Daniel took Dorothea over to Sylvia von Erfft's at Siegmundshof. He had
written to her, given her all the details, explained the entire
situation, and begged her to take Dorothea in and entertain her until
the day of the wedding. Sylvia had shown herself most obliging in the
matter; she met his requests with unaffected cordiality.
Dorothea had spent two nights at home, during which she had succeeded in
evading all explanations with her father. She did this by having him
agree to give her three days to think it over. On the morning of the
third day, after her father had gone to the conservatory, she packed up
her belongings and left the house.
Andreas Doederlein found the following letter from her: "Dear Father:
Abandon all your hopes with regard to my marrying Herr Weisskopf. I am
of age and can marry whomsoever I wish. I have already made my choice.
The man who is going to lead me to the altar is called Daniel Nothafft.
He loves me perhaps even more than I deserve, and I will make him a good
wife. This is my unalterable decision, and you yourself will certainly
come to see that it is nobler to obey the impulses of one's own heart
than to allow one's self to be led on and blinded by material
considerations. Your loving daughter, Dorothea."
Andreas Doederlein had a sinking spell. The letter slipped from his
fingers and fell to the floor. Trembling in his whole body, he walked up
to the covered table, took a glass and hurled it against the wall. The
glass broke into a thousand pieces. "I will choke you, you impious
toad!" he panted, shook his clenched fist, went to Dorothea's room, and,
seized with boundless wrath, upset the chairs and the little dressing
table.
The maid, terrified, ran into the living room. She saw Dorothea's letter
lying on the floor, picked it up, and read it. When she heard her mad
master returning, she ran down stairs to the ground floor, rang Herr
Carovius's bell, and showed him the letter. His face turned yellow as he
read it. The maid uttered a shrill, piercing cry, snatched the letter
from Herr Carovius's hands, and ran out into the court, for she heard
Andreas Doederlein stumbling down the steps. He wanted to call the police
and have them lock up the abductor of his daughter. Catching sight of
Herr Carovius in the hall, he stopped and fixed his eyes on him. In them
there was a sea of anger; and yet it was obvious that Andreas Doederlein
was eager to ask a question or two. It seemed indeed that just one
conciliatory statement, even a single gesture on the part of the man
whom he had scrupulously avoided for years, would make bye-gones be
bye-gones and convert two implacable foes into friends, colleagues
indeed in the business of revenge and punishment.
But Herr Carovius was done with the world. His face was distorted;
grimaces of unrelieved meanness furrowed his brow; his contempt knew no
bounds. He turned about and slammed the door leading into his apartment
with a bang that showed his intention of shutting himself up in his own
stronghold.
Andreas Doederlein got as far as the entrance to the Town Hall. There he
was suddenly seized with grave doubts. He stared at the pavement for a
while, sad and sinister, and then started back home. His steps were not
half so impetuous as they had been on the way over; they gave evidence
of weakened will and fading energy.
Hardly had he reached home when Daniel was announced. "You have the
boldness, Sir," he cried out to Daniel on his entering. "You have the
boldness to appear in my sight? By the gods above, you are going far!"
"I will accept any challenge you make," said Daniel, with the chilly
dignity that was characteristic of him in such circumstances and that
never failed to have a sobering effect on his potential antagonist. "I
have nothing to fear. I should like to live in peace with the father of
my wife, and for this reason I have come to you."
"Do you know what you are doing to me? You have stolen my daughter,
man!" cried Doederlein with pathos. "But just wait. I will checkmate your
plans. I will make you feel the full measure of my power."
Daniel smiled contemptuously. "I am certain of that," he replied. "I
will feel your power as long as I live; I have always felt it. But I
have never submitted to it, and up to the present I have always been
able to break it. Think it over! Recall my past history! And devote a
few of your meditative moments to your child. Adieu!" With that Daniel
left.
Andreas Doederlein was ill at ease. The man's smile followed him wherever
he went. What could the desperado be planning? A bad conscience
paralyses evil determinations. For more than a week, Doederlein waged
perpetual war with his pride. And then? Daniel did not allow himself to
be seen; he received no news of any kind from Dorothea; and, climax of
it all, Herr Weisskopf notified him that his note for one thousand
marks, with interest, was due. Doederlein saw that there was nothing to
be done about it all except to recognise the denouement as a fact and
not as a stage scene. And one day he hobbled up the steps of the house
on AEgydius Place.
"I am glad to see you," said Daniel as he reached out his hand to his
visitor.
Andreas Doederlein spoke of a father's bleeding heart, of the crushing of
proud hopes, of the impiety of youth, and the lonesomeness of old age.
And then, rather disconnectedly, beating a tattoo with the fingers of
his big hand on the top of the table, he spoke of the constraint in
which he found himself with reference to the opulent owner of the mill.
He told Daniel he had gone on a man's note, had been suddenly obliged to
redeem the note, and not having so much ready money at his disposal, had
accepted a loan from the rich aspirant for Dorothea's hand.
Daniel was forced to admit that his troubles were humiliating and that
the money would have to be raised. Doederlein said it amounted to fifteen
hundred marks. He was surprised himself when he mentioned the sum which
assured him a clear gain of fifty per cent. It had been a clever idea,
serving as it did to put the generosity of his future son-in-law to
test. At the bottom of his heart he felt that his action was
dishonourable, and was consequently touched when Daniel, giving this
inroad on his savings but a moment's thought, promised to send him the
money the following day.
"You make me feel ashamed of myself, Daniel, really you do. Let us bury
the hatchet! We are after all colleagues in Apollo. Or aren't we? Call
me Father, and I will call you Son! Address me with _Du_, and I will
follow your example."
Daniel gave him his hand without saying a word.
Doederlein asked about Dorothea; and when Daniel told him where she was,
he seemed quite contented. "Tell her my house and my arms are open to
her; tell her of the change in the constellation," he said softly. "We
have both done each other injustice and have both repented."
Daniel replied quite conventionally that he thought it better to leave
Dorothea with Sylvia von Auffenberg.
"As you wish, my son," said Andreas Doederlein, "I bow to the claims of
your young happiness. Now we should have a bottle of Malvoisie or
Moselle, so that I can drink to the health of my dear, unruly daughter.
Or don't you care to?"
Daniel went to send Philippina to the Golden Posthorn. But Philippina
had gone out with Agnes. He saw one of the maids from one of the other
apartments standing on the steps, and got her to run the errand. It was
a long while before she returned, and when the wine was finally poured
out, Doederlein had not time to drink: he was scheduled to give a lecture
in the conservatory at seven. He drank about half of his glass, and then
took hasty leave of Daniel, shaking his hand with unwonted fervour.
Daniel sat for a while thinking it all over. There was a knock at the
door, and old Jordan came in. "May I?" he asked.
Daniel nodded. Jordan took a seat on the chair Doederlein had been
sitting on. He looked into Daniel's face quizzically. "Is it true,
Daniel, that you are going to get married again? That you are going to
marry the Doederlein girl?"
"Yes, Father, it is true," replied Daniel. He got a fresh glass, filled
it, and pushed it over to the old man. "Drink, Father!" he said.
The old man sipped the wine with an air of adoration. "It must be nine
or ten years since I have had any wine," he said more or less to
himself.
"You have not had a happy life," replied Daniel.
"I will not complain, Daniel. I bear it because I have to. And who
knows? Perhaps there is still a measure of joy in store for me. Perhaps;
who knows?"
The two men sat in silence and drank. It was so still that you could
hear the fluttering of the light in the lamp.
"Where can Philippina be?" asked Daniel.
"Yes, Philippina. I had forgot to tell you," began old Jordan
sorrowfully. "She came to me this afternoon, and told me she was going
over to Frau Hadebusch's with Agnes and was going to stay there until
after the wedding. But she spoke in such a confused way that I couldn't
make out just what she planned to do. It sounded in fact as though she
were thinking of leaving the house for good and all. I wonder whether
the girl isn't a little off in her head? Day before yesterday I heard an
awful racket in the kitchen; and when I went down, I saw at least six
plates lying on the floor all smashed to pieces. And as if this was not
enough, she threatened to throw the dishwater on me. She was swearing
like a trooper. Now tell me: how is this? Can she go over to Frau
Hadebusch's, and take Agnes with her without getting any one's consent?"
Daniel made no reply. The thought of Philippina filled him with
anguish; he feared some misfortune. He felt that he would have to let
her have her way.