"however hard it may be for him; for it does not become him to foster
suspicions of his father in his soul."
"More son than Prince!" cried Victor; "and there is an end of it,
virtuous Benno. Ah, Bergau, where are you going?"
The Marshall, whom he accosted, replied, hastily, "To the Pavilion, my
Prince."
"Have you heard any details," asked Victor, mysteriously, "concerning
the scare they have had at the castle of my great-uncle? It was about a
woman, or rather an apparition, which, in reality, was a spirit that
entered as a spectre, with a great row; it began as a thundering noise
and ended like a funeral march; it made the doors shake, and the
chandeliers jingle like a peal of bells. Have you heard nothing of it?"
"Nothing. What apparition? When--and how?"
"I do not quite know," replied Victor; "but if you hear anything of it,
I beg you to let me know."
This the Marshal promised to do, and hastened away.
The Marshal was blameless in his service; he inspected all the accounts
conscientiously, took care to have good wine in the cellar, and
discharged the ceremonial details of his office well. Besides this, he
was a worthy nobleman, but without any great abilities. He was,
therefore, a valuable champion of Court; for he contended, with all the
energy of a fanatic, for the venerated customs of his household against
the irregular pretensions of foreign guests, and was sometimes made use
of by the Sovereign as a battering-ram to assault a wall which another
would have gone cautiously round. He now came to Ilse, ill-pleased at
heart with the commission which he had been commanded to carry out
dexterously. He found the Professor's wife in an unfavorable mood. The
boldness of Victor, and the secret reproach conveyed in the words of
the Hereditary Prince, had made her discontented with herself, and
suspicious of the uncertain position in which she was placed. The
Marshal long stirred the bowl from which he had to pour; he turned the
conversation to Ilse's home and her father, whom he had once met at a
cattle-show.
"It is a fine estate, I hear, and has a very high reputation."
Ilse, taking pleasure in this praise of what was dear to her, entered
unsuspiciously into the conversation, and told him of the neighboring
farms and their owners.
At last the Marshal began:
"Your father is worthy of every distinction; pardon me, therefore, if I
put one question: Has your father ever had the wish to be ennobled?"
"No," replied Ilse, staring at the Marshal with astonishment; "why
should he have such a wish?"
"I refrain from all observations upon the favorable effect which such
an elevation would have upon the career of your brothers and sisters;
that is obvious. One can easily conceive that modesty and pride may
hinder a man from seeking these advantages. But I am convinced that his
Highness the Sovereign, even for his own interest, would be glad to
confer such a favor; for the position of your father, with respect to
my gracious master, would thereby become much more satisfactory."
"It is very satisfactory as it is," said Ilse.
"Considering the personal relations into which you have entered with
our Court, I may venture to speak openly to you," continued the
Marshal, with more confidence. "It would be very desirable for his
princely Highness, and for us all, if, on the occasions of his
Highness's accidental presence in your country, he could find a house
in which he might receive hospitality."
Ilse interrupted him in great astonishment. "I beg of you, Mr. Von
Bergau, to explain yourself more clearly, for I do not understand this
matter at all. The Sovereign has already honored our house several
times with his presence."
The Marshal shrugged his shoulders. "In cases of necessity, the
friendly offer of your father has been accepted, but it has always been
for a short time, and that incidentally; for even if your father, in
his official position, was not at all unfitted for this honor, yet
there was no lady who could do the honors of the house."
"I performed the duties of that position as well as I could."
The Marshal bowed. "There was much discussion as to how the breakfast
should be arranged without affronting the ladies of the house, and it
was very welcome when your father entirely refrained from requiring the
participation of his ladies. Allow me also to add, that a rise in your
father's position would be desirable for yourself. For your husband, as
a learned man of distinguished merit, is in the position of obtaining,
on expressing a wish, a rank and position which would establish him as
a member of the Court. And if this proposal should be carried into
effect, it would give you, under certain limitations, an entrance there
also. It would give the Sovereign and Princess an opportunity of
receiving you at the castle, and invitations to great Court balls and
concerts would be possible."
Ilse rose. "Enough, my lord, I understand you. I know what my father
will do when you offer him that of which you speak; he will laugh and
reject the offer, and will say, if our citizen's home is not good
enough for our Sovereign to enter, we must resign the honor. But I
cannot reject it with the composure which I expect of my father; and I
must tell you, my lord, that if I had had any idea that I, as a lady,
was not entitled to enter this society, I would never have set foot
here."
Ilse, with difficulty, controlled the indignation which worked within
her. The Marshal was confounded, and endeavoured to pass it off
equivocally; but Ilse could not be dealt with; she continued standing,
and so compelled him to depart.
The Professor found his wife in a dark room brooding over what had
passed. "Will you have a patent of nobility?" she exclaimed, springing
up; "it will be prepared for you at once, and for my father also, in
order that we may all have the advantages of becoming fit society for
the castle without their feeling it a humiliation. It is unsatisfactory
to them only to see us occasionally. I know now why I dine alone, and
why the Sovereign would not enter our sitting-room at Bielstein. We
must have a new name, that we may obtain the education and the manners
which will make us worthy of going to Court. And not only us, but
perhaps our children. Can you hear this without coloring with shame at
our being here? They feed us like strange beasts, which they have
procured out of curiosity and will again cast us out of the pen."
"Why, Ilse!" cried Felix, in astonishment, "you are expending more
pathos than is necessary. What do the prejudices of these men signify
to us? Has not the Sovereign done everything to make our residence here
agreeable, according to what we are accustomed? If the people here are
obliged by the customs in which they have been brought up, and by the
regulations of their circle, to limit their intercourse with us to
certain definite forms, what does that signify? Do we wish to become
their confidants, and to live with them as we do with our friends at
home? They have not deserved such an unfolding of our souls. When we
came here we entered into a simple business relation, and we undertook
also the obligation of adapting ourselves to their rules of life."
"And we are free to leave here as soon as these rules no longer please
us?"
"Just so," answered the Professor; "as soon as we have sufficient
grounds for considering them unbearable. I think that is not the case.
They require nothing of us that is degrading: they show us the most
assiduous attention: what does it signify if we do not take part in
their daily intercourse, which we have no right or reason to desire?"
"Do not let us deceive ourselves," exclaimed Ilse. "If in our city any
one was to say to you, you may only look at my shoes, but not raise
your eyes to my face; you may only go out with me into the open air,
but not come into my house; I can eat with you standing, but not sit
down at your table, as my dignity forbids me to do so,--what would you,
who live so proudly in your circle, reply to such a fool?"
"I would endeavour to learn the reason of his
narrow-mindedness,--perhaps pity him--perhaps turn away from him."
"Then do so here," cried Ilse. "For we are invited guests to whom the
people of the house close their doors."
"I repeat to you that we are not guests who are invited to associate
with the people here. I have been called upon for work, and I have
accepted this call, because I look for such great advantage in it to my
branch of learning that I would bear far worse things than the
disagreeable customs of the Court. I dare not set at stake these
important interests by an opposition to social pretensions which do not
please me. It is just because I have no particular respect for these
rules that they do not disturb me."
"But it grieves and makes one angry that people, in whose life one
takes an interest, cling to such miserable antiquated triflings," said
Ilse still bitterly.
"So that is it?" asked Felix. "We are anxious about the souls of the
grandees? There is something to be said on that point. There is an old
curse on every privilege which falls to the lot of most who share in
it. This may be the case with court privileges. The life of our princes
lies confined within the boundaries of a small circle; the views and
prejudices of those around them, whom they are not free to choose,
hedge them in from the first day of their life until the last. That
they are not stronger and freer arises for the most part from the
confined atmosphere in which they are kept by etiquette. It is a
misfortune, not only for themselves, but for us, that our princes look
upon the society that is not noble with the eyes of a deputy
chamberlain or a courtier. This evil one feels painfully when one comes
into contact with them. I think, undoubtedly, that the struggle which
is going on in different parts of our fatherland will not come to a
good conclusion, until the dangers are removed which arise from the
effect of the old Court regulations on the training of our princes.
But it appears to me they are already broken through in many places,
and the time may come when all this nonsense will be the subject of
good-humored satire. For this etiquette of Court is, after all, only
the remains of a past age, like the constitutions of our guilds, and
other ancient customs. So far you are right. But those who indulge in
personal irritation, as you do now, expose themselves to the suspicion
that they are only angry because they themselves desire entrance into
the prohibited circles."
Ilse looked silently down.
"When you and I," continued the Professor, "come accidentally into
personal contact with such modes of thinking, there is only one thing
that befits us--cool contempt and indifference. We wish, for the sake
of our princes, to remove the impediments which limit their intercourse
with their people; but we have no wish or impulse to put ourselves in
the place of those who apparently direct the rulers of our country.
For, between ourselves, we, who pass our lives in strenuous mental
labor, would in general be bad companions for princes. We are deficient
in the graceful forms and tact, and the easy complaisance of society.
The stronger minds would hurt, by their independence, and the weaker
would become contemptible by abject subservience. Freedom of choice is
all that we wish for our rulers. One feeling we may preserve without
arrogance--all who separate themselves from our circle lose more than
we do."
Ilse approached him, and laid her hand in his.
"Therefore, Lady Ilse," continued her husband, cheerfully, "be
contented for these few weeks. If it should happen to you in reality to
be an invited guest of the Court, then you may enter into negotiations
concerning your pretensions; and if in such a case you have to take
exceptions, do it with a smile."
"Do you speak so from the calm confidence of your soul," asked Ilse,
looking searchingly at her husband, "or because you have it much at
heart to remain here?"
"I have my manuscript much at heart," replied the Professor; "for the
rest, the loss of peace is a greater deprivation to me than to you. You
have from your youth, and especially this last year, taken a warm
interest in the inmates of this princely castle. You have at times felt
yourself much interested in them, and it is on that account that you
are more wounded than needful."
Ilse nodded her head assentingly.
"Bear with it. Ilse," continued her husband, encouragingly; "remember
that you are free, and may any day leave it. But it would be more
agreeable to me if you did not leave me alone."
"Would that be more agreeable to you?" asked Ilse, softly.
"You little fool!" exclaimed the Professor. "Today we will give up the
theatre, and have our evening reading. I have brought with me what will
drive away all vexations."
He brought the lamp to the table, opened a little book, and began:
"It happened, one Whitsuntide, that Nobel, the King of all the Beasts,
held a Court," and so on.
Ilse sat with her work in her hand by her husband; the light of the
lamp fell on his countenance, which she examined searchingly, in order
to read therein whether he still felt towards her as before; till at
last the iniquities of the fox brought a smile to her lips, and she
took the book from him, and read on quietly and comfortably, as at
home.
"How is the Lady Bergau?" asked the Princess, of her attendant, the
little Gotlinde Thurn.
"Very ill, your Highness. She has been much disturbed by the sudden
departure of her husband, and her confinement is expected every hour."
"Bergau gone away?" asked the Princess, in astonishment.
"The Sovereign has commissioned him to purchase some porcelain
curiosities in a distant city."
The Princess looked significantly at her confidant.
"Forgive me, your Highness, if I venture to say," continued the
lady-in-waiting, "that we are all indignant. Bergau, it is said, had a
scene yesterday with the strange lady at the Pavilion; and this morning
early the Sovereign expressed himself, in giving his orders, in a way
that made any objection out of the question."
"What has happened at the Pavilion?" asked the Princess.
"That is not known," replied the angry lady; "but, from some
expressions of Bergau, one may conclude that the stranger has raised
pretensions, demanded an introduction at Court, and threatened to leave
in the event of a refusal. The arrogance of the woman is unbearable. We
all beg that your Highness will be gracious enough to maintain our
rights."
"Good Linda, I am a dangerous ally for you," replied the Princess,
sorrowfully.
The birthday of the Princess was kept both by the Court and city. Many
people wore gala dresses; numbers pressed with their congratulations
into the ante-chamber of the princely daughter. The Princess received
in full dress on this day. She appeared for the first time out of
mourning, and looked lovelier than ever. In a side room, the door of
which was open, stood the tables, which were covered with presents.
Much were the splendid dresses which the Sovereign had ordered for his
daughter admired by the ladies; and scarcely less so the beautiful
miniature work of the Magister by the connoisseurs.
About three o'clock the concert began in the gardens of the castle.
Gentlemen and ladies of the nobility, the officials, and citizens,
entered the space marked out for them. The numerous attendants of the
Princess greeted the ladies of the company and arranged them in a large
circle, behind which were the gentlemen, forming a dark setting; on one
side the families of the Court, on the other those of the city. The
guests accommodated themselves easily to the compulsory mathematical
line; it was only on the city side that there was any irregularity. The
new city councillor Gottlieb, a distinguished butcher, pushed in from
behind his wife and daughter, and placed himself squarely in the front
row; and it required the positive directions of the lady-in-waiting to
make him retreat to his place.
"I pay the taxes," said Gottlieb, stubbornly, to those about him; but
even from his neighbors he was the object of a disapproving smile.
When Ilse entered this society of strangers with her husband, she felt
alarm at the cold, inquisitive looks directed at her from all sides.
The Chamberlain conducted her to the first lady-in-waiting. The
Baroness bowed in cool acknowledgment, and pointed to the place where
she was to be stationed--at the end of the Court side, opposite the
entrance. The royal party, preceded by the Marshals, made their
appearance punctually; the Princess, radiant and smiling, on the arm of
the Sovereign; the young Princes behind. The ladies' dresses rustled
like a forest of trees, as they bent in deferential salutation; behind
them the heads of the assembled gentlemen dropped with solemn movement.
The Princess executed a circular bow--a consummate piece of Court
_technique_--and proceeded to walk about the line. The sun shone with
summer warmth, and all rejoiced in the beautiful day and in the
happiness of the child whose birthday was now celebrated. The Princess
looked enchantingly lovely, and showed, by her noble appearance and
gracious manners, how well fitted she was to do the honors of a Court.
The ladies-in-waiting preceded her, beckoning to individuals to come
forward, and mentioning the names of those who were strangers to the
Princess. She had a kind word for every one, or a nod and sweet smile,
which made all feel that they were the object of her attention. The
Sovereign, to-day, appeared among his citizens with the self-possession
of a family father.
"A large number of old friends and acquaintances," he remarked, to the
head Burgomaster. "I knew that this would be quite after my daughter's
own heart. It is the first time since her severe trial that she has had
the opportunity to meet again so many that have taken a friendly
interest in her life."
But none of the ladies there looked with such eager attention on the
circle of the Princess as Ilse. She forgot her anger at the prejudices
of class, and the annoyances attendant on her solitary position among
these strangers, and looked unceasingly at the young Princess. Like all
present, she felt the charm of her gracious manner. This facility of
giving pleasure to others in a few minutes by merely a look or word,
was quite new to her. She looked back anxiously at Felix, who was
watching the graceful movements of the Princess with pleasure. She came
near, and Ilse heard her questions and answers to the fortunate ones
with whom she was more familiar. Ilse saw that the Princess cast a
fleeting glance at her, and that her expression became more serious.
The Princess had lingered with a lady who stood in front of Ilse,
inquiring with interest after the health of her sick mother; she now
passed slowly by Ilse, bowing her head almost imperceptibly, and said,
in a low voice, "I hear you intend to leave us."
The unexpected question, and coldness of the tone and look, aroused the
pride of the Professor's wife, and, under the flash of her large eyes,
the Princess also became more erect, and they exchanged a mutual glance
of hostility, as Ilse answered:
"Your Highness will pardon me! I shall remain with my husband."
The Princess looked at the Professor: again a pleasant smile passed
over her face, and she continued her progress. Ilse also turned quickly
toward her husband, but he was looking about innocently, and, pleased
with the world, he had not observed the little scene.
The Sovereign, however, had; for he stepped right across the space to
Ilse, and began:
"Among old acquaintances we also greet our new ones. Not that this
expression is applicable in your case to me and the Hereditary Prince;
for we owe thanks to you for the hospitality of your home; and we
rejoice to show you to-day the circle in which we live. I lament that
your father is not among us. I cherish the greatest respect for the
useful activity of his life; and I know how to value all his services
to agriculture. He has obtained a prize at the Agricultural Exhibition;
pray convey my congratulations to him. I hope his example will be
followed throughout the country."
The Sovereign well understood how to make up for the neglect of his
Court to Ilse. A Professor's wife has many objections to Court usages
and high rank; but when well-deserved praise is accorded by princely
lips, before a distinguished assembly, to those she loves, it affords
her the greatest pleasure. After the annoying question of the daughter,
the striking attention of the father was a great satisfaction. Ilse
gave the Sovereign a look of deep thankfulness, and he now turned
kindly to her Felix, and remained long talking with him. When at last
he went on to others, the uncommon consideration he had shown the
strangers before the assembled company had the usual result; the
gentlemen of the Court now thronged round Ilse and the Professor, to
show attention also on their part. Ilse now looked about her with more
composure, and observed how slowly the Hereditary Prince passed along
the circle, singling out gentlemen and ladies according to a secret
systematic rule, and at the same time stopping occasionally and moving
his eye-glass, as if he were taking something into consideration.
Prince Victor, on the other hand, pursued a thoroughly irregular
course, like a comet, whose points could only be determined by looking
out for the fairest faces. He had talked long with the daughter of the
city councillor, Gottlieb, and had made the young lady laugh so much
that she was alarmed at herself, colored, and held her handkerchief
before her mouth. He then suddenly approached Ilse.
"A horticuitural exhibition like this is exceedingly entertaining," he
began, carelessly, as if speaking to an old acquaintance. "Yet, after
all, there are many thorny cactuses to be handled."
"It must be very wearisome for the princely party, who have to speak to
so many," said Ilse.
"Do not imagine that," replied Victor. "It is pleasant to see so many
people before one, who dare not open their mouths unless told to;
princely blood will bear still greater fatigues for that enjoyment."
The company were set in motion. The Sovereign offering his arm to the
Princess, led her into a great, richly decorated tent. The guests
followed, and a host of lackeys offered refreshments. After that the
ladies seated themselves behind the royal family; the gentlemen
standing round. The concert began with a majestic flourish of the
kettledrums; and, after a short time, ended with a furious onslaught of
fiddles. The Princess now noticed some of the gentlemen, but with less
regularity than the ladies. Ilse was engaged in conversation with Miss
von Lossau, but the Princess walked to where Felix Werner was standing
and asked eager questions. The Professor became animated, and
explained; the Princess asked more, laughed, and answered. The
officious Lord High Steward glanced at the clock. It was high time for
the ladies of the Court to dress for dinner, but the Sovereign nodded
to him, looked contentedly at the Princess, and, in the best of humor
said to his son: "To-day she reigns; we will willingly wait."
"My dear Highness forgets us all, she is so engrossed with the
stranger," whispered Miss von Thurn, to Prince Victor.
"Calm your faithful heart, Dame Gotlinde," said Victor. "Our Lady
Bradamante has not used her conquering weapons for a whole year. She
would try her powers to-day even upon a cabbage-head."
The following morning the Princess sat among her ladies, and they
talked, as usual, of the previous day, admired the Princess, condemned
a little those who were absent, and expressed astonishment at the
toilet and manner of several city ladies.
"But your Highness did not speak to the wife of the City Treasurer."
exclaimed Gotlinde Thurn; "the poor woman took it as a slight, and
cried after the concert."
"Where was she standing?" asked the Princess.
"Near the stranger," answered Gotlinde.
"Ah, it was on that account," said the Princess. "What is she like?"
"A round little woman, with brown eyes and red cheeks. My brother
lodges in her house; that is how I know her. She makes admirable
tarts."
"Make up for it to her, Linda," said the Princess; "say something kind
to her for me."
"May I tell her that your Highness has heard of her excellent
cherry-brandy, and would be glad to have a few bottles of it? That
would make her more than happy."
The Princess nodded.
"The daughter of the City Councillor Gottlieb," said the Baroness
Hallstein, "has become quite a belle."
"Prince Victor forgot everybody in his attentions to her," exclaimed
Miss Lossau, with vexation.
"You may congratulate yourself, dear Betty," replied the Princess,
sharply, "if you are forgotten by my cousin. The attentions of the
Prince are generally a source of alarm for the ladies who are favored
with them."
"But we are all grateful to you," exclaimed Baroness Hallstein, a lady
of spirit and character, "for having supported the Court in opposition
to the lady from the Pavilion. Your cool remark gave general pleasure."
"Do you think so, Wally?" said the Princess, thoughtfully. "The woman
is proud, and was defiant. But I had wounded her first, and on a day
when I had the advantage."
_CHAPTER XXX_.
VEXATIONS.
The year began well in every respect. Woodcock and snipe had betaken
themselves to their homes before the sportsmen had donned their boots,
and the March-daffodils had really bloomed in March. The moon, between
its first and last quarter, smiled every evening with wry, distorted
mouth. At Court the Princess had turned her mind to search after lost
manuscripts with the Professor, and in the city an uncommon inclination
to quaff the punch of the fragrant woodruff-plant was perceptible among
the citizens and tempted them to daring undertakings. Even quiet heads
were infected by the intoxication of the season; straw and paper ruled
supreme. All the world wore not only hats but also caps of straw; all
the world occupied themselves with speculations and new investments.
The house of Hahn was in the ascendant. The orders were so numerous
that they could not be executed. In all the corners of the house sat
girls, sewing straw plaits together; the smell of the brimstone in the
street and neighboring gardens was insupportable. In the evenings Mr.
Hummel sat on his upturned boat, like Napoleon at St. Helena, a
vanquished man. With angry contempt he regarded the tumult of humanity.
Repeatedly did his acquaintances call upon him to launch into the great
activity of the time, to become a member of some stock-company, to
found a bank, dig for coal, or smelt iron. He rejected all these
proposals. When he went into his idle workshops, where he was only
occupied in a struggle with moths, his book-keeper ventured to make a
remark as to the possible future fashions in Parisian hats; he laughed
demoniacally and replied:
"I cannot indulge in any speculation as to the covering that people
will require when these wild projects cease; but if you wish to know
what will be the next fashion, I will inform you. People will wear
pitch-caps. I wonder that you are still at your desk. Why do you not do
like others of your colleagues, who spend their time in wine-shops?"
"Mr. Hummel, my means do not allow of that," replied the depressed man.
"Your means!" cried Hummel; "who asks after that now? Lucifer-matches
are as good as ready money. The street-porters discount bills and give
one another their likenesses. Why do you not live like the book-keeper
Knips over there? When I bought an orange for my wife of the Italian, I
saw him sitting in the back room with a bottle of iced champagne. Why
should you not put yourself on ice in this hot weather? These are
nothing but ruinous, hare-brained projects; it is a Sodom and Gomorrah;
the straw fire burns, but it will come to a frightful end."
Mr. Hummel closed his office and walked in the twilight into the park,
where he wandered up and down on the frontiers of his territory like a
spirit. He was awakened from his meditations by the wild barking of his
brindle favorite, who rushed up to a bench in a shady part of the park,
and savagely seized the boots and trousers of a man sitting there.
Hummel approached nearer; a small man and a young woman hastily
separated. Hummel was sufficiently man of the world not to let himself
be seen, and he hastened back to his garden and continued his walk in
wild strides.
"I knew it; I always said so; I have given a warning all along. Poor
devil!"
Then he walked angrily towards the great beech-tree on his own premises
and forgot the supper hour, so that his wife had to call him twice from
the garden. When he was sitting at table also he looked as dark as a
thunder-cloud, and expressed such a deep contempt for human nature that
the ladies soon became silent. Laura made another effort to lead the
conversation to the wife of the Burgomaster, who had shown great
respect for Hummel whenever she passed by, but he broke out with the
terrible words:
"She is no better than the rest of womankind."
"That is enough, Hummel," exclaimed his wife; "this conduct is very
unpleasant, and I must beg of you not to indulge so far in your
ill-temper as to let it deprive you of a proper judgment of the worth
of women. I can forgive much, but never an insult to the nobleness of
human nature."
"Away with you and your noble human nature," replied Hummel, rising
from the table, and pushing back his chair; he then rushed vehemently
into the next room, where, in the dusk, he continued pacing angrily to
and fro, for he was much disturbed about Gabriel. Certainly the social
position of this man was not exalted; he was not a relation, not a
householder, not even a citizen. Accordingly, Mr. Hummel revolved in
his mind whether an interference in the secret feelings of this man
became him. He did not come to a decision without a struggle, but he
could not silence the voice which sounded in the corner of his heart in
favor of Gabriel.
Meanwhile, the ladies were sitting at their disturbed repast. Laura
looked down gloomily; such scenes were not new to her, and they became
more painful. The mother was in great consternation at this anger
against the world of femininity, and sank beneath the waves of stormy
thoughts. At last she came to the conviction that Hummel was jealous.
That was very ludicrous, and there certainly was no cause for such a
feeling, but the vagaries of men were incalculable. The comic actor had
come the day before at her invitation, and he had been very
entertaining; he had enjoyed the wine and dinner, and on taking leave
had kissed her hand with a true theatrical expression. Was it possible
that this expression had produced the mischief? Mrs. Hummel began to
pace up and down, looking in the mirror in passing by, and determined,
like a valiant housewife, to hold forth to her husband this very
evening on his folly.
"Go up stairs Laura," she said, softly, to her daughter, "I wish to
speak to your father alone."
Laura silently took the candle and carried it to her private table. She
placed herself at the window and looked toward the neighbor's house,
where the Doctor's lamp still glimmered through the curtains. She wrung
her hands, and exclaimed:
"Away, away from here; that is the only way to save myself and him."
Meanwhile, Mrs. Hummel had the supper removed, and, mustering courage
for the impending encounter, at last entered the room in which Mr.
Hummel was still blustering about.
"Henry," she began solemnly, "are you yet in a state of mind to
consider calmly the circumstances which have robbed you of all
composure?"
"No," cried Hummel, throwing a boot at the door.
"I know the cause of your anger," continued Mrs. Hummel, looking
modestly down. "No explanation is necessary for that. It is possible
that he may sometimes have ventured more than was necessary in looks
and small remarks; but he is amiable and full of talent, and we must
make allowances for his vocation."
"He is a miserable fop," cried Mr. Hummel, hurling his second boot from
him.
"That is not true," cried Mrs. Hummel, warmly. "But if it were,
Henry--even if you could judge him utterly unworthy,--do not forget
that pride and a feeling of duty dwell in the heart of your wife, and
that your suspicion is an insult to these protecting genii."
"She is a coquettish, silly flirt," replied Hummel, dragging his
slippers from under his bed.
Mrs. Hummel started back horrified.
"Your wife has not deserved this treatment. You tread under foot what
should be holy to you. Come to your senses, I conjure you; your
jealousy approaches to madness."
"I jealous of such a person!" cried Hummel, contemptuously, vehemently
knocking the ashes from his pipe. "Then I must indeed be out of my
mind. Leave me in peace with all this nonsense."
Mrs. Hummel seized her pocket-handkerchief and began to sob:
"He has so often amused me; he tells anecdotes as I never heard any one
in my life; but if he excites you, so that you lose your reason and
insult your wife by calling her names, I have made many sacrifices
during our wedded life, and he also must fall on the altar of domestic
peace. Accept it, he shall never again be invited."
"Who is he?" asked Hummel.
"Who but the comedian?"
"Who is she?"
"Mrs. Hummel gave him a look which showed indubitably that she herself
was the lady.
"Is it possible," exclaimed Hummel in astonishment, "that is how the
land lies? Why do you want to slaughter your theatrical buffoon on the
altar of domestic peace? Rather put something slaughtered before him;
that would be more agreeable to his cultivated palate. Be composed,
Philippine. You are often unintelligible in your speeches, and you make
too much ado; you spin your theatrical webs in your head, and you have
your humors and confused ideas in general; but for the rest, you are my
worthy wife, of whom no evil shall be thought either by myself or
others. Now do not thwart me, for I have determined to write him a
letter."
While Mrs. Hummel, stupefied, seated herself on the sofa, and
considered whether she should be mortified or tranquilized by her
husband's praise, and whether she had been under a foolish delusion, or
that her Henry's madness had taken the new form of _bonhomie_, Mr.
Hummel wrote as follows:--
"My Dear Gabriel,--Yesterday, on the 17th of this month, at 7.45 in the
evening, I saw, on bench No. 4, on the common, Dorothy from over the
way sitting with Knips junior. This is for warning and further
consideration. I am ready to act according to your orders. Straw,
Gabriel!--Your affectionate
H. Hummel."
By the same post a letter flew from Laura to Ilse in the Pavilion. The
faithful soul wrote sorrowfully. The little quarrels of the house and
the neighborhood vexed her more than was necessary. Of the Doctor she
saw little, and what was the bitterest grief for her, she had given
away the last song; she had nothing more to send to the Doctor, and
wished to continue the correspondence without inclosures. Ilse was
greatly surprised by one sentence, the sense of which was not very
clear to her: "I have obtained permission from Miss Jeannette to give
lessons in her institution. I will no longer be a useless bread-eater.
Since I have lost your society all is cold and desolate about me. My
only comfort is, that I at least am prepared to fly into foreign parts,
and there collect the grains which I need for the prolongation of my
life."
"Where is my husband?" asked Ilse, of her maid.
"The Professor has gone to her Highness, the Princess."
"Call Gabriel."
"He has received bad news, and is sitting in his room."
Immediately afterwards Gabriel entered, with a distressed countenance.
"What has happened?" asked Ilse, alarmed.
"It is my own affair only," replied Gabriel, with quivering voice; "it
is no good news that this letter has brought to me."
He took out of his pocket Hummel's crumpled letter, and turning away,
leaned his head against the window-sill.
"Poor Gabriel!" exclaimed Ilse. "But there may still be some
explanation to justify the girl."
"I thank you for your confidence in her, Mrs. Werner," replied Gabriel,
solemnly, "but this letter informs me of my misfortune. He who has
written to me is true as gold. But I knew all, before I had received
it. She did not answer my last letter; she has not sent me the
pocket-book; and yesterday evening, when I went out and was thinking of
her, a lark flew towards me and sang a song that made me certain of
it."
"That is folly, Gabriel, You ought not to let your judgment be
influenced because a bird accidentally occasioned you sorrowful
thoughts."
"It was evident, Mrs. Werner," replied Gabriel, sorrowfully. "Just as
the lark flew up and I was thinking of Dorothy, the words which I heard
as a child and which I have not heard since, occurred to me. It is no
superstition, and I can repeat the sentence to you:
'Lark, dear lark, high o'er the smoke,
What new thing have you to tell me?'
This thought came to me, and then I heard, as distinctly as if some one
was whispering the answer in my ear:
'Two lovers sat near a hazel-bush,
The third was crying and moaning;
The two pass the threshold of Hymen's house,
The third sits alone and mourns a spouse.'"
Gabriel took out his pocket-handkerchief.
"That was a certain foreboding that Dorothy had been false to me."
"Gabriel, I fear she was always fickle-minded," exclaimed Ilse.
"She has a heart like a bird," said Gabriel, apologetically. "She is
not a serious person, and it is her nature to be friendly with all.
That I knew; but her gaiety, light-heartedness, and pleasant jesting
made her dear to me. It was a misfortune for me and her that I was
obliged to leave her just when she began to favor me and discourage
others who were showing her attention. For I know that the book-keeper
had long had his eyes upon her, and had prospects which would enable
him to marry her, and that was a better provision than I could give
her."
"Something must be done about this," said Ilse. "Do you want to go back
to the city to ascertain how matters stand? My husband will immediately
give you permission. Perhaps it is not so bad after all."
"For me it is as bad as it can be, Mrs. Werner. If you will have the
kindness to look after Dorothy, to see that she is not made unhappy, I
will thank you from my heart. I shall never see her again. If one loves
any one, one should not leave them alone when they are in temptation."
Ilse endeavored to comfort him, but Gabriel's words went to her heart.
"The third sits alone," she repeated, in a tone of sorrow.
Ilse was again alone in the hall, looking sadly at the strange walls.
All the sorrow that had ever moved a human soul in this room, jealousy
and wounded pride, feverish expectation and hopeless longing, mourning
over the destruction of happiness, and terror for the future, the cries
of anguish and the plaints of tormented conscience, all these now awoke
an indistinct and trembling echo in the heart of the woman.
"It is strange and gloomy here, and if I try to express in words what
distresses me, all power of expression fails me. I am no prisoner, and
yet the air that surrounds me is that of a dungeon. The Chamberlain has
not been near me for days, and the young Prince, who used to speak to
me as to a friend, comes seldom, and then but for a few minutes, and it
is worse than if he were not here. He is as depressed as I am, and
looks at me as if he felt the same nameless anguish. And his father?
when he comes to me he is so kind that one cannot but like him; but as
soon as he turns his back his features appear before my mind distorted.
It is not good to be near the great people of the world; they seem to
take a fancy to one and open their heart as to friends, and one
scarcely feels the elevation of mind occasioned by this, when
tormenting spirits seem suddenly to draw them back into their invisible
realm, and one is troubled and excited about them. Such a life is
destructive of peace.
"Felix says, one ought not to care about these frivolous people. How
can one avoid interest and anxiety about them when the welfare of their
souls is a blessing to all?
"Is it only this that gives you such restless thoughts. Ilse?" she
asked herself; "is it this, or is it pride, now wounded, and now again
flattered; or is it anguish about the loved one whom she wishes
secretly to tear from you?
"Why am I so fearful about you, my Felix? Why do I despair because he
has found a woman here of the same stamp of mind as his own? Am I not
so also? Have I too not unfolded in the light of his mind? I am no
longer the ignorant country-girl that he once brought from among the
herds. If I am deficient in the attractive charm of the distinguished
lady, what can she give him more than I? He is no boy, and he knows
that every hour I live for him. I despise you, miserable thoughts; how
have you found entrance into my soul? I am no prisoner within these
walls, and if I linger here where you have power over me, I remain on
his account. One should not forsake him whom one loves,--that word was
spoken for me also. My father's child shall not cry and mourn even
though her loved one should be sitting with the Princess by the
hazel-bush."
* * *
Gabriel was stealing along in a distant part of the pleasure-ground. He
suddenly felt a touch on his shoulder; Prince Victor was standing
behind him.
"Friend Gabriel?"
"At your Highness's commands."
"Where have you served?"
"With the Blue Hussars."
"Good," nodded the Prince; "we are in the same branch of the service. I
hear you are a trustworthy fellow. But what is the matter with you?" He
took out his purse. "We will share; take what you want."
Gabriel shook his head.
"Then the women are at fault," cried the Prince; "that is worse. Is she
proud?"
Gabriel dissented.
"Is she faithless?"
The poor fellow turned away.
"I am, alas! a bad intercessor with parents," said the Prince,
sympathizingly; "the race of fathers have little confidence in me. But
if it is only a question of appealing to a girl's conscience, then
depend upon me."
"I thank you for your good-will. Highness, but nothing can help me. I
will have to fight it out alone."
He turned away again.
"Bah! comrade, have you forgotten the soldiers' saying: 'Like all, love
one, grieve for none?' If your heart is heavy, you should not rove
about as you do. In lack of another companion put up for the time with
me."
"That is too much honor," said Gabriel, taking off his cap.
The Prince had during this conversation gradually led him into a
thicket; he seated himself on the root of an old tree, and motioned
Gabriel to the next trunk.
"We are in concealment here; you look out that way, I will watch this
road, that no one can surprise us. How do your lodgings please you?
Have you found pleasant acquaintances?"
"I think it prudent to trust no one here," answered Gabriel,
cautiously.
"But I do not belong here; there is no reason why you should not make
me an exception. You may assume that we belong to the same company,
that we are sitting by the same fire, and drinking from the same flask.
You are right: all is not so safe here as it looks. I do not like these
nocturnal disturbances in the castle. Have you heard of them?"
Gabriel assented.
"In such an old castle," continued the Prince, "there are many doors
that few know--perhaps also passages in the wall. Whether it is spirits
or something else, who knows? It glides about and sometimes comes
out when one least expects it; and just when one has put on one's
night-shirt a secret door is opened, or a plank in the floor rises, and
a cursed apparition floats up, removes what is on the table, and before
one can bethink oneself, disappears again."
"Who can allow such a thing, your Highness?" replied Gabriel,
valiantly.
"Who can be on his guard?" said the Prince, laughing; "it stretches out
its hand, and one becomes immovable; it holds a sponge before the nose
of the sleeper and he does not awake."
Gabriel listened attentively.
"People say that in the Pavilion all is not secure," continued the
Prince. "It would be as well for a trusty man to make an examination in
secret; and if an entrance should be found that is not regular it
should be fastened with a screw or a bolt. It is indeed uncertain
whether or not one may find such a thing, for such devil's work is
slyly managed."
He nodded significantly to Gabriel, who stared at him in great
astonishment.
"That is only a thought of mine," said the Prince; "but when a soldier
is in foreign quarters he looks after every security during the time
that his people sleep."
"I understand all," replied Gabriel, in a low voice.
"One must not cause others unnecessary alarm," continued the Prince;
"but in secret one may do one's duty like a brave man. I see you are
that." The Prince rose from his seat. "If you should at any time need
my help, or have anything to tell me which no one else should know, I
have a fellow with a great moustache, a good, quiet man; make his
acquaintance. For the rest, take care of yourselves here. There is a
lackey who idles about near you; if there are any errands to do he can
attend to them. It is a good thing for a family to have a trustworthy
man at hand in a strange house. Good day, comrade, I hope I have
changed the current of your thoughts."
He went away; Gabriel remained in deep thought. The bantering of the
Prince had roused the honest man from his sorrow; he busied himself now
about the house in the day-time, but in the evening, when his master
and mistress were at the theatre, he was to be seen sometimes with the
Prince's servant in confidential conversation on a garden bench.
The spirit of sad foreboding spread its grey veil over the walls of the
Pavilion, but in the Sovereign's castle meanwhile an invisible
hobgoblin of another kind was at work, disturbing great and small. The
stable was in consternation. The Prince's favorite saddle-horse was a
white Ivenacker. When in the morning the groom went to the horse, he
found it with a large black heart painted on its chest. He could not
wash out the scandalous mark, probably the evil spirit had in this
prank employed a dye intended for the hair of man. Connoisseurs
declared that only time could heal the injury. They could not help
making it known to the Sovereign who was violently angry, and set the
strictest investigations on foot. The night-watchers of the stable had
seen no one, no stranger's foot had entered the place; only the groom
of Prince Victor, a moustached foreigner, had, at the same time with
the other stable servants, cleaned the horse that he had lately
received as a present from a relative. The man was examined, he spoke
little German, was said by the other servants to be harmless and
simple, and nothing could be learnt from him. Finally, the stable-boy
who had kept watch was dismissed from service. He disappeared from the
capital, and would have been reduced to great misery if Prince Victor
had not provided for the poor wretch in his garrison.
There was a great uproar among the ballet-girls. In the new tragic
ballet, "The Water Sprite," the first dancer, Guiseppa Scarletti, had a
brilliant _role_, in which she was to wear green-silk trunks, with rich
silver trimmings. When she was to put on this part of the costume,
which was very important for the _role_, for the first representation,
her assistant was so awkward as to hand it to her wrong side foremost.
The lady expressed her displeasure strongly, the tire-woman turned it
round, and it was still wrong. Upon nearer inspection of this piece of
art, it was discovered, with dismay, that it presented two convex
surfaces like the shell of a bivalve. Mademoiselle Scarletti broke out
into a fury, and then into tears and finally hysterics; the manager and
the intendant were called; the _artiste_ declared that after this
disgrace and disturbance she could not dance. It was not until Prince
Victor, whom she highly esteemed, came into the dressing-room to
express his deep indignation, and the Sovereign desired her to be told
that the insult should be punished in the severest manner, that she
recovered sufficient courage to play the difficult _role_. Meanwhile
the fairylike rapidity of the theatrical tailor had remedied the injury
to her dress. She danced superbly, but with a sad expression that
became her well. The intendant was already rejoicing that the
misfortune had thus passed off, when suddenly, in the midst of the last
scene, when the whole depth of the stage was disclosed, the exchanged
trunks appeared under Bengal lights in the water nymph's grotto,
hanging peacefully upon two projecting points of a silver rock, as if a
water sprite had hung them up to dry. Upon this there was a
disturbance, and loud laughter among the audience, and the curtain had
to fall before the Bengal lights were extinguished. It all looked like
revenge, but again the culprit could not be discovered.
The hair of all the servants stood on end. They knew that in the bad
times of the princely house a black lady walked through the corridors
and rooms, which portended misfortune to it. The belief in this was
general; even the High Marshal shared in it; the black lady had
appeared to his grandfather, when, on a lonely night, he was awaiting
the return of his gracious master. One evening, after the Court had
withdrawn, the Marshal was walking, with the lackey carrying a light
before him, through the empty rooms to the wing in which Prince Victor
lodged, in order to smoke a cigar with him. Suddenly the lackey started
back and pointed, trembling, to a corner. There stood the black figure,
the head covered with a veil; she raised her hand threateningly, and
disappeared through a door in the tapestry. The light fell out of the
hand of the lackey, the Marshal groped in the dark to the anteroom of
the Prince, and sank down on the sofa there. When the Prince entered
from his dressing-room he found him in a state of the highest
consternation: even a glass of punch, which he himself poured out,
could not arouse him from his depression. The news that the black lady
had appeared flew throughout the castle; an uneasy foreboding of evil
occupied the Court. In the evening the lackeys ran hurriedly through
the corridor, and were frightened at the echo of their own steps, and
the Court ladies would not leave their rooms without escort. The
Sovereign also heard of it; his brow contracted gloomily, and at dinner
he looked contemptuously at the Marshal.
Even the Court ladies were not spared. Miss von Lossau, who lodged in a
wing of the palace over the rooms of the Princess, returned to her
apartment one night in the happiest frame of mind. Prince Victor had
paid her marked attentions. He had been very amusing, and had shown a
degree of feeling which he had never before evinced. Her maid undressed
her, and she laid herself to rest with sweet and pleasant thoughts. All
was quiet: she fell into her first sleep. The image of the Prince
danced before her; then she heard a slight noise; there was a
crackling; something moved slowly under her bed. She started; the
mysterious noise ceased. She was on the point of deluding herself into
the belief that it was a dream, when the noise was repeated under the
bed, and something came clattering out. She heard an alarming sound,
and saw by the faint light of the night-lamp that a ball was slowly
pushing itself behind the chair, and stopping in front of the bed. Half
unconscious from terror, she jumped out of bed, touched a strange
object with her naked foot, at once felt a sharp pain, and sank back
with a scream. She now raised a loud cry for help, till her maid rushed
in, and tremblingly lit the candle. The lady was still shrieking in a
corner, where the prickly spectre-ball still lingered in quiet
timidity, and gradually showed itself to be a great hedgehog, which was
sitting there, still dreamy from its winter sleep, with tears on its
nose. Miss Lossau became ill from fright. When the physician hastened
to her the next morning, he found the lackeys and maidservants
collected in close conclave before her door. On the door was pasted a
white placard, on which was to be read, in large characters, "Bettina
von Lossau, Princely Court Spy." Again there was the strictest
investigation, and again the culprit was not discovered.
But the spirit of torment that had quartered itself under the roof of
the castle did not confine its tricks to the Court and its household:
it ventured to disturb the Professor also in his learned work.
Ilse was sitting alone, looking absent-mindedly at the pictures of
Reynard the Fox, when the lackey threw open the door, announcing:
"His Highness, the Sovereign!"
The Sovereign glanced at the picture in the open book.
"So that is the view you take of our position. The satire of those
pages is bitter, but they contain imperishable truth."
Ilse closed the book, coloring.
"The ill-behaved beasts are rude egotists; it is otherwise among men."
"Do you think so?" asked the Sovereign. "Those who have had experience
with them will not judge so leniently. The two-legged animals that
pursue their aims at the courts of princes are, for the most part, as
reckless in their egotism, and as much inclined to profess their
attachment. It is not easy to restrain their pretensions."
"Amongst the bad there are surely some better, in whom good
preponderates?" rejoined Ilse.
The Sovereign inclined his head civilly.
"He who has to watch all keenly feels the narrow-mindedness of every
individual, for he must know where and how far he can place confidence.
Such an observation of various natures, which is always seeking to
separate the reality from the glitter, to sound the worth of different
characters, and to retain for the observer superior judgment, sharpens
the perception of the deficiencies of others. It is possible that we
may sometimes judge too severely, while you, with your warm feeling,
fall into the amiable weakness of viewing men in too favorable a
light."
"My lot, then, is happier," exclaimed Ilse, looking at the Sovereign,
with honest commiseration.
"It is sweeter and happier," said the latter with feeling, "to give
one's self up without restraint to one's feelings, to associate
innocently with a few whom one chooses freely, to avoid by slight
effort the ill-disposed, and to open one's heart gladly, and without
restraint, to those one loves. But he who is condemned to live in the
cold atmosphere of business, struggling against countless interests
which clash together, can only carry on this existence by surrounding
his daily life with regulations which will at least preserve him from
overwhelming burdens and annoyances, and compel the foxes and wolves to
bend their stubborn heads. Such rules of Court and government are no
perfect work; there will often be complaints against them. You,
perhaps, may have had occasion to remark that the customs and etiquette
of a Court are not without harshness; yet they are necessary, for it
makes it easy to us to withdraw and keep within ourselves, and maintain
a certain isolation, which helps us to preserve our inward freedom."
Ilse looked conscious.
"But believe me," continued the Sovereign, "we still are human beings;
we would gladly give ourselves up to the impulse of the moment, and
live without restraint with those whom we esteem. We must often
sacrifice ourselves, and we experience moments when such sacrifices are
very severe."
"But within the princely family itself these considerations do not
apply," exclaimed Ilse. "The mutual intercourse of father and children,
brothers and sisters,--these holy relations can never be disturbed."
A cloud came over the countenance of the Sovereign.
"Even they suffer in their exposed position. We do not live together;
we see each other less alone, generally under the observation of
others. Each has his special circle of interest, is influenced by those
about him, who perhaps diminish his confidence in his nearest
relations. You know my son; he has all the qualifications of a good,
open-hearted man, but you will have observed how suspicious and
reserved he has become."
Ilse forgot all caution, and again felt a little proud of being a
confidante.
"Forgive me," she explained; "I have never found that. He is only
bashful, and sometimes a little awkward."
The Sovereign smiled.
"You lately expressed an opinion with reference to what would be
advantageous for his future. That he should for a time become
acquainted with the management of a large family estate; it would
undoubtedly be good for him to learn the work of a country gentleman by
experience. Besides this, he is not happy at Court."
Ilse nodded.
"Have you also remarked that?" asked the Sovereign.
"I will give good advice for my Prince," thought Ilse, "even if it is
not quite agreeable to him. May I venture to say," she said aloud,
"that this is the best time of all. For he must learn, your Highness,
the spring tilling, which is in full operation, so there must be no
delay."
The Sovereign was much pleased with this zeal.
"It will not be easy to find a place," he said.
"Perhaps your Highness has an estate in the neighborhood where there is
a small manor-house."
"Then he could come often to the city," replied the Sovereign sharply.
"That would not do," continued Ilse, eagerly. "He must first thoroughly
know the work of the people, and for that be constantly in the fields."
"I could not find a better adviser," said the Sovereign, in excellent
humor. "There is nothing in the vicinity that will answer; I have
thought, however, of your father's estate."
Ilse started with surprise.
"But our mode of life is not adapted for the accommodation of a
prince," she replied with reserve. "No, gracious Sovereign, the
domestic arrangements of our family would not be suitable to the
pretensions of the young man. I say nothing of other considerations
which formerly never occurred to me, and which have first come home to
me here. Therefore, if I may speak what I feel, I am of opinion that
this, for many reasons, will not answer."
"It was only a thought," replied the Sovereign, good-humoredly. "The
object may perhaps be attained without encroaching upon your father. It
has been my wish," he continued, with chivalrous politeness, "to give
you and your father a public proof of my esteem. I have special reasons
for it." He looked significantly at Ilse, and she thought of the
birthday of the Princess.
"I know the reason," she said softly.
The Sovereign drew his chair near.
"Your father has a large family?" he asked. "I have a vague
recollection of having seen several rosy-cheeked boys about."
"They were my brothers," said Ilse, laughing; "they are handsome little
fellows, gracious Sovereign, if I, as a sister, may praise them; they
are at present somewhat uncouth, but good and clever. My Franz wrote to
me only yesterday to beg me to greet your Highness for him. The little
urchin thinks it is the right thing. Now, as I have the opportunity, I
will show you the letter as he has written it; it is a stupid, childish
message, but it comes from a good heart."
She felt in her pocket and brought forth a letter written in fair
characters.
"See, your Highness, how well the child writes. But I must not show you
the letter, for your Highness would find in it a confirmation of your
opinion, that men have always selfish wishes in the background when
they think of their princes. The poor boy also has his wish."
"Then let us have it," said the Sovereign.
Ilse showed him the letter; the Sovereign graciously took hold of the
letter, and in doing so, his hand rested on hers.
"He is so barefaced as to ask your highness for an india-rubber ball.
The ball is already bought."
She jumped up and brought a gigantic colored ball.
"This I shall send to him to-day, and I shall write to him that it is
not seemly to beg of so great a personage. He is nine years old, but
still very childish--your highness must forgive him."
Enchanted by this frank open-heartedness, the Sovereign said:
"Write to him, at the same time, that I wish to tell him he must
endeavor to preserve through the dangerous paths of life the pure
feeling and loyal spirit of his eldest sister. I also feel how great is
the blessing of your character to all who have the happiness of
breathing your atmosphere. In a course of life which is filled with
harrowing impressions, in which hatred and suspicion take more from the
peace of the soul than hours of repose can restore to it, I have still
retained my susceptibility for the innocent freshness of a mind like
yours. You give me genuine pleasure."
Again he laid his hand gently on hers; Ilse looked down confused at the
praise of her dear Sovereign.
A hasty step approached; the Sovereign rose, and the Professor entered.
He bowed to the Sovereign, and looked surprised at his wife.
"You are not ill?" he exclaimed. "Pardon, gracious Sir, I came in great
anxiety about my wife. A strange boy rang the bell at the Museum, and
brought a message that I must go immediately to see my wife, as she was
ill; fortunately it was a mistake."
"I am thankful for the error," replied the Sovereign, "as it gives me
the opportunity of saying to you what I was intending to mention to
Madame Werner; orders have been given at the stable that a carriage
shall be ready for you at any hour that you wish to take a journey in
the neighborhood to pursue your mysterious investigations."
He took leave graciously.
* * *
The Sovereign opened the window of his study; the air was sultry, the
sun had been shining long upon the earth; now it had vanished, heavy
clouds rolled themselves, like great shapeless porpoises, over the city
and castle. The Sovereign fetched a deep breath, but the heavy, sultry
air forced the smoke from the chimneys of the castle down to his
window, enveloping his head like a great mist. He hastily opened the
door of the gallery which led to the reception-rooms, and walked out.
Against the walls hung a row of oil pictures, the portraits of
beautiful ladies whom he had once favored with his attentions. His look
strayed from one to the other; at the end of the row was an empty
place; he stopped before it, and his fancy painted a picture with
blonde hair, and a true-hearted, frank light in the eyes, more touching
than any of the other faces.
"So late," he said, to himself. "It is the last place and the strongest
feeling. They are fools who tell us that years make us indifferent. If
I had come across her at the other end," he glanced back along the
gallery, "at the beginning of my life, when I yet looked longingly at
the roses on the cheeks of maidens and was touched by the song of
hedge-sparrows, would such a woman then have preserved in me what I
have lost forever? Useless thoughts of the past! I must in the present
keep firm hold of what has come within the reach of my hand. She is
indifferent about the weak youth; but she feels herself uneasy here,
and if she tries to escape me I have no power to keep her back. I
remain alone; daily the same wearisome faces, whose thoughts one knows
before they are spoken, whose wishes one knows before they open their
mouths, and whom one sees to be prepared with feigned feelings.
Whatever wit or will they have works secretly against me; what I
receive from them is only the artificial glitter of life. It is sad to
be a master before whom living souls turn into machines, and year after
year to open the lid and examine the works. I myself have made them,"
he said, jeeringly, "but I am weary of my work."
"I know that the doubt arises often in my mind," the Sovereign
murmured, "whether my unhappy skill has made them lies of human nature,
or whether I myself am an automaton, which when wound up nods and
repeats the same gracious words without thought. I know there are hours
when I am ashamed of myself, when I strut about the stage as a clown or
a bully; I see the wires that move my joints; I feel a desire to place
my own head in the vice in order to improve what is faulty in it, and I
see a large chest open into which I am thrown when my _role_ is played
out."
"Oh," he groaned, from the depths of his heart. "I know that I am a
reality, if not by day, yet at night. None of those about me are
tormented in lonely hours as I am; their temples do not beat with fever
heat when they lie down after their day's work.
"What pleasure have I amidst these dull tapestry-rooms, or among the
old pictures of Mother Nature? Laughing without amusement, angry about
trifles,--everything cold, indifferent, and soulless!
"It is only in rare moments, when I have been with her, that I feel
like another man; then the warm blood courses through my veins. When in
her honest simplicity she talks of all that she loves and takes
pleasure in, a woman with a child's heart, then I become young again
like her. She talked to me of her brother 'curly-head.' I see the boy
before me, a lively lad, with his sister's eyes. I see the little
simpleton eating his bread and butter, and it moves me as if I were
reading a touching story. I long to catch up the boy in my arms as if
he belonged to me.
"She herself is true and upright; it is a pure mind, and beneath her
calm gentleness strong passion lies concealed. What a passion she fell
into when my messenger offered her the patent of nobility! She is a
woman to live with whom is worth some trouble, and to gain whom a man
would do much.
"But what can I do? What I can give her will be of little value to her;
what I take from her--how will she make up her mind to that?" He looked
timidly at the empty place on the wall. "Another picture was to have
hung there," he exclaimed; "why is it not there? Why does the
remembrance of one long gone lie on my brain like a stone, the pressure
of which I feel every day when mingling among men, and every night when
I rest my weary head upon my hands? That woman slept many years ago in
the same room where now the stranger reposes; she did not awake, as it
would have been right for her to have done; when she did awake and came
to consciousness, a spring broke in her weak mind, and she remained a
soulless body."
A feverish shudder passed through him; he shook himself and rushed out
of the gallery, looked shyly behind him, and closed the door.
"The violence of passion is extinguished," he continued, after a time;
"with years one becomes more cautious. I will hold her fast, whatever
may be the result; it is no longer the burning glow of youth, it is the
heart of a ripened man that I offer to her. With firm patience will I
await what time prepares for me; slowly will this fruit ripen in the
warm sun. I shall persevere, but I will hold her fast. Her husband is
becoming suspicious about her; it was an awkward excuse that he
invented; he also is struggling out of my hand. I must keep her, and
only childish means can be used for these childlike hearts."
The bell rang, the servant entered, and received an order.
Magister Knips appeared before the Sovereign; his cheeks were flushed,
and vehement excitement worked in his features.
"Have you read the memorial which Professor Werner has written
concerning the manuscript?" asked the Sovereign, carelessly. "What is
your opinion of it?"
"It is a prodigious, astounding account, Most Gracious Prince and
Sovereign. I may well say that I feel this discovery in all my limbs.
If the manuscript should be found, the fame attending the discovery
will be imperishable; it would be discussed in the preface of every
edition in which the question of the manuscript occurred, to the end of
the world; it would raise the learned man to whose lot this greatest
earthly good fortune should fall, high above his fellow mortals. Your
exalted Highness also, according to Act 22, Sec. 127, of the law of the
country, would undoubtedly have the first right to the discovered
treasure, and his Highness would be hailed among all people as the
protector of a new era of knowledge concerning the Romans."
The Sovereign listened with satisfaction to the enthusiasm of the
Magister, who in his excitement forgot his humble bearing, and
pathetically stretched out his arm in the direction in which he saw the
radiant crown hovering above the head of the Sovereign.
"All this would occur if one found the treasure," said the Sovereign;
"but it is not yet found."
Knips collapsed.
"Undoubtedly it is presumptuous to think that such a happiness could
fall to the lot of any human being, yet it would be a sin to doubt its
possibility."
"Professor Werner seems to attach much value to the discovery,"
rejoined the Sovereign, indifferently.
"He could not be a man of sterling judgment who did not feel the
importance of this gain as much as does your Highness's most humble
servant and slave."
The Sovereign interrupted the speaker.
"Mr. Von Weidegg has proposed to you to remain in my service. Have you
agreed to do so?"
"With the feelings of a rescued man," exclaimed Knips, "who ventures to
lay at your Highness's feet thanks and blessing with unbounded
veneration."
"Have you already engaged yourself?"
"In the most binding way."
"Good," said the Sovereign, stopping the stream of the Magister's
respectful assurances by a motion of his hand. "It has been reported to
me, Magister that you have a special good fortune in finding such
rarities--good fortune," repeated the Sovereign, "or what comes to the
same thing, skill. Do you seriously believe that these indistinct
traces will lead to the lost treasure?"
"Who can now maintain that such a discovery is impossible?" cried the
Magister. "If I might be allowed, with the deepest respect, to express
my views, which burst forth from my heart like a cry of joy, it is, I
dare not say probable, but yet not improbable, that an accident might
lead to it. Yet if I may venture respectfully to express my experience,
which perhaps is only a superstition, if the manuscript be found, it
will not be found where one expects, but somewhere else. Hitherto
whenever in my humble existence I have had the good fortune of making a
discovery--I mention only the Italian Homer of 1848--it has always been
contrary to all anticipations; and what your most exalted Grace calls
my skill is--if I must explain the secret of my good fortune--really
nothing but the circumstance that I have generally sought where,
according to human probability, no treasure could be supposed to lie."
"The views which you entertain are certainly not solacing for an
impatient person," said the Sovereign, "for that may last a long time."
"Generations may pass away," replied Knips, "but the present and the
future will search until the manuscript be found."
"That is but poor comfort," said the Sovereign, laughing; "and I
confess, Magister, you disappoint by these words the lively expectation
which I cherished, that your dexterity and skill would soon obtain for
me the pleasure of seeing the book in the hands of the Professor--the
book itself, or at least some palpable proof of its existence. I am a
layman in all these things, and can form no judgment of the importance
which you attach to the discovery. To me at present it is only to play
off a joke, or--to repeat the words which you lately used with respect
to your miniatures--only for the sake of raillery."
The expression and manner of the Magister altered gradually, as if
under the spell of an enchanter; he shrank into himself, laid his head
on his shoulder, and looked with a terrified eagerness at the
Sovereign.
"In short, I wish that Mr. Werner should soon be put upon a certain
trace of the manuscript, if it is not possible to obtain the manuscript
itself."
Knips remained silent, staring at the speaker.
"I desire you," continued the Sovereign, emphatically, "to employ the
talent you have already shown for this object. Your help must, of
course, remain my secret, for I should like Mr. Werner to have the
pleasure of making the discovery himself."
"It must be a large manuscript," stammered out Knips.
"I fear," replied the Sovereign, carelessly, "it must long have been
torn to pieces. It is not impossible that some scattered leaves may
have been preserved somewhere."
The Magister stood thunderstruck.
"It is difficult to satisfy the Professor."
"So much the greater will be your merit and reward."
Knips remained silent, in a state of terror.
"Has your confidence vanished, Magister?" said the Sovereign,
ironically. "It is not the first time that you have succeeded in such a
discovery." He approached closer to the little man. "I know something
of former trials of your dexterity, and I have no doubt of the
comprehensiveness of your talent."
Knips started, but still he remained speechless.
"For the rest, I am contented with your activity," continued the
Sovereign, in a changed voice. "I do not doubt that you will in many
ways know how to make yourself useful to the officials of my Court, and
thereby consult your own future interest."
"What high honor!" said Knips, pitifully, drawing out his
pocket-handkerchief.
"As regards the lost manuscript," continued the Sovereign, "the stay of
Mr. Werner will, I fear, be only temporary. The task of pursuing the
investigations in our country would, in that event, fall upon you."
Knips raised his head, and a ray of pleasure passed over his troubled
face.
"If the manuscript is, in fact, as valuable as the learned gentlemen
seem to think, then in case, after the departure of the Professor,
there is still something to discover, you will have found with us an
occupation which is especially suited to you."
"This prospect is the highest and most honorable which my life can
attain to," replied Knips, more courageously.
"Good," said the Sovereign; "endeavor to deserve this claim, and try
first what your dexterity can do."
"I will take pains to serve your Highness," replied the Magister, his
eyes cast on the ground.
Knips left the private apartment. The little man, who now descended the
staircase, looked very different from the happy Magister who a few
minutes before had ascended it. His pale face was bent forward, and his
eyes wandered furtively over the faces of the servants, who watched him
inquisitively. He seized his hat mechanically, and he, the Magister,
put it on his head while still in the royal castle. He went out into
the court; the storm swept through the streets, whirled the dust round
him, and blew his coat-tails forward.
"He drives me on; how can I withstand him?" murmured Knips. "Shall I
return to my proof-sheets in that cold room? Shall I all my life depend
on the favor of professors, always in anxiety lest an accident should
betray to these learned men that I once overreached them and derided
them?
"But here I pass a pleasant life, and have opportunities of being the
cleverest among the ignorant and making myself indispensable to them! I
am so already; the Sovereign has shown himself to me as one comrade
does to another, and he can, if I do as he wishes, as little part from
me as the parchment from the writing on it."
He wiped the cold sweat from his brow.
"I myself will find the manuscript," he continued, more confidently.
"_Jacobi Knipsii sollertia inventum_. I know the great secret, and I
will search day by day where only a wood-louse can creep or a spider
hang its web. Then it will be for me to decide whether I shall take the
Professor as an assistant to edit it, or another. Perhaps I will take
him and he will be thankful to me. He will hardly find the treasure, he
is too dignified to listen and to spy out where the chests are
concealed."
The Magister hastened his steps; the wind whistled in sharp tones
behind him,--it tore from the trees the dry leaves of the last year,
and scattered them on the hat of the little man. The dust whirled more
rapidly round him; it covered the dark Court dress with a pale grey
coating, it pursued and enveloped him, so that the foliage of the trees
and the figures of men disappeared from his sight, and he hastened
onward wrapped in a cloud of dust and dead leaves. Again he raised his
pocket-handkerchief, sighed, and wiped the perspiration from his
temples.
_CHAPTER XXXI_.
HUMMEL'S TRIUMPH.
There was a lowering sultriness in nature, and also in the busy world
of men. The barometer fell suddenly; thunder and hail coursed over the
country; confidence was gone, stocks became worthless paper;
lamentation followed arrogance; water stood in the streets; and the
straw hats disappeared as if wafted away by the storm.
Whoever in these changing times might wish to observe Mr. Hummel in a
good-humored frame of mind must do so in the afternoon before three
o'clock, when he opened his garden door and seated himself near the
hedge. During this hour he gave audience to benevolent thoughts; he
listened to the striking of the city clock, and regulated his watch; he
read the daily paper, counted the regular promenaders, who daily walked
at the same hour to the wood and back again to the city, and he
accosted his acquaintances and received their greetings. These
acquaintances were for the most part householders, hard-headed men,
members of the city commissions, and councillors.
To-day he was sitting at the open door, looking proudly at the opposite
house, in which some secret commotion was perceptible; he examined the
passersby, and returned with dignity the bows and greetings of the
citizens. The first acquaintance was Mr. Wenzel, a gentleman of means,
and his sponsor, who for many years had taken a constitutional every
day, summer and winter, through the meadows to get into perspiration.
It was the one steady business of his life, and he talked of little
else.
"Good day, Hummel."
"Good day, Wenzel. Any success to-day?" asked Mr. Hummel.
"Pretty fair, only it took a long time," said Mr. Wenzel, "but I must
not stop. I only wanted to ask you how things are going with him over
the way?"
"Why that?" asked Hummel, annoyed.
"Do you not know that his book-keeper has disappeared?"
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Hummel.
"They say he has speculated on the stock exchange, and escaped to
America. But I must be off; good day."
Mr. Wenzel hastily departed.
Mr. Hummel remained in a state of great astonishment. He heard the
voice of the city-councillor calling out:
"Good day, Mr. Hummel--a warm day--90 degrees in the shade. Have you
heard?" he said, pointing with his stick to the neighboring house.
"Nothing," cried Hummel; "one lives in this place like in a prison.
Whether it is fire, pestilence, or the arrival of high personages, it
is only by pure accident one hears of it. What is all this about the
absconding book-keeper?"
"It appears that your neighbor placed too much confidence in the man,
and he has secretly used the name of his employer in some mad
speculations, and fled last night. They say it is to the amount of
forty thousand."
"Then Hahn is ruined," said Hummel, "irredeemably. I am not surprised
at it; the fellow has always been impractical."
"Perhaps things are not so bad," said the councillor, as he left him.
Mr. Hummel remained alone with his thoughts. "Naturally." He said to
himself, "It was inevitable. In everything, high-flown--houses,
windows, and garden fancies--never any rest; the man is gone out like a
candle."
He forgot the passers-by, and moved backwards and forwards on his main
walk, looking sometimes with curiosity at the hostile house. "Out like
a candle," he repeated, with the satisfaction of a tragic actor who
endeavors to give the most terrific expression to the telling words of
his _role_. He had vexed himself half a century about that man; before
his disposition to corpulency had begun, he had despised this man's
ways and business. This feeling had been his daily entertainment; it
was one of his daily necessities, like his boot-jack and his green
boat. Now the hour was come when fate paid off the man over the way for
having injured Mr. Hummel by his presence in life. Hummel looked at the
house and shrugged his shoulders; the man who had placed that deformed
structure before his eyes was now in danger of being driven out of it.
He looked at the temple and the muse; this toy of the poor devil would
soon be torn down by some stranger. Hummel went to the sitting-room;
there also he walked up and down, and told his wife of Mr. Hahn's
misfortune in short sentences. He observed, out of the corners of his
eyes, that Mrs. Philippine hastened, nervously, to the sofa, and
frequently clasped her hands; and that Laura rushed into the next room,
and could not refrain from bursting into tears; and he repeated, with
dreadful satisfaction, the terrible words: "He has gone out like a
candle."
He behaved in the same way at the factory; he paced slowly up and down
the warehouse, looked majestically on a heap of hareskins, took one of
the finest hats out of a bandbox, held it towards the window, gave it a
stroke with the brush, and muttered again: "It's all up with him."
To-day his book-keeper, for the first time in his life, was late at his
desk: he had heard of the misfortune on his way; he related it in an
excited manner to his principal, and finally maliciously repeated the
unfortunate words: "It's all up with him." Hummel gave him a piercing
look, and snorted so that the timid heart of the clerk sank within him.
"Do you wish also to become manager of my business like that runaway? I
thank you for this proof of your confidence. I have no use for such
bandit-like proceedings; I am my own manager, sir, and I object to
every kind of secret dealing behind my back."
"But, Mr. Hummel, I have carried on no secret dealings."
"The devil thank you for that," roared out Hummel, in his fiercest
bass. "There is no more confidence on earth: nothing is firm; the
holiest relations are unscrupulously violated; one can no longer trust
one's friends; now even one's enemies make off. At night you lie down
to sleep quietly as a German, and in the morning you wake up as a
Frenchman; and if you sigh for your German coffee, your hostess brings
a dish of Parisian spinach to your bed. I should be glad to learn of
you on what spot of this earth we are now settled."
"In Valley Row, Mr. Hummel."
"There the last remains of our good genius spoke out. Look through the
window. What stands there?" pointing to the neighboring house.
"Park Street, Mr. Hummel."
"Indeed?" asked Hummel, ironically. "Since primeval times, since your
ancestors sat on the trees here nibbling beechmast, this place has been
called Valley Row. In this valley I laid the foundations of my house,
and enclosed in the wall an inscription for later excavators: 'Henry
Hummel, No. 1.' Now the machinations of yonder extinguished straw-man
have upset this truth. In spite of my protest in court, we have become
transformed into park denizens by a police ordinance. Scarcely has this
happened, when that man's book-keeper transforms himself into an
American. Do you believe that Knips, junior, this salamander, would
have ventured on this misdeed if his own principal had not set him the
example? There you have the consequences of everlasting changes and
improvements. For twenty years we have gone on together, but I believe
now you are capable of throwing up your place and entering into another
business. Bah, sir! you ought to be ashamed of your century."
It was a sorrowful day for the Hahn family. The master of the house had
gone to his office in the city at the usual hour in the morning, and
had awaited his book-keeper in vain. When at last he sent to the young
man's dwelling, the porter brought back word that the former had
departed, and left a letter on his table for Mr. Hahn. Hahn read the
letter, and sank down upon his desk with sudden terror. He had always
carried on his business like an honest tradesman. He had begun with
small means, and had become a well to do man by his own energy; but he
had confided his money matters more to his clever clerk than was
prudent. The young man had grown up under his eyes, and had gradually,
by his pliant, zealous service, won full confidence, and had shortly
before been granted the right of signing the name of the firm to
financial obligations. The new manager had succumbed to the temptations
of these turbulent times and had, unknown to his principal, ventured on
rash speculations. In the letter he made open confession. He had stolen
a small sum for his flight: but Mr. Hahn would on the following day
have to meet his losses to the amount of about twenty thousand thalers.
The thunder-bolt fell from a clear heaven into the peaceful life of
the merchant. Mr. Hahn sent for his son. The doctor hastened to the
police-office, to his solicitor, and to his business friends, and
returned again to the office to comfort his father, who sat as if
paralyzed before his desk, hopelessly looking into the future.
Dinner-time came, when Mr. Hahn must impart his misfortune to his wife,
and there was lamentation within the house. Mrs. Hahn went distractedly
through the rooms, and Dorothy wrung her hands and cried. In the
afternoon the Doctor again hastened to his acquaintances and to
money-lenders; but during this week there was a panic, every one
mistrusted the other. Money was scarce, and the Doctor found nothing
but sympathy, and complaints of the fearful times. The flight of the
book-keeper made even confidential friends suspicious as to the extent
of the obligations of the firm. Even by a mortgage on the house, with
the greatest sacrifice, no sufficient sum could be obtained. The danger
was more threatening every hour, the anguish greater. Towards evening
the Doctor returned home to his parents after his last fruitless
expedition. To his father he had shown a cheerful countenance, and
comforted him bravely; but the thought was incessantly present to his
mind, that this misfortune would divide him utterly from his loved one.
Now he sat weary and alone in the dark sitting-room, and looked towards
the lighted windows of the neighboring houses.
He well knew that one friend would not fail his father in distress. But
the Professor was at a distance, and any help he could give would be
insufficient; at the best it would come too late. There were only a few
hours before the decisive moment. The intervening time, one of rest for
all others, was one of endless torture to his father, in which he
contemplated, with staring eyes and feverish pulse, a hundred-fold the
bitterness of the ensuing day, and the son was terrified at the effect
which the dreadful strain would have on the sensitive nature of his
father.
There was a slight rustle in the dark room--a light figure stood beside
the Doctor. Laura seized his hand and held it fast within hers. She
bent down to him, and looked in his sorrowful countenance. "I have felt
the anxiety of these hours. I can no longer bear solitude," she said,
gently. "Is there, no help?"
"I fear, none."
She stroked his curly hair with her hand.
"You have chosen it as your lot to despise what others so anxiously
desire. The light of the sun, which illumines your brow, should never
be darkened by earthly cares. Be proud, Fritz; you have never had cause
to be more so than at this hour, for such a misfortune cannot rob you
of anything that is worth a pang."
"My poor father!" cried Fritz.
"Yet your father is happy," continued Laura, "for he has brought up a
son to whom it is scarcely a sacrifice to be deprived of what appears
to other men the highest happiness. For whom had your dear parents
amassed money but for you? Now you may show them how free and great you
rise above these anxieties for perishable metal."
"If I feel the misfortune of this day to my own life," said the Doctor,
"it is only for the sake of another."
"If it could comfort you, my friend," exclaimed Laura, with an outburst
of feeling, "I will tell you today that I hold true to you, whatever
may happen."
"Dear Laura!" cried the Doctor.
Her voice sang softly in his ear like a bird:
"I am glad, Fritz, that you care for me."
Fritz laid his cheek tenderly on her hand.
"I will endeavor not to be unworthy of you," continued Laura. "I have
long tried in secret all that I, a poor maiden, can do, to free myself
from the trivial follies that trouble our life. I have considered fully
how one can keep house with very little, and I no longer spend money on
useless dress and such rubbish. I am anxious also to earn something. I
give lessons, Fritz, and people are satisfied with me. One requires
little to live upon, I have found that out. I have no greater pleasure
in my room than the thought of making myself independent. That is what
I have wished to express briefly to you to-day. One thing more, Fritz;
if I do not see you, I always think of and care about you."
Fritz stretched out his arms towards her, but she withdrew herself from
him, nodded to him once more at the door, then flew swiftly across the
street back to her attic room.
There she stood in the dark with beating heart; a pale ray of light
gleamed through the window and lighted up the shepherd pair on the
inkstand, so that they seemed to hover illuminated in the air. This day
Laura did not think of her secret diary, she looked towards the window
where her loved one sat, and again tears gushed from her eyes; but she
composed herself with quick decision, fetched a light and a jug of
water from the kitchen, collected her lace collars and cuffs and soaked
them in a basin--she could do all this herself too. It was another
little saving, it might sometime be of use to Fritz.
Mr. Hummel closed his office and continued to rove about. The door of
Laura's room opened, the daughter shrank within herself when she saw
her father cross the threshold solemnly, like a messenger of Fate.
Hummel moved towards his daughter and looked sharply at her weeping
eyes.
"On account of him over the way, I suppose." Laura hid her face in her
hands, again her sorrow overpowered her.
"There you have your little bells," he grumbled in a low tone. "There
you have your pocket-handkerchiefs and your Indians. It is all over
with the people there." He slapped her on the shoulder with his
large hand. "Be quiet. We are not responsible for his ruin; your
pocket-handkerchiefs prove nothing."
It became dark; Hummel walked up and down the street between the two
houses, looking at the hostile dwelling from the park side, where it
was less accessible to him, and his broad face assumed a triumphant
smile. At last he discovered an acquaintance who was hastening out of
it, and followed him.
"What is the state of the case?" he asked, seizing the arm of the
other. "Can he save himself?"
His business friend shrugged his shoulders.
"It cannot remain a secret," he said, and explained the situation and
danger of the adversary.
"Will he be able to procure money to meet it?"
The other again shrugged his shoulders.
"Hardly to-morrow. Money is not to be had at any price. The man is of
course worth more; the business is good, and the house unencumbered."
"The house is not worth twenty thousand," interposed Hummel.
"No matter; in a sound state of the money market he would bear the blow
without danger, now I fear the worst."
"I have said it, he has gone out like a candle," muttered Hummel, and
abruptly turned his steps towards his house.
In the Doctor's room father and son were sitting over letters and
accounts, the light of the lamp shone on the gilded titles of the books
against the wall, and the portfolios containing the treasures
industriously collected by the Doctor from all corners of the world,
and bound up and placed here in grand array--now they were again to be
dispersed. The son was endeavoring to inspire his despairing father
with courage.
"If the misfortune cannot be prevented which has come upon us like a
hurricane, we must bear it like men: you can save your honor. The
greatest sorrow that I feel is that I can now be of so little use to
you, and that the advice of every man of business is of more value than
the help of your own son."
The father laid his head on the table, powerless and stupefied.
The door opened, and from the dark hall a strange form entered the room
with heavy steps. The Doctor sprang up and stared at the hard features
of a well-known face. Mr. Hahn uttered a shriek and rose hastily from
the sofa to leave the room.
"Mr. Hummel!" exclaimed the Doctor, alarmed.
"Of course," replied Hummel; "it is I, who else should it be?" He laid
a packet on the table. "Here are twenty thousand thalers in certified
City Bonds, and here is a receipt for you both to sign. To-morrow you
shall give a mortgage for it upon your house: the papers must be repaid
in kind, for I do not mean to lose by it, exchange is too bad now. The
mortgage shall run for ten years, in order that you may not think I
wish to take your house; you can pay me back when you please, the whole
at once, or by degrees. I know your business, no money can now be
obtained upon your straw; but in ten years the loss may be recovered. I
make only one condition, that no human being shall know of this loan,
least of all your wife, and my wife and daughter. For this I have good
reasons. Do not look at me as the cat looks at the king," he continued,
turning to the Doctor. "Set to work, count the bonds and note their
numbers. Make no speeches, I am not a man of sentiment, and figures of
rhetoric are no use to me. I think of my security also. The house is
scarcely worth twenty thousand thalers, but it satisfies me. If you
should wish to carry it off I should see it. You have taken care that
it should be near enough to my eyes. Now count, please, and sign the
receipt, Doctor," he said, authoritatively, pushing him down on his
chair.
"Mr. Hummel," began Hahn, somewhat indistinctly, for it was difficult
for him to speak in his emotion, "I shall never forget this hour to the
end of my life." He wished to go up to him and give him his hand, but
the tears streamed from his eyes and he was obliged to cover his face
with his pocket-handkerchief.
"Be seated," said Hummel, pushing him down on the sofa; "steadiness and
stoicism are always the main thing; they are better than Chinese toys.
I shall say nothing further to-day, and you must say nothing to me of
this occurrence. To-morrow everything will be made smooth before the
notary and the registrar, and interest must be punctually paid,
quarterly; for the rest, our relation to each other remains the same.
For, you see, we are not merely men, we are also business people. As a
man, I well know what are your good points, even when you complain of
me. But our houses and our business do not agree. We have been
opponents twenty years, felt against straw, with our hobbies and our
trellis-work fences. That may remain so; what is not harmonious need
not harmonise. When you call me bristles and felt, I will be coarse to
you, and I will consider you as a straw blockhead as often as I am
angry with you. But with all that, we may have, as now, private
business together; and if ever, which I hope will never happen, robbers
should plunder me, you will do for me as much as you can. This I know
and have always known, and therefore I am come to you to-day."
Hahn gave him a look of warm gratitude, and again raised his
pocket-handkerchief.
Hummel laid his hand heavily upon his head, as with a little child and
said, gently, "You are a visionary, Hahn. The doctor is ready now;
sign, and do not either of you take this misfortune too much to
heart. There," he continued, strewing sand over the paper carefully,
"to-morrow, about nine o'clock, I will send my solicitor to your
office. Stay where you are; the staircase is badly lighted, but I shall
find my way. Good night."
He entered the street, and looked contemptuously at the hostile walls.
"No mortgage?" he muttered. "H. Hummel, first and last, twenty
thousand;" At home he vouchsafed some comforting words to his ladies.
"I have heard that the people there will be able to pull through, so I
forbid further lamenting. If ever, in conformity with miserable
fashion, you should need a straw hat, you may take your money rather to
the Hahns than to others; I give my permission."
Some days after Fritz Hahn entered the small office of Mr. Hummel. The
latter motioned to his bookkeeper to withdraw, and began, coolly, from
his arm chair, "What do you bring me, Doctor?"
"My father feels it a duty to meet the great confidence that you have
shown him, by giving you an insight into the state of his business, and
begs you to assist him in his arrangements. He is of opinion, that
until this disastrous affair has passed over, he should do nothing
important without your assent."
Hummel laughed. "What! I am to give advice, and that too, in the
management of your business? You would put me in a position that is
preposterous, and one against which I protest."
The Doctor silently placed before him a statement of assets and
liabilities.
"You are a sharp customer," cried Hummel, "but for an old fox this trap
is not cunningly enough laid." With that he looked at the credit and
debit, and took a pencil in his hand. "Here I find among the assets
five hundred thalers for books that are to be sold. I did not know that
your father had this hobby also."
"They are my books, Mr. Hummel. I have of late years spent more money
upon these than was absolutely necessary for my work. I am determined
to sell what I can do without; a book-dealer has already offered to pay
this sum in two instalments."
"The sheriff is never allowed to levy on instruments of trade," said
Hummel, making a stroke through that entry in the ledger. "I believe,
indeed, that they are unreadable stuff, but the world has many dark
corners; and as you have a fancy to be an anomalous dick among your
fellows, you shall remain in your hole." He regarded the Doctor with an
ironical twinkle in his eye. "Have you nothing further to say? I do not
mean with reference to your father's business, I have nothing further
to do with that, but upon another subject, which you yourself seem to
carry on; from your movements of late you evidently wish to associate
yourself with my daughter Laura?"
The Doctor colored. "I should have chosen another day for the
declaration which you now demand of me. But it is my anxious wish to
come to an understanding with you concerning it. I have long
entertained a secret hope that time would lessen your aversion to me."
"Time?" interrupted Hummel; "that's absurd."
"Now by the noble assistance which you have extended to my father, I am
placed in a position towards you which is so painful to me that I must
beg of you not to refuse me your sympathy. With strenuous exertion and
fortunate circumstances it would now be years before I could acquire a
position to maintain a wife."
"Starving trade," interposed Mr. Hummel, in a grumbling tone.
"I love your daughter and I cannot sacrifice this feeling. But I have
lost the prospect of offering her a future which could in some measure
answer to what she is entitled to expect; and the helping hand which
you have extended to my father makes me so dependent on you that I must
avoid what would excite your displeasure. Therefore I see a desolate
future before me."
"Exactly as I prophesied," replied Mr. Hummel, "wretched and weak."
The Doctor drew back, but at the same time he laid his hand on his
neighbor's arm. "This manner of language will serve you no longer, Mr.
Hummel," said he smiling.
"Noble, but abject," repeated Hummel with satisfaction. "You should be
ashamed, sir; do you pretend to be a lover? You wish to know how to
please my daughter Laura, such an evasive, forlorn specimen as you?
Will you regulate your feelings according to my mortgage? If you are in
love, I expect that you should conduct yourself like a rampant lion,
jealous and fierce. Bah, sir! you are a beautiful Adonis to me, or
whatever else that fellow Nicodemus was called."
"Mr. Hummel, I ask for your daughter's hand," cried the Doctor.
"I refuse it you," cried Hummel. "You mistake my words. I do not think
of throwing my daughter into this bargain also. But you must not
misunderstand my refusal to give you my daughter; your duty is to
pursue her more fiercely than ever. You must attack me, and force
yourself into my house; in return for which I reserve to myself the
right to show you the way out. But I have always said it, you are
wanting in courage."
"Mr. Hummel," replied the Doctor, with dignity, "allow me to remark
that you should no longer be on the offensive with me."
"Why not?" asked Hummel.
The Doctor pointed to the papers.
"What has happened in this matter makes it difficult for me to use
strong language to you. It can be no pleasure to you to attack one who
cannot defend himself."
"These pretentions are really ridiculous," replied Hummel. "Because I
have given you my money must I cease to treat you as you deserve?
Because you, perhaps, are not disinclined to marry my daughter, am I to
stroke you with a velvet brush? Did one ever hear such nonsense?"
"You mistake," continued the Doctor, civilly, "if you think that I am
not in a position to answer what you say. I therefore do myself the
honor of remarking to you that your mockery is so wounding that even
the kindness you have shown loses its value."
"Have done with your kindness--it was only kindness from revenge."
"Then I will as honestly tell you," continued the Doctor, "that it was
a very bitter hour to me when you entered our house. I knew how
oppressive the obligation which you then conferred upon us would be for
the rest of my life. But I looked at my poor father, and the thought of
his misery closed my mouth. For my own part, I would rather have begged
my bread than taken your money."
"Go on," cried Hummel.
"What you have done for my father does not give you a right to
ill-treat me. This conversation strengthens me in the conviction that I
have had from the outset, that we must exert ourselves to the utmost to
repay you the money we have received, as soon as possible. You have
crossed out the item in which I credited my books, but I shall sell
them."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Hummel.
"I shall do it, however insignificant the sum may be in comparison with
our debt, because the tyranny which you wish to exercise over me
threatens to become insupportable. I at least will not be indebted to
you in this way."
"Yet you wish it in another way that suits you better."
"Yes," replied the Doctor. "As you have so contemptuously rejected the
greatest sacrifice I could make, I shall continue to woo your daughter,
even against your will. I shall endeavor to speak to her whenever I
can, and to make myself as acceptable to her as is possible in my
position. You yourself have shown me this way. You will therefore be
satisfied if I enter upon it, and if you are not, I shall pay no regard
to your displeasure."
"At last," cried Hummel, "it all comes to light I see now that you have
some fire in you; therefore we will talk quietly over this business.
You are not the husband whom I could have wished for my daughter. I
have kept you away from my house, but it has been of no use, for a
cursed sentiment has arisen between you; I therefore intend now to
carry on the affair differently. I shall not object to you coming to my
house sometimes. I depend upon your doing it with discretion. I will
ignore your presence, and my daughter shall have an opportunity of
seeing how you compare with the four walls. We will both await the
result."
"I do not agree to this proposal," replied the Doctor. "I do not expect
that you should give me your daughter's hand now, and I only accept the
entrance into your family on condition that you yourself will treat me
as becomes a guest in your house, and that you will perform the duties
of a friendly host. I cannot suffer that you should speak to me in the
way you have done in our conversation to-day. Any insult, either by
words or by neglect, I will not bear from you. I am not only desirous
to please your daughter, but also to be agreeable to yourself. For that
I demand opportunity. If you do not agree to this condition, I prefer
not to come at all."
"Humboldt, do not undertake too much at once," replied Mr. Hummel,
shaking his head, "for you see I esteem you, but I really do not like
you. Therefore I will consider how far I can make myself pleasant to
you; I assure you it will be hard work. Meanwhile, take these papers
with you. Your father has bought the lesson, that he should himself
look after his own money affairs. For the rest, matters are not in a
bad state, and he will be able to help himself out of it; you do not
need either me or another. Good morning, Doctor."
The doctor took the papers under his arm.
"I beg you to shake hands, Mr. Hummel."
"Not so hastily," replied Hummel.
"I am sorry for it," said the Doctor, smiling, "but I cannot be denied
to-day."
"Only from innate politeness," rejoined Hummel, "not from good will."
He held out his large hand to him.
"Keep your books," he cried out, to the departing visitor. "I can see
through that scheme, you will buy them again, and then I shall have to
pay for them anyhow."
_CHAPTER XXXII_.
A CHAPTER FROM TACITUS.
Tobias Bachhuber! when your sponsors concluded that you should be
called Tobias they did bad service to you and your descendants. For he
who bears that name is by fate subjected to experiences that do not
fall to the lot of more favorably named men. Who ever passed so
miserable a honey-moon as Tobias the younger, the poor son of the blind
man? For was he not obliged to fast, and to struggle with a murderous
spirit just at a time when a spiritual struggle would be highly
disagreeable to any mortal? Even you, blessed Bachhuber, have bitterly
experienced the misfortune of your name. Whether the fatal war with
Sweden may have arisen because the Swedes hankered after your
manuscript, will not be discussed here; it is to be hoped that new
historical investigations may yet bring this secret motive of action to
light. But it cannot be denied that you yourself suffered lamentably in
the war, and the curse of your name still clings to the treasure which
you concealed. All who have anything to do with it have their eyes
blinded, and an evil spirit destroys their hopes.
The Professor also was tormented with this blindness, and troubled by
the demon. He had found nothing. Many would have been weary and given
it up, but his eagerness only increased, for he did not, by any means,
search heedlessly; he knew very well that the discovery depended on a
long chain of accidents which were beyond all calculation. But he
wished to do all in his power; his task was to give assurance to the
learned of the world that the archives, collections, and inventories of
the Sovereign had been thoroughly examined. This certainty at least he
could obtain better than any one else, and he would thus do his duty
both to the Sovereign and to Learning. But his impatience became more
eager, and the cheerful excitement he felt at first increased to
uncomfortable agitation; constant disappointment disturbed his daily
frame of mind. He often sat lost in thought, nay, he was always
speaking of the treasure, and Ilse could not please him; her objections
and even her consolation wounded him, for he was very much vexed that
she did not partake of his zeal. He knew accurately what would be the
appearance of the manuscript--a large, thick quarto, very old
characters, perhaps of the sixth century, much faded, and many leaves
half destroyed, for he could not conceal from himself that the
mischievous spirit of the times, water and the rats, might have made
havoc with it.
One day the Professor entered the Princess's study with heightened
color.
"At last I can bring you a good report. In a small bundle of deeds in
the Marshal's office, which had hitherto unaccountably escaped me, I
have found a lost entry on a single sheet. The chests which the
official at Bielstein sent in the beginning of the last century to the
vanished castle are briefly designated as numbers one and two, with a
remark that they contained besides old cross-bows, arrows, &c.,
manuscripts of the monastery of Rossau. Thus, there were two chests
with manuscripts of the monastery in them."
The Princess looked with curiosity at the sheet which he laid before
her.
"It was high time that this account should come to light," continued
the Professor, gaily; "for I confess to your Highness that the phantom
pursued me day and night. This is a valuable confirmation that I am on
the right path."
"Yes," cried the Princess, "I am convinced we shall find the treasure.
If I could but help you a little. If it could be obtained by magic, I
would gladly put on my magic girdle and call upon Lady Hecate.
Unfortunately this mode of calling spirits to one's aid is out of date,
and it is difficult to learn the secret art by which learned gentlemen
unearth their treasures."
"I also am now little better than a wretched exorcist," answered the
Professor. "It would be a bad recommendation for me if your Highness
were to judge of my work by what I have achieved here in stirring up
the old dust. One is delighted and disappointed, like a child. It is
fortunate that fate does not often tease us book-writers with such
tricks; what we do for the benefit of others does not depend upon
accidental discoveries."
"I can form an idea of the seriousness of the work which I do not see,"
exclaimed the Princess. "Your kindness has opened at least an aperture
through which I can look into the workshop of creative minds. I can
understand that the labor of learned men must have an irresistible
attraction for those who belong to that silent community. I envy the
women whose happiness it is to live their whole lives within the sphere
of such occupations."
"We are bold conquerors at the writing-table," answered the Professor;
"but the incongruity between our inward freedom and outward
helplessness is often felt by the conqueror and those about him. They
who really pass their lives with us may easily fathom us, and can with
difficulty bear our one-sidedness. For, your Highness, learned men
themselves are like the books they write. In general we are badly
prepared for the whirl of business, and sometimes helpless in the
manifold activity of our time. We are true friends to men in those
hours in which they seek new strength for the struggle of life, but in
the struggle itself we are generally unskilful assistants."
"Are you thinking of yourself in speaking thus?" asked the Princess,
quickly.
"I had in my mind a picture of the combined traits of many of my
fellow-workers, but if your Highness inquires, about myself, I also am
in this respect a regular man of learning. For I have often had
opportunity of remarking how imperfect is my judgment on all questions
in which my learning or my moral feeling do not give me assurance."
"I do not like that, Mr. Werner," cried the Princess, leaning gravely
back in her arm-chair. "My fancy took its highest flight; I sat as
sovereign of the world, prepared to make my people happy, and I made
you my minister of state."