The Triumph of Pride.
The doctor began to pace excitedly up and down the room; but Atkins now
joined in the conversation.
"Do not take it ill Doctor Stephen; your professor is a genius, and
this is only one of those freaks of genius which borders on madness. A
consumptive professor to come down from his chair, and enroll himself
with the army! A lovely accession!"
"Fernow is not consumptive," said the doctor with great positiveness.
"My colleague knows that as well as I, and his nervous disease might
not be discernible in a moment of excitement;--to learn that would
require longer observation. His position does not fully release the
professor from the service; he is young yet, scarcely as old as
Frederic. If I had only had a suspicion of this proceeding, I would
gladly have prevented it by giving the necessary hint about the nervous
trouble, which God knows I could have done with a good conscience. But
who could have foreseen all this? The matter was not arranged here in
B.--and now it is too late."
"But Herr Doctor"--in mortal anguish Frederic gazed at the
physician,--"the Herr Professor cannot march with the soldiers. You
know he can bear no draughts of air, no heat, not even cold; that
everything has to be cooked for him in a peculiar manner, and that he
gets ill if he even goes out with out his umbrella. Good God! he will
die before the first week is over!"
"Well, don't take it so tragically," said the doctor, "We will see what
can be done. Your master's proceeding cannot be recalled, but perhaps
we can arrange it so that he will be allowed some light service in some
of the bureaus or official departments. I will take the necessary steps
in this direction; but above all things I must speak to him myself. He
came back with you?"
"Yes," said Frederic, with a sigh of relief, "I only ran on ahead."
"Well, go now, and arrange your own affairs. Are you, too, going, Mr.
Atkins?"
"Only for a quarter of an hour--to get cooled off! I feel an urgent
necessity of convincing myself that somewhere there exists in B.
something that is not upside down. Miss Forest seems to have a similar
feeling. May I request your company, Jane!"
"I--am weary!"
The young lady sank into an arm chair, rested her head on her hand, and
thus withdrew her face from further observation.
"Jane is evidently out of sorts to-day!" said the doctor to Atkins,
when they reached the balcony outside, whither he had accompanied his
visitor. "Scarce a word can we get from her! She seems to have changed
very much during the last fortnight. Do you know the reason of this
persistent ill-humor?"
"The reason, at this moment, abides in Paris," thought Atkins, but he
replied aloud, and in an indifferent tone: "I suppose that Mr. Alison,
my young countryman, to whom I introduced you a short time ago, brought
Miss Forest letters and tidings from her intimate acquaintances, which
are the cause of the change in her demeanor. At least, I have received
a hint to that effect."
"Well, that is only natural," said the doctor unsuspectingly. "I feared
there was something in my house or in its surroundings, which had
displeased her."
Jane, meanwhile, remained motionless in her place. The door-bell rang
anew, but this time more gently than before; a step echoed in the hall,
but she did not stir until the door of the balcony-room opened. Then
she started up. Professor Fernow stood before her! They had not met
since that evening upon the Ruenberg; he had indeed, not crossed her
path and the persistence with which he avoided a repetition of those
earlier accidental meetings in the house and garden, was only excelled
by the resoluteness with which Jane shunned every possibility of a
re-union. For a fortnight, they had managed to forego the most casual
glance, the coldest greeting; and now, all at once, they stood face to
face, so near, so entirely alone, that the meeting could not be
ignored.
Jane had sprung from her chair; whatever she might have been thinking a
moment before, all vanished at the sight of this man, whom she could
never forgive for his triumph, and her humiliation. The old, hostile
spirit again raged wildly within her. Why did he now appear so suddenly
in her uncle's apartments which he had never before entered,--here,
where he must apprehend a meeting with her? Was this appearance on her
account? The young lady stood there ready for the fray, determined with
her whole strength to defy a might to which this time certainly she
would not yield.
But her heroism was, just now, quite superfluous; it happened
differently from what she had dreamed. The professor still remained
upon the threshold; his glance slowly swept the room, but it did not
rest upon her.
"I beg your pardon; I seek Doctor Stephen."
"My uncle is in the garden."
"I thank you."
He closed the door behind him, and, without looking at her, walked
through the room to the balcony. Jane's brow flushed deeply; she had
made up her mind to meet an attack, and met, instead, the most entire
disregard; this was more than she could endure; her hand convulsively
grasped the arm of her chair.
Meantime, in the balcony, the professor had run against the doctor, who
was just returning from the garden, and at once engrossed him entirely.
"Well, here you are at last! Professor, in God's name, what kind of a
freak have you been playing? Frederic has thrown the whole house into
an uproar by his ill-starred tidings."
So saying, without further parley, he grasped the professor by the arm,
and drew him back into the house. This seemed to be the last thing the
professor wished; he followed the doctor with evident reluctance, and,
regardless of the invitation to sit down, stood upright by the chair
offered him.
Without a word, Jane rose and left the room. The doctor gazed after her
in surprise and displeasure; the discourtesy of his niece, toward this
inmate of his house, began to surpass all bounds. Fernow's lips
quivered, but no glance betrayed that he had even noticed this
movement.
Miss Forest, meantime, had not gone far; in the next room, morose and
hostile, she leaned against a window. She would not remain in the same
room with the man who allowed himself to ignore her and her resentment,
but--she would hear what he wanted of her uncle, and, through the
half-open door, she caught every syllable of the conversation, which
the doctor opened with an impressive lecture.
"And now, before all things, tell me, has that Frederic lost his wits,
or is it true that you have been declared fit for the military service,
that you yourself urged this declaration, that you have represented
yourself as healthy, while it would only have cost you a word, a mere
silence even, to have proved quite the contrary? Have we heard aright?"
The professor cast down his eyes.
"It was a sudden inspiration," he said, softly; "I was sure of
rejection, but the rather contemptuous sympathy of the examining
physician enraged me beyond measure. To be sent home as a miserable
weakling, when all were hastening to the conflict,--that I could not
bear! It was an act of folly for which I must atone with my life;
but--I would do the same thing again!"
"You seem at times to have very wonderful inspirations," said the
doctor with a glance at the morning journal. "Well, we will speak of
that another time, our first business now is how we shall atone for
this stupidity,--now, don't fly into a passion, I mean the surgeon, not
you--how we shall atone for this fellow's stupidity. I will preach him
a sermon! I shall drive over to H. with you, and he shall use his
influence to have you detailed for duty in some of the bureaus. This is
the only thing we can do, as you cannot now wholly withdraw from the
service."
A dark, portentous glow overspread the professor's face; his brow
contracted, and his voice had a singularly angry tone, as he replied:
"I thank you for your good intentions, doctor, but I must decline all
intermeddling on your part in my affairs, I am called to active
service, and shall follow the call in the sense in which it was given."
The doctor gazed at him in speechless astonishment. He had been
accustomed to absolute authority over his patient, who had always
yielded him the most implicit obedience; and now, all at once, he had
risen in open rebellion against his best and most deliberate
conclusions, this was too much for the doctor; he grew angry.
"Are you mad?" he cried excitedly. "You will enter active service?
_You?_ No, that surpasses all conception."
The professor was silent, but he set his teeth together as Frederic had
before described, a deep flush covered his face, and he gazed at the
doctor with a glance which forced that gentleman to assume another
tone.
"Give me only one reason, one single sensible reason, for this insane
proceeding!" he said, almost imploringly. "Could you not serve the
Fatherland just as well with the pen, if you could only bring your mind
to that? Why will you not enter one of the bureaus? only tell me why."
"I will not!"
"You have an obstinate head!" cried the doctor again becoming angry.
"In this you have a remarkable likeness to my niece. '_I will not!_'
and now the whole world might rise against it; but it must be! Exactly
Jane's manner, exactly her tone; just as if you had learned of her. One
is just like the other; you would make a nice, 'married pair!'"
"Doctor, please spare me this foolish jesting!" broke out the professor
with great violence, at the same time stamping furiously.
For a moment Doctor Stephen stood utterly dumb before this passionate
outbreak of his amiable patient, then he said, in a tone of sincere
astonishment.
"I believe that even _you_ can be rough and violent!"
Fernow frowned and turned away.
"Well it was only a jest!" said the doctor apologetically. "I know that
you and Jane stand half upon a war-footing; but you can become very
angry now, professor! I notice that, for the last two months, you have
not been the same person you used to be!"
Fernow did not defend himself against the reproach with a single word;
he preserved an obstinate silence.
"Well, to go back to the main business," began the Doctor anew--but
this time in a low voice--"you will not accept my proposition?"
"No!"
"You will really march to-morrow with the army?"
"In any event."
"Well then--I cannot compel you, and if it cannot be otherwise,"--here
the doctor's patriotism broke through all resentment; he cordially
extended his hand to his patient--"well then, go in God's name! Who knows?
The surgeon-in-chief, may be cleverer than we all; of one thing at least
he has convinced you, one which you would never believe from me: that
you are not consumptive, that you have no decided illness, and as to your
nerves--do you remember what I prescribed to you four weeks ago?"
The professor slowly raised his eyes.
"Some powerful remedy," he said softly.
"Certainly! A radical cure, at which you were horrified at that time.
You would not take upon yourself the life of a day-laborer; but you now
plunge into the military life, without asking me. Well, I should not
certainly have advised so powerful a remedy as this, for we cannot
cease taking it at will; if the dose is too strong, we must either bend
or break! But if you are determined to venture upon it--good luck to
you!"
The professor smiled sadly. "I have little confidence in this blood and
iron cure," he said calmly. "I shall fall, I feel sure of that, either
in face of the enemy, or in consequence of the unwonted exertion. But
it does not matter; in any case it will be better and more speedily
than to die at my writing desk after a consumption, years in duration.
Do not rob me of this conviction, doctor; it is the best I take with
me; I shall at least be of some use in the world!"
"Do not approach me again with your premonitions of death!" cried the
doctor excitedly. "To die--nonsense! We in B. forbid ourselves that
idea. And so you are of no use in the world! You have written no work
over which the whole learned world is beside itself in admiration, eh?"
The professor's lips quivered, as he said bitterly; "and to the rest of
the world, it will remain mere nonsense,--dead, fruitless, valueless."
"Do you really think so? And your article in this morning's paper, was
that, too, mere nonsense? Yes, be horrified as much as you like,
because I know; the whole city knows, the university also. Professor
since you have written that article, I deem all things possible to you,
I doubt you in nothing more!"
Fernow scarce heard these last words; his glance had followed the
motion of the doctor's hand as he pointed to the morning paper, and his
eyes suddenly flamed up as if in deep, glowing satisfaction--the paper
lay in the arm chair where Jane had just been sitting.
"And you ought to be ashamed of yourself," cried Doctor Stephen growing
more and more excited; "you ought really to be ashamed of yourself, for
having so little self-esteem, when with your pen you can rouse
thousands to the most glowing enthusiasm."
The professor's face again grew dark; a hard, bitter expression lay
upon it.
"With the _pen_," he said slowly. "The pen must always fall into
disrepute when the moment demands deeds. With all my knowledge and
abilities, I stand below Frederick, who, with a pair of vigorous arms,
can fight for the Fatherland. At the highest, I can die for it, and for
this, I must still thank your surgeon-in-chief; he, at least, has
lifted from me the curse of being only _a hero of the pen_!"
The doctor shook his head. "If I only knew how all at once you have
become possessed of such terrible bitterness! This sounds as if some
one had given you a deadly insult in these words. I tell you your whole
nature is changed."
With a deep, repressed sigh, as if he would throw off a heavy burden,
Fernow rose to his full height.
"I entirely forget what brings me to you," he said evasively. "They
leave us little time; we must return to H. this evening, for we are
ordered to march early to-morrow morning. I would request you to take
my rooms and my library under your care. In case of my death, you can
dispose of the former as you think best; the latter must go to the
university; it contains many valuable books, a large share of which I
have inherited."
"Yes, and if a formal testament is to be made," interposed the doctor,
"I beg you give me the address of your relatives, so that I may be
prepared for any emergency. Hitherto, I have made no inquiries
concerning them; you have maintained such a strict secrecy in regard to
your family affairs."
"Secrecy! I had nothing to conceal. I have no relatives."
"What! not a single one?"
"Not one; I stand entirely alone in the world."
There lay a quiet, but deep anguish in these words. The doctor
preserved a sympathetic silence; Fernow reached him his hand.
"I must now bid you farewell. I have much to arrange, but I will see
you again this evening."
He went. Doctor Stephen accompanied him to the door, and they parted
with a cordial pressure of the hand. The professor entered the parlor
through which he must pass in order to reach the hall; his features had
won again the gentle, melancholy expression peculiar to them; but
suddenly he started, and drew back--he caught a glimpse of Miss Forest.
She had not left her place at the window, but she had stepped forward
somewhat, so that he could not avoid seeing her, and her glance met
his. Jane's eyes were capable of no soft, dreamy glance, and even their
fire was always like the glow of Northern Lights over an ice field; but
still, a strange power lay in those shadowing depths, the might of a
proud, unyielding will, which knew not how to entice, but to compel;
and she was in the fullest measure conscious of her power. Seldom as
she had recourse to this power, whenever she did enforce it, the
victory remained with her, and it had been a victory over no common
individuals. The obstinate character of her father had bowed to this
will; it had silenced the ever-ready sarcasm of Atkins; it had brought
the cold, equally rigid nature of Alison under her control. And now it
must also enforce something else; the step which, in spite of all that
had happened, must and should cross her path, the farewell word which
she must once again hear from his lips--for this, these eyes now beamed
in the full radiance of their splendor, and deep below, under all this
ice flamed something warmer than the mere glow of boreal fires.
This mysterious power seemed also to subdue Fernow; as if spellbound,
his glance rested upon her face; he saw that she was waiting, waiting
for a farewell. It would cost him only one step, one single word; here
was involved an absence perhaps without return. Over Jane's features
flashed a triumphant glance--then all at once the professor's face grew
dark, every muscle was strained for an energetic resistance. Slowly, as
if step by step, he would withdraw from the influence of a demoniac
power, he tore his eyes from her face; his lips quivered as he set them
firmly together, to shut in any farewell word; his breast rose and fell
convulsively in an agonizing inward conflict; but the wounded pride of
the man held its ground before temptation. He turned to go; a bow,
cold, distant as that parting one upon the Ruenberg, and the door
closed behind him. He had kept his word!
Jane stood there like a statue; this was too much! She had humiliated
herself by waiting; she had waited all this time, and now she stood
there decided to offer her hand in reconciliation, ready to give and to
receive a last parting word; and this incredible self-mastery of hers
had been thus received! What then did this man wish? Did he demand
entreaties from her?
Entreaty? At the mere word, the whole nature of this young girl was
aroused to resistance and exasperation. To entreat was something she
could not do. Miss Forest, who so clearly tested, so calmly considered
all, never had occasion to lament a momentary enthusiasm nor to atone
for an error, because she never allowed herself to yield to impulse;
even in her childhood entreaty was something that had been impossible
to her. She had borne every punishment, but it was with an obstinacy
which chose to endure for long weeks, rather than allow the word
"forgive" to pass her lips; and Forest had discerned in the child too
much of his own nature to force her to anything he would himself regard
as a humiliation. The thought of entreaty flashed through Jane's soul,
only to be repelled with abhorrence. He wished no farewell; well then
he might go without it, into the field, to death, wherever he would.
And what had driven him to this? She knew now; the bitter satisfaction
with which he had heralded his ceasing to be any longer "a hero of the
pen," had betrayed it to her. That phrase had entered deep into this
man's soul; for weeks long it had tortured him; had become the goad
which had impelled him on to undertake something to which his strength
was not equal; and if he now succumbed, if he perished in the
undertaking, whose was the blame?
Jane began to pace excitedly up and down the room; she strove to repel
this thought, but ever and ever again it would return. She heard only
the words he had spoken in gloomy resignation: "I have no one; I stand
alone in the world!" She pressed her hand against her breast, as if
that agony had found an echo there.--Perhaps she ought now to confess
this to him. The old obstinacy again towered up in all its
uncontrollable might, she stamped violently as if beside herself. "No,
and no! and forever no!"