The Lost Manuscript Part 60

Still merrier did the young people become, when from the hut behind the bushes two men stepped forth with red-coats and drums, and invited them to try their skill at the popinjay. The Chamberlain took the superintendence of the boys, and Ilse of the girls; foresters and lackeys helped with the cross-bows; the arrows struck incessantly on the body of the bird, for the hitting was made easy, and those who did not win could admire the prizes, which were arranged on two tables.

Everything went on smoothly, as is fitting at Court _fetes_; the lackeys moved incessantly among the company, with every imaginable refreshment; the splints from the popinjays fell like hail, and the Prince distributed the prizes to the children who thronged round him.

Bertha Raschke became queen of tournament, and a little son of the Consistorial Councillor her consort. The children, carrying their presents, followed the drummers with joyous shouts up to a long table, where a supper was prepared for them. They were to sit down with the king and queen in the middle. The foresters and lackeys served the different courses. The Chamberlain could not have devised anything better to please the parents; and the fathers walked behind the chairs and enjoyed seeing the little ones drinking harmless wine out of the crystal gla.s.ses, their rosy faces expressing delighted astonishment at the beautiful china and silver dishes. They soon became merry; finally the little Consistorial Councillor proposed the health of the Prince; all the children cried "Hurrah!" the drummers drummed, the music struck up, and the parents stood round thanking the giver of the feast. Ilse brought a garland of wild flowers which the ladies had woven, and begged permission of the Prince to put it upon him. He stood amidst the happy party elevated by the innocent joy of all around him, and by the respectful attachment which was visible on all countenances. He looked at Ilse with silent thanks, and without apparent cause his eyes filled with tears. Again the children screamed out "Hurrah!" and the drums beat.

A horseman in strange livery galloped out of the wood; the Chamberlain, in consternation, approached the Prince, and handed him a letter with a black seal. The Prince hastened into the tent, and the Chamberlain followed him.

The wild flowers had brought the young gentleman no good fortune. The pleasure of the _fete_ was over; the company stood in groups about the tent, uncertain and sympathizing. At last the Prince and the Chamberlain came out. While the latter turned to the Rector and to those who surrounded him. Ilse saw the Prince at her side with deep sorrow depicted on his countenance.

"I beg of you to excuse me to the ladies, as I am obliged to depart immediately: my sister's husband has died, after a short illness, and my poor sister is very unhappy." In great agitation, he continued: "I myself knew my brother-in-law only slightly, but he was very kind to my sister, and she felt happier with him than she had ever been in her life. She writes to me in despair, and the misfortune is for her quite inexpressible. Under existing circ.u.mstances she cannot remain in her present abode, and I foresee that she must return to us. It is our bitter fate always to be tossed about, never to remain quiet. I know that I shall meet with a similar misfortune. I feel myself happy here,--to you I can confess this,--and I regret to say that this death makes it very uncertain whether I shall ever return. I go to my sister tomorrow for a few days. Pray think of me kindly."

He bowed and retired into the tent, and in a few minutes his carriage was on its way back to the city.

Ilse hastened to her husband, who had been requested by the Chamberlain to act for the Prince. It was immediately determined to break up the party: the children were put into the carriages, and the rest returned to the city in earnest conversation.

Meanwhile Laura feigned illness, and sat in her little sitting-room rummaging about among the old ballads. After the meeting in the village garden she had discovered with dismay that, in her anxiety about the Doctor, she had much diminished her treasure: full a dozen of the best were gone, and thus the tie by which she held the collector's heart fast threatened to come to an end. She had, therefore, not sent anything since the drinking-song. But to-day, when the Doctor had experienced treatment that gave her more concern than it did him, she sought for something to console him.

A heavy step on the staircase disturbed her in the work of selection.

She had hardly time to throw her treasures into the secret drawer before Mr. Hummel was at the door. It was a rare visit, and Laura received him with the foreboding that his coming portended serious results. Mr. Hummel approached his daughter and looked at her closely, as if she had been a new Paris invention.

"So you have a headache, and could not accept the invitation? I am not accustomed to that in my daughter. I cannot prevent your mother from allowing her feelings to affect her brains, at times; but I have a right to demand that your head should, under all circ.u.mstances, remain sound. Why did you not accept the invitation to the picnic?"

"It would have been an intolerable constraint upon me," said Laura.

"I understand," replied Mr. Hummel. "I am not much in favor of princes, but not much against them either. I cannot discover that they have greater heads than other people. I am therefore obliged to consider them simply as ordinary customers who are not always number one, neither do they always wear number one goods. Nevertheless, when a prince invites you, with other distinguished persons, to a respectable summer entertainment, and you refuse to go, I, as your father, ask you for the reason; and, between you and me, it shall now be no question of headache."

Laura perceived, from the expression of her father's countenance, that he had some other idea in his head.

"If you wish to know the truth, I will make no secret of it. I am not invited on my own account; for what do these people care about me? It is only as the appendage of our lodgers."

"You knew that when the invitation came, and yet you jumped for joy."

"The idea only occurred to me afterwards when--"

"When you learnt that the Doctor over there was not invited," completed Mr. Hummel. "Your mother is a very worthy woman, for whom I entertain the highest respect, but it sometimes happens that one can screw a secret out of her. When you thus ruminate over what neither your father nor the world should know, you should confide it to no one, either in our house or in any other."

"Very well," said Laura, with decision; "if you have discovered it, hear it now from me. I am a plebeian just as much as Fritz Hahn is; he has been in the society of those Court people more frequently than I; their taking no notice of him made it clear to me that they considered one who is his equal as a superfluous addition."

An expression of irony overspread the broad features of Mr. Hummel.

"So that fellow over there is your equal?" he began; "that is exactly what I wished to disabuse your mind of. I should not approve of your regulating your feelings according to that weather-c.o.c.k over the way. I do not choose that the idea should ever come into the head of Hahn Junior to build an arch across the street, and to wander about in slippers from one house to the other. The thought does not please me. I will bring forward only one reason, which has nothing to do with the old grudge. He is his father's son, and he has no real energy of character. One who can endure to sit year after year in that straw-nest, turning over the pages of books, would not, if I were a girl, be the man for me. It is possible that he may be very learned, and may know much about things that other men care little for; but I have not yet heard that he has accomplished anything by it. Therefore, if that should happen, which will not happen so long as the property over there is a poultry-yard,--if I, Henry Hummel, should consent that my only child should sit knitting stockings in front of the white Muse, it would be a misfortune for my child herself. For you are my daughter.

You are just as self-willed as I am; and if you should get among those white-livered people, you would disturb them lamentably, and be very unhappy yourself. Therefore, I am of opinion that your headache was silliness, and I wish never to hear again of like ailments. Good day, Miss Hummel."

He strode out of the door, and as he heavily descended the stairs, he hummed the tune:

"Bloom, sweet violet, that I myself have reared."

Laura sat at her writing-table supporting her heavy head with both her hands. This had been a trying scene. The speech of her stern father had wounded her deeply. But in his depreciating observations on their neighbor's son there was a certain truth, which had already crept like a hateful spider over the bright leaves of her sympathy. He must go out into the world. Her friends below were thinking of going into foreign parts. Ah! she herself, a poor bird, fluttered her wings in vain, for the fetters on her feet held her back. But he could free himself. She would lose him from her neighborhood, perhaps lose him for ever; but this ought not to hinder her from telling him the truth. She hastily searched among the old sheets; she could find but one ballad, which undoubtedly did not fit the Doctor, inasmuch as it expressed the feelings of a dissolute wanderer. The song was inappropriate, but there was none better. Our ancestors, when not occupied in highway exploits, took little pleasure in travelling. The letter must do the work. She wrote as follows:--

"The summer birds are flying, and man also yearns after the distant lands of his dreams. Do not be angry with the sender of this, for begging you to imbibe something of the spirit of this song. Your home is too narrow for you. Your merits are not appreciated here as they deserve. You are deprived in the quiet house of your parents of those experiences which a man gains when he forms his life by his own qualifications. I well know that your highest task will always be to promote learning by your writings. That you may do everywhere. But do not think it beneath you to influence younger minds by personal intercourse with them, and to partic.i.p.ate in the struggles of their generation. Away, Doctor! the unknown bird sings to you the song of the wanderer. With sorrow will your loss be felt by those you leave behind."

About the same hour, Gabriel was sitting in his room brushing the last specks of dust from his best livery which he had spread over a chair.

At his feet lay the red dog, licking his paws and giving utterance to an occasional growl. Gabriel looked contemptuously at the dog.

"You are not handsomer, nor better than last winter. Your knavish nature delights in nothing but eating, and flying at the legs of the pa.s.sers-by. I have never known a dog so much hated, or who deserved it so well; for your only pleasure is to despise all that is respectable.

What is your favorite amus.e.m.e.nt? When it has rained and a ray of sun attracts people to walk in the wood, you lurk on the steps; and when a young girl appears clad in her light summer dress, then you leap like a frog into the puddle that lies before her, and spatter her dress all over, and I have to fetch a cab to take her home. What did the strolling cigar-dealer do yesterday to provoke you. His chest was standing on the bench in Mr. Hummel's garden, and the prospect of a bargain was certain. The cigar-man went a few steps from his chest to speak to an acquaintance, and you, miscreant, made a spring at the bread and b.u.t.ter lying on the chest, and came with all fours on the gla.s.s. It broke, and the splinters mixed With the cigars; you trampled them altogether into a powder, and then returned to the house. You, monster, caused your master to deal roughly with the trader when he complained of you, and the man packed up his wares and went away from our house with a curse on his lips. On what nocturnal excursion have you been since then? No human eye has seen you."

He bent down towards the dog.

"So this time it has gone into your flesh. I am glad to see you can injure yourself as well as others."

Gabriel examined the dog's paw and extracted a gla.s.s splinter. The dog looked at him and whined.

"If I only knew," continued Gabriel, shaking his head, "what pleases the dog in me. Is it the bones, or perhaps some roguish trait of mine that amuses him? He hates the whole world, and even snarls at his master; but he comes to visit me and behaves himself like a worthy companion. And he is still more crazy about my master. I do not believe that the Rector knows much of Spitehahn. But whenever this fiend sees my Professor, he peeps at him slyly from under his s.h.a.ggy eyebrows, and does his best to wag his tuft of a tail. And when my master goes to the University, he runs after him like a lamb behind its mother. How comes it that this black soul attaches itself to the Professor? What does he want with our learning? They do not believe in you anyhow, Spitehahn."

He looked round suspiciously and hastily donned his coat. Arrayed in his Sunday attire he left the house. The Hahn family were not at home, for Dorchen was looking out of the dressing-room window. She laughed and nodded. Gabriel took courage, and stepped into the enemies' hall.

The door of the room opened. Dorchen stood on the threshold curtsying, and Gabriel, holding the handle of the door, began, solemnly:

"It would be much more pleasant for me if I could have the pleasure of accompanying you in your walk to-day."

Dorchen replied, twitching at her ap.r.o.n:

"I have got to stay here to mind the house, but that need not prevent you from going."

"I should then take ho pleasure in it," replied Gabriel, bowing, "for I should be always thinking of you, and I had much rather be with you here than only think of you in the open air. If, therefore, you would allow me to stay here a little while--?"

"Why, come in, of course, Gabriel."

"Only to the threshold," said Gabriel, advancing, still holding the open door. "I only wanted to say that the number of which you lately dreamt is not to be found at any of the offices. I have, therefore, taken another, and have had it drawn by a little beggar lad, as that brings good luck. I shall be so pleased if you will play this number with me. It is quite a sum, for it is a whole eighth of a ticket."

"But that will be no good sign," said Dorchen, with pretty embarra.s.sment.

"Why not, Fraulein? It was a real beggar-boy."

"No, I mean when two play together who love one another."

"Dear Dorchen!" cried Gabriel, approaching nearer and seizing her hand.

A hollow gurgle interrupted the conversation. Dorchen drew back from him terrified.

"It was a ghost," she cried.

"That is impossible," said Gabriel, consolingly: "for, first, it is day-time; secondly, it is in a new house; and, thirdly, spirits generally do not make such a noise. It was something in the street."

"Your being here is a real comfort to me," exclaimed the timid Dorchen.

"It is fearful to be alone in a large house."

"To be together in a small house is particularly jolly," cried Gabriel, boldly. "Ah, Dorchen! if we could venture to think of it."

Again a slight rumble was heard.