I.

I must preface the following record with the entreaty that it may not

be regarded as puerile vanity if I begin with my insignificant self and

allow my own personality to appear in the course of my story more

frequently than it may deserve. The nature of the case requires it. My

own valueless destiny is as inseparably connected with the life of the

principal personage as the insignificant thread is a part of the pearl

necklace whose costly gems are strung upon it. Unfortunately, there are

some parts where the jewels are missing, and then only the gray thread

appears. But I will try to make these spaces as short as possible; for

I am only too well aware that my own existence has merely gained what

little worth it possesses because Providence brought me into the

vicinity of so rare a creature, and permitted me to move around her and

receive light and warmth, as a planet from the sun.

True, I certainly did not begin life with so modest an estimate of

myself. Nay, I imagined that I was well fitted to let my light shine as

the center of a little planetary system of my own. At a very early age

I was praised in my family and notorious among my school-fellows as a

pattern boy, and the blows I received from the latter--and had richly

deserved by my ridiculous boasting--only helped to increase my

arrogance. All exalted minds, I said to myself, have been obliged to

atone for their superiority by calamity and persecution. Nay, I even

went so far as to compare myself with the Son of man, and should not

have been surprised had some Herod yearned for the life of the child

who felt himself destined to redeem the poor, sinful world, and

meanwhile showed his teachers in the town-school contemptible cajolery

and faultlessly written exercises.

When I was fourteen my father, who was a true Christian and a faithful

servant of the Word, was transferred from the town parish to be

superintendent in Berlin. My mother had died young, and my father, who

was completely absorbed in his official duties, left me--with too much

confidence--to myself. An elderly, somewhat weak-minded aunt, who even

in the great city kept house for us, regarded me as a small miracle,

and, therefore, had neither judgment nor power to uproot the weeds of

spiritual arrogance from my heart. The latter had already flourished so

rankly that they continued to grow luxuriantly even in the freer air of

the capital. When, at eighteen, I entered the university, I instantly

formed a pietistical society, which behaved almost like a students'

consistory. We preached to each other to our hearts' content, debated

the most difficult theological points of controversy, wrote hymns,

which I set to music and accompanied on our harmonium; in short, we

were a set of insufferable young saints, not a single one of whom,

had he knocked at the door of heaven with his long locks and meekly

turned-down collar, would Saint Peter have admitted.

I need scarcely state that I held aloof from all worldly amusements,

considered the theatre a vestibule of hell, and the other beautiful

arts as mere pagan jugglery. But the thing that now seems to me the

drollest of all is the relation I then occupied toward the female sex.

With the best intentions, I could imagine pure maids and matrons in no

other guise than as a devout congregation in Sunday attire, gazing

upward in gentle ecstasy at their pastor, and drinking in with fervent

gratitude the heavenly dew that fell from his lips. In some far remote

background of time I beheld one of these humble creatures nestling in

my embrace, trembling in the ecstasy of her bliss, and overwhelmed with

gratitude at the knowledge of being chosen before all her sisters to

stand by the side of the man of God--whom she had long secretly

worshiped--as his unworthy wife, iron his snow-white bands, embroider

his slippers, and write down his sermon every Sunday.

In this state of supernal self-glorification, I considered it only

natural that, as soon as I had passed my examination with special

brilliancy, and crossed the threshold of the position of candidate, the

most advantageous projects should open to me from more than one

direction. My dear father's heart was far too kind, and he practiced

the injunction of Christian charity of his own impulse in too wide a

sense, to permit him to find his salary sufficient either in the little

town or the great capital, and when suddenly summoned from this life he

left me nothing but his blessing and a choice theological library, the

only luxury he had ever allowed himself.

I was now forced to rely, with God's assistance, upon myself, and as,

with all the innocence of the dove, I possessed a sufficient measure of

the wisdom of the serpent, I did not merely examine superficially the

three places offered to me, but made careful inquiries to discover in

which one I should have the softest bed. All three were tutor's

situations in the country, with a prospect of the pastorate, which

would fall vacant in a longer or shorter time. I decided in favor of

the estate of the most aristocratic of the three employers, who also

owned two villages located in a region described to me as being very

fertile and not lacking in rural beauty. The pastor there was almost

eighty; the baron's children, whom I was to teach, were but two in

number, a boy, and a girl twelve or fourteen years old; my patron was

reported to be particularly strict in his religious views, and--a fact

by no means least influential--his letter, which my dear father

received with tears of joy on his death-bed and read aloud to me in a

trembling voice, expressed emphatic praise of my admirable self, a

pleasant report of my gifts and virtues having spread through the

country.

So in my heart I praised God, who so paternally provided a fitting

career for his favorites here below, embraced my poor old aunt, who was

left behind in a wretched attic, and set forth on the journey to my

paradise with proud hopes and a joyousness but slightly subdued by my

recent grief.

* * * * *

This exalted mood was somewhat depressed when, on reaching the last

railway-station, I vainly looked for the coach in which I was to make

my entry into the place of my destination. The baron had written that

he would send for me. I expected nothing less than a splendid carriage,

not drawn by four horses, it is true, but perhaps hung with garlands as

befits a young ecclesiastical conqueror. Instead, there was nothing

stopping at the station but an insignificant cart, which I suspected

was generally used for the transportation of calves or sheep, drawn by

two plow-horses, dejectedly switching their long tails to and fro. An

old man-servant, who did not even take the stump of a pipe from his

mouth when he came up to me, asked in his surly Low German dialect if I

was the tutor whom he was to take to the estate, then, with many a

muttered oath, lifted my trunk and three heavy boxes of books into the

cart, and pointed with his whip to the seat, where the sole provision

made for my comfort was a thin leather cushion.

He himself--after relighting his pipe and starting his horses by a

drawling Hi-i!--trudged beside the cart as it creaked slowly along.

I tried to bear my disappointment with Christian resignation, and,

after we had gone a few hundred paces, asked in my gentlest voice how

far the castle was, and whether we were to go the whole distance at a

walk.

The horses were plowing all day yesterday, growled the old man, and the

road was too bad for them to trot. We should be two hours at least,

"p'raps a bit more"; the sand began just beyond the next village, and

then, with the big boxes, we should move still more slowly.

Rustic ways! I thought, to console myself, jolted about on my hard seat

for a while longer, and, at the beginning of the sandy road, which ran

sometimes between fields and meadows, sometimes between low fir-woods,

sprang nimbly from the cart to relieve the panting animals. It was

toward the end of April, a warm spring wind blew over the wide, quiet

country, the crows were perched in dense flocks on the freshly turned

furrows, and the low twittering of birds was heard from the bare tops

of the birches. At three and twenty the theological bark around my

heart was not yet hard enough to prevent all this stir and movement of

Nature from penetrating it. In a very short time, while striding a few

horse-lengths ahead of my vehicle, I was so happy in the thought of my

God that I seemed to myself like King David, and my great wooden trunk

the ark of the covenant, and could scarcely refrain from falling into a

dancing step and letting the hymns I was singing in my heart escape my

lips.

Yet I was glad when the two hours and "p'raps a bit more" were over,

and old Krischan, pointing with his whip to the roof of a tower,

visible between the lofty elms in the avenue, muttered between his

teeth: "Here we are!"

I had made several vain efforts on the way to question him about the

lord of the castle and his family. I had learned nothing except that

the baron was "a bit strict," and the old baroness "always very kind

and gracious." Of the heir he only uttered a significant hum! and of

the pastor merely said, "He's poorly just now." So my curiosity and

impatience increased with every step the horses took in the grinding

sand; and, as the rural charms of which I had dreamed were nowhere

visible, the village through which I passed differed in no respect from

an utterly unattractive Mark hamlet, and the few women and children who

stared at me from the doors of the houses appeared extremely

indifferent to the great event of my arrival, I climbed back with a

sigh into the cart as we turned into the avenue and traversed the rest

of the way at a trot.

We drove directly up to the castle, which looked very stately through

the bare branches, and, as the road at last passed over a slight

ascent, the horses relapsed into their former comfortable walk. Yet we

overtook a queer little cart, to which the--according to the Mark

ideas--considerable hill gave more trouble than to us.

A very old woman had harnessed herself and a spotted dog to a small

hand-cart, heavily laden with a large, well-filled sack, several

bundles of fagots, and various utensils and tools, the whole, tied

together with old ropes, towering so high aloft that the swaying

structure could scarcely keep its balance. The little dog's red tongue

was hanging out of its mouth, and the old dame panted and coughed as

she bent under the drawing-rope, which cut deep into her shoulder.

Spite of her four-footed assistant, she could scarcely have pulled the

load up-hill, had not a vigorous push from behind aided her. This was

given by a tall, slender figure, a young lady dressed in city style,

who, with both hands braced against the back, walked firmly on,

relieving the toiling pair of half the weight.

As we passed she merely turned her face toward us for a moment without

the slightest change of expression. I could not see her features

distinctly, owing to the shifting play of the shadows cast by the bare

branches above, but I perceived that the face was young and grave. It

made a singular impression on me, though she flashed but a single

glance at me and then instantly lowered her eyes. I noticed too that

her smoothly brushed hair, over which she had knotted a black kerchief,

was of a remarkable dark golden hue, somewhat similar to amber. I

perceived also that she wore a blue polonaise of rather old-fashioned

cut, trimmed with a narrow border of gray fur. Then the old vehicle was

left behind, and I did not venture to look back.

"That's the Canoness!" said Krischan, who had taken his pipe out of his

mouth and lifted his cap respectfully; "and the old one is Mother

Lieschen."

"The Canoness!" I repeated in surprise. "Has the baron so old a

daughter?"

"No, sir. The baron's daughter is only fourteen. She's Fraeulein

Leopoldine. But the Canoness--hi!"

He urged on his bays with a loud crack of the whip, for we were just

turning out of the avenue into the castle court-yard. I was obliged to

repress my curiosity for the present.

* * * * *

The castle really did honor to its name. It was a very large building,

dating back from the commencement of the previous century, with a lofty

lower story, to which led a double flight of broad steps, above which

was a second story richly decorated with stucco ornaments--a style,

however, that did not exactly harmonize with the peaked roof and

irregular attic windows. From this central building a wing extended at

right angles on the left almost to the avenue of elms, while the right

wing, which, as I afterward learned, had been destroyed by a great

fire, was replaced by a clumsy square tower three stories high. Yet

this tower bore above its four gables a gigantic cupola, garnished with

pinnacles and battlements of all sorts, which gave it an air of

chivalrous boldness.

A servant in a light-green livery received me at the top of the steps,

said that his master was expecting me, and ushered me into the house

with condescending familiarity, as if he considered me a sort of

colleague. The cool, dim hall paved with tiles, the broad stone

staircase, the antlers that adorned the walls, the numerous servants of

both sexes, who were peeping curiously from different doors, produced a

strong impression upon me, though I secretly regretted the absence of a

more formal reception by my future patron's assembled family. But I

consoled myself with the thought that this was the genuine aristocratic

demeanor, and resolved to maintain my own dignity and command the

respect due my ecclesiastical character even from high-born laymen.

Meantime I had climbed the steep stairs to the highest story in the

tower till I was fairly out of breath. But when I entered the apartment

the footman showed me as mine, I was instantly reconciled to the

quarters gained by the toilsome ascent. It was a corner room with four

wide, almost square windows, which afforded a most superb view, over

the tops of the trees in the avenue, of fields and moorland, forest and

farms, and the village houses gathered about the handsome village

church like a flock of chickens around the clucking hen. The whole

scene was steeped in the brightest noonday sunlight, and filmy bluish

clouds floated from the chimneys of the low straw-thatched roofs,

pierced by single sunbeams, and swayed to and fro by a fresh April

breeze.

Dinner would be served in fifteen minutes, the servant said. Did

the Herr Candidate want anything? I asked for my trunks, and had just

time to brush the dust of my journey from my clothing, when a big,

hollow-sounding bell, which roused a welcome echo in my empty stomach,

began to ring in the hall below.

I cast one more glance into the tiny mirror, which, like the rest of

the furniture, did not produce a very magnificent impression, and,

after having combed my hair smoothly, and pushed my long locks neatly

behind my ears, descended the steep tower-stairs, spite of the

consciousness of my ecclesiastical dignity, with a somewhat quickened

pulsation of the heart.

The dining-room was on the lower floor, directly behind the

entrance-hall, a vaulted apartment, whose four high windows looked out

upon the garden. The wide glass door in the center opened on a small

terrace, from which a few steps led to the flower-beds. But I did not

notice all this at my first entrance, as my whole interest was

engrossed by the various persons who were assembled.

A tall, extremely dignified gentleman, with very handsome, regular

features, and mustache and whiskers cut in military fashion, came up to

me, held out his well-kept hand, and said, in a voice whose musical

tones he himself seemed to enjoy: "May the Lord bless your coming and

going, Herr Candidate!"

I bowed silently, and was led to a little lady attired in a black

silk dress and a large white lace cap, who sat in the depths of a tall

arm-chair.

"Here, my dear Elizabeth," said the baron, "I present to you Candidate

Johannes Weissbrod, who, with God's blessing, will aid us in the

education of our Achatz! Achatz!" he called, turning to a pale-faced

boy, evidently backward in mental development, who stood giggling with

a tall young girl at the other end of the hall. The lad came slowly

forward, eying me askance with mingled shyness and defiance, and only

at his father's repeated desire gave me a thin yellow hand. I noticed

at the first glance the striking resemblance between him and his

mother. The latter was remarkably plain; she had a shrunken, withered

face, which strongly reminded me of old General Zieten, to whom, I

afterward learned, the baroness was distantly related. Even a little

Hussar mustache was not lacking, and the sight of the tiny witch-like

scarecrow was so melancholy, especially by the side of her husband's

stately figure, that in my first confusion I actually forgot the fine

speech with which I had intended to present myself, and could only bow

silently and kiss the diminutive hand the little specter extended to

me.

But, as I straightened myself again, a warm, irresistibly kind glance

fell upon me from the small gray eyes, and such a touching, child-like

voice came from the little withered mouth, saying, "I shall be deeply

grateful to you, Herr Candidate, for everything you do in behalf of my

dear son," that I lowered my eyes in actual confusion, and felt a

sincere reverence for the little lady, whom I had just held in such

light esteem. I would make every possible effort, I stammered, laying

my hand on the boy's rough fair locks. But he shook off the friendly

touch so rudely that I instantly saw that the effort would certainly be

no easy one.

Meantime his sister had also approached me. She bore as strong a

resemblance to her handsome father as the boy to his mother. I

addressed a pleasant remark to her, which she answered by a haughty

curl of her full red lips. But there was still another feminine member

of the company, a lady, whom I supposed to be about thirty, not so

tall as the young baroness, but of a more elegant figure and with

serpent-like swiftness of motion. "This is a beloved member of our

household, Mademoiselle Suzon Duchanel," said the baron, as he led me

to her. "She is a true blessing from the Lord to us all, shortening the

long hours to my suffering wife, helping my daughter in her French

lessons, and sometimes chatting my own anxieties away." As he spoke he

bent over the young lady's hand, and, with chivalrous gallantry,

pressed it to his lips.

I know not why the act displeased me. My knowledge of the world and

society was still slight, and nothing could be more natural than an act

of courtesy by which the master of the house endeavored to lighten the

discomfort of a subordinate position to a lady. Nor was there anything

worthy of censure in the Frenchwoman's conduct. She was studiously

polite to every one, not excepting her insignificant fellow-slave,

myself, and, after becoming accustomed to a certain piercing light in

her dark eyes, no one could help thinking her attractive. So I could

only explain my strange aversion by the belief that, in her society, I

was almost always conscious of my defective French, and therefore,

though she spoke to me only in German, I felt her presence as an

embarrassment.

We were about to take our places at the table, which, set for eight

persons, stood in the middle of the room. The baron had already

escorted his little wife to her seat opposite to the glass door, and

the young heir had seized his sister's braids to drive her to the table

like a horse, when the door into the hall opened and another person

appeared, a tall, thin man in a plain gray hunting-coat, with horn

buttons, high boots, and a shabby gray felt hat on his head. It was

evident at the first glance that he must be a brother of the master of

the house, only he lacked the elegance that pervaded the latter's whole

appearance.

He entered noiselessly with a slight smile, half sad, half humorous,

that lent his beautiful beardless lips a very pleasant expression, went

slowly up to the mistress of the house, whose hand he silently kissed,

and nodded to his niece, but without vouchsafing me anything more than

an indifferent glance.

"Where is Luise?" asked the baron.

The little old lady gazed at him with a look of timid entreaty. I

noticed that he had some angry remark on his tongue, but his son

interposed.

"She harnessed herself to Mother Lieschen's dogcart," he said loudly,

with a jeering laugh, which displeased me extremely; and then whispered

into his sister's ear so that all could hear, "I laughed at her well,

and she tried to hit me, but I was spryer."

And the little toad giggled spitefully.

The baron uttered a few words in French, which I did not understand.

Then he clasped his hands on the back of the chair, and said: "Let us

thank the Lord."

He asked a blessing, which did not seem to me amiss, only it appeared

somewhat lengthy, especially as Achatz was constantly nudging his

sister in the side with his elbow. Mademoiselle Suzon Duchanel made the

sign of the cross at its beginning and end, which led me to secretly

wonder how a Catholic could have been received into this rigidly

Protestant family. Yet none of the others seemed to find it

objectionable.

The company then took their places at the table, the baroness at the

head between her two children, the master of the house next to Achatz,

then the French governess, by whose side my seat was assigned. There

was a vacant chair opposite, next Fraeulein Leopoldine, then came the

baron's brother, to whom he presented me as we were taking our seats:

"Herr Candidate Johannes Weissbrod--my brother Joachim."

Just as the soup was being served, the folding-door again opened and

the missing Luise entered, who of course proved to be the Canoness whom

I had passed in the elm avenue outside. She had taken off her blue

polonaise and little black kerchief, and in a plain gray dress, with

snow-white frill, looked even more slender than before, somewhat as

ancient statues represent the goddess of the chase. Her face was

slightly flushed, whether from embarrassment or her hurried walk I

could not determine. Yet she did not hang her head like a penitent, but

went straight up to the old lady, bent down and kissed her cheek, then

bore the baron's reproving glance without lowering her lashes, and

silently took the vacant chair between the daughter of the house and

"brother Joachim."

Achatz stared and giggled, but grew as still as a mouse when she cast a

sharp, quiet look at him across the table. I now saw that she had

sparkling dark-brown eyes, against which the golden lashes stood forth

in strong relief. Yet, on the whole, she did not seem to me so

beautiful as when out-of-doors under the shadow of the elm-trees.

There was a stern, defiant expression in her face, very unlike my ideal

of feminine charm and lamb-like meekness. Moreover, she seemed to

entirely overlook my precious self, which gave me no favorable

impression of her character. Without uttering a word, she exchanged a

hurried clasp of the hand with her next neighbor at table and then

began to eat as indifferently as though she had been entirely alone.

I was somewhat annoyed because I had received no special introduction

to her; but my thoughts were soon directed from this perplexing young

creature by the baron, who commenced a theological conversation with

me, in which he showed himself a zealous Lutheran of the most rigid

type. I was extremely cautious at first, having heard that he was a

remarkably learned man. But I soon perceived that his knowledge was

utterly unsubstantial; he merely scattered broadcast certain names and

titles of books, which had been new years before, and persistently

repeated a few established formulas, on which he set far too much

value. He seemed especially to have received the stamp of the

Schleiermacher school, repeated a pun on the name of its founder two or

three times, but did not appear to have read even a page of his

"Dogmatik" or of the "Discourses on Religion."

The whole conversation was evidently solely intended to inspire me with

a high opinion of his knowledge and spiritual enlightenment, though he

himself did not really feel the slightest interest in the matter, for

he turned a deaf ear to my modest objections, and as--though I regarded

myself a valiant champion of the true faith--I knew how to keep my

polished sword in its sheath on occasion, this first theological

tourney passed off with mutual satisfaction. I only regretted that my

position in the house forbade me to stretch my opponent on the sand and

receive from fair hands the prize of victory.

* * * * *

During the whole dinner no one except the baron and myself had spoken.

The mistress of the house gazed into vacancy with a look of quiet

suffering, ate very little, and only showed herself eager to fill her

husband's glass as soon as he had emptied it, which in the zeal of his

debate occurred every moment. The others drank nothing but water,

except Mademoiselle Suzon, whose glass, spite of her coquettish

reluctance, the baron filled twice with Bordeaux. Two liveried servants

moved to and fro as if shod with felt; but for so aristocratic a

household the meal seemed to me rather meager and niggardly.

After dinner the baron, lighting a short hunting-pipe, took me into his

study and discussed the plan of instruction I was to pursue with the

heir. Biblical history, the catechism, the history of his native

country, a little geography--the lessons in the two latter branches

were to be shared with Leopoldine. She was far more talented than her

brother, my patron remarked; but the lad possessed the germ of a

genuine old-school Mark nobleman and an orthodox Christian, though it

was overgrown by all manner of boyish naughtinesses. His affectionate

papa hoped, from my experience in teaching and theological training,

that my pupil would soon visibly grow in favor with God and man.

At the same time the baron allowed me to see that upon my success would

depend my future position and promotion to the living. The present

pastor, with increasing age, would become less and less capable of

maintaining the strict discipline that was desirable, already displayed

a lamentable tolerance in matters of faith, and, if he did not shortly

apply for a discharge from his office, it would be necessary to obtain

his removal.

When I left my patron's study, I should have liked to give my pupil a

short examination at once and commence the training of the young plant

intrusted to my charge. Achatz, however, was neither within sight nor

hearing, but had disappeared, like the other members of the Round

Table. So I went up to my tower-room, and set about unpacking my books.

An old servant, who appeared to be the factotum of everybody in the

castle who wanted help, made me--as there was no book-case--two rude

sets of shelves out of boards, which, however, after they were filled

with my ecclesiastical works, looked very respectable. My pupil's room

adjoined mine. "Who occupies the second story under us?" I asked. "The

young baroness and Fraeulein Luise," was the reply. I don't know why

this annoyed me, but I should have preferred to avoid the vicinity of

the Canoness.

While thus occupied, twilight had closed in, and I resolved to walk

down to the village and call on the old pastor.

As I entered the long village street, I prepared to assume the most

gracious manner. The worthy folk should have an idea of what they might

expect from their future pastor. But my nods and smiles, greetings and

questions, did not produce the slightest impression. The children ran

shyly away, and the grown people only gave me curt, suspicious answers,

though they knew very well that I was the expected candidate, and

enjoyed the favor of their noble church-patron. So I was not in the

best humor when I reached the little old parsonage, whose dilapidated

condition was revealed, at this early season of the year, by the bare

vine-trellises and empty garden. Even the church, beside which it

stood, only separated by the graveyard, urgently needed repairs, and I

secretly wondered that so pious a man as the baron did not set more

value on the proper preservation of the house of God.

But the interior of the parsonage looked all the brighter and more

home-like. True, the walls of the rooms were only whitewashed, but

there was not even a fly-speck on them; the thin white curtains seemed

to have been freshly ironed only the day before, the floors were strewn

with sand, and the household utensils were dazzlingly clean. A brisk,

plump old lady, the pastor's wife, greeted me with so cordial a

pressure of the hand, that I felt almost ashamed of having crossed her

threshold with the selfish thoughts of a smiling heir.

She led me into a small back room, that was just illumined by the

setting sun. Here, in an atmosphere so oppressive from the heat of the

stove that I could scarcely breathe, an old gentleman was sitting by

the window in a large arm-chair covered with calico. A small black

cloth cap rested on his venerable head, and his gouty, swollen knee was

wrapped in a woolen blanket. His kind, blue eyes gazed so

affectionately at me that I involuntarily bent over his outstretched

hand and would have kissed it, had he not withdrawn it, silently

shaking his head. I was requested to sit beside him, and, while we were

exchanging the first common-place remarks, I had time to again reflect

what a brilliant young light of the church I was compared to this

feebly flickering, almost burned-out tallow stump. For on the little

book-shelf beside the desk stood a scanty group of theological works,

so that, recalling my own abundant store, I seemed to myself, in the

presence of this aged champion of God, like a hero armed to the teeth

and clad in a steel corslet, opposed to an old warrior, who could only

swing a rude iron-spiked club.

But I was not allowed to display my admirable armor, for the old

gentleman subjected me to no theological examination, but merely

inquired about my former life, parents, and relatives. When he heard

that I had lost my mother when a child, he passed his withered hand

over my arm with a gesture of timid kindness, and his old wife, who had

often mingled in our conversation with some little jest, gazed at me

with such maternal compassion that a very strange feeling came over me.

Until then I had never realized my orphaned condition, but felt

perfectly secure in my kinship to God.

To reach a fresher theme, I began to talk of the baron and his family,

praising especially the spirit of genuine piety that pervaded this

aristocratic household. I perceived with surprise that neither the old

pastor nor his more loquacious wife assented to my fervent eulogy. Only

when I paused, the old man nodded gravely, and with his eyes fixed on

vacancy, said: "Yes, yes, the baroness--she is a woman after God's own

heart." "And don't forget Fraeulein Luise!" added the old lady eagerly,

then hastily quitted the room, as if summoned by some urgent necessity,

and did not appear again even when I took my leave.

I explained this strange silence to myself by the supposition that

there were dogmatic differences between the pastor and his patron. The

baron had shaken his head over the old gentleman's toleration. Desiring

to avoid any dispute on this first visit, I soon rose to take leave.

The old clergyman apologized for being compelled to remain seated. He

was confined to the chair by a violent attack of his complaint, and

would have been obliged to leave the pulpit vacant on the following

Sunday had not God sent him so able a representative in my person. He

begged me to preach in his stead, and only regretted that he could not

be among my devout listeners.

I was grateful in my heart to his gout for affording me an immediate

opportunity to display my lauded oratorical talent, wished him a speedy

convalescence, and took my leave with a much calmer heart than I had

entered.

* * * * *

When I returned to the castle, a servant received me in the hall and

informed me that tea was ready.

I found the whole family, except brother Joachim, assembled in the

dining-room around the tea-table, on which two large old-fashioned

lamps diffused a somewhat dim light. As at dinner, there was no

lack of silver tableware, so that everything looked very stately and

splendid, though the fare was scarcely superior to that of a

respectable farm-house.

The Canoness was making tea, and poured it from a heavy silver pot into

the cups handed around by a servant. Again she did not vouchsafe me a

glance. The others, too, merely bowed silently, as the master of the

house, seated close beside one of the lamps, was absorbed in the

newspapers, which were brought every evening by an errand-woman. The

regular mail came but twice a week.

I, too, now ate, without speaking, a due amount of bread and butter, my

sense of decorum and theological wisdom having prevented my fully

satisfying my appetite at dinner. Achatz giggled and whispered with his

sister, who now sat beside him; Mademoiselle Suzon had the headache and

looked very much bored, but from time to time gave me a glance and

murmured a question, her cold eyes meanwhile wandering to and fro with

a strangely uneasy expression.

When the baron threw aside the papers, the whole party rose from the

table; Fraeulein Luise led the baroness to an arm-chair beside the huge

chimney-piece, which, however, spite of the chill evening air, served

merely for ornament; and, after a little table had been pushed before

her seat, and the children had said good-night, the Canoness brought

out a pack of French cards and sat down opposite to play with her.

The baron had taken his place at a small chess-table with the French

governess, who had suddenly recovered her animation, and, turning to me

while arranging the ivory men, he said, "You can choose, Herr

Weissbrod, which game you will overlook. It is really against my

principles to allow card-playing in my house, but my wife's game is by

no means an invention of Satan, unless tediousness is considered one of

the torments of hell. I never touch a card myself, and suppose you have

the same ideas. So, if you have no interest in chess, do not feel under

any restraint, but go to your room, if you prefer. You have had a

fatiguing journey to-day."

I thought this implied that my presence was no longer desired,

and, after having watched both games for awhile--for civility's

sake--without understanding anything about either, I bid the party

good-night and climbed up to my tower-room.

The footman who lighted me seemed strongly inclined to have a little

chat, and I was very anxious to put certain queries about the relations

existing between the different members of the household. But I thought

it was indecorous to question servants about their employers, cut short

the tall rascal's opening remark, which tended in that direction, and

remained alone with my wandering thoughts.

My pupil was already sound asleep. As I looked at him and noted the

resemblance to his mother, which seemed even stronger than when he was

awake, I resolved to struggle against my aversion to the saucy young

lad and honestly strive to develop the half-stifled germ of which his

father had spoken. It seemed as though the impulse was felt through the

little dreaming brain, for the boy opened his eyes, stared at me,

blushed, and then said in an entirely different voice, "Good-night,

Herr Johannes."

I returned this good-night, passed my hand over his eyes, and went

softly back to my room.

But I could not yet go to sleep. All the new experiences the day had

brought were surging and seething in my head as if it were a witch's

caldron. Opening the window, I gazed out into the calm, cool night,

where the moon was shining so beautifully over the tree-tops, and gauzy

veils of mist were hovering in the distance above the hills and

meadows.

Conspicuous among all the figures which glided past me, as if in a

spectral chase, staring at me with questioning eyes, was one which

at last, when the other ghosts had vanished, remained standing before

me--a slender girl with tawny hair and brown eyes, whose gaze rested on

me so indifferently that my vain soul grew more and more insulted and

angry, yet without being able to turn my thoughts from her. I said to

myself that if this one woman did not dwell under the same roof I

should be as contented here as though I were in Abraham's bosom. Then I

wondered whether she had gone to rest, and imagined that she was even

now thinking of me with a scornful curl of her lips, which idea

strengthened my hostility still more. To calm myself, I lighted a long

pipe and paced up and down the carpetless floor of my room, thinking of

the sermon I was to preach on the following Sunday, and in which I

meant to say all sorts of offensive things to the arrogant creature's

face. Yet I possessed sufficient good-breeding to remove my squeaking

boots and put on the soft slippers my good aunt had given me as a

parting present.

I was just going to shut the window, for I was beginning to shiver,

when a low melody rose below me, to which I listened intently. My

little talent for music, as I first learned long after, was at that

time the best and most genuine quality I possessed. So, at the first

notes, I knew that the pure alto voice beneath me was no ordinary one,

but issued from a thoroughly musical nature. But the piano on which the

singer accompanied herself appeared to be a worn-out, tuneless old box,

and she made the least possible use of it. I did not know what she was

singing, but it seemed to me a magnificent piece by some great master,

and I went close to the window that I might not lose a note. I

afterward discovered that it was an aria from Gluck's "Orpheus."

This solitary nocturnal singing, which could proceed from no other lips

than those of the Canoness, instantly disarmed me. It sounded very

subdued; Fraeulein Leopoldine slept in the next room, and must not be

disturbed. But this _mezza voce_, in its melancholy gentleness,

contradicted everything I had imagined of the singer's nature. It was

like the lament of a proud, free soul, that disdains to impart its

grief to any one, and only in a secret soliloquy makes the moon and the

night its confidants.

When the singing ceased, it was long ere I could resolve to seek my

bed. I still waited to learn whether it would begin again. Midnight had

passed when I at last shut my window, and, absorbed in thought,

prepared to seek repose.

* * * * *

Yet I was up very early, and had much difficulty in persuading my

pupil, who had hitherto slept below next his mamma's room, to leave his

bed, as among other bad habits he had been accustomed to stretching and

turning lazily on his couch in the morning.

I found it difficult to keep the resolution I had made the night before

over the sleeper, now that he sat wide awake before me with his

impudent little face, especially as I soon perceived with horror that

the young nobleman was deficient in nearly all the rudiments of

knowledge, and, moreover, did not appear to feel at all ashamed of his

ignorance. I found myself obliged to begin from the very commencement

in all the branches except writing, for which he was indebted to the

village school-master, and the catechism, which he could repeat

faultlessly with the volubility of a starling.

Yet, even in the first hour, I succeeded in uprooting some weeds

of error in his head and heart, and at least in conquering his

absent-mindedness, so that we were tolerably well-satisfied with each

other when, toward ten o'clock, the baron entered in his own sublime

person. He merely asked carelessly what I thought of my pupil then,

with an exclamation of surprise, went up to my books and glanced over

their titles. "Ah, Neander! Marheineke!" he said, as if greeting old

acquaintances. "You are certainly a thorough scholar, Herr Weissbrod.

Only don't soar too high! Let us have no unfruitful knowledge.

'Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth.' There is this Neander,

for instance--h'm! Yet he's not one of the worst." (Good Heavens!

Candid Neander! That soul of child-like purity!) "And yet--h'm! Well,

with God's assistance and favor, his day of Damascus will come."

He talked a great deal more of such conceited, equivocal trash; and

though even then some irreverent doubts arose in my mind as to whether

his own theological wisdom was correct, I was impressed by his oracular

speeches, and endeavored to make one answer and another which should

lead to a more professional conversation. But he cut me short by

remarking that there would be time enough for us to come to a clearer

understanding. I might now accompany him down-stairs to his daughter,

and then give the two children their first lesson in history.

We found the young lady's room already in order, and she herself, in a

by no means studious mood, sitting at a table which stood in the middle

of the apartment. The Canoness sat by the window with some sewing in

her hand. At our entrance she rose hastily and returned her uncle's

cold good-morning with a slight bend of the head. I did not appear to

have any existence for her.

Again I felt my blood boil with indignation. But I only strove the more

to do my work well, in order to show her what a remarkable fellow I

was; nor did I succeed badly, in my own estimation. I began to relate

the history of the Mark from its earliest origin, and as I was myself a

native of the country, and, moreover, very familiar with this subject,

I had the satisfaction of interesting not only my two pupils, but their

papa, to such a degree, that the baron remained a full half-hour, and

was first reminded that he had long since outgrown his school-days by

the announcement that the steward was awaiting his orders.

I was especially pleased to see how Achatz fairly hung on my lips

during the narrative of the battles and victories of his ancestors in

this once pagan land. The ice was broken, at any rate, and even

Fraeulein Leopoldine, who at first had sat with an insufferably

condescending expression, was evidently excited. Only the grave face at

the window bent like a stone image over the industrious hands, without

any token of interest. I began to doubt whether the beautiful nocturnal

melody could have issued from those obstinately compressed lips.

At dinner, when I again saw the mistress of the house, I could plainly

perceive that my first appearance as a pedagogue had produced a

favorable impression. The little lady, with a kindly glance from her

timid blue eyes, held out her hand to me, and asked whether I had slept

well and if I needed anything for my comfort. Achatz displayed in

motley confusion all sorts of crumbs of his new knowledge, and

Mademoiselle Suzon granted me more than one long look from her Catholic

eyes. When I said that the old pastor had requested me to take his

place the following Sunday--which was the next day--the baron said he

was very curious about the conception held by the young school of the

preacher's office, but warned me not to drag my Neander and Marheineke

into the pulpit with me, which of course I smilingly promised.

Uncle Joachim, according to his custom, did not utter a word. The

Canoness looked at her plate, and I noticed that she sometimes made a

low remark to her neighbor, who always responded by a quiet smile or a

twinkle in his honest gray eyes.

When, that afternoon, I was again alone in my tower, I prepared to

study my sermon with great composure of mind, for I felt perfectly sure

of myself. I had brought from the university and our religious society

a bundle of outline sermons, one of which I took out and read over

again with constant reference to my new hearers. Of course this

masterpiece seemed a thousand times too good for the rural

congregation, but I had intended it principally for my patron and

his family, not least for the obstinate face that, willing or not,

must listen to me for a full half hour. I changed a few details,

repeated the whole in a low tone, while veiling myself in clouds of

tobacco-smoke, and, when I had finished, patted my stomach caressingly,

as though I had just swallowed a dainty morsel, and resolved to take a

short stroll in the park as an aid to digestion.

Hitherto I had only seen the grounds through the glass door of the

dining-room, and I now marveled at their extent and beauty.

* * * * *

Low farm-buildings, stables, and barns extended on both sides in the

rear of the castle, and were separated from the flower-garden in the

center of the park by dense rows of splendid fir-trees. The dry basin

of a fountain, ornamented by a crumbling sandstone statue, served as an

abode for an aged peacock, which could now spread only a very ragged

and shabby tail, as he constantly circled around it, keeping a

distrustful watch. No one except the Canoness, as I afterward noticed,

was permitted to approach without his uttering a shrill, spiteful

scream.

The beds, at this early season of the year, were still empty except for

a narrow border of crocuses and snowdrops, but they were neatly raked

and carefully marked out; even the paths between were free from dead

leaves. From this place ran a broad walk fenced on both sides by tall,

closely clipped hedges in the French style. But the tops of the ancient

elms and oaks soared above them into the air, and the solemn splendor

of a German forest far surpassed the Italian prettiness. Never in my

life had I seen anything so beautiful, for the Berlin Thiergarten, so

far as the size of the trees was concerned, could not bear the least

comparison to it.

When, studying my sermon, I had strolled some distance under the lofty

crowns of foliage, a strange figure came toward me, whom I at once

supposed to be the gardener--a short, gray-haired man in a peasant's

jerkin, over which a green apron was tied, a green cap, horn spectacles

on his sharp, hawk's nose, an axe in his bony hand, and with one foot

slightly dragging. I went up to him, greeted him in my affable manner,

and asked if it was due to his care that the beautiful park was in such

admirable order.

At first he nodded silently, scanning me from head to foot with the air

of an expert examining some new plant to see whether it would be likely

to thrive in this soil. Then he said, by no means sullenly, that he was

the gardener Liborius and I was probably the new tutor. As this was a

leisure evening, he would do me the honor to show me the park.

While walking by his side, I had a strange conversation. In the first

place, he modestly refused my praise of his skill in gardening. He

would not be able to accomplish half without Uncle Joachim, who planned

everything that was to be done. True, he himself knew more about

cultivating flowers, because he had been educated for an apothecary,

and, had he not been compelled to enter the army, would probably be one

now. But while serving as the baron's orderly--the elder brother--he

had been shot in the foot; so, after he had obtained his discharge, his

master had made him gardener on the estate. At that time the park was a

perfect wilderness, everything higgledy-piggledy, and at first he had

only bungled, until at last the younger baron came. "Yes," he added,

glancing at me as if somewhat doubtful whether he might venture to

speak openly, "many things would go wrong if it were not for Uncle

Joachim. There's no telling all he has on his shoulders--half the

management of the estate, the garden and stables, and the few cattle,

for the larger portion of the land is leased. And yet he gets small

thanks for it. They say that as a young officer he was what people call

a sly chap, ran in debt, gambled, had love affairs; we know how things

are with young noblemen who serve as officers. Then his brother once

helped him out of a scrape and made him take an oath to lead a regular

life, and he has done so too. But they always treat him like the

prodigal son in the gospel, only there is no fatted calf killed for

him. And why? Because he doesn't go to church. You pull a long face

over it, Herr Candidate, but you can believe this: he's more religious

at heart than many a man who can repeat the whole hymn-book; if he were

not, there's much that would look very different here. For our master,

he's not exactly a bad one, but very strict, like our Lord in the Old

Testament, and looks after the pennies and wages, so, though the

heavens should fall, he never abates any of the work the peasants are

obliged to do for him. Unfortunately, he is obliged to look after his

due, for the estate was heavily laden with debt when he took possession

of it, and had he not made the wealthy marriage he did--for the money

comes from _her_--he could not have lived here, especially as he, too,

in by-gone days, led a jolly life and spent a great deal. Well, he's

tolerably well over that now, but he nips and saves at all the ends and

corners, always saying it is for his children. Would you believe it, he

wanted to send me off six years ago, after the grounds here were at

last in proper order and the park could be seen again. His brother

could attend to it with one of the servants. Then I said: 'Don't send

me away, Herr Baron; I'm no longer a young man, and have forgotten my

training as an apothecary, and my heart clings to the old trees as we

cleave to an old love. If it's only the wages, I'll gladly give them

up, if I can keep my room and have the little food I eat.' So he let me

stay, and I drudge away in Heaven's name and for the sake of Uncle

Joachim, who could not manage it all alone. And now Fraeulein Luise

helps us, too."

"The Canoness?" I interrupted.

"Yes, indeed. She has charge of the vegetable-garden, because she knows

best what is wanted in the kitchen. Ah, yes, she is for a woman what

Uncle Joachim is for a man, and gets just as few thanks for it. You

know, of course, Herr Candidate, that she is an orphan, the daughter of

a third brother of our baron, who also squandered his property and died

young. She has lived here at her uncle's since her eighteenth year--she

will be twenty-four next Whitsuntide--and as her aunt has been an

invalid so long, and her uncle is often absent for months, because he

finds the castle tiresome, Fraeulein Luise is obliged to stand in the

breach everywhere. Well, she can do it, for she has the brains, and her

heart is in the right place; our Lord will reward her some day for what

she does for her old aunt."

The old man stopped, pushed aside with his hatchet a few dry branches

that lay at our feet, and then drew from under his green apron a small

bone snuff-box, from which he offered me a pinch. I took a few grains

for the sake of courtesy, and then, with the most perfect innocence,

for I had not yet penetrated into the real state of affairs, asked:

"Is it possible, Herr Liborius? I thought the French lady took charge

of the housekeeping."

The old man shrugged his shoulders, slowly stuffed the pinch of snuff

into his little hooked nose, sneezed several times, and after a long

delay replied: "All that glitters is not gold, Herr Candidate. But let

every man sweep before his own door. See, here we are at Uncle

Joachim's rooms. Will you pay him a call? He'll surely be glad to see

you. Not a human creature ever crosses his threshold except myself, his

dog Diana, and Fraeulein Luise."

We had walked the whole length of the park, to where a tall fence

divided it from the open fields, and were again approaching the castle,

when we reached a small summerhouse connected with the outbuildings by

a long hothouse. As I nodded assent, Liborius knocked, and then,

without waiting for the "Come in!" raised the latch of the crumbling

old door. No one was within. But at first I could not believe that this

utterly cheerless room was occupied by a member of the baron's family.

Against one wall stood a more than plain bed, covered with an old

horse-blanket; a huge arm-chair, from whose worn leather covering the

horsehair stuffing here and there protruded, was at one of the windows,

and at the other a large pine table, without a cloth, on which lay in

excellent order numerous thick account-books, writing-materials, boxes

of seeds, and a leaden tobacco-box; in the corner stood a narrow

wardrobe, and on pegs along the wall hung a few guns and fishing-rods.

This constituted the entire furniture of the yellow-washed room. But

above the bed hung the portrait of a beautiful woman, and a couple of

old copper engravings, representing Napoleon at Fontainebleau, and on

his death-bed, in worm-eaten brown frames.

"It is not exactly a princely lodging!" said the gardener, "but he

chose it himself. Well, it makes little difference where we stretch our

limbs if we haven't spared them from early till late. At night all cats

are gray, and any four walls do well enough for a sleeping-room."

Then he let me out again, and I went back to the castle, often shaking

my head over the many things I had learned, which had considerably

lowered my high opinion of the people and things around me.

* * * * *

When the church-bells rang the next morning, I went to the window and

looked down into the courtyard. A large old-fashioned coach, to which

two fine horses were harnessed, was standing before the steps. Almost

immediately the baron came out of the doorway, carefully leading his

wife.

Mademoiselle Suzon and the two children followed. They took their seats

in the carriage--Achatz mounting the box, so that if those within moved

a little nearer together there would be room for a slender person. I

waited to see the Canoness, who was always late, come out of the

castle. But the coach-door was closed by the footman, who sprang up

behind, and the vehicle lumbered slowly away.

Is she, too, like Uncle Joachim, no church-goer? I thought, and felt

that this would have chagrined me greatly, for I hoped to impress her

especially by my sermon.

But I had fretted in vain.

I set out at a rapid pace, and, having discovered a meadow-path, which,

intersecting the avenue, led straight to the village and church, I

arrived even before the party from the castle.

The sexton received me, ushered me into the vestry, and helped me don

the black robe in which I always seemed to myself especially trim and

ecclesiastical. While the last verse of the hymn was being sung, I saw

by my pocket-mirror that my locks were parted down the middle of my

head in perfect order, and my hands faultlessly clean, and then entered

the crowded church.

I had carefully examined and tried my voice in it the day before. It

was as plain and bare as most of our village churches in the Mark,

having been hastily rebuilt with scanty means after a conflagration,

and even robbed of the monuments which, as the sexton said, had come

down from Catholic times. On the whitewashed pillars hung nothing but

dusty and faded bridal and funeral wreaths, with long black or white

streamers and tarnished silver spangles. There was also a black tablet

with a few hooks, from which were suspended the war medals of anno '13,

'14, and '15, with the names of their wearers in clumsy white letters

beneath. The organ alone was handsome, its pipes brightly polished, and

its notes--for the schoolmaster understood his business--greeted me

with a harmonious melody as I climbed the steep stairs to the pulpit.

While the last verse died away I had just time to scan my devout

congregation. Opposite to me, in the baronial pew lined with red cloth,

sat the party that had come in the carriage. In the front seat, at its

left, was the pastor's plump old wife; the lines on her cheerful face

were to-day drawn into a peculiarly intent expression. I told myself

that I should have in her a particularly critical auditor. Behind these

pews, in a dense throng, were the peasants and cottagers of the

village, with their wives and children, whose singing, thanks to the

musical teacher, was far more endurable to hear than is usually the

case in our unmelodious region. Spite of my self-confidence, I was

forced to subdue the quickened throbbing of my heart as I saw the eyes

of all these strangers fixed steadily and not exactly benevolently upon

me. I was really glad not to discover among them one pair that, within

the last few days, had already more than once disturbed my peace of

mind.

But just as I was opening the Bible on the pulpit desk to read the

text, the door at the end of the narrow aisle, between the rows of

pews, noiselessly opened, and, amid a stream of sunlight and spring

air, that was instantly shut out again, the Canoness entered. Instead

of passing through the rows to take her seat in the baron's pew, she

unceremoniously sat down on the farthest bench, where an old woman, in

whom I now recognized Mother Lieschen, made room for her with a

friendly nod. No one else in the church noticed her; this late arrival

appeared to be considered perfectly proper.

So I began my sermon in a somewhat unsteady voice, but it soon grew

firmer. The text was: "Many are called, but few are chosen."

The doctrine of predestination had frequently been the theme of our

debates at the university, and the sermon as I had brought it in my

trunk bore evident traces of the learned apparatus with which I was

accustomed to defend my views. For my present congregation, however, I

had wisely omitted this, and restricted myself to bringing the kingdom

of God as I had dreamed of it, in vast outlines, but colored with

brilliant hues, before the imagination of my listeners. It resembled,

as it were, a beautiful fairy palace, to which led an immense, broad

staircase. This symbolized the temporal world in which, separated by

steps, the many called and the few chosen hurried on together. For, I

said, as all nature shows a gradual development from a lower to a

higher stage, in which no creature has reason to complain, since thus

alone can the omnipotence of God, which renders everything that might

be possible actual, reveal itself; so it is compatible with the

Creator's infinite righteousness that he does not endow all his

creatures equally, but makes distinctions, and, with apparent severity,

favors one and neglects another. Thus only could he have completed the

wondrous picture of the world, without leaving any step vacant or

overleaping transitions. If dissatisfaction should thereby arise, the

peace that is not of this world will at some future time silence all

complaints and reconcile all contradictions. On the day the portals of

that palace would open at the sound of the last trump, all who were

waiting on the stairs would be invited to celebrate the entrance into

the heavenly mansions. Ay, even those on the lowest step. For it is

explicitly written: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the

kingdom of heaven."

I now adorned this idea of a staircase, which, as the final tableau of

a fairy opera, would have done credit to a scene-painter, with the

necessary lay figures and heroic characters, which I will briefly pass

over here. It is only necessary to say that in the elect on the upper

step I described with tolerable clearness people of the stamp of my

employer and his family--high-born, wealthy mortals, endowed with every

advantage of nature and education, and also with the grace of true

religion; while on the lowest step crawled poverty-stricken creatures,

bereft of happiness, like Mother Lieschen, who, however, would also be

saved if they gathered the treasures which moth and rust do not

destroy.

After I had pronounced the benediction over the congregation and

descended the steep stairs of the pulpit, I felt fairly intoxicated by

my own fiery eloquence, and considered it only natural that the baron

should signify his most gracious approval by a nod of his handsome

head. The pastor's wife, on the contrary, had not changed her

expression in the least, and did not stir even when I passed close by

her. I forgave her from my heart for being unable to feel friendly to

the new star that outshone her husband.

The sexton, however, praised me lavishly. Only I had made my sermon a

little too aristocratic.

* * * * *

I could scarcely wait for the dinner-bell to ring, as I fully expected

that the whole conversation over the Sunday roast would turn upon my

sermon. But in this I was bitterly disappointed.

A guest had arrived who had not witnessed my oratorical triumph, a

thorough man of the world, as I perceived at the first glance. He was

called Cousin Kasimir; I do not know whether the relationship was

through the baron or his wife, for he was so disagreeable to me that I

vouchsafed him no special notice. The young gentleman had ridden over

from a neighboring estate, where he was living as a student of

agriculture, lured less by the aroma of the baronial table, which even

on Sunday promised no choice dishes, than, as everybody knew, by

designs on his cousin, the Canoness, in which he had long obstinately

persisted, though without any form of encouragement. He seemed to have

resolved not to attempt to take the coy fortress by storm, but induce

it to surrender by tenacious persistence. So he sat between Fraeulein

Luise and the young girl Leopoldine, without addressing a word to

either, but zealously striving to entertain the whole company by

amusing anecdotes, bits of gossip, and jests with Uncle Joachim. The

latter always gave him sharp, curt replies, whose quiet scorn the young

man did not appear to feel. In the intervals he discussed politics with

his host, of course from the standpoint of the nobility; and

Mademoiselle Suzon was the only lady at table who could boast of a

slight show of gallantry from him.

On the other hand, he did not seem to be aware of the existence of the

mistress of the house, nor of my important self, though the baron had

presented me to him with some flattering words about my intellectual

gifts.

Nothing was said of my sermon.

Wounded vanity naturally led me to cherish a secret, but all the more

bitter, hatred of the new guest. Even now, though I have long since

learned to smile at this pitiable youthful weakness, I must, for

truth's sake, admit that Cousin Kasimir, fine gentleman though he might

be, was an insufferable fellow, and had a face that might aptly be

styled a hang-dog countenance.

Very much annoyed, I went out into the garden as soon as we rose from

the table. I should have been glad to meet my honest friend Liborius,

not to hear him praise my pulpit eloquence, but to question him about

the object of my hate. He was, however, nowhere to be seen. He spent

his Sunday afternoons, as I learned later, in a neighboring village,

where he had placed a daughter, the child of an unlawful youthful love,

in the charge of worthy people. The baron inexorably banished

everything bordering upon unchaste relations from his pure

neighborhood.

I sat for a while under the budding trees on one of the most remote

benches in the park, and the worm of unsatisfied vanity gnawed my

heart. At last I consoled myself with the thought that the fitting

opportunity to speak of such exalted subjects had not yet come, and

when the conceited nobleman had taken leave the neglect would be more

than made up.

So I at last rose and resolved to have the church opened again and

improvise a short time on the organ, for I was accustomed to be my own

Orpheus, and quell, by the power of music, the wild beasts which, spite

of my religion, ever and anon stirred in my heart.

But as I approached the little summer-house where Uncle Joachim lodged,

I saw the door open and Fraeulein Luise come out, taking leave of her

friend with a cordial clasp of the hand.

I confess that this meeting was not exactly welcome. Her icy

manner--even colder than usual--at dinner had told me plainly enough

that I had by no means advanced in her esteem. But in certain moods a

vain man longs to hear himself talked about at any cost, and would

rather endure the most pitiless verdict than the offense of silence.

Therefore, instead of turning into a side-path, I quickened my steps

toward my foe, who, without taking the slightest notice of me, friendly

or otherwise, quietly pursued her way to the kitchen-garden.

I soon came up with her, bowed politely, and asked whether she objected

to my bearing her company a few moments.

"Not in the least," she calmly replied. She merely desired to look at

the young plants, which was not an occupation in which one could not be

disturbed.

We walked for some distance side by side in silence. She did not

wear the gray dress to-day, but a black one, whose contrast made her

fair face look still whiter. A thin gold chain, from which hung an

old-fashioned locket, was twisted around her neck. I afterward learned

that it contained her mother's miniature. I do not remember ever having

seen her wear any other ornament.

Her expression was even colder and more repellent than usual, yet she

seemed to me more beautiful than on the first day I saw her. She again

wore over her golden hair the little black kerchief I thought her most

becoming head-gear.

"You were at church to-day, Fraeulein," I began at last, for I felt that

I must hear something about my sermon.

"Yes," she answered, gazing calmly at the freshly dug beds by the path.

"But I shall not go again when you preach."

"Why?"

"Because I will not have the God I love marred by you."

This was too much. I stopped as though a loaded pistol had been fired

under my nose.

"Permit me to ask," I said, essaying a superior smile, "in what respect

the God you love differs from him whom we all, including myself, have

worshiped in our Sunday service to-day."

"Oh, if you wish to know," she replied with a slight curl of the lip,

which, spite of my wrath at her depreciation, I thought bewitching.

"You have made a God who reigns in heaven very much as an aristocratic

patron of the church rules his estate. When there is a harvest festival

here, and the peasants come into the court-yard of the castle to cheer

the noble family, they arrange themselves on the steps very much as, in

your imagination, humanity stands on your staircase: the magistrates at

the top, then the villagers, graded according to the amount of their

property and cattle, and at the very bottom Mother Lieschen, who owns

nothing but a wretched hut, a dog, and a goat, yet nevertheless

receives a gracious glance because, as you think, she is poor in

spirit. To certain ears this may have been an admirable prophecy of the

Day of Judgment. In the ears of God it must have sounded somewhat

differently."

"Then you do not admit the gradual development of all mortal

creatures?"

"Certainly. Who would deny it? Only the image of poor humanity probably

looks somewhat different to the omniscient eyes of God than when seen

through the spectacles of our arrogant prejudices. If there were such a

staircase, reaching to the portals of heaven, Mother Lieschen might

perhaps stand on the topmost step, and certain others, to whom you have

borne such flattering testimony, at the very bottom."

I wished to give the conversation, which was becoming more and more

embarrassing to me, a different turn, and said in the gayest tone I

could assume:

"You seem to be a special patroness of this old dame, who doubtless

possesses a multitude of secret virtues. You preferred the seat by her

side to one in the baron's pew."

She now stopped in her turn, flashing so strange a glance at me from

her brown eyes, that all inclination to jest vanished.

"Yes," she said, "I like to sit where my heart attracts me. I think

there would be neither patrons' pews in the church, nor hereditary

tombs in the grave-yard, if people did not merely bear God's words on

their lips, but were aware that we are all sinners and lack the grace

we ought to have before God. Their forgetfulness of it is the fault of

the false expounders of the gospel, who value worldly profit more than

the kingdom of heaven. Ay, look at me, Herr Weissbrod. You, too, are

among them, spite of your excellent theological testimonials and St.

John's head. Otherwise you would not speak of the old dame with pitying

contempt, merely because she is the poorest person in the parish. First

learn to know her as I do. Then I hope your derision of her secret

virtues will cease. That she _does_ conceal them is possibly her

greatest merit, and God, who seeth in secret, will perhaps reward her

openly."

She turned away with a hasty gesture of indignation, and seemed about

to leave me. But I was not so easily shaken off.

"I have irritated you, Fraeulein," I said somewhat dejectedly. "We will

discuss my theology no further. But I should be very grateful if you

would give me some other particulars of your protegee. I really did not

intend to despise the old dame on account of her poverty."

"Really?" she retorted. "Did you not? Well, I will believe you, though

you don't seem to possess much knowledge of character. But you would be

greatly mistaken if you supposed that Mother Lieschen is one of the

poor in spirit. Let me tell you that I owe all, or at any rate a large

share, of my love and reverence for God, and the small amount of

Christian patience I have acquired, solely to my intercourse with this

sorely tried soul. When I made her acquaintance, six years ago, I had a

defiant, despairing heart. Now I believe, in all humility and

cheerfulness, that my Creator will impose upon me no heavier burden

than I can bear, and know that a human being who possesses genuine

nobility can never lose it, no matter into what society he may be

thrown. Only he must fear God more than men, even those who, in your

opinion, stand on the highest step, next the angels and archangels, as

at court the second rank of nobility is close beside the royal

personage. You wonder to hear a Canoness speak so irreverently of noble

birth. But I have seen too many base and contemptible acts perpetrated

by people with the longest pedigrees, to feel very proud of my

ancestors. There will be quite a different Almanach de Gotha in heaven

from the one here below, I think, and perhaps there Mother Lieschen

will have a nine-pointed coronet over her name."

Wondering more and more, I made no reply. She had hurled these remarks

at me with sharp abruptness, while her fair face flushed, and the

little locks on her temples trembled with repressed excitement. I had

had no idea that an aristocratic young lady could cherish such

democratic ideas and express them as a matter of course.

"Tell me more about this rare Christian," I asked at last.

"Oh, that is soon done. She lost three fine sons in the war of

liberation; her only daughter was led astray by a dissolute

fellow--also one of those on the highest step; her husband, who until

then had been thoroughly steady, was driven by sorrow to the demon of

drink, and died a wretched death. She herself was at first utterly

crushed by all these troubles, especially as the little property she

possessed was lost through faithless people. But she remembered the

promise, 'All things work together for good, to them that love God,'

and resolved that she would not suffer herself to be overwhelmed, but

in her great desolation constantly sought those who were as sorely

tried, nursed the sick, and shared her last mouthful with a poor

outcast till the girl could maintain herself. While thus employed, her

old heart became at last so cheerful that whenever I am with her all my

own somber thoughts leave me, and I would rather cross her threshold

than stand on the topmost step of your staircase and be invited to

enter by an aristocratic archangel, as the reception of the few elect

was just being held. Now I will bid you good-evening, Herr Weissbrod. I

have something to tell Uncle Joachim."

After passing through the kitchen-garden, we had again reached the

little summer-house. The Canoness nodded haughtily, raised the latch,

and left me standing outside, disturbed and bewildered.

* * * * *

But, strange to say, roughly as the shower-bath had dashed over me, I

did not feel in the least chilled, but revived and strengthened, as we

do after a rain which, though drenching us to the skin, has at the same

time washed all the dust and feverish heat from our limbs, so that,

even while shaking and shivering, we can not help laughing at the

baptism.

Even had her words been more severe and stinging they would have

inflicted no sharp wounds, for the voice which uttered them soothed me

like balm, though the tones were by no means gentle, but often harsh

with indignation. Yet, when she spoke of the persons and things that

were dear to her, one could imagine no richer melody. I felt in that

hour a strange ambition to have her voice some day pronounce my name

also in that sweet, thrilling tone.

And how her whole appearance had bewitched me, while she lectured me so

pitilessly!

I was lost in reverie as I returned to the castle. Cousin Kasimir met

me, and asked if I knew where Fraeulein Luise was. I shook my head. Even

his hang-dog face did not seem quite so disagreeable when the pinched

lips uttered that name.

And how I felt an hour later when, unable to fix my thoughts upon any

occupation, I sat at my tower-window and suddenly heard beneath me

the piano and then the voice for which I had so passionately longed.

To-day, since the time for sleep had not yet come, there was no

repression, but a power and fullness of melody which, when a note

seemed to soar triumphantly upward, or to sink into the very depths of

the soul, sometimes brought my heart into my throat. It was another

aria by the same composer, who was her special favorite. For nearly an

hour this pure flood of harmony flowed through my penitent soul. I may

truly say that whatever transformation of my nature her words had

failed to accomplish was completed by her singing.

When the supper hour arrived, I sent word by the servant that I begged

to be excused, I was not well.

With this fib my first Sunday ended. I was, on the contrary, so

rapturously well that I could not bear to be confined within four

walls, but slipped out into the open air and sauntered for several

hours, with an overflowing heart, under the waving branches of the

trees, and over the young grain sprouting in the dark fields, until all

the lights in the castle were extinguished.

* * * * *

If, from the foregoing confession of faith, you have drawn the

inference that Herr Johannes Weissbrod had regularly fallen in love

with Fraeulein Luise von X., the conjecture might be termed premature.

True, I had had as yet no personal experience in this department, but I

knew from the stories of others, and my own few observations, that love

includes the tender desire to take possession of the beloved object.

Even in its boldest dreams my agitated soul had not felt a trace of

such a yearning. If ever so-called Platonic affection existed, it was

in my case, though some eccentricities would have given a third person

cause to smile.

For, albeit I could not help thinking constantly of her, I did not feel

this constraint, after the manner of lovers, as a sweet bond imposed

upon me, but struggled against my chains, and had moments when I almost

hated them, though even then she seemed to me one of the most

remarkable human beings I had ever met. At such times I would gladly

have practiced some little act of retaliation upon her--of course

merely to shame her, and show that I really was no such contemptible

fellow, but with my intellect and learning could have held my own

beside any arrogant young lady.

I also detected in myself a secret envy, which will show you how far I

was from the usual condition of being in love. I would gladly have been

in Uncle Joachim's place, even for a few hours, to feel how it seemed

to be liked and honored by this girl. And, if this could not be, I

would have even consented to be transformed by some magic spell into

Mother Lieschen.

At night I dreamed that the beautiful staircase to the portal of heaven

was before me perfectly empty; but when I tried to mount it I

constantly slipped back, till at last I remained with bruised knees on

the lowest step. Just at that moment the door opened and St. Peter came

out--who, however, bore a striking likeness to Uncle Joachim--leading

with his right hand the Canoness and with his left Mother Lieschen. All

three looked down at me and suddenly began to laugh. I started up

angrily, and gave them a sharp lecture on the wickedness of malice.

While I was in the midst of it, the little old baroness came up, looked

compassionately at me, and said, "Give me your hand, my son." Then she

led me up the stairs with as light a step as if she were no longer an

invalid, saying, "You see, Johannes, it is perfectly easy, only we must

leave behind the learned luggage you have dragged with you in your

trunk." And, indeed, it seemed as if I had received winged shoes, like

the messenger of the Greek gods, yet the stairs appeared endless.

Higher and higher I floated, but still saw the three at the same

distance above me, only they were no longer laughing, and the vision

constantly grew paler, till at last I beheld nothing but the horn

buttons on St. Peter's gray coat, glittering like stars, and the

Canoness's golden hair shone like the sun on a winter day, while Mother

Lieschen's gray locks fluttered around her little pale face like the

autumn clouds about the moon. When at last the dread that I should

never get up found utterance in a shrill cry, I woke and felt ashamed

that the sun was shining on my bed.

* * * * *

My first business that morning was to send for the barber who shaved

the baron every day, and have him cut my hair. True, what remained was

still brushed behind my ears, the parting, however, was no longer

exactly in the middle, but a little on the left side. When I went down

with my pupil to the history lesson I was vexed that this important

change in my outer man, symbolical of a transformation of my views, did

not receive a glance from her on whom I hoped it would produce an

impression. Achatz alone made some foolish remark about it, which I

sternly reproved. Fraeulein Luise again sat at the window, sewing on a

child's jacket, as completely unmoved as if nothing had passed between

us the day before.

So she remained during the whole week. I did not understand how I could

have fancied, even in a dream, that I heard her laugh, for she never

laughed.

I should have been delighted to meet her again alone, but she never

permitted it. So I had no resource except to continue in my next sermon

our conversation in the kitchen-garden, an expedient which gave me one

advantage--she would be unable to interrupt me.

But, while in the act of connecting my sermon with my cleverly chosen

text, the old pastor sent me word by one of the school-children that,

as his foot was now tolerably well, he intended to occupy the pulpit

himself on the following Sunday.

This greatly annoyed me. When the Sunday came I should have preferred

to stay away from church, especially as I did not know which would be

the most suitable seat for me. I could not take my place in the baron's

pew without a special invitation, which was not given, and I did not

consider it exactly proper to sit among the congregation. So I chose an

excellent expedient by joining the schoolmaster in the organ-loft,

where a dozen towheaded children stared at me. Requesting the worthy

man, by a condescending gesture, not to trouble himself about me, I sat

down on a stool behind the low wooden railing.

From here I could overlook the whole church except the last bench under

the organ-loft, which was the very one that most interested me, because

I supposed Mother Lieschen and some one else to be there. But I had not

much time for such thoughts.

While the hymn was being sung, the door of the vestry opened and the

old pastor appeared, accompanied by the sexton, who carried the Bible,

while his wife walked by his side, supporting his feeble steps with her

strong hand. With trembling knees the old clergyman slowly ascended the

pulpit stairs, and was obliged to rest for a time--which he passed in

silent prayer--in a chair that had been placed for him. Then he rose as

if refreshed, and, when he had opened the Bible and cast a long, gentle

glance over the congregation, he seemed ten years younger, and his

wrinkled but kindly apostolic face glowed as though illumined by the

fire of youth.

He had chosen for his text the words of the seventh psalm: "My defense

is of God, which saveth the upright in heart."

I had intended to watch sharply, to endeavor to detect some reference

to my own sermon, as I could well imagine that the pastor's wife had

told her husband about it, and not in the most favorable way. But after

the first few sentences all my vain self-consciousness vanished, and

even my renowned powers of theological criticism, which I had so often

valiantly tested at the university. True, there was no trace of any

controversial disposition in the low words from those withered lips,

which, however, were so distinct that not one remained unheard. The old

man opened his reverent heart to all who had ears to listen, as a

father speaks to the children who cluster around his knees. I have

forgotten what he said. It was anything but what is termed an

intellectual discourse. But the tone of his voice has rung in my ears

all my life, as though I had heard it only yesterday.

I can remember but one thing: that he referred to the calamity of the

preceding year, when floods and stunted harvests had affected the

village; but all this trouble had not been able to depress pious

hearts, only those who did not have God for their shield, and what a

precious thing this shield was, and many more simple, earnest words of

this sort, all appealing with gentle power to every heart, because they

did not merely spring from the lips, but were felt in the depths of the

soul.

The dull peasants listened so breathlessly that the fall of a leaf

might have been heard in the church. I glanced once at the occupants of

the red pew. The baron had closed his eyes and bowed his handsome head

on his breast--in contrition, as I first thought. Then I perceived, by

the strange nodding, as it drooped lower, that he was indulging in a

little nap. His wife's face, on the contrary, was raised, and she did

not avert her eyes from the venerable bald head and silver locks of the

speaker. As Mademoiselle Suzon was of a different faith, it could

hardly be considered a crime that she was constantly glancing here and

there over the congregation.

When the sermon was over, and the people were just preparing to sing

the last two verses of that day's hymn, I hastily signed to the

schoolmaster to let me take his seat at the organ, and at first

modestly played the accompaniment; afterward, however, I put forth all

my skill, not from the vain desire to make myself talked about, but an

earnest longing to pour forth in music all the emotions of my

overflowing heart.

A magnificent motet by Graun had been constantly echoing in my ears

during the sermon, a harmony as full of the faith of childhood and the

gentleness of age as the nature of the old clergyman in the pulpit. I

now began to play it with a quiet fervor and triumphant devotion which

finally made the tears gush from my own eyes. At the same time the

image of the maiden whom I revered rose before my mind, and, as I had

so long been unable to communicate with her in words, it was a pleasure

to think: She is hearing you play, and, as her own being is instinct

with music, you will approach her across all the gulfs that yawn

between you, and she must begin to think better of you!

When I at last closed with a bit of improvisation, and rose, glowing

with excitement, I saw close behind me the whole flock of children from

both villages, who had stolen softly up from below and gathered around

with shy reverence, as if I were a magician. But I sought only one pair

of eyes, and enjoyed the first happy moment for several days. The

Canoness was standing beside the old peasant woman, gazing rapturously

into vacancy, as though still under the thrall of the notes she had

just heard. As I passed with a slight bow, she only moved her blonde

lashes a little, while her lips parted in a serene smile. No

enthusiastic eulogy could have rewarded me more highly.

* * * * *

I could scarcely wait to meet her again at dinner. I fully expected

that she would at last break her cold silence, and question me about

what I had played, my musical studies and tastes. But nothing of the

sort occurred. Nay, while all the others were praising and admiring me,

and the Frenchwoman, with studied graciousness, kept her black eyes on

my face, and laid a large piece of roast goose on my plate with her own

hands, Fraeulein Luise looked at me so absently and indifferently that I

could not help secretly brooding over this mystery.

I was also annoyed because the baron, who had made no allusion to my

sermon, delivered a long speech about my organ-music, from which I

perceived that he had not taken the slightest interest in it, and was

merely patching together, with a defective memory, certain phrases

about the value of music to religious consciousness and the sin of

considering the old church-hymns antiquated.

But Uncle Joachim vouchsafed me for the first time a brief conversation

in a low tone, which, however, I scarcely regarded as an honor. I

thought him an insignificant, frivolous old nobleman; besides, he had

not been to church at all.

I longed to learn whether I owed the happy moment after my playing to

self-delusion, or what was the reason I had again fallen into disfavor

with the Canoness. So, soon after dinner, I went into the park and

sauntered about within a short distance of the summer-house, holding in

my hand a book, at which I gazed intently without reading a line.

My friend Liborius had told me that Fraeulein Luise drank coffee every

Sunday afternoon with her Uncle Joachim, who made it himself in his

little pot, and ordered the cakes from the town at the next station.

They always enjoyed it very much, and could often be heard talking and

laughing loudly together.

I had seen her go there that day, after giving a Sunday morsel to the

sick peacock and stroking its back as it came up to her, screaming and

fluttering. I did not understand how she could love the spiteful,

disagreeable bird, any more than I could comprehend what attracted her

to her godless uncle, with his sarcastic smile, whom I so greatly

envied on account of her preference. I waited at my post an hour and a

half in a very irritated mood, and was just in the act of turning away,

and driving the arrogant enchantress out of my thoughts, when the door

of the summer-house opened and she herself appeared, evidently in the

gayest humor.

But, as she caught sight of me, a shadow instantly flitted over her

face, and only a faint smile of superiority lingered on her lips.

"You are waiting for me, Herr Weissbrod," she said, carelessly,

advancing directly to me. "You want a compliment for your church

concert, do you not? Well, you played very finely."

I was so bewildered by this address, and still more by the glance with

which she seemed to illumine my inmost heart, and read my most secret

thoughts, that at first I could only stammer a few unmeaning words. She

seemed to pity my awkwardness.

"Yes," she repeated, "you really played very finely. Where did you

learn? Our organ sounds well, doesn't it? Do you play on the piano

too?"

I answered that I had taken lessons at college, but had never made much

progress on the piano, which required greater dexterity. Besides, there

were no such beautiful, solemn melodies for the piano as for the organ.

She again looked at me with so strange an expression that I lowered my

eyes.

"Do you love music only when it is solemn?" she asked, and turned away

as if to leave me. But I was determined to speak freely and compel her

to confess her grudge against me.

"I thought you would be of the same opinion on this point," I answered,

hastily. "At least I have only heard you sing slow, solemn melodies."

"Me? Oh, yes! You are my neighbor in the tower." She smiled faintly,

but instantly grew grave again. "Well, would you like to know why I

sing nothing else? Because I have a heavy voice that does not suit gay

airs. Yet 'Bloom, dear Violet,' and 'When I on my Faded Cheek,' or

anything still more light and cheerful, can touch the feelings as much

as the most devout choral, if it only comes from a merry heart and a

pure voice. True, we can not win artistic renown or be considered

specially pious by singing such things; though I think God has the same

pleasure in the chirp of the cricket as in the trills of the

nightingale."

"You wound me, Fraeulein," I answered, crimson with emotion. "You do me

great injustice if you believe that what I do or leave undone is for

the sake of external effect. Who gave you so bad an opinion of me?"

She stopped and looked at me again, not into my eyes, but at my hair,

whose parting had meanwhile daily moved farther to the left.

"Do you really care to know what I think of you? Well, I believe you

vain and weak, a man who no longer reflects upon anything because he

imagines he has made himself familiar, once for all, with all the

enigmas of life, though he does not yet know even the first word of

them. I don't blame you, for I know that this is the case with most of

those who have pursued your path. But, as I have different ideas of the

one thing needful, we certainly have nothing to share with each other."

I felt a keen pang at these words, but was resolved at any cost to know

more, to know everything.

"And what is your idea of the one thing needful?" I asked, trembling

with emotion. "You say such hard things to me. Are you perfectly sure

that you have a right to do so? Are you certain that you are yourself

in possession of the right knowledge?"

"Oh, no," she replied, and her voice suddenly sounded strangely low and

earnest, as if she were speaking only to herself; "but I know that I

seek truth and allow myself to be led astray by no external delusion,

peril, or reward. No more can be required of any one, but no human

being should demand less from himself. I don't know why I am saying

this to you; I see by your puzzled face that it is a language wholly

unfamiliar. Well, I have neither taste nor talent for converting any

one. I shall thank God if I can conquer myself."

She bent over a bed to straighten a young cabbage-plant that had just

been set out and was half trodden down.

"Fraeulein," I said, once more fully conscious of my ecclesiastical

dignity, "has not God himself pointed out to us the way in which we

must seek him? And is it not boastful to disdain this allotted way and

seek a side-path, merely in order to be able to say to ourselves that

we do not follow the high-road?"

She straightened herself, and flashed a glance at me from her dark

eyes, which she always closed a little when angry.

"Boastful!" she answered. "If food that neither satisfies nor nourishes

is offered, and I can break from some bough fruit that suits me better!

Boastful, because I do not wish to starve! That is only another of

those speeches learned by rote. You do not even suspect how much you

yourself suffer from arrogance." Then, after a pause, during which I

persistently asked myself, "Good Heavens! what am I to do? how shall I

say anything that does not displease her?" she added:

"I will tell you why the high-road is so detestable to me: because I

can not bear to hear strangers chatter thoughtlessly about things I

love. If I revere any human being, it always seems to me like a

desecration to hear him approved and praised by others who do not know

him so well; how much more when I hear all sorts of things said about

my Creator, things which distort the image of him I cherish in my

heart! I suddenly turn as cold as ice, and feel as much oppressed as if

he were taken from me, and strangers were pressing between us. Whoever

really loves God keeps that love secretly, does not repeat others'

protestations of affection, nor use worn-out forms of speech already

employed a thousand times. It seems to me like having a love-letter

copied from a letter-writer. You know the passage in the Bible that

says we must go to our closets and shut the door. Yet you come forward

publicly and preach your petty human wisdom, as if you were thereby

doing God a special favor. If you had a wife, would you not be ashamed

to plant yourself in the village street and protest that she was a

paragon of her sex?"

"Oh," I said, "how can you make such a comparison! God belongs to no

one person alone."

"Do you really believe so? I think, on the contrary, that God belongs

to every human being alone. He dwells in a special way in each human

soul, and whoever does not feel this has not received him into his

heart at all."

"Then you object to all public worship, Fraeulein?"

"No, only that which prevents our coming to ourselves and God within

us. Did you not hear how our old pastor preached to-day? How completely

he forgot that he was in a crowded church, and poured out his heart as

if he were alone with his Creator! So every one had time to do the

same, and also approach God in his own soul. The rest of the old man's

discourse was like a father talking to his children. Even if they did

not all agree with him, they heard him speak from his inmost heart, and

were glad to have him still among them and see his venerable white hair

and his gentle eyes."

"Then it surely is not my fault if I can not assume the right paternal

tone, since my hair is not yet white," I answered, trying to jest.

"Not your fault," she replied, "but the fault of those who believe

young people capable of taking charge of a parish. Well, it is all the

same to me."

"Because you will not go to church again when I preach? Oh, Fraeulein,

try once more! Don't give me up too quickly! What you have said has

made a deeper impression upon me than you suppose. Perhaps we may yet

understand each other better than you now believe."

She reflected an instant, and then said: "Very well, if you lay stress

upon it, I will try once more. At the worst, I can think of something

else. Farewell!"

She left me, and walked with her swift, even steps to the castle.

* * * * *

I can not describe the state of mind in which I spent the days until

the following Sunday.

When a house, in which a man has lived safely and happily for years,

suddenly falls under the shock of an earthquake, and he escapes, at

great peril, with bruised head and half-broken limbs into the open air,

his feelings may be somewhat akin to mine.

At first, it is true, the old Adam stirred and tried to reconstruct the

ruined edifice and persuade me that it might be made habitable again.

But I soon felt that the dust floating around it oppressed my breathing

more and more, and the old walls shook at the slightest motion. Only

one little room had escaped the universal destruction--the one I was to

enter and shut the door behind me to be alone with my Creator and my

love for him.

But I am not writing the confessions of my own soul and my incarnation,

but the account of a far better and more interesting human being. So I

will be brief.

My anxiety lest the old pastor should be able to fill his pulpit again

the following Sunday, for which I did not reproach myself at all,

though it showed little love for my neighbor, had been superfluous. His

disease again confined him to the arm-chair by the window. But he

talked long and cordially with me, and, when on my departure he

embraced me, I thought I perceived that he was better satisfied with my

conversation this time than during our first interview. With his wife,

however, I had found no special favor as yet.

When the Sunday had come and I heard the bells ring and the hymn was

sung, I was obliged to drink a glass of the wine kept in the vestry for

the communion service, in order to control the wholly unprecedented

weakness that assailed me. My knees trembled as if I were about to

plead my own cause before a jury, in a case where my life was at stake.

Yet there were only two judges in the church whose verdict I valued--my

own consciousness, and the grave face beside Mother Lieschen in the

last pew.

To be brief, the culprit was absolved.