner in which the storm had been loosed, betrayed, if not to others yet to himself, that which hitherto he _would_ not know, and which now disclosed itself to him with merciless distinctness. The defiance and bitterness with which he had armed himself against the wife who dared to let him feel that he had once deeply offended her, and that she would now and never more pardon this offence, succ.u.mbed before the burning pain which suddenly blazed forth in his breast. But although his pride taught him to meet the coldness, indifference and irreconciliation with harshness, he still could not prevent it that so soon as the picture of his child rose before him its mother"s form also stood by its side. Certainly it was no longer the same Ella, who a few months previously barely held a place in his recollection, but the woman, who on that evening, when for the first time he recognised what he had so frivolously given up, and what he had irretrievably lost, had shown him such an energetic will, and such a never dreamed of depth of feeling. Near the child"s fair curly head there hovered, ever and ever, the face with those large, deep blue eyes, whose glance had struck him so annihilatingly. He did not confess to himself with what pa.s.sion he clung to this picture, with what longing he dreamed away hours in these recollections; he did not even confess the thought which lay unexpressed in his soul, that the woman who still bore his name, who was the mother of his child, notwithstanding all that had happened, still belonged to him, and although he had forfeited the right of possession, at any rate no other dared approach her.
And now he must hear that another already stretched forth his hand to the prize, and offered everything to gain it. His brother"s words unsparingly disclosed the motive, to which alone he owed it, that Ella had not answered his flight with letters of divorce. Only for the child"s sake was she still called his wife; not because one trace of liking for him lingered in her heart. And if she were now to take the step once avoided; if on her side she removed the chain, now when a Cesario offered her his hand, who could prevent her; who could blame the woman, who after the lapse of years sought at last in a purer, better love, recompense for the treachery her husband had exercised towards her? The danger did not lie in the fact that Marchese Tortoni, who was handsome, rich, and who, belonging to one of the n.o.blest families, was the aim of so many aspirations, could raise his wife to a brilliant position; that could only come under Erlau"s consideration; but Reinhold knew that Cesario, with his n.o.ble and thoroughly pure character, with his glowing enthusiasm for everything beautiful and ideal, might indeed win the heart of an Eleonore--yes, must win it--if this heart were still free; and this conviction robbed him of all self-possession. There was once an hour in which the young wife had lain full of despair on her knees by her child"s cradle, with the annihilating consciousness that at that moment her husband was forsaking her, his child, and his home for another"s sake--that hour now revenged itself on him, who was guilty of it, revenged itself in the words, which stood as if written in letters of flame before his soul--"Therefore you made her free also--perhaps for another."
CHAPTER V.
A storm of applause rolled through the opera house, and the curtain had not even been drawn up as yet. It was for the overture, whose last tones had just resounded. The theatre was filled to overflowing in every place, with the sole exception of one small proscenium box close to the stage; this was occupied by a single elderly gentleman, probably some rich eccentric, whom it pleased to procure by lavish expenditure of money the entire possession of a box, as on such an evening it would otherwise hardly have been obtained. Every where else the dazzlingly lighted s.p.a.ces and tiers of boxes, with their rich parterres of ladies, offered a brilliant and variegated picture. The world of artists, as well as aristocracy, was fully represented. All which the town possessed in the way of beauties, celebrities and persons of distinction, had appeared to prepare a new triumph for the much admired favourite of society. And was this merely what it was all for? No young composer was offering his work timidly to the approbation or disapprobation of the public: a recognised and undisputed sovereign in the realms of music stepped before the world with a new display of his talent, in order to gain a new conquest by it. This certainly lay written very plainly, although not as if it were agreeable, upon Maestro Gianelli"s face, who conducted the orchestra. At the same time he did not venture to fail in zeal or attention. He knew only too well that if he attempted here, where of course a portion of the success depended upon him, to intrigue against the all-powerful Rinaldo, it must cost him his post, perhaps his entire future, as in such a case the disfavour of the public would be ensured to him. Therefore he did his duty to the fullest extent, and the overture was performed with perfect execution.
The curtain rustled, and in antic.i.p.ation the composer received the homage of eager silence. Before the first act was half concluded there was not one of the audience who had not already forgiven Reinhold the tyranny with which he had disposed of all means in his hands, and insisted mercilessly on having his views carried out. The representation was in every respect perfect, and the scenery a masterwork. All felt that it was a different hand to that of the usual manager which had ruled here, and raised simple theatrical effects everywhere to artistic beauty; but all these external advantages disappeared before the all-attracting power of the work.
It was, perhaps, the most perfect which Rinaldo had ever composed in his own peculiar line, a line by many so much admired, and by so many others deplored. At all events this time he produced the very best in that style to which Beatrice"s influence had drawn him; was it the highest which he could produce? This question was absorbed at present in the ringing applause with which the audience greeted this new creation of their favourite. Was it not Rinaldo again with all the fiery spirit of his genius, of which none could tell positively whether it were at home above, in the heights of idealism, or below in the depths of pa.s.sion, and which roused again in men"s hearts all feelings which lay between these two poles.
The storm raged over the northern heaths, and the billows surged against the coast. As mists are driven along the cliffs, so rose and fell the tones in chaotic confusion, until at last a dreamlike, beautiful melody dawned forth. But it only hovered like a fleeting vapoury picture over the whole, never completed, never ringing forth clear and full, and soon it was lost amid other sounds, which not so pure and sweet as it, yet attracted with a singularly strange charm.
The mists separated, and out of them appeared the demon-like beautiful form, which was the chief performer and central figure of the whole opera. Loud acclamation greeted Signora Biancona"s appearance on the stage. Beatrice showed to-day that she still understood how to be beautiful, as at the commencement of her career. What art may have done towards it was not now brought into consideration, enough that the apparition standing before the public was perfect in every respect. The half fantastic, half cla.s.sic costume displayed her figure in all its grace, her dark curls flowed loosely over her shoulders, and her eyes gleamed with the old devouring fire. And now that voice was raised, which had been the admiration of almost all Europe, full and powerful, filling the extensive s.p.a.ce--the singer still stood at the zenith of her beauty and artistic strength.
The melodies flowed forth, still more glowing, more fiery, and before the audience a picture of sounds was unfolded which seemed to borrow its colours, now from the brightest sunlight, now from the scorching heat of a crater. It pourtrayed the lost wild life of one whose cup was filled to the brim, and who drained it to the very dregs. This rushing forth beyond all bounds and limits, the volcanic glow of feelings, the goblinlike play with tones carried the hearers irresistibly away on the sea of pa.s.sion, there to cast them adrift between shuddering and enchantment, between heaven and h.e.l.l. At times, indeed, notes rang out like paeans of joy and triumph, but between were startling, harsh discords, and then again sounds of that first lost melody were wafted back, which ran through the entire opera like a soft, intensely painful yearning plaint. As a dream of love and happiness pa.s.ses through the soul of man without ever descending to reality, so breathed and died these tones in the distance, while in the foreground stood ever and ever again the one figure, which Rinaldo had endowed with the highest dramatic power, of which he was a master like none other, which he had surrounded with all the magic of his melodies, whose sensual, entrancing charms were laid like a ban upon the listeners" souls.
Beatrice was, if any one, adapted to understand this music exactly in its innermost being and nature and to do it justice; she, whose peculiar element was pa.s.sion, who, as an actress, had sought and found her triumph in it only. It rang out of every note of her singing, quivered out of every motion in her acting, which raised itself to a greater dramatic height than ever before, while she represented hate and love, devotion and despair, rage and revenge with life-like truth.
It was as though this woman poured forth a stream of fire, which imparted itself to the audience, who, half charmed, half alarmed, followed her performance. Never yet had the singer been so entirely part of her task, never yet had she delivered it so perfectly as this time. No one guessed, indeed, for what prize she struggled, what urged her to employ her best powers. Was it not to win back _him_, whom already she had more than half lost! He had admired the actress before he had learned to love the woman, and the actress now called all the power of her talent to her aid, in order to maintain that of the woman.