The Lost Manuscript Part 25

The last day that the maiden was to pa.s.s in her father's house came.

She went with her sister Clara down to the village, stood by the window of the poor Lazarus, stopped at every house and committed the poor and sick to the care of her sister. Then she sat a long time with the Pastor in his study. The old man held his dear child by the hand and would not let her go. On departing, he gave her the old Bible which his wife had used.

"I meant to take it with me to my last abode," he said, "but it will be better preserved in your hands."

When Ilse returned she seated herself in her room and the maids and workwomen of the house entered one after another. She took leave of each of them separately and spoke to them once more of what each had most at heart, gave comfort and good advice, and a small keepsake from her little store. In the evening she sat between her father and lover.

The tutor had taught the children some verses; Clara brought the bridal wreath, and the little brother appeared as a guardian angel; but when he began his speech he burst out sobbing, concealed his head in Ilse's lap and would not be comforted.

When at bed-time they had all left. Ilse for the last time sat in her chair in the sitting room. When her father prepared to retire, she handed him a candle. The father put it down and paced up and down without speaking. At last he began:

"Your room, Ilse, shall remain unchanged. Should you return to us you shall find it as you left it. No one can replace you here. No one can be what you have been to your brothers, sisters, and to your father. I give you up with sorrow to enter upon a life which is unknown to us both. Good night, my beloved child. Heaven's blessing upon you. G.o.d guard your n.o.ble heart. Be brave. Ilse, for life is full of trials."

He drew her to him and she wept quietly on his breast.

The following day the morning sun shone through the windows of the old wooden church upon the place before the altar. Again Ilse's head was surrounded by a heavenly radiance and the countenance of the man into whose hand the old pastor laid that of his favorite beamed with happiness. The children of the house and the workwomen of the farm strewed flowers. Ilse, with her wreath and veil, stepped over the last flowers of the garden, looking heavenward. From the arms of her father and sisters, amid the loudly expressed blessings of Mrs. Rollmaus and the gently-murmured prayer of the old Pastor, her husband helped her into the carriage. Another hurrah from the people, one more glance at the old home, and Ilse pressed the hand of her husband and clung closely to him.

_CHAPTER XIII_.

THE FIRST GREETINGS OF THE CITY.

The leaves were falling in the woods around the city. Ilse stood at the window thinking of her home. The wreaths over the door were faded, the linen and clothes were stowed away in the presses, her own life glided on so quietly, while all around her was noise and bustle. Her husband was sitting in the next room over his work; no sound but the rustling of the leaves as he turned them penetrated through the door and at times the clattering of plates in the kitchen which was close by. Her dwelling was very pretty, but hedged in on all sides; at one side the narrow street; behind was the neighboring house, with many windows for curious eyes; toward the wood, also, the horizon was shut in by grey trunks and towering branches. From the distance, the hum and cries of the busy town sounded in her ear from morning till night; above were to be heard the tones of a pianoforte, and on the pavement the unceasing tread of the pa.s.sers-by, wagons rolling and loud voices quarreling.

However long she looked out of the window, there were always new people and unknown faces, many beautiful equipages and, on the other hand, many poor people. Ilse thought that every pa.s.ser-by who wore fas.h.i.+onable attire must be a person of distinction, and when she saw a shabby dress she thought how heavily life pressed upon the poor here.

But all were strangers to her; even those who dwelt near, and could watch her proceedings on all sides, had little intercourse with her, and if she inquired concerning individuals, the inmates of her house could give but scanty account of them. All was strange and cold and all was an endless tumult. Ilse felt in her dwelling as if she were on a small island in a stormy sea, and the strange life caused her much anxiety.

But, however gigantic and noisy the town seemed to Ilse, it was at bottom a friendly monster. Nay, it fostered perhaps, rather than otherwise, a secret inclination to poetic feelings and to private courtesy. It was true that the stern burgomasters had given up the custom of welcoming distinguished strangers with wine and fish, but still they sent their first morning greeting through their winged proteges, which had already delighted Ilse's father. The pigeons flew round Ilse's window, crowded against the panes and picked at the wood till Ilse strewed some food for them. When Gabriel removed the breakfast, he could not refrain from taking some credit for this to himself:

"I have for some weeks past scattered food before the window, thinking it would be agreeable to you to see the pigeons."

And when Ilse looked at him gratefully, he continued ingenuously:

"For I also came from the country, and when I first went to the barracks I shared my rations with a strange poodle."

But the town took care that other birds should become intimate with the lady from the country. On the very first day that Ilse went out alone (it was an unpleasant walk, for she could scarcely resist stopping before the showy shop-windows, and she colored when people looked boldly in her face), she had found some poor children in front of a confectioner's, who looked longingly through the windows at the pastry; this longing look bad touched her and she entered and distributed cakes among them. Since then, it happened that every noon there was a slight ringing at Ilse's door, and little children, in tattered clothes, produced empty cans, which were filled and carried home, to the great vexation of Mr. Hummel, who could not approve of such encouragement to rogues.

When Ilse, on the evening of her arrival, was taken by her husband into her room, she found a beautiful cover spread over her table, a masterpiece of fancy work, and on it a card, with the word Welcome.

Gabriel stated that Miss Laura had brought this present. The first visit, therefore, on the following morning was made to those who occupied the lower story. When Ilse entered the sitting-room of the Hummel family, Laura sprang up blus.h.i.+ng, and stood embarra.s.sed before the Professor's wife; her whole soul went out to the stranger, but there was something in Ilse's demeanor that inspired her with awe. Ah!

the much longed-for one was undoubtedly n.o.ble and dignified, even more so than Laura had expected; and she felt herself so very insignificant and awkward that she shyly received Ilse's warm thanks and drew back some steps, leaving it to her mother to do the talking. But she did not weary of gazing at the beautiful woman and, in imagination, adorning her figure with the finest costumes of the tragic stage.

Laura declared to her mother that she would like to make the return visit alone, and on the first suitable day stole upstairs in the twilight hour with beating heart,--yet determined to have a good talk.

But, as accident would have it, immediately after her arrival the Doctor entered, much to the disturbance of the general peace, and consequently there was nothing but a fragmentary conversation, and hackneyed commonplaces which were very unsatisfactory. She took leave, angry with the Doctor and dissatisfied with herself because she had found nothing better to say.

Since then the new lodger upstairs became an object of incessant and secret adoration to Laura. After dinner she placed herself at the window, watching for the hour when Ilse went out with her husband. Then she watched her from behind the curtains with admiration. She would often flit across the hallway and about the door of the lodgers. But when Ilse appeared in the distance she would hide, or if she met her she would make a deep courtesy and, on the spur of the moment, could only think of ordinary things to say. She was much troubled lest her pianoforte playing might disturb her, and inquired at what hours it would be least annoying to her; and, one day when that nuisance of a red dog had snarled at Ilse and had maliciously bitten at her dress, she was so angry that she took her parasol and drove the monster downstairs.

In her mother's name--for she could not venture upon it in her own--she began a campaign of small attentions against the tenants of the upper floor. When venders offered their tempting wares for the kitchen, Laura would frequently disappoint Mr. Hummel's epicurean tastes; for she regularly sent the young geese and fat hens upstairs, till at last the servant, Susan, became so bitter at this preference of the lodgers that she besought the aid of Mrs. Hummel. One day Laura learnt from Gabriel that the Professor's wife had asked for a certain kind of apple; Laura hastened to the market and searched till she found a little basket of them and brought them home; and this time she compelled even Mr. Hummel himself to send up the basket with many compliments. Ilse was pleased with these household courtesies, but did not guess the secret source.

"There is one cla.s.s of people of whom I am much afraid," said Ilse to her husband; "and that is the students. When I was scarcely grown up and on a visit to an aunt, I saw a whole company of them march through the gates with their great swords, hats with plumes, and velvet coats.

They were so wild that I did not venture into the streets all that day.

As I am now to a.s.sociate with these fierce fellows, I shall not exactly be afraid of them, but still they make me uneasy."

"They are not at all so bad," said the Professor, consolingly; "you will soon get accustomed to them."

Notwithstanding this, Ilse awaited the first visit of the students with much anxiety.

It happened that one morning the bell rang just when the Professor was detained at the University library, and Gabriel and the maid had been sent out. Ilse opened the door herself. A young man whose colored cap and black map under his arm proclaimed him a student, started back in surprise. He looked quite different from what she expected, being without ostrich feather or sword, and his face was pale and thin; yet Ilse felt respect for the learned young man, at the same time dreading that the rude nature of his cla.s.s might suddenly break out. She was, however, a brave woman and took a practical view of the visit. As long as the misfortune has come I must be courteous. "You wish to speak to my husband; he is not at home at present. Will you have the kindness to walk in?"

The student, a poor philologist who was a candidate for a scholars.h.i.+p, was thrown into great alarm at the majestic being who stood before him.

He made many bows and did not venture to refuse. Ilse took him into the parlor, motioned him to an arm-chair and asked whether she could be of any service to him. The poor fellow became still more embarra.s.sed and Ilse was also infected by his discomfiture. She made an effort, however, to begin a conversation, and inquired whether he belonged to the city. This was not the case. From what country did he come? she also was a stranger. He proved to be from her own province--not indeed close to her home, but within ten miles of it; he had, therefore, from his earliest youth looked on the same mountains and knew the dialect of her country and the songs of the birds. Now she moved nearer to him and made him converse, till at last they chatted together like old friends.

At length Ilse said: "My husband will probably not be home for some time; I should not like to deprive him of the pleasure of seeing you.

May we have the pleasure of your company at dinner next Sunday?"

Surprised and with expressions of thanks the student arose to take leave and was accompanied to the door by Ilse. But he had been so confused by the adventure that he had forgotten his portfolio. Again he rang the bell diffidently. Again he stood embarra.s.sed at the door and with many excuses asked for his portfolio.

Ilse was pleased with this meeting and with having so well overcome her first difficulty. She called out joyfully to her husband when he came to the door, "Felix, the first student has been here."

"Indeed," answered the husband, in no wise disturbed by the announcement; "what is his name?"

"I do not know his name, but he wore a red cap and said he was not a freshman. I was not at all afraid and I asked him to dinner for Sunday."

"Well," replied the Professor, "if you do that to everyone our house will soon be full."

"Was it not right?" asked Ilse, troubled. "I saw that he was not one of the princ.i.p.al ones, but I wished, on your account, to do too much rather than too little."

"Never mind," said the Professor; "we will not forget that he was the first one to look into your dear face."

Sunday came, and with it, at the hour of noon, the student, who had on this occasion paid exceptional attention to his toilet. But Ilse, observing the demeanor of her husband toward the student, maintained a quiet, motherly dignity. In accordance with this she gave him a second helping of the roast and provided him with quant.i.ties of vegetables.

This kindly treatment and several gla.s.ses of wine, the last of which was poured out by Ilse, strengthened the heart of the student and raised him above the petty things of earthly life. After dinner the Professor conversed with the Doctor on some learned subjects. But Ilse kindly kept up a conversation with the young gentleman and put him so much at his ease that he began to speak of his family affairs. Then the student became confiding and pathetic and began some very sorrowful disclosures. In the first place, naturally, that he had no money; then he ventured to add the painful confession of a tender attachment for the daughter of a lawyer who lived in the same house with him, and whom he had secretly wors.h.i.+ped for a whole year and expressed it in poetry.

But at last the father interposed; he, with a tyranny peculiar to magistrates, forbade the acceptance of the poems by his daughter and contrived to remove the student from the house. Since that time the heart of the student had been an abyss of despair; no longer did any poem--they were sonnets--penetrate to the secluded beloved one. Nay, he even had grounds to believe that she too despised him; for she attended b.a.l.l.s, and only the previous evening he had seen her with flowers in her hair alighting from her father's carriage at a brilliantly lighted house. Sorrowfully he had stood at the door of the house among the spectators; but she had glided past him smiling and beaming. Now he wandered about in despair and alone, weary of his life and full of dismal thoughts, concerning which he gave gloomy intimations. Finally, he asked Ilse's permission to send her these poems which expressed the condition of his heart. Ilse, of course, consented, with expressions of sincere compa.s.sion.

The student took his leave and the next morning Ilse received a package with a very respectful letter, by post, in which he excused himself for not sending her all the poetical pieces which would place his misfortune in the right light, as he had not copies of them ready.

Enclosed with them was a sonnet to Ilse herself, very tender and full of reverence, in which it was clearly the secret intention of the student to make Ilse the mistress of his dreams in the place of his unfaithful love.

Ilse, somewhat embarra.s.sed, laid this enclosure on the writing-table of her husband.

"If I have done wrong, Felix, tell me."

The Professor laughed.

"I will send him back his poem myself; that will cool his ardor. You know now that it is dangerous to receive the confidence of a student.

The poems, by the way, are poorer than need be."

"Thus I have had a lesson," said Ilse, "which I have brought upon myself; for the future I will be more cautious."

But she could not so easily banish the recollection of the student.

Every afternoon, when the weather was favorable. Ilse went at the same hour with her husband to the adjacent wood. The happy couple sought out lonely by-paths, where the branches were more thickly intertwined and the green carpet beneath contrasted gaily with the yellow leaves. Then Ilse thought of the trees on her father's estate; and the conversation with her husband always reverted to her father, brothers, and sisters, and to the latest news she had had from home. In the meadow which extended from the last buildings of the town to the wood there stood a bench under a large bush; from there could be seen the hostile houses in the foreground and behind them the gables and towers of the city.

When Ilse came upon the place the first time, she was pleased at the sight of her own windows and the surrounding gloomy towers, and it led her to think of the seat in the cave, from which she had so often looked on her father's house; she sat down on the bench, drew out the letters which she had just received from her brothers and sisters, and read to her husband the simple sentences in which they reported the latest events on the farm. From that time forth this became her favorite resting-place, as she and her husband bent their steps homeward.