The Progressionists, and Angela.

CHAPTER VI.

THE ULTRAMONTANE WAY OF THINKING

On the following morning, no message was sent for the doctor. The child had died, as Klingenberg foretold. Frank thought of the great affliction of the Siegwart family-Angela in tears, and the father broken down with grief. It drove him from Frankenhöhe. In a quarter of an hour he was at the house of the proprietor.

A servant came weeping to meet him.

"You cannot speak to my master," said she. "We had a bad night. My master is almost out of his mind; he has only just now lain down. Poor Eliza! the dear, good child." And the tears burst forth again.

"When did the child die?"

"At four o'clock this morning; and how beautiful she still looks in death! You would think she is only sleeping. If you wish to see her, just go up to the same room in which you were yesterday."

After some hesitation, Frank ascended the stairs and entered the room. As he passed the threshold, he paused, greatly surprised at the sight that met his view. The room was darkened, the shutters closed, and across the room streamed the broken rays of the morning sun. On a white-covered table burned wax candles, in the midst of which stood a large crucifix; there was also a holy-water vase, and in it a green branch. On the white cushions of the bed reposed Eliza, a crown of evergreens about her forehead, and a little crucifix in her folded hands. Her countenance was not the least disfigured; only about her softly closed eyes there was a dark shade, and the lifelike freshness of the lips had vanished. Angela sat near the bed on a low stool; she had laid her head near that of her sister, and in consequence of a wakeful night was fast asleep. Eliza's little head lay in her arms, and in her hand she held the same rosary that he had found near the statue. Frank stood immovable before the interesting group.

The most beautiful form he had ever beheld he now saw in close contact with the dead. Earnest thoughts passed through his mind. The fleetingness of all earthly things vividly occurred to him. Eliza's corpse reminded him impressively that her sister, the charming Angela, must meet the same inevitable fate. His eyes rested on the beautiful features of the sufferer, which were not in the least disfigured by bitter or gloomy dreams, and which expressed in sleep the sweetest peace. She slept as gently and confidingly near Eliza as if she did not know the abyss which death had placed between them. The only disorder in Angela's external appearance was the glistening curls of hair that hung loose over her shoulders on her breast.

At length Frank departed, with the determination of returning to make his visit of condolence. After the accustomed walk with Klingenberg, he went immediately back to Siegwart's.

When he returned home, he wrote in his diary:

"May 21st. – Surprising and wonderful!

"When my uncle's little Agnes died, my aunt took ill, and my uncle's condition bordered on insanity; tortured by excruciating anguish, he murmured against Providence. He accused God of cruelty and injustice, because he took from him a child he loved so much, he lost all self-control, and had not strength to bear the misfortune with resignation. And now the Siegwart family are in the same circumstances; the father is much broken down, much afflicted, but very resigned; his trembling lips betray the affliction that presses on his heart, but they make no complaints against Providence.

"'I thank you for your sympathy,' said he to me. 'The trial is painful; but God knows what he does. The Lord gave me the dear child; the Lord has taken her away. His holy will be done.' So spoke Siegwart. While he said this, a perceptible pain changed his manly countenance, and he lay like a quivering victim on the altar of the Lord. Siegwart's wife, a beautiful woman, with calm, mild eyes, wept inwardly. Her mother's heart bled from a thousand wounds; but she showed the same self-control and resignation as Siegwart did to the will of the Most High.

"And Angela? I do not understand her at all. She speaks of Eliza as of one sleeping, or of one who has gone to a place where she is happy. But sometimes a spasm twitches her features; then her eyes rest on the crucifix that stands amid the lighted candles. The contemplation of the crucifix seems to afford her strength and vigor. This is a mystery to me. I cannot conceive the mysterious power of that carved figure.

"Misery does not depress these people: it ennobles them. I have never seen the like. When I compare their conduct with that of those I have known, I confess that the Siegwart family puts my acquaintance as well as myself to shame.

"What gives these people this strength, this calm, this resignation? Religion, perhaps. Then religion is infinitely more than a mere conception, a mere external rule of faith.

"I am beginning to suspect that between heaven and earth there exists, for those who live for heaven, a warm, living union. It appears to me that Providence does not, indeed, exempt the faithful from the common lot of earthly affliction; but he gives them strength which transcends the power of human nature.

"I have undertaken the task of putting Angela to the test, and what do I find? Admiration for her-shame for myself; and also the certainty that my views of women must be restricted."

He had scarcely written down these thoughts, when he bit impatiently the pen between his teeth.

"We must not be hasty in our judgments," he wrote further. "Perhaps it is my ignorance of the depth of the human heart that causes me to consider in so favorable a light the occurrences in the Siegwart family.

"Perhaps it is a kind of stupidity of mind, an unrefined feeling, a frivolous perception of fatality, that gives these people this quiet and resignation. My judgment shall not be made up. Angela may conceal beneath the loveliness of her nature characteristics and failings which may justify my opinion of the sex, notwithstanding."

With a peculiar stubbornness which struggles to maintain a favorite conviction, he closed the diary.

On the second day after Eliza's death, the body was consigned to the earth. Frank followed the diminutive coffin, which was carried by four little girls dressed in white. The youthful bearers had wreaths of flowers on their heads and blue silk ribbons about their waists, the ends of which hung down.

After these followed a band of girls, also dressed in white and blue. They had flowers fixed in their hair, and in their hands they carried a large wreath of evergreens and roses. The whole community followed the procession-a proof of the great respect the proprietor enjoyed among his neighbors. Siegwart's manner was quiet, but his eyes were inflamed. As the coffin was lowered into the ground, the larks sang in the air, and the birds in the bushes around joined their sweet cadences with the not plaintive but joyful melodies which were sung by a choir of little girls. The church ceremonies, like nature, breathed joy and triumph, much to Richard's astonishment. He did not understand how these songs of gladness and festive costumes could be reconciled with the open grave. He believed that the feelings of the mourners must be hurt by all this. He remained with the family at the grave till the little mound was smoothed and finished above it. The people scattered over the graveyard, and knelt praying before the different graves. The cross was planted on Eliza's resting-place, and the girls placed the large wreath on the little mound. Siegwart spoke words of consolation to his wife as he conducted her to the carriage. Angela, sunk in sadness, still remained weeping at the grave. Richard approached and offered her his arm. The carriage proceeded toward Salingen and stopped before the church, whose bells were tolling. The service began. Again was Richard surprised at the joyful melody of the church hymns. The organ pealed forth joyfully as on a festival. Even the priest at the altar did not wear black, but white vestments. Frank, unfamiliar with the deep spirit of the Catholic liturgy, could not understand this singular funeral service.

After service the family returned. Frank sat opposite to Angela, who was very sad, but in no way depressed. He even thought he saw now and then the light of a peculiar joy in her countenance. Madame Siegwart could not succeed in overcoming her maternal sorrow. Her tears burst forth anew, and her husband consoled her with tender words.

Frank strove to divert Angela from her sad thoughts. As he thought it would not be in good taste to speak of ordinary matters, he expressed his surprise at the manner of the burial.

"Your sister," said he, "was interred with a solemnity which excited my surprise, and, I confess, my disapprobation. Not a single hymn of sorrow was sung, either at the grave or in the church. One would not believe that those white-clad girls with wreaths of flowers on their heads were carrying the soulless body of a beloved being to the grave. The whole character of the funeral was that of rejoicing. How is this, Fräulein Angela; is that the custom here?"

She looked at him somewhat astonished.

"That is the custom in the whole Catholic Church," she replied. "At the burial of children she excludes all sadness; and for that reason masses of requiem in black vestments are never said for them; but masses of the angels in white."

"Do you not think the custom is in contradiction to the sentiments of nature-to the sorrowful feelings of those who remain?"

"Yes, I believe so," she answered tranquilly. "Human nature grieves about many things over which the spirit should rejoice."

These words sounded enigmatically to Richard.

"I do not comprehend the meaning of your words, Fräulein Angela."

"Grief at the death of a relative is proper for us, because a beloved person has been taken from our midst. But the church, on the contrary, rejoices because an innocent, pure soul has reached the goal after which we all strive-eternal happiness. You see, Herr Frank, that the church considers the departure of a child from this world from a more exalted point of view, and comprehends it in a more spiritual sense, than the natural affection. While the heart grows weak from sadness, the church teaches us that Eliza is happy; that she has gone before us, and that we will be separated from her but for a short time; that between us there is a spiritual union which is based on the communion of saints. Faith teaches me that Eliza, rescued from all afflictions and disappointments, is happy in the kingdom of the blessed. If I could call her back, I would not do it; for this desire springs from egotism, which can make no sacrifices to love."

Her eyes were full of tears as she said these last words. But that peculiar joy which Richard had before observed, and the meaning of which he now understood, again lighted up her countenance. He leaned back in the carriage, and was forced to admit that the religious conception of death was very consoling, even grand, when compared with that conception which modern enlightenment has of it.

The carriage moved slowly through the silent court-yard, which lay as gloomy under the clouds as though it had put on mourning for the dead. The chickens sat huddled together in a corner, their heads sadly drooping. Even the garrulous sparrows were silent, and through the linden tops came a low, rustling sound like greetings from another world.

Assisted by Richard's hand, Angela descended from the carriage. Her father thanked him for his sympathy, and expressed a wish to see him soon again in the family circle. As Richard glanced at Angela, he thought he read in her look a confirmation of all her father said. Siegwart's invitation was unnecessary. The young man was attracted more strongly to the proprietor's house as Angela's qualities revealed themselves to his astonished view more clearly. But Frank would not believe in the spotlessness and sublime dignity of a Christian maiden. He did not change his former judgment against the sex. His stubbornness still persisted in the opinion that Angela had her failings, which, if manifested, would obscure the external brilliancy of her appearance, but which remained hidden from view. Continued observation alone would, in Frank's opinion, succeed in disclosing the repulsive shadows.

Perhaps a proud determination to justify his former opinions lay less at the bottom of this obstinate tenacity than an unconscious stratagem. The young man anticipated that his respect for Angela would end in passionate affection as soon as she stood before him in the full, serene power of her beauty. He feared this power, and therefore combated her claims.

The professor had returned from his excursion into the mountains, and related what he had seen and heard. "Such excursions on historic grounds," said he, "are interesting and instructive to the historical inquirer. What historical sources hint at darkly become distinct, and many incredible things become clear and intelligible. Thus, I once read in an old chronicle that the monks during choral service sung with such enchanting sweetness that the empress and her ladies and knights who were present burst into tears. I smiled at this passage from the garrulous old chronicler, and thought that the fabulous spirit of the middle ages had descended into the pen of the good man. How often have I heard Mozart's divine music, how often have I been entranced by the stormy, thrilling fantasies of Beethoven! But I was never moved to tears, and I never saw even delicate ladies weep. Two days ago, I wandered alone among the ruins of the abbey of Hagenroth. I stood in the ruined church; above was the unclouded sky, and high round about me the naked walls. Here and there upon the walls hung patches of plaster, and these were painted. I examined the paintings and found them of remarkable purity and depth of sentiment. I examined the painted columns in the nave and choir, and found a beautiful harmony. I admired the excellence of the colors, on which it has snowed, rained, and frozen for three hundred and twenty years. I then examined the fallen columns, the heavy capitals, the beauty of the ornaments, and from these significant remnants my imagination built up the whole structure, and the church loomed up before me in all its simple grandeur and charming finish. I was forced to recognize and admire those artists who knew how to produce such wonderful and charming effects by such simple combinations. I thought on that passage of the chronicle, and I believe if, at that moment, the simple, pure chant of the monks had echoed through the basilica, I also would have been moved to tears. If the monks knew, thought I, how to captivate and charm by their architecture, why could they not do the same with music?"

"The stupid monks!" said Richard.

"If you had spoken those words at my side in that tone as I stood amid those ruins, they would have sounded like malicious envy from the mouth of the spirit of darkness."

"Your admiration for the monks is indeed a great curiosity," said Frank, smiling. "Sybel's congenial friend a eulogist of the monks! That indeed is as strange as a square circle."

"If I admire the splendor of heathenism, must I not also admire the fascinating, still depth of Christian childhood? In heathenism as well as in Christianity human genius accomplishes great and sublime things."

"That, in its whole extent, I must dispute," said Frank. "Where is the splendor and greatness of heathenism? The heathen built palaces of great magnificence, but crime stalked naked about in them. When the lord of the palace killed his slaves for his amusement, there was no law to condemn him. When lords and ladies at their epicurean feasts would step aside into small apartments, there by artificial means to empty their gorged stomachs, they did not offend either against heathen decency or its law of moderation. The marble columns proudly supported gilded arches; but when beneath those arches a human victim bled under the knife of the priests, this was in harmony with the genius of heathenism. The amphitheatres were immense halls, full of art and magnificence, in which a hundred thousand spectators could sit and behold with delight the lions and tigers devour slaves, or the gladiators slaughtering each other for their amusement. No. True greatness and real splendor I do not find in heathenism. Where heathen greatness is, there terrible darkness, profound error, and horrible customs abound. Christianity had to contend for three hundred years to destroy the abominations of heathenism."

"I will not dispute about it now," said Lutz. "You shall not destroy by your criticism the beautiful impressions of my excursion. I also met the Swedes on my tour. About thirty miles from here there is, among the hills, a valley. The peasants call the place the 'murder-chamber.' I suspected that the name might be associated with some historical event, and, on inquiry, I found such to be the case. In the Thirty Years' War, when Gustavus Adolphus, the pious hero, passed through the German provinces murdering and robbing, the inhabitants of the neighborhood fled with their wives, children, and property to this remote valley. They imagined themselves hid in these woods and defiles from the wandering Swedes, but they deceived themselves. Their hiding-place was discovered, and every living thing-Cows, calves, and oxen excepted-was put to the sword. 'The blood of the massacred,' said my informer, 'flowed down the valley like a brook; and for fifty years the neighborhood was desolate, because the Swedes had destroyed every thing.' Such masterpieces of Swedish blood-thirstiness are found in many places in Germany; and as the people celebrate them in song and story, it is certain that the pious hero has won for himself imperishable fame in the art of slaughter."

"Do you not wish to have the 'murder-chamber' appear in Sybel's periodical?"

"No; fable must be carefully separated from history; and in this case I want the inclination for the subject."

"Fabulous! I find in the 'murder-chamber' nothing but the true Swedish nature of that time."

The professor shrugged his shoulders.

"Gustavus Adolphus may wander for ever about Germany as the 'pious hero,' if for no other purpose than to annoy the ultramontanes."

Frank thought of the Siegwart family.

"I believe we are unjust in our judgments of the ultramontanes," said he. "I visit every day a family which my father declares not only to be ultramontane, but even clerical, and on account of it will not associate with them. But I saw there only the noble, good, and beautiful." And he reported circumstantially what he knew of the Siegwart family.

"You have observed carefully; and in particular no feature of Angela has escaped you. This Angela," he continued jocosely, "must be an incarnate ideal of the other world, since she has excited the interest of my friend, even though she wears crinoline."

"But she does not wear crinoline," said Frank.

"Not!" returned the professor, smiling. "Then it is just right. The Angel of Salingen belongs to the nine choirs of angels, and was sent to the earth in woman's form to win my proud, woman-hating friend to the fair sex."

"My conversion to the highest admiration of women is by no means impossible; at least in one case," answered Richard, in the same earnest tone.

"I am astonished!" said the professor. "My interest is boundless. Could I not see this wonderful lady?"

"Why not? It is eight o'clock. At this hour I am accustomed to make my visit."

"Let us go, by all means," urged Lutz.

On the way Frank spoke of Angela's charitable practices, of her love for the poor, her pious customs, and of her deep religious sentiment, which manifested itself in every thing; of her activity in household matters, of her modesty and humility. All this he said in a tone of enthusiasm. The professor listened with attention and smiled.

As they went through the gate into the large court-yard, they saw Angela standing under the lindens. She held a large dish in her hand. About her pressed and crowded the representatives of all races and nations of that multitude which material progress has raised from slavish degradation. From Angela's hand rained golden corn among the chattering brood, who, pressed by a ravenous appetite, hungrily shoved, pushed, and upset each other. Even the chivalrous cocks had forgotten their propriety, and greedily snatched up the yellow fruit without gallantly cooing and offering the treasure to the females. Nimble ducks glided between the legs of the turkeys and snatched up, quick as lightning, the grains from their open bills. This did not please the turkeys, who gobbled and struck their sharp bills into the bobbing heads of the ducks. A solitary turkey cock alone scorned to participate in the hungry pleasures of the common herd. He spread his wings stiffly like a crinoline around his body, strutted about the yard, uttered a gallant guttural gobble, and played the fine lady in style.

Near the gate stood the stalls. They all had double doors, so that the upper part could be opened while the lower half remained closed. As the two friends passed, they saw a massive head protruding through the open half of one of those doors. The head was red, and was set upon the powerful shoulders of a steer who had broken loose from his fastening to take a walk about the yard. When he saw the strangers, he began to snort, cock his ears, and shake his head, while his fiery eyes rolled wildly in his head.

"A handsome beast," said Frank, as he stopped. "How wide his forehead, how strong his horns, how powerful his chest!"

"His head," said Lutz, "would be an expressive symbol for the evangelist Luke."

The steer was not pleased with these compliments. Bellowing angrily he rushed against the door, which gave way. Slowly and powerfully came forth from the darkness of the stall the colossal limbs of the dangerous beast. The friends, unexpectedly placed in the power of this terrible enemy, stood paralyzed. They beheld the colossus lashing his sides with his tail, lowering his head threateningly, and maliciously stealing toward them like a cat stealing to a mouse till she gets within a sure spring of it. The steer had evidently the same design on strangers. He thought to crush them with his iron forehead and amuse himself with tossing up their lifeless bodies. They saw this, clearly enough, but there was no time for flight. The red steer in his mad onset would certainly overtake and run them down. Luckily, the professor remembered from the Spanish bull-fights how they must meet these beasts, and he quickly warned his friend.

"If he charges, slip quickly to one side."

Scarcely had the words escaped his trembling lips, when the steer gave a short bellow, lowered his head, and, quick as an arrow, rushed upon Frank. He jumped to one side, but slipped and fell to the ground. The steer dashed against a wagon that was standing near, and broke several of the spokes. Maddened at the failure of his charge, he turned quickly about and saw Frank lying on the ground, and rejoiced over his helpless victim. Richard commended his soul to God, but had enough presence of mind not to move a limb; he even kept his eyes closed. The steer snuffed about, and Frank felt his warm breath. The steer evidently did not know how to begin with the lifeless thing, until he took it into his head to stick his horns into the yielding mass. The young man was lost-now the steer lowered his horns-now came the rescue.

Angela had only observed the visitor as the bellowing steer rushed at him. All this took but a minute. The servants were not then in the yard; and before they could be called, Richard would be gored a dozen times by the sharp weapons of the steer. The professor trembled in every limb; he neither dared to cry for help, lest he might remind the steer of his presence, nor to move from the place. He seemed destined to be compelled to see his friend breathe out his life under the torturing stabs.

Before this happened, however, Angela's voice rang imperatively through the yard. The astonished steer raised his head, and when he saw the frail form coming toward him with the dish in her hand, he gave forth a friendly low, and had even the good grace to go a few steps to meet her.

"Falk, what are you about?" said she reproachfully. "You are a terrible beast to treat visitors so."

Falk lowed his apology, and, as he perceived the contents of the dish, he awkwardly sank his mouth into it. Angela scratched his jaws, at which he was so delighted that he even forgot the dish and held still like a child. The professor looked on this scene with amazement-the airy form before the murderous head of the steer. As Master Falk began even to lick Angela's hand, the professor was very near believing in miracles.