Макс Нордау - How Women Love

"I thank you, Your Highness, I know that your advice is kindly meant, but I also know that Baron von Linden is a man of honour, and that I have given him no reason, to think meanly of me."

This answer seemed to the princess wholly unsatisfactory, and as she believed it her duty to take special care of Kaethe, an orphan, she did not delay in cautiously calling Robert himself to account. What he said to her the princess kept to herself for a time, but two days later people learned that Kaethe’s brother, an energetic cavalry officer, attached to a regiment of Hussars in the Rhine country, had suddenly arrived in the capital from his garrison, and on the following day, which was Whitsuntide, the "Morning Journal" announced the betrothal of Herr Robert, Baron von Linden, to Fraeulein Kaethe von Markwald.

The effect of the news on society was like the bursting of a dynamite cartridge before every individual. Linden capitulated! Linden married! It was incredible. And to whom had he struck the bold corsair flag which had so long been the terror of husbands? To Kaethe von Markwald, in whom nothing piquant could be discovered which would be likely specially to attract a blase man of the world! She was beautiful, certainly, but he had passed by many handsomer women. She was not stupid, but how many cleverer fair ones, with all their craft, had been unable to hold him in their nets! The event was and remained incomprehensible, it might be--

Frau von der Lehde had sent for Dr. Thiel on Whitsuntide morning, and when he entered, silently held out the newspaper.

"I know it already," he answered smiling.

"Do you believe that it is true?"

"Of course it is true. The announcement is signed by the betrothed pair. Besides, Linden told me the news himself."

"Did he ask your advice?"

"No; he merely told me the accomplished fact."

Frau von der Lehde crushed the paper and flung it into the corner.

"But what can have so suddenly led him to this step?"

Thiel shrugged his shoulders. "The resolutions of men are sometimes as incalculable as those of women."

"He cannot possibly have to atone for a sin."

"Fraeulein von Markwald is above suspicion," said Thiel sternly, interrupting her.

"Linden may be still more so, but the world, which does not know him so well as I and—you, will probably think something of the sort."

"Certainly. Evil tongues have already begun their work. The newspaper containing the announcement is still damp, and I have even now heard the conjecture expressed that the baron was marrying Fraeulein von Markwald because he had been forced to do so by her brother, who thought that Linden had compromised her by his attentions."

"Forced Linden! He who has killed two opponents in a duel! A Hussar officer will not frighten him. That’s nonsense."

"Of course it is nonsense. Only I don’t see why people need go so far to seek an explanation. Linden marries because he thinks he has found a suitable life-companion. He really isn’t too young for it."

"No," remarked Frau von der Lehde, "but I fear: too old."

"I don’t know that," observed Thiel.

"Doctor, you are not in earnest. Linden might still marry a quiet, sensible woman of mature years, but a young girl who might be his daughter—he must have lost his senses."

"Madame, that is still far from being manifest to me, marriage often has a rejuvenating influence."

"Marriage with a girl like Kaethe Markwald? If I were Linden, I should fear eyes like hers. She belongs to the species of sleeping monsters. Woe betide the man who wakes and is not strong enough to conquer them."

Thiel could not help smiling. "I repeat, marriage often works marvels of resurrection. And in the worst case—the matter need not yet be taken tragically."

Frau von der Lehde could not console herself for the final loss of Linden, but she understood that she could do nothing more to hold him or to win him back. In the first place because he could not be reached. Contrary to universal expectation, he soon tore himself away from his charming fiancee and set off on his summer travels much earlier than in former years. He extended them full three months, which he spent at various sea-shore watering-places. He was sometimes seen here, sometimes there, first at Raegen, then at Sylt, lastly at Heligoland, where the surf is most powerful. The marriage took place early in September. Every one admired the bridal pair. Kaethe was fresh and blooming as a newly opened Marshal Niel rose, Robert as handsome and elegant as in his best days. The difference in age was scarcely apparent. Only a close observer could have noticed a certain nervous anxiety in Robert’s face which, though bronzed by the sun and the salt air of the sea-shore, was visibly pale. He did not look as happy by the side of his radiant bride as might have been expected. Stings of conscience, said many women who had once been on familiar terms with him and had now had the self-control to come to the church, which was crowded to suffocation. Frau von der Lehde was not among them.

Robert von Linden now realized the dream of the last few months; he took his bewitching young wife, his proudest and, as he faithfully resolved, his last conquest, to Italy. But, according to all that was learned afterward, it was a strange wedding journey. The couple appeared in all the larger cities of Upper, Middle and Lower Italy, but the newly-wedded pair seemed unable to remain anywhere more than two or three days. The bride looked depressed and dissatisfied, the bridegroom haggard and unhappy. About three weeks after the marriage, Lieutenant von Markwald received a letter from his sister which induced him to write at once to Doctor Thiel and ask him confidentially what he thought of Baron von Linden’s health, his brother-in-law evidently considered himself very ill; for since his departure he had consulted several physicians at every place where they stopped, even for a day, he appeared to be in very low spirits, and utterly neglected his sister, who was so anxious about him that she entreated her brother to come to her assistance. Dr. Thiel hastened to answer the lieutenant that he need not be uneasy, it was probably only an attack of hypochondria. At the same time he asked for his brother-in-law’s address, as he intended to write to him at once.

About a week after news reached the capital which spread with the rapidity of a conflagration. Baron Robert von Linden had died suddenly at Ischia. This was the version which reached the newspapers and the public. But, in the court circle, it was known that the unfortunate man had committed suicide. Frau von der Lehde had instantly suspected it, she obtained certainty from the lips of the princess, to whom Kaethe had telegraphed the terrible tidings at the same time she sent the message to her brother. She hastened to Thiel, who was crushed by the event, for he was not merely an affectionate physician to Linden, but also a loyal friend.

"It is horrible," cried the agitated woman, as she let herself fall into an arm-chair.

He answered only by a sorrowful gesture of the hand.

"Do you know the particulars?"

"A bullet through the head. The night of day before yesterday. In the dressing-room beside the chamber where his wife was lying."

A pause ensued. Then Else, raising her tearful eyes to the doctor, said:

"You see, you see, this marriage was his destruction. He would be alive and happy to-day, if he had had me at his side."

"Or me," said Thiel.

Else shook her head. "No, no. He wanted this last romance too late."

"Or despaired too soon," replied Thiel, gazing thoughtfully at the bronze statuette of Asclepius, which stood on the writing-desk before him.

It was the first of November, 1878. The Paris Exposition was over, and Herr Rudolph Weltli was preparing to return to his home, Switzerland, after spending a beautiful sunny fortnight on the Seine. He had made the great bazaar on the Champ de Mars the pretext for his journey; but in reality the study of the exhibition, many as were the interesting objects it could offer to him, the engineer, was a somewhat minor matter, and he devoted his stay in Paris principally to walks through the streets, excursions to the environs, wanderings through the museums, in short, endless pilgrimages to all the scenes where, more than a quarter of a century before, the drama of his student’s life in Paris had been enacted for three years, and whose image was interwoven with the most beloved memories of his youth.