III.

Several weeks have passed since I wrote the last lines. When I laid the

sheet in the portfolio--a music portfolio Frau Luise had left, and in

which I usually kept some of the airs from Gluck's operas arranged for

the piano--I was startled by the bulk of the MS., and asked myself:

"Will any one have patience to read all this? And why should you add to

it?"

Ah, if you were a professional author, and, instead of a truthful

narrative of the life of the woman so dear to you, could transform her

fate into a genuine romance, skillfully blending fact and fiction, or

if you at least possessed the gift of describing these experiences in

hues so fresh and vivid that no one could help finding her as charming

as she is to you! But you are only a clumsy, simple chronicler of

events, and the man for whom you intend these records will smile at the

_labor improbus_ you have bestowed on so superfluous a work and at your

innocent idea that you were thereby doing him a favor.

Well, I then thought, even if you are only pleasing yourself by again

conjuring up your old joys and sorrows, what harm is there in that? He

can let the avalanche of MS. you hurl into his house roll quietly aside

with the others the mail brings to importune him. Who compels him to do

more than cast a compassionate glance at it?

But, if he forgives the lonely man his volubility, and eats through

this biographical mountain, as Klas Avenstak ate through the hill of

pancakes, he must expect that I shall not defraud him of the end,

especially as the early close the gods decreed to Luise's life was

spiced with much that was sweet, to compensate for many bitter things

in her previous destiny.

So I will summon courage to again take up my pen, endeavoring, however,

to be as brief as possible, especially in the incidents which concern

my insignificant self.

Therefore I will say nothing of the state of mind in which I spent the

first few days after my friend's secret departure. Fortunately I had a

number of disagreeable affairs on my hands, was forced to attend to the

questions, complaints, business, and reproaches of the deserted company

of actors, undertake the distribution of the money and provide for the

sale of the _fundus_, which latter affair was settled more quickly and

profitably than I had feared. Frau Luise's destination was as little

known as the distant shore to which the great artist had shaped his

course. So I took a sorrowful leave of my colleagues, who, with the

exception of the three oldest members, Laban, Gottlieb Schoenicke, and

the good prompter, who grieved sincerely for the vanished woman, seemed

to be tolerably consoled by the considerable sum that fell to the share

of each, and, as I was far too sad at heart and dull of brain to form

any sensible plan for the future, I sent my trunk to my native town,

strapped my knapsack on my back, and wandered through Pomerania and the

Mark to my old home. I believe that during those eight or ten days I

did not have one sensible thought, for the Orpheus aria constantly rang

in my ears:

"Alas, I have lost her,

All my happiness is o'er!"

It will be considered perfectly natural that the news of my return

excited no special rejoicing in the small provincial town, and no one

felt impelled to kill a fatted calf to do honor to the Prodigal Son. At

first I kept out of the way as much as possible, since wherever I

appeared I was stared at as though I were some wild animal just escaped

from a menagerie, or, still worse, shunned with evident fear of

contagion, being regarded as a dangerous sinner who, lured by the lust

of the world and the flesh, had exchanged the preacher's calling for a

dissipated vagabond life among jugglers and strollers.

One old friend, however, who meantime had become principal of the

highest public school, treated me with his old cordiality, listened

sympathizingly to the account of my fate, and, as I was absolutely

penniless, offered me temporary shelter in an attic room in his little

house. Ere long, spite of my antecedents, he succeeded in getting me

the position of teacher of singing to the three lower classes, as

the old chorister was daily growing deafer. When he became wholly

incapable of further service, the three upper classes were also

transferred to me, and, after having conscientiously done my duty for

several years, and meanwhile showed by my irreproachable conduct that I

was not the Don Juan and demon of darkness rumor had pronounced me, I

was advanced--partly in consequence of the services of my dead father,

whose memory was still honored--to the position of teacher of geography

and history, in which I was often reminded of the time when I had

related the same beautiful stories to my little pupil and his haughty

sister.

My kind fellow-citizens had pardoned my past--nay, with the feminine

portion of the population, it merely helped to surround the commonplace

fellow I was and am with that halo of impiety which is usually more

attractive to the weaker sex than the most beautiful aureola of

unsullied virtue. Many very estimable mothers of marriageable daughters

greeted me in the street with an encouraging glance--nay, there was no

lack of efforts to tempt me to their houses, especially after a small

legacy, which I inherited very unexpectedly, enabled me, with my modest

salary as a teacher, to establish a quiet home of my own. Even my

friend and present colleague gave me numerous well-meant hints--Heaven

would rather provide for two than for one, and so would the fathers of

the city. But I answered all such admonitions with a smile and a shrug

of the shoulders. How could I have been such a scoundrel as to deceive

an innocent, unsuspecting girl by letting her suppose a heart free

which had long been firmly bound?

The ten years I spent in this way were joyless and desolate enough. I

had lost my taste even for the society of men; foolish political

discussions and standing local jests had no interest for me, and I had

never cared for any game of cards except the one with which such

beloved memories were associated. So I spent the evenings in my lonely

room, and used the money I saved from gambling and drinking for the

purchase of books, though the volumes were wholly different in

character from those I had inherited from my dear father. Besides the

newest philosophical works, I ordered novels by English authors, among

whom Thackeray was my special favorite, while Dickens seemed to me a

sentimental mannerist, striving for effect, who had no correct ideas of

women. But I will leave this part of my life and hasten on to the main

subject.

* * * * *

One Wednesday afternoon in March--I had no school, but a furious

snow-storm prevented my taking my usual walk into the country--some one

knocked at my door, and an old woman, on whom I had never set eyes

before, hobbled into the room. She was almost out of breath, for, as

she said, she had come from the alms-house at the opposite end of the

town, and the wind had almost blown her away. She drew from the folds

of her thick shawl a crumpled note, in which was scribbled in pencil:

"If you have not yet forgotten your old friend, dear Johannes, give her

the pleasure of a visit. She has been ill for a fortnight, and is

permitted to sit up to-day for the first time. The messenger knows

where she is to be found.

Luise."

I will not attempt to describe the tempest of feeling those few words

awakened in my soul. For a moment the room and all it contained whirled

around me, and I should not have been surprised had the old woman

suddenly thrown off her patched clothing and stood before me in the

guise of a beautiful fairy.

With trembling haste I hurried on my coat, seized my hat and cane, and

went out into the street ere I asked if this were really true, and how

she had happened to serve the lady as a messenger.

There was nothing strange in that, the old dame had answered. Madame

Spielberg had arrived a fortnight ago, in her own carriage, very ill

with measles, and had asked to be taken to the hospital. But as, on

account of the rebuilding, no one could be received there, and the only

patient, by the burgomaster's orders, had meantime been removed to the

almshouse, the stranger had been transported there, to her entire

satisfaction for, thank Heaven, she had lacked nothing. The doctor had

been instantly summoned, and then the seven old dames who now lived

there shared the nursing, which had prospered so well that to-day she

had eaten her soup with an excellent appetite and been able to drink a

tiny glass of wine. The doctor had told them to be very attentive to

the sick lady, who was of noble birth and a Canoness. Well, that was no

hard task for them. There was not such another lovely lady in the whole

world, she was always apologizing for giving so much trouble, and that

day, after she sat up, had sent for her trunk and given each one some

article of clothing for a present. Then she asked about the

schoolmaster, but, when she saw the storm, said the note could wait

till to-morrow. But she, the old dame, would not hear of that, and now

I would see for myself how well the lady was taken care of. She

occupied No. 12, the best room in the whole house.

When I had entered the dusky corridor and shaken the snow from my

clothing, and my guide, pointing to one of the little doors, had said,

"That's number 12," I was obliged to pause a few moments to calm myself

before I knocked. Is it really true? I thought. Ten years have passed

like one day! In your heart at least! And she--how will you find her?

But I had scarcely heard her "Come in!" when I knew she must be just

the same as ever; time, grief, and even want had no power over her

strong soul; and, whether I found her in this wretched almshouse or on

a throne, she would ever be the mistress of my thoughts and feelings.

So I entered, and the first look in which our eyes met thrilled me with

the warmth and happiness a patient, on whom an operation for a cataract

has been performed, feels when the bandage is removed for the first

time.

She was sitting in a large arm-chair by the window, past which the

snow-flakes were whirling, and held on her knee an open book. The large

room was bare and wholly unadorned, the walls were white-washed, the

bed was covered with a brown shawl that I distinctly remembered, her

trunk stood at the foot, there was a plain table and two chairs--the

usual almshouse furniture. But on the table beside the _carafe_ stood a

glass containing a bunch of snow-drops, in front of a daguerreotype of

her child in a small easel-frame wreathed with the same white blossoms.

Everything was just as usual, for she had always kept this picture near

her, and she still wore, as at the time I last saw her, her mourning

dress, with the little black silk kerchief wound in her fair hair, only

its amber hue was not so deep, but seemed powdered with a gray dust.

The beautiful oval face, however, was wholly unchanged, save for an

expression of cheerfulness which had been alien to it during the last

period of our companionship. How she smiled at me, how her voice

sounded--was she really a sorely-afflicted woman, who had passed her

fortieth year? And I, was I the dried up, provincial Philistine and

pedagogue I had so long believed myself to be, or still a reckless

young fellow, ready at any moment to commit the wildest folly for this

woman's sake.

She did not rise to greet me, but held out both hands, and I could only

clasp and hold them in the utmost embarrassment. I did not venture to

kiss them. I had too often seen this knightly homage paid by the man

who had inflicted the keenest suffering upon her heart, and would not

remind her of any bitter experience.

"Frau Luise," I said, "it is really you--you have not changed in the

least--I am so happy to see you again--and you were ill and I only

learn your presence here to-day."

"Sit down by me, Johannes," she said. "I, too, am glad to see your face

once more. You look very well; you have grown a little stouter, but it

is becoming; teaching seems to suit you better than the dramatic

business. Oh, my dear friend, this is like the day of judgment, when

everything is to be brought together. True, only the shadow of the very

best of all returns!" She glanced at the picture of Joachimchen on the

table, and her eyes grew grave.

"I can not yet recover from my joyful surprise," I said, as I took my

seat at the window opposite to her. "You here! And what tempted you to

this out-of-the-way corner? And whence do you come?"

She smiled again.

"_You_ tempted me, my friend--_you_, and no one else. I was very ill

and thought I should not recover. So, before my death, I wanted to

again clasp the hand of my last friend, and thank him for all the love

and fidelity he has shown me. Believe me, I know everything that has

happened to you during our separation--it is not much--Uncle Joachim

constantly inquired about you and wrote me all he learned. He alone, of

all my acquaintances, knew where I was to be found."

"And did not answer one single word, the envious man, though I wrote to

him three times to obtain news of you."

"He could not. I had strictly forbidden it. I wanted to be dead to

every one, and always hoped that God would be merciful and speedily

summon me from the world. But He had different plans for me, and I will

not murmur against His will. Where did I hide myself? Why, in a very

remote corner of the Uckermark, on the estate of a nobleman who had

advertised for a companion for his invalid wife and a governess for his

little daughter. How I fared in that house, and learned to practice

every deed of charity, I will tell you some other time or not at all. I

can only repeat the old words: 'With the sick I became well, with the

poor rich, with the dying I learned to live.' And all this exactly in

my own way, with people whom I tenderly loved. You know the

professional neighborly love a deaconess practices would be contrary to

my nature, like a public display of piety and love for God. But when

the gentle sufferer died, and a few weeks after her little daughter

followed her, I could no longer remain in the house; for the sorrowing

widower, otherwise a thoroughly admirable man, offered me his heart and

hand, and, when I told him that I was not free, proposed to make every

effort to have my missing husband declared dead and then marry me. Just

at that time I received a letter from our Liborius, the gardener,

informing me that Uncle Joachim was very ill and wished to see me. This

instantly afforded me an escape from my painful position. For, though I

could be nothing to the worthy man, I pitied his desolation and his

hopeless love. Willing or not, he was now obliged to let me go at

once."

"Poor woman!" I said. "How you must have suffered in returning to the

old scenes which had so many hated associations."

"You are wrong," she answered. "Those few weeks on the estate are among

the most consoling my life has known. I saw none of the faces that were

repulsive to me--indeed many of those I held dear were also missing.

Aunt Elizabeth had slept for six years in the family vault. Her

'inconsolable husband,' as he styles himself on the tombstone, coupled

with a verse from the Bible expressing a hope of a reunion--perhaps you

have seen it in the newspaper?--Uncle Achatz, went to France directly

after the funeral, accompanied by the young Englishwoman, who, after

the separation from Mademoiselle Suzon, had become indispensable to him

as a reader and companion. In Paris, where to improve his finances he

frequented gambling-houses, he met a doubtful character, who quarreled

with him at faro and then shot him in a duel. As the traveling

companion disappeared the same day, leaving nothing of any value, the

unfortunate man was buried in a very simple manner at the expense of

the Prussian embassy, and is still awaiting in French soil the day when

he is to be interred by his wife's side. Hitherto my young cousin has

lacked time and means to do this. Immediately after his father's death,

he set to work zealously, under Uncle Joachim's supervision, to

extricate his financial affairs from their utter disorder, and in every

possible way improve the estate, so that in time the former splendor of

the family might be restored. I should have been very glad to see

Achatz, who had not been your pupil one whole summer entirely in vain.

But just before I arrived he had set out with his young wife on a

wedding journey to Italy. Nor did I see my cousin Leopoldine, who as

you know married Cousin Kasimir, and has had no light cross to bear. My

best friend, Mother Lieschen, had long since gone to her last rest. So

I found only the old servants, the gardener, the villagers, who were

all fond of me because Aunt Elizabeth's kind deeds reached them by my

hands--and my dear old uncle, the sight of whom fairly startled me. He

was sitting, crippled with gout, our family disease, in an

uncomfortable chair by the stove, his dog, a grand-daughter of our old

Diana, lying beside him, and his pipe, which had gone out, between his

teeth. He could not light it himself with his bandaged hands, and

Liborius did not always have time to attend to him. But his mind was as

clear and bright as in his best days, and his old heart still throbbed

as warmly as ever. I can not tell you, dear Johannes, what joy and

enlightenment, even amid the saddest feelings, I experienced during

those last days spent with the dying man. There the last ring forged

around me by my own hard fate was shattered into fragments, and I felt

ashamed of my weak-hearted melancholy in the presence of the quiet,

brave, cheerful sufferer, who never allowed a complaint to escape his

lips. Only when the pain became too severe, a stifled _nom d'un nom!_

sometimes slipped through his teeth with the smoke, and then he begged

me to put my hand on his heart, that the raging thing might feel its

mistress.

"So he at last died, with a chivalrous jest on his lips and a loving

look at me. The gout, as people say, went to his heart. It was not

until after his death that I fully realized what a noble man he had

been. I sat for hours beside the open coffin, and resolved that I would

fight as bravely through the span of life still left me, and again look

forth upon the world with cheerful eyes.

"But I could not yet devote myself to my own affairs, an epidemic of

measles had broken out in the village, and I was needed from early till

late, in house after house, to help the doctor abolish the absurd

torments still in use from the treatment of ancient times. Meanwhile,

the small sum of money I had brought with me was consumed in the

expenses of my uncle's funeral and the needs of the village hospital.

When at last the disease attacked me also, I had just enough left to

pay for the carriage which was to bring me here to my old friend.

"But when I had arrived it seemed kinder not to startle this faithful

man, perhaps even expose him to the same calamity by summoning him to

my sick bed. So I waited till I had had my first bath, which I took

yesterday, and now I can give you my hand without peril, and tell you

how glad I am that a respite on this chilly earth is still granted me,

and that I hope to enjoy a few more beautiful springs in this lower

world."

* * * * *

She had again given me her hand, which I now raised to my lips.

"Frau Luise," I replied, "you have bestowed upon me the greatest joy

and honor I have ever experienced. I value your coming here as highly

as though you had dubbed me a knight. And, in truth, during all these

years, I have felt myself your knight and worn your colors."

A slight flush mounted into her face, which made her look still

younger. "Do not overestimate me," she replied. "I had two objects in

coming, only one of which was unselfish. I wanted to see you again to

have you help me in my need, but also, it is true, to provide for your

own future."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "What future can there be for a man like

me, whose presence no one would miss. You see, my dear friend, men of

my stamp are indispensable to the human race, but only like the stones

the architect cements together in the earth, that they may form a solid

foundation for his proud temple. We are invisibly bound together, and

render service as a whole, but the individual is not much noticed; even

if he is moldering, he does his duty while he fills his little space.

Why do you talk to me of the future? So long as you stay with me, time

will vanish."

Luise shook her head gravely.

"I am not in question," she replied, "and, if we are to remain good

friends, you must not make any more of these extravagant speeches. You

are no longer an enthusiastic youth, but still young enough to take a

fresh start in life, have a beloved wife and a house full of children,

without entirely forgetting your old friend. It is not necessary to

have a proud ideal of the future for that. But you ought to be ashamed

of so depreciating yourself, burying your talent, dreaming and grieving

away your life in this secluded hamlet, instead of seeking a sphere of

influence where all your gifts might develop. Or, if you have lost the

courage and desire to live for mankind, why will you not at least make

one individual happy, and diffuse warmth enough from your hearth-stone

to benefit the immediate neighborhood?"

"Because I am no longer free, but have long languished in bonds and

fetters," I replied, and, unbuttoning my vest at the neck, drew out her

gold chain, which I never laid aside. She again flushed slightly, but

forced herself to assume a stern expression, and said: "You are

incorrigible; but I won't give you up yet. I know that you will do much

to afford me pleasure. First, however, you must do me another service.

I have told you that I spent my last thalers for the carriage which

brought me here. I should like to look about me for another position,

where I can make myself useful, and you shall help me by advancing a

small sum. I don't need much, but I haven't paid a farthing in this

house, and should not like to live on at the expense of a community

upon which I have not even the claim of being a native of the place.

But I am not too proud to beg from you."

"You could have made me no more valuable gift," I exclaimed. "And now

we won't say another word about this trifle. Tell me about yourself,

and, above all, whether you are well cared for here, and what I can do

for your comfort."

She smiled again.

"I am treated like a princess. You know that old women were always fond

of me. Now I have no less than seven of them in one group, and they are

so attentive and so jealous of my favor that I am obliged to act on the

defensive. Whenever I rang, all seven of them would come hobbling in to

ask my wishes. They felt honored by the presence of an ex-Canoness in

the almshouse; the coachman, who came from our estate, had told them

who I was, or rather might be, if I had not destroyed my own prospects.

My coming here ill with such a commonplace disease, and lying down

contentedly in so plain a bed, as if I had never slept in a castle, won

their hearts at a single stroke. But, to escape their officious zeal

without wounding the jealous devotion of any one, I arranged to have

each dame serve me one day in the week. In this way I learned to know

them all, and am now aware of everything Mother Schulzen, Mother

Jenicke, Mother Grabow and the others have suffered during their

insignificant, sorrowful lives. But you will be little interested in

this. Besides, I have already talked too much--the doctor would scold.

Go now, dear friend, and if you have time come again to-morrow. While I

am here, we will see a great deal of each other."

* * * * *

These were pleasant and prophetic words. I owe the happiest part of my

life to the time Frau Luise spent beneath this humble roof.

Of course, I now visited her daily, and as she rapidly recovered our

talks became longer, so, when the last snow had disappeared and the

world grew warm and bright again, we did not stay within the four bare

walls, but took the most delightful walks, at first near the house and

church, but afterward we rambled for hours along the shore of the lake,

and even entered the little grove beyond.

We were always compelled to do this when my princess desired to escape

from the attendance of her court. So long as we remained near the

house, the seven old dames persistently followed us, the one who was on

duty that day in front, the six others, each holding her knitting in

her old withered hands, behind, as if to do the honors of the

neighborhood, but really because their hearts drew them to this new

inmate of the household. They seemed to find comfort in merely looking

at her or hearing the distant sound of her voice. But their feeble old

limbs would not carry many of them farther than the shore of the lake,

and the two youngest, who were only seventy and still very vigorous,

dared not take any special liberties.

We never went into the city. Frau Luise did not wish to fan the public

curiosity, already excited. True, the burgomaster had considered it his

duty to wait upon the lady, and urge her to move into more elegant

lodgings which he had secured for her.

He, too, was so charmed by her appearance and manner that his first

embarrassment soon vanished, especially after she had requested him not

to call her Baroness, but simply Frau Spielberg, and had thanked him

for the hospitality extended to her here. So comfortable an abode for

old women--to whose number she herself would soon belong--could

scarcely be found in the whole Mark, and she begged to be allowed to

stay until she had decided how to shape her future life.

But, as she could remain nowhere without bestowing on her environments

the impress of her own nature, the burgomaster at his first visit

marveled at the changed appearance of the almshouse and its inmates.

The seven old dames, who had formerly crept about in forlorn tatters,

with their thin hair hanging over their brows, and lines of discontent

on their faces--nay, sometimes bearing tokens of very unchristian

deeds, the result of their quarrels--suddenly appeared transformed into

neat, civil matrons, for they had noticed that they did not please

their mistress unless they appeared with clean faces and carefully

mended dresses. Even the building itself had changed. The corridors and

rooms were spick and span from scouring, and strewed with clean sand.

The most beautiful of all was the garden, a narrow strip of ground

beneath the low windows. Without saying much about it, Frau Luise one

day dug with her own hands the patch below her own window, divided it

into small beds, and planted some flowers she had asked me to get for

her. Her old guard had scarcely seen this ere they became possessed

with an ambition to imitate the noble lady, and, as the latter

willingly helped them with seeds and young plants, the wilderness, in

which formerly nothing but nettles and weeds of all kinds had

flourished, was transformed into a gay garden, and under each window

stood a small, rudely made bench, painted with cheap green paint, on

which every leisure evening one of the old crones sat in the sunset

glow with the everlasting knitting in her lap.

I had ordered Frau Luise's bench to be made somewhat larger, so that

there was room for a slender person by her side. There I sat many an

hour, often with a book from which I read aloud to her, or talking

cheerfully and earnestly about God and the world, not infrequently

recalling memories of the beloved child, whose smallest trait of

character had not been forgotten by either of us. His father's name was

never mentioned. I only knew that he was still dragging out his useless

existence in some foreign land.

At that time I learned to know the deep wisdom of the words "All things

work together for good to them that love God." For all the good and

evil, strange and detestable things this woman had experienced, had

worked together in her strong, clear soul, till after the dross had

been separated pure gold remained. Now, as ever, she was reluctant to

needlessly mention the name of God, and, had she been catechized about

her faith, probably would not have passed the examination well. But she

possessed the consciousness that, whenever she went down into the

depths of her heart, she would find the spirit of peace, love, and

truth, and this consciousness was so vivid that a divine calmness and

confidence, visible to the dullest senses, illumined her brow. But a

new trait in her was a peculiar sense of humor, a mirthfulness which

had rarely flashed out in her youth, yet now appeared to be the

predominant mood of her nature. When she was gay, she could make the

most comical remarks about herself and her surroundings, mutual old

acquaintances, and the seven dames knitting on their little benches,

remarks whose drollery could not be surpassed by Dickens or Thackeray.

Her merry satire did not even spare me. But, as I was utterly

defenseless, she soon let the subject drop, though she could see by my

hearty laughter that I was flattered rather than offended.

This uniformly charming idyl would have satisfied all my wishes, had I

been able to shake off the fear that it would some day come to an end.

For Frau Luise daily studied all the advertisements for governesses or

nurses, and several times had applied for something, fortunately

without success. I racked my brains to discover some plan that would

keep her near me. But, though she unhesitatingly accepted my friendly

assistance as a loan, she was inexorable whenever I spoke of having no

question concerning "mine and thine" rise between us in the future.

"Whoever can work must gain a living!" she answered once, in a tone

that deprived me of all courage to return to the subject.

Then a fortunate chance caused, in a very simple and easy way, the

fulfillment of the sum total of my wishes.

* * * * *

One Sunday afternoon in May we had taken a delightful walk, and on our

return the little almshouse chapel stood before us in its dense robe of

ivy, illumined by the full radiance of the sun, looking so beautiful

and venerable that, for the first time, we gazed at it attentively and

remarked how strange it was that we had never desired to see the

interior. Though we now heard from the seven matrons that it was

perfectly bare and the walls had nothing but spiders' webs, Frau Luise

asked for the key, which had not been used for years, and, attended by

the whole train of knitting courtiers, we entered the deserted old

chapel.

There was, in truth, nothing remarkable to be seen. A tolerably bright

light fell through four long, narrow, arched windows, but illumined

nothing save bare walls destitute of pillars, entablatures, or other

architectural decorations. Within the choir there was only the square,

brick foundation of the altar, raised one step above the floor. In a

corner opposite stood a bier covered with a black pall, thickly coated

with dust. The little almshouse chapel had doubtless served for a

receiving tomb so long as the graveyard outside was used. This thought

did not make the cellar-like place more agreeable, and we were about to

go back to the warm spring sunshine when my eyes fell upon a high,

narrow, wooden box, which stood on the other side just opposite to the

altar. Great was my surprise when, after having vainly fumbled about

the case for a time, a lid suddenly flew back, and an old harmonium

appeared. How it came there I could never ascertain. These instruments

are still very rare in our province, and it is hardly probable that

years ago the almshouse had a pious and wealthy patron in the city, who

desired to aid the religious service in the poor little church by such

an endowment.

So we examined our treasure with astonished eyes. When I touched the

keys, dull and somewhat rusty, yet not wholly discordant notes stole

forth, as if the sleeping soul, so long confined there, were waking,

and its first sound was a timid expression of thanks to its deliverers.

The case was instantly drawn forward, and I prepared to play. Frau

Luise, with sparkling eyes, came to my side. I began "A mountain

fastness is our Lord," and she joined in with her voice, at first

timidly, it was so long since she had sung a note, but soon with all

her former depth of feeling, till my heart thrilled with ecstasy. When

it was over, I began the introduction to our beloved Orpheus aria, and

how my friend's marvelous alto voice rang through the lofty, empty

chapel! The seven old dames sat silently on the step of the altar, the

click of the knitting-needles was no longer heard, nothing mingled with

the melody except the low twittering of the birds. So in the utmost

delight we practiced for some time, not stopping with this one aria,

and many airs which we had sung to our little Joachim returned to his

mother's mind.

At last emotion overpowered her, and I ceased playing, rose, and held

out my hand, which she cordially pressed. We knew what remained

unuttered.

"This must not be the last time we are happy here," I said; "later in

the summer this concert-room will be a pleasant refuge, though now the

damp, close atmosphere oppresses us. I wonder that you could control

your voice so well, Frau Luise."

She made no reply, but passed out through the doorway. I walked by her

side, and the seven maids-of-honor followed. But what was our amazement

to see a crowd of people gathered outside the threshold, who

respectfully formed into two lines to allow the singer and her train to

pass. Not only some of the plain people from the few neighboring houses

had flocked hither, attracted by the music, but several of the

prominent families in the city, among them the burgomaster and his two

daughters, who while returning from a Sunday walk had heard with

astonishment the strong, beautiful tones issuing from the long silent

chapel, and stopped to enjoy the free concert.

The burgomaster himself, a great lover of music, seemed so amazed

by the discovery that so admirable an artist had been concealed

in the humble almshouse that he did not utter a word to express his

homage--only bowed low and silently lifted his hat as she passed. The

audience of both high and low degree speedily dispersed; yet, as I

walked home in the evening, I caught many a word from the worthy

citizens, sitting before their doors or going to get their beer, which

betrayed how our church-music still echoed in the ears of the

listeners.

The Canoness at the almshouse formed the topic of every conversation

during the evening, and no three women whispered together ten minutes

over their coffee without saying something for or against their

interesting new neighbor.

When, on the following afternoon, I went to my friend, she asked,

smiling: "Guess what distinguished visitor I have had to-day,

Johannes?" Then she told me that the burgomaster himself had called on

her, and, amid many compliments on, her singing, asked if she would

give lessons to his daughters. The two girls, who had been waiting

outside, entered, blushing, and, as she did not refuse the request,

sang to her at their father's bidding in fresh, though untrained, young

voices, after which she gladly consented to give them two lessons a

week, and was to begin the next morning. The only point now was to

procure a piano, the harmonium being far too powerful to be used to

accompany singing.

It was difficult for me to repress my joy at these glad tidings. Now

she is ours, I thought. Now she need no longer pore over the

advertisements in the last pages of the Voss and Spener journals.

But I said quite calmly: "This happens capitally. I have a piano"--this

one luxury had been procured for little money, as, though the old

instrument was originally good, it had seen much service--"and I will

send it early to-morrow to the almshouse, where there are plenty of

vacant rooms which would be cheerfully given up to you for your

lessons."

This plan was accomplished. Ere a month had passed, all the girls from

fifteen to five-and-twenty were enrolled in my friend's volunteer corps

of singers, and it was considered as fashionable to send a daughter to

the Canoness as it is in the capitals to secure admission to the

conservatory.

She had fixed a very moderate price for her lessons. Still, as she also

superintended choir-singing, and soon had all her time occupied, her

income was so large that I jestingly said she would soon be able to buy

an estate.

She shrugged her shoulders, smiling, and I well knew what this meant.

For her left hand was never aware of what her right hand was doing,

and, though our town had an organized system of charity, there was

ample opportunity for deeds of benevolence.

We never exchanged a word about her remaining in the almshouse. But she

persistently resisted the entreaties of her young pupils and their

parents to move into better lodgings in the city. "I could not do

without my seven guardian angels," she said, smiling. She merely

obtained somewhat better furniture for her room, sent for Uncle

Joachim's old chest of drawers and the two pictures of Napoleon--he had

left her everything he possessed--and added two beautiful engravings

from my aunt's legacy. The large room with two windows, adjoining her

own, was fitted up for her lessons, and my piano was moved into it.

Many an afternoon, when I had arrived before the close of the lessons,

I sat outside on the bench in her little garden, listening to the

chirping within, the regular _solfeggios_ and runs, and the magnificent

bell-like tones of the teacher ringing out between them, or the sweet

voices of the full choir, which practiced not only solemn _motettos_

and _cantatas_, but sought recreation in Mendelssohn, Schubert, and

Schumann.

The service she was rendering the young people could not fail to dispel

their parents' prejudices against the wife of the strolling actor, and

make them endeavor to draw her to their houses. But on this point she

was inexorable. "I detest these provincial entertainments," she said to

me. "I will cheerfully give the people among whom I live as much of my

life as can be of service to them, but the rest I will keep for myself.

To sit on the sofa a whole evening between the wives of the burgomaster

and the councilor, and talk about servants and betrothals, would kill

me. Besides, my opinions would rouse their displeasure before an hour

was over. There is where Mother Schulzen, Mother Grabow, and the other

five Fates deserve praise. They think me a saint, though I don't go to

church."

But, while she retained this view and avoided the society of the

mothers, she was all the more friendly in her intercourse with the

daughters. Every other Sunday her pupils, about twenty in number, were

allowed to spend the evening with her, and she gave them a little

supper of tea, cake, and bread and butter. But these pleasant meetings

were not intended merely for merry talk with the children--they were

expected to produce better results. She read to them from the works of

our classic writers the most beautiful and ennobling selections adapted

to their age and culture, a couple of acts from one of Schiller's

tragedies, which they were afterward to finish at home, once the whole

of Iphigenia, at another time ballads from Goethe and Uhland, and then

let her youthful audience express their ideas of what they had heard,

only adding a few wise remarks of her own.

I did not attend these readings, but took the liberty of lingering

outside the open window and listening to her recitations. I will not

speak of the indescribable enjoyment that fell to my lot. But, though

my love for this woman may make me appear somewhat partial, the

assertion can be believed that she would have surpassed many a famed

tragic actress, had she given her readings on the stage.

How completely she captivated her young listeners!

Many of the older people were made somewhat anxious by finding that the

actor's wife was on such intimate terms with her young pupils that she

directed not only their singing but their thoughts and feelings. But

the last ice melted, though it was the very middle of winter; when a

nocturnal conflagration destroyed several houses and robbed some

families of their whole property. Frau Luise instantly advertised

a concert in the town-hall for the benefit of the sufferers. She

herself sang, her pupils helped to the best of their ability in solos,

choir-singing, and recitations. Every nook in the hall, spite of the

high price of admission, was occupied, and the next day there was but

_one_ verdict in house and hovel, namely, that no such pleasure had

ever been enjoyed by even the oldest inhabitants, and no more noble

soul ever dwelt in woman's breast than in the tuneful one of this

greatly misjudged lady.

* * * * *

So she had reached this point.

The swan, that had lost its way in the marsh, had plunged into the

clear water of this quiet country lake, shaken its feathers, and lo!

they were once more snow-white as in its early days.

Even the pastor, who had been unable to forgive her for not appearing

at his church and having even chosen as her only intimate friend a

renegade theologian, whom he could not help doubly condemning--even

this zealous shepherd of souls could not permanently refuse her his

esteem. After the concert he called on her, and had a conversation

which lasted two hours. I met him just as he was leaving the almshouse.

His face looked as I imagine Moses' might have done after he had seen

the Lord in the naming bush. I did not even consider this strange. What

victory over human hearts might I not have expected this woman to

achieve!

The "overflowing treasure of grace" she so lavishly bestowed benefited

me also. For the first time, my modest greeting to the secretly

resentful man was returned with a friendly gesture, in which I fancied

I noticed a shade of curious interest. We afterward became better

acquainted, and learned to sincerely value each other.

My position as the Canoness's special friend was of course much envied

by my colleagues and other acquaintances, and many questions were asked

about her. But, as I had no intimacies, I was not obliged to put any

unusual bolts on my heart, that it might keep its secrets. And I must

add one thing more which, amid such narrow, provincial environments,

does the highest honor to human nature: never, by even the most trivial

jest, was the slightest shadow cast upon the purity of my intercourse

with her.

Nay, a still more extraordinary thing: even the most arrogant among the

wives of the dignitaries willingly yielded her the precedence she never

claimed, and without envy or hatred beheld this stranger, who had been

received into the almshouse from Christian charity, ruling the city as

it were from her little room--at least, in all matters relating to the

common welfare of the inhabitants and their intellectual life. Even the

burgomaster's wife and her friends, who gathered at society meetings

and coffee-parties, did not consider it beneath their dignity to seek

the Canoness's advice on any charitable business, or any question

concerning education or etiquette, with a faith as devout as if the

almshouse were the oracle of Delphi, and Frau Luise sat on the tripod

as priestess. She told me the drollest stories about these occasions,

which I, as a faithful servant of the temple, vowed to silence, must

not betray here.

Thus the renown of her talents and virtues could not fail to extend

beyond the precincts of our little town, till at last even the

newspapers mentioned her. She took no notice of it; indeed, she did not

look at the papers, now that the advertisements no longer interested

her. I think she secretly dreaded to accidentally read the name of the

man whom she desired to forever forget.

But her concert for the sufferers by the conflagration had made such a

sensation that all Preignitz and Uckermark rang with its fame. So one

day, when I came to chat with her a little while after she had finished

her lessons, I saw standing in front of the almshouse a dusty carriage,

on whose door I recognized the coat of arms of her own family, though

the faces of coachman and footman were unfamiliar to me.

Nevertheless, I did not hesitate to knock at her door, and, on

entering, saw a pretty, stylish young lady sitting on the sofa by her

side, while at the first glance I recognized in her companion my former

pupil--Baron Achatz. He had not grown much taller, but a little blonde

mustache had ventured forth under his turned-up Zieten nose, and the

light-blue eyes beneath his low brow had so frank an expression that I

was instantly reminded of his excellent mother, now resting in the

peace of God.

"Come nearer, my dear friend," cried Frau Luise. "You will find an old

acquaintance, who has already been inquiring for you, and his young

wife. This is our candidate, dear Luitgarde, of whom Achatz has often

told you. What do you say, Herr Johannes? My cousins have come in

person to invite me to spend the rest of my life with them. They have

heard I was an inmate of an almshouse, which did not seem to them a

proper place for a member of their family. Now they want to carry me

off in triumph to their castle, like a precious jewel that has been

taken from the family treasures and at last found again. Is it not kind

in these young people, who could not be blamed if, for a time, they had

thought only of themselves and their own happiness. But you are

misinformed, my dear cousins. I live here just as I desire, and want

for nothing, though my claims upon life are not the most modest. Tell

Achatz, my dear Johannes, how I am spoiled here. Am I not pleasantly

lodged? The adjoining room is my music-hall, and my reception-day is

always crowded. The attendance leaves me nothing to desire, seven maids

and waiting-women, whose united ages number more than five hundred

years; where should I ever find the like again? If you could stay

longer, you would be convinced that I am at least as well cared for

here as though I were living in a chapter, while I need not even wear

the veil and dress of the order, but can cut my garments according to

my own taste. Nevertheless, I thank you from my heart for your kind

intentions"--and as she spoke she kissed the young wife, whose blushes

followed each other in swift succession--"but, if you really must go

to-day, you must first see that your old cousin can offer her guests a

very tolerable cup of tea. First, however, I will take you over my

little kingdom, of whose orderly government I am so vain that the

sarcastic candidate is fond of calling me 'the queen of the

almshouse.'"

She rose, tied her little black kerchief over her hair, and then drew

the young baroness' slender arm through hers. We men followed, and,

while Frau Luise, with sportive self-ridicule, pointed out all the

modest beauties of the building and its environs, and finally gathered

a bouquet for the bride in her little garden, my pupil (pardon the

slip) plucked up courage to beg me, in a whisper, to persuade his

cousin to accept his well-meant offer. Even if she herself was

satisfied with her humble position, it would place him and the whole

family in a bad light if it should be rumored that he had allowed his

nearest relative to live in an almshouse, and from considerations of

kinship she owed it to him and to herself to return to--

"My dear baron," I replied, "you overestimate my influence with your

cousin. She knows exactly what she owes to herself. But, if you speak

of family considerations, allow me to say, with all the freedom

warranted by my old acquaintance with you, that the occurrences during

your father's life-time must absolve Frau Luise before God and man from

any duty to her family. And now, pray, let us say no more about it. I

congratulate you sincerely upon your marriage. Your wife seems endowed

with every physical and mental gift that would have led your mother to

greet her joyfully as her son's wife, and love her most tenderly."

The good fellow silently pressed my hand, and I saw his honest little

eyes sparkle.

When we returned to the house--the lake and ivy-mantled chapel had

fairly enraptured the somewhat romantic young wife--we found the

tea-table set, a task for which Mother Schulzen, whose day it was,

possessed especial skill, and supplied with fresh bread, golden butter,

and a little cold meat. "The cups are not Sevres," said Frau Luise

in a jesting tone, "and, as I had more pressing wants than silver

table-ware, you must be content with pewter spoons and bone-handled

knives and forks. While I am making the tea, friend Johannes will give

you a proof of his greatest talent, which consists in buttering bread."

She was so irresistibly charming in her quiet cheerfulness that the

young wife at last lost her embarrassment, and we four sat together for

an hour, talking in the gayest manner like old friends. When the time

for departure had come, the ladies affectionately embraced each other,

and promised to correspond regularly. The young baron kissed his

cousin's hand, but she embraced him with maternal tenderness, saying:

"I can not see the kind face you have inherited from your mother,

Achate, without remembering how often I kissed that saintly woman's

cheek. Now, farewell; remember me to old Liborius, and Krischan, too,

though he has become a drunkard, and, when you meet Leopoldine, tell

her that I should be very glad to see her again. But traveling is

uncomfortable for an old woman like myself; she must come to me."

* * * * *

This visit, which of course was much discussed in the little city,

greatly increased and strengthened the love and reverence my friend

enjoyed. It was considered greatly to her credit that she had resisted

the temptation to return to her aristocratic circle, and preferred the

humble almshouse to the proud castle. Mother Schulzen, of course, under

the pretext that she must be close at hand, had listened at the door,

and, though she usually declared herself to be hard of hearing, had not

lost a word of the conversation.

From that time Frau Luise was secretly regarded as a sort of honorary

citizen of our town, and would have been cheerfully granted the most

jealously guarded privilege of citizenship, that of fishing in the

lake, had she displayed any love for angling.

Yet she continued to live on in the unassuming manner previously

described, and, as she enjoyed perfect health, she compared, in her

droll way, her own condition with that of the little dismantled steamer

that lay anchored in the calm inland lake, resting comfortably from

every storm.

But one more tempest burst over her, which threatened to shake even her

steadfast nature.

* * * * *

We had been permitted for three years to call her ours. Spring had come

again, but no March snow-flakes were fluttering through the air as in

the time when she arrived; the sun was shining brightly, and, as the

song says, the weather tempted one to walk. Still, though it was

Saturday afternoon and school had therefore been dismissed, I was

obliged to leave her earlier than usual, as I had taken charge of the

lessons in German for a sick colleague, and had a whole pile of

exercise-books to correct by Monday.

I was sitting at my work again early Sunday morning, when a hurried

message, brought by one of the seven almshouse dames, startled me. I

must come at once to the Canoness--as her train preferred to call her.

I could not learn what had happened from the messenger. It was not _her

day_, and she had not seen Frau Luise.

When I entered, I was no little surprised to find her in bed for the

first time since I had known her. She tried to smile in order to soothe

me, but it was only like a fleeting sunbeam which instantly vanished

behind clouds of gloom.

"My life is not threatened, dear friend," said she; "nay, I am not even

really ill--only so exhausted by mental emotion that, when I tried to

rise, I fell back again. Sit down and listen."

She then related the horrible story. On the afternoon of the previous

day, as, lured by the beautiful sunshine, she continued her walk alone

as far as the lake, a wretched figure had suddenly confronted her, just

at the spot where a group of willows cast a dense shade. It was a man

with long, gray locks and a haggard, sunken face, holding his hat in

his hand with the gesture of a mendicant. Lost in thought, she had not

at first noticed him particularly, but felt in her pocket to throw alms

into his hat. Suddenly the beggar seized her hand, and, covering it

with passionate kisses, exclaimed: "Do you no longer know me, Luise?"

The sudden fright fairly made her heart stop beating. She could not

move a limb, but, wrenching her hand from his grasp, stood staring at

him, as though the specter must dissolve into mist before her eyes.

But unhappily it remained, tangible and audible, and the wife perceived

with horror the ruin time had wrought in the proud and stately man.

Absolutely unable to utter a word, she had been forced to listen to the

long, carefully-studied speech, in which the hapless actor gave her a

succinct account of his adventures and experiences in two hemispheres,

protested his eternal love and longing for his worshiped wife, and in

exaggerated theatrical phrases besought her forgiveness.

Not until he paused and, panting for breath, again tried to take her

hand, did she recover sufficient self-control to retreat a step and

say, "We have parted forever." With these words she turned to leave

him. But he grasped her dress, and again began the litany of his

complaints, entreaties, and self-reproaches. Fearing that some person

might pass whom the desperate man would make a witness of this pathetic

scene, she imperiously commanded him to leave her at once, but inquire

for her in the evening at that house--she pointed to the almshouse.

"And you did not inform me at once?" I interposed.

"Why should I, dear friend? I knew what I had to do, and no one could

represent me. True, the hours before night closed in--the bitter and

anxious feelings seething in my soul, shame at the thought that I had

once imagined I loved this man, horror of his presence, and grief for

the downfall of a human being who had once been good and noble--you can

easily understand how all these things agitated me. But when he

entered, I had at least attained sufficient outward composure to tell

him my decision in curt, resolute words."

"'You will swear,' I said, 'never to appear before my face again.

Your sins against me have long since been forgiven. You were like one

dead to me, and will be so once more as soon as the door has closed

between us. But you must remain unknown to others, and therefore must

agree never to mention your name here, and to leave this place early

to-morrow morning, not to return. The little I have saved I will give

you. But, if you rely on my weakness and ever again remind me of your

existence, either verbally or in writing, I will appeal to the

protection of the law, and use the right of self-defense. Here on the

table is the money. It will be enough to pay your passage to America.

What you do there is your own affair. I have made many sacrifices for

your sake; I will not allow you to ruin the last remnant of life and

peace I have won.'

"Spare me the description of the scene the unfortunate man now

rehearsed," she continued. "Dragging himself to me on his knees, he

poured forth flatteries, curses on his evil destiny, imprecations on

the stupid world that leaves genius to languish--in short, he used the

whole stock of his pitiful theatrical arts. When he saw that he made no

impression upon me, he staggered to his feet, straightened his shabby

velvet coat, tossed back his thin locks, with a look into yonder little

mirror, and then cast a quick glance toward the table on which the

money lay. My loathing, especially as he diffused a horrible odor of

bad liquor, had grown so strong that I was afraid every moment of

fainting. Fortunately he speedily released me from his intolerable

presence. With a flood of high-sounding words, he swore to respect my

wish, until I myself changed, which he expected sooner or later from my

generous heart. Meantime he found himself compelled to accept one last

favor from me, of course only as a loan, which he would repay with

interest, when I had become convinced of his complete regeneration, and

recalled him to spend the evening of our lives in loving harmony, and

look back with a pitying smile on the storm and stress of our wandering

youth.

"With these words he went to the table, put the money in his

breast-pocket, made a movement as if to take my hand, but, when I drew

back, cast a sorrowful glance heavenward, and with a low bow tottered

out of the room.

"I listened to discover whether he really went away. Then, with

trembling hands, for I did not feel absolutely secure from a fresh

surprise, I bolted the door, and threw myself, utterly exhausted, upon

the bed.

"I told myself that I could have pursued no other course--that his life

was not to be saved, even if I threw my own into the gulf of ruin after

it. Yet, my friend--the man whom I was forced to drive from my

threshold had once laid his hand in mine for an eternal union--and had

been the father of my beloved child.

"I did not sleep quietly an hour. Every time the spring wind shook my

window and rattled the blind, I started up and listened to hear if he

was standing outside, rapping. And to-day I feel as though I were

paralyzed, and moreover have constantly before my eyes the piteous

figure of the poor, homeless man, and tremble at the thought of the woe

that may still be in store for us both."

She then begged me to inquire whether he had been seen in the city, or

where he had gone. I soon brought her news that he had spent the night

at the "Crown Prince," did not enter the public-room, but ordered wine

and rum to be brought to him. He had not mentioned his name, and early

that morning--about eight o'clock--had departed as he came, on foot and

without luggage, after paying his bill and buying a bottle of brandy to

take with him. After giving the waiter a thaler for his fee, he turned

his steps toward the north.

I succeeded in partially soothing her agitated mind. I spent nearly the

whole day with her, played some of her favorite melodies, and shared

the simple meal brought to her bed-side. When I at last went away, she

pressed my hand with a touching look of gratitude. "Don't forsake me,

dear friend," she said. "And do not think me an affected simpleton,

because I am lying here so helpless. I shall be in my place again

to-morrow. Only I will defer our spring concert"--she had been in the

habit of giving a musical entertainment, aided by her pupils, every

three months--"for a fortnight. I fear I should not be able to sing

with them now."

* * * * *

These words proved true, but not in the way she had meant.

Her great strength of will soon roused her from the lethargy into which

the sad meeting with her husband had plunged her, and even on Monday

she gave her lessons as though nothing had occurred. But on Friday news

came that tore the old wounds open afresh.

A few miles down the river, near a little village, a fisherman had

found, drifting in the water among the reeds, the body of a man with

long gray locks, dressed in a black-velvet coat. It must have been

there several days, for it was swollen and livid, like the corpses of

the drowned who do not instantly rise to the surface; besides, the

pocket-book containing his papers was completely sodden, and the

money in it spoiled by the water. In each of his two pockets he

carried a half-empty bottle. There could be no doubt that he had met

with his death while in a state of bewilderment, perhaps partial

unconsciousness. With the exception of an American passport bearing a

foreign name, nothing was found on him that could throw any light upon

his personal relations.

Nevertheless the rumor spread with amazing celerity through the whole

neighborhood that the Canoness's missing husband had returned to find

his death in the waves of their native river. The burgomaster called on

Frau Luise to impart the sad news considerately. But the old gossips

who served her had anticipated him.

I was with her when she received the visit of the father of the city.

"It is true," she said, "the man is my unfortunate husband. But do not

expect me to feign a grief I do not feel. That he sought death I do not

believe. He was supplied with money, and could indulge his sole

passion, which had stifled all his nobler feelings. His death was an

easy one, and now the poor restless wanderer has found repose. You can

not desire me to see him again. Have him buried as quietly as possible;

I will place a cross upon the grave at my own expense." Then, in a few

brief words, she told the worthy magistrate about her last interview

with the dead man.

This occasion clearly revealed the love and esteem in which she was

held by the whole community, high and low. There was not a single

malicious gossip who molested her with a visit of feigned condolence,

while secretly gloating over the fact that the husband of this

much-lauded woman had met with a miserable end like any common

vagabond. On the contrary, all who could boast of her acquaintance

endeavored to show her by little attentions that the misfortune

of her life, which had here reached so tragical an end, had only made

them love and honor her the more. Not one of her pupils came to

take a singing-lesson without bringing a bunch of violets or early

lilies-of-the-valley, or a hyacinth raised at home, and no coffee-party

was given from which the hostess did not send her a plate of cakes,

which, it is true, only benefited the almshouse dames. Though Frau

Luise gratefully appreciated these discreet tokens of affection, she

was remarkably quiet and thoughtful. She wore no mourning robe, but her

soul seemed muffled in a black veil.

* * * * *

This mood was deepened by the death of the oldest of the almshouse

dames, a feeble crone of eighty-four, who had recently been unable to

perform her duties as attendant. During the last three days she was

unconscious, and her exhausted flame of life went out without a

flicker: When I spoke to my friend, who had not left her side, of this

easy death as something enviable, she shook her head gravely, and

replied: "I would prefer a different one, like my dear Uncle Joachim's.

I wish to be conscious when I am dying, to experience my own death, and

not, so to speak, steal out of the world behind my own back."

She insisted that, at the burial in the almshouse church-yard--where

only the inmates of the almshouse were interred--her pupils should sing

a choral and Mendelssohn's "It is Appointed by God's Will," an honor

which had never before fallen to a poor woman's lot, so that some

wiseacres asserted she was overdoing the matter. But that did not

trouble her in the least.

"When they bear me out some day," she said, as we returned from the

funeral, "see, dear friend, that I, too, find my last resting-place

yonder. I do not wish to be dragged through the whole city to the other

cemetery, with its pompous marble monuments. And place no cross on my

grave. I have borne it enough during my life; in death, let the earth

rest lightly on me. What I possess will go to my old guard; you must

attend to it, after first choosing some memento you value. Promise me

that! I have written my last will and given it to the burgomaster."

These words could not specially disturb or sadden me. I saw her walking

by my side in the full vigor of life, and though, since the day she had

sustained such a fright, her hair had grown still more silvery, she

seemed, in her gentle melancholy, younger and fairer than ever.

She was also even more affectionate and tender to all, including

myself. And, though I had already passed my fortieth year and ought to

have grown sensible, her mild words and the faint air of sadness that

surrounded her fanned the old flames I had with so much difficulty

subdued, and one evening they not only flashed from my eyes but darted

from my tongue.

The heat for several days had been equal to that of summer, so we had

been weeding and watering the young plants in her garden. Then we sat

down side by side on the little bench, and I said: "Do you know, Frau

Luise, that this is the anniversary of the day on which, twenty years

ago, I first saw you?"

She reflected a short time and then answered: "I have no memory for

dates. But I know one thing, Johannes: there has not been a single day

since then when I could have doubted you."

While speaking, she gazed thoughtfully into vacancy, as if this great

truth were dawning upon her to-day for the first time. This gave me

some little encouragement.

"Frau Luise," I continued, "that day seems to me like yesterday. And

not one has passed since then that I have not felt you are the dearest

creature in the world to me. But must we live on thus to the end, only

together a few hours, though we feel that we belong to each other?

You have long known my feelings. Can you not resolve to make the bond

that unites us still firmer, to grant me the right to lay my whole

insignificant self at your feet before the eyes of the world?"

The words had leaped from my lips as if some one else had lured them

from my inmost soul, and I was startled at my boldness as I heard the

sound of my own voice. I dared not look at her. I felt, or thought I

felt, that she was forcing herself to keep calm and not rebuke my

presumption. After a long pause, she replied, in a voice whose tones

were sorrowful rather than indignant:

"Why have you said this, Johannes? You ought to know me and be aware

that I have done with life. Do not suppose that the opinion of the

world would awe me, if I felt that I was still young enough to be happy

and make others happy. But I was probably never created to devote

myself with my whole heart to a single individual, as a true wife

ought. Even my unfortunate first love was but a delusion of my

imagination. I have every talent for friendship or for being a Sister

of Charity, and my most passionate feeling has ever been a fervent

sympathy with _pauvre humanite_, as Mademoiselle Suzon said. But you

would not wish to be married from compassion.

"No," she continued, as I was about to protest, "it would be a cruel

pity. In a few years I should easily pass for your mother, and you

would cut a ridiculous figure in attending me through the streets. You

are still a young man and a very foolish one, as you have just proved.

Your heart must still possess a fountain of youth, though you are no

mere lad. Why don't you do me the favor to marry my Agnes, who is nine

and twenty, an epitome of every feminine virtue, and, moreover, in love

with you?"

This Agnes was her favorite pupil, the daughter of the district

physician, and, as I lived opposite to her house, our names had already

been associated by the gossips. It was by no means humiliating to be

suspected of cherishing a special liking for this exemplary and by no

means ugly girl. But, Good Heavens, I!

I could only shake my head and answer: "Why do I not love your Agnes?

Because I don't want to marry a bundle of virtues, but one human being,

and in fact only that one who in my eyes will always be young, and whom

I desire to call mine in order to please no mortal save myself.

However, as you have so little love for me that you would willingly

serve as a match-maker in my behalf, it was of course folly to ask if

you would become Frau Johannes Weissbrod, and I therefore most humbly

beg your pardon."

I rose with an uncontrollable sense of grief, and, scarcely bowing to

her, stalked away like a thoroughly rude, defiant man.

The next day, it is true, I returned humbly, and remorsefully besought

her to forgive my spiteful escapade. She was quite right; I was nothing

but a crack-brained young man who grasped at the stars, and in doing so

fell on the ground. Frau Luise gazed silently into vacancy, and then

said: "The most difficult task and the one we learn latest is to cut

our garments according to the cloth, though we feel it will grow with

us. Let us say no more about it."

I did not exactly understand what she meant. It became clear to me

afterward.

* * * * *

We again lived on as before, and, after she had survived the spring

tempest, life seemed to become dear to her once more, though a slight

shadow rested on her brow. At Easter she gave her concert for the

benefit of the poor, which was a brilliant success. Her birthday came

just after Whitsuntide, and, in token of the love and gratitude of the

whole community, was to be celebrated with special pomp. I, of course,

began the festival with a morning serenade executed under her windows

by my pupils, after which she invited the whole choir in and treated

them to coffee and cakes. At ten o'clock the burgomaster's wife and her

most distinguished friends called, and attended her in a stately

procession down to the shore of the lake. There the greatest surprise

awaited her. The burgomaster had sent to Berlin several days before for

a machinist and some assistants to inspect the little steamer and put

her in safe condition to make an excursion over the mirror-like surface

of the lake. The boiler and engine were found to be still in tolerable

order, and a trial trip was taken at night whose result was perfectly

satisfactory.

When we came down to the shore, the little vessel, gayly decked with

flags, hung with garlands of fir, and sending upward a light column of

smoke from its smokestack, looked extremely pretty and inviting; and

Frau Luise's eyes dilated with astonishment when she understood that

this smoke was floating from the stack, so long empty, in honor of her.

The burgomaster's wife and I led her across the long, swaying plank

that extended to the deck; but here she was so startled that she almost

made a misstep, for an exultant paean suddenly resounded with such

vehement, youthful energy from invisible throats that it was almost too

much for her composure. Her pupils had posted themselves behind a

canvas awning, which was afterward drawn over the deck as a protection

from the sun, and in the excitement of the moment were singing the

festal melody I had composed and arranged with more regard to the

feelings of their hearts than the rules of art, by which state of

affairs neither words nor music were especially enhanced. However, in

the open air and amid the general emotion, this modest overture

performed its part acceptably. Then the deck suddenly became thronged

with joyous, loving faces; and, when the anchor was weighed and the

little vessel swept with majestic calmness through the glittering

water, first along the shore and then across the lake to the little

grove, while the chorus of fresh young voices, now mindful of every

nicety of execution they owed to their mistress, began the superb air,

"Who has Thee, Forest Fair--" I saw the sweet face of the woman I loved

illumined with gentle, divine emotion, and was forced to turn away that

my tears might fall into the water unobserved.

But all this was merely the prelude to the festival. The banquet was

served in the wood, where, in an open space under tall fir-trees, stood

a large table adorned with bouquets and covered with dishes, which had

been brought there early in the morning, and received the last dressing

over an improvised hearth by some experienced housekeepers. Under the

seat that had been arranged for the heroine of the day lay the gift her

young friends had prepared, a large rug for her room, the work of many

industrious hands, and as gayly adorned with the most beautiful

garlands of roses and arabesques of violets as provincial love could

accomplish. Still, here amid the green foliage and before the festal

board, the strange work of art with its glaring colors and grotesque

flourishes looked very bright, and each of the fellow-workers won from

the deeply agitated recipient a kiss and clasp of the hand. After this

we took our places at the table, and began the feast with the best

possible appetite.

Of course, there was no lack of admirable speeches, merry clinking of

glasses, and frequent embraces between the feminine members of the

party, during which I played the part of envious spectator. I also

contributed my shred to the general eloquence by emptying my glass to

the health of the six almshouse dames, who were seated in holiday garb

at the table below, and imagined themselves in Paradise--never had they

dreamed of such honors and delights on earth. Their patroness, the

queen, had not even been obliged to stipulate that they were not to

remain at home. The givers of the festival knew that without her

faithful followers something would be lacking from the pleasures of the

day.

Of course, the meal did not pass without singing, and, when we had

risen from the table and were enjoying a little rest on the moss-grown

soil of the wood, the young ladies walked arm in arm in little groups

along the dusky woodland-paths, raising their voices in an alternative

melody very sweet to hear. All sorts of games followed, in which,

however, the presence of young men was secretly missed. I was malicious

enough to remain with the mothers or talk with the six or seven fathers

who had joined the party, in order not to go near Agnes, whom my cruel

friend, as a punishment for my sins, desired to force upon me as a

wife.

I saw that the long-continued festivity was wearying her, though she

exerted herself to acknowledge, with unvarying winsomeness, the efforts

made by these worthy people. I heard her cough, so I drew the

burgomaster's wife aside and persuaded her to give the signal for

departure.

After some delay and discussion we all went on board the steamer again,

and, making a wide sweep around the lake, returned to our harbor.

Frau Luise stood on deck in the bow of the vessel with several of her

favorite pupils near her; no one uttered a word. We were allowing the

memories of this delightful day to re-echo in our hearts. Her head was

turned toward the west, where the sun was slowly sinking, and her dear

face and tall figure were warmly illumined by the crimson glow. With

what a youthful light her eyes sparkled! The silvery luster of her hair

had vanished in the golden radiance. It seemed impossible to believe

that this woman had just celebrated her forty-fourth birthday.

"Sing something!" said Agnes, who stood nearest. "Ah, yes, do sing!"

entreated the others.

She did not seem to have heard them. Yet suddenly, as if in a dream,

she sang, _mezza voce_, an Italian air, an aria from Paesiello, of

which she was especially fond. And, as the steamer swept on into the

crimson light, the song rose clearer and stronger till she poured forth

the full power of her voice, whose every note must have been distinctly

audible on the shore. The whole company had gradually glided closer to

us, and I saw by their rapt faces how they were enjoying the foreign

beauty of the melody, whose words no one understood. Even the people on

the shore, peasants with their carts and solitary pedestrians, stopped

as if enchanted, and gazed at the black ship slowly dividing the waves

bearing a singing nixie on her deck.

Then the vessel turned, and the sun was behind us. The aria was

finished, and the burgomaster had given the signal for applause, in

which all joined with great fervor. When silence was restored, and the

group waited for the singing to be resumed, she began, without waiting

to be asked, Beethoven's "Knows't thou the Land!" which she had

transposed to suit the deeper notes of her voice. "Mignon certainly had

an alto voice," she once jestingly said to me. Never had I heard her

sing it so superbly, never heard the "Thither! thither!" express such

strong, sweet, uncontrollable yearning. We reached the landing-place

just as the last notes died away. The burgomaster was so deeply moved

that he forgot to applaud, went to her, and, with tears in his honest

old eyes, bent, seized both hands, and faltered: "I thank you, I thank

you a thousand times, madame! This is the fairest day of my life! You

have made us all happy."

She smiled and looked at me. "It was my swan song," she said. "I fear I

shall be obliged to give up singing. Just hear how hoarse this little

exertion has suddenly made me."

I saw her shiver slightly, and hastened to wrap a shawl around her.

"Good-night, my dear friends," she said. "I owe you all thanks for a

pleasure never to be forgotten. Forgive me for taking my leave so

abruptly. But this was a little too much joy for an old woman who has

not deserved so much love and kindness. No, I am perfectly well; a

little rest will make me quite myself again. My beautiful rug must be

put in my room at once. I will feast my eyes on the lovely flowers and

think of the dear givers till I fall asleep."

She then shook hands with every one. As I helped her across the plank

to the shore, I felt the difficulty she experienced in holding herself

erect. "It is nothing, dear friend," she whispered hoarsely. "My heart

is as light as a bird's, only my limbs are heavy. My good mother Grabow

shall put me to bed. Perhaps I took cold in the wood. But you know I am

like a cork figure, my head is always uppermost. Good-night."

* * * * *

I had by no means a good night. When, before school the next morning, I

inquired at the almshouse for Frau Luise, she was still asleep, that

is, she was lying in a feverish dream, raving incoherently without

recognizing any one. I spoke to the doctor, who had been already called

in the night. The old man had the thoughtful wrinkle between his bushy

eyebrows that always boded trouble.

"But she is so strong and full of vital energy," I said.

"The strongest constitutions fare the worst. But we can still hope, and

she could not be more carefully nursed if she were a princess."

It was the same at noon. I spent the whole day with her, had a couch

made up for me in the music-room at night, and the following morning

sent a message to my friend the head teacher--who meantime had been

made superintendent of the school--requesting him to do me the favor to

take charge of my classes. I was unable to do my duty while my friend's

life was in danger.

This lasted four, five days. The doctor shook his head more and more

despairingly. "I can give the disease no special name! It is a sort

of nervous fever, but in a very unusual form, and the ordinary remedies

do not avail. It is fortunate that she is unconscious. Only the

expression of pain on her face shows that she has a dull sense of the

life-and-death struggle raging in her frame."

During those days it seemed as though the little almshouse had been

transferred to the heart of the city. Instead of being solitary and

deserted as usual, it was now constantly surrounded by a crowd of

persons of all ages and sexes, treading lightly with a sorrowful look

on their faces. They did not venture to ring the bell, and indeed it

was not necessary: one of the old dames was constantly cowering outside

of the door, and gave to all questions the same sad answer. When

prominent people came, I was obliged to go out and reply to the queries

myself. Every one thought it was a matter of course that I now belonged

to the household.

Scarcely any change occurred in her critical condition, nothing save a

slight ebb and flow of the fever, a lower or louder intonation of the

voice, as she raved of the visions of her bewildered brain. Sometimes,

with wide-open eyes that rested on nothing, she repeated correctly and

distinctly a few lines from one of her husband's parts. Sometimes she

seemed to be talking with her son, and a happy smile that pierced me to

the heart flitted over her colorless lips. Sometimes she sang, but only

diatonic scales, and when her voice failed to reach the high notes she

shook her head mournfully, whispering: "Too high, too high! Trees must

not grow to the sky. Down! down! It is pleasant to dwell below."

At such times I could not restrain my tears.

But, on the fifth day, a crisis seemed imminent. The fever had lessened

several degrees; the old doctor's face, for the first time, wore a

hopeful look.

He gave several directions, and promised to come in the next morning

earlier than usual. I could send home the young girls, who called at a

late hour to inquire, with a little hope, which, however, I did not

feel myself. Then I returned to my post. It was Mother Schulzen's turn

to keep watch that night, but she was so deaf that I could not trust

the invalid solely to her, though nothing would have induced her to go

to bed. She was sitting in a low chair by the wall, and, after keeping

herself awake for a while by knitting and taking snuff, at last fell

peacefully asleep.

A lamp, protected by a green shade, was burning in the room; outside,

the moon was sailing through a cloudless sky; deep silence surrounded

us. Frau Luise had not uttered a word since noon, and for the first

time seemed to be quietly asleep.

Suddenly--it was about ten o'clock--while I sat by the bed without

turning my eyes from her face, her eyes slowly opened and wandered

about the room with a strained gaze till they rested upon me. Then she

said, in a perfectly clear voice: "I feel wonderfully well!"

After a pause, during which I scarcely ventured to breathe, as if the

slightest sound might drive the approaching convalescence away, she

murmured: "Are you here, dear friend? Have I slept long? How delightful

that I can see you as soon as I wake!"

She moved her hand as if seeking something. I timidly clasped it, and

stooped to press my burning brow upon it. Just at that moment I felt

her other hand laid gently on my head, and, while stroking my hair, she

continued in the same calm voice:

"My last hour is near, Johannes. But I am glad that I have waked once

more before the long night begins. I have something to say to you, my

friend. You know the tenor of my last will, and that I wish to be laid

in the church-yard outside with my old almshouse friends. If there is a

Day of Judgment, I would like to rise with my body-guard; they have

spoiled me; I could no longer do without their service. And let my

coffin be covered with the rug; afterward it shall belong to you. Do

you hear me? Come a little nearer. What I now have to say is to be a

secret between us two. I deceived you when I told you, a short time

ago, that I was not created to see the universe in a single individual.

It cost me no little effort, for my heart belied my lips. I should have

been very happy if I could have become your wife. I knew that long,

long ago--ever since the day you took our Joachimchen in your arms when

he grew weary and carried him home, I said to myself: 'Could I possess

this child and this man, no wish would remain ungratified.' But it

might not be. I was obliged to bury the child and hide my love for the

man in the inmost depths of my heart. But it always lived on there, and

now I can thank you, Johannes, for all the love and faith you have

lavished upon me. Lift my head a little--there--I want to see you

clearly once more, and--it is strange--my eyes are so heavy, though my

soul is awake."

I helped her rise higher on her pillows, bowed my face nearer hers, and

saw her eyes fixed on me with strange brilliancy.

"I love you, my friend," she said. "There is not one false line in your

face nor in your heart, but a great sorrow now fills both. Be happy,

dear one, and remember your friend without tears. Shall I not remain

with you, wherever I go? True, to see each other again--" She slowly

shook her head. "Ah, if I might only see you and my boy--but the other

masks--no, no! We have eaten at the table of life here below till we

are satisfied--or rather, we are wise and stop just when the food

tastes best; now others will sit in our chairs. But we will first

cordially wish each other 'a good appetite!' Come! kiss me once, just

as a loving husband kisses his beloved wife--then I will stretch myself

out and take my afternoon rest."

My quivering lips touched her cool mouth. "Dear Johannes!" she

murmured, clasping my hand tightly as she fell back on the pillows.

Then she smiled once more, an unearthly smile, and closed her eyes. Her

hand trembled a little.

An hour after it lay cold and still in mine.