A walk of ten minutes took Linda from the Schuett island to the
Egidien Platz, and placed her before the door of Herr Molk's house.
The Egidien Platz is, perhaps, the most fashionable quarter of
Nuremberg, if Nuremberg may be said to have a fashion in such
matters. It is near to the Rathhaus, and to St. Sebald's Church, and
is not far distant from the old Burg or Castle in which the Emperors
used to dwell when they visited the imperial city of Nuremberg.
This large open Place has a church in its centre, and around it are
houses almost all large, built with gables turned towards the street,
quaint, picturesque, and eloquent of much burghers' wealth. There
could be no such square in a city which was not or had not been very
rich. And among all the houses in the Egidien Platz, there was no
house to exceed in beauty of ornament, in quaintness of architecture,
or in general wealth and comfort, that which was inhabited by Herr
Molk.
Linda stood for a moment at the door, and then putting up her hand,
pulled down the heavy iron bell-handle, which itself was a gem of
art, representing some ancient and discreet burgher of the town,
wrapped in his cloak, and almost hidden by his broad-brimmed hat. She
heard the bell clank close inside the door, and then the portal was
open, as though the very pulling of the bell had opened it. The lock
at least was open, so that Linda could push the door with her hand
and enter over the threshold. This she did, and she found herself
within a long narrow court or yard, round which, one above another,
there ran galleries, open to the court, and guarded with heavy
balustrades of carved wood. From the narrowness of the enclosure, the
house on each side seemed to be very high, and Linda, looking round
with astonished eyes, could see that at every point the wood was
carved. And the waterspouts were ornamented with grotesque figures,
and the huge broad stairs which led to the open galleries on the
left hand were of polished oak, made so slippery with the polishers'
daily care that it was difficult to tread upon them without falling.
All around the bottom of the court there were open granaries or
warehouses; for there seemed to be nothing that could be called a
room on the ground floor, beyond the porter's lodge; and these open
warehouses seemed to be filled full with masses of stacked firewood.
Linda knew well the value of such stores in Nuremberg, and lost none
of her veneration for Herr Molk because of such nature were the signs
of his domestic wealth.
As she timidly looked around her she saw an old woman within the gate
of the porter's lodge, and inquired whether Herr Molk was at home and
disengaged. The woman simply motioned her to the wicket gate by which
the broad polished stairs were guarded. Linda, hesitating to advance
into so grand a mansion alone, and yet knowing that she should do
as she was bidden, entered the wicket and ascended carefully to the
first gallery. Here was another bell ready to her hand, the handle of
which consisted of a little child in iron-work. This also she pulled,
and waited till some one should come. Presently there was a scuffling
heard of quick feet in the gallery, and three children ran up to her.
In the middle was the elder, a girl dressed in dark silk, and at her
sides were two boys habited in black velvet. They all had long fair
hair, and large blue eyes, and soft peach-like cheeks,--such as those
who love children always long to kiss. Linda thought that she had
never seen children so gracious and so fair. She asked again whether
Herr Molk was at home, and at liberty to see a stranger. "Quite a
stranger," said poor Linda, with what emphasis she could put upon her
words. The little girl said that her grandfather was at home, and
would see any visitor,--as a matter of course. Would Linda follow
her? Then the child, still leading her little brothers, tripped up
the stairs to the second gallery, and opening a door which led into
one of the large front rooms, communicated to an old gentleman who
seemed to be taking exercise in the apartment with his hands behind
his back, that he was wanted by a lady.
"Wanted, am I, my pretty one? Well, and here I am." Then the little
girl, giving a long look up into Linda's face, retreated, taking her
brothers with her, and closing the door. Thus Linda found herself
in the room along with the old gentleman, who still kept his hands
behind his back. It was a singular apartment, nearly square, but very
large, panelled with carved wood, not only throughout the walls, but
up to the ceiling also. And the floor was polished even brighter than
were the stairs. Herr Molk must have been well accustomed to take
his exercise there, or he would surely have slipped and fallen in
his course. There was but one small table in the room, which stood
unused near a wall, and there were perhaps not more than half-a-dozen
chairs,--all high-backed, covered with old tapestry, and looking as
though they could hardly have been placed there for ordinary use.
On one of these, Linda sat at the old man's bidding; and he placed
himself on another, with his hands still behind him, just seating
himself on the edge of the chair.
"I am Linda Tressel," said poor Linda. She saw at a glance that she
herself would not have known Herr Molk, whom she had never before met
without his hat, and she perceived also that he had not recognised
her.
"Linda Tressel! So you are. Dear, dear! I knew your father
well,--very well. But, lord, how long that is ago! He is dead ever so
many years; how many years?"
"Sixteen years," said Linda.
"Sixteen years dead! And he was a younger man than I,--much younger.
Let me see,--not so much younger, but younger. Linda Tressel, your
father's daughter is welcome to my house. A glass of wine will not
hurt you this cold weather." She declined the wine, but the old man
would have his way. He went out, and was absent perhaps five minutes.
Then he returned bearing a small tray in his own hands, with a
long-necked bottle and glasses curiously engraved, and he insisted
that Linda should clink her glass with his. "And now, my dear, what
is it that I can do for you?"
So far Linda's mission had prospered well; but now that the story was
to be told, she found very much difficulty in telling it. She had to
begin with the whole history of the red house, and of the terms upon
which her aunt had come to reside in it. She had one point at least
in her favour. Herr Molk was an excellent listener. He would nod his
head, and pat one hand upon the other, and say, "Yes, yes," without
the slightest sign of impatience. It seemed as though he had no other
care before him than that of listening to Linda's story. When she
experienced the encouragement which came from the nodding of his
head and the patting of his hand, she went on boldly. She told how
Peter Steinmarc had come to the house, and how her aunt was a woman
peculiar from the strength of her religious convictions. "Yes, my
dear, yes; we know that,--we know that," said Herr Molk. Linda did
her best to say nothing evil of her aunt. Then she came to the story
of Peter's courtship. "He is quite an old man, you know," said poor
Linda, thoughtfully. Then she was interrupted by Herr Molk. "A worthy
man; I know him well,--well,--well. Peter Steinmarc is our clerk
at the Rathhaus. A very worthy man is Peter Steinmarc. Your father,
my dear, was clerk at the Rathhaus, and Peter followed him. He is
not young,--not just young; but a very worthy man. Go on, my dear."
Linda had resolved to tell it all, and she did tell it all. It was
difficult to tell, but it all came out. Perhaps there could be no
listener more encouraging to such a girl as Linda than the patient,
gentle-mannered old man with whom she was closeted. "She had a lover
whom she loved dearly," she said,--"a young man."
"Oh, a lover," said Herr Molk. But there seemed to be no anger in
his voice. He received the information as though it were important,
but not astonishing. Then Linda even told him how the lover had come
across the river on the Sunday morning, and how it had happened that
she had not told her aunt, and how angry her aunt had been. "Yes,
yes," said Herr Molk; "it is better that your elders should know such
things,--always better. But go on, my dear." Then she told also how
the lover had come down, or had gone up, through the rafters, and the
old man smiled. Perhaps he had hidden himself among rafters fifty
years ago, and had some sweet remembrance of the feat. And now Linda
wanted to know what was she to do, and how she ought to act. The
house was her own, but she would not for worlds drive her aunt out
of it. She loved her lover very dearly, and she could not love Peter
Steinmarc at all,--not in that way.
"Has the young man means to support a wife?" asked Herr Molk. Linda
hesitated, knowing that there was still a thing to be told, which she
had not as yet dared to mention. She knew too that it must be told.
Herr Molk, as she hesitated, asked a second question on this very
point. "And what is the young man's name, my dear? It all depends on
his name and character, and whether he has means to support a wife."
"His name--is--Ludovic Valcarm," said Linda, whispering the words
very low.
The old man jumped from his seat with an alacrity that Linda had
certainly not expected. "Ludovic--Valcarm!" he said; "why, my dear,
the man is in prison this moment. I signed the committal yesterday
myself."
"In prison!" said Linda, rising also from her chair.
"He is a terrible young man," said Herr Molk--"a very terrible young
man. He does all manner of things;--I can't explain what. My dear
young woman, you must not think of taking Ludovic Valcarm for your
husband; you must not, indeed. You had better make up your mind to
take Peter Steinmarc. Peter Steinmarc can support a wife, and is very
respectable. I have known Peter all my life. Ludovic Valcarm! Oh
dear! That would be very bad,--very bad indeed!"
Linda's distress was excessive. It was not only that the tidings
which she heard of Ludovic were hard to bear, but it seemed that
Herr Molk was intent on ranging himself altogether with her enemies
respecting Peter Steinmarc. In fact, the old man's advice to her
respecting Peter was more important in her mind that his denunciation
of Ludovic. She did not quite credit what he said of Ludovic. It
was doubtless true that Ludovic was in prison; probably for some
political offence. But such men, she thought, were not kept in prison
long. It was bad, this fact of her lover's imprisonment; but not so
bad as the advice which her counsellor gave her, and which she knew
she would be bound to repeat to her aunt.
"But, Herr Molk, sir, if I do not love Peter Steinmarc--if I hate
him--?"
"Oh, my dear, my dear! This is a terrible thing. There is not such
another ne'er-do-well in all Nuremberg as Ludovic Valcarm. Support
a wife! He cannot support himself. And it will be well if he
does not die in a jail. Oh dear! oh dear! For your father's sake,
fraulein--for your father's sake, I would go any distance to save you
from this. Your father was a good man, and a credit to the city. And
Peter Steinmarc is a good man."
"But I need not marry Peter Steinmarc, Herr Molk."
"You cannot do better, my dear,--indeed you cannot. See what your
aunt says. And remember, my dear, that you should submit yourself to
your elders and your betters. Peter is not so old. He is not old at
all. I was one of the city magistrates when Peter was a little boy. I
remember him well. And he began life in your father's office. Nothing
can be more respectable than he has been. And then Ludovic Valcarm!
oh dear! If you ask my advice, I should counsel you to accept Peter
Steinmarc."
There was nothing more to be got from Herr Molk. And with this
terrible recommendation still sounding in her ears, Linda sadly made
her way back from the Egidien Platz to the Schuett island.