Gerson Brandt went about his duties with a listless air. The boys who
gathered every morning in the learning-school noticed that he was less
exacting about their lessons, and that often his thoughts appeared far
away. When he ascended to the little platform, after returning from
morning prayers in the meeting-house, he looked down upon them with
compassion in his glance. It was noticed that his thin face was pinched
and that his eyes were sunken. When they opened their word-books for the
spelling-class he showed slight interest. During recess he sat with his
head resting on his hands and his eyes fixed on the old desk. One day,
when he was even more preoccupied than usual, Adolph Schneider and Karl
Weisel visited the school in order to inquire into the progress of the
boys of Zanah. Gerson Brandt called his pupils to order.
“The Herr Doktor would speak with you,” he said.
“Yea, I would know whether you are diligent in your lessons,” announced
Adolph Schneider. He pounded on the floor with his cane, and spoke in a
tone that frightened the more timid of the children.
“Why was Adam cast out of the Garden of Eden?”
There was a moment of silence. All the tow-headed boys, with arms folded
across their breasts, stared straight ahead of them. Karl Weisel, who
had taken the school-master’s chair, tipped it back against the
black-board, twirled his thumbs, and stared at the rows of benches with
something like a sneer on his heavy features. The school-master,
standing on the floor beside the platform, looked out of the nearest
window and waited patiently for the tardy answer.
“Can any one tell me why Adam was cast out of the Garden of Eden?”
The Herr Doktor repeated his question in a thundering tone.
“Because he ate an apple,” piped a small voice from a far corner of the
room.
“And art thou taught that it is wicked to eat an apple?”
A dozen tow-heads were shaken emphatically.
“The apple grew on the tree of knowledge.” It was a pale, red-haired
child who spoke.
“It is Johann Werther who knows about the tree of knowledge,” said the
Herr Doktor. “At the _gasthaus_ Johann sometimes hath a glimpse of
forbidden things.”
Scores of round eyes immediately were turned upon Johann with glances of
envy.
“But did man fall through his own sinful desires?” questioned the Herr
Doktor, standing very straight, throwing out his chest, and lifting his
chin out of his big stock.
“It was Eve who did tempt him,” announced a small boy that sat on the
front seat.
“Right. Sin came into the world through a woman, and ever since then the
man who would reach heaven hath to guard against the wiles of the
temptress. If it had not been for a woman, we might now be living in the
Garden of Eden.”
“Nay, Brother Schneider, teach not that women are evil.” Gerson Brandt
placed one thin hand on the desk and turned on the Herr Doktor a face in
which was a determined look. “It is meet that thou shouldst tell the
children how the world was saved through a woman, who was the mother of
Christ.”
“Gerson Brandt, interrupt not this lesson. I have come here to measure
the knowledge of those intrusted to thy care.” Adolph Schneider again
pounded the floor with his cane. “Can the school tell me nothing more
about Eve’s fall?” Adolph Schneider asked.
In the back part of the room rose the fool. He had in his hand one of
the gourds that he always carried with him.
“The Bible teacheth us it was the serpent that did tempt Eve,” he said,
studying the gourd as if he were reading from it.
“Ja, ja,” said the Herr Doktor; “but Eve, being a woman, was full of
curiosity; she inclined her ear to the serpent.”
“And Adam did incline his ear to Eve,” the simple one announced. “It is
said it is always thus. Even in the colony I have noticed that the men
are keen, indeed, to hear what the women would say.”
Something like a smile flitted over Karl Weisel’s face. He brought his
chair forward on its four legs, and listened for what was coming.
“Take thy seat. How darest thou comment on the men and women of Zanah?
Thou art the simple one who cannot separate good from evil.”
The fool still stood in his place with the gourd in his hand.
“The fool hath ears that he can hear; he hath eyes that he can see.”
“But what he seeth and heareth hath not the right meaning to him.”
“The fool hath seen Karl Weisel, head of the thirteen elders, listen to
the words of Gretchen Schneider, the daughter of the leader of Zanah,”
declared the fool, still reading from his gourd.
“Silence!” shouted the Herr Doktor. Turning to Gerson Brandt, he said:
“So the fool hath become a spy. He is more dangerous than a wise man.”
“The truth is not in him,” said Karl Weisel, springing to his feet.
“Hans Peter should be kept in confinement where he cannot speak harmful
things.”
“He meaneth nothing wrong,” said Gerson Brandt. “Be merciful to the
simple one.”
“The main object in coming here to-day was to instruct you concerning
the _Untersuchung_,” said Adolph Schneider, when Karl Weisel had resumed
his seat and the children were once more gazing stolidly in front of
them. “I hope you are all prepared to give an account of your souls when
the elders of Zanah shall inquire into your spiritual condition. From
now until the day when we hope to behold the inspiration of a new
prophetess I want you all to think over your sins. I wonder how many of
you have told a lie this week.” Every boy in the school looked guilty.
“I should like to have all who have spoken only the truth stand up that
I may see them.”
“Nay, ask not that,” said the school-master. “I fear lest the children
be tempted to forget their shortcomings and to act a falsehood because
they desire to appear well before thee.”
“Since the loss of thine illuminated Bible thou art tender-hearted
towards liars,” said Karl Weisel, in an undertone.
“Thy taunt shouldst cost thee dear, Karl Weisel, were it not forbidden
in Zanah that we should resent insult.” In an instant the gentle
school-master was transformed. He stood erect, and the scorn in his tone
made the head of the thirteen elders feel that the contempt of a
righteous man was something not to be easily ignored. The Herr Doktor
gave the boys no opportunity to perjure themselves.
“I want you to prepare for the _Untersuchung_ with prayer and fasting,”
he said, and there was dismay upon every face before him.
“It hath been shown the elders of Zanah that Walda Kellar is to be the
instrument of the Lord. From her lips will fall words of wisdom. You all
know her, for she hath often spoken to you. She hath sung to you hymns
of praise. She will no longer come among you, for she must live apart,
but it will be revealed to her what is best for the colony. You must no
longer run to her as if she were your mother. You must bow before her.
You must no longer speak unto her, for she will be above all the people
of the colony.”
The hand of Johann Werther was raised, and, when he had been given
permission to speak, he asked:
“Are all women daughters of Eve?”
“Yea, yea,” declared the Herr Doktor. “Thou knowest that Eve was the
mother of all.”
“And Walda Kellar is to be the instrument of the Lord?”
“Why ask foolish questions? Thou knowest she is to be the inspired one.”
“I would know why a man was not chosen instead of a daughter of Eve?”
said Johann.
“Thou shouldst use thy silly brain for less mighty questions,” was the
stern reply. Turning to the school-master the Herr Doktor gave the
order:
“Dismiss thy pupils.” Adding: “We would talk with thee.”
Gerson Brandt sent the boys out-of-doors, and then waited for the
president of the colony to speak.
“Brother Weisel and I are dissatisfied about many things in the colony,”
announced Adolph Schneider, taking a seat on the platform. “There is
general discontent. If the _Untersuchung_ were not so near, we should be
alarmed for the peace of Zanah. The loss of the Bible hath cast
suspicion upon thee, Brother Brandt. It is not my desire to say
unpleasant things to thee, but in Zanah we are all truthful. Thou wilt
not again be elected as elder unless thou canst trace the Bible.”
“It would be better for thee to say that Brother Brandt cannot be
elected unless he decides to bring the Bible from the hidden place that
he hath found for it,” broke in Karl Weisel.
“Silence!” commanded the school-master. “Thou shalt not accuse me of
stealing the Bible from the colony of Zanah and then of denying all
knowledge of it. Take back thy cowardly words.”
“It is the custom to speak what we hold to be the truth,” said Karl
Weisel, in a mocking tone. “I believe that thou knowest where that Bible
is secreted.”
“It hath been said that men always suspect other men of being what they
themselves are, and so I make some allowance for thy words; but thou
shalt ask my pardon.” Gerson Brandt spoke calmly, but his tone as well
as his words made the elder cringe.
“I spoke merely for thine own good. It were better that I told thee what
I thought than that I thought these things and turned to thee a
dissembling face.”
“Crave my pardon,” said Gerson Brandt.
“I humiliate myself before no man,” said Karl Weisel. “It is my right to
say what I think.”
“It is not thy right to cast aspersions on mine honor. I give thee one
more chance to retract thy base charges.”
Karl Weisel put his fat hands into his deep pockets, rose from his
chair, and walked back and forth upon the platform.
“This quarrel is most unseemly,” remarked Adolph Schneider, who had been
leaning on his cane and idly listening.
“Speak!” said Gerson Brandt. “Thou shalt not leave this room until thou
hast taken back thy words.”
Karl Weisel laughed, but in an instant the school-master had sprung upon
the platform. He clutched the man by the collar, and, with the strength
born of a tremendous indignation, he shook the heavy body of Karl Weisel
until the elder’s teeth chattered.
“Loose thine hold upon me!” cried Karl Weisel, who had turned pale with
terror.
Gerson Brandt flung him off. He knew he had forgotten all the precepts
of the colony, but again the elder laughed, this time to disguise his
fright.
“I give thee a chance to defend thyself,” said Gerson Brandt. “As man to
man we shall fight this out.”
Adolph Schneider put himself between the two combatants, but Gerson
Brandt, stepping past him, dragged Karl Weisel to the open space beside
the platform, and there, facing him, said:
“I give thee thy last opportunity to beg my pardon.”
Karl Weisel did not open his lips. Instead, he covertly measured the
distance to the door, and with a movement of unusual quickness turned in
flight. He had not gone half a dozen steps before Gerson Brandt had him
by the collar, and, dragging him back to his position, waited an instant
for him to recover himself. Then he struck a blow that felled the elder.
“Help! Help!” shouted Adolph Schneider, who still stood upon the
platform.
At first the prospect of a fight between the two influential men of the
colony had suggested possibilities likely to redound into material good
for himself, and he had been content to play the part of listener and
spectator. Now, as he looked at Gerson Brandt, he no longer saw the
school-master, but a man tall, sinewy, and muscular—a man in whose eye
flashed anger and whose pose revealed an unsuspected strength.
“Help! Help!” he shouted again.
Gerson Brandt assisted his adversary to rise. The elder was stunned; the
school-master pushed him into a chair, where he sat dazed and silent.
Just then Hans Peter came shuffling in at the door. He walked as if he
had heard an ordinary summons.
“Didst thou call?” he asked, addressing the Herr Doktor. His pale eyes
rested on the figure of Karl Weisel, and there was just the faintest
gleam of understanding in them. Before Adolph Schneider had a chance to
answer, a rustle of skirts and a light step was heard on the stair that
led from Wilhelm Kellar’s room.
“Hath anything gone amiss here?” asked Walda, throwing open the door and
standing on the threshold. With a woman’s intuition she saw that there
had been some quarrel.
“Be not alarmed,” said Gerson Brandt, walking down a side aisle at the
end of the long benches. “The elder, Karl Weisel, accused me of stealing
the Bible and of bearing false witness concerning it. The man in me
resented the insult. He refused to apologize, and I struck him. Even now
I am sorry that I should have hurt one of my fellow-colonists.”
“Nay, Gerson Brandt, thou didst forget that the Lord hath said,
‘Vengeance is Mine,’” cried Walda, going near to Gerson Brandt. “It is
not like thee to let human passions triumph.”
“This will cost Gerson Brandt his place as an elder,” declared Karl
Weisel, coming to himself enough to smooth his ruffled hair and settle
his loosened stock.
“This is bad, indeed!” exclaimed Adolph Schneider. “In all my years of
colony life I have never known one man in Zanah to raise his hand
against a brother-colonist.”
“Surely my provocation was great,” said Gerson Brandt, “but I am sorry
that I allowed anger to control me even for a moment.”
“This very night shall I prefer charges against thee,” Karl Weisel said,
rising and waving his hand with a threatening gesture.
“This very night thou shouldst think well over the quarrel,” said Walda,
advancing. “Thou knowest there hath been wrong on both sides. Art thou
willing to confess that thou hast called thy brother a liar?” There was
a simple majesty in the pose of the girl. For the moment she was the
prophetess of Zanah. “Beware lest thou bring disgrace and dishonor to
the people of Zanah. It is best that this hour be forgotten. Blot out
thine enmities.”
“When Gerson Brandt hath explained what became of the Bible the cause of
all the trouble will be removed,” said Karl Weisel, turning away from
the intense gaze of the girl.
“Thou knowest the Good Book is lost. Thou knowest that Gerson Brandt
never told aught but the truth. How darest thou impute evil to him? He
hath been always one of the most faithful men in all Zanah.”
Turning to the school-master, she said:
“Ah, Gerson Brandt, I have prayed much about the Bible. Disturb not
thyself. I have faith that it will be found. I would that it could be
brought to thee to-day.”
In the back of the school-room, Hans Peter, who had been sitting
cross-legged in the doorway, pulled himself to his feet.
“I could find the Bible; it is not far away,” he said.
“What dost thou know of it?” asked the Herr Doktor.
“I know that it lieth in the earth beneath a great stone. It is safe.
Have no fears for it.” Hans Peter balanced himself first on one bare
foot, and then on the other, and in his face was such a stupid look that
Karl Weisel said:
“Look at the fool! He would shield the school-master, to whom he shows a
dog’s devotion.”
“Dost thou really know where the Bible is, Hans Peter?” asked Walda,
laying her hand upon the simple one’s shoulder.
“I have not said I knew. I said I knew I could get it,” answered the
fool.
“Nay, dissemble not,” pleaded Walda. “I know now it was thou that didst
hide the Bible from the elders.”
The boy looked down to the floor.
“Yea, I did take the Bible so that the stranger in Zanah could not buy
it with his silver. It was for thy sake and for Gerson Brandt’s that I
took it.”
“Listen not to the fool,” said Karl Weisel. “I tell thee he would shield
Gerson Brandt.”
“There is a likelihood of truth in his words,” declared the Herr Doktor.
Then, in a thundering tone, he commanded: “Bring the Bible to me.”
“It may not be easily found,” Hans Peter answered, still keeping his
eyes on the floor.
“Dare not try to put me off,” thundered Adolph Schneider, shaking his
cane at the simple one. “Without more ado, fetch it to me.”
All this time Gerson Brandt had been standing silent and sad. He now
waited expectantly for the last answer. He knew that his precious book
was, indeed, in jeopardy.
Hans Peter gently took Walda’s hand from his shoulder, and, backing to
the door, said, rolling his great head from side to side:
“The fool hath no memory. If he would know the thing that happened
yesterday he must mark upon a gourd words that will bring back to his
poor mind what is past.”
“Let him not make terms; let him not trade upon his folly,” interposed
Karl Weisel.
“Thou hast not forgotten where the Bible is hidden?” inquired Walda,
very gently.
“I did bury the gourd that told me where the Bible is, and upon another
gourd I marked where that gourd was hidden.”
“Quick! We care not about thy lunatic pastimes. Bring the Bible!”
shouted the Herr Doktor, overcome with impatience.
“And the second gourd I carried in my pocket until one day, when I was
marking on it something the stranger had told me, the Herr Doktor struck
it out of my hand with his cane and put his heel upon it. The Bible is
safe, but it cannot be found without long search.”
When the simple one had made his tantalizing speech, the school-master
spoke in a quiet tone:
“Hans Peter, thou knowest that the precious book may be spoiled in the
ground. Try to think where it is.”
“Nay, I tell thee it is safe, for it is wrapped in the oil-skin in which
thou didst keep it, and it is nailed in a great box that is covered with
another box. I did work upon the boxes a large part of the night before
I buried the Bible.”
“The village fool is not to be believed,” said Karl Weisel, “but he
ought to be locked up until he can be made to confess that what he is
telling is all a lie.”
The Herr Doktor descended from the platform, and, going to the door,
clutched Hans Peter by the shoulder. “Thou shalt have a chance to
collect thy wits, my boy. Come with me. In a dark room in the cellar of
the _gasthaus_ thou canst stay until thou hast some memory about the
Bible.”
“Before we part it is well that we all agree to forget this
misunderstanding,” said Walda. “I am sure Hans Peter will find the
Bible, and that we can cast out all anxiety concerning it.”
Hans Peter made no reply. He stood with both hands thrust into his
capacious pockets. The Herr Doktor pulled him through the door, and,
followed by Karl Weisel, he went down the street towards the inn.
Gerson Brandt turned a white and troubled face to Walda when they were
left alone together.
“Thou hast seen me in the clutch of an earthly passion,” he said. “Thou
knowest now how unworthy I am to be counted as a counsellor of a
prophetess. I have naught to say in extenuation, except that in man
human impulses often triumph over the divine aspirations. Canst thou
forget that I have thus resented an insult?”
Walda came closer to him.
“Gerson Brandt, it may be wicked of me, but somehow I like thee better
because thou hast demanded that Karl Weisel retract his sinful words. He
hath called his brother a liar, and God will judge him for that.”
“And I should have remembered that I am not the judge,” said Gerson
Brandt. “I should not have let myself take vengeance into mine own hand.
When thou art the prophetess thou wilt become my teacher, and, Walda, I
am half glad I shall need thine aid to overcome sin.”
“Thou hast been my teacher so long it seemeth I could never have any
wisdom greater than thine.”
Gerson Brandt looked into her eyes.
“Being a woman, thou hast wisdom and power of which thou little
dreamest,” he said.
“If I have aught of wisdom, it is because thou hast been my guide ever
since I was a child. Gerson Brandt, thou hast been nearer to me than my
father; thou hast been more to me than all the brothers in the colony.”
“It hath always seemed, Walda, that thou wert sent to reconcile me to
life in Zanah. Thy presence hath helped me to overcome all rebellion.
Having prayed for the time of thine inspiration, it is a struggle for me
to give thee up. It is as if I were losing thee, even though thou wilt
still be in the colony.”
“Nay, Gerson, it seemeth to me that when the light of inspiration cometh
to me thou must share it, for, after all, it is thy knowledge and thy
faith that is in me. There hath come to me lately something of the
illumination thou hast told me to expect, Gerson Brandt. There are days
when it is as if I stood on the threshold of heaven. My heart is lifted
up with a strange joy. I hear harmony in the rustling of the leaves in
the trees and the flowing of the water under the bridge and the faint
night-sounds that come to mine ears when the village hath gone to sleep.
Long after the curfew-bell hath sounded I open my casement and look out
into the sky. It is then I feel the vastness of the universe, and yet
know that God hath not forgotten me.”
As Walda spoke her face was radiant with new joy, and Gerson Brandt knew
she was even then far removed from him.
“Thou lookest from thy casement every night? Dost thou gaze at the
moon?” he asked.
“Yea, Gerson Brandt, I look long at the moon.”
“Walda, that is a habit maidens have when they think not of God but of
man. Thou hast in thy thought no human being?”
“There is often a light in the inn; it shineth from the window of him
whom we not long ago called the stranger in Zanah. It bringeth him into
my mind, and I thank God for his coming to the colony.”
Walda’s words smote the school-master. A faint color came into his thin
cheeks. He steadied himself against the desk.
“It is not thy duty to pray for the stranger. The elders can do that,”
he declared.
“Nay, but he hath helped me much. He hath brought me strength.”
“Beware lest that strength become thy weakness.” There was a tremor in
Gerson Brandt’s voice, and his manner puzzled the girl.
“Thou dost speak in riddles,” she said. “Thou knowest his world could
not touch me. When I gaze from my window I am glad, indeed, that the
bluffs shut me out from all the wickedness of the life beyond the
colony.”
“I beg thy pardon, Walda. It was an unworthy suspicion that crossed my
mind. Surely to-day Satan is close to me. And when thou gazest at the
moon dost thou think of any one else?”
“Of my father, Gerson Brandt, and always of thee.”
“And how do I come to thee in thy thoughts, Walda?”
“Thou comest as one that is ever dear to me. Since thou didst first take
me on thy knee thou hast shared with my father all the earthly love of
my heart. Have I not often told thee so?”
“Thou didst never think of me as nearer to thine own age than thy
father? Do I always appear so old to thee?”
“Truly, thou dost seem like my father.” In her voice was an infinite
tenderness, and the school-master, with a tremor in his voice, answered:
“And yet I am but fifteen years thy senior.”
“But thou lovest me as if I were thy daughter. I have always felt that
thou didst give me something more than the neighborly regard in which
all the people of Zanah hold one another.”
Gerson Brandt made no answer.
“Thou dost love me as if I were thy daughter?” she repeated.
“Thou hast forever a place in the sanctuary of my heart, Walda.”
The school-master and the prophetess of Zanah looked into each other’s
eyes for a brief moment.
“Then I know that thou wilt always pray for me—that thou wilt always
keep me safe from all worldly temptations.”
“Yea, thou wilt always have my care. Thou wilt always command my
services and my prayers. To-day I feel humble, indeed, because I lost my
self-control, but I shall strive always to be worthy to be counted as
one who walketh near to the prophetess of Zanah. Walda, to-day I am weak
indeed. I feel how much I shall need divine strength in the years to
come. My way is a lonely one. It is said that after the inspiration is
vouchsafed to a prophetess her soul withdraws itself from all human
companionship, and that even if it were not the custom to separate the
instrument of the Lord from the colonists of Zanah, there would be
naught in common between her and those who try to serve God in humbler
ways. Lately, Walda, I have looked forward with a feeling that the years
without thee will be weary. When thou art the prophetess there will be
none with whom I can speak of the dreams I have shared with thee.”
“Thy dreams, as thou callest them, first made me feel the mysteries of
life. Gerson Brandt, it was thou who didst awaken my soul; it was thou
who didst turn my heart to God, and now, verily, thou wilt not be
sorrowful when my day of inspiration comes?”
“To-day there is so much of self victorious in me that I know the day of
the _Untersuchung_ will make me sad. It was my intention on that day to
give thee the Bible that is lost. For many months thou knowest I worked
upon it, making the letters beautiful for thine eyes, and it was a
solace to me to feel, every day as I turned the pages upon which I had
worked with many a prayer and blessing for thy welfare, that thou
wouldst take pleasure in its beauty.”
“And was that Bible for me, Gerson? On the last day when thou didst give
it to me to read before the school I did covet it.”
“I did think that I should never tell thee, and it was a sore trouble
when Adolph Schneider demanded that it be sold. I tell thee this
because, as I have said to-day, I am weak, and I would say something in
extenuation of my unseemly conduct towards the head of the thirteen
elders.”
“And I am very human, for I am glad that the book is lost, and that the
elders had no chance to take it from thee.”
“I could not endure the thought that the stranger from the outside world
should possess what I had come to believe belonged to thee.”
Walda turned her head away a moment. Then she answered:
“I want the Bible very much indeed; but, Gerson Brandt, if any stranger
were to have it, it had been better it should go to Stephen Everett than
to any one else.”
A look of pain came into the school-master’s face. His eyes sought the
girl’s with a glance that strove to read her heart.
“And I would rather that the Bible be destroyed, that its pages be
scattered and its letters obliterated, than that Stephen Everett should
call it his own.”
“Why, Gerson Brandt, thou speakest with much stress. Thou art, indeed,
unlike thyself to-day.”
“Perhaps my real self is uppermost, Walda, and the school-master, who
was always so submissive and passive, is not the actual man.”
“Peace to thy heart.” Walda came close to him. “Let me tell thee that I
should have held the Bible as a precious token from thee, and that I am
grateful for the kindly thought with which thou hast wrought it for me.”
Tears were in her eyes. She hesitated a moment, as if waiting for an
answer. Gerson Brandt, with arms folded across his breast, pressed his
lips tightly together lest he might speak with the fervor of one who
covets from God a supreme gift that must be forever beyond reach.