FATHER CHRETEI’S BEQUEST.
It was marvellous what sterling advice that lumbering old piece of
middle-aged machinery gave Sabina von Steinbach, for it actually
anticipated the very words of her lover himself when they met again;
not this time in the shadowy, stately old dining-hall, but down at the
favourite holiday trysting-place by the river, where in summer time it
was always so bright and pleasant, but now dreary and chill enough.
Sabina had wandered down there all alone to think her thoughts. Had you
told her she had done so in some undefined hope of catching a glimpse
of the beloved face, she would have been quite indignant; and indeed,
she had no reason for supposing that Conrad would be anywhere but in
Father Chretei’s studio at that particular midday hour; nevertheless,
fate did bring them face to face. When that which she had certainly
longed for did actually occur, and her lover stood by her side, her
heart beat tumultuously, and looking round, she would have escaped,
but Conrad caught her by her trembling hand. “Is it to end like this,
Sabina?” he asked.
“My father has forbidden it,” she said.
“Sabina, your heart is not changed—you love me?” and he hung very
breathlessly on her answer.
“I love you—now and for ever, Conrad!”
“Ah, dear little one! then all is well, and you will wait till I grow
rich for your sake? I know your father would not deny you to me then.
You will let no other stand between us, Sabina?”
“Who can stand between us, since I love you, and you love me?” asked
the girl, lifting her eyes proudly to his.
“God bless thee, my own!—but listen, little one. There will be rich
suitors who can give you now—to-day—to-morrow, fine clothes, jewels,
all that ’tis said women love best; whilst I—I can but bid you wait,
and so—what then, child?”
“Then!” murmured she smiling. “I will wait! Now let me go.”
“No, no; I have something more. Tell me, what if unkind, jealous
tongues spoke ill of me to you—what then?”
“Now, Conrad, how could such a thing be? You who do none wrong,” chided
she.
“Dear child, I strive to do none wrong; but the world is very cruel.
Still I think it is but my own jealous love for you, which put such
thoughts into my heart; I should forget them, should I not?” Then he
took her in his arms and gazed intently on her. “It seems to me so good
that Heaven has given you to me, darling; I think I could work miracles
for your sake. And you? You will be brave for mine?”
Sabina took the slender, nervous hand in hers, and softly caressed
it. Suddenly the mathematician snatched it from her, and passed it
hurriedly across his brow, as if in pain. Sabina looked up at him in
startled enquiry; he smiled and drew her closer to him, but silently;
and for a while he seemed lost in thought. At last he said: “Tell me
this one thing before we part, child: supposing—supposing all these
bright dreams—I dream for you—fade out—supposing any trouble, any
affliction, for instance, should come on me——”
“Now what do you mean, Conrad?” interrupted the poor child, gazing
up with eyes full of bewilderment into her lover’s eyes, which were
looking down at her with an almost mournful eagerness; though they
brightened again as she spoke. “How should I know what I mean?” he
said—“unless, dear little one, it was that I meant to try you. Forgive
me, Sabina.”
“But it is wicked!” pouted she; “you have no right to talk so. Our
Mother Odille would say you were tempting the good Providence, and she
would give you ten Paters to recite for your sin.”
“And the Mother Odille would be right. It is wicked to meet troubles
half way,” acknowledged Conrad humbly; but Sabina, still knitting her
brows, said: “It is growing dark, and my father will be wanting me.
Farewell, Conrad.”
“Nay, but you have not forgiven me, you sage little woman—nor kissed
me,” pleaded the mathematician, with a smile so bright that it
reflected itself in Sabina’s face.
“I shall tell my father I met you,” she said, as the last cloud cleared
off.
“Do as thy pure heart bids thee, dear one.”
So they parted, and when that evening Sabina sat down with her father
for their indispensable game of draughts, she did tell Niklaus of the
meeting down by the river, and the Burgomaster said: “Humph—is it your
move first, then?” and the wooden clock said: “Wait-tic, wait-tac!” and
Sabina was content.
Meantime, the new Horologe was making progress. Chretei Herlin’s pupils
had each been assigned some portion of the task. One had the wheels to
fashion, another the measuring of the weights, another the damascening
of the case, another, whose home lay away in the depths of the Black
Forest, was employed on the carving of the figures which were to adorn
the wonderful piece of machinery. To Otto von Steinbach was apportioned
the work of cleaning and renovating what was fit to be used again of
the original clock; and sorely he grumbled at the task. “Look here
now,” he said, “who ever set eyes on such abominable clumsiness? What
fools people must all have been two hundred years ago! It is enough to
make a cat laugh, if only one had not to cry with vexation.” To Conrad
Dasipodius, Herlin entrusted the delicate coils and spring-wheels—in
short, all that which constitutes the soul and life of a clock.
As for the old man himself, he was obliged to be content with looking
on, and directing the labour of the others; for somehow, each day his
fingers seemed to grow more stiff and nerveless, and consequently less
capable of delicate manipulation, so that at last the superintending of
the work actually fell into the hands of Conrad Dasipodius, his senior
and favourite pupil; and one day the old monk, laying his hand on
Conrad’s shoulder, said to the other young men: “Listen, my children;
I feel that death is very near to me, and yet our Horologe is but just
begun. Now I have consulted with the Council, and they consent to my
desire that Conrad Dasipodius shall succeed me in the carrying out
of this great undertaking. Here are the deeds and documents formally
making over to Conrad Dasipodius the task assigned to me. The reward
goes with it; and the sum I should have received will now, on the
completion of the Horologe, be his. Say, do you agree to look upon
Conrad Dasipodius as your future master? Are you willing to obey him,
as hitherto you have obeyed me; and will you, under his supervision,
complete, to the utmost of your ability, the work of the Horologe?”
“We will!” unanimously replied the students and workmen. It went very
much against the grain with Otto von Steinbach to say “We will,” and
he would readily enough have raised a dissentient voice, but he knew
very well that not only his companions one and all, but also the whole
town was in favour of Dasipodius being Herlin’s successor, and it
was consequently more than useless for him to demur, so he contented
himself with explaining to his friends, that as usual, favour and
prejudice were prevalent in Strassburg.
So the work went bravely on. Father Chretei, still in his old seat by
the monastery casement, would watch his children, as he always called
them, at their work; and his eyes would rest proudly on Dasipodius,
and a smile would lighten up his worn face as, from time to time, the
student would turn to consult him on some intricate detail, for the old
monk’s brain was as active as ever it had been, and only the tired-out,
fragile body refused to work any more.
One morning, as usual, a lay-brother entered the studio to call the
monk to early mass. Chretei sat alone in the silent chamber; the
casement had blown open, and the snowflakes drifting in, had softly
enshrouded the old man’s hand as it rested on the parchment outspread
before him. His dusky cowl had fallen slightly back, and the lamp
at his side had gone out, but the pale wintry dawn, now peering up
almost into the crevices of the vaulted roof, dimly illumined his pale
features; yet, as that lay-brother came closer, he could see a bright
light there, so unearthly, so rapt, that he fancied some grand new
thought must have suddenly thrilled through his brain, and he paused;
but Chretei moved not.
“It is time for Holy Mass. Come, Father Chretei,” said he, in a
low, awe-stricken tone, and gently touched the old man’s hand; but
he started back, for it was ice-cold. One greater than that poor
lay-brother had been there before him, and said: “Come!” and obedient
to that summons, the mathematician’s meek spirit had gone to rest for
evermore in the Eternal Presence.