The Progressionists, and Angela.

"So now, be right good, Falk!" said she coaxingly; "now go back where you belong. Keep perfectly quiet, Herr Frank; do not move, and it will be soon over."

She patted the steer on the broad neck, and holding the dish before him, led him to the stall, into which he quickly disappeared.

Frank arose.

"You are not hurt?" asked Lutz with concern.

"Not in the least," answered Frank, taking out his pocket handkerchief and brushing the dust from his clothes. The professor brought him his hat, which had bounced away when he fell, and placed it on the head of his trembling friend.

Angela returned after housing the steer. Frank went some steps toward her, as if to thank her on his knees for his life; but he concluded to stand, and a sad smile passed over his countenance.

"Fräulein Angela," said he, "I have the honor of introducing to you my friend, Herr Lutz, professor at our university."

"It gives me pleasure to know the gentleman," said she. "But I regret that, through the negligence of Louis, you have been in great danger. Great God! if I had not been in the yard." And her beautiful face became as pale as marble.

Richard observed this expression of fright, and it shot through his melancholy smile like rays of the highest delight; but for his preserver he had not a single word of thanks. Lutz, not understanding this conduct, was displeased at his friend, and undertook himself to return her thanks.

"You have placed yourself in the greatest danger, Fräulein Angela," said he. "Had I been able when you went to meet the steer, I would have held you back with both hands; but I must acknowledge that I was palsied by fear."

"I placed myself in no danger," she replied. "Falk knows me well, and has to thank me for many dainties. When father is away, I have to go into the stalls to see if the servants have done their work. So all the animals know me, and I can call them all by name."

They went into the house.

"It is well that my parents are absent to-day, and that the accident was observed by no one; for my father would discharge the Swiss who has charge of the animals, for his negligence. I would be sorry for the poor man. I beg of you, therefore, to say nothing of it to my father. I will correct him for it, and I am sure he will be more careful in future."

While she spoke, the eyes of the professor rested upon her, and it is scarcely doubtful that in his present judgment the splendor of the rostrum was eclipsed. Frank sat silent, observing. He scarcely joined in the conversation, which his friend conducted with great warmth.

"This occurrence," said Lutz, on his way home, "appears to me like an episode from the land of fables and wonders. First, the steer fight; then the overcoming of the beast by a maiden; lastly, a maid of such beauty that all the fair ones of romance are thrown in the shade. By heaven, I must call all my learning to my aid in order to be able to forget her and not fall in love up to the ears!"

Frank said nothing.

"And you did not even thank her!" said Lutz vehemently. "Your conduct was more than ungallant. I do not understand you."

"Nothing without reason," said Frank.

"No matter! Your conduct cannot be justified," growled the professor. "I would like to know the reason that prevented you from thanking your preserver for your life?"

Richard stopped, looked quietly into the glowing countenance of his friend, and proceeded doubtingly,

"You shall know all, and then judge if my offensive conduct is not pardonable."

He began to relate how he met Angela for the first time on the lonely road in the forest, how she then made a deep impression on him, what he learned of her from the poor man and from Klingenberg, and how his opinion of womankind had been shaken by Angela; then he spoke of his object in visiting the Siegwart family, of his observations and experience.

"I had about come to the conclusion, and the occurrence of to-day realizes that conclusion, that Angela possesses that admirable virtue which, until now, I believed only to exist in the ideal world. If there is a spark of vanity in her, I must have offended her. She must have looked resentfully at me, the ungrateful man, and treated me sulkily. But such was not the case; her eyes rested on me with the same clearness and kindness as ever. My coarse unthankfulness did not offend her, because she does not think much of herself, because she makes no pretensions, because she does not know her great excellence, but considers her little human weaknesses in the light of religious perfection-in short, because she is truly humble. She will bury this dauntless deed in forgetfulness. She does not wish the little and great journals to bring her courage into publicity. Tell me a woman, or even a man, who could be capable of such modesty? Who would risk life to rescue a stranger from the horns of a ferocious steer without hesitation, and not desire an acknowledgment of the heroic deed? How great is Angela, how admirable in every act! I was unthankful; yes, in the highest degree unthankful. But I placed myself willingly in this odious light, in order to see Angela in full splendor. As I said," he concluded quietly, "I must soon confess myself besieged-vanquished on the whole line of observation."

"And what then?" said the professor.

"Then I am convinced," said Richard, "that female worth exists, shining and brilliant, and that in the camp of the ultramontanes."

"A shaming experience for us," replied the professor. "You make your studies practical, you destroy all the results of learned investigation by living facts. To be just, it must be admitted that a woman like what you have described Angela to be only grows and ripens on the ground of religious influences and convictions."

"And did you observe," said Richard, "how modestly she veiled the splendor of her brave action? She denied that there was any danger in the presence of the steer, although it is well known that those beasts in moments of rage forget all friendship. Angela must certainly have felt this as she went to meet the horns of the infuriated animal to rescue me."

Frank visited daily, and sometimes twice a day, the Siegwart family; he was always received with welcome, and might be considered an intimate friend. The family spirit unfolded itself clearer and clearer to his view. He found that every thing in that house was pervaded by a religious influence, and this without any design or haughty piety. The assessor was destined to receive a striking proof of this.

One afternoon a coach rolled into the court-yard. The family were at tea. The Assessor von Hamm entered, dressed entirely in black; even the red ribbon was wanting in the button-hole.

"I have learned with grief of the misfortune that has overtaken you," said he after a very formal reception. "I obey the impulse of my heart when I express my sincere sympathy in the great affliction you have suffered in the death of the dear little Eliza."

The tears came into the eyes of Madame Siegwart. Angela looked straight before her, as if to avoid the glance of the assessor.

"We thank you, Herr von Hamm," returned the proprietor. "We were severely tried, but we are reasonable enough to know that our family cannot be exempted from the afflictions of human life."

Hamm sat down, a cup was set before him, and Angela poured him out a cup of fragrant tea. The assessor acknowledged this service with his sweetest smile, and the most obliged expression of thanks.

"You are right," he then said. "No one is exempt from the stroke of fate. Man must submit to the unavoidable. To the ancients, blind fate was terrific and frightful. The present enlightenment submits with resignation."

If a bomb had plunged into the room and exploded upon the table, it could not have produced greater confusion than these words of the assessor. Madame Siegwart looked at him with astonishment and shook her head. The proprietor, embarrassed, sipped his tea. Angela's blooming cheeks lost their color. Hamm did not even perceive the effect of his fatal words, and Frank was scarcely able to hide his secret pleasure at Hamm's sad mishap.

"We know no fate, no blind, unavoidable destiny," said Siegwart, who could not forgive the assessor his unchristian sentiment. "But we know a divine providence, an all-powerful will, without whose consent the sparrow does not fall from the house-top. We believe in a Father in heaven who, counts the hairs of our heads, and whose counsels rule our destiny."

Hamm smiled.

"You believe then, Herr Siegwart, that divine providence, or rather God, has aimed that blow at you?"

"Yes; so I believe."

"Pardon me. I think you judge too hard of God. It is inconsistent with his paternal goodness to afflict your beloved child with such misfortune."

"Misfortune? It is to be doubted whether Eliza's death is a misfortune. Perhaps her early departure from this world is precisely her happiness; and then we must reflect that God is master of life and death. It is not for us to call the Almighty to account, even if his divine ordinances should be counter to our wishes."

"I respect your religious convictions, Herr Siegwart. Permit me, however, to observe that God is much too exalted to have an eye to all human trifles. He simply created the natural law; this he leaves to its course. All the elements must obey these laws. Every creature is subject to them; and when Eliza died, she died in consequence of the course of these laws, but not through God's express will. Do you not think that this view of our misfortunes reconciles us with the conceptions we have of God's goodness?"

"No; I do not believe it, because such a view contradicts the Christian faith," replied Siegwart earnestly. "What kind of a God, what kind of a Father would he be who would let every thing go as it might? He would be less a father than the poorest laborer who supports his family in the sweat of his brow."

"And the whole army of misfortunes that daily overtake the human family? Does this army await the command of God?"

"Do not forget, Herr Assessor, that the most of these misfortunes are deserved; brought on by our sins and passions. If excesses would cease, how many sources of nameless calamities would disappear! For the rest, it is my firm conviction that nothing happens or can happen in the whole universe without the express will of God, or at least by his permission."

The official shook his head.

"This question is evidently of great importance to every man," said Frank. "Man is often not master of the course of his life; for it is developed by a chain of circumstances, accidents, and providential interferences that are not in man's power. I understand very well that to be subject to blind chance, to an irrevocable fate, is something disquieting and discouraging to man. Equally consoling, on the other hand, is the Christian faith in the loving care of an all-powerful Father, without whose permission a hair of our head cannot be touched. But things of such great injustice, of such irresistible power, and of such painful consequences happen on earth, that I cannot reconcile them with divine love."

While Frank spoke, Angela's eyes rested on him with the greatest attention; and when he concluded, she lowered her glance, and an earnest, thoughtful expression passed over her countenance.

"There are accidents that apparently are not the result of man's fault," said Siegwart. "Torrents sweep over the land and destroy all the fruit of man's industry. Perhaps these torrents are only the scourges which the justice of God waves over a lawless land. But I admit that among the victims there are many good men. Storms wreck ships at sea, and many human lives are lost. Avalanches plunge from the Alps and bury whole towns in their resistless fall. It is such accidents as these you have in view."

"Precisely-exactly so. How will you reconcile all these with the fatherly goodness of God?" cried Hamm triumphantly.

The proprietor smiled.

"Permit me to ask a question, Herr Assessor. Why does the state make laws?"

"To preserve order."

"I anticipated this natural reply," continued the proprietor. "If malefactors were not punished, thieves and desperadoes, their bad practices being permitted, would have full play. Then all order would vanish; human society would dissolve into a chaos of disorder. God also created laws which are necessary for the preservation of the natural order. Storms destroy ships. If there were no storms, all growth in the vegetable kingdom would cease. Poisonous vapors would fill the air, and every living thing must miserably die. Avalanches destroy villages. But if it did not snow, the torrents would no longer run, the streams would dry up and the wells would disappear, and man and beast would die of thirst. You see, gentlemen, God cannot abolish that law of nature without endangering the whole creation."

"That explains some, but not all," replied Hamm. "God is all-powerful; it would be but a trifle for him to protect us by his almighty power from the destructive forces of the elements. Why does he not do so?"

"The reason is clear," answered Angela's father: "God would have constantly to work miracles. Miracles are exceptions to the workings of the laws of nature. Now, if God would constantly suppress the power, and unceasingly interrupt the laws of nature, then there would be no longer a law of nature. The supernatural would have devoured the natural. The Almighty would have destroyed the present creation."

"No matter," said the official. "God might destroy the natural forces that are inimical to man; for all that exists is only of value because of its use to man."

"Then nothing whatever would remain. All would be lost," said Siegwart. "We speak and write much about earthly happiness that soon passes away. We glorify the beauty of creation; but we forget that God's curse rests on this earth, and it does not require great penetration to see this curse in all things."

"You believe, then, in the future destruction of the earth?" asked Hamm.

"Divine revelation teaches it," said Siegwart. "The Holy Scriptures expressly say there will be a new earth and a new heaven; and the Lord himself assures us that the foundations of the earth will be overturned and the stars shall fall from the heavens."

"The stars fall from the heavens!" cried Hamm, laughing. "If you could only hear what the astronomers say about that."

"What the astronomers say is of no consequence. They did not create the heavenly bodies, and cannot give them boundaries; besides, we need not take the falling of the stars literally. This expression may signify their disappearance from the earth, perhaps the abolition of the laws by which they have heretofore been moved, and the reconstruction of those relations which existed between heaven and earth prior to the fall. God will then do what you now demand of him, Herr von Hamm," concluded Siegwart, smiling. "He will destroy the inimical power of nature, so that the new earth will be free from thorns, tears, and lamentations."

Thus they continued to dispute, and the debate became so animated that even Angela entered the list in favor of providence.

"I believe," said she with charming blushes, "that the miseries of this earthly life can only be explained and understood in view of man's eternal destiny. God spares the sinner through forbearance and mercy; he sends trials and misfortunes to the good for their purification. God demanded of Abraham the sacrifice of his only son; but when Abraham showed obedience to the command, and consented to make that boundless sacrifice, he was provided with another victim to offer sacrifice to God."

"Fräulein Angela," exclaimed Hamm enthusiastically, "you have solved the problem. Your comprehensive remark reconciles even the innocent sufferers with repulsive decrees. O Fräulein!" – and the assessor fell into a tone of reverie-"were it permitted me to go through life by the side of a partner who possesses your spirit and your conciliatory mildness!"

Angela looked down blushing. She was embarrassed, and dared not raise her eyes. Her first glance, after a few moments, was at Richard.

Frank wrote in his diary:

"Even the preaching tone becomes her admirably. Morality and religion flow from her lips as from a pure fountain that vivifies her soul."

As yet he had not surrendered to Angela.

Frank sprang from an obstinate Westphalian stock; and that the Westphalians have not exchanged their stiff necks for those of shepherds, is sufficiently proved by their stubborn fight with the powers who menaced their liberties. Had Frank been a good-natured South-German or even Municher, he would long since have bowed head and knees to the "Angel of Salingen." But he now maintained the last position of his antipathy to women against Angela's superior powers.

He visited the Siegwart family not twice, but thrice, even four times a day. He appeared suddenly and unexpectedly before Angela like a spy who wished to detect faults.

Just as he was going over the court, on one occasion, a tall lad came up to him. The boy came from the same fatal door through which Master Falk had rushed out upon Richard with such bad intentions. The servant held his hat in his right hand, and with his left fumbled the bright buttons on his red vest.

"Herr Frank, excuse me; I have something to say to you. I have wanted to speak to you for the last three days, but could not because my master was always in the way. But now, as my master is in the fields, I can state my trouble, if you will allow me."

"What trouble have you?"

"I am the Swiss through whose fault the steer came near doing you a great injury. It is inexplicable to me, even now, how the animal got loose. But Falk is very cunning. I cannot be too watchful of him. His head is full of schemes; and before you can turn around, he has played one of his tricks. The chain has a clasp with a latch, and how he broke it, he only knows."

"It is all right," replied Frank. "I believe you are not to blame."

"I am not to blame about the chain. But I am for the door being open, Miss Angela said; and she is perfectly right. Therefore, I beg your pardon and promise you that nothing of the kind shall happen in future."

"The pardon is granted, on condition that you guard the steer better."

"Miss Angela said that too; and she required me to ask your pardon, which I have done."

Angela stood in the garden, hidden behind the rose-bushes, and heard, smiling, the conversation.

As Frank passed over the yard, she came from the garden carrying a basketful of vegetables. At the same time a harvest-wagon, loaded with rapes and drawn by four horses, came into the yard.

"Your industry extends to the garden also, Miss Angela," said Frank, "Now I know no branch of housekeeping that you cannot take a part in."

"My work is, however, insignificant," she returned. "In a large house there is always a great deal to do, and every one must try to be useful."

"Your garden deserves all praise," continued Richard, eyeing the contents of the baskets. "What magnificent peas and beans!"

For the first time Frank observed in her face something like flattered vanity, and he almost rejoiced at this small shadow on the celestial form before him. But the supposed shadow was quickly changed into light before his eyes. "Father brought these early beans into the neighborhood; they are very tender and palatable. Father likes them, and I am glad to be able to make him a salad this evening. He will be astonished to see his young favorites of this year, eight days earlier than formerly. There he comes; he must not see them now." She covered them with some lettuce.

And this was the shadow of flattered vanity! Childish joy, to be able to astonish her father with an agreeable dish.

The loaded wagon stopped in the yard; the horses snorted and pawed the ground impatiently. The servants opened the barn-doors, and Frank saw on all sides activity and haste to house the valuable crop.

Siegwart shook hands with the visitor.

"The first blessing of the year," said the proprietor. "The rapes have turned out well. We had a fine blooming season, and the flies could not do much damage."

"I have often observed those little flies in the rape-fields," said Frank. "You can count millions of them; but I did not know that they injured the crop."

They both went into the house, where a bottle of Munich beer awaited them. Soon after, the servants went through the hall, and Frank heard Angela's voice from the kitchen, where she was busily occupied. The servants brought bread, plates, cheese, and jugs of light wine to the servants' room.

"Neighbor," said Siegwart, "I invite you to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock to a family entertainment-providing it will be agreeable to you."

The invitation was accepted.

"You must not expect much from the entertainment. It will, at least, be new to you."

Frank was much interested in the character of this ultramontane entertainment. He thought of a May party, a coronation party; but rejected this idea, for Siegwart promised a family entertainment, and this could not be a May party. He thought of all kinds of plays, and what part Angela would take in them. But the play also seemed improbable, and at last the subject of the invitation remained an interesting mystery to him, the solution of which he awaited with impatience.

An hour before the appointed time Richard left Frankenhöhe, after Klingenberg had excused him from the daily walk. He took a roundabout way along the edge of the forest; for he knew that the Siegwart family would be at divine service, and he did not wish to arrive at the house a moment before the time. Sunday stillness rested on all. The mountains rose up a deep blue; the vari-colored fields were partly yellow; the vineyards alone were of a deep green, and when the wind blew through them it wafted with it the pleasant odors of the vine-blossoms.

Madame Siegwart was just returning home from Salingen between her two children. Henry, a youth of seventeen and the future proprietor of the property, had the same manners as his father. He walked leisurely on the road-side, examining the blooming wheat and ripening corn. When he discovered nests of vine weevils, he plucked them off and crushed the eggs of the hated enemies of all wine-growers. Angela remained constantly at her mother's side, and as she accidentally raised her eyes to where Richard stood, he made a movement as though he was caught disadvantageously.

A short distance behind them came Siegwart, surrounded by some men. They often stopped and talked in a lively manner. Frank thought that these men were also invited, and hoped to become acquainted with the élite of Salingen. He was, however, disappointed; for a short distance from Siegwart's house the men turned back to Salingen. They had only accompanied the proprietor part of the way. The servants of Siegwart also came hastening along the road, first the men-servants, and some distance behind them the maid-servants. Frank had observed this separation before, and thought it must be in consequence of the strict orders of the master. Frank considered this narrow-minded, and thought of finding fault with it, in true modern spirit. But then he considered the results of his observations, which had extended to the servants. He often admired the industry and regular conduct of these people. He never heard any oath or rough expressions of passion; every one knew his work, and performed it with care and attention. He observed this regular order with admiration, particularly when he thought of the disobedience, dissatisfaction, and untrustworthiness of the generality of servants. Siegwart must possess a great secret to keep these people in agreement and order; therefore he rejected his former opinion of narrow-mindedness, and believed the proprietor must have good reason for this separation of the sexes.

Frank remained for a time under the shadow of an oak, looked at his watch, and finally descended the shortest way. He was expected by Siegwart, and immediately conducted to the large room. The arrangement of the room showed at a glance its use. There was a small altar at one side, and religious pictures hung on the walls. There was also a harmonium, and on the windows hung curtains on which were painted scenes from sacred history. In the middle of the room there was a desk, on which lay a book. To the right of the desk sat the men-servants, to the left the maids, the Siegwart family in the centre. A smile passed over Frank's countenance at the present religious entertainment-for him, at least, a new sort of recreation. At his entrance the whole assembly rose. He greeted Angela and her mother, pressed warmly the hand of Henry, and took the seat allotted to him.