THE MOUTH OF HELL, page 15
Julius hurried her away as quickly as possible.
Thirteen months of married life did not appear to have diminished Julius’ love for Christiane. The look he bent upon her was full, if not of the vehement passion of ardent temperaments, at least of all the chivalrous tenderness of loving natures. The husband was still the lover. He tried to distract his dear one from the painful memories aroused by the sight of her old home, by drawing her attention to the valley they were driving through, and which recalled so many happy moments to them both.
Then, he showed her their little child who had just awoke and was gazing at its mother with half-opened and vaguely astonished eyes. He took him from his nurse’s arms, and raised the helpless child to Christiane’s lips.
“See how free from jealousy I am!” said he. “I myself make you kiss my rival. Because henceforth I have a rival. Two months ago, I was the only one you loved; now there are two of us. You have divided your heart into two parts, and I am not at all sure that he who has the largest share, is not the baby boy.”
And, even as he spoke, he himself kissed the child, laughed with him, and made him laugh.
Christiane, grateful for the efforts Julius made to comfort her, tried to smile too.
“But,” Julius asked by way of making her talk, “ought we not soon to be at the ruins of Eberbach?”
“Yes, presently,” she replied.
Herr Schreiber’s successor, during the short conversation they had held together, had said that of course they were going to the Castle of Eberbach. On their answering in the negative, he had asked when they intended going there.
“What for? “Julius had said.
At this question the pastor had seemed surprised, but could not be induced to say anything further, and simply advised them to pass by the ruins. Without understanding what he meant, Julius had seen in this a possible means of rousing Christiane from her sad thoughts, and had told the postillion to drive round by the Mouth of Hell.
Suddenly, as the carriage turned a sharp bend in the road, an exclamation broke from Julius.
“What is the matter?” said Christiane.
“Look up there,” said he. “Can I be mistaken? I fancied that the ruins of Eberbach stood there.”
“Well?” said she, rousing herself at last from her abstraction.
“Well! do you remember a dream of mine that I told you about among these ruins?”
“You spoke of rebuilding the castle.”
“There is our dream realised.”
“How strange!” replied Christiane, as surprised as her husband.
In fact, in the place where they had left three tottering, crumbling, half-ruined walls, now stood a newly-built castle, complete and perfect, proudly set upon the rock, rising boldly between the precipice and the sky.
The castle which they now beheld was a square keep, flanked at each of the four corners by a round turret. One was entirely visible to them, as also the pointed roofs of the others. But the trees, already in leaf, hid from them the details.
“If you do not mind, Christiane,” said Julius, “I feel curious to know who is the magician whose whim it has been to realize our dream.”
“Let us enquire,” said Christiane.
The chaise had arrived at the main entrance, an opening in the outer wall like a large breach, and through which the eye lighted on a winding avenue leading to the castle. Julius ordered the postillion to stop. The valet sprang to the ground and rang the bell.
On either side of the entrance were two small lodges, in the style of the Renaissance. A man came out of the lodge on the right and opened the gates.
“To whom does this castle belong?” asked Julius.
“To the Viscount von Eberbach.”
“Is he here?”
“No,” said the lodge-keeper, “he is travelling abroad.”
“May we go over the castle?”
“I will enquire, sir.”
Whilst the porter walked towards the castle-keep, Julius cast an eager, jealous eye over this noble dwelling, which had sprung so rapidly from the ground. The sloping avenue was formed out of a portion of the old forest, the architect having cut a clearing in such a manner as to leave a wide lawn between two double rows of large trees. The sward, inundated by high grasses, was like a sea of verdure with islets of flowers.
At the end of this grassy path gleamed the façade of the castle. There was probably another frontage commanding the Mouth of Hell, stern no doubt, proud and forbidding as the abyss over which it towered perpendicularly. But this aspect was peaceful and smiling. A mixture of red sandstone gave a cheerful appearance to the edifice, and took from it the bare, chalky look which results from the whiteness of new stones. Carvings of light foliage, full of nests of birds, ran along the pointed arches of the windows. And already real live birds were beginning to build their nests in the carved work, so that, hearing little cries issuing from the friezes, one wondered from which nests they came, whether from the nests of moss or from the nests of stone. All this leafage fluttered and rustled in the passing breeze, and Julius was sure he saw one charming little sculptured goldfinch ruffle its granite plumage.
The lodge-keeper returned and asked them to enter.
Julius linked his arm in that of Christiane, and the nurse followed behind with the child. They ascended the avenue of trees, and came to a flight of steps in wrought stone, with a carved balustrade in trefoil, at the top of which opened, in an inner wall, a great arched oaken door, studded with chased nails. They passed through two or three doors or courtyards more. Then the lodge-keeper showed them into the castle.
After crossing the threshold, one seemed quickly transported from the present into the past. The middle ages were revived in the arrangement and furniture of the rooms. Each had its speciality; one was devoted to armour, another to tapestries. There was one in which stood huge chests crammed with goblets, tankards and enormous cups. Another was a perfect museum adorned with magnificent paintings by Holbein, Albert Durer and Lucas van Leyden. Daylight filtered into a chapel through the brilliant colouring of the finest glass windows of the day. What clever artist, what archaeologist-poet, what precursor-antiquary, anticipating, so early as 1811,. the great Gothic movement of 1830, had so completely restored the past ages? Julius was struck with admiration and surprise. It was the perfect restoration of four vanished centuries, from the twelfth to the sixteenth. At the end of the armoury there was a closed door. Julius asked the porter to unlock it.
“I have not the key of the private apartments,” the man replied.
But just then the door opened.
“I have it,” said a voice.
It was Baron von Hermelinfeld.
CHAPTER XXVII.
FOR WHOM THE CASTLE WAS BUILT.
THE baron held out his arms to his son and daughter and embraced them tenderly.
The first impression experienced by the baron, Julius and Christiane was one of joy, the second was one of astonishment.
How came the baron to be there, and how came the keys of the castle in his possession! The baron was no less surprised than Julius. He had not expected his son so soon. Julius, wishing to give him a surprise, had not informed him of his arrival. It was indeed some time since the baron had received news from the young couple. The last letter that Julius had written him dated as far back as Christiane’s confinement.
So, after an interchange of loving greetings, a whole volley of questions was poured out. The baron thought Christiane looking sweet and fair, so effectually had Julius, with loving solicitude, sheltered her from the southern sun. But the child came in for the largest share of attention. The grandfather never wearied of kissing his grandson. He thanked Christiane for having called the child Wilhelm after him. Wilhelm was not yet christened, they had waited until their return home, in order that the baron might be his sponsor.
Then it was the turn of the travellers to question the baron.
“But how comes it, father, that you are as free here at the Viscount von Eberbach’s as in your own house?”
“Bless me!” replied the baron, “the Viscount von Eberbach is an intimate friend of mine.”
“I had never heard you mention him, father, and I believed the house of Eberbach to be extinct.”
“The best proof that a Viscount von Eberbach exists, is that this is his castle, and the proof that I know him is that, if you wish, I will do the honours in his absence.”
They went into the room which the baron had opened, and, having visited the state apartments, passed into the private portion of the castle.
These rooms combined at once every modern comfort with Gothic splendour, spacious, to be cool in summer, thick-walled and well-built, to be warm in winter.
There were stoves and fireplaces everywhere, so that added to the warmth of a fire was the cheerfulness of a blaze.
The view of the surrounding country was magnificent. The windows commanded the finest and most varied landscape in the world; some overlooking the river, others the mountain. Through one of these, Christiane caught sight of Gretchen’s hut. But the hut, like the ruins, was rebuilt. The wonderful architect, who, in so short a time, had reared from the ground and from the past, this enormous pile, had had no difficulty in erecting a cottage into the bargain.
“Gretchen! how I should like to see her,” said Christiane.
“We have only to send for her,” said Julius.
“Just now,” replied the baron, “she is probably in the forest with her goats. When she returns she shall be told.”
At last, there remained but two rooms to visit: the baron opened them. In one, a bed in carved oak with hangings of red damask; in the other, an inlaid bed with pink silk curtains.
Between the two rooms, a library, a study in the most severe style, overlooking the mountain, and an oratory-boudoir in exquisite taste, commanding a view of the Neckar.
Julius sighed. He could not refrain from thinking that these two rooms seemed made purposely for Christiane and himself. Alas! someone more fortunate than he had accomplished his wish and robbed him of his dream.
The baron smilingly said to Julius:
“You seem to envy the man who owns this castle.”
“I do not envy him; I congratulate him.”
“You think then that one could be happy here?”
“If not here, nowhere!” said Julius.
“And you feel convinced that, if you lived here with your wife and child, you would regret nothing, and wish for nothing?”
“What more could I wish for?”
“Well! my dear Julius, my sweet Christiane, be happy together. You are in your own home.”
“What!” said Julius, scarce knowing what he said in his joy, “this beautiful castle ?”
“It belongs to you.”
“But,” Julius objected, not daring to believe in the truth of what he heard, “the Viscount von Eberbach.”
“Is you! On New Year’s day of the present year, His Majesty, the King of Prussia, when conferring on me the Order of Merit of the first rank, was graciously pleased to make me Graf von Eberbach, and has settled on you in succession the castle, also the surrounding meadows and woods, which likewise belong to you.”
“My dear father!”
“How can we prove our gratitude?” said Christiane.
“By being happy,” said the baron. “That is all I ask. But this much I deserve, for it has not been without trouble that I have compassed this reconstruction within a year. I held to giving you this surprise. The architect has proved himself a genius. I was doubtful of him at first. He submitted some Greco-Roman designs, which harmonised but ill with the old substructions dating from the days of Barbarossa. But it appears that he discovered at the library in Heidelberg the original plans of the ancient castle. Then he came across some young fellow, a learned antiquarian I believe, who has thrown himself heart and soul into this resuscitation.
“He had the knowledge, I had the money, in consequence things have succeeded wonderfully well. Even to the smallest details, to the furniture, the locks, the fire-irons, all is pure mediaeval, is it not? We shall have to congratulate this unlooked-for coadjutor on his masterpiece.
“Curiously enough I have not yet seen him. My time being fully occupied, I could only come occasionally to see how the work was progressing, and, then was unfortunate; whenever I came, invariably he had just gone. However, I am not altogether sorry, before complimenting him as he deserves, to have your opinion. Now that you are here, you will invite him, and receive him as our guest.”
“But,” said Christiane, “you must have ruined yourself?”
“I confess,” the baron answered gaily, lowering his voice, “that I have considered your delight more than my purse, and that this folly almost drained my resources. My architects became each day increasingly eager, and, as their expenditure was reasonable from three points of view — history, art, and my love for you — I let them have their own way. Fortunately I found an auxiliary to my extravagance, and you have not only me, my children, to thank and to scold.”
CHAPTER XXVIII.
AGAINST WHOM THE CASTLE WAS BUILT.
“To whom else then are we indebted, father?” said Julius, “for the magic of this rapid and magnificent reconstruction?”
“To your uncle Fritz, Julius,” replied the baron. “Listen to this extract from a letter which I received from New York two months ago: —
“‘My fortune is unreservedly yours, my dear and illustrious brother. I have no other child but your son Julius. Permit me then to contribute half towards the gift you are making him. I enclose in this a cheque for five hundred thousand thalers, drawn on my bankers, Braubach, of Frankfort. Should this amount not be sufficient, draw upon me at sight, for the sum necessary, simply advising me a month in advance.
“‘I am proud and happy, Wilhelm, by sending you this practical assistance, to have it in my power to further the glory of our house. We two have fully accomplished our father’s wish! but I shall merely have brought the family wealth, you will have brought it fame.
“‘You tell me that I should rest. I am, in fact, somewhat weary. But, by this time next year, I shall have settled up my affairs and liquidated our fortune, which will probably amount, exclusive of what I send you, to five million francs. Will that be enough? If you reply in the affirmative, then, after this space has elapsed, I shall return home, to dear old Europe, dear old Germany. So keep a corner for me in this castle that you are having built. I should be sorry to die without seeing you and Julius again... ‘“
“Dear uncle!” said Julius. “How we will welcome him and love him!”
“So, as you see, Julius, it is thanks to him that I have been able to settle this succession upon you, and to complete the building of this castle...”
“Ah! with this princely fortune we shall be able to live like real burgraves,” Julius gaily said, “raise our own troops, arm our battlements, and, if needs be, hold our own against the enemy.”
“Do not joke!” said the baron. “There is an enemy against whom this castle has been constructed.”
“Indeed! who is this enemy?”
“Samuel Gelb.”
“Samuel Gelb? “Julius replied with a laugh.
“I repeat that I am in earnest,” rejoined the baron.
“What do you mean, father?”
“You have assured me, Julius, that here you would neither regret nor wish for anything. It was in the hope of this, my son, that I planned out this castle for you. I was desirous of making your life so full and so happy that you would not feel the need of anyone. Tell me that I have succeeded, and promise me not to see Samuel again,”
Julius made no reply, however strong his respect and affection for his father, he was inwardly humiliated and vexed at this request. Was he still a child, that the influence of another’s will upon his own was to be so greatly dreaded? Samuel was the companion of a lifetime, full of wit, of learning and of energy, whom he had longed for more than once, he admitted secretly to himself, even in all the delights of his travels. If one had treated the other badly, it was not Samuel; he had not been married without even letting his old friend know; he had not buried himself for a whole year without sending even a line to let his bosom friend know that he was alive. “You do not reply?” said the baron. “What pretext could I have, father,” Julius answered at last, “for closing my doors against the companion of my childhood, with whom, after all, I have no fault to find except that he holds theories more or less paradoxical?”
“Do not close your doors against him, Julius. But do not write to him, do not invite him. That is all I ask. Samuel is proud, he will not come unasked. He wrote me an insolent letter a year ago, and I have not heard from him since.”
“Even if I did see him,” Julius again demurred, “I am not eight years of age to let myself be led blindfold by another. Were Samuel as bad as you deem him to be, surely, I have arrived at years of discretion, and I can take the good and leave the evil.”
The baron rejoined solemnly: “Julius, you believe in my affection for you, do you not? and you do not think me a man who would be foolishly obstinate over a childish caprice. Well! Julius, I ask you, as a favour, not to see Samuel again. I beseech you to accede to my request. Rest assured that there is some grave reason for my advice, my entreaty. I can remain with you only a few days, then I shall have to return to Berlin. Do not let me go away with this anxiety. No, I do not say this from any petty spite against Samuel, or unjustifiable mistrust of you. I have more serious reasons. Put more confidence, my son, in the experience and affection of your father. Set my mind at rest, and give me your promise not to write to Samuel. Christiane, do you not wish him to promise me this?”
Christiane, who had turned pale and trembled at the words of the baron, drew near to Julius coaxingly, placed her two hands on his shoulder, and looking up into his face beseechingly and tenderly.
“Oh!” said she, “for myself, so long as I have my Wilhelm, and so long as Julius loves me, this beautiful home is enough for me without anyone else. And you, Julius, besides me, you have your father!”
Thirteen months of married life did not appear to have diminished Julius’ love for Christiane. The look he bent upon her was full, if not of the vehement passion of ardent temperaments, at least of all the chivalrous tenderness of loving natures. The husband was still the lover. He tried to distract his dear one from the painful memories aroused by the sight of her old home, by drawing her attention to the valley they were driving through, and which recalled so many happy moments to them both.
Then, he showed her their little child who had just awoke and was gazing at its mother with half-opened and vaguely astonished eyes. He took him from his nurse’s arms, and raised the helpless child to Christiane’s lips.
“See how free from jealousy I am!” said he. “I myself make you kiss my rival. Because henceforth I have a rival. Two months ago, I was the only one you loved; now there are two of us. You have divided your heart into two parts, and I am not at all sure that he who has the largest share, is not the baby boy.”
And, even as he spoke, he himself kissed the child, laughed with him, and made him laugh.
Christiane, grateful for the efforts Julius made to comfort her, tried to smile too.
“But,” Julius asked by way of making her talk, “ought we not soon to be at the ruins of Eberbach?”
“Yes, presently,” she replied.
Herr Schreiber’s successor, during the short conversation they had held together, had said that of course they were going to the Castle of Eberbach. On their answering in the negative, he had asked when they intended going there.
“What for? “Julius had said.
At this question the pastor had seemed surprised, but could not be induced to say anything further, and simply advised them to pass by the ruins. Without understanding what he meant, Julius had seen in this a possible means of rousing Christiane from her sad thoughts, and had told the postillion to drive round by the Mouth of Hell.
Suddenly, as the carriage turned a sharp bend in the road, an exclamation broke from Julius.
“What is the matter?” said Christiane.
“Look up there,” said he. “Can I be mistaken? I fancied that the ruins of Eberbach stood there.”
“Well?” said she, rousing herself at last from her abstraction.
“Well! do you remember a dream of mine that I told you about among these ruins?”
“You spoke of rebuilding the castle.”
“There is our dream realised.”
“How strange!” replied Christiane, as surprised as her husband.
In fact, in the place where they had left three tottering, crumbling, half-ruined walls, now stood a newly-built castle, complete and perfect, proudly set upon the rock, rising boldly between the precipice and the sky.
The castle which they now beheld was a square keep, flanked at each of the four corners by a round turret. One was entirely visible to them, as also the pointed roofs of the others. But the trees, already in leaf, hid from them the details.
“If you do not mind, Christiane,” said Julius, “I feel curious to know who is the magician whose whim it has been to realize our dream.”
“Let us enquire,” said Christiane.
The chaise had arrived at the main entrance, an opening in the outer wall like a large breach, and through which the eye lighted on a winding avenue leading to the castle. Julius ordered the postillion to stop. The valet sprang to the ground and rang the bell.
On either side of the entrance were two small lodges, in the style of the Renaissance. A man came out of the lodge on the right and opened the gates.
“To whom does this castle belong?” asked Julius.
“To the Viscount von Eberbach.”
“Is he here?”
“No,” said the lodge-keeper, “he is travelling abroad.”
“May we go over the castle?”
“I will enquire, sir.”
Whilst the porter walked towards the castle-keep, Julius cast an eager, jealous eye over this noble dwelling, which had sprung so rapidly from the ground. The sloping avenue was formed out of a portion of the old forest, the architect having cut a clearing in such a manner as to leave a wide lawn between two double rows of large trees. The sward, inundated by high grasses, was like a sea of verdure with islets of flowers.
At the end of this grassy path gleamed the façade of the castle. There was probably another frontage commanding the Mouth of Hell, stern no doubt, proud and forbidding as the abyss over which it towered perpendicularly. But this aspect was peaceful and smiling. A mixture of red sandstone gave a cheerful appearance to the edifice, and took from it the bare, chalky look which results from the whiteness of new stones. Carvings of light foliage, full of nests of birds, ran along the pointed arches of the windows. And already real live birds were beginning to build their nests in the carved work, so that, hearing little cries issuing from the friezes, one wondered from which nests they came, whether from the nests of moss or from the nests of stone. All this leafage fluttered and rustled in the passing breeze, and Julius was sure he saw one charming little sculptured goldfinch ruffle its granite plumage.
The lodge-keeper returned and asked them to enter.
Julius linked his arm in that of Christiane, and the nurse followed behind with the child. They ascended the avenue of trees, and came to a flight of steps in wrought stone, with a carved balustrade in trefoil, at the top of which opened, in an inner wall, a great arched oaken door, studded with chased nails. They passed through two or three doors or courtyards more. Then the lodge-keeper showed them into the castle.
After crossing the threshold, one seemed quickly transported from the present into the past. The middle ages were revived in the arrangement and furniture of the rooms. Each had its speciality; one was devoted to armour, another to tapestries. There was one in which stood huge chests crammed with goblets, tankards and enormous cups. Another was a perfect museum adorned with magnificent paintings by Holbein, Albert Durer and Lucas van Leyden. Daylight filtered into a chapel through the brilliant colouring of the finest glass windows of the day. What clever artist, what archaeologist-poet, what precursor-antiquary, anticipating, so early as 1811,. the great Gothic movement of 1830, had so completely restored the past ages? Julius was struck with admiration and surprise. It was the perfect restoration of four vanished centuries, from the twelfth to the sixteenth. At the end of the armoury there was a closed door. Julius asked the porter to unlock it.
“I have not the key of the private apartments,” the man replied.
But just then the door opened.
“I have it,” said a voice.
It was Baron von Hermelinfeld.
CHAPTER XXVII.
FOR WHOM THE CASTLE WAS BUILT.
THE baron held out his arms to his son and daughter and embraced them tenderly.
The first impression experienced by the baron, Julius and Christiane was one of joy, the second was one of astonishment.
How came the baron to be there, and how came the keys of the castle in his possession! The baron was no less surprised than Julius. He had not expected his son so soon. Julius, wishing to give him a surprise, had not informed him of his arrival. It was indeed some time since the baron had received news from the young couple. The last letter that Julius had written him dated as far back as Christiane’s confinement.
So, after an interchange of loving greetings, a whole volley of questions was poured out. The baron thought Christiane looking sweet and fair, so effectually had Julius, with loving solicitude, sheltered her from the southern sun. But the child came in for the largest share of attention. The grandfather never wearied of kissing his grandson. He thanked Christiane for having called the child Wilhelm after him. Wilhelm was not yet christened, they had waited until their return home, in order that the baron might be his sponsor.
Then it was the turn of the travellers to question the baron.
“But how comes it, father, that you are as free here at the Viscount von Eberbach’s as in your own house?”
“Bless me!” replied the baron, “the Viscount von Eberbach is an intimate friend of mine.”
“I had never heard you mention him, father, and I believed the house of Eberbach to be extinct.”
“The best proof that a Viscount von Eberbach exists, is that this is his castle, and the proof that I know him is that, if you wish, I will do the honours in his absence.”
They went into the room which the baron had opened, and, having visited the state apartments, passed into the private portion of the castle.
These rooms combined at once every modern comfort with Gothic splendour, spacious, to be cool in summer, thick-walled and well-built, to be warm in winter.
There were stoves and fireplaces everywhere, so that added to the warmth of a fire was the cheerfulness of a blaze.
The view of the surrounding country was magnificent. The windows commanded the finest and most varied landscape in the world; some overlooking the river, others the mountain. Through one of these, Christiane caught sight of Gretchen’s hut. But the hut, like the ruins, was rebuilt. The wonderful architect, who, in so short a time, had reared from the ground and from the past, this enormous pile, had had no difficulty in erecting a cottage into the bargain.
“Gretchen! how I should like to see her,” said Christiane.
“We have only to send for her,” said Julius.
“Just now,” replied the baron, “she is probably in the forest with her goats. When she returns she shall be told.”
At last, there remained but two rooms to visit: the baron opened them. In one, a bed in carved oak with hangings of red damask; in the other, an inlaid bed with pink silk curtains.
Between the two rooms, a library, a study in the most severe style, overlooking the mountain, and an oratory-boudoir in exquisite taste, commanding a view of the Neckar.
Julius sighed. He could not refrain from thinking that these two rooms seemed made purposely for Christiane and himself. Alas! someone more fortunate than he had accomplished his wish and robbed him of his dream.
The baron smilingly said to Julius:
“You seem to envy the man who owns this castle.”
“I do not envy him; I congratulate him.”
“You think then that one could be happy here?”
“If not here, nowhere!” said Julius.
“And you feel convinced that, if you lived here with your wife and child, you would regret nothing, and wish for nothing?”
“What more could I wish for?”
“Well! my dear Julius, my sweet Christiane, be happy together. You are in your own home.”
“What!” said Julius, scarce knowing what he said in his joy, “this beautiful castle ?”
“It belongs to you.”
“But,” Julius objected, not daring to believe in the truth of what he heard, “the Viscount von Eberbach.”
“Is you! On New Year’s day of the present year, His Majesty, the King of Prussia, when conferring on me the Order of Merit of the first rank, was graciously pleased to make me Graf von Eberbach, and has settled on you in succession the castle, also the surrounding meadows and woods, which likewise belong to you.”
“My dear father!”
“How can we prove our gratitude?” said Christiane.
“By being happy,” said the baron. “That is all I ask. But this much I deserve, for it has not been without trouble that I have compassed this reconstruction within a year. I held to giving you this surprise. The architect has proved himself a genius. I was doubtful of him at first. He submitted some Greco-Roman designs, which harmonised but ill with the old substructions dating from the days of Barbarossa. But it appears that he discovered at the library in Heidelberg the original plans of the ancient castle. Then he came across some young fellow, a learned antiquarian I believe, who has thrown himself heart and soul into this resuscitation.
“He had the knowledge, I had the money, in consequence things have succeeded wonderfully well. Even to the smallest details, to the furniture, the locks, the fire-irons, all is pure mediaeval, is it not? We shall have to congratulate this unlooked-for coadjutor on his masterpiece.
“Curiously enough I have not yet seen him. My time being fully occupied, I could only come occasionally to see how the work was progressing, and, then was unfortunate; whenever I came, invariably he had just gone. However, I am not altogether sorry, before complimenting him as he deserves, to have your opinion. Now that you are here, you will invite him, and receive him as our guest.”
“But,” said Christiane, “you must have ruined yourself?”
“I confess,” the baron answered gaily, lowering his voice, “that I have considered your delight more than my purse, and that this folly almost drained my resources. My architects became each day increasingly eager, and, as their expenditure was reasonable from three points of view — history, art, and my love for you — I let them have their own way. Fortunately I found an auxiliary to my extravagance, and you have not only me, my children, to thank and to scold.”
CHAPTER XXVIII.
AGAINST WHOM THE CASTLE WAS BUILT.
“To whom else then are we indebted, father?” said Julius, “for the magic of this rapid and magnificent reconstruction?”
“To your uncle Fritz, Julius,” replied the baron. “Listen to this extract from a letter which I received from New York two months ago: —
“‘My fortune is unreservedly yours, my dear and illustrious brother. I have no other child but your son Julius. Permit me then to contribute half towards the gift you are making him. I enclose in this a cheque for five hundred thousand thalers, drawn on my bankers, Braubach, of Frankfort. Should this amount not be sufficient, draw upon me at sight, for the sum necessary, simply advising me a month in advance.
“‘I am proud and happy, Wilhelm, by sending you this practical assistance, to have it in my power to further the glory of our house. We two have fully accomplished our father’s wish! but I shall merely have brought the family wealth, you will have brought it fame.
“‘You tell me that I should rest. I am, in fact, somewhat weary. But, by this time next year, I shall have settled up my affairs and liquidated our fortune, which will probably amount, exclusive of what I send you, to five million francs. Will that be enough? If you reply in the affirmative, then, after this space has elapsed, I shall return home, to dear old Europe, dear old Germany. So keep a corner for me in this castle that you are having built. I should be sorry to die without seeing you and Julius again... ‘“
“Dear uncle!” said Julius. “How we will welcome him and love him!”
“So, as you see, Julius, it is thanks to him that I have been able to settle this succession upon you, and to complete the building of this castle...”
“Ah! with this princely fortune we shall be able to live like real burgraves,” Julius gaily said, “raise our own troops, arm our battlements, and, if needs be, hold our own against the enemy.”
“Do not joke!” said the baron. “There is an enemy against whom this castle has been constructed.”
“Indeed! who is this enemy?”
“Samuel Gelb.”
“Samuel Gelb? “Julius replied with a laugh.
“I repeat that I am in earnest,” rejoined the baron.
“What do you mean, father?”
“You have assured me, Julius, that here you would neither regret nor wish for anything. It was in the hope of this, my son, that I planned out this castle for you. I was desirous of making your life so full and so happy that you would not feel the need of anyone. Tell me that I have succeeded, and promise me not to see Samuel again,”
Julius made no reply, however strong his respect and affection for his father, he was inwardly humiliated and vexed at this request. Was he still a child, that the influence of another’s will upon his own was to be so greatly dreaded? Samuel was the companion of a lifetime, full of wit, of learning and of energy, whom he had longed for more than once, he admitted secretly to himself, even in all the delights of his travels. If one had treated the other badly, it was not Samuel; he had not been married without even letting his old friend know; he had not buried himself for a whole year without sending even a line to let his bosom friend know that he was alive. “You do not reply?” said the baron. “What pretext could I have, father,” Julius answered at last, “for closing my doors against the companion of my childhood, with whom, after all, I have no fault to find except that he holds theories more or less paradoxical?”
“Do not close your doors against him, Julius. But do not write to him, do not invite him. That is all I ask. Samuel is proud, he will not come unasked. He wrote me an insolent letter a year ago, and I have not heard from him since.”
“Even if I did see him,” Julius again demurred, “I am not eight years of age to let myself be led blindfold by another. Were Samuel as bad as you deem him to be, surely, I have arrived at years of discretion, and I can take the good and leave the evil.”
The baron rejoined solemnly: “Julius, you believe in my affection for you, do you not? and you do not think me a man who would be foolishly obstinate over a childish caprice. Well! Julius, I ask you, as a favour, not to see Samuel again. I beseech you to accede to my request. Rest assured that there is some grave reason for my advice, my entreaty. I can remain with you only a few days, then I shall have to return to Berlin. Do not let me go away with this anxiety. No, I do not say this from any petty spite against Samuel, or unjustifiable mistrust of you. I have more serious reasons. Put more confidence, my son, in the experience and affection of your father. Set my mind at rest, and give me your promise not to write to Samuel. Christiane, do you not wish him to promise me this?”
Christiane, who had turned pale and trembled at the words of the baron, drew near to Julius coaxingly, placed her two hands on his shoulder, and looking up into his face beseechingly and tenderly.
“Oh!” said she, “for myself, so long as I have my Wilhelm, and so long as Julius loves me, this beautiful home is enough for me without anyone else. And you, Julius, besides me, you have your father!”
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