And when I began to speak it was not long ere I forgot everything
around and was entirely alone in the church with one whom hitherto I
had only known afar off, but who now for the first time drew near me,
clasped my cold, damp hand, and gazed into my eyes with indescribable
goodness, gentleness, and majesty, so that I clung fervently to him and
poured forth all the trouble of my bewildered soul till he raised and
blessed me.
My heart was so melted by the feeling of having at last beheld my God
that I did not even glance at the pew under the organ-loft. But, in a
pause which I was compelled to make to control my emotion, I perceived
two things that satisfied me that I had found the right words: the
pastor's wife was gazing affectionately at me with motherly love, as if
she were listening to her own son, and the baron had again let his chin
sink on his breast and was sleeping the sleep of the just, as soundly
and sweetly as I had seen him on the previous Sunday during the old
pastor's sermon.
* * * * *
I could scarcely wait for dinner. I did not expect a kind word from any
of the others, but I firmly believed that she would grant me a friendly
look.
But, as I entered the dining-room, my first glance fell on the cold,
arrogant face of Cousin Kasimir, and all my pleasure was spoiled.
True, my heart grew warm again. For the first time Uncle Joachim was
not the only one who pressed my hand. Fraeulein Luise also extended
hers, which was neither small nor especially white, but, when I
cordially clasped and pressed it, I felt a joy akin to that of the
first man when the Creator stretched out his hand and bade him rise and
look heavenward.
It was but a brief happiness; I perceived, by the Canoness's stern eyes
and compressed lips, that she was no longer thinking of me and my
sermon, but of something repulsive and hopeless. Besides, she did not
whisper some confidential remark to her neighbor now and then, as
usual, and a leaden cloud of discomfort rested upon the whole company
at table.
Cousin Kasimir alone seemed to be in an unusually cheerful mood, which,
however, did not appear quite natural, and chattered continually,
telling hunting stories, news from Berlin, and occasionally commencing
bits of gossip, which the baron hastened to interrupt on the children's
account.
He was very handsomely dressed, wore a small bouquet of violets in his
new dark-blue coat, and had carefully trimmed his somewhat thin fair
hair and small mustache.
As soon as we rose from the table, the Canoness was retiring as usual,
but her uncle said: "Come to my room, Luise." She looked at him with a
steady, almost defiant glance, then stooped to kiss her aunt's cheek
and followed him.
Cousin Kasimir had approached Mademoiselle Suzon, to whom he constantly
paid compliments in French, without receiving any special
encouragement. My pupil had seized his sister's hand and hurried off to
show her a new gun Cousin Kasimir had brought him. The old baroness sat
in her high-backed chair, gazing at the beautiful blue sky as if her
thoughts were far away. I took my leave of her, which roused her from
her abstraction, and she gave me her little wrinkled hand, looked at me
with her sad, gentle eyes, and said: "You edified me greatly to-day,
Herr Candidate. God bless you for it."
At any other time this praise would have greatly delighted me, but
to-day all my thoughts were fixed on the person to whom my heart clung,
and I could not shake off the idea that she was now enduring an
unpleasant scene. I went up to my chamber in the tower and paced
restlessly to and fro within its four walls, like a wild beast
in a cage. Sometimes I went to the window and looked down into the
court-yard without knowing what I expected to see there. An hour
probably passed in this way, then a groom led Cousin Kasimir's horse to
the foot of the steps and, directly after, he himself appeared,
accompanied by the master of the house. He was very much excited, he
had cocked his hat defiantly over his left eye, and was lashing his
high boots violently with his riding-whip. I heard his disagreeable
laugh, which now sounded angry and malignant. He shook the baron's hand
and, with a wrathful smile, said a few words I did not understand,
which brought a sullen look to his companion's face. Then he swung
himself into the saddle, driving his spurs into the flanks of his noble
horse so cruelly that it reared high in the air, and then darted like
an arrow down the elm avenue with its savage rider.
I remained standing at the window a little longer; I did not know
myself why I felt so strangely relieved by this speedy departure.
Something decisive, something that had made the hated cousin's blood
boil, had evidently occurred. And I grudged him no vexation.
The air was now pure again, and I determined to go down to the
kitchen-garden in quest of information. But, while passing Uncle
Joachim's open windows, I did not hear the Canoness's voice, and could
nowhere find any trace of her. The peacock screamed so discontentedly
as I passed him that I knew he had not received his usual Sunday
dainty. But in other respects the garden was very pleasant, the beds
were full of spring flowers, and the first light-green foliage was
waving on all the branches in the delightful May air. At last I met my
old friend Liborius.
He was sitting in his clean white sleeves on one of the farthest
benches, with a tattered book in his hand, and a cigar, a luxury he
allowed himself only on Sunday, between his teeth.
I sat down beside him, took the volume, which was nothing worse than a
novel by Van der Velde, now forgotten, and ere ten minutes had passed I
knew everything I desired to learn. For, as the castle afforded no
other entertainment, so thorough a system of watching and listening had
been established that the family might as well have discussed their
most private affairs before the assembled servants as behind closed
doors.
The long and short of the matter was that Cousin Kasimir had sued for
the hand of the Canoness; but the latter, on being informed by her
uncle of the flattering and advantageous offer, had curtly replied that
she felt neither love nor esteem for the suitor, and begged once for
all that she might hear no more about him.
A terrible scene had followed, the baron had flown into an
inconceivable fury, upbraided her for her poverty, her impiety, her
defiance of his kindness and wisdom as her guardian, and who could tell
where it might have ended had not the young lady turned away with a
contemptuous shrug of the shoulders and left the room.
Now even her pleasant coffee-drinking with Uncle Joachim was spoiled.
She had locked herself up in her chamber, and would not see any human
being.
I heard all this--part of which I had already conjectured--with secret
triumph, bade my informant good-evening, and strolled through the park
into the open country.
Never had I been so happy on any day I had spent in the castle. A small
quiet flame was burning in my breast, as if it were some pure
hearthstone, and must have shone from my eyes. At least all who met me
looked at me as if they saw me for the first time, or, rather, were
wondering what change had taken place in me. The peasants in that
neighborhood are not loquacious, but more than one stopped of his own
accord and said something about the crops, the weather, and the need of
a good harvest, in which I thought I heard the assurance that they no
longer considered me a stranger, but would confidently confess their
spiritual wants as well as their external ones.
And the young grain was so beautifully green, the little fleecy clouds
in the bright sky drifted along so gayly, the countless nightingales
were already beginning their evening songs, scarcely a patch of green
was visible in the meadows among the spring flowers, the dogs lay
yawning and stretching in front of the little houses, which extended
from the village to the fir-wood, and the only person who had been like
the Satan of this beautiful spot of earth, Cousin Kasimir, had
departed, gnashing his teeth, leaving the good people to enjoy the
bright Sunday repose.
When I at last approached the little wood, whose narrow border of young
birch-trees bounded the last inhabited tract, I saw a low hut whose
straw roof looked as awry and dilapidated as a moth-eaten fur cap that
has fallen over one of its wearer's ears. I knew that Mother Lieschen
lived here, but had always passed by it on my strolls. To-day some
impulse prompted me to go there.
It was a miserable shelter for a human being, having but one window by
the side of the low door, and only a single room, which had not been
whitewashed for many years. A patch of ground behind it, inclosed by
a low, ruinous fence, contained a few potato-plants and two tiny
flower-beds, both still empty. A lean goat, tethered to the fence, was
grazing on a bit of turf; two pairs of stockings and a much-darned
shirt were hanging on the old palings to dry. Yet this scene of the
deepest poverty seemed to me more beautiful than Gessner's trimmest
idyl, for, on the bench before the house, by the side of the old woman,
whose thin gray hair fluttered unconfined, sat the object of my secret
worship.
* * * * *
The Canoness held on her lap a woman's old blue waist, which she was so
busily engaged in darning that she did not notice my approach until I
stood close before her. Mother Lieschen was half blind, and could not
see anything at a distance of more than two paces.
I was greatly astonished, when Fraeulein Luise looked up at me, to see
in her beautiful, calm face no trace of the emotions which had
embittered the afternoon.
She greeted me in her usual simple way, but I felt that I was no longer
a disagreeable object. With a slight blush, she told me that she was
helping the old woman--whose stiff fingers could scarcely hold the
needle--with her sewing. I asked if I might join them, and took my seat
on the bottom of a wash-tub turned upside down. The kitten came out of
the hut, rubbed purring against me, and at last jumped confidingly into
my lap. Then a short conversation began, which seemed to me far more
interesting than the most profound debates at our college.
I do not know what we talked about, but I can still remember that the
old dame, who spoke the purest Low German, sometimes made brief, droll
remarks, which greatly amused all three of us. She had asked Fraeulein
Luise to tell her about Berlin, where, though nearly seventy, she had
never been. But the Canoness did not relate all the marvels as if she
were talking to a child, but as though she expected from Mother
Lieschen's wisdom a decisive verdict upon people and things. I rarely
mingled in the conversation between the two friends, but gazed intently
at the Canoness's beautiful bowed face and amber hair, and then at the
slender fingers that used the needle and thread so nimbly. Sometimes
the goat bleated, and the kitten arched her soft back to rub it against
my hand.
At last the difficult task was finished, and Fraeulein Luise rose,
pressed the old dame's shriveled fingers, pushed back from her face a
few gray hairs that had fallen over her eyes, and prepared to return
home.
I asked if I might accompany her, and she silently nodded assent.
Yet at first we said nothing. I cast stolen side-glances at her. She
wore a dark summer dress, very simple in style, which, like all her
clothes--as I knew through friend Liborius--she had made herself. But
it fitted her so well. Her figure, which afterward became somewhat too
stout, was then in its most perfect symmetry.
At last I said, "You are becoming a deaconess, Fraeulein, after all. At
least, I am constantly meeting you engaged in some work of charity."
She looked calmly at me. "I hope you don't say that in mockery, because
you do not believe in works, and think salvation is gained only by
faith. But I have never understood that. Whoever regards neighborly
love as not merely a command, but a necessity of the heart, can be
happy on earth only when he helps his fellow-man wherever he can. And
do you really believe any one can be happy in heaven who was not so on
earth?"
I now launched into a long discourse upon salvation by faith, till I
perceived that she was listening absently.
Suddenly she interrupted me.
"No, I would not do for a deaconess. If I were to wear a special
uniform of Christian charity, I should begin to be ashamed of what is
best and dearest within me. A thing that is a matter of course ought
not to be made a profession whose sign we wear. Others, I know, think
differently. But neither could I put on the pastor's robe, if I were a
man. Yet perhaps it is necessary; people cling to appearances, and
clothes make people."
She said all this interruptedly, stooping frequently to gather
flowers--which she arranged in a bouquet--from the meadows through
which we were walking.
Somewhat embarrassed to defend my position, I tried to help myself with
a jest.
"I would give much if I could see you stand in the pulpit in a black
robe and bands, and hear you preach. But tell me, if you had been a
man, what profession would you have chosen?"
The Canoness stood still a moment, apparently gazing at a wide, radiant
prospect with a rapt expression I had never seen on her face before.
"I would have been an artist, an actor, or a singer," she said, softly.
"An actor?" I replied, scarcely concealing my horror.
"What do you discover so terrible in that?" she asked, with a slight,
sarcastic smile. "Is it not a magnificent thing to embody the
characters of a great author, to cast noble, beautiful thoughts among
the throng of breathless listeners? But perhaps you know nothing about
it. You believe the theatre to be a sink of iniquity, like so many of
your class. I can only pity you. I have neither the desire nor the
power to convert you to a better view."
"And where were you yourself converted?"
"Oh, I--I, like you, was reared to loathe this so-called jugglery. But,
three years ago, I spent several months in Berlin. An old aunt, who was
very fond of me, sent for me because she was entirely alone. Uncle
Joachim took me to her. There I spent the happiest period of my life,
and there the scales fell from my eyes."
"If those are your views, have you never felt tempted to become a
singer?" I inquired. "With your beautiful voice and love for music--"
"No," she answered, firmly, "as a girl I should never have ventured
into that career. For the very reason that music lies so near my heart,
I should feel it a desecration to be compelled to come forward and
reveal my inmost soul to strangers, who had paid for tickets. Perhaps,
if I had true genius, it would bear me above all such scruples. And yet
the greatest singer I ever heard, Milder--have you heard Milder?"