A Noble Name; or, Dönninghausen

The evil seed had fallen upon fruitful soil.

When Magelone had gone, Otto said, still more gloomily than before, "She takes it very easily, but I must confess to you that I am enraged. My position was hard enough before." And he went on venting his indignation against society in violent expressions, concluding with the angry words, "Of course you care nothing for all this. You feel yourself, as usual, exalted far above – "

Johanna arose, and interrupted him. "You are mistaken," she said, gently. "Everything that you say cuts me to the heart, and convinces me" – she hesitated a moment – "convinces me that I make you unhappy. This I cannot endure." She could not continue; her eyes filled with tears, and she turned hurriedly to leave him. But Otto sprang to her side and detained her.

"Forgive me! forgive me!" he cried again and again, while clasping her in his arms he kissed her hands, her lips, her eyes, and drew her down beside him, overwhelming her with protestations of affection and reproaching himself bitterly for his conduct. "Be magnanimous as ever!" he entreated; "do not condemn me. I know what a thorough egotist I am; when anything annoys me I think of no one but myself. I feel only my own discomfort. I am ungenerous, unloving, – a very petrifaction of anger and dissatisfaction. All the better part of me seems paralyzed. I think at such moments I am a perfect wretch. But do not you forsake me, I conjure you. If there is anything in this world that can save me from myself it is your love."

Otto was apparently sincere in these self-accusations, but there is no denying that he also found a certain piquant charm in thus setting forth his heartlessness, and perhaps, too, he knew that he was never more irresistible than when heaping himself with reproaches, and, with his fine eyes bent entreatingly upon his companion, begging her to forgive him. The oft-proved power again asserted its sway over Johanna. Overcoming her own pain, she thought only of his distress, and did all that she could to make him see himself in a more favourable light. Upon calm reflection, she even found it quite natural that Otto should at first apprehend only the superficial consequences of Helena's second marriage, and she accused herself of over-sensitiveness. Otto also was magnanimous, – he forgave the pain which he had caused, – and thus peace was restored.

Great was Magelone's astonishment upon beholding the harmony existing between the lovers when she saw them again. After what had occurred a few hours before, she expected something quite different; but Johanna's luck was something incredible. Otto, who had always been known to be fickle, had suddenly grown so ridiculously dutiful that he had actually fallen in love with a girl who had been forced upon him, scarcely noticed any other woman, and, in spite of the proverbial pride of the Dönninghausens, quietly acquiesced in this wretched connection. What was the spell that Johanna had woven about him? It all seemed positively too ridiculous to Magelone when she observed how Otto's eyes followed Johanna; how he would seize her hand and kiss it as she passed him; how he continually sought opportunities for a tête-à-tête with her, even venturing to whisper to her when the family were all present. If there had only been a single soul in Dönninghausen with whom she could laugh over it all! But Aunt Thekla contemplated the pair with pleased emotion, the Freiherr with proud content, dubbing the lovers 'the handsomest couple seen at Dönninghausen within the memory of man.' And the days were so stormy and rainy, – the evenings were so long, – the family assemblages so inevitable. And there sat Johanna with undeniably happy eyes; and every evening Otto appeared, – oh, it was almost intolerable!

But help was at hand.

Hedwig Wildenhayn had just presented her husband with a second daughter, and she wrote begging Magelone to stand godmother to it, and adding that she must not fail to be present at the christening. Within the letter which was for the public was a closely-written sheet marked 'private,' which ran thus:

"Dear Magelone, – You must come, not only on account of the child, but to tell Hildegard (who is coming to the christening) and me more about Otto's betrothal than can be confided to paper. The affair is still a riddle to me. Our husbands – you know how good-humoured they are – maintain, indeed, that Otto is quite right, and Johanna's 'a capital girl!' (I wish I knew why), but this is hardly enough to satisfy me, and Hildegard (who has always been more decided in her opinion than I) declares she never shall be satisfied, and that three such clever women as we must, if we can get together, find ways and means to liberate the poor boy. To speak frankly, dear Magelone, I thought I discovered, upon our last visit to Dönninghausen, that our brother Otto was desperately enamoured of a certain lady (you guess who she is, although your modesty may prevent your admitting it), and I was sorry to see it, I confess, for he could not marry her. I still believe in it (I mean his devotion in that quarter), and I fancy that Otto in pique (men are so odd, and women, too, for that matter) has betrothed himself to this girl. Hildegard, however, insists that the whole affair has been patched up by our grandfather, who chooses thus to make a Dönninghausen of his favorite niece (can you understand why she is so?), and does not care how we stand affected. You see, dear Magelone, you must come. Only when, by your help, we can clearly appreciate our poor Otto's unhappy circumstances (I do not exonerate him from blame, but I am so sorry for him) can we decide whether there is any help for him and for us. I continually ask myself wherein we have deserved this trial that has befallen us all, even my little angel-daughter; for, since her elder sister had to be named Henriette, after my mother-in-law, it would have been so natural to christen this little girl Johanna (grandpapa's godfather's tokens are always so magnificent, and he is evidently so much fonder of children who are named after him); but Hildegard says that to do so now would look like an ovation to the sister-in-law who has been forced upon us, and of course I am too proud for that, apart from the fact that Hildegard never would forgive me. But I must conclude; my dear Eduard is scolding me for writing so much, and we women submit only too gladly to love's tyranny. So adieu for the present, dear Magelone. Pray come as soon as you can. You can, perhaps, give counsel and consolation to your truly affectionate Hedwig."

"How much they must need me!" thought Magelone. "I wonder if they fancy they are deceiving me with this sudden outburst of tender affection. But never mind that; after this letter they certainly will make themselves agreeable, and at all events it will be more entertaining at Herstädt than here. If grandpapa will only let me go!"

Her anxiety upon this point was groundless. The Freiherr made no objection; on the contrary, the request to one of the family to stand god-parent was, according to his sense of duty, not one that could be refused, and he was glad that, in spite of the stormy autumn weather, Magelone was perfectly willing to undertake the journey with all its discomforts. The proof of his satisfaction which was most welcome to her was the bundle of bank-notes he handed to her 'for the outfit which every lady must have upon such an occasion;' and, enraptured to escape at last from 'that horrible Dönninghausen,' she set forth for Herstädt, wind and weather notwithstanding.

Life in Dönninghausen was now even more quiet than before, and thus there came on for Johanna the sad anniversaries of her father's illness and death. The Freiherr, who never forgot dates, could not bring himself to say one word of sympathy to her, but he took great pains to provide the wherewithal to distract her mind. He eagerly interested himself in the contemplated purchase of her future home. Offers were made of estates which must be examined into. There were letters to answer, plans to study, proposals and calculations to compare, or personal inspections to be made of estates for sale in the neighbourhood. Johanna on these occasions would gladly have appointed Otto her proxy, but the Freiherr would not hear of this. "It is your dowry," he said, "and you must be able to love the spot of earth where you are to live and die. Otto's wishes and approbation are secondary matters."

Nevertheless, the old Herr would have liked to see on Otto's part a greater display of interest in the choice about to be made. The young man avoided, when he could, any participation in the consultations that took place upon the subject. He detested the whole matter, which he regarded as an outrage upon his own rights and claims. He, a born Dönninghausen, who had lived from his childhood in his ancestral castle, was pushed aside, while the bourgeoise grand-daughter, whose mother had forcibly severed every tie that bound her to her people, was to be dowered at the expense of the family estate. It might be that this was done for Otto's own sake; but why did not his grandfather place in his hands the sum he had appropriated to Johanna, and thus give him the position which a husband had a right to expect? It had always seemed an annoyance to him for a man to be dependent upon a wife's property, but under the present circumstances it was more than annoying, – it was degrading; for instead of receiving from his equal in rank what might be considered a gift of love, here was apparently a business transaction. Hildegard had written him that his grandfather was permitting him to pay for his 'frugal outfit' with his name, and his Dönninghausen blood was in revolt. There were moments in which he forgot entirely that the Freiherr had been induced to consent to the betrothal, not out of regard for material interests, but because he believed sincerely in Otto's love for Johanna; and at such moments he was profoundly indignant not only with his grandfather, but with his betrothed. Such emotions were very fleeting. He was ashamed of them, and was doubly amiable afterwards in the consciousness that there was somewhat for which he should make atonement. Nevertheless a faint trace of them remained, and Johanna perceived it.

One evening this was more the case than usual. She overlooked his ill humour for a while, under the impression that he would find it easier to overcome if he were not called to explain it, but at last she could remain silent no longer. When her grandfather and Aunt Thekla retired to their piquet, she went to Otto, who was standing at the centre window staring gloomily out into the rain and darkness; and as she put her hand within his arm she asked him if anything disagreeable had happened.

"Nothing more than usual," he replied, without looking at her.

"Usual," she repeated; "I do not understand you – "

"Of course not," he interrupted her, peevishly. "You never reflect what my sensations must be when you and that old man sit like the fates and consult whether this or that estate shall be purchased, while I, who am more interested than any one else, am not asked to say a word."

"Do not be unjust, Otto," Johanna entreated him. "If I have these matters talked of in your presence, it is only for the sake of hearing your opinion. Why do you not give it?"

"Because it would have no influence," he said; but when Johanna, wounded by his unkindness, would have withdrawn her hand from his arm, he drew her closer to his side. "Forgive me," he begged, in the tender tone she had not heard for a long while. "I am detestable to-night. But remember how I am tormented. To whom shall I tell it all, if not to you?"

"If you only would be frank with me always," Johanna said, in a tone of gentle reproof. "But sometimes you are so reserved with me."

"Because now and then I mistrust even you," he replied, "and have a feeling that you are leagued with my grandfather against me."

"Dear Otto – " she began.

He interrupted her. "Never mind," he said; "words avail nothing. I will put you to the test."

"Do," she said, earnestly. "What do you ask of me?"

He hesitated. Involuntarily he had said more than he meant to; but perhaps it was best so. With his own victorious smile he said, "I ask you to hurry on the purchase of this estate, that we may be married as soon as possible and sell it again."

She looked at him incredulously. "You cannot be serious."

"And why not?" And his eyes flashed.

"Consider our grandfather – "

"Consider me!" he exclaimed. "Try to understand, if you can, what it is to be snatched from a career that you love and forced year out and year in to do what gives you not the smallest pleasure. But this you cannot comprehend, – no woman can."

Unconsciously he raised his voice as he uttered the last words. The Freiherr looked round. "How ungallant!" he exclaimed. "What is he reproaching you with, my child? Let us hear what it is that you cannot understand."

Johanna was embarrassed. Otto instantly came to her aid. "I was lamenting the length of our engagement," he replied.

"Already!" said the Freiherr; but his tone and air betrayed his pleasure in Otto's impatience. And, throwing down his cards, – his hand was so poor that he had no desire to play any longer, – he continued: "We would appoint the wedding-day if a nest were only found for you."

Aunt Thekla hastened to put away her aces, for the Freiherr was cross when he lost a game. "I thought, my dear Johann," she said, to keep up the conversation, "that you were satisfied with Tannhagen."

"The estate, – yes," he replied; "and the farm-buildings, too, are all very well; but the house is a ruinous old pile, and Otto cannot wait, as you have just heard, while a new one is building."

"Why should I, sir?" Otto said. "If Tannhagen suits you in other respects, we shall do very well in the old house, shall we not, Johanna?"

The Freiherr laughed. "Indeed, my boy? 'A hovel with the one we love.' Is it come to that with you?" he said, in high good humour. "Well, we will take the matter into consideration. First of all, as soon as the weather permits, we must ride over and inspect the owl's-nest and see whether it can be made habitable for a while. I should like, children, to have you so near me."

All through the evening the Freiherr's mood was of the brightest, as was Aunt Thekla's. Otto, too, seemed gayer than he had been for a long time. Johanna alone was depressed, and could scarcely conceal her sadness. Otto was incomprehensible. She struggled against her suspicions, feared lest she was doing him injustice, and yet what he had said of his plans scarcely allowed of a misconstruction. Was it possible that he could so misuse his grandfather's assent to his wishes? After those words, 'I should like to have you so near me,' could he contemplate selling again the estate which the old Freiherr was selecting for them with such loving care? She breathed a sigh of relief when she once more found herself alone in her room, and, after taking counsel with herself, she sat down at her writing-table to write to Otto. She could not but do it, even at the risk of offending him; there must be no possibility of either's misunderstanding the other.

She told him frankly that it seemed to her unprincipled and ungrateful to allow their grandfather to provide them with a home only to sell it again immediately, and she declared herself ready at any moment to brave the old man's anger by relinquishing the estate and requesting Otto's restoration to the army.

"Our grandfather will not consent at first," she added, "but he will be persuaded in the end. And however long the strife may last, even although it should be for weary weeks and months, we must expect this, my dear Otto, and for my part I will submit gladly for the sake of restoring you to a profession which you like. I confess I had no suspicion of how dear it was to you. I misunderstood you formerly. But, now that I know it, I can understand how irksome must be the calling forced upon you, and how impossible it would be for you to devote your life to it. I am sure you do not think that this could make me doubt your love. What would my love be worth if it could exact such a sacrifice from you? Your happiness, my dearest, is and always must be the aim of all my desires, and how could you be happy if you took no pleasure in your daily occupations? You think we women cannot understand this? Let me confess to you that there was a time when I believed I had a calling, – a calling for art, – and that it gave me intense pain when I was forced to recognize my want of talent. To resign a sphere of activity because it is beyond our powers is very different from giving it up merely on account of the stress of outward circumstances. But any one who has been forced to do the former knows well what pain it must be to do the latter. And, indeed, I think that without drawing from my own experience I should always suffer out of my love for you from whatever pains and torments you."

She wrote on for some time in this strain. The frank outpouring of her very self did her good. In Otto's presence she was always restrained by a certain timidity. Never had she felt so indissolubly bound to her lover.

The next morning she sent him the letter, although seen by the light of day it seemed to her poor and cold. She consoled herself, however, by reflecting that Otto's heart would supply all that she could not express in words, and she waited eagerly for his reply.

It was contained in a few lines. Otto thanked her for her letter, and would answer it more thoroughly by word of mouth.

"Talking is better than writing," he added, "and it is idle to bother with pen, ink, and paper when, as in our case, there exists the blessed certainty of seeing each other almost every day. I shall come at noon to-day, and hope, in spite of the rain, to induce you all to drive to Tannhagen. I am very anxious, my dear little wiseacre, to prove to you that it was quite unnecessary for you to tire your beautiful eyes and snatch so much time from your night's rest. Promise me never to be guilty of such a sin again. I want no letters, – I want only yourself."