Now the peasants loved the schoolmaster because he made the children
love the school. Philip was grateful for their appreciation, but he
denied that he deserved it. “I rule the village and the children by the
power of the stronghold; personally I deserve nothing!” he said firmly.
Sunday, when the day was fine, the youths and maidens flocked to the
castle, followed by their elders, and, sitting before the castle,
talked and sang. Philip told them stories of the stronghold, and
taught them songs: “Lindenschmied,” “Schüttensam,” “Falkenstein,”
the “Castle in Austria,” and “Anne of Brittany.” The people of the
neighboring villages, too, knowing what was passing on the heights,
followed those of Neideck, and then they would all sing together, the
strangers declaring that to sit in the courtyard of Neideck was far
pleasanter than to sit around the public wells in their own villages.
Among the visitors was Lizzie, the daughter of Röderbauer of Steinfurt.
Röderbauer was a rich peasant; Lizzie was his only child. She was
strong and healthy, twenty years old, and renowned for her beautiful
blond hair--hair so long that she could sit upon it!
While Philip told his stories, Lizzie gazed upon him with wide-open
eyes and half-open mouth, thinking what a wonderful man Burg Balzer
must be to know so much more than all the people round about. And yet
he was the “poor devil” of the parish! It pleased Lizzie to think how
wise he was, but it grieved her to think how poor he was; she longed
to do something to help him. Philip was not slow to note that Lizzie
was constant in her visits. Every Sunday he saw her blond hair and
her pretty face, and it was not long before he began to think of her
night and day. In his mind he addressed himself to her when he told
his romantic stories to the people; he gave her solos to sing; he sang
duets with her. At first they were friends, then their friendship got
to be known as a “love affair,” and finally, without any one knowing
it, one day they exchanged promises. It was a secret; but it was a
betrothal nevertheless. Though such things happen in other places
as well as in old castles, Philip was sure that his happiness had
come through the influences of his castle. When he appeared before
Röderbauer of Steinfurt to ask for his daughter, Röderbauer replied:
“While I live my daughter shall not get one kreutzer from me! When I am
dead she may do as she pleases!”
As Röderbauer was not far beyond the age of forty, and as he had never
been sick, not even for a day, it was plain enough that if Lizzie
waited for his death she would not at that time be a very lively bride.
However, Burg Balzer, knowing the character of rich peasants, knew that
Röderbauer was not to be moved. Strong in his love, he was equally
strong in his devotion to his castle; Philip turned from Lizzie to his
writings. “I will finish my history of Neideck,” he thought bravely,
and so as time went on he saved his money and wrote his history.
Of publishers’ methods or of authors’ chances he knew nothing.
Röderbauer respected money and cared nothing for fame--and yet--and
yet!--Balzer knew it would be by this book he would gain his wife.
Lizzie loved him; since the curse fell he had been the first warder of
Neideck to win the love of woman; so Lizzie was the woman predestined
to save the castle! How it should come to pass he knew not; he felt
that he was but an instrument; _it was to be_. Meanwhile he could love
in secret and write history in secret, and that was enough!
His appeal to Röderbauer had separated him from his betrothed, and as
he now saw her seldom he had more time to devote to his writing. So
resignation and patience and the strength to endure his disappointment
all came from the castle.
He had written and copied fifty folio sheets when one day the inspector
of schools visited Neideck. Philip had no cause to fear the visit. In
fine weather he had been sending the laziest pupil to the pasture, but
when the weather was bad they all flocked to the school, where they
drank in his teachings, and consequently knew more than the children
of other places. The inspector was an antiquary. After the examination
the two men--the master and his chief--crawled like beetles through
the ruins. The inspector listened as in a dream, while Philip, poorest
of all his teachers, told the story of the stronghold. The inspector’s
interest filled the mystic with ecstasy, and in his excitement he,
Balzer, the most timid of men, found courage to show his manuscript.
With hands trembling, with face flushed, he gave it to the inspector.
_Twenty different conjectures concerning the meaning of the name
“Neideck.” All very plausible._
And the conclusion was that the name did not signify after all: _eck_
(a corner) where _neid_ (envy) dwelt, but a corner to be envied by all
who could not live in it--_Neideck_. The inspector admired Philip’s
handwriting: the conjectural structure was somewhat uncertain; but
on that foundation Balzer had raised an edifice bolder than the
architecture of the double towers. The literary form of the manuscript
was most original, for, although Balzer had never studied literature,
his writing came as the spirit inspired it. Philip’s castle had taught
him how to write.
At that time Rousseau’s “Emile” was the book of the hour. The inspector
was an ardent follower of Jean Jacques, and he found that the active
principle of the history of Neideck was the principle of the work
of Rousseau. Though Balzer had never heard of Rousseau, yet all the
former’s methods, so it seemed to the inspector, showed the instinctive
practise of the philanthropic system of education. The analogy was so
complete that Rousseau’s book, that formed the chief intellectual diet
of the advocates of “sentimental, enlightened pedagogy,” might readily
pass as a very natural and complete supplement to the work of Balzer.
The inspector’s opinion brought tears to Philip’s eyes. “Good night,”
he called back graciously; and Philip watched him as he disappeared
farther and farther down the slope of the mountain.
“_Good night!_ What a day it has been! I have been happy!” thought
Philip--and for that, too, he thanked his castle.