THE PARSONAGE
It looked more like an ancient farm-house than the home of the parish
priest, and was separated by a considerable distance from the village
church, whose humble spire and glittering vane peered above the
clustered trees beyond. It seemed a very antique and weather-stained
homestead, but wore rather the quaint picturesqueness that just precedes
decay, than the actual dilapidation of ruin itself. It would have been
hard to tell with what color it had originally been decorated, for it
was now sunburned and rain-washed into a streaky, sombre gray, to which
this gorgeous October light gave a certain mellow warmth of its own; and
the walls were so covered with the glossy leaves of the ivy, the porch
was so overgrown with the interlocked stems of the honeysuckle, that
comparatively little of the dwelling itself was left bare. In front was
a small, carefully-tended garden, where the autumn roses were glowing;
but nearly all the adjacent grounds were devoted to what would have
seemed the interests of a goodly farm; the gray old orchard rich with
red and yellow globes twinkling among the branches or lying half buried
in the soft turf below; the vine-trellises beyond, with their large,
dusky leaves, bearing their splendid blue and golden-green fruitage
freely in the open air; and on the other side of the house, the thriving
kitchen-garden with its stripes of varied verdure,--all prosperously
basking in the radiant sunshine of harvest-tide. Some of the windows
were thrown open for the air and light to play through the dwelling;
from one of them a white curtain, detached from its fastenings, was
blowing. A perky little hen, with her brood close after her, was
strutting along the garden-lane and pecking near the walls of the manse,
but no other living creature seemed to be stirring about the premises.
"A queer, quiet old place it is," said Steck, taking in all the details
at a glance.
"Yes," said Waldstein, dryly; "it is younger inside."
The gate was open, and they walked noiselessly through, frightening the
hen and her young ones into a brisk trot towards the barnyard. They had
almost reached the doorway before they saw, half reclining on a long
wooden bench in the porch, the portly figure of the pastor, his face
concealed by a large volume held up before his eyes.
"Good-evening, Father Duroc," cried Max.
Their host started, let fall his book from before him, and disclosed a
jovial, weak, handsome face, but little marked by age, whose thick dark
eyebrows and rosy coloring contrasted strikingly with the pure white of
his unpowdered hair.
"I have taken you by surprise this time," said Waldstein, "and have
brought my friend, Dr. Julius Steck, of Frankfort. He is a serious
fellow, young as he looks; one after your own heart, an indefatigable
student, who wishes thoroughly to examine our parochial customs before
he enters upon his active duties."
"Welcome! welcome both!" said the pastor, heartily, giving each a hand.
"Any friend of yours, Waldstein, has, you know, a double welcome, and
Dr. Steck could not have found a better place to complete his studies
than the oldest parsonage in Alsace, though the vicar says it himself."
"I shall be proud to put myself under your guidance," said Steck, with
becoming modesty. "Your well-known research, your profound----"
"Tut! tut!" interrupted the pleased pastor. "I have but looked into such
scant volumes as strayed across my path. But an apt and ardent scholar
is my delight, and such a one is a rarity in these superficial days. Ah,
Waldstein, your eyes are wandering after the lasses, I'll be bound. They
have strolled off with the Mütterchen toward the brook-side to enjoy
this bright afternoon. But we can have a good hour's chat in the library
before they return."
"We heard their laughter as we came along from Drusenheim," said
Waldstein. "If Otto be not with them, why could not I? Might they not be
pleased----"
"I see your drift," exclaimed the pastor. "Well, be off to the meadows,
young gallant, and bring them safely home; they will all be glad to see
thee. Meantime, this serious youth and I will discuss our graver
matters."
Max, with a roguish glance at Steck, ran off like a dismissed schoolboy
down the slope behind the house, and was almost immediately out of sight
in the dip of the valley below. Steck, however, with his head full of
the "Vicar of Wakefield," and possessing in the highest degree the
artist's capacity to invest with interest the most commonplace of
characters, was delighted at the prospect of a conversation with the Dr.
Primrose of Sesenheim.
"I do not wonder, sir," he began, "that you have brought your literature
to so attractive a seat. I, too, often make my studies in the open air;
not that my eyes will wander from my beloved manuscript, but I fancy
that the mind has there a larger scope, a clearer perception, a stronger
energy of retention."
"Surely, surely," assented the pastor. "I am fully of your opinion, Dr.
Steck. So, since it pleases you, we will take our seats here in the
porch. At this genial season, the hospitality of my home extends far
beyond the shelter of my roof-tree, over all these shining acres." And
he waved his hand with a natural pride towards the smiling landscape.
"You are perhaps surprised," he went on, garrulously, "to find me so
miserably quartered in a wealthy village and with a lucrative benefice.
Long since, it has been promised me by the parish, and even by those in
higher places, that the house shall be rebuilt; many plans have been
already drawn, examined, and altered,--none of them altogether rejected,
and none carried into execution. This has lasted so long that I scarcely
know how to control my impatience."
"Perhaps," suggested Steck, "if you were to display a little impatience,
you might sooner succeed in forcing them to pursue the affair more
vigorously."
"Ah!" sighed the pastor, with an air of discouragement, "you do not know
with what people I have to deal. The duke is away the better part of the
year, hunting, traveling, killing time as he best may. Herr Klug, the
former intendant, was anxious enough to promote the welfare of the
parish. Indeed, it was he who proposed the renovation of the manse; then
were the plans drawn and deliberated upon; but before we could come to
any decision he was removed, to make way for a French successor, M.
Guédin. 'Well, Käthchen,' said I to Mother Duroc, 'we can congratulate
ourselves now,--we shall soon have a spruce new parsonage when this
active young fellow takes the lead.' 'Wait to whistle till you are out
of the wood, Moritz,' said the prudent mother, and she was right. It was
only the last new idea that M. Guédin could seize with any interest.
When he saw the many difficulties to be overcome, and heard of the many
tastes to be consulted, it was too much for the Gallic genius, and he
has long betaken himself to more congenial occupations."
"But your people," interposed Steck, highly amused at the old man's
naïf confidence, "why should not they co-operate to secure their pastor
a more comfortable home? Though for my part, sir, the beauty of this
picturesque old farmstead, the thoroughly German character of its
construction, please me so much that I should be loth to hear of a
change."
"Ay, lad," returned the pastor, "it is well for you, who come and take a
glance at the outside, to fall into ecstasies over the woodbine on the
porch, the moss on the tiles, the wee diamonds set in the heavy gables
that form our windows. But it is an inconvenient picturesqueness for the
pastor, where a few stout beams of oak, some moderate-sized panes of
glass, and a couple of serviceable chimneys might remedy all. But come
in with me, and examine for yourself how we fare."
With these words he rose and led Steck into the house. They passed
through a commodious hall, furnished like a room with rugs and seats,
into the library, where the late sunshine was streaming. Steck was so
delighted with the quaint wooden bookcases, the high mantel-shelf with
its painted tiles, and the tokens on every side of the habitual presence
of youth and womankind,--the flowers in the windows, the festoons of
fresh ivy between the prettily-designed landscapes, the open
harpsichord, with the last song still upon it, the charming disorder of
the tables, scattered with books, writing-materials, sketching-crayons,
and embroidery,--that he did not care to note that the deep-ledged
windows were indeed somewhat out of date, the ceilings stained and
smoked, and the furniture worn and shabby.
"I cannot help it, sir," he said, turning to the pastor with a
deprecating smile, "but I think it all charming. And what a glorious
outlook from this westward window!"
"Yes, yes," answered the pastor, a little testily, "the outlook is good
enough; it is as fair a site as any in Alsace." And all his good humor
returned as he leaned with his guest over the broad sill and looked out
at the rich spread of vineyard, stream, and meadow, terminated by the
gorgeous boundary of the Vosges, with their aerial outlines and
indescribable luxuriance of tint glowing in the last rays of the
sunsetting.
"Here be our saunterers coming along the road," said he, shading his
eyes with his hand. "But where could they have left Alide?"
Steck looked at the figures advancing through the fields, and recognized
Waldstein foremost, in apparently earnest colloquy with his companion,
a tall, slender woman attired in sober colors. In his mind he
immediately named her the charming Rahel, and could scarcely repress a
smile at the staid, demure character of the attractions that had
captivated his friend's fancy. A few paces behind them hastened a
younger figure, with bright-colored ribbons flying and white skirt
gleaming between the bushes and tree-trunks as she came along. She had
loitered to gather some field-flowers; and as she almost ran forward to
rejoin her companions, she seemed in Steck's eyes a very Ruth, with her
blue and red blossoms in her hand, and her wide straw hat dangling from
her head and encircling like an aureole the dark-brown locks.
"There she is, sir," said Steck, who thought the pastor must have failed
to see this young girl, lingering purposely, as he was pleased to
imagine, behind the sweethearts.
"No," said Dr. Duroc, "that is Rahel." Then with a sudden burst of
laughter, clapping Steck upon the shoulder, he exclaimed, "I see your
mistake! It will make a gallant compliment for Käthchen when she comes
in. It is not the first time the mother has been said to look as young
as her daughters." Before Steck had time to reply, the couple entered
the room.
"Here is a young fellow, Kitty," said the blunt pastor, "who has
mistaken you for your own child. Madame Duroc, Dr. Julius Steck."
"I am glad to see you, sir," said madame, shaking his hand cordially.
In spite of her slight figure, he could see now that the beauty of her
intelligent countenance was indeed somewhat faded. She scrutinized him
narrowly with a woman's alert intuition, very different from the
unsuspecting confidence of the pastor; but, turning to her husband, she
went on, kindly, "You always have your jest, Moritz; but you will make
the young gentleman blush if you expose so freely his mistakes. Has
Alide come home yet?"
"No," answered the pastor, with surprise; "I thought she was with you."
"So she was, but she left us a good half-hour since with Goetz."
"In that case she has not returned," said Dr. Duroc, "for I have been
sitting with Dr. Steck in the porch, and we could not have missed seeing
her."
"In the porch!" cried Madame Duroc, "and Dr. Steck has had nothing to
refresh himself after his long walk from the inn!"
"That is the way with her, boys," said the simple pastor, as she left
them, "always thoughtful for others."
At this moment Rahel burst rather noisily into the room, bringing the
sweet fragrance of the fields along with her.
"Where is Alide?" she asked, without noticing the stranger.
"Rahel," said the pastor, in a tone of reproof, "here is a visitor, Dr.
Steck; that is hardly the way to greet him."
"I beg your pardon, papa," said the young girl, with heightened color,
"and yours too, sir, whom I am happy to welcome," extending her hand
with almost as little embarrassment and as much cordiality as her
mother. "But, papa, I am uneasy about Alide; she should have been home
long ago. I must go seek her." And she hastened away.
"We are all rather foolish about our Alide," said the pastor,
apologetically; "she is the youngest of us,--but I have no fear for her.
You will soon see them all, Dr. Steck, and I am particularly anxious for
you to know my boy Otto; he is a lad of much promise, though a trifle
reserved, and if he can but select such companions as yourself and
Waldstein, I shall rest content."
"I shall be proud to know them all," said Steck, with sincerity, "for I
do not remember when before I have been so happy in a family circle."
And his eyes wandered to the door in search of the youngest daughter,
whose prolonged absence created such a stir in the household, and
occasioned an agreeable flutter of expectation in his own breast.
As he looked, the door was slowly opened, and Madame Duroc re-entered,
bearing a tray with a flask of home-made wine, a china basket filled
with the fruits of their orchard and vineyard, and a dish of her own
sweet-cakes. Waldstein, who was quite at home in the family, cleared one
of the tables and helped Madame Duroc to set the plates and glasses, and
they all placed themselves around it.
"Kitty is proud of her Rheinwein," said the pastor, as he filled Steck's
goblet, "and the surest way to her heart is to show your appreciation of
it." And he clinked his own glass against Steck's and raised it to his
lips.
"That she may well be," responded the youth, as he quaffed a long
draught. "It is a most delicious vintage."
"You know," said Madame Duroc, with assumed modesty, "the parson's wine
is always supposed to have a peculiar flavor."
"Never mind, Käthchen," said the pastor; "we will hold our own opinion
still. The last time you tasted it, Max, was the evening young Vogel was
here paying his court to Rahel. It seemed rather bitter in your mouth
then, eh, Waldstein?"
"It not the wine, sir," answered honest Max, with a girl's blush
overspreading his face. Just then Rahel herself returned.
"I cannot imagine what has become of Alide!" she cried. "I have been
half-way across the meadow without catching a glimpse of her. None of
the servants have seen her, and I have been waiting at the porch ever
since. It is really provoking, for I suppose she will come in soon with
some ridiculous excuse for having made us all so uneasy."
"Is Goetz with her?" asked the mother, rising and looking anxiously from
the window.
"Yes," replied Rahel, "or I should be really worried instead of vexed."
"It is indeed provoking!" said Madame Duroc, nervously. "I cannot
understand where the child has gone. She seems to be always either
loitering behind us or running out of sight ahead. I shall forbid her to
leave us at this hour again; she is far too wild and fearless for her
years. She seems to forget she is no longer a child."
"Let her alone," said the father, with great composure; "she has already
come back."
All eyes were turned to where he pointed as he spoke, and there, under
the low doorway, with the soft light from the western window falling
full upon her face, stood Alide.