The Professor interposed:
"It is a cause for sorrow; but where, perhaps, the individual loses, the whole gains?"
"Undoubtedly not," replied the courtier; "if only the gain to the whole was certain. But I see with astonishment that the greatest concerns of the nation are carried on, on all sides, with school-boyish pettiness. Much that is valuable is lost; nothing better is gained. The delicacy of feeling which formerly expressed itself beneficially in all forms of intercourse, and the discreet management of important affairs, become rare. If these advantages did not suffice to form the character, as is perhaps needed in the present, they made life pleasing and beautiful. A secure feeling of superiority, and a gracious rule over others, was general at courts and in business; of this we are deprived. Diplomacy has ceased to be distinguished. One sets bluntly to work; not only nobleness of feeling, but even the pleasing show of it is wanting; an uncertain pettiness, a grumbling, irritable, reserved character has gained the upper hand at courts, and in diplomacy ill-bred frivolity, without knowledge and without manly will. Our princes rattle about like accoutred idlers; the old court discipline is lost, and one feels oneself incessantly on the defensive, and seeks for safety in senseless attacks. It is impossible not to feel that by these acts one is irretrievably going downward."
The Professor smiled at the sorrow of the old lord.
"I do not blame you," continued the High Steward, "if you do not feel the misfortune of this change as deeply as I do. It is only a pity that it should always be the highest earthly interests which are thus trifled with."
"But is this misfortune so general?" replied the Professor.
"Some splendid exceptions have not been wanting," said the High Steward; "some were granted us at a time when we played the greatest tragedy before the world, as if here and there to preserve a bright romance. They have scarcely been wanting in a country which possesses the five qualities which are necessary to form a good court: an upright sovereign, an amiable princess, a high-minded statesman, some intellectual court ladies, and a superior spirit among the cavaliers. But these requisites are seldom found."
"Were they ever frequent?"
"They were the pride of our nation at the time from which my earliest recollections date," replied the High Steward.
"Just at this time we gained something else of which we may still be proud," rejoined the Scholar. "There was a short period during which the Court became the home of the most liberal culture of the time, and it was only through the rare political circumstances of our nation that this leadership was possible. Now it has passed into other circles, and we have exchanged the increased capacity of many for the distinguished culture of individuals."
"In this also there is a loss," returned the High Steward; "distinguished men have become rare. I am ready to acknowledge the advance which the citizen classes have made in the last fifty years. But the capacity which a people develop in trade and commerce is seldom united with secure self-respect, nay, seldom also with that firmly-established position which is necessary to political strength. Too frequently we find a wavering between discontented insolence and over-great subserviency; covetousness abounds, and self-sacrifice is small. Wealth increases everywhere; who can deny that? But not in the same degree a comprehension of the highest interests of the nation."
"Time will improve," rejoined the Scholar, "and our sons will become firmer and freer; here too our future belongs to those who work laboriously."
"Much may be lost," said the High Steward, "before the improvement which you expect becomes great enough to secure to those who are struggling onward a salutary and active participation in the affairs of government. I am too old to nourish myself with hopes, and therefore cannot adopt your sanguine conception of our situation. I wish for the good of our nation, in whatever way it may come. I know it has passed through crises more critical than its present swaying between a decaying and a rising culture. But I feel that the air in which I live is growing more sultry; the tense excitement of contrast more dangerous. When I look back on a long life, I sometimes feel horror at the moral pestilence that I have contemplated. It was not a time of gigantic vices like your Imperial era, but it was a time in which, after short poetic dreams, the weakness of petty souls ruled and brought distraction. The figures which in this lamentable time have passed away will appear to posterity, not fearful, but grotesque and contemptible. You, Professor, live in a new epoch in which a younger generation awkwardly endeavors to rise. I have no sympathy for the new style. I have not the courage to hope, for I have no power to promote the culture of the younger generation."
He had risen. The old man and the young, vigorous man, the diplomat and the scholar, stood opposite to each other; the one an advocate for the world which was tending downwards; the other a proclaimer of a teaching which was unceasingly to renew the old world; secret sorrow lay on the calm countenance of the old man, and feeling, vigorous feeling, worked in the animated features of the younger: a high mind and a refined spirit were visible in the open countenance of both.
"What we had to say to one another," continued the High Steward, "is said. I have endeavored to make amends for my mistake in regard to you. May the gossiping openness with which I have exposed myself to your judgment be some small compensation for my having been so long silent. It is the best satisfaction that I can give to a man of your sort. As respects the diseased state of mind of others, which was the subject of our conversation, there need be no further words between us; both of us will endeavor to do what is our duty concerning the men that are entrusted to our care, to preserve them from danger and to guard ourselves. Mr. Werner, farewell. May the occupation which you have chosen preserve your joyful confidence in your time and your generation for as many years as I bear on my head. This highest happiness of man, I, an insignificant individual, have painfully felt the want of, as did your great Roman."
"Allow me, your Excellency, to express one request to you," replied the Scholar, with warm feeling. "Often may the unpractical activity of the new apostles evoke a bitter smile from you, and the unfinished work which we pioneers of learning throw off will not always satisfy the demands which you make upon us; but when you are compelled to blame us, remember, with forbearance, that our nation can only bear within it the guaranty of renewing youth so long as it does not lose respect for intellectual aspiration, and retains its simple honesty, in love and hate. So long as the nation renews itself, it may inspire its princes and leaders with new life; for we are not Romans, but staunch and warm-hearted Germans."
"Nero no longer ventures to burn the apostles of a new doctrine," replied the High Steward, with a sad smile. "May I say something kindly from you to the Sovereign, as far as is compatible with your dignity?"
"I beg you to do so," replied the Professor.
The Professor hastened to take leave of the Princess. She received him in the presence of her ladies and the Marshal. Few words were exchanged. Upon expressing the hope of seeing him soon again at the capital, speech almost forsook her. When he had left the room, she flew up to her library and looked down on the carriage into which the chest was being put. She plucked some flowers which the gardener had placed in her room, and fastened them together with a ribbon.
"His eye looked upon you, and his voice sounded in the narrow halls in which you are passing your life. It was a short dream! No, not a dream, a beautiful picture from a new world."
"As the womanly heart submits, in loving devotion, to the stronger mind of a life-companion, her eye fixed upon his, such is the happiness of which I have had a presage. Only once has my hand touched his, but I feel as if I had lain on his heart, invisible, bodiless. No one knows it, not even himself, I alone felt the happiness. Light, airy bond, woven of the tenderest threads that ever were drawn from one human soul to another, thou must be torn and blown away! Only the consciousness remains that the inclination which drew two strangers together has been forever a blessing to one of them.
"You, earnest man, go on your path, and I on mine; and if accident should bring us together, then we shall bow civilly to each other, and greet one another with courtly speeches. Farewell, my scholar. When I meet with one of your associates, I shall henceforth know that he belongs to the silent community, in whose porch I have humbly bowed my head."
From the tops of the trees on which the princely child was looking down the birds were singing. The carriage rolled away; she bent down, and held the nosegay with outstretched hand; then with a powerful swing she threw the flowers on to the top of a tree; they hung among the leaves; a little bird flew out, but the next moment he again perched by the nosegay, and continued his song. But the Princess leaned her head against the wall of the tower.
The Scholar drove to the city with the chest he had found beside him. More rapid and stormy than on his coming were the thoughts that flitted through his soul; he hastened the coachman, and an indefinite anxiety fixed his looks on the rising towers of the capital. But amidst all, he ever saw the figure of the High Steward before him, and heard the sorrowful words of his soft voice.
"Immeasurably great is the difference between the narrow relations of this Court and the mighty greatness of Imperial Rome; immeasurably great also the difference between the troubled Court lord and the gloomy power of a Roman senator. And yet there is something in the structure of the soul that has this day displayed itself to me which reminds me of a figure from a time long past; and what he said sounds in my soul like a feeble tone from the heart of the man whose work I seek in vain. For just as we endeavor to explain the present from the past, so do we interpret circumstances and figures of a past time in the light of the men that live around us. The past unceasingly sends its spirit into our souls, and we unceasingly adapt the past to conform to the needs of our hearts."
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE MAGISTER'S EXIT
Professor Raschke was sitting on the floor of his room. The bright colors of his Turkish dressing-gown were faded; constant perseverance in scientific service had given it a tinge of pale grey, but it still continued worthily to cover the limbs of its master. The Professor had seated himself by the side of his eldest son Marcus, in order to facilitate the latter's study of the first book of A, B, C. While the little one, tired of the pictures, was resting, his father made use of the pause to draw a small copy of Aristotle out of his pocket. He read, and made remarks with a pencil, not observing that his son Marcus had long thrown away the picture book, and with the other children danced round their father.
"Papa, take your legs away; we can't get round them," exclaimed Bertha, the eldest, from whom, indeed, one might have expected greater discretion.
Raschke drew in his legs, and as after that he found his seat uncomfortable, he desired the children to bring him a chair. They brought the chair, and he supported his back against it.
"We can't get around yet," cried the dancing children.
Raschke looked up. "Then I will sit upon the chair."
That was satisfactory to the children, and the noisy hubbub continued.
"Come here, Bertha," said Raschke; "you may act as my desk." He laid the book on her head whilst he read and wrote; and the little one stood as still as a mouse under the book, and scolded the others because they made a noise.
There was a knock; the Doctor entered.
"Ha, Fritz!" called out the Professor; "I hardly recognized you; I must try to recall your face. Is it right to set your friends aside in this way, when a friendly greeting might do you good? Laura has told me what has happened to your dear father. A heavy loss," he continued, sorrowfully: "if I am not mistaken, two hundred thousand."
"Just one cipher too much."
"It matters little," replied Raschke, "what the loss is, compared with the sorrow it occasions. I should have been with you, Fritz, at that time. I started immediately, but a circumstance interfered with my intention," he added, embarrassed. "I have long been accustomed to go to your street in the evening, and-well-I got to the wrong house, and with difficulty found my way back to the lecture."
"Do not pity me," replied the Doctor; "rejoice with me-I am a happy man. I have just now found, what I despaired of obtaining, Laura's heart and the consent of her father."
Raschke clapped the Doctor on the shoulder, and pressed first one hand, then the other. "The father's!" he exclaimed; "he was the hindrance. I know something of him, and I know his dog. If I may judge of the man by his dog," he continued, doubtingly, "he must be a character. Is it not so, my friend?"
The Doctor laughed. "There has been an old enmity brooding over our street. My poor soul has been unkindly treated by him, like the Psyche in the tale of Venus. He vents his anger upon me, and gives me insoluble tasks. But beneath all his insolence, I perceive that he is reconciled to my attachment. I anticipate happiness, for I am to-day to accompany Laura to Bielstein. On my friend's account alone have I wished to start earlier on this journey. I cannot rid myself of one anxiety. I am disturbed that the Magister is in the neighborhood of Werner."
Raschke passed his hand through his hair. "Indeed," he exclaimed.
"I have distinct reasons for this," continued the Doctor. "The dealer who was said, to have brought the forged parchment strip of Struvelius to the city was sent to me by the mother of the Magister. I dealt severely with him, as was natural; but he assured me that he knew nothing of such a parchment, and never had sold such a sheet to the Magister. The anger of the man at the false assertion of the Magister has made me very anxious. It confirms a suspicion that I have expressed in a letter with respect to the genuineness of another piece of writing which has been mentioned to me by Werner from the capital. I cannot help fearing that the Magister himself was the forger, and a terror comes over me at the thought that he is now exercising his art upon our friend."
"That is a very serious affair," exclaimed Raschke, pacing up and down, disquieted. "Werner trusted the Magister implicitly."
The Doctor also paced up and down. "Only think, if his noble confidence should make him the victim of a deceit. Fancy what a bitter sorrow that would be to him. He would long struggle sternly and self-tormentingly with a painful impression, which we should not be able to obliterate without great effort."
"You are quite right," said Raschke, again passing his hand through his hair. "It is not in him to be able to overcome moral delinquency without great excitement. You must warn him at once, and that face to face."
"Unfortunately I cannot do that for several days; meanwhile, I beg of you to make Professor Struvelius acquainted with the statement of the dealer."
The Doctor went away. Raschke forgot Aristotle, and meditated anxiously on the treachery of the Magister. Whilst so doing, there was a knock, and Struvelius, with Flaminia, stood at the open door.
Raschke greeted them, called his wife, begged them to sit down, and quite forgot that he was in his Turkish dressing-gown.
"We come with one wish," began Flaminia, solemnly. "It is with respect to our colleague Werner. My husband will impart to you what has moved us both deeply."
Raschke started up from his chair. Struvelius, whose emotion was only visible in his bristly hair, began: "We were called yesterday to the police-station. When the brother of Magister Knips fled to America, his things were taken possession of on the application of petty creditors, and as the greater portion of his effects were at his mother's house, they were taken away from there. Amongst them were utensils and portfolios which evidently did not belong to the fugitive, but to his brother; one of those portfolios contained tracings after the style of manuscripts, unfinished attempts to imitate old writings, and written parchment sheets. The officials had been surprised at these, and requested me to inspect them. It appeared upon closer observation that the Magister had long been occupied in acquiring the skill of imitating the characters of the Middle Ages. And from the fragments I have found in the portfolio, there can be no doubt that he has other forgeries in his collection, some of which answer exactly to that parchment strip."
"That is enough, Struvelius," began his wife. "Now let me speak. You may imagine, dear colleague, that Werner at once occurred to us, and that we were greatly alarmed lest the husband of our friend should get into trouble through the deceiver. I asked Struvelius to write Professor Werner, but he preferred to inform him through you. This method also appeared most satisfactory to me."
Raschke, without saying a word, took off his dressing-gown, and ran in his shirt-sleeves about the room, searching in all the corners. At last he found his hat, which he put on.
"What are you about, Raschke!" exclaimed his wife.
"Why do you ask?" he said, hastily; "there is no time for delay. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Struvelius," he said observing his sleeves, and again put on his dressing-gown, but in his excitement he still kept on his hat, and thus attired, seated himself opposite his friends. Bertha, at a sign from her mother, gently took his hat off.
"A quick decision is necessary in this case," he repeated.
"There is no reason," continued Struvelius, "for withholding the property of the Magister from his mother; but, meanwhile, they would willingly allow you an inspection of the writings."
"That I do not wish," exclaimed Raschke; "it would spoil the day for me. Your judgment, Struvelius, satisfies me."
There was some further excited interchange of views, and the visitors left. Again Raschke rushed stormily about, so that the skirts of his dressing-gown flew over the chairs.
"Dear Aurelia, do not be frightened; I have made up my mind. I shall set out to-morrow."
Mrs. Raschke clasped her hands together.
"What are you thinking of, Raschke?"
"It is necessary," he said. "I despair of shaking the firm views of Werner by letter. My duty is to try whether persuasive words and detailed representations will have greater effect. I must know in what relation my friend stands to the Magister. From certain intimations of the Doctor, I fear the worst from the activity of the forger. I have a short vacation before me, and I cannot employ it better."
"But, Raschke, you wish to travel!" asked his wife, reproachfully. "How can you engage in such an undertaking?"
"You mistake me, Aurelia; in our city I sometimes do lose my bearings, but in foreign parts I always find my way."
"Because you have never yet been alone in foreign parts," replied the prudent wife.
Raschke approached her, and raised his hand warningly.
"Aurelia, it is for our friend, and one must pay no regard to trifles."
"You will never get there," rejoined his wife, with sad foreboding.
"It is much easier to speed through half the world in a secure vessel than to go on two legs through our streets; half acquaintances are the most unreliable."
"Then the money for the journey, Raschke?" whispered Mrs. Aurelia, in a low voice, that the children might not hear.
"You have in your linen cupboard an old black savings-box," replied Raschke, slily. "Do you think I know nothing of it?"
"What I have collected in that is for a new dress-coat."
"You wish to take away from me my old one?" asked Raschke, indignantly; "it is well that I have made the discovery. I would now travel to the capital even if I had no occasion for it. Out with the box!"
Mrs. Aurelia went slowly, brought the savings-box, and with silent reproach, put it into his hands. The Professor tossed the money, together with the box, into his breeches' pocket, threw his arm round his wife, and kissed her on the forehead.
"You are my own dear wife," he exclaimed; "and now there must be no delay. Bring me Plato and Spinoza."
Plato was the silk cap, and Spinoza the thick cloak of the Professor. These treasures of the house were so called because they had been bought with the money earned by two books on those philosophers. The impression which the works had made on the learned world had been very great, but the remuneration very small. A commotion arose among the children, for in winter these beautiful articles were sometimes brought out for a Sunday walk. The little troop ran with their mother to fetch them.
"Be sure and bring them back, Raschke. I am so afraid you will lose one of them."
"As I have told you, Aurelia, in traveling you may depend upon me."
"I will write a few lines to Werner; he must take care that you keep them both. I will put the letter in your coat pocket, if you will only give it to him."
"Why not?" exclaimed Raschke, courageously.
The following morning Mrs. Aurelia accompanied her husband to the point from which the coach started and took care that he came to the right place.
"If you were only safely home again!" she said, piteously.
Raschke kissed her gallantly, and seated himself on his traveling-bag.
"The seats are remarkably high," he cried out, with his legs dangling. His traveling companions laughed, and he said, civilly, "I beg the gentlemen to excuse me."
The lamps burned, and the moon shone through the white mist on the walls of the Pavilion when the Professor returned there. No ray of light fell from the windows. The house stood gloomy and abandoned, and a blue phosphorescence seemed to glimmer above it. The door was closed; the lackey had disappeared. The Scholar pulled the bell. At last some one came down the stairs. Gabriel appeared, and gave vent to a cry of joy when he saw his master before him.
"How is my wife?" asked the Professor.
"Mrs. Werner is not at home," replied Gabriel, shyly. He beckoned his master into the room: there he gave him Ilse's letter. The Professor read the lines, and held them in his hands as if stunned. This also was a manuscript which he had found. It informed him that his wife had gone from him: every word went like a dagger to his heart. When he looked at Gabriel he perceived that he did not yet know all. The servant told him what had happened. The Scholar pushed the chair from him; his limbs trembled as in a fever.
"We will leave this house immediately," he said, faintly; "collect all the things."
Like a Romish priest who prays in secret devotion to his God, he had veiled his head from the sounds which sought to penetrate his soul from the outward world. He had closed his ears and eyes to the figures that moved about him. Now fate had torn the veil from his head.
"Mr. Hummel would not depart before your arrival," continued Gabriel; "he is in great haste."
"I shall go to his inn; follow me," said the Professor; "but first mention at the castle that I have departed."
He turned away and left the house. As he passed by the castle, he cast a wild look on the windows of the room which the Sovereign inhabited. "He is not returned yet; patience," he murmured. He then went, as if in a state of stupor, to the inn. He ordered a room, and inquired after his landlord. Immediately afterwards Mr. Hummel entered.
"Good news," began the latter, in his softest tone; "a messenger from the Crown Inspector brings me the report that they have all made a safe journey. It must have been a matter of caution that there is no letter for you."
"It was indeed a matter of caution," repeated the Scholar, and his head sank heavily on his breast.
Mr. Hummel seated himself close to him, and whispered in his ear. At the last words the Professor sprang up in terror, and a groan sounded through the room.
"A man is not a screech owl," declared Mr. Hummel, pacifyingly; "and it would be unjust to expect of him that he should be able to distinguish in the darkness the head from the tail of a rat; but every householder knows that there are also worthless contrivances of architecture. These intimations I make to you only, to no one else. I sent my card a few days ago to your father-in-law. Little Fritz Hahn has, in your absence, become a Doctor Faustus, who will carry off my poor child under his fiend's cloak to Bielstein. May I announce your arrival there?"
"Say," replied the Scholar, gloomily, "that I will come as soon as I have settled matters here."
He held Mr. Hummel firmly by the hand, as if he did not like to part from the confidant of his wife, and led him down to the hall. New travelers had arrived there, and a little gentleman in a cloak and a beautiful silk traveling-cap, turned, without looking from under a large umbrella, to the Professor, and said:
"I should be much obliged if you would show me to a room, waiter. Am I in the right place here?"
He mentioned the name of the city; the Professor took the gentleman's traveling-bag from him, seized him by the arm without saying a word, and took him rapidly up the stairs.
"Very polite," exclaimed Raschke, "I thank you sincerely, but I am not at all tired; my only wish is to speak to Professor Werner. Can you arrange for an audience with him?"
Werner opened his room, took off his hat, and embraced him.
"My dear colleague," cried Raschke, "I am the most fortunate traveler in the world: usually a pilgrim on the highroad is contented if no misfortune happens to him, but I have met in the carriage with modest and thoughtful men. The conductor on changing carriages carried my cap after me, and some one kindly accompanied me to this house; and now when, for the first time, I stand on my own feet, I find myself in the arms of him whom I came to see. It is a pleasure to travel, colleague: at every mile-stone one observes how good and warm-hearted the people are among whom we live. We are fools that we do not deliver our lectures in carriages; the anxieties of our wives are unjustifiable; a man can manage by himself."
Thus did Raschke exult.
"Who lives in this room-I or you?"
"You may remain with me or have the adjacent room, as you please," replied Werner.
"Then with you; for I wish to be without you, my friend, as little as possible."
"You come to a man who is in need of consolation," said the Scholar. "My wife is with her father; I am alone," he added, with faltering voice.
"You look to me like a traveler who draws his cloak around him in bad weather," exclaimed Raschke; "therefore what I bring you will at any rate not disturb you in cheerful repose. My business as messenger is to lower a human soul in your eyes; that is hard for us both."
"I have to-day experienced what would shatter the foundations of the strongest structure. There can be but little that would shock me now: I am composed enough to listen."
Raschke seated himself by him and told his story. He fidgeted about on the sofa, slapped his friend on the knee, stroked his arm, and begged for composure.
Again was a veil drawn from the head of the seeker, who had believed himself to be speaking alone with his God. The Scholar was silent, and did not flinch.
"This is fearful, friend?" he said, at last.
With that he broke off, and the whole evening he did not say a word about the Magister.
The following morning the Professors sat together in Werner's room. Werner at last threw the two parchment sheets on the table.
"With these at least the Magister has had nothing to do. I myself fetched them out of the old rubbish: there lies the missal on the chest. It demands great self-control for me to look at that dearly-bought acquisition."
Raschke examined the parchment.
"Highly valuable," he exclaimed, "if it is genuine, as it appears." He hastened to the chest and examined the missal. "Probably the initial letters of the book will afford some evidence as to whether the missal was used in the cloister of Rossau," he said. "I regret that my knowledge of monastic customs does not extend to this test."
He opened the chest and took up the contents. Of the absence of mind which usually disturbed him nothing was to be observed: he looked round with sharp eyes, as if he were searching the dark words of a philosopher.
"Very remarkable," he exclaimed. "Only one thing surprises me. Has the chest been cleaned out?"
"No," replied Werner, irritably.
"The three companions of a century's repose are wanting-dust, cobwebs, and grubs; yet there ought to have been something on the inside of the lid or on the bottom, for the chest has crevices which allow of the entrance of insects."
He rummaged again, and examined the bottom.
"Under a splinter of wood there hangs a bit of paper."
He drew out a tiny piece of paper, and a deep shadow passed over his noble features.
"Dear friend, compose yourself, and be prepared for an unwelcome discovery. On this fragment there are only six printed words, but they are the characters of our time: it is a piece of one of our newspapers, and one of the six words is a name well known in the politics of our day."
He laid the bit of paper on the table. Werner stared at it without saying a word; his countenance was changed; it seemed as if one hour had done the work of twenty years of care.
"The things were unpacked by me and again put back; it is possible that the paper may have fallen in."
"It is possible," replied Raschke.
The Professor jumped up, and sought in great haste for his pocket copy of Tacitus.
"Here is the reading of the Florentine manuscript, comparison with the parchment sheets will throw light on it." He compared some sentences. "It appears an accurate copy," he said, "too accurate-awkwardly accurate."