The Lost Manuscript Part 15

shed to initiate these new watchers into their calling. He was much astonished, on opening the door, to find that they did not require any encouraging words from him--both rushed out between his legs into the yard. As if driven by an invisible whip, they dashed at a headlong pace round the house and factory--always together, and never silent.

Hitherto they had been depressed and quiet; now, either as the result of the good food they had devoured or because their night watch had come, they became so noisy that even Mr. Hummel drew back in astonishment. Their hoa.r.s.e short bark deafened the horn of the night watchman and the call of their master, who wished to recommend moderation. They chased wildly and incessantly around the court, and a continuous yelping accompanied their stormy career. The windows of the house were thrown open.

"This will be a horrible night, Mr. Hummel," said Gabriel.

"Henry," cried out his wife from her bedroom "this is insupportable."

"It is their first outburst of joy," nothing more, said Mr. Hummel, consolingly, and withdrawing into the house.

But this view of the matter turned out to be erroneous. Throughout the whole night the barking of the dogs sounded from the court-yard. In the houses of the neighborhood, shutters were thrown open, and loud words of reproach addressed to Mr. Hummel. The following morning he arose in a state of great uncertainty. Even his own sound sleep had been disturbed by the reproaches of his wife, who now sat at breakfast angry and depressed with headache. When he entered the court-yard, and gathered from his men the complaints they had heard from the neighbors, even he hesitated for a moment whether he should keep the dogs.

Ill luck would have it that just at this moment Mr. Hahn's porter entered the court-yard, and with defiant mien announced that Mr. Hahn insisted upon Mr. Hummel putting a stop to this outrageous barking, or he should be obliged to seek redress before a justice of the peace.

This att.i.tude of his opponent at once decided the inward struggle of Mr. Hummel.

"If I can bear the barking of my dogs, other people can do so too. The bells play on your side of the way and the dogs sing on mine, and if any one wishes to hear my views before a magistrate he shall hear enough to satisfy him."

He returned to the house and with dignity approached his suffering wife.

"Are two dogs to come between you and me, Henry?" asked the wife, with faltering voice.

"Never," replied Mr. Hummel; "the domestic peace must be preserved. I am sorry that you have a headache, and to please you I would remove the beasts. But I have collided again with that c.o.xcomb across the way. For the second time he threatens me with a suit and the magistrate. My honor is at stake, and I can no longer give in. Be a good wife, Philippine, and try to bear it a few nights longer. Put cotton in your ears, till the dogs have gotten accustomed to their work."

"Henry," replied the wife, wearily, "I have never doubted your heart; but your character is rough, and the voices of the dogs are too horrible. Can you, in order to enforce your will, see your wife suffer, and become seriously ill, from sleeplessness? Will you, in order to maintain your position, sacrifice peace with the neighborhood?"

"I do not want you to be ill, but I will not send away the dogs,"

replied Mr. Hummel, seizing his felt hat, and going to the factory with heavy step.

If Mr. Hummel indulged in the hope that he had ended the domestic struggle as conqueror, he was greatly in error. There was still another power in his home, who opened the campaign in a different manner. When Mr. Hummel approached his desk in his little counting-house, he saw near the inkstand a nosegay of flowers. Attached to the pink ribbon hung a note which was sealed with a forget-me-not, and addressed--"To my dear Father."

"That is my bright-eyed girl," he murmured, and opening the note read the following lines:

"My dear pa, good morrow!

The dogs cause great sorrow, They are not delightful; Their bark is just frightful; Their ardor and sanguinity Disturb the vicinity.

For the sake of our neighborhood, Be n.o.ble, generous and good."

Hummel laughed so heartily that the work in the factory stopped, and every one was amazed at his good humor. Then he marked the note with the date of its reception, put it in his pocket-book, and after examining the letters that had arrived, he betook himself into the garden. He saw his little daughter sprinkling the beds with her watering-pot, and his heart swelled with a father's pride. With what grace she turned and bent, and how her dark locks hung round the blooming face, and how actively she raised and swung the watering-pot; and, on perceiving him, when she put it down and held her finger threateningly at him, he was quite enchanted.

"Verses again," he called out to her, "I have received Number Nine."

"And you will be my good papa," cried Laura, hastening toward him and stroking his chin; "do send them away."

"But, my child," said the father, composedly. "I have already spoken to your mother about it, and I have already explained to her why I cannot dispose of them. Now, I cannot do to please you, what I have refused your mother; that would be contrary to all family regulations. Respect your mother, little girl."

"You are a hard-hearted father," replied the daughter, pouting; "and more than that, you are unjust in this affair."

"Oh, oh!" cried the father, "is that the way you approach me?"

"What harm does the ringing of bells over there do to us? The little summer-house is pretty, and when we sit in the garden in the evening, and there is a breeze, and the bells tinkle gently, it sounds just lovely--it is like Mozart's _Magic Flute_."

"Our street is not an opera-house," the father retorted sharply, "but a public thoroughfare; and when my pet dogs bark you can equally well pursue your theatrical ideas, and imagine that you are in the Wolf's Den, in the _Freischutz_."

"No, my father," answered the daughter, eagerly, "you are unjust towards these people; for you wish to spite them, and that vexes me to my heart's core. It is not worthy of my father."

"Yet you must bear it," he replied, doggedly, "for this is a quarrel between men. Police regulations settle such affairs, and your verses are altogether out of place. As regards the names, it is possible that other words like Adolar, Ingomar, and Marquis Posa, might sound better to you women-folk. But this is no reason for me; my names are practical. In the matter of flowers and books, I will do much to please you but in the matter of dogs I cannot take poetry into consideration."

So saying, he turned his back upon his daughter, to avoid protracting the dispute.

Laura, however, hastened to her mother's room, and the ladies took counsel together.

"The noise was bad enough," complained Laura, "but the names are terrible. I cannot say those words for my life, and you ought not to allow our servant to do so, either."

"Dear child," answered the experienced mother, "one has to pa.s.s through much in this world which is unpleasant, but what grieves me most is the wanton attacks upon the dignity of women in their own houses. I shall say no more on the subject. I agree with you, that both the names by which the dogs are called are an insult to our neighbor. But if your father were to discover that behind his back we called them Ph[oe]bus and Azor, it would make matters worse."

"No one at least must utter those other names who cares for my friendship," said Laura, decidedly, and entered into the court-yard.

Gabriel was employing his leisure in making observations on the new comers. He was frequently attracted to the dogs' kennel in order to establish the certainty of the earthly nature of the strangers.

"What is your opinion?" asked Laura, approaching him.

"I have my opinion," answered the servant, peering into the interior of the shed, "namely, that there is something mysterious about them. Did you remark the song of those ravens the other night? No real dog barks like that; they whine and moan and occasionally groan and speak like little children. They eat like other dogs, but their mode of life is unusual. See, how they cower down, as if they had been struck on the mouth, because the sun shines on them. And then, dear young lady, the names!"

Laura looked with curiosity at the beasts.

"We will alter the names secretly, Gabriel; this one shall be called Ruddy."

"That would certainly be better; it would at least not be an insult to Mr. Hahn, but only to the tenant of the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"What do you mean by that?"

"The porter who lives over there is called Ruddy."

"Then," decided Laura, "the red monster shall from henceforth be named The Other; our people shall call him Andres.[2] Tell this to the workmen in the factory."

"Andres!" replied Gabriel. "The name will just suit him. The neighbors would dignify him with the name of Andreas if it were not too much honor to him."

Thus were kind hearts occupied in thwarting the bad signification of the name. But in vain, for, as Laura had correctly noted in her diary, when the ball of mischief has been thrown amongst men, it mercilessly hits the good as well as the bad. The dog was supplied with the most inoffensive name that ever was given; but through a wonderful complication of circ.u.mstances, which bid defiance to all human sagacity, it happened that Mr. Hahn himself bore the name of Andreas.

Thus the double name of the animal became a double affront to the neighboring house, and bad and good intentions mingled together in a thick, black soup of hatred.

Early in the morning Mr. Hummel appeared at the door, and defiantly, like Ajax, called the two dogs by their hostile names. The porter, Ruddy, heard the call in the cellar, hastened to his master's room, and informed him of this horrible affront. Mrs. Hahn endeavored not to believe it, and maintained that they should, at least, wait for some confirmation. This confirmation did not fail to come; for at noonday Gabriel opened the door of the place where the dogs were confined, and made the creatures come out for a quarter of an hour's sunning in the garden. Laura, who was sitting among her flowers, and was just looking out for her secret ideal--a famous singer, who, with his glossy black hair and military gait was just pa.s.sing by--determined, like a courageous maiden, not to peer after her favorite through the foliage of the vine arbor, and turned toward the dogs. In order to accustom the red one to his new name, she enticed him with a bit of cake, and called him several times by the unfortunate name, "Andres." At the same moment, Dorchen rushed to Mrs. Hahn, saying: "It is true; now even Miss Laura calls the dog by the Christian name of our master."

Mrs. Hahn stepped to the window much shocked, and herself heard the name of her dear husband. She retreated quickly, for this insult from her neighbors brought tears into her eyes, and she sought for her pocket-handkerchief to wipe them away unperceived by her maid. Mrs.

Hahn was a good woman, calm and agreeable, with a tendency to plumpness and an inclination quietly to do anything for the sake of peace. But this heartlessness of the daughter roused her anger. She instantly fetched her cloak from the closet, and went with the utmost determination across the street to the garden of the hostile neighbors.

Laura looked up astonished from the hideous dogs to the unexpected visitor, who came toward her with dignified steps.

"I come to complain, young lady!" began Mrs. Hahn, without further greeting. "The insults that have been heaped upon my husband from this house are insupportable. For your father's conduct you are not responsible; but I think it shocking that a young girl like you should also join in these outrages!"

"What do you mean, Mrs. Hahn?" asked Laura, excitedly.

"I mean the affront of giving a man's name to dogs. You call your dogs by all my husband's names."