The Lost Manuscript: A Novel

"Father is right," cried Laura, springing up; "away with the handkerchief, and my account with the Doctor will be closed for ever."

"That's right," assented Hummel. "Where is the rag? Away with it."

The handkerchief lay ready on a plate, wrapped up in fine blue paper, and also covered with spring flowers.

"So this is the hemmed and embroidered thing? We will send it over immediately."

He took the plate from the table, and carried it quickly into the factory; from thence the blue packet went, with many compliments, to the godfather in the house of the enemy.

Mrs. Hahn brought the card of greeting and the present to her son's room.

"Ah, that is a charming attention," remarked the Doctor, closely examining the flowers.

"It is not so customary now-a-days to send presents to the gentlemen too," said the Doctor's mother. "But I always thought it such a pretty custom."

She unfolded the paper inquisitively, and looked up in astonishment. A printed cotton handkerchief lay within, as thick as leather and woven with coarse threads. It might be a mask only, and in this hope she unfolded it, but a frightful caricature alone appeared in diabolical colors of red and black.

"That is not a nice joke," said the mother, vexed.

The Doctor looked downcast. "I have sometimes teased Laura Hummel. This probably has reference to some bantering that has passed between us. I beg of you, mother, to place the flowers in a glass."

He took the handkerchief, concealed it in a drawer, and again bent over his writing.

"I should not have expected this of Laura," continued the mother, much disturbed. But as her son did not encourage further complaints, she arranged the flowers for him and left the room, pondering upon the mortification of her child.

The carriage drove up and the Doctor got into it to fetch the godmother.

"Our doors are so near together," said Hummel, who was standing at the window, "that he will only just have time to creep out from the other side."

After some difficulty in turning, the carriage arrived at the steps of Mr. Hummel. The servant opened the door, but before the Doctor could jump down Susan appeared on the steps and called out:

"Do not take the trouble of entering, the young lady will come immediately."

Laura swept down the steps, all in white as if veiled in a snowcloud; and how pretty she looked! Her cheeks were indeed paler than usual, and her brows were gloomily knit, but the sad expression gave an enchanting dignity to her countenance. She avoided looking at the Doctor, only slightly moving her head at his greeting, and when he offered his hand to assist her, she passed by him and seated herself in her place as if he were not there. He had some difficulty in finding room next to her; she nodded, ignoring him, to Mr. Hummel, who was standing on the steps looking far more cheerful than his child. The horses trotted slowly on; Laura looked neither to the right nor to the left. "It is the first time she officiates as godmother," thought the Doctor, "that causes this solemn mood; or perhaps she is repentant because of the colored handkerchief!" He looked at her hands; the gloves that he sent were not to be seen. "Have I offended against etiquette?" he thought again, "or were they too large for her little hands?"

"He is silent," she thought, "that is his bad conscience; he is thinking of the cat's claws, and has not a word of thanks for my pocket-handkerchief; I have been sadly mistaken in him." This consideration made her so sorrowful that tears again rose to her eyes; but she pressed her lips tightly together, squeezed the thumb of her right hand, and silently counted from one up to ten, an old recipe she had formerly used for restraining vehement feeling.

"Things cannot go on so," thought the Doctor, "I must speak to her."

"You have not been able to use the gloves that T ventured to send you," he began modestly; "I fear I have made a bad selection."

This was too much; Laura turned her head sharply toward the Doctor. For a moment he saw two flashing eyes, and heard the contemptuous words: "I am no cat." Again her lips were compressed, and she clenched her hand convulsively.

Fritz reflected with astonishment whether gloves that wrinkle could ever have been considered a characteristic sign of our domestic animal. He thought the remark incongruous. "What a pity she is so whimsical!" After a time he began again: "I fear you will feel the draught; shall I close the window?"

"Not at all," answered Laura, with icy coldness.

"Do you know what the baby is to be called?" continued the doctor.

"He is to be called Fritz," returned Laura; and for the second time a flaming look of anger met his spectacles, then she turned away again.

Ah! in spite of the lightning that flashed from her eyes, the Doctor could not deny but that she was at this moment wonderfully lovely. She also felt obliged to say something now, and began, over her shoulder: -

"I think the name a very common one."

"It is my own name," said the Doctor; "and as I hear it every day, I must agree with you. It is at least a German name," he added, good-humoredly. "It is a pity that they are so much neglected."

"As my name is a foreign one," replied Laura, again over her shoulder, "I have a right to prefer foreign names."

"If she continues like this the whole day," thought Fritz, discouraged, "I shall have a very pleasant time of it, indeed."

"I must sit next him at dinner, and bear the insult," thought she. "Ah! life is terrible."

They arrived at the house, both glad to find themselves among others. When they entered the room, they hurried to different parts of it; but, of course, being obliged to greet the young mother, they again had to meet. When Laura turned to her godmother, the Doctor also approached from the other side, and the good lady called to mind the day when they had come together to her summer residence, and she could not refrain from exclaiming: "That portends something; you have again come together, dear children."

Laura raised her head proudly, and replied: "Only because you have wished it."

They went to church. The little Fritz tossed about in his godmother's arms, frightened at the baptismal font; but when he was handed over to the tall Fritz, he broke out into an angry cry; and Laura observed with contempt how disconcerted the Doctor was, and what awkward efforts he made, by raising and lowering his arms, and by his looks, to appease the little squaller, till at last the nurse-a very resolute woman-came to his assistance.

With the approach of sunset the duties of the day became more insupportable. At the christening feast all Laura's most gloomy anticipations were fulfilled, for she was seated beside the Doctor; and, for both, it was a most disagreeable meal, indeed. The Doctor once more ventured to make some advances, hoping to break through her incomprehensible mood, but he might as well have attempted to thaw the ice of a glacier with a lucifer match, for Laura had now become an adept in the expression of social contempt. She conversed exclusively with the father of the child, who sat at her other side, and encouraged by his cheerful gossip she recovered her wonted elasticity of spirit; while Fritz became more silent, and noticeably neglected a pleasing young woman, his left-hand neighbor. But things grew still worse. When the proper time approached, the other godfather, a city councillor, a man of the world and a good speaker, came behind the Doctor's chair, and declared that he could not undertake to bring the christening toast as he was suffering with a headache, which drove away all his thoughts, and that the Doctor must speak in his stead. The possibility of this had never occurred to the Doctor, and it was so unpleasant to him in his present mood that he quietly, but firmly, refused his consent to the proposal. Laura again listened with deep contempt to the discussion between the two gentlemen about an oratorical exercise which was not even to be put in writing. The master of the house also observed it, and a feeling of awkward expectation threw a gloom over the society, which is not calculated to encourage unwilling after-dinner speakers, but rather to depress them, and scatter their thoughts. Just, however, as the Doctor was on the point of performing his duty, Laura, after giving him another cold look, rose and clinked her glass. She was greeted with a loud bravo; and she then said, to the astonishment of herself, and delight of all present: "As the gentlemen sponsors are so little inclined to do their duty, I crave your pardon for undertaking what they ought to have done." Thereupon, she bravely proposed and led the toast; it was a bold undertaking, but it was successful, and she was overwhelmed with applause. On the other hand, sarcastic speeches were made against the Doctor by the gentlemen present. Nevertheless, he extricated himself tolerably, the situation being so desperate that it restored to him his powers; nay, he had the impudence to declare that he delayed intentionally, in order to procure for the society the pleasure which all must have experienced in listening to the eloquence of his neighbor. He then made an amusing speech on every possible subject; and all laughed, but they did not know what he was aiming at, till he adroitly turned it upon the godfathers and godmothers and in particular proposed the health of his charming neighbor who sat beside him. This answered well enough for the other guests, but to Laura it was insufferable mockery and hypocrisy; and when she had to clink glasses with him, she looked so indignantly at him, that he quickly drew back from her.

He now began to show his indifference after his fashion; he talked loudly to his neighbor, and drank many glasses of wine. Laura drew her chair away from him; fearing that he might drink too much, he became an object of annoyance to her, and she gradually relapsed into silence. But the Doctor took no heed of this; again he clinked his glass, and made another speech, which was so comical that it produced the happiest effect on the company. But Laura sat as stiff as a stone image, only casting an occasional stolen glance towards him. After that the Doctor left her side; his chair stood vacant, but, figuratively speaking, the cotton pocket-handkerchief and the small fur gloves still lay upon it, and it seemed quite uneasy under its invisible burden. The Doctor, meanwhile, went about the table, stopping here and there to pay his respects; and wherever he stopped there was laughing and clinking of glasses. When he had finished his round, he approached the host and hostess; and Laura heard them thank him for the merry evening, and praise the gaiety of his spirits.

He then returned to his place; and now he had the impudence to turn to Laura, and, with an expression in which she clearly perceived a sneer, he held out his hand to her under the table, saying, "Let us make peace, naughty godmother; give me your hand." Laura's whole heart revolted, and she exclaimed, "You shall have my hand immediately." She put her hand quickly into her pocket, put on one of the cat's-skin gloves, and scratched him with it on the back of his hand. "There, take what you deserve."

The Doctor felt a sharp pain; he raised his hand, and he perceived it was tattooed with red streaks. Laura threw her glove into his lap, and added: "If I were a man, I would make you feel in another way the insult you have offered me."

The Doctor looked about him; his left-hand neighbor had risen; and on the other side, the master of the house, bending over the table, formed a convenient wall between them and the outer world. He looked in astonishment at the challenge in his lap; it was all incomprehensible to him; he was conscious but of one thing, that Laura, in spite of her passion, was enchantingly beautiful.

He too put his hand into his pocket, and said: "Happily, I am in a position to bind your present of this morning about the wounds." He pulled out the red and black handkerchief, and began to wind it round his wounded hand; in doing which, it could not fail being seen that the hand had a most uncanny murderous appearance. When Laura saw the bloody scratches, she was shocked, but she bravely concealed her repentance, saying coldly, "At least it would be better for your hand if you would take my handkerchief as a bandage, instead of that stiff clumsy thing."

"It is your handkerchief," replied the Doctor, sorrowfully.

"This is worst of all," cried Laura, with quivering voice. "You have behaved towards me to-day in a manner that is highly humiliating to me, and I ask you what have I done to deserve such treatment?"

"What have I done to deserve such reproaches?" asked the Doctor, in return. "This morning you sent me this with your compliments.

"I?" cried Laura; "you sent me these cat's paws. But I did not send that handkerchief. My handkerchief had none of the beauty of this colored print-it was only white."

"I may say the same of my gloves; they were not blessed with claws-they were plain kid."

Laura turned to him, anxiously gazing into his face. "Is that true?"

"It is true," said the Doctor, with convincing sincerity; "I know nothing about these gloves."

"Then we are both victims of a deception," cried Laura, confounded. "Oh, forgive me, and forget what has passed." Guessing the state of the case, she continued: "I beg of you to say no more on the subject. Permit me to bind your hand with this handkerchief."

He held out his hand; she staunched the blood with her handkerchief, and hastily wound it about the scratches.

"It is too small for a bandage," she said, sorrowfully; "we must put your own over it. This has been a disagreeable day, Doctor. Oh, forget it, and do not be angry with me."

The Doctor was by no means inclined to be angry, as might be perceived from the eager conversation into which they now fell. Their hearts were lightened; they vied with each other in their efforts at sincerity; and when the carriage set them down at their own doors, they bade each other a cordial good-night.

The following morning, Mr. Hummel entered Laura's private room, and laid a blue paper upon the table.

"There was a mistake yesterday," he said; "here is what belongs to you."

Laura opened the paper quickly; it contained an embroidered handkerchief.

"I have also sent back the gloves to the Doctor, with my compliments, informing him that there was a misunderstanding, and that I, your father, Hummel, sent him what was his own."

"Father," cried Laura, going up to him, "this new insult was unnecessary. Upon me you may inflict whatever your hatred to your neighbors prompts you to do, but that you should again wound another after what has happened yesterday, is cruel of you. This handkerchief belongs to the Doctor, and I shall give it to him at the first opportunity."

"Exactly," said Hummel; "was it not hemmed and embroidered by your own hands? You are responsible for whatever you do now. But you know, and he knows too, how I feel about these exchanges of civilities. If you choose to act contrary to my expressed wishes, you may. I will not consent to our house being upon terms of exchanging presents, either small or great, with the Hahn's; and since you, as I hear, often meet the Doctor at our lodger's, it will be as well for you to bear this in mind."

He went out of the room complacently, and left his daughter in revolt against his harsh commands. She had not ventured to contradict him, for he was unusually calm to-day, different from his ordinary blustering manner, and she felt there was a meaning in his words that checked her utterance and sent the blood to her cheeks. It was a stormy morning for her journal.

Mr. Hummel was busy at his office with a consignment of soldiers' caps, when he was disturbed by a knock at the door, and to his surprise, Fritz Hahn entered. Hummel remained seated with dignity, till his caller had made a respectful bow, then he slowly rose, and began, in a business tone:

"What can I do for you, Doctor? If you need a fine felt hat, as I presume you do, the salesroom is on the floor below."

"I know that," replied the Doctor, politely. "But I am come, in the first place, to thank you for the handkerchief you so kindly selected and sent me as a present yesterday."

"That's pretty good!" said Hummel. "Old Blücher was painted upon it; he is a countryman of mine, and I thought on that account the handkerchief would be acceptable to you."

"Quite right," answered Fritz. "I shall be careful to preserve it as a keepsake. I must, at the same time, add to my thanks the request that you will deliver these gloves to Miss Laura. If a mistake occurred yesterday in the delivery, as you kindly informed me, it was not my fault. As these gloves already belong to your daughter, I, of course, cannot take them back."

"That's better still!" said Hummel, "but you are in error. The gloves do not belong to my daughter; they were bought by you, and have never been seen by her; and early this morning they were returned to their possessor."

"Pardon me," rejoined Fritz, "if I take your own words as testimony against you; the gloves were yesterday, according to the custom of the country, sent as a present to Miss Laura; you yourself received them from the hands of the messenger, and, by your words, acknowledged them. The gloves, therefore, by your own co-operation, have become the property of the young lady, and I have no claim to them."

"No advocate could put the case in a better light," replied Hummel easily. "There is only one objection to it. These gloves were non-apparent; they were covered with paper and flowers, like frogs in the grass. Had you come to me openly with your gloves, and requested to be allowed to give them to my daughter, I should have told you yesterday what I now say, that I consider you a worthy young man, and that I have no objection to your standing as godfather every day in the year, but I do very much object to your showing my daughter what hereabouts are called attentions. I am not kindly disposed towards your family and, what is more, I do not wish to be; therefore I cannot permit that you should be so towards mine. For what is right for one is fitting for the other."

"I am placed again in the unfortunate predicament of confuting you by your own actions," rejoined the Doctor. "You, yesterday, honored me with a mark of civility. As you have made me a present of a handkerchief, in token of your favor, to which, as I had not stood godfather with you, I had no claim, I also may say that what is right for one is fitting for the other. Therefore you cannot object to my sending these gloves to a member of your family."

Mr. Hummel laughed. "With all respect to you, Doctor, you have forgotten that father and daughter are not quite the same thing. I have no objection that you should occasionally make me a present if you cannot resist the inclination to do so; I shall then consider what I can send you in return; and if you think that these gloves will suit me, I will keep them as a token of reconciliation between us; and if ever we should stand together as godfathers, I shall put them on and exhibit them for your benefit."

"I have delivered them to you as the property of your daughter," replied Fritz, with composure; "how you may dispose of them I cannot decide. You know my wishes."

"Yes, perfectly, Doctor," assented Hummel; "the affair is now settled to the satisfaction of all concerned, and there is an end of it."

"Not quite yet," replied the Doctor. "What now comes is a demand I have upon you. Miss Laura, as godmother with me, prepared and sent me a handkerchief. The handkerchief has not come into my hands, but I have undoubtedly the right to consider it as my property, and I beg of you most humbly to send it to me."

"Oho!" cried Hummel, the bear beginning to stir within him, "that looks like defiance, and must be met with different language. You shall not receive the handkerchief with my good will; it has been given back to my daughter, and if she presents it to you she will act as a disobedient child, contrary to the commands of her father."

"Then it is my intention to oblige you to recall this prohibition," replied the Doctor, energetically. "Yesterday I accidentally discovered that you exchanged the gloves I sent to Miss Laura for others which must have excited in her the belief that I was an impertinent jester. By such deceitful and injurious treatment of a stranger, even though he were an adversary, you have acted as does not become an honorable man."

Hummel's eyes widened, and he retreated a few steps.

"Zounds!" he growled, "is it possible? Are you your father's son? Are you Fritz Hahn, the young Humboldt? Why you can be as rude as a boor."

"Only where it is necessary," replied Fritz. "In my conduct towards you I have never been deficient in delicacy of feeling; but you have treated me with injustice, and owe me due satisfaction. As an honorable man you must give me this, and my satisfaction will be the handkerchief."

"Enough," interrupted Hummel, raising his hand, "it will be of no avail. For, between ourselves, I have nothing of what you call delicacy of feeling. If you feel yourself offended by me, I should be very sorry, in so far as I see in you a young man of spirit, who also can be rude. But when, on the other hand, I consider that you are Fritz Hahn, I convince myself that it is quite right that you should feel aggrieved by me. With that you must rest content."

"What you say," replied Fritz, "is not only uncivil, but unjust. I leave you, therefore, with the feeling that you owe me some reparation; and this feeling is, at all events, more agreeable to me than if I were in your position."

"I see we understand each other in everything," replied Hummel. "Like two business men, we both seek our own advantage. It is agreeable to you to feel that I have injured you, and to me that is a matter of indifference. So let it remain, Doctor; we are at heart, and before all the world, enemies, but for the rest, all respect to you."

The Doctor bowed and left the office.

Mr. Hummel looked meditatingly on the spot where the Doctor had stood.

He was during the whole day in a mild, philanthropic mood, which he at first showed by philosophizing with his book-keeper.

"Have you ever raised bees?" he asked him, over the counter.

"No, Mr. Hummel," replied he; "how could I manage it?"

"You are not very enterprising," continued Hummel, reproachfully. "Why should you not give yourself this pleasure?"

"I live in a garret, Mr. Hummel."

"That does not matter. By the new inventions you may keep bees in a tobacco-box. You put the swarm in, open the window, and from time to time cut your honey out. You might become a rich man by it. You will say that these insects might sting your fellow-lodgers and neighbors; do not mind that; such views are old-fashioned. Follow the example of certain other people, who place their bee-hives close to the street in order to save the expense for sugar."

The book-keeper seemed to wish to comply with this proposition.

"If you mean-" he replied humbly.

"The devil I mean, sir," interrupted Hummel; "do not think of coming to my office with a swarm of bees in your pocket. I am determined under no circumstances to suffer such a nuisance. I am Bumble-bee enough for this street and I object to all humming and swarming about my house and garden."

In the afternoon, when he was taking a walk in the garden with his wife and daughter, he suddenly stopped.

"What was it that flew through the air?"

"It was a beetle," said his wife.

"It was a bee," said Hummel. "Are this rabble beginning to fly about. If there is anything I detest, it is bees. Why there is another. They annoy you, Phillipine."

"I cannot say so," she replied.

A few minutes after, a bee flew about Laura's curls, and she was obliged to protect herself with a parasol from the little worker, who mistook her cheeks for a peach.

"It is strange; they were not so numerous formerly," said Hummel, to the ladies; "it seems to me that a swarm of bees must have established itself in a hollow tree of the park. The park-keeper sleeps out there on a bench. You are on good terms with the man; call his attention to it. The vermin are insufferable."

Madam Hummel consented to make inquiries, and the park-keeper promised to look to it. After a time he came to the hedge, and called out, in a low voice: