Withered Leaves: A Novel. Vol. 3 (of 3)Gottschall, Rudolf von
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Withered Leaves: A Novel. Vol. 3 (of 3)
Gottschall, Rudolf von
German fiction -- Translations into English
Certainly, only a singer! It was, indeed, an unsuitable choice! Several
ladies pretended to be ill, and only allowed their husbands to look on
at the phenomenon so as to be able to bring back an account of the
doings.
"I do not like such extremes," said Frau Baronin Fuchs to her husband,
"is it necessary to jump from the sanctimonious to the most impudent
children of this world? Certainly, in reality, the other was the same
kind, only a different colour. No power in the world would take me to
this wedding; you, of course, will drive over because everything
connected with rouge pots and stage tinsel has a certain charm for you
now. Well, look from a close point of view at the Circe who has
enchanted this knight of the rueful countenance."
CHAPTER IX.
THE BRIDAL JEWELS.
Two sitting-rooms and bedrooms were prepared for Giulia and Beate in
the old wing of the Castle. Blanden had ridden over to the nearest town
to meet her, and sent on his carriage and four in advance.
He drove back with her. When they arrived at the boundary of his
possessions, they were greeted by the peasants and tenants with loud
acclamations. A handsomely decorated triumphal arch was erected; canon
resounded far and near, and genuine, indeed, were the rejoicings of the
people, who idolised Blanden. None of the proprietors on the lakes of
Masuren were so gentle and kind as he, certainly none others had
studied Buddha's teachings, or recognised pity for every being of
creation as the original spring of all wisdom and morality.
The school girl who presented a huge nosegay to Giulia at the gate of
honour, had learned a very long and very profound address, which was
listened to with intense weariness by all but the bride-elect, for whom
an accusation lay in every one of those moral sentiments. Cold water
seemed to be running down her, when the little girl, with devout
dove-like eyes, looked lovingly into her face.
And when old Olkewicz acted as spokesman for the officials and those
belonging to the estate, and spoke of the old family possession, of the
worthy heir, of his forefathers, then she suddenly felt what, until
now, had been quite unknown to her: that here she was entering into the
sacred circle of a family, into a well-regulated world governed by
moral laws, into touching familiarity amongst equals, into a beautiful
blending together of past and future; and to herself she appeared in
the light of an intruder, who deserved to be cursed, who tore down the
old saintly household gods from the domestic hearth, and with a guilty
hand polluted a stainless roll of ancestors. She shuddered as if seized
with cold; while Olkewicz also stammered in his honest speech and lost
himself--he had suddenly recognised Giulia; it was actually the same
white fairy who had stood on high in the moonlight on the gallery of
the belfry tower.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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