The Lost Manuscript: A Novel

"Your strictures in the Classical Gazette drew my attention to this, and early this morning, when I obtained the parchment, I carefully examined what had been rendered indistinct by the paste. So far as I may be permitted to have a judgment in such things, I now venture to share your opinion that a forgery has been perpetrated on this strip."

The Professor threw it aside.

"I regret that you have ever had anything to do with it, even though unintentionally; you have done a mischief, the painful effects of which you cannot fail to see. I am sorry for it on your own account. This unfortunate occurrence will throw a shadow over your life; and I would give much to be able to wipe it away. For we have known one another through much mutual work, Magister, and I have always felt a sympathy in your self-sacrificing activity in favor of others. In spite of your book-chaffering, which I do not approve of, and in spite of your waste of time in labors which might be done by less efficient persons, I have always considered you as a man whose extraordinary knowledge inspires respect."

The humble Magister raised his head, and a smile passed over his face.

"I have always, Professor, considered you as the only one among my distinguished patrons, who has the right to tell me that I have learned too little; you are also, Professor, the one to whom I venture to confess that I have secretly never ceased to esteem myself as a man of learning. I hope that you will not deny me the testimony that I have always been a trustworthy and faithful laborer in that cause."

He fell back into his humble attitude, as he continued:

"What has happened will be a lesson for me in future."

"I demand more of you. First, you must take the trouble of ascertaining through your acquaintance the hidden source from which this forgery has emanated, for it can scarcely be the accidental idea of an unscrupulous man; it is rather the work of an ill-directed industry, which in time will produce more evil. Further, it is your duty at once to deliver the parchment to Professor Struvelius, and impart to him your discovery. You yourself will do well to be more cautious in future in the choice of the traders with whom you deal."

In these views Knips fully acquiesced and departed, whilst he imploringly besought the kind consideration of the Professor for the future.

"He has, I am certain, to some extent been concerned in the knavery," exclaimed the Doctor.

"No," rejoined the Professor. "His fault has been, that up to the last moment he cared more for his bargain than for the discovery of the truth."

In the afternoon Mrs. Struvelius said to Ilse:

"What we have succeeded in obtaining has been very painful to my husband. For it has convinced him that he was deceived, while others discovered the true state of the case. It is a cruel grief to a wife when she is the instrument of bringing about such humiliation to him she loves best. This sorrow I shall long continue to feel. Besides this, our husbands are so estranged from one another, that a long time will elapse, before their wounded feelings will admit of a reconciliation, or allow them to cherish for each other the respect which as colleagues they mutually owe. I hope, however, that the relations between you and me will not suffer. I have discovered the worth of your heart, and I beg of you-in spite of my unprepossessing manner, of which I am well aware-to accept the friendship which I feel for you."

As she walked slowly towards the door in her black dress. Ilse looked after her with a feeling of surprise, that the first impression made upon her by the learned lady should have been so quickly obliterated by other feelings.

In the next number of the Classical Gazette there appeared a short explanation by Professor Struvelius, in which he honorably acknowledged that he had been deceived, by undoubtedly a very expert deception, and that he must be grateful to the acuteness and friendly activity of his honored colleague who had contributed to the clearing up of the matter.

"This explanation has been written by his wife," said the obdurate Doctor.

"We may hope that the disagreeable affair has come to an end for all concerned in it," concluded the Professor with a light heart.

But the hopes even of a great scholar are not always fulfilled. This quarrel of the scepter-bearing princes of the University had not only introduced Ilse into a new position, but had brought another into notice.

On the evening of the decisive day that revealed the worthlessness of the parchment, Magister Knips sat shivering upon the floor in an unwarmed room of his poverty-stricken dwelling. Books lay in disorderly heaps on the shelves by the wall and on the floor, and he sat surrounded by them, like an ant-lion in his den. He shoved into a dark corner an old cigar chest of his brother's, which was filled with many small bottles and paint-pots, and laid the old books upon it. Then he placed the lamp on a stool near him, and with secret satisfaction took up one old book after another, examined the binding, read the title and last page, stroked it caressingly with his hand, and then again laid it on the heap. At last he seized an old Italian edition of a Greek author with both hands, moved nearer to the lamp, and examined it leaf by leaf.

His mother called through the door:

"Leave your books and come from that cold room to your supper."

"This book has not been seen by any scholar for two hundred years. They deny, mother, that it is even in existence; but I have it in my hands-it belongs to me! This is a treasure, mother."

"What good will your treasure do you, wretched boy?"

"But I have it, mother," said the Magister, looking up at the hard-featured woman; and his winking eyes glistened brightly. "To-day I have read some proof-sheets in which a man of note maintains that this volume which I hold here has never existed. He wishes the 'never existed' to be printed in italics, and I have so marked it for the compositor, though I know better."

"Are you coming?" called out the mother angrily. "Stop your work. Your beer is getting flat."

The Magister rose unwillingly, slipped out of the room with his felt shoes, and seating himself at the table helped himself to the scanty fare before him and without further ado began to eat.

"Mother," he said to the woman, who was watching his rapid meal, "I have some money remaining; if you want anything, buy it; but I will know how you spend it, and I will see that my brother does not again borrow anything from you, for it has been earned by hard work."

"Your brother will now pay all back, for Hahn has improved his position, and he has a good salary."

"That is not true," replied the Magister, looking sharply at his mother. "He has become too stylish to dwell with us now; but whenever he comes he always wants something of you, and you have always loved him more than me."

"Do not say so, my son," cried Mrs. Knips. "He is quite different; you are always industrious, quiet, and collected, and even as a small boy you began to save."

"I have obtained for myself what was dear to me," said the Magister, looking toward his room, "and I have found much."

"Ah, but what hardships you suffer for it, my poor child!" said the mother flatteringly.

"I take things as they come," answered the Magister, making a cheerful grimace. "I read proof-sheets, and I do much work for these learned men, who drive in carriages like people of distinction, and when I come to them they treat me like a Roman slave. No man knows how often I correct their stupid blunders, and the bad errors in their Latin. But I do not do it for all-only for those who have deserved well of me. I let the mistakes of the others remain, and I shrug my shoulders secretly at their empty heads. All is not gold that glitters," he said, holding his thin beer complacently up to the light, "and I alone know many things. I am always correcting their miserable manuscripts, but do not correct their worst errors. I see how they torment themselves and the little they do know they pilfer from other books. One sees that every day, mother, and one laughs in secret at the course of the world."

And Magister Knips laughed at the world.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE DECEPTION OF MR. HUMMEL

In the houses of the park there reigned peace, forbearance, and secret hope. Since the arrival of Ilse the old strife seemed to have ceased, and the hatchet to have been buried. It is true that Mr. Hummel's dog snarled and snapped at Mr. Hahn's cat and was boxed on the ear in return; and that Rothe, the porter, of A. C. Hahn, declared his contempt of the storekeeper of the factory of Mr. Hummel. But these little occurrences passed away like inoffensive air-bubbles which rise in the place where there has been a whirlpool of enmity. The intercourse between the two houses flowed on like a clear brook, and forget-me-nots grew on its banks. If a misanthropical spell had penetrated the ground at the time when Madame Knips ruled there alone, it had now been expelled by female exorcists.

One morning, shortly before the fair, a book-seller's porter placed a pile of new books on the Doctor's writing-table; they were the advance copies of the first great work he had written. Fritz opened the book and gazed at the title-page for a moment in quiet enjoyment; then he hastily seized his pen, wrote some affectionate words on the fly-leaf and carried it to his parents.

The book treated, in the words of Gabriel, of the old Aryans as well as of the old Germans; it entered into the life of our ancestors before the time in which they took the sensible resolution of making pretty nosegays on the Blocksberg and rinsing their drinking horns in Father Rhine. It was a very learned book, and so far as the knowledge of the writer reached, it revealed many secrets of antiquity.

It was not necessary for strangers to inform the father and mother of the importance of the book which Fritz now brought them. The mother kissed her son on the forehead, and could not control her emotion when she saw his name printed in such large and beautiful characters on the title-page. Mr. Hahn took the book in his hands, and carried it into the garden. There he laid it on the table of the Chinese temple, read the dedication several times and took a turn or so about the pavilion, looking in again occasionally, in order to observe whether the style of building harmonized well with the book; then he cleared his throat in order to master his joyful emotions.

Not less was the pleasure in the study of the Professor; he went hastily through the book from beginning to end. "It is remarkable," he then said, much pleased, to Ilse, "how boldly and firmly Fritz grapples with the subject; and with a self-control, too, for which I should not have given him credit. There is much in it that is quite new to me. I am surprised that he should have concluded the work so quickly and quietly."

What the learned world thought of the Doctor's book may be known from many printed eulogies. It is more difficult to determine what effect it had in his own street. Mr. Hummel studied a detailed review of the work in his paper, not without audible remarks of disapprobation however; he hummed at the word Veda and grumbled at the name Humboldt, and he whistled through his teeth at the praise which was accorded to the deep learning of the author. When at the conclusion the reviewer formally thanked the Doctor in the name of science, and urgently recommended the work to all readers, Mr. Hummel's humming broke into the melody of the old Dessauer, and he threw the paper on the table. "I do not intend to buy it," was all that he vouchsafed to say to his wife and daughter. But in the course of the day he cast an occasional glance at the corner of the hostile house where the Doctor's room was, and then again at the upper story of his own house, as if he wished to weigh the comparative merits of both the learned men and their abodes.

When Ilse told Laura her husband's opinion of the book, Laura colored a little, and replied, throwing back her head: "I hope it is so learned that we need not meddle with it." Yet this disinclination to meddle with the book did not prevent her some days later from borrowing the book from the Professor, upon the plea that she wished to show it to her mother. It was carried to her own little room, where it remained for a long time.

Among the other inhabitants of the street, the importance of the Hahn family-whose name had acquired such renown, and whose Fritz was praised so much in the papers-was greatly increased. The scales of popular favor sank decidedly on the side of this house, and even Mr. Hummel found it expedient not to object to his family's speaking with moderate approbation of their neighbor's son. When Dorchen, as sometimes happened, met Gabriel in the streets, she even ventured to accompany him for a few minutes into the courtyard of the enemy, in spite of the growling of the dog and the sinister frowns of the master.

One warm evening in March she had said a few civil words to Gabriel in passing and was tripping neatly across the street to her own house, with Gabriel looking after her full of admiration, when Mr. Hummel came out just in time to witness the last greeting.

"She is as pretty as a red-breast," said Gabriel to Mr. Hummel. The latter shook his head benevolently. "I well see, Gabriel, how the wind blows, and I say nothing, for it would be of no use. But one piece of good advice I will give you. You do not understand how to deal with women; you are not gruff enough with the girl. When I was young they trembled at the faintest movement of my handkerchief, and yet they swarmed about me like bees. This sex must be intimidated and you'll spoil all by kindness. I think well of you Gabriel, and I give you this counsel therefore as a friend. Look you, there is Madame Hummel. She is a strong-willed woman, but I always keep her under restraint; if I didn't growl, she would. And, as there must be growling, it is more agreeable for me to do it myself."

"Every animal has its ways," replied Gabriel. "I have no talent for developing into a bear."

"It can be learnt," said Mr. Hummel, benignantly. He raised his eye-brows, and made a sly grimace. "Something is in progress in the garden over there; they are probably speculating again on some new arrival, to which I, in due time, shall take upon myself, under all circumstances, to give the right name" – he lowered his voice-; "something anonymous has been unpacked, and brought out into the garden." With a feeling of indignation at his own caution, he continued: "Believe me, Gabriel, the world is growing cowardly from this over-production of children; and people are so crowded that freedom ceases to exist; life is now slavery from the cradle to the grave. Here I stand on my own ground, and if I choose to dig a hole on this spot to the centre of the earth, no man can prevent me; and yet, on my own property, we cannot express an outspoken opinion; and why? Because it might be heard, and displease the ears of strangers. To such a point have we come; a man is the slave of his neighbors. Now, only think, I have but one neighbor opposite; on the other side I am protected by the water and the factory, yet I must swallow the truth, as I dare not speak out beyond my boundary. He who is surrounded on all sides by neighbors must lead a lamentable life; he cannot even cut off his head in his own garden without the whole neighborhood raising a cry because the sight is not pleasing to them." He pointed with his thumb to the neighboring house, and continued, confidentially: "We are reconciled now; the women would not rest until we were. I assure you they lacked the true spirit to carry on a quarrel over there; the affair became tedious and so I gave in."

"Yet it is well that all is settled," said Gabriel. "If the fathers quarrel, how can the children meet on good terms?"

"Why shouldn't they make faces at each other?" returned Mr. Hummel, crossly. "I can't bear this everlasting bowing and scraping."

"Every one knows that," replied Gabriel. "But if Miss Laura meets the Doctor in our house, which often happens, she surely cannot growl at him."

"So they meet often!" repeated Hummel, thoughtfully. "There again you have an instance of this overcrowding; they can't get out of each other's way. Well! I can trust to my daughter, Gabriel; she has my disposition."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," replied Gabriel laughing.

"I assure you she is quite of my mind," affirmed Hummel, decidedly. "But, as to this cessation of hostilities, you need not rejoice so much at it; for, depend upon it, it cannot last long between our houses. When the ice has thawed, and the garden amusements begin, there will be trouble again. It has always been so and I do not see why it should not continue so, in spite of reconciliations, and in spite of your new mistress, for whom I nevertheless have great respect."

The conversation, which had been carried on in the garden, was interrupted by a dark, solemn-looking man, who presented a large letter in a tinted envelope. He introduced himself to Mr. Hummel, and brought him an invitation for his absent daughter to undertake the office of godmother to a baby that had just been born to limit the space in the world still more. To this invitation no objection could be made; the young mother, the wife of a lawyer, was Laura's friend, and the daughter of her godmother. It was an old connection of the family, and Hummel, as father and citizen, duly accepted the invitation.

"For whom is the other letter you have in your hand?" he asked of the messenger.

"For Doctor Hahn, who is to stand with Miss Laura."

"Indeed!" said Hummel, ironically; "matters are going at a great pace. Take your letter over there. Did I not tell you so, Gabriel?" he added, turning to his confidant. "Scarcely reconciled before the tribunal, and at once sponsors together; who may know but that to-morrow morning the old scarecrow himself will come over and offer to be 'hail-fellow-well-met' with me. There again you have the consequences of over-crowding, and of Christianity too. This time my poor child is the victim."

He took the letter into the room and threw it on the table before his wife and daughter.

"This comes from reconciliation, weak women," he cried, tauntingly. "Now you will have nurse, midwife, godfather, and all, about your heels."

The ladies studied the letter, and Laura thought it inconsiderate in her godmother to have chosen just the Doctor for her partner.

"That's to accommodate the sponsor's carriage," exclaimed Mr. Hummel, mockingly, from the corner. "It was made to carry two at once. Now, that fellow Humboldt will come over here in white gloves in order to fetch you to church, and I believe he will have impudence enough to send you a sponsorial present."

"If he did not do so, it would be an insult," replied the wife. "He must do it, or it would give occasion for people to talk. We cannot object to it; he will send a basket of flowers with gloves for the godmother, and Laura will send him in return the pocket-handkerchief, as is the custom among our acquaintances. You know that Laura's godmother thinks a great deal of these things."

"His flowers in our house, his gloves on our fingers, and our handkerchief in his pocket!" said the master of the house, bitterly; "Pray, what are things coming to."

"I beg of you, Hummel," rejoined his wife, displeased, "do not annoy us by finding fault with the civilities which are unavoidable, on such an occasion, and of which no one takes advantage."

"I thank you for your civilities which one cannot avoid, and to which no one attributes anything. Nothing is so insupportable to me, among the people here, as their eternal obeisances before one's face, whilst they pull one to pieces behind one's back."

He left the room and slammed the door behind him.

The mother then began:

"He has nothing really to say against it; he only wishes to maintain his character for sternness. It is not absolutely necessary that you should send the Doctor a present on this occasion, but you still owe him some little attention from that encounter with the shepherd."

Laura was reconciled to the thought of becoming godmother with the Doctor, and said:

"I will make a design for the corner of the handkerchief, and will embroider it."

The following morning she went out to buy cambric. But Mr. Hummel also went out. He visited an acquaintance who was a furrier, took him confidentially aside, and ordered a pair of gloves of white cat's skin for a small hand; he directed that a cat's claw be fastened at the point of each finger. But he wished it to be a delicate one, of an unborn cat, or failing in that, of a very young kitten, and that the claw should stand out stiffly. Then he entered another shop and asked for some colored printed cotton pocket-handkerchiefs-such as one buys for a few pennies-and chose one black and red, with a frightful portrait, that just suited his frame of mind. This purchase he put in his pocket.

The morning of the christening arrived. In the house of Mr. Hummel the flat-irons clattered; the mother added some last stitches; and Laura tripped busily up and down the stairs. Meanwhile, Hummel wandered back and forth between the door of the house and factory, watching every person that entered. Spitehahn was sitting on the threshold growling whenever the foot of a stranger approached the door of the house.

"Show yourself as you are, Spitehahn," grumbled Hummel, approaching his dog; "and catch hold of the woman from yonder by the dress; she will not venture in, if you keep watch."

The red dog answered by showing his teeth maliciously at his master.

"That's right," said Hummel, and continued his walk.

At last Dorchen appeared at her own house-door, and tripped with a covered basket in her hand to the steps of Mr. Hummel's house. Spitehahn rose grimly, uttered a hoarse growl, and bristled his hair.

"Call that frightful dog away, Mr. Hummel," cried Dorchen, snappishly. "I have a message for Miss Laura."

Mr. Hummel assumed a benevolent expression of countenance and put his hand in his pocket.

"The ladies are at work, my pretty child," he said, drawing out a heavy piece of money; "perhaps I can attend to it."

The messenger was so startled at the unexpected politeness of the tyrant, that she made a mute courtesy and let the basket slip out of her hand.

"It shall be attended to carefully," completed Mr. Hummel, with an engaging smile.

He carried the basket into the house, and called Susan to take it to the ladies; after which he went into the hall again, and stroked the dog. It was not long before he heard the door of the sitting-room fly open and his name called loudly in the hall. He entered cautiously into the ladies' room, and found them in a dreadful state of disturbance. A beautiful basket was standing on the table, flowers were scattered about, and two little fur gloves, with large claws at the ends of the fingers, lay on the floor, like paws cut from a beast of prey. Laura was sitting before them sobbing.

"Holloa!" cried Mr. Hummel, "is that one of the sponsorial pleasantries?"

"Henry," cried his wife vehemently, "your child has received an insult; the Doctor has dared to send these to your daughter."

"Ha!" cried Hummel; "cat's paws, and with claws! Why not? They will keep you warm in church; you can lay hold of the Doctor with them."

"It must be a joke," cried Laura, with the hot tears flowing down her cheeks; "it is because I have sometimes teased him. I should never have believed him capable of such rudeness."

"Do you know him so well?" inquired Mr. Hummel. "Well, if it is a joke, as you say, take it as a joke then; this emotion isn't necessary."

"What is to be done now?" cried the mother; "can she still stand godmother with him after this insult?"

"I should think so," replied Mr. Hummel, ironically; "this insult is a childish affair compared to others-compared to house-building, bell-ringing, and dog-poisoning. If you can stomach all that, why not cats' paws, too?"

"Laura has hemmed and embroidered a handkerchief for him," exclaimed the mother; "and she had taken the greatest pains to finish it in time."

"I will not send it to him," cried Laura.

"So you hemmed and embroidered it yourself?" rejoined Hummel. "It is charming to live in friendship with one's neighbors. You are weak womenfolk, and you take the matter too seriously. These are courtesies which one cannot avoid, and to which no importance is attached. Do as you said you would. You must just send the thing over to him. You must not give him or any one else occasion to make remarks. Keep your contempt to yourself."