CHAPTER XI.

THE VILLAGE CHURCH DESERTED.

"When a friend comes to visit me," said the Pastor, "I feel so happy; and do you know why? In the first place, I enjoy myself more; people may say what they will of the iniquity of the human heart, but the pleasant feeling caused by entertaining a friend, is deeply imprinted in every heart."

"And secondly?" asked Edward.

"In the second place," answered the Pastor, "when I have a guest, it is an excuse to myself not to go out. The world is come to me, I travel along the whole road with my visitor, so I earn the right to stay at home."

It was with an indescribable feeling of satisfaction that the Pastor said these words, after dinner, to his brother-in-law. The afternoon was not far advanced, and yet twilight was fast approaching. If the brother-in-law felt great reverence for the Pastor, that worthy man was extremely pleased with the cheerful, sanguine, yet prudent character of the young man. There are such youths still in the world; the miseries of ennui and discontent, and the feeling of being constantly bored, have not yet penetrated into every circle. Fresh youth once more blooms in the world--different from what we once were, but with the germs of a prosperous future. These were the Pastor's thoughts, while listening with satisfaction to the young man's conversation; the pleasure he experienced in looking at the handsome youth who had formerly been under his care, and more especially his ingenuous nature and good sentiments, produced in his heart the fondness of a father in the highest sense. "You must marry some one who can sing with you," said he to Edward; "it would be a pity to have a wife who could not make melody along with you."

They continued to converse on various subjects, and Edward remarked, that many young men formed an entirely false idea of the life of a farmer, and therefore were ruined, both in mind and body. Being the son of a councillor in a high position, he had himself suffered considerably from the consequences of false representations, till he learned from experience the necessity of taking a personal interest in agriculture: he was now steward on the property of a n.o.bleman, but had just given up his situation, with a view to rent a farm, or to purchase a small property.

In the midst of this conversation, they heard some persons knocking off the snow from their shoes, at the house door. Three men were standing below, who presently came up: they were the churchwardens.

"Edward, come into the next room," said his sister, adding, "This is my brother, and this is Schilder-David, Herzbauer, and Wagner.

"Glad to see you, sir," said Schilder-David, shaking hands with Edward, "but we beg you will stay where you are, Frau Pastorin; we should like you and your brother too to hear what we have to say."

"Sit down," said the Pastor.

"Many thanks, but it is not necessary," said Schilder-David, who was evidently spokesman. "Herr Pastor, we wish to say in few words what we have heard in the village; who first brought the report, we don't know; but you have often, Herr Pastor, impressed on us the propriety, on hearing anything of a man that you would rather not believe, to go straight to him, and to put the question direct to himself; so, no offence, Herr Pastor, but is it true that you wish to leave us?"

"Yes."

For a time there was perfect stillness in the room, and at last Schilder-David began again.

"Well: now I believe it, Herr Pastor. Before you came we had a Pastor who disliked us, and whom we equally disliked--can anything be more dreadful? How can Christian love, faith, and piety flourish, when he who preaches the word of G.o.d, and he who hears it, have no mutually kind feeling? It would be sad indeed if this were to be once more the case; we know that there are some in the parish who vex the good heart of our Pastor; but Herr Pastor, the gracious Lord would have spared Sodom if even two just men had been found there, and you, Herr Pastor, persist in leaving us because there are two or three wicked men among us." Here Schilder-David paused, but as the Pastor made no reply, he continued:--

"Herr Pastor, it is no use our telling you how you have grown into all our hearts. If it is better for you to go elsewhere, we can but wish you happy wherever you may be; but every man, woman, and child, in this village, who ever met their Herr Pastor, feel as if they must give him some proof of grat.i.tude and love; as if they could not let him pa.s.s with a simple good morning, or good evening: we heartily wish, Herr Pastor, that there may be the same kindly feeling towards you in the new place you are going to, and also that, if you persist in leaving us, you will at least endeavour to provide us with--I don't say such a man as yourself, for that we cannot hope for--but at all events with a good man."

"Thank you, thank you," said the Pastor, "I will do what lies in my power."

"No, no," said Herzbauer, "David has by no means said all we wanted: our greatest wish is that the Herr Pastor should stay among us, and not leave our village church deserted."

"I could not recall my application for another Cure, even if I wished to do so."

"Then we hope the Herr Pastor will excuse us for having troubled him,"

said Wagner, with a certain feeling of pride, that he also had made a little speech, and one by no means the least to the point.

The men left the room; the Pastorin however went down stairs with them, and comforted them by saying, that their persuasions might perhaps not be quite unavailing, and that she had nothing to do with her husband's resolution, which she thought he now regretted; perhaps to-morrow what they said might be more effectual, for he was very weary to day, having been summoned to Rottmanshof during the night, for nothing, and less than nothing.

"I did hear," said Schilder-David, "that they are all a.s.sembled at the Forest Mill this very day to betroth Adam to Tony. I was unwilling to believe it, but I do now, every word of it; the betrothal however they shall find of no use, for we are resolved never to give up our just claim."

The Pastorin returned into the room, where she found her husband and her brother still sitting together in silence: none of them spoke a single word. The evening bells rung out clear; indeed all the three bells, for the Holy Festival was being rung in, and there was a singular vibration too in the hearts of these three persons, though inaudible to any human ear. At length the Pastorin said: "I shall grieve when the time comes that I no longer hear these bells; what a multiplicity of events they have rung forth for us!"

The Pastor still sat in silence at the window, and at last said, as if speaking to himself: "The most trying thing is to resolve to leave what we are accustomed to; as I have at last made up my mind to do so, both in my own thoughts, and also to the knowledge of others, it would not do for me now to retract my determination: I will see you again shortly Edward."

So saying, the Pastor went into his study.

CHAPTER XII.

WHERE IS JOSEPH?

"Where is Joseph?" asked Schilder-David when he came home.

"He is not here."

"I sent him home however, when I went to speak to our Pastor."

"He is not come home."

"I daresay he is gone to see Haspele again; I will go and fetch him,"

said Martina rising from her chair.

"Don't fail to give him a good box on the ear, for running about alone in such an independent way," said David to his daughter as she was leaving the house.

Martina soon came back and said, "Joseph is neither at Haspele's nor in the workshop."

"Where on earth can that tiresome boy be? I will go and look for him myself."

The grandfather went out, and enquired for Joseph from house to house; no one knew anything of him; Schilder-David went home again, thinking that no doubt he should find the boy arrived before him.

"But where is Joseph?" said Martina to her father, when he entered the room on the ground floor, that served as a kitchen.

"He is sure to be here very soon," said the grandfather; going however through the whole house, and searching every corner of it; he called up to his workshop in the loft the name of Joseph, and felt quite startled by the hollow echo; he shoved aside presses, behind which neither man nor boy could have been hidden, and he even opened the cover of the watercourse, behind the house, forgetting that it was frozen over, and n.o.body could possibly fall into it. Just as he returned to the house he met Haspele, bringing home Joseph's new boots: he told him privately that he was looking for the boy, and that he was in great trouble lest something should have happened to the child; he did not know what, but he felt very uneasy about him.

"Did you look for him at the old Bugler's? I heard him blowing away, and beautifully too; at this moment, depend upon it, Joseph is with him; here are his boots, I will go and fetch the boy."

The worthy Haspele ran quickly down the village, to a stocking weaver's who was seated in his room, practising some new tunes on the French horn. It sounded very pretty through the stillness of the night, when a man's own footsteps were inaudible in the thick snow.

It was very natural that Joseph should prefer being with the old horn player, to sitting at home; but he was not there either. On his way, Haspele mentioned to his neighbours that he was in search of Joseph; no one had seen him, and nowhere was he to be found! Haspele returned to David with this distressing intelligence, and the latter said, "Keep quiet, and not a word before the women, or there will be a fine howling; stay here for a little, he has very probably hid himself, and perhaps intends to come here with the Three Holy Kings--I mean the masks, who go about on this evening--I daresay he thinks it would be fine fun; but I'll show him another sort of fun when I catch him."

David sat down again, and with apparent composure, whistled, and kept waving his hand in the air, as if in antic.i.p.ation of the strokes of the birch rod he fully intended to administer to the little culprit.

"I will stay quietly where I am," said he, as if addressing himself; so he filled his pipe and went on smoking, muttering occasionally, what a good-for-nothing little scamp Joseph was, but he would take care he should be well punished for all the anxiety he had caused. David took up his Bible, and continued to read on from the place where he had stopped the day before; it was in the 2nd book of Samuel, 12th chapter, where King David mourns for his sick child. This did not contribute to tranquillize the reader, so he got up and went out and in, listening anxiously. The bells were all merrily ringing in the Festival--surely he must come soon now--but no one came. There was no longer a possibility of secresy; David went to every house in the village to the right, and Haspele the same to the left. They both met again at David's house. The procession of the Three Holy Kings pa.s.sed along; Joseph was not with them; concealment was now out of the question.

"Martina, our Joseph has disappeared," said the grandfather, and Martina uttered a loud cry of grief, exclaiming:--

"This was why he woke me three times last night and asked; 'Mother, is it not yet light?' Joseph! Joseph! Joseph! where are you?" shouted she through the whole house, up the hill, and all along the village, in the garden, and among the fields.

"Oh! if he is lost, I shall die," said David; "I shall never hear the New Year rung in, and the tree I bought to make clock cases of, may be sawed up for my coffin, and I laid in it."

But Martina did not hear her father's lamentations, for she had rushed out of the house long since; David's neckcloth felt too tight, and he s.n.a.t.c.hed it off, his face looking quite distorted, for he wished to suppress his tears, and yet could not. Suddenly he thought to himself, "Joseph must be in the church!" he hurried to the church, the door of which was open, as they were preparing it for midnight service. The schoolmaster was walking about alone, with a single candle, and placing quant.i.ties of lights on the altar.