The Lost Manuscript: A Novel. Gustav Freytag
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the road. The day following his massive form and anxious countenance might be seen in the streets of the University town. Gabriel was much astonished when the gigantic man, taller than his old friend the sergeant-major of the cuirassiers, rang at the door and brought a letter from his master, in which Gabriel was instructed to place himself and the lodging at the disposal of the gentleman. The stranger walked through the rooms, sat down at the Professor's writing-table and began a cross-questioning conversation with Gabriel, the tenor of which the servant could not understand. The stranger also greeted Mr. Hummel, then went to the University, stopped the students in the street and made inquiries of them; had a conference with the lawyer; visited a merchant with whom he had had dealings in corn; was conducted by Gabriel to the Professor's tailor, there to order a coat, and Gabriel had to wait long at the door before the gossiping tailor would let the stranger go. He also went to Mr. Hahn to buy a straw hat; and in the evening the tall figure might be seen uncomfortably bent under the Chinese temple, conversing with Mr. Hahn, over a flask of wine. It was a poor father anxiously seeking from indifferent people intelligence which should determine whether he should give his beloved child into the arms of a stranger. What he learnt was even more favorable than he expected. He now discovered what Mrs. Rollmaus had long known, that he whom he had received into his home was, according to the opinion of others, no common man.
When, on returning home, the evening of the following day, he reached the first houses of Rossau, he saw a figure hastening towards him. It was the Professor, who, in impatient expectation, had come to meet him and now hastened up to the carriage with disturbed countenance. The Proprietor sprang from his seat and said gently to the Professor:
"Remain with us, and may Heaven give you every blessing."
As the two men walked up the foot-path together, the Proprietor continued, with a sudden flash of good humor:
"You have compelled me, dear Professor, to act as a spy about your dwelling-place. I have learned that you lead a quiet life, and that you pay your bills punctually. Your servant speaks reverentially of you, and you stand high in the opinion of your neighbors. In the city you are spoken of as a distinguished man, and what you have said of yourself is in all respects confirmed. Your lodgings are very handsome, the kitchen is too small, and your storeroom is smaller than one of our cupboards. From your windows you have at least some view of the country."
Beyond this not a word was spoken concerning the object of the journey, but the Professor listened hopefully to the other observations of the Proprietor, how opulent were the citizens, and how brilliant the shops, also of the height of the houses in the market-place, the throngs of people in the streets, and of the pigeons, which, according to old custom, were kept by the town council, and boldly hopped about like officials among the carriages and passing human beings.
It was early morning, and again the first rays of the sun warmed the earth. After a sleepless night, Ilse hastened through the garden to the little bath-house that her father had built among the reeds and bushes. There she bathed her white limbs in the water, dressed herself quickly and ascended the path which passed by the grotto to the top of the hill, seeking the rays of the sun. As she knew that the cool night air still lay in the lower ground, she climbed still higher, where the hill sloped steeply towards the grotto down into the valley. There, on the declivity, among the copse, she seated herself, far from every human eye, drying her hair in the sun's rays and arranging her morning attire.
She gazed upon her father's house where she supposed the friend still lay slumbering, and looked down before her on the stone roof of the grotto, and on the large tuft of the willow rose, with the white wool of its seed bursting from the pod. She supported her head on her hand, and thought of the evening that had past. How little he had spoken, and her father had scarcely mentioned his journey. But whatever anxious cares passed through her mind, her spirits had been refreshed by the sparkling water, and now the morning cast its mild light over her heart.
There sat the child of the house. She wrung the water out of her hair and rested her white feet on the moss. Near her the bees hummed over the wild thyme, and one little worker circled threateningly round her feet. Ilse moved, and pushed one of her shoes; the shoe slid down, turned a somersault, and went bounding away over moss and stone, till it leapt by the willow rose and disappeared in the depth. She put on the fellow of the fugitive and hastened along the path to the grotto. Turning round the corner of the rock she stepped back startled, for in front of the grotto stood the Professor, thoughtfully contemplating the embroidered arabesques of the shoe. The sensitive man was scarcely less startled than Ilse at this sudden encounter. He also had been impelled to go out into the early morning, to the spot where first the heart of the maiden had revealed itself to him. He had seated himself on a stone at the entrance, and leaned his head against the rock in deep and sorrowful thought. Then he heard a soft rustling, and, amidst gravel and sand, the little masterpiece of art fell close to his feet. He hastened forward, for he guessed at once to whom the bounding shoe belonged. There he saw the loved one standing before him, in a light morning dress, enveloped in her long blond hair, like a water fairy or a mountain nymph.
"It is my shoe," said Ilse, with embarrassment, concealing her foot.
"I know it," said the man of learning, equally embarrassed, pushing the shoe reverently to the border of her dress. The shoe was quickly slipped on, but the short glimpse of the white foot suddenly gave the Professor heroic courage, such as he had not had for the last few days.
"I will not move from this spot," he cried, resolutely.
Ilse drew back into the grotto and gathered her hair into the net she held in her hand. The Professor stood at the entrance of the sanctuary; near him hung the long shoots of the blackberry, the bees hummed over the wild thyme, and his heart beat. When Ilse, with blushing cheeks, stepped out of the grotto into the light of day, she heard her name uttered by a voice in deep emotion, she felt her hand pressed, an ardent look shot from those true eyes, sweet words fell from his lips, his arm clasped her, and she sank silently on his heart.
As the Professor himself on another occasion had explained, man sometimes forgets that his life rests on a compact with the overwhelming powers of nature, which, unawares, influence the little lords of the world. Thus similar unexpected powers now controlled the Professor and Ilse. I know not what agencies of nature sent the bees, or threw the shoe. Was it the elves in whom Ilse did not believe? Or was it one of the antique acquaintances of the Professor, the goat-footed Pan, who blew his reed-pipes in the grotto?
The wooing had begun in a scientific manner, but it had been brought to a conclusion with little wisdom and without any regard for formality.
CHAPTER XI.
SPITEHAHN
Raven-black night brooded over the hostile houses. The world looked like a great coal-pit in which the lights had been extinguished. The wind howled through the trees of the park. A rustling of leaves and crackling of branches was heard. Nothing was to be seen but a monstrous black curtain that concealed the neighboring woods and a black-tented roof which was spread over the houses. The streets of the city were empty. All who loved their beds had long been lying therein, and whoever possessed a nightcap had now pulled it over his ears. Every human sound was silenced; the striking of the tower-clock was interrupted by the stormy winds, and each tone was driven hither and thither, that no one could count the midnight hour. But around the house of Mr. Hummel the yelping dogs pursued their wild career in the courtyard, undaunted by storm or darkness; and when the wind blew like a bugle-horn between the houses, the pack dispelled sleep from men by their clamor and din.
"This night suits them well," thought Gabriel, in his room. "This is just the weather for them." At last he slept, and dreamt that the two dogs opened the door of his room, placed themselves on two chairs before his bed and alternately snapped their pocket pistols at him.
As he was lying in this unquiet sleep, there was a knock at his door.
"Get up, Gabriel!" called out the old porter from the factory; "an accident has happened."
"Through the dogs," exclaimed Gabriel, springing out of bed.
"Some one must have broken in," cried the man again, through the door, "the dogs are lying on the ground."
Gabriel, alarmed, put on his boots and hastened into the yard, which was