But if Susie's rage was such that she refused to say good-bye, and
terrified Miss Leech while she was waiting in the hall for the carriage
by dark allusions to strait-waistcoats, when the parson was taken into
Anna's confidence after dinner on the following night his raptures knew
no bounds. "_Liebes, edeldenkendes Fräulein!_" he burst out, clasping
his hands and gazing with a moist, ecstatic eye at this young sprig of
piety. He was a good man, not very learned, not very refined,
sentimental exceedingly, and much inclined to become tearfully eloquent
on such subjects as _die liebe kleine Kinder, die herrliche Natur, die
Frau als Schutzengel_, and the sacredness of _das Familienleben_.
Anna felt that he was the only person at hand who could perhaps help her
to find twelve dejected ladies willing to be made happy, and had
unfolded her plan to him as tersely as possible in her stumbling German,
with none of those accompanying digressions into the question of
feelings that Susie stigmatised as drivel; and she sat uncomfortable
enough while he burst forth into praises that would not end of her
goodness and nobleness. It is hard to look anything but fatuous when
somebody is extolling your virtues to your face, and she could not help
both looking and feeling foolish during his extravagant glorification.
She did not doubt his sincerity, and indeed he was absolutely sincere,
but she wished that he would be less flowery and less long, and would
skip the raptures and get on to the main subject, which was practical
advice.
She wore the simple white dress that had caused such a sensation in the
neighbourhood, a garment that hung in long, soft folds, accentuating her
slender length of limb. Her bright hair was parted and tucked behind her
ears. Everything about her breathed an absolute want of
self-consciousness and vanity, a perfect freedom from the least thought
of the impression she might be making; yet she was beautiful, and the
good man observing her beauty, and supposing from what she had just told
him an equal beauty of character, for ever afterwards when he thought of
angels on quiet Sunday evenings in his garden, clothed them as Anna was
clothed that night, not even shrinking from the pretty, bare shoulders
and scantily sleeved arms, but facing them with a courage worthy of a
man, however doubtfully it might become a pastor.
His wife, in her best dress, which was also her tightest, sat on the
edge of a chair some way off, marvelling greatly at many things. She
could not hear what it was Anna had said to set her husband off
exclaiming, because the governess persisted in trying to talk German to
her, and would not be satisfied with vague replies. She was disappointed
by the sudden disappearance of the sister-in-law, gone before she had
shown herself to a single soul; astonished that she had not been
requested to sit on the sofa, in which place of honour the young
Fräulein sprawled in a way that would certainly ruin her clothes;
disgusted that she had not been pressed at table, nay, not even asked,
to partake of every dish a second time; indeed, no one had seemed to
notice or care whether she ate anything at all. These were strange ways.
And where were the Dellwigs, those great people accustomed to patronise
her because she was the parson's wife? Was it possible that they had not
been invited? Were there then quarrels already? She could not of course
dream that Anna would never have thought of asking her inspector and his
wife to dinner, and that in her ignorance she regarded the parson as a
person on an altogether higher social level than the inspector. These
things, joined to conjectures as to the probable price by the yard of
Anna's, Letty's, and Miss Leech's clothes, gave Frau Manske more food
for reflection than she had had for years; and she sat turning them over
slowly in her mind in the intervals between Miss Leech's sentences,
while her dress, which was of silk, creaked ominously with every painful
breath she drew.
"The best way to act," said the parson, when he had exhausted the
greater part of his raptures, "will be to advertise in a newspaper of a
Christian character."
"But not in my name," said Anna.
"No, no, we must be discreet--we must be very discreet. The
advertisement must be drawn up with skill. I will make, simultaneously,
inquiries among my colleagues in the holy office, but there must also be
an advertisement. What would the gracious Miss's opinion be of the
desirability of referring all applicants, in the first instance, to me?"
"Why, I think it would be an excellent plan, if you do not mind the
trouble."
"Trouble! Joy fills me at the thought of taking part in this good work.
Little did I think that our poor corner of the fatherland was to become
a holy place, a blessed refuge for the world-worn, a nook fragrant with
charity----"
"No, not charity," interposed Anna.
"Whose perfume," continued the parson, determined to finish his
sentence, "whose perfume will ascend day and night to the attentive
heavens. But such are the celestial surprises Providence keeps in
reserve and springs upon us when we least expect it."
"Yes," said Anna. "But what shall we put in the advertisement?"
"_Ach ja_, the advertisement. In the contemplation of this beautiful
scheme I forget the advertisement." And again the moisture of ecstasy
suffused his eyes, and again he clasped his hands and gazed at her with
his head on one side, almost as though the young lady herself were the
beautiful scheme.
Anna got up and went to the writing-table to fetch a pencil and a sheet
of paper, anxious to keep him to the point; and the parson watching the
graceful white figure was more than ever struck by her resemblance to
his idea of angels. He did not consider how easy it was to look like a
being from another world, a creature purified of every earthly
grossness, to eyes accustomed to behold the redundant exuberance of his
own excellent wife.
She brought the paper, and sat down again at the table on which the lamp
stood. "How does one write any sort of advertisement in German?" she
said. "I could not write one for a housemaid. And this one must be done
so carefully."
"Very true; for, alas, even ladies are sometimes not all that they
profess to be. Sad that in a Christian country there should be
impostors. Doubly sad that there should be any of the female sex."
"Very sad," said Anna, smiling. "You must tell me which are the
impostors among those that answer."
"_Ach_, it will not be easy," said the parson, whose experience of
ladies was limited, and who began to see that he was taking upon himself
responsibilities that threatened to become grave. Suppose he recommended
an applicant who afterwards departed with the gracious Miss's spoons in
her bag? "_Ach_, it will not be easy," he said, shaking his head.
"Oh, well," said Anna, "we must risk the impostors. There may not be any
at all. How would you begin?"
The parson threw himself back in his chair, folded his hands, cast up
his eyes to the ceiling, and meditated. Anna waited, pencil in hand,
ready to write at his dictation. Frau Manske at the other end of the
room was straining her ears to hear what was going on, but Miss Leech,
desirous both of entertaining her and of practising her German, would
not cease from her spasmodic talk, even expecting her mistakes to be
corrected. And there were no refreshments, no glasses of cooling beer
being handed round, no liquid consolation of any sort, not even seltzer
water. She regarded her evening as a failure.
"A Christian lady of noble sentiments," dictated the parson, apparently
reading the words off the ceiling, "offers a home in her house----"
"Is this the advertisement?" asked Anna.
"--offers a home in her house----"
"I don't quite like the beginning," hesitated Anna. "I would rather
leave out about the noble sentiments."
"As the gracious one pleases. Modesty can never be anything but an
ornament. 'A Christian lady----'"
"But why a _Christian_ lady? Why not simply a lady? Are there, then,
heathen ladies about, that you insist on the Christian?"
"Worse, worse than heathen," replied the parson, sitting up straight,
and fixing eyeballs suddenly grown fiery on her; and his voice fell to a
hissing whisper, in strange contrast to his previous honeyed tones. "The
heathen live in far-off lands, where they keep quiet till our
missionaries gather them into the Church's fold--but here, here in our
midst, here everywhere, taking the money from our pockets, nay, the very
bread from our mouths, are the _Jews_."
Impossible to describe the tone of fear and hatred with which this word
was pronounced.
Anna gazed at him, mystified. "The Jews?" she echoed. One of her
greatest friends at home was a Jew, a delightful person, the mere
recollection of whom made her smile, so witty and charming and kind was
he. And of Jews in general she could not remember to have heard anything
at all.
"But not only money from our pockets and bread from our mouths,"
continued the parson, leaning forward, his light grey eyes opened to
their widest extent, and speaking in a whisper that made her flesh begin
the process known as creeping, "but blood--blood from our veins."
"Blood from your veins?" she repeated faintly. It sounded horrid. It
offended her ears. It had nothing to do with the advertisement. The
strange light in his eyes made her think of fanaticism, cruelty, and the
Middle Ages. The mildest of men in general, as she found later on,
rabidness seized him at the mere mention of Jews.
"Blood," he hissed, "from the veins of Christians, for the performance
of their unholy rites. Did the gracious one never hear of ritual
murders?"
"No," said Anna, shrinking back, the nearer he leaned towards her,
"never in my life. Don't tell me now, for it--it sounds interesting. I
should like to hear about it all another time. 'A Christian lady offers
her home,'" she went on quickly, scribbling that much down, and then
looking at him inquiringly.
"_Ach ja_," he said in his natural voice, leaning back in his chair and
reducing his eyes to their normal size, "I forgot again the
advertisement. 'A Christian lady offers her home to others of her sex
and station who are without means----'"
"And without friends, and without hope," added Anna, writing.
"_Gut, gut, sehr gut._"
"She has room in her house in the country," Anna went on, writing as she
spoke, "for twelve such ladies, and will be glad to share with them all
that she possesses of fortune and happiness."
"_Gut, gut, sehr gut._"
"Is the German correct?"
"Quite correct. I would add, 'Strictest inquiries will be made before
acceptance of any application by Herr Pastor Manske of Lohm, to whom all
letters are to be addressed. Applicants must be ladies of good family,
who have fallen on evil days by the will of God.'"
Anna wrote this down as far as "days," after which she put a full stop.
"It pleases me not entirely," said Manske, musing; "the language is not
sufficiently noble. Noble schemes should be alluded to in noble words."
"But not in an advertisement."
"Why not? We ought not to hide our good thoughts from our fellows, but
rather open our hearts, pour out our feelings, spend freely all that we
have in us of virtue and piety, for the edification and exhilaration of
others."
"But not in an advertisement. I don't want to exhilarate the public."
"And why not exhilarate the public, dear Miss? Is it not composed of
units of like passions to ourselves? Units on the way to heaven, units
bowed down by the same sorrows, cheered by the same hopes, torn asunder
by the same temptations as the gracious one and myself?" And immediately
he launched forth into a flood of eloquence about units; for in Germany
sermons are all extempore, and the clergy, from constant practice,
acquire a fatal fluency of speech, bursting out in the week on the least
provocation into preaching, and not by any known means to be stopped.
"Oh--words, words, words!" thought Anna, waiting till he should have
finished. His wife, hearing the well-known rapid speech of his inspired
moments, glowed with pride. "My Adolf surpasses himself," she thought;
"the Miss must wonder."
The Miss did wonder. She sat and wondered, her elbows on the arms of the
chair, her finger tips joined together, and her eyes fixed on her finger
tips. She did not like to look at him, because, knowing how different
was the effect produced on her to that which he of course imagined, she
was sorry for him.
"It is so good of you to help me," she said with gentle irrelevance when
the longed-for pause at length came. "There was something else that I
wanted to consult you about. I must look for a companion--an elderly
German lady, who will help me in the housekeeping."
"Yes, yes, I comprehend. But would not the twelve be sufficient
companions, and helps in the housekeeping?"
"No, because I would not like them to think that I want anything done
for me in return for their home. I want them to do exactly what makes
them happiest. They will all have had sad lives, and must waste no more
time in doing things they don't quite like."
"Ah--noble, noble," murmured the parson, quite as unpractical as Anna,
and fascinated by the very vagueness of her plan of benevolence.
"The companion I wish to find would be another sort of person, and would
help me in return for a salary."
"Certainly, I comprehend."
"I thought perhaps you would tell me how to advertise for such a
person?"
"Surely, surely. My wife has a sister----"
He paused. Anna looked up quickly. She had not reckoned with the
possibility of his wife's having sisters.
"_Lieber Schatz_," he called to his wife, "what does thy sister Helena
do now?"
Frau Manske got up and came over to them with the alacrity of relief.
"What dost thou say, dear Adolf?" she asked, laying her hand on his
shoulder. He took it in his, stroked it, kissed it, and finally put his
arm round her waist and held it there while he talked; all to the
exceeding joy of Letty, to whom such proceedings had the charm of
absolute freshness.
"Thy sister Helena--is she at present in the parental house?" he asked,
looking up at her fondly, warmed into an affection even greater than
ordinary by the circumstance of having spectators.
Frau Manske was not sure. She would write and inquire. Anna proposed
that she should sit down, but the parson playfully held her closer.
"This is my guardian angel," he explained, smiling beatifically at her,
"the faithful mother of my children, now grown up and gone their several
ways. Does the gracious Miss remember the immortal lines of Schiller,
'_Ehret die Frauen, sie flechten und weben himmlische Rosen in's
irdische Leben_'? Such has been the occupation of this dear wife, only
interrupted by her occasional visits to bathing resorts, since the day,
more than twenty-five years ago, when she consented to tread with me the
path leading heavenwards. Not a day has there been, except when she was
at the seaside, without its roses."
"Oh," said Anna. She felt that the remark was not at the height of the
situation, and added, "How--how interesting." This also struck her as
inadequate; but all further inspiration failing her, she was reduced to
the silent sympathy of smiles.
"Ten children did the Lord bless us with," continued the parson,
expanding into confidences, "and six it was His will again to remove."
"The drains--" murmured Frau Manske.
"Yes, truly the drains in the town where we lived then were bad, very
bad. But one must not question the wisdom of Providence."
"No, but one might mend----" Anna stopped, feeling that under some
circumstances even the mending of drains might be impious. She had heard
so much about piety and Providence within the last two hours that she
was confused, and was no longer clear as to the exact limit of conduct
beyond which a flying in the face of Providence might be said to begin.
But the parson, clasping his wife to his side, paid no heed to anything
she might be saying, for he was already well on in a detailed account of
the personal appearance, habits, and career of his four remaining
children, and dwelt so fondly on each in turn that he forgot sister
Helena and the second advertisement; and when he had explained all their
numerous excellencies and harmless idiosyncrasies, including their
preferences in matters of food and drink, he abruptly quitted this
topic, and proceeded to expound Anna's scheme to his wife, who had
listened with ill-concealed impatience to the first part of his
discourse, consumed as she was with curiosity to hear what it was that
Anna had confided to him.
So Anna had to listen to the raptures all over again. The eager interest
of the wife disturbed her. She doubted whether Frau Manske had any real
sympathy with her plan. Her inquisitiveness was unquestionable; but Anna
felt that opening her heart to the parson and opening it to his wife
were two different things. Though he was wordy, he was certainly
enthusiastic; his wife, on the other hand, appeared to be chiefly
interested in the question of cost. "The cost will be colossal," she
said, surveying Anna from head to foot. "But the gracious Miss is rich,"
she added.
Anna began to examine her finger tips again.
On the way home through the dark fields, after having criticised each
dish of the dinner and expressed the opinion that the entertainment was
not worthy of such a wealthy lady, Frau Manske observed to her husband
that it was true, then, what she had always heard of the English, that
they were peculiarly liable to prolonged attacks of craziness.
"Craziness! Thou callest this craziness? It is my wife, the wife of a
pastor, that I hear applying such a word to so beautiful, so Christian,
a scheme?"
"But the good money--to give it all away. Yes, it is very Christian, but
it is also crazy."
"Woman, shut thy mouth!" cried the parson, beside himself with
indignation at hearing such sentiments from such lips.
Clearly Frau Manske was not at that moment engaged with her roses.