Eleonore. After the German of E. von Rothenfels

I

Here I was in the old castle at Rutwltz, of which I had heard so much, and which was now to be my home. My only companions were an old invalid aunt and her gray-haired domestics, who united with their mistress in treating me like a spoiled child, for whom they did not exactly know what playthings to provide, — me, Eleonore Soltendorf, a full-grown young lady, in my own opinion, and, as I was assured, a most gratifying result of the finishing system of Madame St. Aubin, whose school I had just left. This view of myself was a natural consequence of the training I had received in that celebrated institution. Elegant manners were considered there the one thing needful in this world, and a knowledge of the latest etiquette all the education one could desire. Madame’s sole aim was to return her pupils to the paternal roof accomplished ladies of society, and the praises bestowed upon the graceful creatures of her fashioning showed that in this she was not unsuccessful.

I was anything but the simple, artless girl that my years would indicate. Thought and imagination were filled with matters belonging to the colder atmosphere of mature womanhood. I fully realized I was an heiress, and that wealth is the pivot upon which the world turns. My prospective fortune had given me a position at school which I was conscious I could not otherwise have attained, and my companions there crowned money in my person, receiving as the reward of their flattery and attentions an abundance of sweetmeats and trinkets, to the purchase of which my liberal supply of pocket-money

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was willingly devoted. Heiresses are not generally ( beautiful, but my obsequious followers declared me a j striking exception to this rule. True, the mirror, indifferent to my large expectations, and not caring for bonbons, did not wholly substantiate this opinion ; still, I reconciled the conflicting testimony by assuming that the charm of my face lay in its expression, concerning I which the latter faithful witness was, of course, silent, j So I was perfectly satisfied with my little self, except that that self was little, — but then I was slender and graceful, if not tall and imposing, and Madame said grace was everything. Amid such teachings and associations I passed several years, my fancy ever busy with the brilliant career that awaited me in the gay world of society, the homage I should receive and the conquests I should make.

When only a few days more of school restraint were left to me, just as all my dreams were about to become realities, I received a letter which threw my beautiful castles to the ground. It w^as from my father (or rather dictated by him and written by my stepmother), informing me that in consideration of my youth it was thought best to leave me for a year longer in retirement, and that I would spend this time with my great-aunt at Rutwitz, a person I had never seen, and of whom I knew nothing, save that she resided in a retired spot in the country, and had had the care of my mother during her early years. The latter died when I was quite young, and my father, who w^as devotedly attached to his wife, transferred to me the almost idolatrous aflfection of which she had been the object. But his profession as diplomatist required too frequent changes of residence for my tender years, and our separation became ere long a necessity. I was consigned to the care of an uncle, in whose family I lived until a few months after my father’s second marriage. This, in my childish egotism, I at first regarded as a cruel wrong done to myself, but the feeling soon passed away, and what had seemed a terrible misfortune proved the source of very great happiness. Strange to say, I had not yet seen this new mother, but her warm, tender letters were well calculated to win a childish

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heart, and her fond indulgence of all my foolish wishes gave me the most implicit confidence in her judgment and affection. Only in one instance had she crossed my inclinations, and then the reasons she gave for the step so flattered my pride that I yielded with comparatively little reluctance. It was very hard to think of exchanging the happy home I had found with my relatives for a strange boarding-school, but Edith (as my stepmother I permitted me to call her) intimated that the advantages i afforded me there were insufficient for one of my rank ;

I and my vanity caught the idea at once that I was an I important personage, whose education ought to be more pretentious than that of my simple cousins. The atmosphere which I breathed at Madame St. Aubin’s served to increase this opinion, and I bore with tolerable resignation the systematic sundering of my former connections which ensued.

Edith had become with me, gradually, the ideal of womanly perfection. There was scarce an excellence of character which I did not attribute to her, or a grace of person that I denied her, and the reports of others all tended to confirm my admiration. I had so longed to be with her ; and now another twelve months must pass before I could be satisfied. Instead of her sweet companionship, I should have to endure the society of an old woman, sick, and a stranger ; instead of hurrying from one scene of festivity to another in the bright world, I was condemned to immure my young life in a gloomy, half-dilapidated castle. It was always a gala day with me when her letters came. The loving words fell upon my soul like spring showers, while the perfume of the delicate paper, and the exquisite penmanship, aided my imagination in conjuring up the fair writer amid her luxurious surroundings, so soon to be mine too. I was, therefore, doubly saddened by the dismal intelligence contained in this epistle, and I could hardly trust my eyes as I read and re-read the lines.

How^ deeply I am grieved, my sweet child,” she wrote, in conclusion, “ that our hopes of meeting must be so long deferred 1 I have tried every means to induce your father to rejprse this decision, but the influence I sometimes

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have with him was powerless here. I approve his jadg meat, but my heart is utterly rebellious. We must sub mit, my poor, dear Ella, and hope still that something will occur to soften him, — and yet not that : for he loves you most devotedly, and it has cost him a severe struggle to obey his reason instead of following the dictates of affection. But take courage, my little Ella, I may still have you in my arms before long.”

This sympathy and hopefulness encouraged me greatly, and I heard with tolerable composure that my aunt was in the city. She was not well enough to leave the hotel, and sent word to me, therefore, to meet her there. Madame, who regarded life in general as a sort of play and neglected no opportunity for dramatic effect, called the pupils together and arranged a most impressive parting. She made me a long speech, containing many suggestions as to deportment, and dwelt touchingly upon the void my departure would create in their midst. I was in reality not a little affected, and the purgatory of my school life brightened wonderfully when the carriage rolled away and I felt I had left those walls forever. I was accustomed to place too high an estimate upon externals for the first impression of my aunt to be a favorable one. I saw in her only a little, old-fashioned woman, plainly dressed and extremely unpretending in appearance. But when she spoke, the cordial tenderness that trembled in her tones fell upon my heart like soft music in vacant halls.

“ Lora ! yes, it is Lora,” said she, deeply moved ; “ my Lora’s child ! Why have they kept you from me so long ?” And drawing me to her, she kissed my eyes and forehead again and again.

For a moment I forgot everything, — her insignificance, my own disappointment, even Madame St. Aubin’s instructions, — and, throwing my arms around her neck, sobbed passionately.

“ How much you resemble your mother, Lora I” she continued, scanning my features closely. “ The same light hair and dark eyes, but — but there is something in your face that was not in hers. I fear you are more a child of the world than she. How could Edith l^e in-

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■I trusted you to the care of a frivolous Frenchwomau I Well,” she added, after a pause, “ I am at least thankful to her for letting me have you a year.”

This reflection upon Edith irritated me, and the last of the remark I ventured to contradict. “ It is not Edith’s work, my going to live with you, — she has done all she could to prevent it.”

My aunt looked at me questioningly, and, without answering, arose and walked slowly to the window. It was plain she did not share the enthusiastic regard I entertained for my mother, and this of itself was enough to erect a barrier between us. But I tried to console myself with the reflection that it was impossible for so plain a person to appreciate the splendid Edith, and charitably concluded, on this ground, to overlook all further insinuations against her.

We took our departure early the next morning. Although there was at this time no such network of railroads stretching over the country as now, still, we could have gone within a few miles of our destination by steam had not my aunt preferred making the journey in her own conveyance. This may have been because the old lady was accustomed to a slow way of traveling, but I am more inclined to think the choice was made on account of her old coachman’s ardent desire to see the capital. We were two days, therefore, in accomplishing a distance which ought to have taken about six hours. The carriage was quite in keeping with this antiquated method of journeying. It reminded one of Noah’s ark, and might have been b^uilt when the grandmother of my great-aunt was an infant. Into its capacious interior we were packed away, under the superintendence of Martin, the abovementioned coachman, — aunt and I on the back seat, Louisa, the venerable waiting-maid, and the equally venerable footman, John, on the front seat, while innumerable boxes and bundles were stowed away or hung up in every possible corner. Our progress was slow. Martin seemed to consider frequent stoppings necessary for the horses ; and as these were his first consideration, and no one ever interfered with his opinion in this respect, we spent most of the time standing still.

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The second day of our journey, as we were sitting at breakfast in the hotel where we had stopped for the night, my attention was attracted by a great uproar in the next room. Some choleric gentleman seemed in a great rage over his boots, which had not been properly cleaned ; and after rating the servant roundly, he concluded with the wish that a million thunderbolts might make way with every one of them. I inwardly protested against the fulfillment of this benevolent desire, considering the proximity of my own person, and expected to see my aunt very much disturbed by the commotion. On the contrary, her face brightened with a smile.

“ My dear friend, the general I” she exclaimed. “ What an agreable surprise I’’

“That violent man a friend of yours, aunt?” I asked, with astonishment.

“ Yes, my child, a very dear friend and neighbor. General Werding.”

“ And does the general often have such fits of anger as the one we have just overheard?”

“Very often,” she replied, quietly. “He has a hasty temper, and his loud voice makes him appear more excited than he really is. But ring for the servant, — we must let him know we are here.”

He soon made his appearance, — a stout, red-faced man, whose countenance still bore traces of the recent storm, though his eyes beamed with sunshine at sight of us.

“ And this is the little Lora !” said he, with a familiar and hearty shake of the hand. “ Well, I am glad she has rosy cheeks and bright eyes. I don’t like these pale, sickly-looking creatures.”

^ The good general could scarcely have devised a salutation less flattering to me, since a delicate complexion was indispensable to the graceful, sylphlike style of beauty I was fond of attributing to myself. I felt insulted by his intended compliment, and endeavored to throw an air of haughty reserve into my manner; but it produced no impression, and he continued in the same boisterous fashion.

“ How do you think you will like us, Fräulein Lora ? Not much company at Rutwitz for a pretty young girl.

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but perhaps we can scare up a few admirers for you. There is the lieutenant of dragoons, two or three country gentlemen, and, above all, our lion, young Waldenstein. You’ll have some battles to fight with the Wiudhems, of course ; but we can rout them, — we’ll come off conquerors, Fräulein Lora 1” And the old man made the breakfast things rattle with the jar of his laughter.

My aunt, I saw, did not approve the prospect thus opened before me. She shook her head several times during this speech, and tried to interrupt him ; but the soft notes of a flute might as well have struggled for a hearing with a noisy kettle-drum.

“ No I ” he exclaimed again, when he had recovered his voice, “ you shall have a good time, don’t be afraid I If this amiable lady here keeps you too strictly at home, I will come with the young people, storm the castle, and set you at liberty I”

I was just beginning to fear he would go off in a fresh spasm of mirth, when a servant came and summoned him away. As disgusted as I was by the rudeness of this old soldier, the little episode served to divert my thoughts and dissipate somewWt my doleful anticipations of the future. It was almost night when we reached Rutwitz. Bright lights and cheerful voices greeted us at the door of the old mansion, and the whole household crowded around us to express their joy at my aunt’s safe arrival and to give me a respectful welcome. She took me to my room herself that night, and I slept soundly, with no prophetic dream to give warning of what lay before me.

II-

I FOUND my aunt the next morning reclining on the sofa, pale and suffering,— even the short journey of the day before had been too much for her strength. It was impossible to be insensible to the sacrifice she had made for me, and yet I was so taken up with thoughts of myself that I could not feel very grateful for it. What was there

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in this place to save me from utter stagnation and despair? A certain bitterness against my father, who had condemned me to such a fate, arose within me, and a sentimental pity for myself, which sent the tears into my eyes. My aunt, at least, was not the indifferent person I had supposed ; for, observing my sorrowful looks, she said, with a kindly smile, —

“ Poor child ! you hardly know what to do with yourself in this lonesome old house ; but try and bear it for a little while. You will have a companion of your own age before long, I hope I”

I looked up eagerly.

“ The young lady ought to have been here before this, and I do not understand the reason of the delay. I have felt from the first that this was not the place for you to spend a year, and only consented to the plan on condition that you should not be left alone. Edith took it upon herself to make all necessary arrangements, and wrote to me several weeks ago that she had succeeded in securing a delightful person in Florence, who needed assistance, and would be glad of the position.”

“ Do you know Edith, aunt ?” I asked, with some surprise.

“ Yes, — the family used to live near us. They were not very — that is, their circumstances were embarrassed and the father was obliged to sell his estate and remove to Switzerland, where the two daughters were educated for governesses. They were both very beautiful, and, I think, both knew it. The eldest died in a short time, while Edith was introduced to your father, I fear, through my instrumentality, and soon after became his wife.”

The tone in which this was said did not tend to elevate the old lady in my estimation, and 1 cut short the interview by requesting permission to inspect my new home.

The castle was not large, but angularly built, and full of labyrinthic passages, out-of-the-way corners, and mysterious recesses. Its exterior reminded one of the wrinkles on an old face, while the inside showed that it had grown to its present form and proportions through successive additions made according to the comfort or

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pleasure of its several occupants, and without regard to any prevailing law of beauty. My aunt, for years, had ^ received no company, and the only rooms in use were I a parlor, dinmg-room, and her own chamber. The rest ^ stood deserted and silent, with that uncomfortable, almost ^.ghostly, atmosphere about them so common to places wTjich life has ceased to frequent. This incomprehensible sympathy between the animate and the inanimate, this inter-communion of spirit and matter, prevails everywhere, so that even the walls and furniture of our houses seem endowed with consciousness and individuality.

As I wandered through these solitary halls. Sir Walter > Scott’s Edgard came to my mind, and I tried to imagine myself his feminine counterpart, to find in my situation some touch of the tragico-romantic. But every thing was so carefully preserved, so orderly disposed, that the most vivid imagination could discover about it no melancholy charm. The tall chairs and high-backed sofas, covered with gray linen, had rather a look of sleep}^ repose, — the crystal and bronze of the chandeliers twinkled through the thick veil of gauze in the same drowsy fashion ; and the mirrors, under their heavy hangings, were too lazy to reflect what passed before them. I hurried away from the somnolent company as fast as possible and returned to my room, not much enlivened by my explorations.

This, however, was light and cheerful, and the prospect from my windows, if not grand, w^as very attractive. The castle stood in one of those fertile valleys which border the tributaries of the Saale, where the whole landscape, checkered by vineyards, meadows, corn-fields, and fruit-orchards, seems like one luxuriant garden. A chain of little hills beyond served as a background for the picture, and framed it prettily on one side, while the other faded off into misty indistinctness of outline, and was lost in the distance. The thick walls made of each window-seat a little alcove, where one could recline in indolent enjoyment of the view, shut out from the rest of the room by the heavy curtains that fell in front. I christened the pleasantest of these my dream-chamber, and established it at once as a favorite place of resort.

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I did not see my aunt again until dinner, and she met me then with a strange question about a Baron Kollner.

‘‘I do not know such a person,” I replied, ‘‘and never, to my recollection, heard the narpe.”

“ Then I do not understand it at all,” said she. “ He has been here during my absence, expressed surprise at finding me still away, and inquired particularly whether you were to return with me. Since not even my friends knew the object of my journey, I concluded he was some acquaintance of yours.”

It was pretty evident that the visit of this stranger concerned me, and the mystery which surrounded his coming furnished food for a great variety of romantic speculation on my part ; but my aunt appeared troubled by it, and when, a few days after, General Werding came to see us, almost her first question was with regard to the unknown visitor.

The general looked at me, gave a sly wink, and burst out laughing.

Some boarding-school admirer, eh, Fräulein Lora ?” said he, with a familiarity that quite shocked me.

“ I never heard of him until I came here,” 1 replied, blushing scarlet, — “ we saw no young gentlemen at school.”

“ Indeed I Your face tells a different story ; but I’ll not tease you. This young fellow has suddenly dropped down in this part of the country, no one knows exactly from what quarter. He is here for the purpose of purchasing an estate, he says, but, so far as I am informed, there is not an acre of land for sale anywhere around. He lives in the next town, astonishes every one there by his elegant dress and manners, and drives the host of the Black Bear almost wild with envy because he has taken up his abode at the Golden Lion.”

“ And you are well acquainted with him ?” inquired my aunt.

“ How can I be, my honored friend, when he has been here but a few days? He has been to see me, as well as everybody else in the neighborhood; although I do not see why he is in such a hurry about introducing himself, when he is not yet certain whether he will remain. The

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name was rather ai^ainst him. I knew a Kollner in the army once, who did not honor it particularly. There were stories about him that would make your hair stand on end, and he had only the kindness of his colonel to thank for being honorably dismissed instead of cashiered. Don’t look so anxious, dear madame, we were perfectly frank with each other. Baron Kollner is a cousin of this ci-devant officer. He begged me, however, to say nothing of the relationship for the sake of the family, — which request, you see, I have obeyed,” he added, with a loud laugh.

This explosion startled me, and I glanced uneasily at my aunt.

“ Don’t be afraid, Fräulein Lora,” said he, in answer to the look ; “ she is used to my voice. When a man has talked with the roar of cannon in his ears, he is not likely to coo like a dove. But how is this, my friend? — you ought not to be sick now, when youth and beauty have come to take up their abode with you. I want to show off our treasure, and my special errand to-day was to know if I might invite the Windhems, and a few others, to meet you at my house, and when it should be.”

I was delighted at this proposition, and my aunt agreed to take the matter into consideration, and let him know as soon as she was strong enough to accept the invitation. Age renews its strength slowly, however, and several days elapsed before this was the case. In the mean time the sky seemed to be reflecting the dull monotony of my existence. It rained uninterruptedly, and even the slight diversion afforded by a walk in the garden was denied me.

When at last the clouds rolled away, and the blue sky and sunshine again appeared, I ran out into the park, although it was late in the afternoon, and the ground still very damp. There everything was wonderfully beautiful. All nature was celebrating a joyful thanksgiving, and involuntarily I stretched out my arms and touched the bushes and flowers, as I went along, to steal, if possible, some of their gladness. After awhile I turned over one of the rustic chairs and sat down. Before me, in direct perspective, lay the castle in a dark, leafy set-

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ting. The dazzling stream of light which the dqxjlining sun threw upon its walls flowed on through the grounds, gilding the trunks of the old trees, bringing here and there a cluster of flowers into clear relief, and, at last, spreading itself, like liquid gold, over the turf beyond. Suddenly I became aware that I was not the only admirer of the scene, and, looking around with a start, I perceived, in my immediate vicinity, a young man who had evidently been watching me very closely. He was of medium height, with dark, curly hair, heavy whiskers and moustache, and eyes as black as midnight. His features I could not distinctly see in the fading light, but there was something quite fascinating in the easy assurance with which, when finding himself discovered, he came forward to apologize for the intrusion.

“ I am a stranger here,” he remarked, in explanation, “and was informed that these grounds were public.”

I knew in a moment that the speaker was Baron Kollner, and, in my confusion, replied that I believed they were.

“ You believe ! Then you are not at home here, Fräulein ?” he resumed.

“ I hope to be so soon,” I answered, after a mementos pause.

“ I trust your hopes may be realized,” said he, looking intently into my face. “ But neither the place nor society appears to me such as a beautiful young lady would choose for her debut in the world.”

This speech convinced me that he knew something of my history and circumstances ; but I recollected that a conversation with a strange gentleman, in a dusky park, was not quite according to the rules of propriety, and, with a slight bow, I stepped past him, and walked hurriedly towards the house. The little adventure, if such it may be called, excited me considerably, although the sweet influences of the evening were entirely dissipated by it.

The bright weather had a favorable effect upon my aunt, and the next day was fixed upon for our visit to the general’s. Old Martin was struck aghast at the idea of harnessing in the afternoon, and it required all Louisa’s

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diplomacy to make him listea to such an absurd idea. It was twenty-two years come Michaelmas, he said, since he entered the service of Frau von Rutwitz, and never before had so monstrous an outrage been inflicted upon his domain. His poor Martin and Louisa (as the horses were oddly named) would be killed outright, but the blame must not be laid upon his shoulders, — he knew better than to take them out of the stable at such an hour.

We found a larger company assembled than we had expected, and I could not .remember the names of half the people to whom I was introduced. My attention was especially drawn to the Fräulein Windhems, since I had been informed that they would be my chief rivals. They equaled the Graces in number, but were totally unlike in appearance. Sophie, the eldest, was a languishing blonde, with long eyelashes and very clear blue eyes ; the second, Bella, a sparkling brunette ; while the third, although possessing fewer pretensions to beauty than either of her sisters, had a charm about her face as irresistible as it was puzzling to* explain. I could not decide whether its expression was that of cheerful good nature or scornful independence, so continually did it vibrate between the two.

I had thought to create an immense sensation among these country-people, and my vanity was not a little piqued by their indifference. Alma, the youngest of the three sisters, was the first to appreciate my position ; and, approaching me, she said, with a frank smile, —

“ Strangers must be stared at and let alone, Fräulein Soltendorf: it is the baptism of fire through which every candidate for admission into a new circle has to pass. But I offer you compensation, — I never mind curious glances : so, if it will afford you any interest, I submit myself for full inspection.”

“ I hope you extend that permission to the rest of the company,” drawled a young man near us.

“You must have seen long ago that your glances do not trouble me,” she rejoined ; “ if it gives you any pleasure, look to your heart’s content.”

“ One would suppose, Alma, you held an exclusive patent for rudeness,” said Sophie, coming to the relief of the discomfited fellow.

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“ So I do, Sophie, and I insist on the privilege, since I do not dispute your claim to beauty and talent ; though as to the former, your title, I think, has nearly expired. You do not know, perhaps,” she continued to me, “my sister is a poet, artist, and musician, besides being endowed with many other very remarkable gifts, while the rest of the family are merely ordinary mortals. My brother Felix is devoted to his horses ; I find my satisfaction in saying just what I please to every one; and Bella, — well, Bella tries to forget her insignificance in listening to the flattery of numerous admirers.”

“You are too silly 1” pouted the pretty Bella, shrugging her shoulders.

“ But she is not satisfied with the same tone long,” resumed Alma. “Just now Herr von Waldenstein is *jeune premier so I advise you, Fräulein Soltendorf, not to choose him for a conquest. Oh, I forgot I Herr Bertram, please have the kindness to stand between Herr von Tauenfeld and myself, — you may prevent a tragedy. He is looking at me so savagely that I apprehend something terrible !”