A Noble Name; or, Dönninghausen. Claire von Glümer
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and then for a space of time no sound would be audible save the rattle of knives and forks and the hushed footsteps of the two men-servants. Besides these last, old Christian, Johanna's escort, stood behind his master's chair, his only office, apparently, being to fill the Freiherr's glass and to pick up the napkin which the old gentleman continually let fall.
It was a protracted meal: the Freiherr had a good appetite and ate slowly. He grew more talkative at dessert, discussed affairs of the estate with Johann Leopold, asked Aunt Thekla about some sick people in the village, inquired of Johanna how long she had been in reaching Dönninghausen, and made a contemptuous remark about Magelone's 'ball-dress.'
At last he arose, and every one seemed to breathe more freely. He gave his arm to his sister: Johann Leopold offered his to Magelone.
"You must take us both," she said. "Come, Johanna."
"I should like to go to my room," the girl whispered. Magelone shook her head.
"You must not; we are all on duty now. Come," she said, in a low voice, as she followed the brother and sister into the drawing-room.
Here the lamps were lit, and the coffee-equipage was set out upon a table before a lounge. There was another table near the fireplace, provided with candles and newspapers, and so soon as the Freiherr had taken his arm-chair beside it old Christian made his appearance with a pipe and box of matches, followed by Leo, who pushed his head affectionately into his master's hand and then lay down at his feet. Aunt Thekla sat down opposite her brother with her knitting; Johann Leopold withdrew to a dark corner on the other side of the chimney-piece.
"Are you in pain again?" the Freiherr asked him, in a tone which expressed more irritation than sympathy.
"Yes, sir; I have another of my old headaches," Johann Leopold replied, and the ghastly pallor of his handsome but emaciated face, and the look of suffering in his eyes, were confirmation of his words.
The Freiherr picked up the paper with a growl, and pushed his chair nearer the light.
"Come," said Magelone, taking possession of Johanna, "I will initiate you into the mysteries of my coffee-brewing; you can relieve me sometimes in future." And while she was clattering among her cups and saucers she went on in an undertone, "This goes on every day the same. Now we shall all take coffee; if grandpapa finds anything interesting in the paper he reads it aloud; when Johann Leopold condescends to be well he reads the paper, after which grandpapa and Aunt Thekla play backgammon, and I give you a little music. Are you musical?" she asked in a louder tone.
"Unfortunately, no," Johanna replied.
"Perhaps you draw?" Magelone asked further.
"No, I do not. I have no talent at all," Johanna declared, with some mortification.
"None at all?" the Freiherr said, and his eyes gleamed brightly over his newspaper. "Actually none? So much the better, child, so much the better!"
Johanna understood the meaning of such words from her grandfather. This was the gulf that separated them.
CHAPTER VI
THE FREIHERR'S PRINCIPLES
When the next morning Johanna went to her window, she could not repress an exclamation of delight. Her room looked from a gable of the castle out into the park. In front of it an aged oak stretched its gnarled limbs above a little clearing; around it stood magnificent hemlocks, their boughs drooping to the ground beneath a weight of snow; while on the right the only vista through the trees afforded a view of the snowy roofs and the little church of the village in the valley, of a row of stunted willows, probably marking the course of a stream, and of the wooded mountain-sides crowned by curiously-jagged rocks.
It was a peaceful landscape, such as she loved, and had the added charm of the brilliant sunlight shining upon the glittering snow in the clear wintry atmosphere. It attracted her irresistibly to go out into the open air. The breakfast-hour was nine o'clock: she had half an hour to spare; and she wrapped herself up and hurried out into the park.
She soon found a pathway, but walking on the dry snow was hard work, and she had to return long before the limits of the park had been reached.
As she ascended the terrace steps in front of the castle, she saw her grandfather standing at a window of the lower story. She called up a 'good-morning!' to him; he acknowledged her greeting, but his look and air were so gloomy that she feared she had transgressed some rule of the house, and betook herself to the dining-room with a certain timidity.
Her fears were groundless, however. When the customary morning salutations had been exchanged and all had taken their seats at table, the Freiherr said, "I am glad to see, Johanna, that you are not one of these silly, new-fangled girls. Out in the open air before breakfast, – that's right, child! But 'tis hard walking over the soft snow. Can you ride?"
Johanna replied in the negative.
"Should you like to learn?" her grandfather asked, and when she said 'yes,' with sparkling eyes, he added, "Very well; be ready by half-past twelve, and we will make our first trial. Christian will give orders to have Elinor saddled for you; she's the gentlest creature in the world."
"She threw me," Magelone remarked.
"Your own fault!" the Freiherr exclaimed. "A horse is a noble creature; those who would control it must keep a tight rein upon themselves. It rebels against alternations between childish foolhardiness and childish timidity. By the way, Magelone, when do you wish to begin riding again?"
"Not at all, grandpapa," Magelone replied, with gentle decision.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the Freiherr. "A Dönninghausen and not ride on horseback! Why, your cousins Hildegard and Hedwig are perfect Amazons."
"You will have to reconcile yourself to leaving me out of the family in this respect as in several others," Magelone replied, as gently as before, but with a flash in her eyes that betrayed her irritation. "Probably you will find Johanna more truly of the race."
Aunt Thekla and Johann Leopold looked up startled; the Freiherr tossed his head, and his eyes darted fire at Magelone, but his glance fell upon Johanna, who, paler than usual, cast down her eyes, and he controlled his displeasure. Magelone went on eating as if nothing had occurred; the Freiherr turned with some question to Johann Leopold. The meal concluded as monosyllabically as usual, and the members of the household continued as silent after it was finished; and while the Freiherr smoked his morning pipe, Johann Leopold and Magelone played chess, and Aunt Thekla and Johanna busied themselves with some needlework.
Johanna was puzzled by Magelone; the more she reflected upon her words the more she was convinced that they could not have been thoughtlessly uttered, and yet was it possible that that careless air, that gentle smile, those clear eyes, could conceal petty spite?
Her ride with her grandfather put an end to her reflections. Martin, the groom, who, before her grandfather appeared, tried to initiate her somewhat into the rudiments of his art, declared with a grin that the "gracious Fräulein was sure to be a good rider." The Freiherr, when he saw her sitting gayly and confidently in her saddle, said, "Now hold yourself upright, and don't be afraid." And away they went in the clear winter morning, with Leo at their heels.
Johanna returned warmed and refreshed. Her grandfather had not talked much, but the little that he had said, the few questions he had put, had brought them nearer together.
Under the influence of this impression she sat down at her writing-table to tell Ludwig, as she had promised, of her arrival; but she had scarcely written two lines when there was a knock at her door, and Magelone entered. "I am disturbing you," she said, with her sunniest smile, "but I cannot help it. I must beg your pardon, – I said such a horrid thing at the breakfast-table."
She approached Johanna and offered her her hand.
"Never mind," Johanna replied, clasping the delicate hand in both her own. "I thought you spoke hastily."
Magelone shook her head. "No, it was not exactly that." And she seated herself at the writing-table. "You have no idea how childish I am. It vexed me to have grandpapa praise you at my expense, and I had to say that, —c'était plus fort que moi."
"'Confessions