“Allow me the honour, President, to introduce my son-in-law—Herr Justus Anders—celebrated sculptor! Gold medallist, President! Came this morning from Berlin with my daughter, in company with your aunt, Captain Schmidt. Has already by desire of the Baroness taken the arrangements into his hands, cleared out the whole of the big ground-floor saloon; looks like the church at Strummin. Yes, my dear President, an artist you know; we must all give way to him. And now, only think, President, the clergyman cannot, or rather will not, say the last words over the grave! declines doing so at the last moment! We—my son-in-law and I—have just come from him; he would not receive us—can’t speak to anybody—can’t speak at all! Conveniently hoarse! The parsonage of Golm, which the Count has promised him, sticks in his throat, I dare say! And it is a good mouthful—three thousand thalers a year, without the perquisites. But I should think the authorities would refuse their sanction; the toad-eating, hypocritical—”
“But, my dear Herr von Strummin!” said the President, looking round nervously.
“It is true enough!” cried Herr von Strummin; “the Count has forbidden him; the Count and he are always laying their heads together. My son-in-law—”
The two friends could not hear what Herr von Strummin, who at last, at the President’s repeated request, moderated his loud voice, brought forward in further support of his views. They had dropped behind a little way, to clasp each other’s hands again and again with tears in their eyes.
“Yesterday at the same hour we buried Cilli,” said Justus. “Ferdinanda’s Pietà, which I will finish, is to adorn her grave, and to make known to the world what a treasure of goodness, and love, and mercy lies buried there; and I will erect a monument to the two here. I told Meta my idea for doing it on the way here; she says it will be splendid; but how gladly would I really break stones for the rest of my life, as my father-in-law used to say of me, if I could awake to life again the good, the beautiful, the brave.—Your naval uniform is wonderfully becoming, Reinhold! I ought to have taken your portrait so; we must repeat it some day; the large gold epaulettes are splendid for modelling. And that parson won’t read the funeral oration because the General and Uncle Ernst have determined that the two shall rest in one grave! He implored the General to alter the arrangement; they had not even been publicly betrothed! only think! But the General stood firm, and has asked your uncle to say a few words. Even that the parson won’t have; but the two old gentlemen will not give in; they hold together like brothers. A telegram came just now for your uncle; I was with him when he opened it, and saw how he started; I am certain it has something to do with that unfortunate Philip, he has been arrested probably. It is terrible that your uncle must have that to bear too, on such a day as this; but he has said nothing to anyone excepting the General. I saw them go aside together, and he showed him the telegram, and then they talked together for some time, and at last shook hands. Uncle Ernst, who had vowed that the hand which pressed the General’s should wither! And today he has asked me half-a-dozen times if I believe that Ottomar’s brother officers, who are expected, will really come—we have made the funeral so late on their account—it would be too sad for the General if they stayed away! As if he had no sorrows himself! He is really heroic! But your Elsa is admirable too. She loved her brother dearly, but how quietly she moves and speaks now, and arranges everything, and has a willing ear and a kindly word for everyone. ‘I could not do that, you know,’ says Meta; ‘there is only one Elsa, you know.’ Of course I know it! But there is only one Meta too; don’t you think so?”
“My dear son-in-law!” cried Herr von Strummin, looking back.
“He has called me that at least a hundred times already today!” said Justus with a sigh, as he hastened on, lengthening his short steps.
They had reached the upper end of the deep narrow cutting, and saw the castle now immediately in front of them. It was a strange sight to the President, who had formerly known the place well, and whom Reinhold now led a few steps forward to the precipitous edge of the bank. For the stream had so washed and torn away the soil that here and there the bank positively overhung, and Reinhold could no longer find and show to the President the spot where the pine-tree had stood, whose fall had been fatal to Ottomar. Below them, between the steep bank and the castle, the stream still ran, no longer with the foaming waves and roaring whirlpools of that night of terror, but in calm transparent ripples, which met and joined together to form fresh ripples that plashed against the keels of the five large boats on which had been laid the temporary bridge that connected the head of the gorge with the old stone gateway of the castle yard. The battlements of the gateway and the great shield above, bearing the Warnow arms, shone in the evening light, as did the round tower of the castle and the higher roofs and gables, down to the sharply-cut line of the
