A DUET INTERRUPTED, AND RESUMED.
At the very same hour that the child in the attic woke up and was so
restless, two candles and a lamp were burning in the sitting-room of
the parsonage, and three people were seated comfortably at a round
table: these were the clergyman, his wife, and her brother, a young
farmer. The room was pleasantly warm, and in the pauses of the
conversation, the hissing of some apples roasting on the stove was
heard, and the kettle, on the top of the stove, put in its word too, as
if it wished to say that it had good material ready for a glass of hot
punch. The worthy pastor, who seldom smoked, nevertheless possessed the
talent of enjoying his pipe with any guest who arrived; this did not,
however, make him neglect his snuff-box, and whenever he took a
pinch himself, he offered one to his brother-in-law, who invariably
refused it politely. The pastor gazed with evident satisfaction
at his brother-in-law; and his wife occasionally looked up from her
work--a gift to her husband for the Christmas of the ensuing day--and
glanced tenderly at her brother.
"A famous idea of yours," repeated the pastor, while his delicate face,
his well formed lips, bright blue eyes, and lofty intellectual
forehead, assumed an expression of even greater benevolence than
usual--"a famous idea indeed, to get leave of absence to spend the
holidays with us, but," added he, smiling and glancing at the gun
leaning against the wall in a corner, "your fire-arms will not profit
you much here, unless, indeed, you have the good fortune to hit the
wolf, who has been lately seen prowling about in the wood."
"I have neither come to visit you solely from the wish to see you, nor
with the idea of sport," answered the young farmer, in a deep and manly
voice, "my chief motive is to persuade you, my dear brother-in-law, to
withdraw your application for the pastorate in the Odenwald, and to
delay moving until there is a vacant Cure either near the capital, or
in it. My uncle Zettler, who is now Consistorial President, has
promised to secure the first vacant charge for you."
"Impossible! Both Lina and I should certainly have liked to be in the
vicinity of our parents, and I have often an eager thirst for good
music, but I am a bad hand at the new orthodoxy of the day, and the
eager discussions as to whether a sermon is according to strict church
principles. Among my fellow-workers in the Church, there is an
incessant feverish anxiety for the souls of their mutual parishioners,
inducing them to exchange religious exhortations, which appears to me a
very vainglorious system. It is with that, like education; the less
teaching parents bestow on their children, the more incessantly they
talk on the subject. Live a good life, and a pious one, and you can
train up both your children and your parishioners, without possessing
much learning, and without such endless wear and tear of care and
anxiety. I know that I teach a pure faith so far as my ability goes,
and moreover, I am averse to all innovations. We must grow old along
with those on whom we wish to impress our doctrines. In a well
organized government, a man remains in the same situation, but is
gradually promoted in his office. I only applied for the vacant Cure in
the Odenwald because I feel that I am becoming too old for the
dissensions and strife which prevail here, and also because I have not
the power to prevent a piece of cruelty at which my heart revolts--but
now, let us sing."
He rose, went to the piano, and began the symphony of his favourite
melody, and his wife and her young brother sang, with well taught
voices, the duet from Titus--"Joy and sorrow let us share."
The two voices, blending harmoniously in this impressive melody, were
like friendly hands clasped, or a cordial embrace.
While they were singing, a sound like the cracking of a whip seemed to
ascend from the road before the house, but they did not pay much
attention to it, mutually agreeing that it must be a delusion on their
part. Now, however, that the song was at an end, the sound of a
carriage and the loud cracking of a whip were distinctly heard. The
pastor's wife opened the window, and putting out her head, into the
dark night air, called out "Is any one there?"
"Yes, indeed," answered a gruff voice.
She closed the window quickly, for a current of biting icy air rushed
in and made the singer's cheeks all in a glow. Her brother wished to
look out also to see who it was, but his anxious sister held him back,
as he was so heated by singing. She sent the maid down, and in the mean
time, bewailed the possibility of her husband being, perhaps, obliged
to go out on such a night.
The maid quickly returned, saying that a sledge had come from
Roettmann's godless old wife, who desired that the clergyman should come
to her immediately.
"Is Adam here, or a servant?" asked the pastor.
"A servant."
"Tell him to come in, and to take something warm till I am ready."
His wife implored him not to expose his life to danger for the sake of
such a wicked old dragon: even by daylight it was dangerous at this
time of year to drive to Roettmann's house, and how much worse by night!
"If a doctor must go to attend his patient, in spite of wind and
weather, how much more am I bound to do so!" answered the pastor.
The servant came into the room, and the pastor gave him a glass of
punch saying, "Is your mistress dangerously ill?"
"No, not so bad exactly--at least she can still scold and curse
bravely."
The pastor's wife entreated him afresh, at least to wait till it was
daylight, saying she would take the responsibility on herself, if the
formidable Roettmaennin left the world without spiritual aid; but she
seemed well aware that her persuasions would be quite unavailing, for
while eagerly entreating him to remain, she was pouring some kirsch
into a straw flask, and having fetched a large sheepskin cloak, she
placed the flask in one of its pockets. The young farmer wished to go
with his brother-in-law, but he declined, saying, as he went out, "Pray
stay at home, and go to bed early: if you were to go with me you would
probably become hoarse, and I hope we shall sing a great deal together
while the holidays last--that beautiful melody of Mozart's will
accompany me on the way."
The brother and sister, however, went together to the front of the
house, where the pastor got into the sledge; his wife wrapping his feet
closely in a large woollen rug, and saying reproachfully to the driver,
"Why did not you bring a carriage instead of a sledge?"
"Because the snow is quite deep at our house."
"That is just like you all up there; you never think of how things are
elsewhere, or whether the jolting of these frozen and rough roads may
not break people's limbs. Drive slow as far as Harzeneck: be very
careful, Otto: pray get out and walk up the hill at Otterzwang. But
perhaps you had better sit still, for you might catch cold: may Heaven
protect you!"
"Good night!" said her husband, and his voice sounded quite hollow from
under all his mufflings: the horses trotted off with the sledge, which
was heard jolting and rumbling all along the village. The brother and
sister then went back into the house.
"I can't tell you how much good it does me to see and to hear your
husband again," said the young man to his sister, when they were once
more in the sitting-room. "It seems to me, that, as he becomes older,
his pure and pious nature becomes more developed--or does this proceed
from my being now better able to appreciate him?"
His sister smiled, and said, "You are certainly sincerely attached to
my husband, but you cannot fully know his pure soul and pious heart;
people may say he is not sufficiently observant of church forms and
ceremonies, but he is a church in himself; piety prevails through his
example; he needs do no more than simply live here, to exercise a
beneficial influence; his gentle disposition, his untiring love and
strict integrity, cause all those who witness his daily life to become
good and pious: and his style of preaching is just the same; his soul
is in every phrase; every word is sound grain; he is well treated by
all, and never meets with rudeness or incivility. The painter
Schwarzmann, near this, who once stayed a week with us, and saw the
respectful behaviour of the rude peasantry towards him, said a good
thing on the subject: 'Our Pastor seems to prevail on every man, to
think in pure German in his presence, and not in patois.' Formerly it
used to distress me very much, to think that such a man was destined to
pass his life in this obscure place, among a set of illiterate
peasants; but I have since that time learned that the highest
cultivation of intellect, which is after all as simple as the Bible
itself, is here in its right and fitting place."
It would not be easy to say which was the greatest--the enthusiasm with
which the sister spoke, or that of the brother in listening to her; so
difficult is it to determine, whether a good heart rejoices most in
contemplating perfect felicity, or in possessing it. There is a kind of
happiness attainable, not by one only, but by all who are capable of
enjoying it, and that is the appreciation and love of a pure and pious
heart.
"I know where he is now," continued the sister, fixing her eyes as if
on some distant object; "he has passed the great elm, and by this time
they are driving on to Harzeneck, where there is always a bitter blast.
Wrap yourself well up; I believe you will convert that fierce hard
woman at last; I do believe you will, for what is there you cannot do?
and I believe you will yet marry Adam to Martina, and then we shall
remain happily where we are."
The brother scarcely liked to interrupt his sister's reverie, but at
last he asked, "Who is the fierce Roettmaennin, and who are Adam and
Martina?"
"Sit down here beside me, and I will tell you. I could not sleep if I
were to go to bed, till I know that Otto is under shelter."