Black Forest Village Stories Part 32

"Oh, that's where the shoe pinches, is it? You blessed scamp, why didn't you tell me that eight years ago?"

"I did not understand it then, father; and, besides, I would not have had the courage to say it."

"Courage,--eh! We'll make short work of it, my fine fellow: you _shall_ be a minister; and there's an end."

"I'd rather jump into the river."

"No occasion for that. You shall never go out of this room alive if you don't give me your hand upon it to be a clerical man."

"That I won't do."

"What? That you won't do?" cried Valentine, seizing him by the throat.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Valentine seized him by the throat.]

"Father," cried Ivo, "for G.o.d's sake, father, let me go: do not force me to defend myself: I am not a child any more."

Christina seized her husband's arm. "Valentine," said she, "I shall cry 'Fire!' out of the window if you don't let him go this minute."

Valentine released his hold, and she went on:--"Is this the gentleness you promised me? Ivo, forgive him: he is your father, and loves you dearly, and G.o.d has given him power over you. Valentine, if you speak another loud word you've seen the last of me, and I'll run away. Ivo, for my sake, give him your hand."

Ivo pressed his lips together, and big tears stole down his cheeks.

"Father," he sobbed, "I did not designate myself for a clergyman; nor are you to blame, for you could not know whether I was suited for it or not. Why should we reproach each other?"

He went up to Valentine to take his hand; but he only said, "Very fine; but what does the gentleman intend to be?"

"Let me go to the school for veterinary surgeons for a year, and I shall manage to get settled somewhere or other as veterinary surgeon and farmer."

"A good idea; and I'm to pay off the convent, I suppose? Two hundred florins a year? Then they can sell my house; and it'll be a glorious thing to say, 'Yes: Ivo's to be a cat-doctor, and so it is no great matter if the house does go by the board.' And what do you mean to study with? Live on the old Kaiser's exchequer?--or do you suppose I'm to pay? You can go to law with me and ask your motherly portion; but I'll make up a little account against you then, to show what you've cost me."

"I shall pet.i.tion the ministry to have the indemnity to the convent charged upon my future inheritance."

"We've had our say, and you needn't talk any more," interrupted Valentine. "If you won't obey, only don't make yourself believe you have a father in the world. You've been my pride till now; but, after this, I can never look into any man's face again, and must only be glad if people are good enough not to talk about you." The tears trickled down his cheeks; and, pressing both his hands to his face, he continued:--"I wish a clap of thunder had struck me into the earth before I had lived to see this day!" He laid his head upon the window-sill, turned his back upon them, and struck fiercely at the wall with his foot.

Such, again, is man! Valentine had no hesitation in displaying his grief and hatred to his son; but he had always been ashamed to show his love and his satisfaction, and had buried them in his heart like the memory of a crime. Do not educated and uneducated men equally resemble him in this?

Hitherto Christina had contented herself with admonis.h.i.+ng each party to silence and gentleness by looks and gestures; but now she began, with a firmer voice than her countenance might have led one to expect,--

"Ivo, dear Ivo, you were always good and pious: there never was a vein of evil in you. I won't say that I always thought it would be a good word for me in heaven if you were clerical: that's neither here nor there: it is you we must consider. For the sake of Christ's blood, examine yourself: be good, be true, and our Lord will help you and will purify your heart of all things that should not be there. Oh, you always had such a pious mind! You see I can't speak much: it seems to tear out my very heart. Be good and pious again, as you always were; be my dear, dear Ivo." She fell upon his neck and wept. Ivo answered, embracing her,--

"Mother dear, mother dear, I cannot be a minister. Do you suppose I would have given you all this unhappiness if I could have done otherwise? I cannot."

"Don't say you cannot: that isn't pious. Only set your will to it, make up your mind firmly, and shake off all evil desires, and indeed you will find it easy. The All-Merciful will help you, and you shall be our pride and our joy again, and a good child before G.o.d and man."

"I am not bad, dear mother; but I cannot be a minister. Do not rend my heart so. Oh, how gladly I would obey you! but I cannot."

"Let him go to the devil, the rascal!" said his father, tearing Christina away from her son. "Can you see your mother begging and imploring this way?"

"Tear me to pieces," cried Ivo, "but I cannot be a minister."

"Out with you, or I'll lay hands upon your life!" cried Valentine, with foaming mouth. He opened the door and pushed Ivo out.

"It is over," said Ivo, breathing hard as he went tottering down the stairs. A noise was heard above: the door opened, and his mother came down after him. Hand in hand they walked to the convent, neither of them speaking a word. In taking leave, she said,--

"Give me your hand upon it that you'll think of it again, and that you will not lay hands upon yourself."

Ivo gave the required promise, and went in silence to his cell. The floor rocked under his feet; but the purpose of his soul remained unshaken not to let thoughts of childlike affection sway him in the choice of his vocation for life. "I have duties to myself, and must be responsible for my own actions," thought he. "I could die to please my mother; but to enter upon a pursuit the root of which must be the firmest conviction that it is my appointed mission, is what I dare not and must not do."

But in the middle of the night he suddenly awoke; and it seemed as if a cry from his mother had roused him. He sat up in his bed; and now the calling he was about to abjure suddenly presented itself to his mind in its most elevated and holy aspect. He thought of being the loving, comforting, helping friend of the poor and distressed, the father of the orphan and the forsaken, the dispenser of light and happiness in every heart: he lost sight of all theological dogmas, and even dreamed of taking part in the holy strife of liberating the world from superst.i.tion and human authority: he battled down the love of earth within him and resolved to live for others and for the other world: not a day would he suffer to pa.s.s without having refreshed some heavily-laden soul or gladdened some weary heart.

"Wherever a poor child of clay shall weep in bitter sadness, I will absorb his woes into my heart and let them fight their struggle there.

I will dry the mourner's tears; and Thou, O Lord, wilt wipe the tears from my face when my spirit halts and I weep at night over my poor lonesome life."

Thus Ivo said to himself, and his heart was bright and clear. He seemed to have suddenly acquired the power of casting aside all earthly care, and winging his way to the fountain-head of bliss; and then again he experienced a sensation of triumph and of longing for the strife, as if he must go forth at once to battle. In an ecstasy of joy he called to mind the delight his return to his calling would awaken at home: his thoughts became indistinct, and he was again in the region of dreams.

Next morning he wrote a letter to his parents, announcing, with solemn earnestness and warm contrition, the recantation of his purpose, and praising the high character of the duties upon which he was resolved to enter. What he could not do to please his parents, he had achieved of his own free will. When he again heard the letter glide down into the box, he seemed to hear the swoop of the judicial sword: he had sentenced and executed himself. He returned, shaking his head. The elasticity of his spirit was bruised and broken. With all the power of his will, he returned to his studies, and succeeded for a time in quieting his mind.

At home the letter provoked the greatest exultation. But scarcely had the first flush of excitement pa.s.sed away before a careful observer would have detected symptoms of uneasiness in the behavior of his mother. She often smiled sadly to herself, went thoughtfully about the house, and spoke little. Often, of an evening, she asked Emmerence to read the letter; and when she came to the words, "I will sacrifice my life to G.o.d, who gave it me; I will give you, my dear mother, the greatest earthly happiness," Christina sighed deeply.

One Sat.u.r.day evening Christina and Emmerence sat together peeling potatoes for the next day: Emmerence, who had just read the letter once more, remarked,--

"Aunty, it always seems to me as if you were not quite happy to know that Ivo is going to be a clergyman, after all. Just tell me what you think about it. I see there is something the matter: you needn't conceal it from me."

"You're right. You see, I'll tell you. Before him" (meaning her husband) "I couldn't breathe a word about it, or the house would be on fire in a minute. It always seems to me as if I had done a great sin: I have made his heart so heavy. And he is such a good child: there's never a drop of bad blood in his heart; and now for love of me he's going to be a clergyman, when his heart clings to the world; and surely it's a great sin."

"Why, that's dreadful! Why, I wouldn't have a moment's peace. I'd make up my mind to set matters right immediately."

"Yes, but how? You see, I should like to tell him so, and unbeknown to him," (meaning her husband.) "I don't want to trust all this to the schoolmaster; and yet I can't write myself any more."

"Easy enough to help that. I'll write. I can write very well, and you can dictate to me."

"Yes, that's true: I never thought of that. You're a good child. Come; we'll set about it directly."

But another trouble soon arose, for nowhere was a pen to be found.

Emmerence was ready to go to the schoolmaster to have one made and tell the schoolmaster's wife some story or other, if she asked questions; but Christina would not consent. "We can't begin with sinning," she said. With the same answer she dismissed Emmerence's second proposal, to steal one of the schoolmaster's pens, as she knew exactly where he kept them, and put a dozen fresh quills in its place. At length Emmerence cried, getting up, "I know where to get one. My sister's boy, Charlie, goes to school, and has pens; and he must give me one."

She soon returned in triumph, with a pen in her hand. Sitting down at the table, she drew up the wick of the lamp with a pin, squared herself to begin, and said, "Now dictate, aunty."

Ivo's mother sat behind the table in the corner under the crucifix, and tried to peel an additional potato. She said,--

"Write 'Dear Ivo.' 'Got that?"

"Yes."

"'I'm thinking of you now. Not an hour and not a day pa.s.ses but I think of you; and at night, when I lie awake in bed, my thoughts are with you, dear Ivo.'"

"Not so fast, or I can't get it down," clamored poor Emmerence. She raised her blus.h.i.+ng face, looked into the light, and gnawed her pen.

These were the very words she would have written had she penned the letter in her own name. Laying her face almost on a level with the paper, she now began to write, and at last said, "'Dear Ivo.' Go on."

"No; first read to me what you have written."