The Lost Manuscript: A Novel. Gustav Freytag
his tone of mind altered! Glad expectation was followed by the seeming frustration of their hopes, and yet this disappointment was succeeded by a pleasing repose.
"That is our road into the outer world," indicated Ilse; "we often look in that direction when father has been on a journey and we are expecting him, or when we hope for some good news by the postman. And when frequently our brother Franz tells how he will go into the world when a man, away from his father and family, he thinks that the roads there will always look like our footpath bordered with its willow-trees."
"Is Franz the pet?" asked the Professor.
"He is my baby-brother; we lost our good mother while he was still a mere infant. The poor child never knew his mother; and once when he dreamt of her, the other children maintained that he had changed her into me, for she wore my dress and my straw hat. This is the cupboard in the wall," she said, sorrowfully, pointing to a wooden door. The friends followed in silence, without looking at the cupboard. She stopped before the adjoining room, and opened the door: "This was my mother's room, it is unaltered, just as she left it; our father generally spends some time here on Sundays."
"We cannot allow you to lead us any further," said the Professor. "I cannot tell you how painful I feel our position in regard to you to be. Forgive us this indelicate intrusion upon your privacy."
"If you do not wish to see the house further," answered Ilse, with a look of gratitude, "I will gladly take you into our garden, and through the farmyard. Father will not be pleased if I withhold anything from you."
A back door led from the hall into the garden; the flower-beds were edged with box, and filled with summer flowers-the old indigenous plants of gardens. Vines climbed up the house, as far as the windows of the upper story, and the green grapes everywhere peeped through the bright foliage. A hedge of quickset separated the flower-beds from the kitchen-garden, where, besides vegetables, there were hops climbing up high poles. Further on, a large orchard, with a fine lawn, sloped down into the valley. There was nothing remarkable to be seen here; the flower-beds were in straight lines; the fruit trees stood in rows; the venerable box and hedge were stiffly trimmed, and without gaps. The friends looked back constantly over beds and flowers to the house, and admired the brown walls showing through the soft foliage of the vine, as well as the stonework of the windows and gables.
"In the time of our forefathers it was a sovereigns' residence," explained Ilse, "and they used to come here every year to hunt. But now nothing but the dark wood back there belongs to him. In it is a shooting-box, where the head-forester resides. Our Sovereign seldom comes into the district. It is a long time since we have seen our dear prince, and we live like poor orphans."
"Is he considered a good ruler?" asked the Professor.
"We do not know much about him; but we believe that he is good. Many years ago, when I was yet a child, he once breakfasted at our house, because there was no convenient place in Rossau. Then I was surprised that he wore no red mantle; and he patted me on the head, and gave me the good advice to grow, which I have honestly followed. It is said that he will come again this year to hunt. If he stops with us again, the old house must put on its best attire, and there will be hot cheeks in the kitchen."
While they were walking peaceably among the fruit trees, a clear-toned bell sounded from the farmyard. "That is the call to dinner," said Ilse. "I will take you to your room; the maid will show you to the dining-room."
The friends found their valises in the visitors' room, and were shortly after summoned by a gentle knock at the door, and conducted into the dining-room. There the proprietor was awaiting them, together with half-a-dozen sun-burnt officials of the farm, the Mamselle, the tutor, and the children. When they entered, the Proprietor spoke to his daughter in a window-niche; the daughter probably gave a favorable report of them, for he came toward them with unclouded countenance, and said in his abrupt way, "I hope you will put up with our fare." He then introduced the strangers to those present, calling them by their names, and adding, "two gentlemen from the University." Every one stood behind his chair, placed according to his station and age. The Proprietor took the head of the table, next him Ilse; on the other side the Professor and Doctor; then on both sides the farm officials, after them, the Mamselle and the girls, the tutor and the boys. Little Franz approached his seat at the lower end of the table, folded his hands and monotonously pronounced a short grace. Then all the chairs were drawn forward at the same moment, and two maids in peasant costume brought in the dishes. It was a simple meal; a bottle of wine was placed between the strangers; the host, his family, and the dependants drank a dark, golden beer.
Silently and zealously each one fell to; only at the upper end of the table was there any conversation. The friends expressed to the Proprietor the pleasure that the house and its surroundings afforded them; and the host laughed ironically when the Doctor praised the thick walls of the structure. Then the talk rambled on to the surrounding country, and the dialect and character of the peasantry.
"It has struck me again to-day," said the Professor, "with what suspicion the peasants regard us city folks. They regard our language, manners, and habits as those of another race; and when I see what the agricultural laborer has in common with the so-called educated classes, I feel painfully that it is much too little."
"And whose fault is it," retorted the host, "but that of the educated classes? Do not take it amiss, if I tell you, as a simple man, that this high cultivation pleases me as little as the ignorance and stubbornness which surprises you in our country people. You yourselves, for example, make a long journey, in order to find an old forgotten manuscript which was written by an educated man in a nation that has passed away. But I ask what have millions of men, who speak the same language as you, are of the same race, and live near you, what have they gained by all the learning that you have acquired for yourselves and small numbers of wealthy people of leisure? When you speak to my laborers, they do not understand you. If you wished to speak to them of your learning, my farm hands would stand before you like savages. Is that a sound state of affairs? I tell you, so long as this lasts, we are not a well-conditioned people."
"If your words are meant as a reproach to my vocation," answered the Professor, "you are unjust; for we are now actively employed in making the discoveries of the learned accessible to the people. That much more should be done in this direction, I do not deny. But at all periods serious scientific investigations, even when only intelligible to a very small circle, have exercised an invisible influence on the souls and lives of the people in general. These scientific investigations develop the language, give certain tendencies to thought, gradually evolve customs, ethics, and laws, according to the needs of every age. Not only practical inventions and increasing wealth are facilitated by them; but also, what surely will not seem less important to you, the ideas of man about his own life, the manner in which he performs his duty toward others, the feeling with which he regards truth and falsehood, – for all this each one of us is indebted to the erudition of the nation, no matter how little interest he may take in the various investigations. And let me use an old simile. Science is like a great fire that must be incessantly maintained in a nation, because flint and steel are unknown to them. I am one of those whose duty it is constantly to throw fresh logs into the burning mass. It is the task of others to carry the holy flame throughout the land, to the villages and cottages. Every one whose object it is to diffuse that light, has his rights, and no one should think meanly of another."
"There is some truth in that," said the host thoughtfully.
"If the great fire does not burn," continued the Professor, "the single flames could not be spread. And, believe me, what most strengthens and elevates an honorable man of learning in the most difficult investigations, is the fact, confirmed by long experience, that his labors will in the end conduce to the benefit of mankind. They do not always help to invent new machines, nor discover new plants for cultivation, but they are nevertheless effective for all, when they teach what is true and untrue, beautiful and ugly, good and bad. In this sense they make millions freer, and therefore better."
"I see at least by your words," said the host, "that you hold your vocation in high esteem; and I like that, for it is the characteristic of an honest man."
This conversation produced a pleasant frame of mind in both men. The Inspector rose, and in a moment all the chairs of the farm dignitaries were pushed back, and the children and most of the