THE STORYTELLER

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LII, Issue 9, 11 March 1925, Page 3

THE STORYTELLER

NORA

This pain was too much. She felt she had not deserved it, and the heart, thus trampled upon, rose against the injustice she had suffered. What was he that he should not have vouchsafed her one word, or granted her one look? Had ho not broken the vow he had made to watch over her, to protect, and to save her from her cruel position? And at the very first wave of misfortune he had left her to herself! Yes, thought she, in the bitterness of her heart, she had made it easy for him to break from her; she had instantly returned him his word, and freed him from every engagement. As for him, he had at once accepted the proffered liberty, and had hot even held out his little finger to save her from her depth of misery. Why was she mourning? Why had she been mourning for him all this time ? He had certainly greeted his liberty as a welcome event, whilst she had been offering up everything to the very shadow of his love. And now, forgotten, despised, why should she lay such severe restrictions upon herself ? Why should she refuse entrance to every joy life still had in store for her? Her blood rushed tumultuously and rebelliously through her veins, and the forsaken heart cried aloud for distraction, for something to forget, for something, whatever it might be, to fill the void. She had often come across those light and butterfly natures, who flutter joyously through the world so careless and so free. Yes, she had met them, and after all, those were the natures best fitted to her position, ’Tis true that they often sank into the dust, but still they had been cradled amongst flowers, had feasted unconcernedly upon the sweets of life, had been happy, so long as it lasted. But she, she was also trodden in the dust, and had enjoyed nothing of the brilliancy of life. What right had she to think herself better , than those with whom destiny had placed her ? Why should she i wear herself to death, in order to attain that height she could, perhaps, never reach, and upon which, anyhow, the world would never suffer her to remain? Whatever might happen now, she was lost to every real happiness, and, yet, live she must, without this burning thirst after it. They are wicked hours those in which cur excited feelings gain the upper hand; but the purest of .souls goes through such hours, when it is tossed too wildly about by despair, and thus comes in contact with the pitch which lies at the bottom of every earthly nature. Long did Nora remain thus, until her excitement died a natural death. But it is only after an inundation, after the high . waters have retired, that one sees how changed is the whole aspect of the earth. When Nora arose, her face bore another

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

expression than it had borne the night before. It was no holy light which shone in her eyes, and the lips had a contemptuous turn which no longer spoke of calm and of retiring modesty. There was a new life, but what the Scotch would call an uncanny life, which seemed to animate her whole person. She was still arranging her hair, when a knock was heard at the door, and a beautiful bouquet was brought in to her. She as on the point of refusing it, according to her old habit, but immediately afterwards she accepted it. It was a beautiful assemblage of rare and costly flowers, perfuming the whole room with their narcotic scent. She seized hold of it, and pressed her face into it, inhaling its perfume, as if she hoped therein to find intoxication. She knew very well the offering came from a princely admirer who had pursued her for months with such-like gifts. She had disdained them until now, but to-day it pleased her, nay, it filled her with a wild joy, to think how many were sighing for a look of her. “I can bring them all to my feet, when I choose,” she said, and she tossed her head proudly back. “I can lead them all where I like by a look from these eyes, by a- gesture of this hand. I can make these proud men as miserable as I have been made myself. And I will show him that I need only hold up my little finger in order to gain that which he refuses me.” A few hours later when Nora went to her father to discuss the arrangements for that evening, she struck him as being much more accommodating than usual. It soon became the talk of the whole town that Nora Karsten had gone through some mysterious transformation. She had never been so beautiful or so enchanting as this season. She had almost completely lost that calm and even stiff reserve of manner, for which one had found fault with her. This change was mostly attributed to a journey she had made in England and in France. Nora no longer refused to appear in combined scenes, and a particularly romantic one soon became famous by the part she played in it. The subject treated of was Libussa, the famous man-hater, Bohemia’s beautiful queen. The scene represented a combat between the army of Amazons and their antagonists of the stronger sex, and gave a full display of good acting as well as of good riding. It was, moreover, remarkable by the brilliancy of the costumes displayed. The victory of the Amazons, their wild chase after the flying, and, at last, Libussa left alone face to face with the brave Scharka, and fighting with her pride and her love; then the triumphal march and the sorrow of the Amazons, when Libussa, having pierced Scharka. with her arrow, herself falls and dies. This was of itself an animated

and attractive scene, such as had rarely been witnessed at the circus but every one rushed to see, above all, the incomparable Nora *vKarsten in the character of Libussa. /ykA few weeks later, and the circus had moved on as usual to the Austrian capital. There, also, the representations were expected with great interest, considerably augmented by the report that some of Libussa’s more fanatic admirers had followed the troop to Vienna. It was, however, maintained, that now as ever, and notwithstanding her change of manner, Nora had not changed her coldness to, and hatred of, men. It was a fashionable and motley assemblage to be seen at the Karsten Circus on the evening of the first representation, and the director had been careful that none of the accessories of the scene should be neglected. Beautiful, distractingly beautiful, was Libussa as she now rode in, surrounded by the light legion of her Amazons. She rode a black steed of the purest race, which seemed longing to be in the thick of the affray. A gilt coat of mail imprisoned her elegant and powerfully built form, and a skirt of heavy silver stuff flowed in rich folds from her lovely waist. On her head was a silver helmet, which left her features perfectly free, and from which her long, black locks fell beneath her waist. She sat there, so lightly on her fiery horse, that one might have taken her for some vision breathed there by poetry; and yet, firm and strong as iron, she was the very embodiment of that proud heroine. The whole scene was magnificent, showing off in this cavalry skirmish the most artistic and most varied positions the noble animals k could take; but all eyes rested alone upon Libussa, who, as if conducted by some charm, was always to be seen rising high above the others, ever conspicuous by her beauty, as well as by the masterly management of her horse. One thundering applause followed upon another. Then came the still more dramatic representation of the chase after the flying, in which the Amazons seemed to be dashing forth wildly, headed by Lmussa, with her lance held high above her helmet, her hair flowing, and her eyes flashing fire. The words: “ Wallhyre S child-Jungfrau,” passed whisperingly round the ranks. Now the moment was come in which the last remaining warrior places himself courageously before Lihussa, surrounded by her triumphant Amazons, Libussa, on the point of shooting her arrow, suddenly stops; and her horse raising itself almost straight up into the air adds as much excitement to the scene, as the flashing look of triumph which its mistress bestows on the public. Her look now falls upon a group of men assembled in one part of the large circus. The audience breaks out into loud applause, but Libussa’s . eyes remain riveted to that spot as if she |f could never turn them away again. The unfortunate Scharka places himself in vain in r the most daring attitudes before her, awaiting the death-blow but she seems completely to overlook him. A ghastly pallor suddenly overspreads her face, and she is seized with so convulsive a trembling, that her step-mother, who is one

of the Amazons, notices it, and hastening forward to her side, whispers a few -words which bring her back to consciousness.

- Nora then seems to awake as out of a dream, and with great self-control brings the scene to a close. The public has taken the little intermezzo .for a masterly representation of Libussa's inward struggle, and her complete annihilation, as she glides from her horse into the arms of her weeping Amazons, lighted up by mystical and blood-red flames, crowns the whole.

But it is well for Nora that it enters into her part to be carried out as if senseless. It would have been impossible for her to remain standing. She does not see the wreaths which are showered down upon her, nor hear the thundering applause which accompanies her exit— as soon as she has left the arena she falls into a violent and hysterical fit of sobbing. There, however, where she had evidently seen something like a ghost of happy times, there stood a man, clad in a long priestly coat, and who, surrounded by a number of brilliant uniforms, had followed the representation with a breathless attention and a meditative, almost a stern, look. He now seemed unconscious of the tumultuous rejoicings around him. "That's right, sir, I'm glad to see you don't quite despise our worldly pleasures," said a tall, thin officer, stroking his moustache. "Have you been brought to town by this eighth wonder of the world? Or have you any other reason for visiting us again ? The countess has deserted us completely during the last years."

"The illness and absence of her son have been good reasons for keeping her away from society," answered the priest. "I am on my way to Count Curt, who has, unfortunately, fallen ill again at Gohlitz—Countess Lily's place."

"What! has Curt returned at last from his travels? and is he at Gohlitz, too? Well, I suppose his mother won't complain at his being kept a prisoner there. But what on earth is the matter with him?"

"His health seems to have been destroyed by that brain-fever in Pera; he has never been quite himself since then," explained the chaplain. "And I suppose that the fatigue of the journey has caused this relapse." "That's too sad!" said the officer sympathisingly. "I always thought it an unlucky idea of his mother to send him away; she gave herself a deal of trouble about it too. Heaven knows why! Is he better now?"

"Yes, he is getting better, I am happy to say, and has expressed a great wish to see me. lam on my way there, and shall start to-morrow. Countess Degenthal has been staying there for a few weeks."

"Then I shall go also one of these days to see my old friend, and to pay my respects to the young lady. Where is the younger son, Count Nicholas?"

"With his regiment. He has grown very strong, and has really turned out very well during the last few years. "Really 1" But he will never be able to hold a candle to Curt; a capital fellow that was There are few like him, and it would really be dreadful if he did not get well again But come now, sir, the crowd has diminished, and I think we can get out."

They made a few steps forward, and a group of young officers joined the "Rittmeister."

"What an uncommonly beautiful girl that is!" cried out one of the youngest enthusiasts. "Upon my word, I have never seen anyone like that girl—anyone to be named in the same breath. And such riding, too! I've seen her over and over again, but I've never admired her so much as to-day; she has really made enormous progress."

"I don't know about that," said the Rittmeister drily. "I liked her better as she used to be. There was something which struck one as out of the ordinary line seeing her ride, as it were, for riding's sake, and leaving herself completely out of the question. Now, she's just like anyone else, and shows herself off as well as her horse. But just look, baron; there's Prince 8., who, they say, has come over from the North only on her account."

"Ah! the tall gentleman with the bald head?"

"Yes, I've heard fabulous stories about all the trouble he gives himself in order to please her, but it's quite useless. She has a longstanding engagement with her father's agent, who watches over her with the jealous eye of a lynx."

The chaplain heaved a sigh as he heard this last remark, and the Rittmeister, turning to him, said : "But, surely, you will come with us a little way in order to refresh yourself after this suffocating air."

"Thank you," said the chaplain, "I have had enough worldliness for one evening. Moreover, I start somewhat early to-morrow, and shall, therefore, look forward to seeing you at Gohlitz." And with these words the two men shook hands heartily and parted.

CHAPTER XIX. The next morning, at an early hour, a note was brought in to Nora. The gentleman who had brought it, her maid told her, was waiting for an answer. She had spent the night in feverish restlessness, and was now sitting at her writing-desk, trying in vain to word a letter, and tearing up one failure after another. She now tore the envelope open and found a card, on which was written; “Will you allow me to call upon you ?” Nora hesitated a few seconds, and then, as if she could not help herself, she wrote on the same card a few words of consent. The servant had already taken the card, or else she would have recalled her consent almost as soon as it was written. In a few minutes, the chaplain appeared. He extended his hand to Nora, who rose in an agitated manner to meet him. For a moment he held her hand in his, and looked gravely, gently, and sympathetically in her eyes. This look brought all the remembrances of her childhood before her with an overpowering gush of feeling. “And so, after all, you find me thus!” she cried in anguish. “A circus-rider! a horsebreaker!” and throwing herself upon a sofa, she covered her face and sobbed aloud. “God be praised for those tears,” said the priest, laying his hand upon her head. “My poor child, I thankheaven that it should be

such a sacrifice to you. Yesterday I feared that you had grown accustomed to it.” “Oh, would that I had!” cried Nora bitterly. “Would that it were no longer a Sacrifice, and that I could forget everything om the first to the last. . . After all, I’ve a deal to make me happy : riches, admiration, and, as people say, beauty, all that which, in short, makes life pleasant. Why do I go on clinging to the old thought I should like to forget ? And now, you have come too, to renew the combat! I wanted to ask you not to come, and to leave me to my fate. Oh, why did I not follow my first inspiration? Let me go my own way. As it is, nothing can be done, and I shall be perhaps less unhappy if left alone. Why, oh why 'did you come?” She spoke with dreadful agitation —this poor, unhappy girl—rapidly, harshly, almost repellingly. “Why did I come?” said the chaplain. “Simply in order to keep the promise I once gave your dying mother —that I would stand by her child so long as it lay in my power. Would to God I had been with you, and could have advised you at that moment in which you took a step which has brought so much misery upon you and upon others.” “Others! Who has been made miserable by any step of mine, 1 should like to know?” Nora interrupted him in a querulous tone. “Others have given up, without a pang, that which they had loved; have forgotten, and they now despise, her who evidently does not seem worthy of pity in their sight.” ’ “We have never the right to judge others as to the amount of their sufferings,” said the chaplain quietly, “for no one can tell the . bitterness which may fill another’s heart. Perhaps he was mistaken in you, as you are mistaken in him. Perhaps all this has taken place in order to lead you more surelyalthough differently than you had hoped the same great end.” “Oh no; I shall never reach that end now!” she cried bitterly. “Not, perhaps, to the earthly one we had hoped for, but to the one to which all roads may lead and, indeed, child, I think that God Himself is leading you by the hand ; for His ways -are always inaugurated by some great sacrifice, such as you seem to have made.” “Do you really think,” she asked with a touch of satire, “that the road I have now chosen brings me so much nearer to the goal?” “There exists no position we cannot sanctify,” said the chaplain, always in the same quiet manner. “The greater the temptation the greater the glory of not succumbing.” “And do you imagine it so easy to conquer a great temptation?” she answered passionately. “Look there!” and she scattered about the tiny billets-doux which lay on the table, the very appearance of which was suspicious. “Look there!” and she petulantly (finished the wreaths and the bouquets which > jPTbalmed the room. “Do you think all that : mahes no impression in the long run ? That not steal into one’s mind, coax itself into one’s heart, and bewitch one by degrees ? Do you believe that we can hear for ever the loud and enthusiastic applause resounding in our ears, and remain for ever passive

and indifferent to it ? Particularly when one knows that there is no other happiness in store for one. . . Since the last anchor is broken, since I know that he despises me, my heart yearns after compensation, and wants to taste at least of those joys the world

can offer. Oh, I feel it! I feel that I shall succumb. After all, I am not different from others. I shall learn to love, and enjoy life as thousands better than I have done before me, as thousands will do after me." (To be continued.)