The Children of the World. Paul Heyse
he presented to the blushing child. Madame Feyertag pretended not to notice this. She seemed to have some suspicion that the worthy man might consider it a standing tradition in the family, that the head journeyman must marry the master's daughter, and though she herself had experienced the blessings of such a mésalliance, she hoped for a better match for her only daughter. The shoemaker had no such aspirations. When he reflected upon the past, he remembered very different attentions, which even without any festal occasion, he had paid the female members of his master's family. He was in a very good humor, eat three large pieces of the famous plum cake, and finally ordered two bottles of wine to be brought from the cellar, in which he drank Reginchen's health in a speech, that spite of the strange admixture of fatherly tenderness and incomprehensible allusions to Schopenhauer, was admired by all the journeymen as a pattern of oratorical art.
Yet despite all this, the solemn meal did not last more than half an hour, and it was exactly half-past twelve when the little heroine of the day, according to her usual custom, carried the brothers' dinner up to the "tun." The low price which they paid for their board did not admit of their being served with food more dainty than that with which the people in the workroom were forced to content themselves, but Madame Feyertag, who had a kind heart and felt an almost maternal solicitude for Balder on account of his beauty and delicate health, always remembered to keep some of the best pieces for her boarders before supplying her own people.
When Reginchen entered the second story room, delighted with the festivities of the day, and proud of the large piece of birthday cake that fell to the brothers' lot, she was surprised to find no one but Balder, who was sitting at his turning-lathe, and who, at her appearance, hastily concealed something in the pocket of his working blouse. She was afraid that, as had often happened, she would be obliged to carry the dinner down again to be kept warm, and her brother, the machinist, was to come for her precisely at one. But when Balder told her that Edwin would not dine at home to-day, she brightened up again, laid the table quickly and as daintily as the simple dishes would permit, and placed in the middle the plate of cake, which she had adorned with a few flowers from the head journeyman's bouquet. Then she stood before her work with an expression of mischievous delight, and called to Balder to sit down and not let the dinner grow cold.
"Dear Reginchen," said the youth, as he limped forward with an embarrassed air, "I have no beautiful flowers like George. Nothing green and blooming grows upon my bench, you know. But, I too, should like to recognize your eighteenth birthday to the best of my ability, and that not by merely eating your nice cake. Will you accept as a keepsake this little box, which I have made myself? I am sorry that you will have to fill it for yourself, for I have not had time to buy thimble, silk, needles, and all the other things it should contain."
He drew forth the dainty polished article, and handed it to her, opening it as he did so, that she might see the inside. A flush of joy crimsoned her round blooming face. But she thought it due to her good breeding, not to accept the gift at once.
"Oh! Herr Walter," she said, smoothing her fair hair with both hands,--it was a habit she had when embarrassed,--"Did I not beg you to make me no more presents? My mother will scold again, for she thinks you work too much already, and that you ought to take more care of yourself. You must have toiled for weeks over such a pretty thing as this--and I--it is too good for me--it is too lovely--is it really mine? If I only knew what I could do--"
"Shall I tell you, Reginchen?" he said, and his pale cheeks flushed also--"sit down opposite me a little while; it is so dismal to eat alone, and I should like to feel merry on your birthday, else how could I enjoy the cake your kind mother has sent? If you leave me alone I dare say I shan't be able to touch a mouthful of it, out of pure sorrow for my own loneliness on such a holiday."
He had a voice that was hard to resist, and the young girl was so full of compassion for his situation and so full of childish delight in her gift, that she instantly pushed a chair up to the little table and sat down opposite him.
"I really ought not to stay here any longer than is necessary to bring up the dinner and afterward to carry down the dishes again," she said, with a roguish affectation of secrecy. "But my mother won't be on the watch to-day. She doubtless thinks I am making ready for the excursion, but Fritz won't be here before one. He has only obtained leave to be away for the afternoon, and has to come all the way from Moabit. Pray do tell me, Herr Walter, how can you bear to live as you do? But you are letting the soup get cold."
She eagerly pushed toward him the dish, for which he seemed to have no special desire, and with the most charmingly officious coquetry she put the spoon into his hand.
"To live so?" he repeated, smiling, as he ate the soup. "I don't know how a man could live any better. A dinner before me fit for a prince, while the sun shines on the green leaves before the open window, and the little hostess herself condescends to serve me--I should be a monster of ingratitude if I could desire anything better."
"Oh! nonsense," replied the young girl shaking her head. "You are only joking, you know very well what I mean. Is it not almost two years since you have been out of the house? It would kill me to stay in the same place all the time."
"Because you are a little wagtail, Reginchen. Or must I not call you that any more, now that you are eighteen years old? But I think you will retain all your life the same activity that you showed five years ago when we came here and when you carried my brother's books up-stairs one by one, to enable you to run up and down more frequently. Now jumping, you see, is not exactly my forte. But there is one peculiarity about the pleasures a man enjoys: if he can't pursue them himself, they are kind enough to come to him, and the happy hours that I have passed up here during the last five years cannot be counted."
"Because, as mother always says, you are so moderate in your wants, and so contented with everything."
"Oh! not at all, Reginchen. Your kind mother has a false opinion of me. On the contrary, I am very much spoiled, I am by no means contented with everything, and that is the very reason that I have no desire to go out among the crowd of rude, coarse people, who are nothing to me, to witness their self-torment in their endeavor to kill time, and to lose the consciousness of their miserable, paltry, joyless lives; how by means of bustle and fine dressing they try to appear to be something which they are not, and standing on a huge pile of thalers which they have scraped together Heaven knows how, attempt to pass themselves off as great men. And now compare my life with all that, Reginchen: constantly in the society of such a brother, possessing a few good friends, just enough not to forget that even the best of men are not Edwins, so well taken care of in such a pretty, comfortable house, with no anxieties, and--besides--"
He hesitated and his color heightened. "Will you pass me the plate of greens, Reginchen?" he asked, to conceal his embarrassment.
She did not seem to notice it.
"That is all very well," she said. "But, Herr Walter, are you not always sick, and do you not have to bear a great deal of pain? And health, it is said, is the greatest blessing."
He pushed back his plate and looked at her with such a light in his blue eyes, that she grew a little embarrassed in her turn, and secretly wondered whether she had said anything stupid or childish. To-day, for the first time, she felt ill at ease in this gentle, cheerful presence, confessing to herself, however, at the same time, that he was really very handsome, as her mother had always said, and as, before, she would never admit, since all sickness and repose was distasteful to her bright, active temperament.
"Dear Reginchen," he said, "you are eighteen years old to-day, and it is allowable for me to tell you, that many, nay most things, which people repeat among themselves, are the very opposite of the truth. Health, for instance, which is considered a necessary condition to happiness, affords no more and no less than any of the other gifts so commonly desired: wealth, talent, beauty, and so forth. Whether or not these blessings will make a man happy, depends mainly upon whether he knows how to use them. I was once acquainted with a man who never had even a finger ache. But he did not value the gift of health, principally because he had never been sick, regarding it as he regarded respiration as a matter of course; his health, moreover, gave him an opportunity to make life a burden to himself and every one about him, because he had never learned to restrain