The Lost Manuscript: A Novel. Gustav Freytag
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valley between the churchyard, the huts, and the wood! He felt oppressed in spirit. "The community appears to be poor; there is but little space for cultivation between the hills. But how is it pray, in winter?"
"Well, even then I am still able to get about," answered the clergyman; "I visit my old friends then, and am only troubled sometimes by the snow. Once we were quite snowed up, and had to be dug out." He laughed pleasantly at the recollection. "It is never lonely when one has lived many years in a place. One has known the grandfathers, trained the fathers, taught the children, and here and there a grandchild even, and one sees how men rise from the earth and sink down into it again like the leaves that fall from a tree. One observes that all is vanity and a short preparation for eternity. Dear child," he said to Ilse, who now entered, "pray be seated with us; I have not seen your dear face for three days, and I would not go up because I heard you had visitors. I have something here for you," taking a paper out of his desk; "it is poetry."
"You see the song of the Muses does not fail us," he continued, speaking to the Professor. "It is, to be sure, humble, and bucolic in style. But believe me, as one who knows his village, there are few new things under the sun; there is everything here in a small way that there is on a large scale in the rest of the world; the blacksmith is a zealous politician, and the justice would gladly be a Dionysius of Syracuse. We have also the rich man of Scripture, and truly many a Lazarus-to which number the poet whose verses I here hold belongs; and our plasterer is a musician in winter-he does not play badly on the zither. But they are all too ambitious and not in harmony. Sometimes it is difficult to preserve good fellowship among them."
"Our poet wishes to have his green wall again, as I interpret it," said Ilse, looking up from the paper.
"For seven years he has been lying in his room half palsied with severe and incurable ills," explained the Pastor to his guest; "and he looks through a little hole of a window into the world at the clay-wall opposite and the men who can be seen passing; the wall belongs to a neighbor, and my dear child trained a wild vine over it. But this year our neighbor-our rich man-has built upon it and torn away the foliage. This vexes the invalid, and it is difficult to help him, for now is not the time to plant a fresh one."
"But something must be thought of," interposed Ilse. "I will speak to him about it; excuse me, I will not be long."
She left the room. "If you wish," said the Pastor, addressing the guest mysteriously, "I will show you this wall; for I have thought much about the matter, but cannot devise anything." The Professor silently acquiesced. They walked along the village lane, and at the corner the Pastor took the arm of his companion. "Here lies the invalid," he began, in a low tone. "His weakness makes him rather deaf, but still we must tread gently, that he may not observe it, for that disturbs him."
The Professor saw a small sash-window open and Ilse standing before it, her back turned to them. While the Pastor was showing him the plastered wall and the height that was necessary for the trailing plant, he listened to the conversation at the window. Ilse spoke loudly and was answered from the bed by a shrill voice. He discovered with astonishment that they were not speaking of the vines.
"And the gentleman is of a good disposition?" asked the voice.
"He is a learned and good man," answered Ilse.
"And how long does he remain with you?"
"I know not," was Ilse's hesitating reply.
"He should remain altogether with you, for you like him," said the invalid.
"Ah, that we dare not hope, dear Benz. But this conversation will not help to find you a good prospect," continued Ilse. "I will speak to your neighbor; but nothing will grow between to-day and to-morrow. I have thought that the gardener might nail a shelf under the window, and we shall place some plants from my room upon it."
"That will obstruct the view," answered the voice, discontentedly. "I could no longer see the swallows as they fly past, and little of the heads of the people who go by."
"That is true," replied Ilse; "but we will put the board so low that only the flowers shall peep through the window."
"What kind of flowers are they?" asked Benz.
"A myrtle," said Ilse.
"That does not blossom," answered Benz, surlily.
"But there are two roses blowing and a plant of heliotrope."
"I do not know what that is," interposed the invalid.
"It smells very sweet," said Ilse.
"Then let it come," assented Benz. "But I must also have some sweet basil."
"We will see whether it can be had," answered Ilse; "and the gardener shall also train some ivy round the window."
"That will be too dark for me," retorted the dissatisfied Benz.
"Never mind," said Ilse, decidedly; "we will try, and if it does not suit you, it can be altered."
To this the invalid agreed.
"But the gardener must not make me wait," he exclaimed; "I should like to have it to-morrow."
"Very well," said Ilse; "early in the morning."
"And you will show my verses to no one, not even to the strange gentleman; they are only for you."
"Nobody shall see them," said Ilse. "Call your daughter Anna, dear Benz."
As she prepared to depart, the Pastor gently drew his guest back.
"When the invalid has had such a conversation," he explained, "he is contented for the whole of the next day, and to-morrow he will again compose some verses. Sometimes-between you and me-he writes a good deal of nonsense, but it is well meant, and for him it is the best pastime. The people in the village avoid passing under his window as much as possible. This is the hardest work in my office; for the people are obstinate in the superstition that illness and suffering originate from evil spirits, that they are inflicted from hatred, or as punishment for past wrong; and though I preach to them incessantly that all is only a trial for the other world, this teaching is too high for them, only the infirm believe it; but those who are hale and hearty stubbornly struggle against the truth and salvation."
The learned man turned his eyes up to the little window from which the invalid looked upon the plastered wall, and then again on the clerical gentleman who for forty years had preached the Holy Gospel in the valley. His heart was heavy and his eyes passed from the twilight of the deep vale to the hill-top, which still shone in the glad light of the evening sun. Then she returned to him, she who had descended to watch over the helpless and the poor; and when he ascended the height with her, it appeared to him as if they both emerged from gloomy earthly trouble into a lighter air; but the youthful figure and the beautiful, calm countenance near him, shining in the lingering evening light so wondrously, seemed to resemble one of those messengers whom Jehovah sent to the tent of his faithful servant. He rejoiced when she laughed at the joyous bounding of the dog, who came barking toward them.
Thus passed another day, lighted up by the sun, and overshadowed by the clouds, amidst small events of daily life and quiet existence. When recorded by the pen it seems insignificant, but when a man lives it, it sends his blood coursing energetically through his veins.
CHAPTER VI.
A LEARNED LADY FROM THE COUNTRY
It was Sunday, and the estate wore its festive garment. The barns in the farmyard were closed, the farm servants and maids walked about in their best attire, not like busy laborers, but with the comfortable leisure which is the poetry of a toilsome life to the German peasant. The bells from the church tower called to service; Ilse, with her hymn-book in her hand, went with her sister slowly down the hill, the maids and men followed in small groups. The Proprietor passed the day in his study, in order to make up the accounts of the past week; but first he knocked at the door of his friends' room, and paid them a short morning visit.
"We shall have guests to-day, the Crown Inspector Rollmaus and his wife; he is an excellent farmer; but his wife is irredeemably bent upon culture, – a paragon of learning. You must take care, she will press you hard."
As the clock struck twelve, a carriage drawn by two