He was still thinking about the window. Finally he waved his hand as if to say, “Past!” Then he reached for his hat and made his way down the broad stone steps, which were slightly echoing from his footsteps, into the park.
Quiet and sunny, the parterre with its colorful flowerbeds lay spread out before him. He went through it and turned into a wide aisle, which, gently rising, deeper and deeper into the shadows of an artificially created romantic wilderness ushered. All around, there were mossy cliffs, small ponds and waterfalls, caves, hermitages, secluded boskets with open views: all created at the end of the last century and connected by a delicate labyrinth of paths leading up and down.
Now the baron stopped. He had reached a freer plateau and stood in front of a large meadow, which, surrounded by oaks and old beech trees, stretched out in luminous solitude. At the far end, just in front of a small birch grove, stood a very spacious, weather-beaten pavilion called the Tirolerhaus. A wooden, covered corridor surrounded the first floor from the outside; the door on the ground floor was open, and the baron's wife was sitting on a bench next to it, her head shielded by a broad-brimmed Florentine straw hat from the sun's rays. An open book lay in her lap; but she looked dreamily to herself. So deeply did she seem lost in herself, that for a long time she did not notice the seamstress, who now walked across the swelling green of the meadow towards her.
At last she had perceived his appearance, rose, and approached him with some slow but supple limbs. Her slender growth and even more her unusual beauty made her appear much younger than she actually was. Only on closer inspection did one recognize the fully developed form and those somewhat overshadowing forms, as they used to be characteristic of childless women.
Now she was standing in front of him, wrapping her white arms, shining out of long-slit down sleeves, lightly around his neck.
“You're late,” she said, her big eyes, blue as cornflowers, hitting him. “I've been waiting for you for a long time.”
For the moment he returned nothing and looked only into that face, which, despite its rosy brightness, had a delicate brownish skin tone and was so magical that one could never forget it, even once seen. And he! How many times had he sunk into the unfathomable charm of those soft and yet meticulously cut trains! How often the gentle nose of the nose, the indescribable charm of lip formation admired - and how he was always surprised and delighted again! Finally he said: “I have been held back; it was a deputation with me.”
She lowered her arms. “A deputation?” She asked concerned.
“Do not be alarmed,” he replied, gently stroking his slightly withered hand over one of the dark hair waves that billowed out on both sides of her hat. “It is of no importance. I have been offered homage by the local community, but I would rather have been spared. But since she, like everything else, is already behind me, I will, so to speak, regard her as the conclusion of my public ministry - and nothing shall disturb our dear castle peace.”
“So I hope!” She said, nestling against him. “And yet,” she went on thoughtfully, “I fear, too, that this peace, this rest, will soon be a burden to you. You are so used to activity -”
“Yes,” he replied, gently placing his arm around her middle and leading her slowly back to the bench, which both now settled on, “yes, I'm used to activity - but I'm exhausted, too. Who, like me, saw the work of his life collapse, who feels that he is finished and can not start all over again - or even be active in another direction. So one has only come before my own wish, as one I retired, albeit quite ungraciously, and if a bitter feeling creeps me today, it is only the result of the conviction that the state has been thrown back on paths that can never lead to salvation. How insecure, how threatening the conditions seem! The uprising in Hungary has not yet been mastered, - conflicts with Germany regarding the question of power seem to be preparing. Austria's future is what fills me with deep concern. If I could rest assured, I would be happy to finally be able to live for myself and my beloved wife.”
He had seized her hand at these words to bring it to her lips; but she offered his mouth a full, long kiss.
As unequal as the couple might appear, the exchange of this conjugal tenderness had nothing strange about it. For the elderly man, who was embracing the blooming woman, was one of those rare people who can grow old without detriment. His hair was gray as well, his head was thinned: his slender, elegant figure had remained upright and mobile, and the intellectual nobility of his forehead, the clear gaze of his eyes, were in no way damaged by the delicately sensual trajectory that played around his lips even more emphatically highlighted. After all, when he presided over a public administrative office at the beginning of the forties, he had always been called the “beautiful president” in the Volksmunde. And then it happened that he, almost a fiftieth, passionately in love with the daughter of one of his subordinate councilors at the first sight, that he had solicited her - and received a joyful adjudication. He was far too clever not to realize that his rank and fortune had taken a considerable toll; but he nevertheless had the convincing feeling that he was also able to marry his barely twenty-year-old bride by the merits of his He captivated the personality and, through the unconsumed power of his innately intimate nature, instilled in her almost the love he felt for her. Yes, he was happy - but he also made happy. He could not doubt this in the course of a nearly ten-year marriage. But will this happy state last? Even now that he had, in fact, set the threshold of old age? And later....?
These thoughts might cloud his forehead and let him say in a hushed voice, “Yes, I'll be happy here, Klothilde. But you too ?”
She looked at him in surprise. “I!? How can you doubt it? You know how much I love our beautiful cost. And now that we can settle in here - which was always the goal of my secret desires - now should not I be happy?”
He saw that she did not understand him. “I did not mean it either,” he said softly. “I just doubted if you'll feel happy here by my side, too.”
She was slightly discolored. “By your side?” She called. “How do you come to this question, Alfons?”
He lowered his head. “Because I'm getting older and older - and you're still in the full zenith of your life.”
Now she had understood him. She jumped up, put her hands on his shoulders and looked at him in terror, startled and reproachful. “Alfons, what do you mean by that? Who gives you a right to speak like that?”
“My innermost sensation,” he replied humbly, grabbing her both hands and gently guiding her to the lips. “Forgive me, Klothilde! It was certainly foolish for me to express this sentiment - but I could not help it.”
She stood in front of him and looked deep into his eyes. “My God, I can not believe it. Did you notice anything about me that leads you to such concerns?”
“Oh, nothing! Nothing! “He interrupted hastily. “You are an angel of kindness and tenderness!”
“Oh then,” she cried, “then I do not understand how you can torment yourself with such thoughts! Alfons! “She continued, slipping down quickly before he could prevent it, kneeling, grabbing his hand and pressing it repeatedly to his lips. “Alfons! Must I first assure you that there can be no happier woman than I am? Do not you feel how intimately I belong to you? And now here, far from the confusing impressions of the world, into which I, you know, never - never could have found. O, here can indeed our two only increase happiness, and if you, as I said, the inaction is not a burden, then nothing will tarnish the sky of our day!”
The hat had fallen back on her neck, and her beautiful head was fully and fully revealed. He stroked with Kosen the dark hair full of her tender, shining brow. “Can there be better things to do than breathe quietly near you?” He said with a smile as he gently pulled her back onto the bench. “By the way, I will not be completely idle anyway. For I intend to write the history of the years I spent in the civil service. She may benefit a later generation.”
“That's wonderful!” Exclaimed Klothilde happily. “Will I also take up my pursuit
s - or hobbies that have been denied and stunted for so long. I have already chosen my dried-on watercolor paints - and tomorrow I am going to the landscape that I started a year ago. And how do I want to practice my piano again! Every evening you should hear a sonata or a symphony.”
He smiled at her quietly.
“And when Aunt Lotti comes, then we are not so completely alone. Then we have a good house spirit who will take care of everything that neglects your wife. You are right, “she added after a pause,” that I have asked her to be our constant guest?”
“Certainly. The poorest deserve our full participation, and we only fulfill one duty if we offer her asylum after all the misfortune that has befallen her.”
“She's so good!” Klothilde continued. “And so prudent, so efficient! How admirable she raised her son after the early death of her husband. And what strength of strength she showed when she saw the hopeful youth bleeding to death in her arms.”
“Yes, this battle on the Tabor Bridge,” said the Freiherr thoughtfully, “was the fatality of the revolution. I had warned poor August, but he could - or did not want to go back.”
She saw the husband's forehead cloud over and tried to distract his thoughts. “Do not you want to see the house?” She asked. “I have completely settled in it again. Come, I will guide you!”
She stood up and he followed her, placing his arm slightly under hers. They stepped into the small hallway and climbed up the creaking wooden staircase, which led to a not un-spacious, if low, chamber. It was decorated in rural taste with furniture made of natural wood; hung on the walls, dark framed, and already quite faded, Tyrolean mountain veduta; In the middle, however, over a neatly carved seat, covered with hard cushions, was the portrait of Andreas Hofer in carefully colored stone. All the equipment was still from the mother of the former castle owner, who spent several years in Tyrol and in memory of this stay The small building had been built and maintained with preference. She used to claim that during her final years she spent most of the day here, and an adjoining room bore witness to her other habits and hobbies. Everything was decorated in the dainty style of the Empire. In front of a tiny sofa was a cute ebony game table, where the old lady laid Patience or made a game of L'Hombre with her reader. A small, brittle spinet had its place close to the window; on the other side was an open reference library containing a whole series of older poets, such as Klopstock, Uz, Hagedorn, Gellert; all in well-kept old fashioned bindings of brown leather. The works of Jean Paul found themselves including a copy of the first edition of Werther; also some dramas of Schiller and Tiedges Urania. On the spacious table of the entrance room were also books, which revealed themselves by fresh and modern bindings as a reading of the present mistress.
“Now you see everything together,” said Klothilde, after they had entered, “what I need but my good fortune. Here are my beloved books, especially my Lenau “she accepted the band as caressing” and there my easel. Even the climatic box in there is invaluable to me; because a few trifles from Mozart can at least play on it.”
He was now standing in front of the delicate easel on which the landscape mentioned by Klothilde was to be seen. She imagined a secluded, topped, rocky valley; from the height a waterfall dusted down. In the foreground some female figures were indicated in ideal attire.
“You can recognize the student Markos,” said the Baron, looking at the picture.
It was like this. Klothilde was a very young girl of this master, who, as in those days many of his fellow-artists, had to resort to such extra income, received lessons. One could call her gifted; but she did not rise above the dilettantism, as her whole education, according to the circumstances of time, lacked thoroughness. It had absorbed only the most accessible surface of knowledge, with the fine instincts of the women of that time, who towered almost beyond the men in mental receptivity. Thus Klothilden's knowledge did not go very far beyond what was conveyed to her by the simultaneous, beautiful literature, and even there it was really only the melancholy sentimental element which finds its expression in the poems of Lenau, or the delicate and sensible, as it is in the studies of Adalbert Stifter, which immediately attracted her; the low content of our classics had remained more or less closed to her. On the other hand, she showed great musical talent and was well educated. The chamber music had been cultivated in her father's house, more than usual nowadays, and Klothilde herself had always participated in these loving exercises at the piano. Above all, it was Beethoven's inexhaustible musical treasures that kept delighting him, and for this master she possessed not only the most enthusiastic reverence, but also the deepest understanding. and Klothilde herself had always participated in these loving exercises on the piano. Above all, it was Beethoven's inexhaustible musical treasures that kept delighting him, and for this master she possessed not only the most enthusiastic reverence, but also the deepest understanding. and Klothilde herself had always participated in these loving exercises on the piano. Above all, it was Beethoven's inexhaustible musical treasures that kept delighting him, and for this master she possessed not only the most enthusiastic reverence, but also the deepest understanding.
“Here I will spend my mornings again,” she said now. “How grateful I am to the good countess, whose spirit hovers about me in these rooms, that she let arise the charming house!”
“Well, well,” replied the baron jokingly, settling himself under the brave sandman, “I shall become quite jealous of this Buen Retiro, which is moreover so lonely that one day you can very easily be robbed of me.”
“Oh, I'm not afraid!” She laughed. “You know how scared I am; but here I feel as safe as in your arms.”
She sat down next to him, and they both silently looked through an open double door into the glowing green that was above Railing of the corridor came to light. A bee whirred into the room and slowly circled a bouquet of wildflowers, which, apparently picked up by Klothilde, stood before them in an old-fashioned vase.
Short Stories From Austria- Ferdinand Von Saar Page 25
