Part 26

“Go!” commanded Gertrude and tossed her head back.

Her gloomy eyes hung on his, and the two stood there for a moment opposite each other, like two racers who have come in at the same goal at the same time but from opposite directions. Daniel then turned around, and went down the steps in silence. Gertrude remained standing for a time, her head sinking deeper and deeper all the while on her breast. Suddenly she covered her face with her hands; a cold shudder ran through her body.

XVI

Before going to bed, Eleanore wrote a letter to Herr Zittel informing him that she was leaving the Prudentia at once.

Lying in bed, she could not sleep. She saw herself on the ice cutting bold and novel figures. The spectators, grouped about her in a wide circle, admired her skill. She saw the sea with fishing smacks and coloured sails. She saw gardens full of roses.

Her father and Benno had come home long ago. She heard the bell up in the nearby church tower strike twelve—and then one—and then two.

She heard some one walking back and forth in the house; she heard some one opening and closing a door. Then the steps died away, and all was quiet. She got up, went to the door, and listened. A deep sigh reached her ear from the next room. She opened the door just a little, without making the slightest noise, and peeped out through the crack.

Gertrude was standing by the open window; she was in her night-gown and bare feet. The moon was shining on the square in front of the house; the glitter of the snow on the roofs made it seem quite cold. The spooky illumination made the girl’s face look spooky. Her loose flowing hair looked as black as ebony.

Eleanore ran into the room, and closed the window. “What on earth are you doing, Gertrude?” she exclaimed; “are you getting ready to take your life?”

Gertrude’s slender body shivered in the cold; her toes were all bent in as if she were having a convulsion. “Yes,” she said with marked moroseness, “that is what I would like to do.”

“That’s what you would like to do?” replied Eleanore, also trembling with cold. “And your father? Haven’t you the slightest consideration for him? Do you want to give him more worry than he already has? What is the matter with you, you crazy girl?”

“I am a sinner, Eleanore,” cried Gertrude, fell on her knees, and clasped Eleanore about the hips. “I am a sinner.”

“Yes? A sinner? What sin, pray, have you committed?” asked Eleanore, and bent down over her.

“Why am I in that house there, in that prison?” cried Gertrude, and clasped her hands to her breast. “Evil has come over me, evil has taken possession of me. I have evil thoughts. Look at me, Eleanore, look at me!”

Her voice had now mounted to the pitch of a piercing shriek. Eleanore stepped back from her, terror-stricken. Gertrude fell head first on the floor. Her hair covered her bent and twitching back.

The door leading to Jordan’s room opened, and he himself came in carrying a lighted candle. In default of pajamas, he had thrown a chequered shawl around his shoulders, the fringes of which were dangling about his knees. He had a white-peaked night-cap on his head.

Quite beside himself, he looked at the two girls and wanted to say something; but he was speechless. When much worried he would always smirk. It was a disagreeable habit. In Eleanore it always aroused a feeling of intense compassion. “There is nothing wrong, father,” she stammered, and made an awkward gesture which indicated to him that it would be most agreeable to her if he would go away. “Gertrude has pains in her stomach; she tried to go to the medicine chest to get a few drops. Please go, father; I’ll put her to bed.”

“I will go to the doctor, or I will call Benno and have him go,” said Jordan.

“No, father, it is not necessary. Please go away!”

He appreciated Eleanore’s impatience and obediently withdrew, shielding the light of the candle with his hand; his gigantic shadow followed along behind him like some unclassified animal.

“Get up, Gertrude, get up and come with me!” said Eleanore.

Gertrude was taken back to her room. After she had been in bed for a few minutes, there was a knock at the door. It was Jordan; he asked how she felt. Eleanore told him everything was all right.

Until the moon had disappeared below the church roof, Eleanore sat on Gertrude’s bed, and held her mute hand in her own. Though she had thrown a cloak about her shoulders, she was cold. Gertrude lay with open, lifeless eyes. Every movement of Eleanore’s face revealed the changing moods of her soul: she was thinking over an unending series of grave thoughts. When it became quite dark, Gertrude turned her face to Eleanore, and said softly: “Please get in bed with me, Eleanore. If I see you sleeping, possibly I can sleep too.”

Eleanore laid the cloak to one side, and slipped in under the covers. The two girls cuddled up to each other, and in a few minutes both were sound asleep.

VOICES FROM WITHOUT AND VOICES FROM WITHIN

Daniel gradually gained followers. Those whom the “little slave” won over to his cause were hardly to be called patrons: they were patriots. They were delighted at the thought that a maestro should have been born and risen to fame in soulful old Franconia. In the actual life of their protégé they took but little interest.

Daniel’s followers were young people.

Professor Herold was a strange man. His reputation reached far beyond the boundaries of his native province, and yet, owing to his whimsical peculiarities, he had not the slightest desire to leave home. On such sons and daughters of the natives as were diligent in their pursuit of musical studies, he poured out the whole of his sarcasm. His chief, his darling ambition was to wean them away from their fondness for worthless music and clap-trap performances of it. He did not succeed: you were not considered educated unless you could play the piano, and in the homes of these merchants education was highly regarded.