"They are certainly instructive for all times," continued the Professor, confidently, "for by fearful example they impress upon one the truth that the higher a man's position is, the greater is the necessity of barriers to restrain the arbitrariness of his nature. Your Highness's independent judgment and rich experience will enable you to discern, more distinctly than any one in my sphere of life, that the phenomena of this malady always show themselves where the ruling powers have less to fear and to honor than other mortals. What preserves a man in ordinary situations is that he feels himself at every moment of his life under strict and incessant control; his friends, the law, and the interest of others surround him on all sides, they demand imperiously that he should conform his thoughts and will by rules which secure the welfare of others. At all times the power of these fetters is less effective on the ruler; he can easily cast off what confines him, an ungracious movement of the hand frightens the monitor forever from his side. From morning to evening he is surrounded by persons who accommodate themselves to him; no friend reminds him of his duty, no law punishes him. Hundreds of examples teach us that former rulers, even amidst great outward success, suffered from inward ravages, where they were not guarded by a strong public opinion, or incessantly constrained by the powerful participation of the people in the state. We cannot but think of the gigantic power of a general and conqueror whose successes and victories brought devastation and excessive sin into his own life; he became a fearful sham, a liar to himself and a liar to the world before he was overthrown, and long before he died. To investigate similar cases is, as I said, not my vocation."
"No," said the Sovereign, in a faint voice.
"The distant time," began the High Steward, "of which you speak, was a sad epoch for the people as well as the rulers. If I am not mistaken a feeling of decay was general, and the admired writers were of little value; at least it appears to me that Apuleius and Lucan were frivolous and deplorably vulgar men."
The Professor looked surprised at the courtier.
"In my youth such authors were much read," he continued. "I do not blame the better ones of that period, when they turned away with disgust at such doings, and withdrew into the most retired private life, or into the Theban wilderness. Therefore when you speak of a malady of the Roman emperors, I might retort that it was only the result of the monstrous malady of the people; although I see quite well that during this corruption individuals accomplished a great advance in the human race, the freeing the people from the exclusiveness of nationality to the unity of culture, and the new ideal which was brought upon earth by Christianity."
"Undoubtedly the form of the state, and the style of culture which each individual emperor found, were decisive for his life. Every one is, in this sense, the child of his own time, and when it is a question of judging the measure of his guilt, it is fitting to weigh cautiously such considerations. But what I had the honor of pointing out to his Highness as the special merit of Tacitus, is only the masterly way with which he describes the peculiar symptoms and course of the Cæsarean insanity."
"They were all mad," interrupted the Sovereign, with a hoarse voice.
"Pardon, gracious Sir," rejoined the Professor, innocently. "Augustus became a better man on the throne, and almost a century after the time of Tacitus there were good and moderate rulers. But something of the curse which unlimited power exercises on the soul may be discovered in most of the Roman emperors. In the better ones it was like a malady which seldom showed itself, but was restrained by good sense or a good disposition. Many of them indeed were utterly corrupted, and in them the malady developed in definite gradation, the law of which one can easily understand."
"Then you also know how these people were at heart!" said the Sovereign, looking shyly at the Professor.
The High Steward retreated towards a window.
"It is not difficult in general to follow the course of the malady," replied the Professor, engrossed with his subject. "The first accession to power has an elevating tendency. The highest earthly vocation raises even narrow-minded men like Claudius; depraved villians like Caligula, Nero, and Domitian, showed a certain nobleness at first. There is an eager desire to please, and strenuous exertion to establish themselves by graciousness; a fear of influential persons or of the opposition of the masses compels a certain moderation. But arbitrary power has made men slaves, and the slavish feeling shows itself in an abject veneration which puts the emperor on a pinnacle above other men; he is treated as if specially favored by the gods, nay, as if his soul was an emanation of godly power. Amid this adoration by all, and the security of power, egotism soon increases. The accidental demands of an unrestrained will become reckless, the soul gradually loses the power of distinguishing between good and evil; his personal wishes appear to the ruler henceforth as the necessity of the state, and every whim of the moment must be satisfied. Distrust of all who are independent leads to senseless suspicion; he who will not be pliant is set aside as an enemy, and he who adapts himself with suppleness is sure to exercise a mastery over his master. Family bonds are severed, the nearest relations are watched as secret enemies, the deceptive show of hearty confidence is maintained, but suddenly some evil deed breaks through the veil that hypocrisy has drawn over a hollow existence."
The Sovereign slowly drew back his chair from the fire into the dark.
"The idea of the Roman state at last entirely vanishes from the soul, only personal dependence is required; true devotion to the state becomes a crime. This helplessness, and the cessation of the power of judging of the worth-nay, even of the attachment of men-betoken an advance of the malady by which all sense of accountability is impaired. Now the elements of which the character is formed become more contracted and onesided, the will more frivolous and paltry. A childish weakness becomes perceptible; pleasure in miserable trifles and empty jokes, together with knavish tricks which destroy without aim; it becomes enjoyment not only to torment and see the torments of others, but also an irresistible pleasure to drag all that is venerated down to a common level. It is very remarkable how, in consequence of this decay of thought, an unquiet and destructive sensuality takes the place of all. Its dark power becomes overmastering, and instead of the honorable old age which gives dignity even to the weak, we are disgusted by the repugnant picture of decrepit debauchees, like Tiberius and Claudius. The last powers of life are destroyed by shameless and refined profligacy."
"That is very remarkable," repeated the Sovereign, mechanically.
The Professor concluded: "Thus are accomplished the four gradations of ruin; first, gigantic egotism; then suspicion and hypocrisy; then childish senselessness; and, lastly, repugnant excesses."
The Sovereign rose slowly from his chair; he tottered, and the High Steward drew near to him terrified, but he supported himself with his hand on the arm of the chair, and, turning languidly to the Professor without looking at him, said, slowly:
"I thank the gentleman for a pleasant hour."
One could perceive the effort which it cost him to bring out the words.
In going out the Professor asked in a low tone of the High Steward:
"I fear I have wearied the Sovereign by this long discussion?"
The High Steward looked with astonishment at the frank countenance of the scholar:
"I do not doubt that the Sovereign will very soon show you that he has listened with attention."
When they were on the stairs they heard a hoarse, discordant sound in the distance; the old gentleman shuddered, and leaned against the wall.
The Professor listened; all was still.
"It was like the cry of a wild beast."
"The sound came from the street," replied the High Steward.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
CÆSAREAN INSANITY IN THE HUMMEL FAMILY
Mr. Hahn was walking by the side of his garden fence, his soul filled with gratitude; but as this was prevented from escaping through the usual outlet of friendly speech, it compelled him to take refuge in those chambers of his mind in which he kept the plans for the beautifying of his garden. His noble-hearted opponent was about to celebrate his birthday; this Mr. Hahn discovered in a roundabout way. On this day he might perhaps be able to show him some secret token of esteem. The greatest treasures in Mr. Hahn's garden were his standards and bush roses of every size and color, – splendid flowers which bloomed almost the whole year, and were much admired by the passers-by. They were all in pots, his delight was to move them about in the garden himself, and arrange them ornamentally in different groups. These roses he determined to dedicate as a quiet mark of homage to Mr. Hummel. He had long lamented a desolate space in the middle of his enemy's garden; it had lain bare the whole summer as a place of repose for the brindle dog or a roving cat. When Mr. Hummel should enter his garden on his birthday he should find the round bed changed into a blooming circle of roses.
This thought occasioned Mr. Hahn happy hours, and raised him a little from the depth of his sorrows. He carried the roses into a concealed corner, arranged them in rank and file according to their size and color, and wrote their numbers with chalk on the pots. The park-keeper, whose house stood at the extreme limit of the city by the river, had a little boat; this Mr. Hahn borrowed secretly for a few hours in the night. Before the early dawn of morning, on the birthday of his enemy, he slipped out of the house, rowed the pots in the boat to the small steps which led from the water-side into the garden of Mr. Hummel; he glided with his loved roses to the circular bed, arranged them noiselessly according to their numbers, planted each separately, and changed the desert spot into a blooming parterre of roses. When the sparrows in the gutters twittered out their first querulous abuse, he had smoothed down the earth in the bed with a small rake. He cast a look of pleasure on his work, and another on the still dusky outline of the house, within which Mr. Hummel still slept, unprepared for the surprise of the morning, and then glided with his spade and empty pots into his boat, rowed himself up to the house of the park-keeper, and concealed himself and his garden utensils on his own ground before the first rays of the rising sun painted his chimney with roseate colors.
Mr. Hummel entered his sitting-room at the usual hour, received with good-humor the congratulations of his ladies, looked graciously at the birthday cake which wife Philippine had placed with his coffee, and at the travelling-bag which Laura had embroidered for him, took his newspaper in his hand, and prepared himself by participation in the political concerns of men in general, for the business of his own life. All this passed off well; in his factory and in his office he received congratulations like a lamb; he stroked the snarling dog, and wrote business letters full of respect to his customers. When towards the middle of the day he returned to his ladies, and the Doctor entered his room to offer his congratulations, a dark cloud gathered on the sunny countenance of the master of the house, and lightning flashed from under his ambrosial eyebrows.
"What, Saul among the prophets! Are you come to fetch a lost ass back to your father's house? We cannot accommodate you. Or are you going to deliver a lecture upon the language of the orang-outang in the land of the cocoas?
"My lectures have not caused you any trouble so far," replied the Doctor. "I have not come in order that your hospitable politeness should take the trouble to entertain those present by the outpouring of your good humor. I have already expressed to you my wish never to be the object of it."
"Then defend yourself if you can," cried Hummel.
"I am only prevented," replied the Doctor, "by consideration for those present from giving you in your own house the answer which you seem to wish."
"I should be sorry if you were placed at any disadvantage in my house," replied Hummel. "I propose to you, therefore, to put yourself on an equal footing with me, by remaining in your own house and putting your head out of the window. I will do the same; we can then sing out to one another across the street, like two canary birds."
"But as I am here now," said the Doctor, with a bow, "I claim to be allowed to eat this piece of birthday cake in peace among friendly faces."
"Then I beg of you to resign the sight of my face without overpowering sorrow," replied Hummel.
He opened the door into the garden, and went down the steps discontentedly. While still at a distance he saw the young group of roses smiling innocently in the light of the sun. He walked round the spot, shook his head, and invited his ladies into the garden.
"Which of you got this idea?" he asked.
The ladies showed such lively surprise that he was convinced of their innocence. He called to the old storekeeper and the book-keeper. All showed entire ignorance. The countenance of Mr. Hummel became gloomy.
"What does this mean? Some one has slipped in here while we were asleep. Night garden-work is not to my taste. Who has ventured to enter my property without permission? Who has brought in these products of nature?"
He went restlessly along the side of the water: behind him followed Spitehahn. The dog crept down the steps to the water, smelt at a bit of brown wood which lay on the last step, came up again, turned towards the house of Mr. Hahn, and set up his back like a cat, mockingly, and made a snarling noise. It meant as clearly as if he had spoken the friendly words, "I wish you a pleasant meal."
"Right," cried Hummel; "the intruder has left the handle of the rudder behind. The brown handle belongs to the boat of the park-keeper. Take it over to him, Klaus. I demand an answer; who has ventured to bring his boat alongside here?"
The storekeeper hastened away with the piece of wood, and brought back the answer with an embarrassed air:
"Mr. Hahn had borrowed the boat in the night."
"If there are forebodings," cried Hummel, angrily, "this was one. This nocturnal prowling of your father I forbid under all circumstances," he continued, to the Doctor.
"I know nothing of it," rejoined the Doctor. "If my father has done this, I beg of you, even if you do not value the roses, to be pleased with the good intention."
"I protest against every rose that may be strewed on my path," cried Hummel. "First we had poisoned dumplings, with evil intentions; and now rose leaves, with good ones. Your father should think of something else than such jokes. The ground and soil are mine, and I intend to prevent roosters from scratching here."
He charged wildly into the roses, seized hold of stems and branches, tore them out of the ground, and threw them into a confused heap.
The Doctor turned gloomily away, but Laura hastened to her father and looked angrily into his hard face.
"What you have rooted up," she exclaimed, "I will replace with my own hands."
She ran to a corner of the garden, brought some pots, knelt down on the ground, and pressed the stems with the little balls of earth into them as eagerly as her father had rooted them up.
"I will take care of them," she called out, to the Doctor; "tell your dear father that not all in our house undervalue his friendship."
"Do what you cannot help," replied Mr. Hummel, more quietly. "Klaus, why do you stand there on your hind legs staring like a tortoise? Why do you not help Miss Hummel in her garden-work. Then carry the whole birthday-present back again to the youthful flower-grower. My compliments, and he must in the darkness have mistaken the gardens."
He turned his back upon the company, and went with heavy steps to his office. Laura knelt on the ground and worked at the ill-used roses with heightened color and gloomy determination. The Doctor helped silently. He had seen his father behind the hedge, and knew how deeply the poor man would feel this latest outburst on the part of his adversary. Laura did not desist till she had put all the flowers as well as possible into the pots; then she plunged her hands into the stream, and her tears mixed with the water. She led the Doctor back to the room; there she wrung her hands, quite beside herself.
"Life is horrible; our happiness is destroyed in this miserable quarrel. Only one thing can save you and me. You are a man, and must find out what can deliver us from this misery."
She rushed out of the room; the mother beckoned eagerly to the Doctor to remain behind, when he was on the point of following.
"She is beside herself," cried Fritz. "What do her words mean? What does she desire of me?"
The mother seated herself on the sofa, embarrassed and full of anxiety, cleared her throat, and twisted at her sleeves.
"I must confide something to you, Doctor," she began, hesitatingly, "which will be very painful to us both; but I know not what to do, and all the representations that I make to my unhappy child are in vain. Not to conceal anything from you, – it is a strange freak, – and I should have thought such a thing impossible."
She stopped and concealed her face in her pocket-handkerchief. Fritz looked anxiously at the disturbed face of Mrs. Hummel. A secret of Laura's that he had for weeks foreboded was now to fall destructively on his hopes.
"I will confess all to you, dear Doctor," continued the mother, with many sighs. "Laura esteems you beyond measure, and the thought of becoming your wife-I must say it in confidence-is not strange or disagreeable to her. But she has a fearful idea in her head, and I am ashamed to express it."
"Speak out," said the Doctor, in despair.
"Laura wishes you to elope with her."
Fritz was dazed.
"It is scarcely for a mother to express this wish to you, but I do not know how to do otherwise."
"But where to?" cried the Doctor, quite aghast.
"That is the most painful part of all, as you yourself must acknowledge. What put the idea into her head, whether poetry, or reading about the great world in the newspapers, I know not. But to her frame of mind, which is always excited and tragic, I can oppose no resistance. I am afraid to impart it to my husband. I conjure you to do what you can to calm my child. Her feelings are wounded, and I can no longer resist the inward struggle for this young heart."
"I beg permission," replied the Doctor, "to speak immediately with Laura on the subject."
Without waiting for the mother's answer, he hastened up the stairs to Laura's room. He knocked, but receiving no answer, opened the door. Laura was sitting by her writing-table, sobbing violently.
"Dear, sweet Laura," exclaimed the Doctor, "I have been speaking with your mother; let me know all."
Laura started.
"Every warm feeling is rejected with scorn, every hour that I see you is embittered by the hostility of my father. The heart of the poorest maiden palpitates when she hears the voice of the man she loves: but I must ask, is that the happiness of love? When I do not see you I am in anxiety about you, and when you come to us I feel tormented, and listen with terror to every word of my father. I see you joyless and cast down. Fritz, your love for me, makes you unhappy."
"Patience, Laura," said the Doctor; "let us persevere. My confidence in your father's heart is greater than yours. He will gradually reconcile himself to me."
"Yes, after he has broken both our hearts; even great love is crushed by constant opposition. I cannot, amidst the wrangling of our hostile families, become your wife; the narrow street and the old hatred are destructive to me. I have often sat here lamenting that I was not a man who could boldly battle for his own happiness. Listen to a secret, Fritz," she said, approaching him, again wringing her hands; "here I am becoming haughty, malicious, and wicked."
"I have observed nothing of that kind," replied Fritz, astonished.
"I conceal it from you," exclaimed Laura; "but I struggle daily with bad thoughts, and I am indifferent to the love of my parents. When my father pats my head, the devil cries within me he had better let it alone. When my mother admonishes me to have patience, her talk secretly irritates me, because she uses finer words than are necessary. I hate the dog, so that I often beat him without cause. The conversation at the Sunday dinner, the stories of the old actor, and the eternal little tittle-tattle of the street appear insupportable to me. I feel that I am an odious creature, and I have frequently in this place wept over and hated myself. These bad fits are ever recurring and become more overpowering. I shall never be better here: where we live under a curse, like two spoiled children. We sink, Fritz, in these surroundings! Even the loving care of parents ceases to make one happy-the anxiety that one should not wet one's feet, that one should wear woolen stockings, and have cakes and sugar plums on a Sunday-is one to go through all this every year of one's life?"
She hastily opened her journal, and held out to him a bundle of poems and letters.
"Here are your letters; through these I have learnt to love you, for here is what I revere in you. Thus would I always have you be. When, therefore, I think of what you have to go through between our houses and to bear from my father, and when I observe that you wear a double shawl under every rough blast, I become anxious and worried about you; and I see you before me as a pampered book-worm, and myself as a little stout woman with a large cap and an insignificant face, sitting before the coffee cups, talking over the daily passers by, and this thought oppresses my heart."
Fritz recognized his letters. He had long felt certain that Laura was his secret confidant, but when he now looked at the loved one who held up to him the secret correspondence, he no longer thought of the caprice which had occasioned him so much grief; he thought only of the true-heartedness and of the poetry of this tender connexion.
"Dear, dear Laura," he exclaimed, embracing her; "it seems as if two souls with which my heart had intercourse had become one, but you now divide me and yourself into human beings of daily life, and into higher natures. What has destroyed your cheerful confidence?"
"Our difficulties, Fritz, and the sorrow of seeing you without pleasure, and hearing your voice without being elevated by it; you are with me, and yet further off from me than in those days when I did not see you at all, or only in the society of friends."
She released herself from his embrace.
"Do you love me? and are you the man who has written these? If so, venture to withdraw me from this captivity. Begin a new life with me. I will work with you and be self-denying; you shall see of what I am capable; I will think day and night of how I can earn our maintenance, that you may be undisturbed by petty cares in your learned work. Be brisk and bold, cast off your eternal caution, venture for once to do what others may look at askance."
"If I were to do it," answered Fritz, seriously, "the risk would be small for me. For you the consequences may be such as you do not think of. How can you imagine that a rash determination can be good for you if it throws fresh discord into your soul, and burdens your whole life with a feeling of guilt towards others?"
"If I take upon myself to do what is wrong," exclaimed Laura, gloomily, "I do it not for myself alone. I feel but too well that it is wrong, but I venture it for our love. Never will my father voluntarily lay my hand in yours. He knows that I am devoted to you, and is not so hard as to wish my unhappiness, but he cannot overcome his disinclination. One day he is compelled to acknowledge that you are the man to whom I ought to belong, the next the bitter feeling of how hateful it is to him again returns. If you venture to defy him you will do what is really agreeable to him; show a strong will, and, though he may be angry, he will easily be appeased by your courage. He loves me," she said in a low tone, "but he is fearfully hard to others."
"Is he always so?" asked the Doctor. "It is clear the daughter does not know the full worth of her father. I should at this moment be doing both him and you an injustice if I were to conceal from you what he wishes to keep secret. Listen, then: when my poor father was sitting by me in despair, your father entered our house and gave us in the most magnanimous way the means of averting the threatened blow. Do you not know that his sulkiness and quarrelsomeness are frequently only the expression of a rough humor?"
Laura watched his mouth as if she wished to devour every word that fell from his lips.
"Did my father do this?" she exclaimed, startled to the utmost, raising her arms towards heaven, and throwing herself down upon her writing-table.
Fritz wished to raise her.
"Leave me," she entreated, passionately, "it will pass off. I am happy. Leave me alone now, beloved one."
The Doctor closed the door gently, and went down to the mother, who still sat on the sofa overwhelmed with anxiety, revolving in her mind, with motherly alarm, all the exciting scenes of an elopement.
"I beg of you," he said, "not to worry Laura now by remonstrances. She will regain her calmness. Trust to her noble heart."
With these wise words the Doctor endeavored to comfort himself. Meanwhile Laura lay supported against the chair, and thought over her injustice to her father. For years she had borne the sorrow which is bitterest to the heart of a child, and now the pressure was taken from her soul. At last she arose, drew out her diary, tore out one page after another, crumpled up the leaves and threw them into the fire-a small sacrifice. She watched it till the last sparks flickered in the dark ashes, then she closed the stove and hastened out of the room.
Mr. Hummel was sitting in his warehouse before a battalion of new hats with broad brims and round crowns, which were placed for review before his field-marshal's eye, and he spoke reprovingly to his bookkeeper:
"They are like mere barbers' basins; man is losing his dignity. At all events, we shall make profit by these coverings: no one notices the cats'-hairs of which they are made; but they rob the head of the German citizen of the last breath of fresh air that he has hitherto secretly carried about with him in his high hat. In my youth one recognized a citizen by three points: on his body he wore a coat of blue cloth, on his head a black hat, and in his pocket a great house-key, with the ring of which, in case of assault by night, he could twist the noses of assassins. Now he goes off in a gray jacket to drink his beer, opens the door of the house with a small corkscrew, and the last high hat will probably be bought up as a rarity for art collections. You may immediately put aside part of our manufacture for antiquarians."
This pleasant grumbling was interrupted by Laura, who entered eagerly, seized her father's hand with an imploring look, and drew him from his warehouse into his small office. Mr. Hummel submitted to be thus led, as patiently as Lot when the angel led him from the burning cities of the valley. When she was alone with her father she threw her arms about his neck, kissed and stroked his cheek, and for a long time could bring out nothing but "My good, noble father." Mr. Hummel was well pleased with this stormy fashion of endearment for a time.
"Now I have had enough of this caressing. What do you want? This introduction is too grand for a new parasol or a concert ticket."
"Father," cried Laura, "I know all that you have done for our neighbor. I beg your forgiveness; I, unfortunate one, have misunderstood your heart, and have many times inwardly resented your harshness."
She kissed his hands, tears falling from her eyes.
"Has that dough-face over the way been blabbing?" asked Mr. Hummel.
"He was obliged to tell me, and it was a happy moment for me. Now I will acknowledge all to you with shame and repentance. Forgive me."
She sank down before him.
"Father, I have long been sick at heart. I have thought you pitiless. Your eternal grumbling and enmity to our neighbor have made me very unhappy, and my life here has often been miserable."
Mr. Hummel sat erect and serious, but a little dismayed at the confession of his child, and he had an indistinct impression that he had carried his rough opposition too far.
"That is enough," he said; "this is all excitement and imagination. If I have been vexed through all these years, it has not done me any harm, nor the people over the way either. It is an unreasonable sorrow that now excites your lamentations."
"Have consideration for me," entreated Laura. "An irresistible longing to go forth from this narrow street, has entered my soul. Father, I would like to take a leap into the world."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Hummel. "I also should like to take a leap into it, if I only knew where this jolly world could be found."
"Father, you have often told me how light was your heart when you wandered forth as a boy from your native town, and that from these wanderings you became a man."
"That is true," replied Hummel. "It was a fine morning, and I had eight pence in my pocket. I was as lively as a dog with wings."
"Father, I also should like to rove about."
"You?" asked Hummel. "I have laid aside my knapsack; there are only a few hairs remaining on it, but you may tie your boots over it; then one cannot see it."
"Good father, I also want to go out and seek my way among strangers, and look out for what will please me. I will try my powers, and fight my may with my own hands."