The Lost Manuscript: A Novel

"Madam Hummel."

"The man calls you," said Hummel.

"They come from the garden of Mr. Hahn," reported the park-keeper, cautiously; "there is a beehive there."

"Really?" asked Hummel. "Is it possible that Hahn should have chosen this amusement?"

Laura looked at her father anxiously.

"I am a peaceful man, keeper, and I cannot believe my neighbor would do us such an injury."

"It is certain, Mr. Hummel," said the park-keeper; "see, there is one of the yellow things now."

"That's so," cried Hummel, shaking his head; "it's yellow."

"Don't mind, Henry; perhaps it will not be so bad," said his wife, soothingly.

"Not so bad?" asked Hummel, angrily. "Shall I have to see the bees buzzing around your nose? Shall I have to suffer my wife to go about the whole summer with her nose swollen up as large as an apple? Prepare a room for the surgeon immediately: he will never be out of our house during the next month."

Laura approached her father.

"I can see you wish to begin a quarrel anew with our neighbors: if you love me, do not do so. I cannot tell you, father, how much this quarreling annoys me. Indeed I have suffered too much from it."

"I believe you," replied Hummel, cheerfully. "But it is because I love you that I must in good time put an end to this annoyance from over there, before these winged nuisances carry away honey from our garden. I don't intend to have you attacked by the bees of any of our neighbors, do you understand me?"

Laura turned and looked gloomily in the water, on which the fallen catkins of the birch were swimming slowly towards the town.

"Do something, keeper, to preserve peace between neighbors," continued Hummel. "Take my compliments to Mr. Hahn, with the request from me that he will remove his bees, so that I may not be obliged to call in the police again."

"I will tell him, Mr. Hummel, that the bees are disagreeable to the neighborhood; for it is true the gardens are small."

"They are so narrow that one could sell them in a bandbox at a Christmas fair," assented Hummel. "Do it out of pity to the bees themselves. Our three daffodils will not last them long as food, and afterwards there will be nothing for them but to gnaw the iron railings."

He gave the park-keeper a few coppers, and added, to his wife and daughter:

"You see how forbearing I am to our neighbor, for the sake of peace."

The ladies returned to the house, depressed and full of sad forebodings.

As the park-keeper did not appear again, Mr. Hummel watched for him on the following day.

"Well, how is it?" he asked.

"Mr. Hahn thinks that the hives are far enough from the street; they are behind a bush and they annoy no one. He will not give up his rights."

"There it is!" broke out Hummel. "You are my witness that I have done all in the power of man to avoid a quarrel. The fellow has forgotten that there is a Section 167. I am sorry, keeper; but the police must be the last resort."

Mr. Hummel conferred confidentially with a policeman. Mr. Hahn became excited and angry when he was ordered to appear in court, but Hummel had in some measure the best of it, for the police advised Mr. Hahn to avoid annoyance to the neighbours and passers-by by the removal of the hive. Mr. Hahn had taken great pleasure in his bees; their hive had been fitted with all the new improvements, and they were not like our irritable German bees; they were an Italian sort, which only sting when provoked to the utmost. But this was all of no avail, for even the Doctor and his mother herself begged that the hives might be removed; so, one dark night they were carried away, with bitter and depressed feelings, into the country. In the place which they had occupied he erected some starlings' nests on poles. They were a poor comfort. The starlings had, according to old customs, sent messengers of their race through the country and hired their summer dwellings, and only the sparrows took exulting possession of the abode, and like disorderly householders, left long blades of grass hanging from their nests. Mr. Hummel shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and in a loud bass voice, called the new invention the sparrow telegraph.

The garden amusements had begun; the sad prognostication had become a reality; suspicion and gloomy looks once more divided the neighboring houses.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CLOUDLETS

A Professor's wife has much to bear with her husband. When Ilse found herself seated with her friends, the wives of Professors Raschke, Struvelius, and Günther, over a cozy cup of coffee, which was by no means slighted, all manner of things came to light.

Conversation with these cultured ladies was indeed delightful. It first touched lightly on the subject of servants, and the troubles of housekeeping called forth a volubility of chatter, like the croaking of frogs in a pond, and Ilse wondered that even Flamina Struvelius should express herself so earnestly on the subject of pickling gherkins, and that she should anxiously inquire as to the marks of age on a plucked goose. Merry Mrs. Gunther shocked the ladies of greater experience and at the same time made them laugh, when she told them she could not bear the cry of little children, and that as to her own-of which she had none yet-she would from the beginning train them to quiet habits with the rod. As has been said, the conversation rambled from greater matters to small talk like this. And amidst other trivial remarks it naturally happened that men were quietly discussed, and it was evident that, although the remarks were made as to men in general, each thought of her own husband, and each, without expressing it, thought of the secret load of cares she had to bear, and each one convinced her hearers that her own individual husband was also difficult to manage. The lot of Mrs. Raschke was indeed not to be concealed, as it was notorious throughout the whole town. It was well known that one market-day her husband went to the lecture-room in a brilliant orange and blue dressing-gown, of a Turkish pattern. And the collegians, who loved him dearly and knew his habits well, could not suppress a loud laugh, while Raschke hung his dressing-gown quietly over the reading-desk and began to lecture in his shirt sleeves, and returned home in the great-coat of a student. Since then Mrs. Raschke never let him go out without looking after him herself. It also transpired that after living ten years in the town he constantly lost his way, and she did not dare to change her residence, being convinced that if she did, the Professor would always be going back to his old abode. Struvelius also gave trouble. The last affair of importance had come to Ilse's personal knowledge; but it was also known that he required his wife to correct the proof-sheets of his Latin writings, as she had a slight knowledge of the language-and that he could not resist giving orders to traveling wine merchants. Mrs. Struvelius, after her marriage, found her cellar full of large and small casks of wine, which had as yet not been bottled, while he himself complained bitterly that he could not replenish his stock. And even little Mrs. Günther related that her husband could not give up working at night; and that on one occasion, poking about with a lamp amongst the books, he came too close to a curtain, which caught fire, and on pulling it down he burnt his hands, and rushed into the bedroom with his fingers black as coals, more like an Othello than a mineralogist.

Ilse related nothing of her short career, but she had also had some experience. True, her husband was very good about working at night, was very discreet over his wine, though on great occasions he drank his glass bravely, as became a German Professor. But as to his eating, matters were very unsatisfactory. Certainly it does not do to care too much about food, especially for a Professor, but not to be able to distinguish a duck from a goose is rather discouraging for her who has striven to procure him a dainty. As for carving he was useless. The tough Stymphalian birds which Hercules destroyed, and the ungenial Phœnix, mentioned with such respect by his Tacitus, were much better known to him than the form of a turkey. Ilse was not one of those women who delight to spend the whole day in the kitchen, but she understood cooking, and prided herself on giving a dinner worthy of her husband. But all was in vain. He sometimes tried to praise the dishes, but Ilse clearly saw that he was not sincere. Once when she set a splendid pheasant before him, he saw by her expression that she expected some remark, so he praised the cook for having secured such a fine chicken. Ilse sighed and tried to make him understand the difference, but had to be content with Gabriel's sympathizing remark: "It's all useless. I know my master; he can't tell one thing from another!" Since then, Ilse had to rest content with the compliments that the gentlemen invited to tea paid her at the table. But this was no compensation. The Doctor also was not remarkable for his acquirements in this direction. It was lamentable and humiliating to see the two gentlemen over a brace of snipes which her father had sent them from the country.

The Professor, however, looked up to the Doctor as a thoroughly practical man, because he had had some experience in buying and managing, and the former was accustomed to call in his friend as an adviser on many little daily occurrences. The tailor brought samples of cloth for a new coat. The Professor looked at the various colors of the samples in a distracted manner. "Ilse, send for the Doctor to help me make a choice!" Ilse sent, but unwillingly; no Doctor was needed, she thought, to select a coat, and if her dear husband could not make up his mind, was not she there? But that was of no avail; the Doctor selected the coat, waistcoat, and the rest of the Professor's wardrobe. Ilse listened to the orders in silence, but she was really angry with the Doctor, and even a little with her husband. She quietly determined that things should not continue so. She hastily calculated her pocket-money, called the tailor into her room, and ordered a second suit for her husband, with the injunction to make this one first. When the tailor brought the clothes home, she asked her husband how he liked the new suit. He praised it. Then she said: "To please you I make myself as nice-looking as I can: for my sake wear what I have made for you. If I have succeeded this time, I hope that I may in future choose and be responsible for your wardrobe."

But the Doctor looked quite amazed when he met the Professor in a different suit. It so happened, however, that he had nothing to find fault with; and when Ilse was sitting alone with the Doctor, she began-"Both of us love my husband; therefore let us come to some agreement about him. You have the greatest right to be the confidant of his labors, and I should never venture to place myself on an equality with you respecting them. But where my judgment is sufficient I may at least be useful to him, and what little I can, dear Doctor, pray allow me to do."

She said this with a smile; but the Doctor walked gravely up to her.

"You are expressing what I have long felt. I have lived with him for many years, and have often lived for him, and that was a time of real happiness to me; but now I fully recognize that it is you who have the best claim to him. I shall have to endeavor to control myself in many things; it will be hard for me, but it is better it should be so."

"My words were not so intended," said Ilse, disturbed.

"I well understand what you meant; and I know also that you are perfectly right. Your task is not alone to make his life comfortable. I see how earnestly you strive to become his confidant. Believe me, the warmest wish of my heart is that in time you should succeed."

He left with an earnest farewell, and Ilse saw how deeply moved he was. The Doctor had touched a chord, the vibration of which, midst all her happiness, she felt with pain. Her household affairs gave her little trouble, and all went so smoothly that she took no credit to herself for her management. But still it pained her to see how little her work was appreciated by her husband, and she thought to herself, "What I am able to do for him makes no impression on him, and when I cannot elevate my mind to his, he probably feels the want of a soul that can understand him better."

These were transient clouds which swept over the sunny landscape, but they came again and again as Ilse sat brooding alone in her room.

One evening, Professor Raschke having looked in late, showed himself disposed to pass the evening with them, and Felix sent the servant to the Professor's wife, to set her mind at rest as to the absence of her husband. As Raschke, among all her husband's colleagues, was Ilse's favorite, she took pains to order something that would please him. This order doomed to death some chickens that shortly before had been brought in alive. The gentlemen were sitting in Ilse's room when a dreadful scream and clamor issued from the kitchen, and the cook, pale as death, opened the door and appealed to her mistress. It appeared that the girl's heart failed her in attempting to kill the fowls and as Gabriel, who had hitherto performed all such necessary slaughter, was absent, she did not know what to do, so Ilse herself had to perform the indispensable act. When she returned, Felix unfortunately asked why she had left the room, and Ilse told him what had occurred.

The chickens were placed upon the table and did the cook no discredit. Ilse carved and served them, but her husband pushed back his plate, whilst Raschke, out of politeness, picked at the breast, but forbore to eat a morsel. Ilse regarded the two gentlemen with astonishment.

"You do not eat anything, Professor?" she at last said to her guest, anxiously.

"It is only a morbid weakness," replied Raschke, "and it's very foolish indeed, but the screams of the poor bird still linger in my ear."

"And in yours, too, Felix?" asked Ilse, with increasing wonderment.

"Yes," rejoined he. "Is it not possible to have these things done quietly?"

"Not always," answered Ilse, mortified, "when the house is so small, and the kitchen so near." She rang and ordered the ill-fated dish to be taken away. "Those who can't bear things to be killed should eat no meat."

"You are quite right," replied Raschke, submissively, "and our sensitiveness has but little justification. We find the preparations unpleasant, yet as a rule we are well satisfied with the result. But when one is accustomed to observe animal life with sympathy, he is necessarily shocked at the sudden termination of an organism for his own selfish purposes, when it is done in a way to which he is not accustomed. For the whole life of an animal is full of mystery to us. The same vital power which we observe in ourselves, is fundamentally at work with them, only limited by a less complicated, and, on the whole, less complete organization."

"How can you compare their souls with that of man's?" asked Ilse; "the irrational with the rational; the transitory with the eternal?"

"As to irrational, my dear lady, it is a word to which in this case one does not attach a very clear meaning. What the difference may be between man and beast is difficult to decide, and on this subject a little modesty becomes us. We know but little of animals, even of those who pass their lives among us. And I confess that the attempt to fathom this unknown problem fills me with awe and reverence, which occasionally rises into fear. I cannot bear that any one who belongs to me should grow fond of an animal. This arises from a weakness of feeling which I own is sentimental. But the influence of the human mind on animals has always seemed to me wonderful and weird; phases of their life are developed, which in certain directions make them very similar to man. Their affectionate devotion to us has something so touching in it, that we are disposed to bestow much more love on them than is good either for them or us."

"Still an animal remains what it was from the creation," said Ilse; "unchanged in its habits and inclinations. We can train a bird, and make a dog fetch and carry what he would rather eat, but that is only an outward compulsion. If let to themselves, their nature and manners remain unaltered, and what we call culture they lack utterly."

"Even upon that point we are by no means sure," rejoined Raschke. "We do not know but that each race of animals has a history and an evolution which extends from the earliest generation to the present. It is not at all impossible that acquirements and knowledge of the world, so far as they may exist in animals, have acted among them, though in a narrower sphere, just as with men. It is quite an assumption that birds sang just the same way a thousand years ago as they do now. I believe that the wolf and the lynx, in cultivated regions, stand on the same footing in the struggle for life as do the remnants of the red Indians among the whites; whilst those animals that live in comparative peace with man, like sparrows and other small creatures, and bees especially, improve in their mode of work, and in the course of time make progress-progress which we in some cases surmise, but which our science has not yet been able to describe."

"Our forester would quite agree with you in this," said Ilse, quietly; "as he complains bitterly that the bullfinches of our neighborhood have, within his memory, quite deteriorated in their singing, because all the good singers have been caught, and the young birds have no one to teach them."

"Exactly," said Raschke; "among animals of every species there are clever and stupid individuals, and it must follow that to some of them is assigned a definite spiritual mission which extends far beyond their own life. And the experience of an old raven, or the enchanting notes of a melodious nightingale, are not lost on the future generations of their race, but influence them continuously. In this sense we may well speak of culture and continued improvement among animals. But as regards the cooking, I admit that we exhibited our sympathies at the wrong time and place, and I hope you are not angry with us, dear friend."

"It shall all be forgotten now," replied Ilse, "I will give you boiled eggs the next time; they will involve no scruples."

"The egg, too, has its story," answered Raschke; "but for the present, I may fitly waive discussing this. What has brought me here," addressing Felix, earnestly, "was neither fowls nor eggs, but our colleague, Struvelius. I am seeking forgiveness for him."

Felix drew himself up stiffly. "Has he commissioned you to come?"

"Not exactly; but it is the wish of some of our colleagues. You know that next year we require an energetic Rector. Some of our acquaintance are speaking of you. Struvelius will probably be Deacon, and for this reason we wish to bring you into friendly relations; and still more for the sake of peace at the University. We regret exceedingly to see our classicists at variance."

"What the man has done to me," replied the Professor, proudly, "I can easily forgive, although his mean and underhand conduct has deeply offended me. I feel much more seriously the effect of his foolish work upon himself and our University. What separates me from him is the dishonesty of spirit that has actuated his conduct."

"The expression is too strong," cried Raschke.

"It applies to his behavior exactly," returned the Professor. "When the forgery was pointed out to him, his fear of humiliation was greater than his love of truth, and he lied in order to deceive others-conduct unworthy of a German professor, and I can never forgive it."

"Again you are too severe," replied Raschke; "he has frankly and loyally admitted his error."

"He did so only when Magister Knips and others clearly proved the forgery that had been committed in the manuscript, and so made any further evasion impossible."

"Human feelings are not so easy to analyze as numbers are," rejoined Raschke; "and only he who judges charitably, judges rightly. He struggled with wounded pride perhaps too long, but he gave in at last."

"I tolerate no unknown quantity in the sense of honor of a scientist; the question here was: Black or white? Truth or falsehood?"

"You have, nevertheless," said Ilse, "shown the Magister much greater leniency, and I have seen him with you since, more than once."

"The Magister was less to blame in the matter," her husband replied. "When the question was clearly before him, he employed his acuteness to some purpose."

"He took money for it," said Ilse.

"He is a poor devil, accustomed, as a broker, to take his profits on any exchange of antiquities, and no one would expect in such a transaction that he should act like a gentleman. So far as his oppressed spirit belongs to science, it is not without a sort of manly pride; and I have the warmest sympathy for a nature of that kind. His life on the whole is a continual martyrdom to the interests of others; and when I employ such a man, I know exactly how far to trust him."

"Do not deceive yourself in that!" cried Raschke.

"I shall take the risk and the responsibility," replied the Professor. "But have done with the Magister-it is not he who is in question. When I compare his offense with that of Struvelius, there is no doubt in my mind as to who has shown the greater deficiency in sense of honor.

"This again is so unjust," cried Raschke, "that I cannot listen to such expressions in the absence of my colleague. It is with deep regret that I miss in you the candor and dispassionate impartiality which I consider to be unreservedly demanded in judging a fellow-professor."

"You yourself told me," replied Felix, more quietly, "that he promised silence to the trader, because the latter had held out the prospect of obtaining other secret parchments. How can you, after such an exhibition of selfishness, find a word to say in his defense?"

"It is true he did so," replied Raschke, "and therein was his weakness?"

"Therein was his dishonesty," said the Professor, "and that I shall never condone. Whoever thinks otherwise, may shake his hand in approbation of his conduct."

Raschke rose. "If your words mean that he who grasps the hand of Struvelius in pardon for what he has done, has lost in character and self-respect, I reply to you that I am the man, and that this act of mine has never lessened my sense of dignity nor humiliated me in my own eyes. I entertain the highest respect for your pure and manly feelings, which I have ever deemed exemplary; but I must now tell you, that I am not satisfied with you. If this obduracy has come upon you merely because Struvelius has personally offended you, you are violating the standard which we are ever in duty bound to observe in judging our fellow men."

"Let it not be observed then!" exclaimed the Professor. "I recognize no standard of leniency when I have to do with the demands which I make upon the sense of honor and propriety in my personal acquaintances. It affects me deeply that you are opposed to me in this way of thinking; but such as I am, an erring and imperfect mortal, I cannot moderate these claims upon those about me.

"Let me hope then," broke in Raschke, "that it will never be your misfortune to have to confess to others that you have been deceived by an impostor in the very matter wherein your consciousness of self-reliance has been so strongly aroused. For he who judges others so proudly, would suffer no small affliction in the confession of his own shortsightedness."

"Yes, that would be fearful for me," said Felix, "to involve others in error and falsehood against my will. But trust me, to atone for such a wrong I would use all my life and strength. Meanwhile, between that man and me the gulf will remain as dark as ever."

Raschke shoved back his chair. "I must go, then, for our discussion has so excited me that I should make a very unentertaining companion. It is the first time, my dear lady, that I have ever left this house with any feeling of unpleasantness; and it is not my least annoyance, that my untimely advocacy of the existence of souls in poultry made me bristle up my crest against you also."

Ilse regarded the excited countenance of the worthy man with pain, and, in order to soothe him and restore the old friendly relations, she said to him, coaxingly: "But you shall not escape the poor chicken, you'll have to eat it, and I shall take care that your wife gives it to you to-morrow morning for breakfast."