THE STORYTELLER

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LII, Issue 7, 18 February 1925, Page 3

THE STORYTELLER

The grooms, in their smartest livery j were all attending upon her, and little boys, dressed up in the most bewitching costumes as pages, stood at the entrance of the course, waiting to usher in their mistress. As she now entered, a storm of applause followed upon the silence of expectation. With one leap the beautiful Amazon was in the middle of the arena, and her horse and herself remained for a second motionless, so that they both seemed cut out of marble. From the box occupied by the young men there followed considerable excitement. Each one arose and stepped forward in order to take a better view of her. In this place they had, indeed, never seen so beautiful a woman, so noble an attitude, so sweet and innocent an expression.

The fiery animal now raised itself so high that it seemed incomprehensible how the Amazon kept her seat so firmly. And now the music struck in with the light and soft tones which generally accompany such a performance. The horse flew and danced gracefully about, and evolution followed upon evolution, directed by so sure and so firm a hand, and executed with such unmistakeable ease, that “Bravo!” upon “Bravo!” accompanied the charming scene. The connoisseurs did not find words enough with which to praise such perfect talent.

Meanwhile the music became gradually, quicker and wilder the measure more exciting; the horse, as if animated by success, snorted across the course, flying at one leap over the obstacles placed upon its road. The excitement was gaining the lookers-on. Every eye was fixed upon the daring Amazon, whose face remained so still, whose eye shot forth no glimmer of satisfaction, and whose expression seemed to be that of one turned to stone, and totally unconscious of the rows of spectators, whose whole attention and admiration were centred upon her. And now, one high leap across the closed barrier, and she was gone as suddenly as she had come.

The pent-up feelings of the public vented themselves in one mighty storm of applause, such as had not been heard for years in that circus.

The beautiful enigmatical woman had completely charmed every one, and Landolfo might well rub his hands with satisfaction. A thousand voices repeatedly cried out the traditional “Fuori! Fuori!” in hopes that she would appear once more, but her father presented himself alone. His voice trembled as he thanked the public for the approval his daughter had met with, but, he added, she was so overcome by her first appearance in public that she was quite unable to thank them in person for the applause bestowed upon her.

NORA Translated from the German by Princess Liechtenstein (Published by. arrangement with Burns, Oates, Washbourne, Ltd.) CHAPTER XVl.—(Continued.)

The speech was so far a happy one, that it reminded all present of the interesting and romantic reports which had surrounded Nora with so much mysterious charm. This clchut had assured her success, but whilst her name was in every mouth, and young swells drank to her in sparkling champagne, calling her “The New Star!” and adding some spicy word upon this circus beauty, Nora was lying pale and still upon her couch. The bodily and mental emotions she had gone through now asserted their right; indeed, she was too much exhausted to feel great pain. One fearful ghost alone, the ghost of her past happiness, arose before her, and told her that all was over, that this evening was irrevocably inscribed upon the annals of her life, and that, do what she would, she could never wash away its stain. With it she had taken farewell to the set, she belonged to in mind and heart. Once more her limbs shook with a nervous, tremor, and her eyes would not close in sleep. She mechanically held out her hand towards the letter her kind friend had written her, and mechanically read the touching words of comfort it contained. My poor child,” wrote the good nun, “the Lord leads you to Him by strange and rough roads. A pure intention sanctifies, and a great sacrifice explains everything; thus even your determination which would otherwise be inexplicable to me. Perhaps this mode of life is better for your soul.than the one we had dreamt of for you, and which, to our short-sightedness, .seemed to place you so safely above all danger. My own heart's child, whatever you may be, you are dearer to me than ever; let us love each othermore even than in the old times! I follow you in mind wherever you go, and pray God that He may protect and defend you.” And so friendship crossed the barrier which love could not surmount. Nora read this one passage over and over again: “A pure intention sanctifies, and a great sacrifice explains everything.” Her last thought that night was: “Will Curt think as she does, and not despise me? Oh, he need not fear; I will show him that I shall not sink even upon this road. My love will keep my courage firm and high.”

Whilst these events were taking place at home, Curt, who had not the faintest idea of them, was thoroughly enjoying the beauties of the East. Ever since his heart was at rest, lie had felt that he could bear and forbear, for he knew that neither in his love nor in that of Nora a change was possible. Only a short year and' a half, and he would take her to his heart, before the whole world as his own fair bride.

It was his intention, in order to escape from all the difficulties which would necessarily arise immediately after his‘marriage, to remain attached to his foreign post for a few years, and then, rich in experience and in remembrances, return to his country, there to work on its soil. It all seemed so simple and clear now, and life offered itself to him.in the most varied forms of outward enjoyment and of inward content, so that he often let his thoughts rest upon it in ecstasy. His mind was organised for a higher field of action than that contained 'in the narrow horizon of his own individual circumstances; and he felt that ■with Nora he could spread out its wings and enjoy dear liberty. For the present, he turned his whole interest towards the country and the people he was living amongst, and he thoroughly enjoyed visiting all those sights which are sacred to science or full of pious memories. He thus spent much of his time making excursions in the neighborhood, often remaining a few weeks absent. He had just returned from one of these interesting tours, and presented himself before his chief, who gave him a whole packet of letters which had that day arrived for him. “Quite a volume!” said the old gentleman, smiling good-naturedly as he gave him the packet with his mother’s handwriting. “Ah, yes! Young men rejoice at getting letters, whilst we old ones tremble beforehand at what their contents may bring. Life has not much good news for us. . . But now go and study your home-chronicle.” Curt went, and was joined at the door of the Embassy by a young French colleague, who walked home with him, being, as he declared, just on the way to calling at his rooms. With French animation and loquacity, he chattered on so rapidly that he did not notice how preoccupied Curt was. The unusually large envelope made him feel anxious, he hardly knew the reason why. Arrived at his rooms, Curt threw the parcel impatiently down upon the table, so that the Frenchman with characteristic tact at once said: “Ah! Letters from your country, I see! Pardon! I ought not to have disturbed you, cher comte. Pray satisfy your curiosity, whilst I wander about the beautiful realm of flowers you have here. I am somewhat of a botanist,” he added, and entered at once into the conservatory which adorns every apartment in Pera, and where fresh green leaves, the scent of flowers, and the gentle splashing of a fountain, compensate for the unpleasant smells which reign in the streets. “My mother seems to be studying from the Press,” cried Curt’s voice merrily after him. “Stay, dear vicomte, the parcel only contains bits of newspapers and advertisements; come and have a cigar first.” The vicomte did not come at once he was lost in admiration before a plant which was new to him. Suddenly a strange and agonising cry of pain made him rapidly turn. Through the open glass-doors he could see Curt, his head sunk upon the table and his arms spread out before him, as if he had suddenly fainted. The open letter lay at . his feet, and in his hand was a newspaper which he still unconsciously clutched.

“Count! for God’s sake! What is the i matter with you?” cried the Frenchman, ; rushing to his friend’s side. A second cry of anguish burst from the 1 poor fellow’s breast, but his head still lay ; heavily upon the table, so that the features < were not discernible. “Degenthal! I beseech of you, do be i calm!” said the vicomte, “Have you had any bad news? Are you ill? Shall I call your servant?” Curt slightly moved his hand with a depreciating gesture. “Only a headache, a little giddiness , . . the heat . . . please, fetch me some water.” The vicomte rushed out and dipped his handkerchief in the fountain in order to place it upon the sufferer’s head. He had only required a minute to do this in; but when ho returned,, the newspaper-cuttings had disappeared. “It was a sharp and horrible pain which suddenly seized hold of me,” said Curt, supporting his head on his hand whilst the vicomte pressed the wet handkerchief to his forehead. “I evidently over-tired myself during this last tour.” The polite Frenchman did not contradict him, but he remembered that Curt had not looked in the least overtired when he had met him at the Embassy, and he consequently came to the conclusion that some piece of bad news had thus overpowered him. Anyhow, lie did not wish to communicate his sorrow, that was evident, and so ho wisely asked no more questions. “Your forehead is burning,” lie said, after a few moments of silence, during which Curt stared unconsciously before him. “I strongly advise you to go to bed and to send for the doctor. In this climate there is no joking with such symptoms.” “I think I shall soon be better,” said Curt, staggering with difficulty to his feet. “Does the fever of this country make one delirious?” he asked. “It depends,” said the Frenchman with a smile; “but I hope it will not come to that if you take care of yourself at once.” “Oh, perhaps a regular attack of raging fever would do one more good than harm,” said Curt as if to himself. “One often feels as if. one' had been delirious all one’s life . . . excuse me, vicomte, I feel that I am wretched bad company ... A doctor, you think? I’d rather not, but visits; oh, keep them away! I hate them so when I am ill!” “As you choose, you stubborn German! But now allow me to send at once for the doctor. Your interdiction of visits does not extend to me, I hope.” The Frenchman had spoken with his accustomed volubility; and he was not quite sure that he had been understood, for Curt was staring before him -with a fixed and absent look. Taking up his hat, the vicomte hurried away to fetch the doctor. He had hardly gone a few .steps, when he heard his name called out, and turning, he saw Curt who had followed him with faltering steps. “My dear fellow,” he said hastily, “please render me a service. This letter must be at once sent to the post. . . . it is ... it is evidently,” he said stammering, “not

meant for me. It must be sent back,” lie added impatiently. He gave him the letter, upon which the words “Deutschland retour” were written in a trembling hand. The vicomte promised to do as he wished.. “You must, however, go to bed,” he said again anxiously, for Curt’s evident agitation began seriously to alarm him, “Let me go . back with you.” Curt thanked him and hastened back alone. The Frenchman followed him with his eyes, and then, looking at the letter, he shook his head, for the handwriting was unmistakeably that of a lady. “I am strangely mistaken if a belle dame is not as usual at the bottom of it,” he thought to himself; “evidently her missive has not been received with pleasure. Not even opened! That’s a sort of thing one ought never to do in a moment of over-excitement. "Who knows if ho would not give a great deal later on to have read that letter? But those Germans arc so pig-headed! Anyhow, let ns do as he wishes. Ah, les femmes, les femmes ! They always have a linger in the pie when a misfortune happens,” and the little vicomtc heaved a deep sigh, as much as to say that ho also had had his experience in that quarter. If poor Nora had waited many a weary long week without one word from Curt, whilst her letter lay quietly in his mother’s hands, it was now the countess’s turn to taste of. the bitter cup she had given another to drink. She had calculated exactly when her letter would reach Constantinople, and when she could receive an answer but time passed and no letter came. She wrote again and again, and gave herself up to the wildest conjectures. Ought she, perhaps, to have announced the event to him with more precaution? To have prepared him more gradually? Had she treated his love too lightly? Then her thoughts quite ran away with her, and she fancied he had placed himself in direct communication with Nora, and that, notwithstanding all, he would appear one day and present her as his wife. Anything seemed easier to bear than this dreadful silence. At last a letter came, but not from Curt. It was the old ambassador, who detailed to her in the most minute manner her son’s illness. He supposed it to have been caused by the frequent and prolonged excursions Curt had undertaken in the interior of the country, and for which he had evidently overrated his strength. A pang shot across the mother’s heart on reading the date of the day upon which lie had fallen ill, as it accorded with the probable arrival of her letter. She would have started off at once, had not the writer alluded to her son’s positive wish that she should not undertake such a journey,, and added that the doctors also thought it better that every kind of emotion should he avoided. Contrarily to her usual mode of proceeding, the countess did what she was told, and remained at home; for she well knew how agitating their meeting would be. .During many a week after the arrival of this first letter, the vicomte, who had entirely' devoted himself to the care of his

young colleague, sent Curt’s mother a frequent and detailed account of the patient’s state, which, somehow, seemed to make no progress.

■ ?\A. complete apathy had followed upon the Wain-fever, and Curt seemed incapable of clear thought about anything. He never complained of, pain, he alluded in no way to the past, named no one, and seemed to be completely calm —perhaps too calm. There was only one feeling which he expressed with energy, and that was a decided objection to receiving any news from home.

The most able doctors .of the place had been called into consultation, and they had declared a change of air necessary. But his great weakness prevented the possibility of such a. thing for a long time. It seemed as if all spirit of resistance, either mentally or bodily, was broken.

Ui UUUIIJ j » tl'O “He has evidently been unable to support ■ the climate,” said those who, as soon as Curt’s illness was heard of, came to express their sympathy to the countess. The latter read upon every face how much they would have liked to ask her what on earth could have induced her to expose her only son to such useless danger. She received the expressed sympathy and the secret reproach with the same outward calm, and no one knew what she suffered the while. But her stately figure lost much of its roundness, and her brilliant black hair suddenly turned grey. The summer was once more blooming out in all its fragrancy, when at last the news came that Curt would soon be well enough to leave Constantinople. The mother's heart naturally longed for her son, but not a word came from him. j' "’-It was again the kind and amiable Frenchman who wrote to her, as soothingly as he could, and announced to her that her son was not yet able to write himself. Moreover, he had made up his mind to undertake a long journey, to visit the countries which the doctors considered advisable that he should visit, and he hoped this change of objects, as well as of air, would contribute to his complete recovery. At first he would go to Greece, then to Sicily, and would probably spend the winter in Spain and in the south of France; “Se rapprochant pourtant toujours de sa patrie et du coeur de sa mere.” Thus concluded the Frenchman with a gracefully-turned phrase. As the countess read this letter, a scalding tear stole down her cheek, and a silent agony came over the mother’s heart, knowing as she did that her whole life’s tenderness had rested upon this one head, and that, after all, she had done what she had thought was for the best. Gently, as an echo, did her soul hear again the words the nun had once spoken to her, “You might lose a son, instead of gaining a daughter.” But the countess was noe one of those natures who give themselves up for a long time to self-reproach. She had acted according to what she considered her better - ■judgment, and . she looked upon all this as the necessary consequences of a painful duty she had lived through the one, she would live through the other. “He will get over .it,” she said to herself, and to others she

explained; “It is necessary for his health that he should remain in southern climes for the present”; thus nipping off in the hue every expression of compassionate wonder. She spoke to no on& about it, not even to her true and kind friend, the chaplain. She had told him, in a few words, the change which had come over Nora’s destiny and when, to his sorrow and surprise, he had found that, indeed, she had entered upon this new course of life, he had submitted to facts without being able to solve the problem. About the same time a letter from the Superior arrived. “I owe it to Nora to give you a word of explanation,” she wrote, “as to the reasons which led the poor child to enter upon so sad, and to her, so terrible a path. She offered up a beautiful act of sacrifice upon the altar of filial love, for which, may God take her mercifully under His protection ! Do not judge her too harshly! I tell you this for justice’ sake, and beg you also to

tell it your son. I am certain that if he be con-

vinced his love was not given unworthily, and that he has not been deceived, it will help to soothe the pain of the wound which this sad event has certainly inflicted upon him. God’s wisdom has led it thus; but the two young hearts have a bitter cup to drink.” The countess threw the letter impatiently down. “The good . creature must have lost her senses in her blind affection for the girl. Just at this moment, when he is on the point of getting well, it would be folly to bring his mind back to all these things! It is wonderful to see how unpractical even clever people can be. when they live completely away from the world, alone with their own thoughts. Poor Sybil! she is certainly very ridiculous with her romantic ideas.” The countess was so practical that the letter was at once thrown into the fire, the letter which might have contributed to the fulfilment of her dearest wish, that of once more finding the road to her son’s heart.

(To be continued.)