Uncle Joachim, according to his custom, did not utter a word. The Canoness looked at her plate, and I noticed that she sometimes made a low remark to her neighbor, who always responded by a quiet smile or a twinkle in his honest gray eyes.

When, that afternoon, I was again alone in my tower, I prepared to study my sermon with great composure of mind, for I felt perfectly sure of myself. I had brought from the university and our religious society a bundle of outline sermons, one of which I took out and read over again with constant reference to my new hearers. Of course this masterpiece seemed a thousand times too good for the rural congregation, but I had intended it princ.i.p.ally for my patron and his family, not least for the obstinate face that, willing or not, must listen to me for a full half hour. I changed a few details, repeated the whole in a low tone, while veiling myself in clouds of tobacco-smoke, and, when I had finished, patted my stomach caressingly, as though I had just swallowed a dainty morsel, and resolved to take a short stroll in the park as an aid to digestion.

Hitherto I had only seen the grounds through the gla.s.s door of the dining-room, and I now marveled at their extent and beauty.

Low farm-buildings, stables, and barns extended on both sides in the rear of the castle, and were separated from the flower-garden in the center of the park by dense rows of splendid fir-trees. The dry basin of a fountain, ornamented by a crumbling sandstone statue, served as an abode for an aged peac.o.c.k, which could now spread only a very ragged and shabby tail, as he constantly circled around it, keeping a distrustful watch. No one except the Canoness, as I afterward noticed, was permitted to approach without his uttering a shrill, spiteful scream.

The beds, at this early season of the year, were still empty except for a narrow border of crocuses and snowdrops, but they were neatly raked and carefully marked out; even the paths between were free from dead leaves. From this place ran a broad walk fenced on both sides by tall, closely clipped hedges in the French style. But the tops of the ancient elms and oaks soared above them into the air, and the solemn splendor of a German forest far surpa.s.sed the Italian prettiness. Never in my life had I seen anything so beautiful, for the Berlin Thiergarten, so far as the size of the trees was concerned, could not bear the least comparison to it.

When, studying my sermon, I had strolled some distance under the lofty crowns of foliage, a strange figure came toward me, whom I at once supposed to be the gardener--a short, gray-haired man in a peasant's jerkin, over which a green ap.r.o.n was tied, a green cap, horn spectacles on his sharp, hawk's nose, an axe in his bony hand, and with one foot slightly dragging. I went up to him, greeted him in my affable manner, and asked if it was due to his care that the beautiful park was in such admirable order.

At first he nodded silently, scanning me from head to foot with the air of an expert examining some new plant to see whether it would be likely to thrive in this soil. Then he said, by no means sullenly, that he was the gardener Liborius and I was probably the new tutor. As this was a leisure evening, he would do me the honor to show me the park.

While walking by his side, I had a strange conversation. In the first place, he modestly refused my praise of his skill in gardening. He would not be able to accomplish half without Uncle Joachim, who planned everything that was to be done. True, he himself knew more about cultivating flowers, because he had been educated for an apothecary, and, had he not been compelled to enter the army, would probably be one now. But while serving as the baron's orderly--the elder brother--he had been shot in the foot; so, after he had obtained his discharge, his master had made him gardener on the estate. At that time the park was a perfect wilderness, everything higgledy-piggledy, and at first he had only bungled, until at last the younger baron came. "Yes," he added, glancing at me as if somewhat doubtful whether he might venture to speak openly, "many things would go wrong if it were not for Uncle Joachim. There's no telling all he has on his shoulders--half the management of the estate, the garden and stables, and the few cattle, for the larger portion of the land is leased. And yet he gets small thanks for it. They say that as a young officer he was what people call a sly chap, ran in debt, gambled, had love affairs; we know how things are with young n.o.blemen who serve as officers. Then his brother once helped him out of a sc.r.a.pe and made him take an oath to lead a regular life, and he has done so too. But they always treat him like the prodigal son in the gospel, only there is no fatted calf killed for him. And why? Because he doesn't go to church. You pull a long face over it, Herr Candidate, but you can believe this: he's more religious at heart than many a man who can repeat the whole hymn-book; if he were not, there's much that would look very different here. For our master, he's not exactly a bad one, but very strict, like our Lord in the Old Testament, and looks after the pennies and wages, so, though the heavens should fall, he never abates any of the work the peasants are obliged to do for him. Unfortunately, he is obliged to look after his due, for the estate was heavily laden with debt when he took possession of it, and had he not made the wealthy marriage he did--for the money comes from _her_--he could not have lived here, especially as he, too, in by-gone days, led a jolly life and spent a great deal. Well, he's tolerably well over that now, but he nips and saves at all the ends and corners, always saying it is for his children. Would you believe it, he wanted to send me off six years ago, after the grounds here were at last in proper order and the park could be seen again. His brother could attend to it with one of the servants. Then I said: 'Don't send me away, Herr Baron; I'm no longer a young man, and have forgotten my training as an apothecary, and my heart clings to the old trees as we cleave to an old love. If it's only the wages, I'll gladly give them up, if I can keep my room and have the little food I eat.' So he let me stay, and I drudge away in Heaven's name and for the sake of Uncle Joachim, who could not manage it all alone. And now Fraulein Luise helps us, too."

"The Canoness?" I interrupted.

"Yes, indeed. She has charge of the vegetable-garden, because she knows best what is wanted in the kitchen. Ah, yes, she is for a woman what Uncle Joachim is for a man, and gets just as few thanks for it. You know, of course, Herr Candidate, that she is an orphan, the daughter of a third brother of our baron, who also squandered his property and died young. She has lived here at her uncle's since her eighteenth year--she will be twenty-four next Whitsuntide--and as her aunt has been an invalid so long, and her uncle is often absent for months, because he finds the castle tiresome, Fraulein Luise is obliged to stand in the breach everywhere. Well, she can do it, for she has the brains, and her heart is in the right place; our Lord will reward her some day for what she does for her old aunt."

The old man stopped, pushed aside with his hatchet a few dry branches that lay at our feet, and then drew from under his green ap.r.o.n a small bone snuff-box, from which he offered me a pinch. I took a few grains for the sake of courtesy, and then, with the most perfect innocence, for I had not yet penetrated into the real state of affairs, asked:

"Is it possible, Herr Liborius? I thought the French lady took charge of the housekeeping."

The old man shrugged his shoulders, slowly stuffed the pinch of snuff into his little hooked nose, sneezed several times, and after a long delay replied: "All that glitters is not gold, Herr Candidate. But let every man sweep before his own door. See, here we are at Uncle Joachim's rooms. Will you pay him a call? He'll surely be glad to see you. Not a human creature ever crosses his threshold except myself, his dog Diana, and Fraulein Luise."

We had walked the whole length of the park, to where a tall fence divided it from the open fields, and were again approaching the castle, when we reached a small summerhouse connected with the outbuildings by a long hothouse. As I nodded a.s.sent, Liborius knocked, and then, without waiting for the "Come in!" raised the latch of the crumbling old door. No one was within. But at first I could not believe that this utterly cheerless room was occupied by a member of the baron's family.

Against one wall stood a more than plain bed, covered with an old horse-blanket; a huge arm-chair, from whose worn leather covering the horsehair stuffing here and there protruded, was at one of the windows, and at the other a large pine table, without a cloth, on which lay in excellent order numerous thick account-books, writing-materials, boxes of seeds, and a leaden tobacco-box; in the corner stood a narrow wardrobe, and on pegs along the wall hung a few guns and fishing-rods.

This const.i.tuted the entire furniture of the yellow-washed room. But above the bed hung the portrait of a beautiful woman, and a couple of old copper engravings, representing Napoleon at Fontainebleau, and on his death-bed, in worm-eaten brown frames.

"It is not exactly a princely lodging!" said the gardener, "but he chose it himself. Well, it makes little difference where we stretch our limbs if we haven't spared them from early till late. At night all cats are gray, and any four walls do well enough for a sleeping-room."

Then he let me out again, and I went back to the castle, often shaking my head over the many things I had learned, which had considerably lowered my high opinion of the people and things around me.

When the church-bells rang the next morning, I went to the window and looked down into the courtyard. A large old-fashioned coach, to which two fine horses were harnessed, was standing before the steps. Almost immediately the baron came out of the doorway, carefully leading his wife.

Mademoiselle Suzon and the two children followed. They took their seats in the carriage--Achatz mounting the box, so that if those within moved a little nearer together there would be room for a slender person. I waited to see the Canoness, who was always late, come out of the castle. But the coach-door was closed by the footman, who sprang up behind, and the vehicle lumbered slowly away.

Is she, too, like Uncle Joachim, no church-goer? I thought, and felt that this would have chagrined me greatly, for I hoped to impress her especially by my sermon.

But I had fretted in vain.

I set out at a rapid pace, and, having discovered a meadow-path, which, intersecting the avenue, led straight to the village and church, I arrived even before the party from the castle.

The s.e.xton received me, ushered me into the vestry, and helped me don the black robe in which I always seemed to myself especially trim and ecclesiastical. While the last verse of the hymn was being sung, I saw by my pocket-mirror that my locks were parted down the middle of my head in perfect order, and my hands faultlessly clean, and then entered the crowded church.

I had carefully examined and tried my voice in it the day before. It was as plain and bare as most of our village churches in the Mark, having been hastily rebuilt with scanty means after a conflagration, and even robbed of the monuments which, as the s.e.xton said, had come down from Catholic times. On the whitewashed pillars hung nothing but dusty and faded bridal and funeral wreaths, with long black or white streamers and tarnished silver spangles. There was also a black tablet with a few hooks, from which were suspended the war medals of anno '13, '14, and '15, with the names of their wearers in clumsy white letters beneath. The organ alone was handsome, its pipes brightly polished, and its notes--for the schoolmaster understood his business--greeted me with a harmonious melody as I climbed the steep stairs to the pulpit.

While the last verse died away I had just time to scan my devout congregation. Opposite to me, in the baronial pew lined with red cloth, sat the party that had come in the carriage. In the front seat, at its left, was the pastor's plump old wife; the lines on her cheerful face were to-day drawn into a peculiarly intent expression. I told myself that I should have in her a particularly critical auditor. Behind these pews, in a dense throng, were the peasants and cottagers of the village, with their wives and children, whose singing, thanks to the musical teacher, was far more endurable to hear than is usually the case in our unmelodious region. Spite of my self-confidence, I was forced to subdue the quickened throbbing of my heart as I saw the eyes of all these strangers fixed steadily and not exactly benevolently upon me. I was really glad not to discover among them one pair that, within the last few days, had already more than once disturbed my peace of mind.

But just as I was opening the Bible on the pulpit desk to read the text, the door at the end of the narrow aisle, between the rows of pews, noiselessly opened, and, amid a stream of sunlight and spring air, that was instantly shut out again, the Canoness entered. Instead of pa.s.sing through the rows to take her seat in the baron's pew, she unceremoniously sat down on the farthest bench, where an old woman, in whom I now recognized Mother Lieschen, made room for her with a friendly nod. No one else in the church noticed her; this late arrival appeared to be considered perfectly proper.

So I began my sermon in a somewhat unsteady voice, but it soon grew firmer. The text was: "Many are called, but few are chosen."

The doctrine of predestination had frequently been the theme of our debates at the university, and the sermon as I had brought it in my trunk bore evident traces of the learned apparatus with which I was accustomed to defend my views. For my present congregation, however, I had wisely omitted this, and restricted myself to bringing the kingdom of G.o.d as I had dreamed of it, in vast outlines, but colored with brilliant hues, before the imagination of my listeners. It resembled, as it were, a beautiful fairy palace, to which led an immense, broad staircase. This symbolized the temporal world in which, separated by steps, the many called and the few chosen hurried on together. For, I said, as all nature shows a gradual development from a lower to a higher stage, in which no creature has reason to complain, since thus alone can the omnipotence of G.o.d, which renders everything that might be possible actual, reveal itself; so it is compatible with the Creator's infinite righteousness that he does not endow all his creatures equally, but makes distinctions, and, with apparent severity, favors one and neglects another. Thus only could he have completed the wondrous picture of the world, without leaving any step vacant or overleaping transitions. If dissatisfaction should thereby arise, the peace that is not of this world will at some future time silence all complaints and reconcile all contradictions. On the day the portals of that palace would open at the sound of the last trump, all who were waiting on the stairs would be invited to celebrate the entrance into the heavenly mansions. Ay, even those on the lowest step. For it is explicitly written: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

I now adorned this idea of a staircase, which, as the final tableau of a fairy opera, would have done credit to a scene-painter, with the necessary lay figures and heroic characters, which I will briefly pa.s.s over here. It is only necessary to say that in the elect on the upper step I described with tolerable clearness people of the stamp of my employer and his family--high-born, wealthy mortals, endowed with every advantage of nature and education, and also with the grace of true religion; while on the lowest step crawled poverty-stricken creatures, bereft of happiness, like Mother Lieschen, who, however, would also be saved if they gathered the treasures which moth and rust do not destroy.

After I had p.r.o.nounced the benediction over the congregation and descended the steep stairs of the pulpit, I felt fairly intoxicated by my own fiery eloquence, and considered it only natural that the baron should signify his most gracious approval by a nod of his handsome head. The pastor's wife, on the contrary, had not changed her expression in the least, and did not stir even when I pa.s.sed close by her. I forgave her from my heart for being unable to feel friendly to the new star that outshone her husband.

The s.e.xton, however, praised me lavishly. Only I had made my sermon a little too aristocratic.

I could scarcely wait for the dinner-bell to ring, as I fully expected that the whole conversation over the Sunday roast would turn upon my sermon. But in this I was bitterly disappointed.

A guest had arrived who had not witnessed my oratorical triumph, a thorough man of the world, as I perceived at the first glance. He was called Cousin Kasimir; I do not know whether the relationship was through the baron or his wife, for he was so disagreeable to me that I vouchsafed him no special notice. The young gentleman had ridden over from a neighboring estate, where he was living as a student of agriculture, lured less by the aroma of the baronial table, which even on Sunday promised no choice dishes, than, as everybody knew, by designs on his cousin, the Canoness, in which he had long obstinately persisted, though without any form of encouragement. He seemed to have resolved not to attempt to take the coy fortress by storm, but induce it to surrender by tenacious persistence. So he sat between Fraulein Luise and the young girl Leopoldine, without addressing a word to either, but zealously striving to entertain the whole company by amusing anecdotes, bits of gossip, and jests with Uncle Joachim. The latter always gave him sharp, curt replies, whose quiet scorn the young man did not appear to feel. In the intervals he discussed politics with his host, of course from the standpoint of the n.o.bility; and Mademoiselle Suzon was the only lady at table who could boast of a slight show of gallantry from him.

On the other hand, he did not seem to be aware of the existence of the mistress of the house, nor of my important self, though the baron had presented me to him with some flattering words about my intellectual gifts.

Nothing was said of my sermon.

Wounded vanity naturally led me to cherish a secret, but all the more bitter, hatred of the new guest. Even now, though I have long since learned to smile at this pitiable youthful weakness, I must, for truth's sake, admit that Cousin Kasimir, fine gentleman though he might be, was an insufferable fellow, and had a face that might aptly be styled a hang-dog countenance.

Very much annoyed, I went out into the garden as soon as we rose from the table. I should have been glad to meet my honest friend Liborius, not to hear him praise my pulpit eloquence, but to question him about the object of my hate. He was, however, nowhere to be seen. He spent his Sunday afternoons, as I learned later, in a neighboring village, where he had placed a daughter, the child of an unlawful youthful love, in the charge of worthy people. The baron inexorably banished everything bordering upon unchaste relations from his pure neighborhood.

I sat for a while under the budding trees on one of the most remote benches in the park, and the worm of unsatisfied vanity gnawed my heart. At last I consoled myself with the thought that the fitting opportunity to speak of such exalted subjects had not yet come, and when the conceited n.o.bleman had taken leave the neglect would be more than made up.

So I at last rose and resolved to have the church opened again and improvise a short time on the organ, for I was accustomed to be my own Orpheus, and quell, by the power of music, the wild beasts which, spite of my religion, ever and anon stirred in my heart.

But as I approached the little summer-house where Uncle Joachim lodged, I saw the door open and Fraulein Luise come out, taking leave of her friend with a cordial clasp of the hand.

I confess that this meeting was not exactly welcome. Her icy manner--even colder than usual--at dinner had told me plainly enough that I had by no means advanced in her esteem. But in certain moods a vain man longs to hear himself talked about at any cost, and would rather endure the most pitiless verdict than the offense of silence.

Therefore, instead of turning into a side-path, I quickened my steps toward my foe, who, without taking the slightest notice of me, friendly or otherwise, quietly pursued her way to the kitchen-garden.

I soon came up with her, bowed politely, and asked whether she objected to my bearing her company a few moments.