"'Then my last hour must have come,' he answered, turning away from me with a contemptuous gesture.

"What was here to be done? I was not here to hunt with my brother, or to join him in his carouses and gaming parties, to which he invited me, with ironical politeness. I spoke with the poor lunatic, who did not understand me, and had no idea that she had written to me, as to many others whose names she had learned by chance. I shook hands with old Christian, who had always been fond of me, and was now the only one who remembered me, and begged him to watch over the poor forsaken creature.

I wandered once more through the park and greeted the scenes of my boyish sports; once more saw the sun set behind the house where my cradle had stood, and came sorrowing away. Thus might a tree feel that is torn from the earth with all its roots. But, thank heaven, if man is driven from his home, he can win himself a new one; and when the gates of our childhood's paradise are closed behind us, another world opens to us which we must conquer and possess in the sweat of our brows, but which for this reason alone is truly ours."

CHAPTER IX.

It was certainly not with the intention of stimulating me--for that was no longer needed--that my teacher in his discourses ever returned to the same theme, that free, voluntary labor, consecrated by love, the labor of all for all, was the completion of wisdom, the proper aim and highest happiness of mankind. This was the last result of his practical philosophy, to which of necessity all his reflections tended, whether their subject was the destiny of the individual or the race. And as these discourses were almost always carried on in intervals of repose from work, from which we came and to which we were about to return, they might be called significant arabesques to the earnest, and--as it now looks to me--moving pictures presented by the unresting, thoughtful master, and the industrious, eager student, in their combined occupation.

This occupation was strictly regulated. It so happened that during my convalescence, an old clerk of the office, who had long been ailing, died. As it was a fixed principle with the superintendent that all work should be done by inmates of the establishment, so far as that was practicable, he had, in spite of the opposition of President von Krossow, by means of an immediate application to the king, supported by his friend, Minister von Altenburg, obtained liberty to leave the clerk's place unfilled, and to give his work, as a special favor, to me, for which I also received certain emoluments, reduced to the proportion of other sums paid for prison-work. Deacon von Krossow congratulated me, with anything but cordiality, on my "promotion," but Dr. Snellius crowed loudly with joy, and in the family the great event was celebrated as a festival. As for me, this arrangement had lifted a load from my breast. I had now no longer to fear that the generous man who had already done so much for me, would be involved in serious inconveniences by his kindness. In the president's circle they had even talked of investigations, removal from office, of pensioning off at the very least. Now, as my relation to him bore an official character, this danger was disposed of, and I could look with a light heart through the open window by which my work-table stood, into the leafy garden, where the bees were humming around the flowers, where the birds sang in the trees, and among the flowers and under the trees Frau von Zehren took her morning walk, leaning on her daughter's arm, or in the afternoon, after school-hours, the boys played or worked in their flower-beds.

For each one, even Oscar, had his bed, which he had to keep in order; and it was always a fresh pleasure to me to see the little men with their watering-pots and other implements, which they handled with the skill of practiced gardeners. And yet the pleasure which this sight gave me, was not without a touch of sadness. It always brought to my mind my own youth, and how joyless and fruitless it had been in comparison with this, which unfolded itself before me in such fullness of beauty. Who had ever taught me to employ thus usefully my youthful strength? Who, to bring a significance even into my sports? Alas, large and strong as I was, I might have been nourished by the crumbs that fell from this bounteous table. For I had scarcely known my mother, and the deeply melancholy disposition of my father, who was naturally grave, and had been rendered still more gloomy by the loss of his deeply-loved wife, was to a vivacious high-spirited boy at once mysterious and terrible. Later I well understood what then I had but imperfect glimpses of--how deeply and sincerely he desired my welfare, and strove, according to his conscience and knowledge, to be a good father to me; but like Moses, my excellent father was slow of speech, and there was no obliging Aaron at hand to explain to me the reasons of his stern commands. My brother and sister were considerably older than myself. I was eight years old when my brother Fritz, then sixteen, went to sea, and only ten when my sister, who was twenty, was married. My brother was a lively, gay young fellow, and troubled himself about me as little as he did about anybody or anything else in the world; my sister had my father's sternness, but without his feeling. After she was called to take the place of a mother to me, she treated me always with pedantic strictness, and often with petty cruelty. So I took refuge with the old serving-woman who lived in a state of hostility with her, and who, to reward me for my partisanship, told me stories of robbers and ghosts; and when Sarah married, and with her parting kiss proceeded to give me a farewell lecture, I told her in the presence of my father, her husband, and all the wedding-company, that I wanted neither her teaching nor her kiss, and that I was glad that in future I should see and hear of her no more. This was held up as an instance of the most frightful ingrat.i.tude on my part; and Justizrath Heckepfennig, who was also present on this occasion, p.r.o.nounced for the first time his deliberate conviction, which subsequent experience was only too strongly to confirm, that I "would die in my shoes."

No one can blame me, if while I looked through the window at my little friends, the wish arose in my mind that I had also been so fortunate, that I had had a father at once so wise and so kind, so gentle and tender a mother, such merry companions in work and play, and above all such a sister.

At first she always brought to my mind some old child's story, but I could not remember precisely what it was. It was not little Snow-white, for little Snow-white was a thousand times fairer than the fairest queen, and Paula was not really beautiful; it could not be little Red Riding-hood, for she, when you came to look at it, was a little stupid thing who could not tell the wicked wolf from her good old grandmother, and Paula was tall and slender, and so very wise! Cinderella? Paula was so neat that no cinders could ever be seen about her, and she had no doves at her command to help her gather the peas; on the contrary, she had to do everything for herself. I could not make it out, and concluded at last that it was no special personage of whom she reminded me, but rather that she was like one of the good fairies whom one does not see either coming or going, and only know that she has been here by the gift she has left behind; or like the friendly little goblins who, while the maids sleep, clean up parlor and kitchen, garret and cellar; and when the sleepers awake, they see that all their work is done already, and far better than they could have done it themselves.

Yes, she must be a fairy, who, out of the abundance of her kindness to those whom she befriended, had taken the form of a slender blue-eyed, blonde maiden. How otherwise could it be that from early morning to late evening she was always busy and yet never weary; that she was always at hand when wanted; that she had ready attention for every one, and that never the shadow of ill-humor pa.s.sed across her sweet face, much less an unkind word from her lips? True, her look was serious, and she rarely spoke more than just what was needful, but her seriousness had no admixture of gloom, and once or twice I even heard her playfully chatting with a half-loud gentle voice, such as the fairies have when they speak the language of mortals.

I confided my discovery to my friend, Dr. Snellius.

"Keep away from me with such nonsense!" cried he. "A fairy, indeed! It is Lessing's old fable of the iron pot that must needs be taken off the fire with a pair of silver tongs. What does she do, then, that is so extraordinary? She is the housekeeper, the teacher of the children, her father's friend, her mother's companion, and the nurse of both. All good girls are all this: there is nothing so unusual in it; it all lies in system and order. But a fantastic head of twenty years naturally cannot see men and things as they really are. Do you marry her. That is the best means of discovering that the angels with the longest azure wings are but women after all."

I pa.s.sed my hand through my hair, which was now perceptibly regaining its former luxuriance, and said thoughtfully:

"I marry Paula? Never! I cannot imagine the man who would be worthy to marry her; but this I know certainly, that I am not he. What am I?"

"For the present you are condemned to seven years' imprisonment, and have therefore fully that amount of time for considering what you will be when you are released. I trust that you will then be a worthy man, and I do not know what girl, nor what seraph is too good for a worthy man."

"But I know another reason, doctor, why I shall not be able to marry her then."

"What is that?"

"Because by that time you will have married her yourself."

"What a grinning, gnashing mammoth! Do you suppose a girl like that will marry an apoplectic billiard-ball?"

Whether the doctor was provoked at the contradiction into which he had fallen in scouting, as regarded himself, the possibility which he had just maintained in reference to me--or whatever the cause may have been, the blood rushed so violently to his bald head, that he really bore a striking resemblance to the remarkable object to which he had just compared himself, and his crow rose to such an extraordinary height of pitch, that he did not even make the attempt to tune himself down.

These sayings of the doctor haunted my memory for several days. I was struck with the thought that a worthy man was good enough for any girl, and therefore that in this respect there was no reason why I should not, sooner or later, marry Paula. But then again, I knew not how, my old notions returned, and when I saw her arranging and ordering all things with her heavenly patience, I said to myself--It is not true that all girls, even the so-called good ones, are like Paula; and it is an absurd idea of the doctor that I can ever be worthy of her.

The clear atmosphere, the splendid sunsets, the dry leaves that here and there fluttered down from the trees, announced the approach of another autumn. It was the season that I had spent the year before at Castle Zehrendorf; these were the same signs that I had then so closely observed, and they awakened in my soul a crowd of memories. I had believed that these memories were deeply buried, and I now found that only a thin covering had been spread over them, which every light sighing of the melancholy autumn breeze sufficed to lift. Indeed it often seemed to me that the wounds which had been inflicted on me a year before were about to open once more. I again lived over all that time, but it was as when a waking man, in full consciousness, calls back a vivid dream. What in a dream, with the incomplete activity of our intellectual faculties, seemed to us natural and reasonable, appears to us, when awake, as a strange phantasm; and what then tormented us as incomprehensible, we can now clearly understand, because we can supply the vacant steps which our dreaming fancy has leaped lightly over. I had only to compare my position at that time with the present, to see how wild a caricature my fancy had drawn. Then I imagined myself free, and was really involved in a net of the most unhappy, the most repulsive circ.u.mstances, as a fly in the web of a spider; now I slept every night behind bars of iron, and felt as calm and safe as when one steps from a swaying boat upon the steady land.

Then I believed that I had found my proper career, and now I saw that that life was only a continuation, and to a certain extent the consequence of a youth spent without plan or aim. And in what light now did the persons in whose destinies I had taken such a pa.s.sionate interest, now appear to me, when I compared them with those whom I had learned to love so cordially--when I compared, for instance, the Wild Zehren with his wise and gentle brother? And, as I had begun to draw comparisons, that dejected, sleepy giant, Hans von Trantow--where now was the good Hans, if he was not dead? and there were those who insisted that he was safe enough, and they knew very well where he was--had to take his place by the side of the little, intelligent Doctor Snellius, always full of life and motion; and even poor old Christian was compared with the vigorous old Sergeant Sussmilch. But most vividly was the comparison forced upon me between the beautiful, romantic Constance, and the pure, refined Paula.

A sharper contrast could scarcely be imagined; and for this reason perhaps the image of the one always called up that of the other. I felt for Paula, notwithstanding her youth, a greater respect than I had ever felt for Constance, who was several years older, and far more beautiful. True, with the latter at first I had had a certain bashfulness to overcome in myself, but this bashfulness was of a very different nature, and I had so completely overcome it, that when I left the castle that morning, I was resolved to marry her, in spite of my nineteen years. And what surprised me was the fact that I could not think of Constance, who had so cruelly betrayed me, and whom I believed myself to hate, without the wish that I might see her once more, and tell her how much I had loved her, and how deeply she had wounded me.

Where was she now? When last heard of, she was in Paris.

Was she still there, and how was she living? That she had been abandoned by her lover, I knew already; I had laughed aloud when I first heard of it. Now I laughed no longer; I could not think, without a feeling of the deepest pity, of her who had been so atrociously wronged, who now perhaps--yes, beyond a doubt--was wandering homeless and friendless about the world; an adventuress, as her father had been an adventurer. And yet she could not be altogether vile; had she not with pride and scorn renounced every claim upon her father's inheritance? Did she not know that her father had never deigned to make her mother his wife? Had she perhaps known it before? And if so, did not this fact suffice to explain the hostile position she maintained towards her father? Could she love the man who had plunged her mother into such unbounded wretchedness--who had never been to her what a father should be, and who, if the reports of his gaming companions were to be believed, had only used her as a bait to allure the stupid fish to his net? Could one judge her so severely--her who had sprung from such parents, grown up in isolation and amid such a.s.sociations, exposed from childhood to the clumsy attentions or the impertinent familiarities of rude country squires--if she had violated duties whose sacredness she had never comprehended?--if she had been sacrificed by a profligate who approached her with all the temptations of wealth and his exalted rank, and with the whole magic of youth? Unfortunate Constance! Your song of the "falsest-hearted, only chosen" was cruelly prophetic. Your chosen one had indeed proved false-hearted to you. And the other, your faithful George, who was to kill all the dragons lurking in your path, you scorned his service; and the mistrust which you felt in the strength and wisdom of the squire who had devoted himself to you, was but too well justified. Would he ever see you again?

I know that she had refused to be present at the family conference which was soon to be held. And yet, as the day drew nearer, the thought more frequently recurred to me, that she might still change her mind, uncertain and impulsive as she was, and suddenly stand before me, just as my friend Arthur one evening, as I was returning with Paula from the Belvedere, appeared before me in all the splendor of his new ensign's uniform.

CHAPTER X.

The day had been rainy and disagreeable, and my frame of mind was as dull and gloomy as the weather. In the morning the superintendent had had an attack of hemorrhage. I was for the first time alone in the office, and often looked over from my work to the place that was vacant to-day, and again listened, when a light swift step came along the corridor from the room where the superintendent was, to the nursery, where the little Oscar had been lying for a week with some infantile ailment. I was always hoping that the light swift step would stop at my door; but the fairy had today too much to do, and with all, I thought, had probably forgotten me.

But she had not forgotten me.

It was towards evening. As I could no longer see, I had put by my work, and was still seated upon the office stool, with my head resting on my hand, when there came a light tap at the door. I hurried to open it--it was Paula.

"You have not been out of the room the whole day," she said; "the rain is over; I have half an hour to spare; shall we walk in the garden a little?"

"How are they?"

"Better, much better."

She answered promptly, and yet her voice did not have a rea.s.suring sound; and she was singularly silent as side by side we ascended the path to the Belvedere. I concealed my solicitude, as well as I could, by encouraging words. The little one, I said, was now out of all danger; and it was not the first attack of the kind which the superintendent had had, and from which he always soon recovered his usual strength. This was Dr. Snellius's opinion too, I added.

While I thus spoke, Paula had not once looked at me, and as we now reached the summer-house, she entered it hastily. I remained behind a moment to look at the clouds which the sunset was coloring with hues of marvellous beauty, and called Paula that she might not miss the splendid sight. She did not answer; I stepped to the door. She was sitting at the table, her face buried in her hands, weeping.

"Paula, dear Paula!" I exclaimed.

She raised her head and strove to smile, but it was in vain; again she covered her face with her hands and wept aloud.

I had never seen her before in this state, and the unusual and unexpected sight distressed me inexpressibly. In my deep emotion I ventured for the first time gently to smooth down her blond hair with my hand, speaking to her as to a child whom I was trying to soothe and comfort. And what was this maiden of fifteen but a helpless child to me, who stood by her now in the plenitude of my fully restored strength?

"You are very kind," she sobbed, "very kind! I do not know why just to-day I see everything in so gloomy a light. Perhaps it is because I have borne it so long in silence; or possibly it may be this gray, cheerless day; but I cannot keep my mind clear of dreadful thoughts.

And what will become of my mother and the boys?"

She shook her head mournfully, and looked straight before her with eyes dim with tears.

It had begun to rain again; the bright tints of the clouds had changed to a dull gray; the evening wind rustled in the trees and the dry leaves came eddying down. I felt unutterably sad--sad and vexed at heart. Here again was I in the most wretched of positions; compelled to witness the distress of those I loved, while powerless to relieve it.

It might be that Constance and her father had not deserved the sympathy I had felt for them; but I still had endured the grief and the pain; and this family--this--I knew well were worthy that a man should shed his heart's blood in their service. Alas, again I had nothing but my blood that I could give! To give one's blood is perhaps the greatest, and a.s.suredly the last sacrifice that one man can bring to another; but how often does it prove a coinage that is not current in the market of life. A handful of money would bring rescue--a piece of bread--a blanket--a mere nothing--and yet with all our blood we cannot provide this.

And as I stood, leaning in the door of the summer-house, now glancing at the gentle, weeping girl, and now at the dripping trees, my heart swelling with sorrow and helpless indignation, I vowed to myself that in spite of all, I would yet raise myself to a position where, in addition to my good will, I should also have the power to help those whom I loved.

How oft in my after life have I recurred in memory to this vow! It seemed so utterly impossible; the object I proposed to attain seemed so far away; and yet that I now stand where I do I chiefly owe to the conviction that filled my soul at that moment. So the shipwrecked mariner, battling with the waves in a frail and leaky skiff, sees but for a moment the sh.o.r.e where there is safety; but that moment suffices to show him the course he must steer to escape destruction.

"I must go in," said Paula.

We walked side by side along the path leading down from the Belvedere.

My heart was so full that I could not speak; Paula also was silent. A twig hung across the path, so low that it would have brushed her head; I raised it as she pa.s.sed, and a shower of drops fell upon her. She gave a little cry, and then laughed when she saw me confused at my awkwardness.