The Lost Manuscript: A Novel

A horseman in strange livery galloped out of the wood; the Chamberlain, in consternation, approached the Prince, and handed him a letter with a black seal. The Prince hastened into the tent, and the Chamberlain followed him.

The wild flowers had brought the young gentleman no good fortune. The pleasure of the fête was over; the company stood in groups about the tent, uncertain and sympathizing. At last the Prince and the Chamberlain came out. While the latter turned to the Rector and to those who surrounded him. Ilse saw the Prince at her side with deep sorrow depicted on his countenance.

"I beg of you to excuse me to the ladies, as I am obliged to depart immediately: my sister's husband has died, after a short illness, and my poor sister is very unhappy." In great agitation, he continued: "I myself knew my brother-in-law only slightly, but he was very kind to my sister, and she felt happier with him than she had ever been in her life. She writes to me in despair, and the misfortune is for her quite inexpressible. Under existing circumstances she cannot remain in her present abode, and I foresee that she must return to us. It is our bitter fate always to be tossed about, never to remain quiet. I know that I shall meet with a similar misfortune. I feel myself happy here, – to you I can confess this, – and I regret to say that this death makes it very uncertain whether I shall ever return. I go to my sister tomorrow for a few days. Pray think of me kindly."

He bowed and retired into the tent, and in a few minutes his carriage was on its way back to the city.

Ilse hastened to her husband, who had been requested by the Chamberlain to act for the Prince. It was immediately determined to break up the party: the children were put into the carriages, and the rest returned to the city in earnest conversation.

Meanwhile Laura feigned illness, and sat in her little sitting-room rummaging about among the old ballads. After the meeting in the village garden she had discovered with dismay that, in her anxiety about the Doctor, she had much diminished her treasure: full a dozen of the best were gone, and thus the tie by which she held the collector's heart fast threatened to come to an end. She had, therefore, not sent anything since the drinking-song. But to-day, when the Doctor had experienced treatment that gave her more concern than it did him, she sought for something to console him.

A heavy step on the staircase disturbed her in the work of selection. She had hardly time to throw her treasures into the secret drawer before Mr. Hummel was at the door. It was a rare visit, and Laura received him with the foreboding that his coming portended serious results. Mr. Hummel approached his daughter and looked at her closely, as if she had been a new Paris invention.

"So you have a headache, and could not accept the invitation? I am not accustomed to that in my daughter. I cannot prevent your mother from allowing her feelings to affect her brains, at times; but I have a right to demand that your head should, under all circumstances, remain sound. Why did you not accept the invitation to the picnic?"

"It would have been an intolerable constraint upon me," said Laura.

"I understand," replied Mr. Hummel. "I am not much in favor of princes, but not much against them either. I cannot discover that they have greater heads than other people. I am therefore obliged to consider them simply as ordinary customers who are not always number one, neither do they always wear number one goods. Nevertheless, when a prince invites you, with other distinguished persons, to a respectable summer entertainment, and you refuse to go, I, as your father, ask you for the reason; and, between you and me, it shall now be no question of headache."

Laura perceived, from the expression of her father's countenance, that he had some other idea in his head.

"If you wish to know the truth, I will make no secret of it. I am not invited on my own account; for what do these people care about me? It is only as the appendage of our lodgers."

"You knew that when the invitation came, and yet you jumped for joy."

"The idea only occurred to me afterwards when-"

"When you learnt that the Doctor over there was not invited," completed Mr. Hummel. "Your mother is a very worthy woman, for whom I entertain the highest respect, but it sometimes happens that one can screw a secret out of her. When you thus ruminate over what neither your father nor the world should know, you should confide it to no one, either in our house or in any other."

"Very well," said Laura, with decision; "if you have discovered it, hear it now from me. I am a plebeian just as much as Fritz Hahn is; he has been in the society of those Court people more frequently than I; their taking no notice of him made it clear to me that they considered one who is his equal as a superfluous addition."

An expression of irony overspread the broad features of Mr. Hummel.

"So that fellow over there is your equal?" he began; "that is exactly what I wished to disabuse your mind of. I should not approve of your regulating your feelings according to that weather-cock over the way. I do not choose that the idea should ever come into the head of Hahn Junior to build an arch across the street, and to wander about in slippers from one house to the other. The thought does not please me. I will bring forward only one reason, which has nothing to do with the old grudge. He is his father's son, and he has no real energy of character. One who can endure to sit year after year in that straw-nest, turning over the pages of books, would not, if I were a girl, be the man for me. It is possible that he may be very learned, and may know much about things that other men care little for; but I have not yet heard that he has accomplished anything by it. Therefore, if that should happen, which will not happen so long as the property over there is a poultry-yard, – if I, Henry Hummel, should consent that my only child should sit knitting stockings in front of the white Muse, it would be a misfortune for my child herself. For you are my daughter. You are just as self-willed as I am; and if you should get among those white-livered people, you would disturb them lamentably, and be very unhappy yourself. Therefore, I am of opinion that your headache was silliness, and I wish never to hear again of like ailments. Good day, Miss Hummel."

He strode out of the door, and as he heavily descended the stairs, he hummed the tune:

"Bloom, sweet violet, that I myself have reared."

Laura sat at her writing-table supporting her heavy head with both her hands. This had been a trying scene. The speech of her stern father had wounded her deeply. But in his depreciating observations on their neighbor's son there was a certain truth, which had already crept like a hateful spider over the bright leaves of her sympathy. He must go out into the world. Her friends below were thinking of going into foreign parts. Ah! she herself, a poor bird, fluttered her wings in vain, for the fetters on her feet held her back. But he could free himself. She would lose him from her neighborhood, perhaps lose him for ever; but this ought not to hinder her from telling him the truth. She hastily searched among the old sheets; she could find but one ballad, which undoubtedly did not fit the Doctor, inasmuch as it expressed the feelings of a dissolute wanderer. The song was inappropriate, but there was none better. Our ancestors, when not occupied in highway exploits, took little pleasure in travelling. The letter must do the work. She wrote as follows: -

"The summer birds are flying, and man also yearns after the distant lands of his dreams. Do not be angry with the sender of this, for begging you to imbibe something of the spirit of this song. Your home is too narrow for you. Your merits are not appreciated here as they deserve. You are deprived in the quiet house of your parents of those experiences which a man gains when he forms his life by his own qualifications. I well know that your highest task will always be to promote learning by your writings. That you may do everywhere. But do not think it beneath you to influence younger minds by personal intercourse with them, and to participate in the struggles of their generation. Away, Doctor! the unknown bird sings to you the song of the wanderer. With sorrow will your loss be felt by those you leave behind."

About the same hour, Gabriel was sitting in his room brushing the last specks of dust from his best livery which he had spread over a chair. At his feet lay the red dog, licking his paws and giving utterance to an occasional growl. Gabriel looked contemptuously at the dog.

"You are not handsomer, nor better than last winter. Your knavish nature delights in nothing but eating, and flying at the legs of the passers-by. I have never known a dog so much hated, or who deserved it so well; for your only pleasure is to despise all that is respectable. What is your favorite amusement? When it has rained and a ray of sun attracts people to walk in the wood, you lurk on the steps; and when a young girl appears clad in her light summer dress, then you leap like a frog into the puddle that lies before her, and spatter her dress all over, and I have to fetch a cab to take her home. What did the strolling cigar-dealer do yesterday to provoke you. His chest was standing on the bench in Mr. Hummel's garden, and the prospect of a bargain was certain. The cigar-man went a few steps from his chest to speak to an acquaintance, and you, miscreant, made a spring at the bread and butter lying on the chest, and came with all fours on the glass. It broke, and the splinters mixed With the cigars; you trampled them altogether into a powder, and then returned to the house. You, monster, caused your master to deal roughly with the trader when he complained of you, and the man packed up his wares and went away from our house with a curse on his lips. On what nocturnal excursion have you been since then? No human eye has seen you."

He bent down towards the dog.

"So this time it has gone into your flesh. I am glad to see you can injure yourself as well as others."

Gabriel examined the dog's paw and extracted a glass splinter. The dog looked at him and whined.

"If I only knew," continued Gabriel, shaking his head, "what pleases the dog in me. Is it the bones, or perhaps some roguish trait of mine that amuses him? He hates the whole world, and even snarls at his master; but he comes to visit me and behaves himself like a worthy companion. And he is still more crazy about my master. I do not believe that the Rector knows much of Spitehahn. But whenever this fiend sees my Professor, he peeps at him slyly from under his shaggy eyebrows, and does his best to wag his tuft of a tail. And when my master goes to the University, he runs after him like a lamb behind its mother. How comes it that this black soul attaches itself to the Professor? What does he want with our learning? They do not believe in you anyhow, Spitehahn."

He looked round suspiciously and hastily donned his coat. Arrayed in his Sunday attire he left the house. The Hahn family were not at home, for Dorchen was looking out of the dressing-room window. She laughed and nodded. Gabriel took courage, and stepped into the enemies' hall. The door of the room opened. Dorchen stood on the threshold curtsying, and Gabriel, holding the handle of the door, began, solemnly:

"It would be much more pleasant for me if I could have the pleasure of accompanying you in your walk to-day."

Dorchen replied, twitching at her apron:

"I have got to stay here to mind the house, but that need not prevent you from going."

"I should then take ho pleasure in it," replied Gabriel, bowing, "for I should be always thinking of you, and I had much rather be with you here than only think of you in the open air. If, therefore, you would allow me to stay here a little while-?"

"Why, come in, of course, Gabriel."

"Only to the threshold," said Gabriel, advancing, still holding the open door. "I only wanted to say that the number of which you lately dreamt is not to be found at any of the offices. I have, therefore, taken another, and have had it drawn by a little beggar lad, as that brings good luck. I shall be so pleased if you will play this number with me. It is quite a sum, for it is a whole eighth of a ticket."

"But that will be no good sign," said Dorchen, with pretty embarrassment.

"Why not, Fräulein? It was a real beggar-boy."

"No, I mean when two play together who love one another."

"Dear Dorchen!" cried Gabriel, approaching nearer and seizing her hand.

A hollow gurgle interrupted the conversation. Dorchen drew back from him terrified.

"It was a ghost," she cried.

"That is impossible," said Gabriel, consolingly: "for, first, it is day-time; secondly, it is in a new house; and, thirdly, spirits generally do not make such a noise. It was something in the street."

"Your being here is a real comfort to me," exclaimed the timid Dorchen. "It is fearful to be alone in a large house."

"To be together in a small house is particularly jolly," cried Gabriel, boldly. "Ah, Dorchen! if we could venture to think of it."

Again a slight rumble was heard.

"There must be something here," cried Dorchen. "I am so alarmed!"

She sprang away from him to the middle of the room. Gabriel took a yard measure, and looked under the furniture.

"So you are there, are you?" he cried, angrily, poking with the yard measure under the sofa.

Spitehahn leaped forth with a bark on to the nearest chair, from the chair on to the console, on which the clock stood; he knocked down the clock, and dashed through the half-opened door.

It was the parlor clock and a wedding present. Mr. Hahn wound it up every evening before he went to bed; it had two alabaster pillars with gilded capitals; the rest was of American wood, and represented a triumphal arch. Now the treasure lay in ruins, the pillars shattered, the woad broken, and the dial split. In the opened works a single wheel whirled with fearful rapidity, all the rest was motionless. Dorchen stood dismayed before the fragments, and wrung her hands.

"The monster," groaned Gabriel, occupying himself in vain with the shattered work of art, and endeavoring with no better result to comfort the poor maiden, who trembled before the terrors of the ensuing hour.

"I had a foreboding," cried Mr. Hahn, on his return home, "that something would happen to-day. I forgot yesterday, for the first time, to wind up the clock. But now my patience is at an end; there will be war to the knife between him over the way and me." He approached the sobbing maid threateningly. "Bear witness to the truth," he cried out; "the court will demand your testimony. Do not seek safety in hypocrisy and lies. Was it the dog, or was it you?"

Dorchen dramatically related the whole transgression of Spitehahn; she poked under the sofa, as if she could draw the dog out bodily; she confessed, weepingly, to the open door, and explained Gabriel's presence as owing to an inquiry he had made of her.

"Unfortunate one," cried the master of the house, "I see your embarrassment: it was yourself; your conscience pricks you. How can you show that the dog was under the sofa? On your peril, I demand a tangible evidence."

"Here it is," cried Dorchen, still sobbing, and pointing in tragic attitude with her hand to the ground.

There certainly was an indubitable proof under the sofa, although not strictly tangible. The dog had left behind him as sure a confirmation as if he had impressed his seal on the ground.

Now, Mrs. Hahn indignantly gave the orders which became a housewife under such circumstances.

"Do not attempt it," cried Mr. Hahn; "away with towels and cloths; this shall remain."

"But, Andreas," exclaimed his wife.

"This shall remain, I say; it must be acknowledged and certified to. Bring Mr. Ruddy immediately, and his wife, and whatever witnesses you can find on the street."

The witnesses came, and, standing round, examined the place of the evil deed; but Mr. Hahn hastened to his writing-table, and wrote a strong letter to Mr. Hummel, in which he related the misdeed, and threateningly demanded compensation. This letter Mr. Ruddy carried off to Mr. Hummel, with a board on which were laid the ruins of the clock.

Hummel read the letter carefully, and threw it on the table.

"I congratulate your master upon his new undertaking for the summer," he said, coldly. "Carry the debris back again; I have no answer for such nonsense. Some people will make fools of themselves."

The following day a judicial complaint again raised its Medusa's head between the two houses. This time even Mrs. Hahn was deeply incensed; and when she, shortly after, met Laura on the street, she turned her good-humored face to the other side, to avoid greeting the daughter of the enemy.

Laura received the Doctor's answer to her letter. In a pretty poem the happiness of the parental house was extolled, and he spoke of his great delight in his neighbor's charming daughter, whom the poet saw in the garden among her flowers, whenever he looked over the high hedge. He further added: "The advice which you express so sincerely in your lines has found an echo in me. I know what is lacking in my life. My learning makes it impossible for me to find recognition in wider circles, an honor, which the friends of a learned man desire for him more eagerly than he himself does; it also makes it difficult for me to adopt the academical course to which I have now a call in foreign parts. But the nature of my studies takes from me all hope that any outward results can ever overcome the hindrances which oppose themselves to the secret wishes of my soul."

"Poor Fritz!" said Laura; "and yet poorer me! Why must he give up all hope because he studies Sanscrit? It is not courage that is wanting to these learned men, as father says, but passion. Like the old gods about whom you write, you have no human substance, and no blood in your veins. A few sparks are occasionally kindled up in your life and one hopes they may light up into a mighty flame; but immediately it is all smothered and extinguished by prudent consideration." She rose suddenly. "Ah! if one could but lay hold of Fritz by the hair and cast him into the wildest tumult, through which he would have to fight his way bloodily, defy my father, and hazard a great deal, in order to win what he in his gentle way says he desires for himself! Away with this quiet, learned atmosphere: it makes those who breathe it contemptible! Their strongest excitement is a sorrowful shrug of the shoulders over other mortals or themselves."

Thus did the passionate Laura chafe in her attic-room, and again was her paper moistened by bitter tears, as she sought consolation in heroic verses, and called upon the foreign gods of the Doctor to take the field against the pranks of Spitehahn.

Glorious Indra and all ye divinities shining; in heaven,That have so often conferred blessings on races of men,Haste in rescue to us, for great misfortune doth threaten.Ominous shadows of night darken our peaceable home,Banish the child from the father; while flat on the door-step outsprawling,Growleth with vengeful intent fiercely th' insidious cur.

The peace was disturbed not only for the neighbors of the Park street, but also for the young Prince, at whose fête the trouble had begun.

The Prince was detained some weeks from the city. After his return, he lived in the quiet retirement that the duties of mourning imposed upon him. Lectures in his room were again resumed, but his place at Ilse's tea-table remained empty.

On the day when the University prizes were distributed, the students made a great torchlight procession to their Rector's house. The flaming lights waved in the old streets; the fanfares resounded, in the midst of which the lusty voices of the singing students might be heard; gables and balconies were lighted in colored splendor; the marshals swung their weapons gaily, and the torch-bearers scattered the sparks among the thronging crowds of spectators. The procession turned into the street towards the valley; it stopped before the house of Mr. Hummel. Again there was music and singing; a deputation solemnly crossed the threshold. Hummel looked proudly on the long stream of red lights which flickered about and lighted up his house. The whole honor was intended for his house alone, though he could not prevent the glare and smoke from illuminating the enemies' roof, also.

Upstairs some of the rector's most intimate friends were assembled; he received the leaders of the students in his room, and there were speeches and replies. While those assembled were crowding nearer to listen to the speech-making, the door of Ilse's room gently opened, and the Prince entered. Ilse hastened to meet him, but he began, without greeting:

"I have come to-day to bid you farewell. What I foresaw has happened. I have received orders to return to my father. To-morrow I and my attendant will take formal leave of the Rector and yourself, but I wished first to see you for a moment; and, now that I stand before you, I cannot express the feelings that prompted me to come. I thank you for all your kindness. I beg of you not to forget me. It is you who have made the city so dear to me. It is you who make it hard for me to go away."

He spoke these words so softly that it seemed only as if a breath had passed into Ilse's ear; and he did not await her answer, but left the room as quickly as he came into it.

Outside, in the open place by the common, the students threw their torches in a great heap; the red flame rose high in the air, and the gray smoke encircled the tops of the trees; it rolled over the houses and crept through the open windows, and stifled the breath. The flame became lower, and a thin smoke ascended from the dying embers. It had been a rapid, brilliant glow, a fleeting fire, now extinguished, and only smoke and ashes remained. But Ilse was still standing by her window, and looking sorrowfully out upon the empty place.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE DRAMA

"He was a tyrant," exclaimed Laura, "and she was right not to obey him."

"He did his duty harshly, and she also," replied Ilse.

"He was a cross-grained, narrow-minded fellow, who was at last humbled; but she was a noble heroine, who cast from her all that was most dear on earth in order to fulfill her highest obligations," said Laura.

"He acted under the impulse of his nature, as she did according to hers. Hers was the stronger character, and she went victoriously to death. The burden of his deed crushed him during life," rejoined Ilse.

The characters which the ladies were discussing were Antigone and Creon.

The Professor had one autumn evening laid the tragedies of Sophocles on his wife's table. "It is time that you should learn to appreciate the greatest poets of antiquity in their works." He read them aloud and explained them. The lofty forms of the Attic stage hovered in the peaceful atmosphere of the German home. Ilse heard around her curses and heart-breaking lamentations, she saw a dark fatality impending over men of the noblest feeling and iron will; she felt the storm of passion raging in powerful souls, and heard, amidst the cry of revenge and despair, the soft chords of soul-stirring pathos, sounding with irresistible magic.

The time had indeed come when Ilse could comprehend and enter into the feelings and fate of others than herself.

The bright rays of the midday sun do not always shine upon the paths of man. Not with the eye alone does he seek his way amid the shadows of night, but he hearkens, too, to the secret voices within his breast. From the battle of clashing duties, from the irresistible impulse of passion, it is not with most men a careful thought or a wise adage that saves or ruins; it is the quick resolve which breaks forth from within like an uncontrollable impulse of nature and which is yet produced by the compulsion of their whole past lives-by all that man knows and believes, by all that he has suffered and done. What forces us to the good or the bad in the sombre hours of trial, people call character, and the changing steps of the wayfarer through life as he seeks his way amid difficulty and danger, the spectator at the play calls dramatic movement.

He only who has wandered amid the flitting shadows of night, and has seriously listened to the secret admonitions of his inmost soul, can fully understand the spirit of others who, in a similar position, have sought to extricate themselves from an intricate labyrinth, and have found safety or met destruction.