The Lost Manuscript: A Novel

CHAPTER XV.

AMONG THE LEARNED.

Ilse popped her head into her husband's study: "May I interrupt you?"

"Come in."

"Felix, what is the difference between Fauns and Satyrs? Here I read that Satyrs have goats' feet, but that Fauns have men's feet and little tails."

"Who says that?" asked Felix, indignantly.

"Why, here it is in print," replied Ilse, And as she spoke she showed an open book to her husband.

"But it is not true," answered the Professor, as he explained the matter to her. "The Greeks had Satyrs, the Romans Fauns. The gentleman with the goat's foot is called Pan. But how did this Bacchanalian train get into your household?"

"You said yesterday that the Councillor of the Consistory had a Faun's face. Then the question arose what is a Faun's face, and what is a Faun? Laura remembered perfectly having learnt at school that he was a fabulous creature of the Romans, and she brought the book in which these creatures are portrayed. What a wild set they are! Why have they pointed ears like the deer, and what have you to say, if even in such things one cannot rely on your books?"

"Come here," said Felix, "and I will soon introduce you to the whole company." He selected a book of engravings and showed her the figures of the whole train of Bacchus. For a time the instruction went on well; but then Ilse objected, saying: "They all have very few clothes on."

"Art cares more for the body than for dress," said her husband.

But Ilse at last became uneasy; she closed the book and exclaimed, coloring; "I must go; my help is needed in the kitchen to-day, as a new pudding has to be made. That is my high school, and the servant is still a novice." She hastened out. Once more popping her head through the door, she exclaimed, "Tell your Satyrs and Fauns that I had a better opinion of them; they are very immodest."

"They are indeed," exclaimed Felix, "and they make no pretensions to being otherwise."

At dinner, when Felix had sufficiently admired the pudding. Ilse, laying down her spoon, said seriously: "Do not show me such pictures again. I would like to love your heathens, but I cannot if they are like that."

"They are not all so bad," said her husband, consolingly; "if you like, we will this evening pay a visit to some of the notables of antiquity."

With this day Ilse began a new period of learning. Soon a fixed hour was arranged for her husband's explanations--the most valuable part of the day to Ilse. First the Professor gave her a short description of the great civilized nations of antiquity and the middle ages, and wrote down a few names and dates for her that she learnt by heart. He pointed out to her that the whole life of man was, in fact, nothing but an unceasing receiving, transforming, and giving forth of the materials, pictures, and impressions presented by the surrounding world; that the whole intellectual development of man is, in fact, nothing but an earnest and reverent search after truth; and that the whole of political history is, in fact, nothing but the gradual subduing of that egotism which produces disunion between men and nations, by the creation of new wants, the increase of a feeling of duty and the growth of love and respect for all mankind.

After this preparation the Professor began to read the Odyssey aloud to her, adding short explanations. Never had poetry so grand and pure an influence upon her soul; the lively legendary style of the first part and the powerful development of the second quite captivated her heart. The characters became almost like living forms to her; she wandered, suffered, and triumphed with them--raised into a new world of more beautiful images and higher feelings. Then when the conclusion came and the long-suffering Ulysses sat opposite to his wife, the bold touches of the scene of recognition struck a secret chord in the heart of the young wife. Deep was the impression. She sat near her beloved husband, her cheeks suffused with blushes, her eyes moist with tears and modestly cast down; and when he ended she clasped her white arms round his neck and sank on his breast, lost in transport and emotion. Her soul woke up, as it were, from long repose and glowed with deep feeling. The immortal beauties of this poem cast a radiance over every hour of the day, over her language, nay, over her bearing. She took pleasure in trying to read aloud herself, and the Professor listened with heartfelt pleasure as the majestic verses rolled melodiously from her lips, and as she unconsciously imitated his mode of speech and the modulations of his voice. When in the morning he went to his lecture and she helped him to put on his brown duffel overcoat he was greeted with the pleasant rhythm of this hexameter:

And when she sat opposite to him during her hour of instruction and he came to a pause, these words of admiration broke from her lips:

"Thus thou cleverly thinkest, and wisely speakest thou always."

And when she wished to praise herself, she murmured to the singing of the boiling kettle:

Even the estate of her dear father now seemed to her illuminated with the golden splendor of the Hellenic sun.

"I do not understand," said her father one evening to Clara, "how it is possible that Ilse should so quickly have forgotten our farming customs. In her letters she speaks of the time when the cattle shall again wander in the wide plains; she means, I suppose, the fallow fields; for we feed our cattle in the stalls."

The north wind howled round the two neighboring houses, and covered the window panes with ice flowers; but within doors one day followed the other with varied coloring and full of light, and each evening, more enjoyable than the other, passed over the heads of the happy couple, whether they were alone or whether the friends of the husband, the instructors of the people, sat with them at the tea-table where a simple meal was spread.

For the friends of the husband and their clever conversations are pleasant to the lady of the house. The lamp throws a festive light in Ilse's chamber, the curtains are drawn, the table well-furnished, and a decanter of wine is placed on it when the gentlemen enter. Frequently the conversation begins with trifles; the friends wish to show their esteem for the Professor's wife--one talks a little about concerts and another recommends a new picture or book. But sometimes they come out from the study in eager conversation; their discourse is not always quite within her comprehension, nor always very attractive, but on the whole it gives her pleasure and refreshes her mind. Then Ilse sits quietly there, her hands, which have been active in her work, fall into her lap, and she listens reverently. No one who is not a professor's wife can have any idea how charmingly the conversation of the learned flows. All can speak well, all are eager, and all have a composed manner that becomes them well. Discussion arises and they begin to argue on weighty points, their opinions clash, they contradict each other, one says that something is black, another that it is white; the first shows that he is in the right and the second refutes him and drives him into a corner. Now his wife thinks, how will he get out of this; but she need have no anxiety, he is not at a loss--by a sudden sally he gains the advantage; then the other comes with new reasons and carries the matter still further, and the others join in, they become eager and their voices are raised, and whether at last they convince one another or each remains of his own opinion--which is frequently the case--it is always a pleasure to see light thrown on difficult questions from all sides. If one of them has said something really important and arrived at the heart of the matter, it puts them all into an elevated mood; it seems as if a supernatural light had burst in on them. But the cleverest of all, and he whose opinion is listened to with the greatest respect, is always the dear husband of the lady of the house.

Ilse, however, remarked that all the learned gentlemen had not the same amiable character. Some could not bear opposition and seemed in weak moments to consider their own importance more than the advancement of truth. Again, one would only speak and would not listen, and narrowed the conversation by always returning to the point which the others had already surmounted. She discovered that even an unlearned woman could, from the discourse of the wise men, discern something of their character; and when the guests were gone she ventured to express a modest judgment upon the learning and character of individuals, and she was proud when Felix allowed that she had judged rightly.

In such conversations the wife of the scholar learned much that to other women remained incomprehensible. Thus, for instance, there were the Roman plebeians. Few women understand what they were. The old plebeians never gave tea-parties, never played on grand pianos, never wore hoop skirts and never read French novels. This class is a very odious institution which has been buried in the ruins of antiquity. But the wife of a philologist is informed concerning all this. It would be impossible to recount all that Ilse heard about plebeians and patricians. Silently she sympathized with the plebeians. She entirely repudiated the idea that they consisted of insignificant people and a wanton rabble, and considered them to be sturdy farmers and fearless politicians who, in unison, valiantly fought against the unjust patricians to the very end. In connection with this she thought of her father, and at times wondered whether some of her acquaintances would not have been plebeians had they been Romans.

The gentlemen were very friendly to her and almost all had one quality which made their intercourse very pleasant--they were always willing to explain. At first Ilse did not like to admit that she knew nothing of many subjects; but one evening she seated herself by her husband and began: "I have come to one conclusion. Hitherto I have been afraid to ask questions, not because I was ashamed of my ignorance, why should I be? but on your account, that people might not remark what a silly wife you have. But if you approve of it I will now do quite otherwise, for I observe that they take pleasure in talking and will be willing to favor me with a 'winged word,' as Homer says."

"Just so," said the husband; "they will like you the better the more interest you take in them."

"I should like to know everything about the whole world, in order to become like you. But I feel that I sadly lack the ability to comprehend it all."

The new plan turned out admirably. Ilse soon learnt that it was easier to persuade her friends to talk than to desist from it. For they explained to her conscientiously and at great length what she wished to learn; but they sometimes forgot that the capacity of a woman who is receiving new impressions is not so fully developed as their own art of teaching.

They seemed to her to hover like gods over the earth. But they partook of the lot of the ambrosial society, for the pure peace which they infused into the hearts of mortals did not always prevail among themselves. It was Ilse's fate that soon after her arrival, when she was beginning to feel at home, a vehement feud broke out among the immortals of Olympus.

On a dark winter's day the stormy wind beat heavily against the window, concealing the adjacent wood behind clouds of driving snow. Ilse heard in her husband' s room the sharp tones of Professor Struvelius amid a weighty flow of eloquence, and at intervals the long and earnest talk of her husband. She could not distinguish the words, but the sound of the two voices was similar to the whir of bird's wings or the rival singing of the thrush and the ill-omened crow. The conversation continued a long time and Ilse wondered that Struvelius should speak at such length. When at last he was gone, Felix entered her room at an unusual hour and paced silently up and down for some time, occupied in deep thought. At last he began abruptly:

"I am placed in a position that obliges me to communicate with my colleagues regarding our manuscript."

Ilse looked up at him inquiringly. Since her marriage there had been no talk about Tacitus.

"I thought it was your intention not to speak again of it to strangers."

"I have unwillingly broken my silence. I had no choice but to be frank with my associate. The province of Science is extensive and it does not often happen that associates in the same university pitch upon the same work. Nay, for obvious reasons, they avoid competition. If, therefore, by accident such a coincidence occurs, the most delicate consideration should be mutually shown by members of the same institution. To-day Struvelius told me that he knew I had been occupied with Tacitus and he requested some particulars of me. He asked me about the manuscripts that I had seen and collated years ago in other countries and about the fac-simile of the characters I had made for myself."

"Then you imparted to him what you knew?" inquired Ilse.

"I gave him what I possessed, as a matter of course," replied the Professor. "For whatever he may do with it is sure to be a gain to learning."

"Then he will make use of your labors for the advancement of his own! Now he will appear before the world in your plumes," lamented Ilse.

"Whether he will make proper use of what has been given him, or misuse it, is his affair; it is my duty to have confidence in the honor of a respectable colleague. That I did not for a moment doubt; but, indeed, another idea occurred to me. He was not quite open with me: he acknowledged that he was occupied with a criticism of certain passages of Tacitus; but I feel sure that he concealed the most important particulars from me. Nothing then remained to me but to tell him plainly that I had long had a warm interest in that author, and that since last summer I had been the more attracted to him by the possibility of a new discovery. So I showed him the account which first brought me into your neighborhood. He is a philologist, like myself, and knows now of what great importance this author is to me."

"My only consolation is," said Ilse, "that if Struvelius wishes to disinter the manuscript in our place, a hard fate awaits him at the hands of my sensible father."

The thought of the defiance of his stem father-in-law was consoling to the Professor, and he laughed.

"On this point I am safe; but what can he want with Tacitus?--his department was formerly not concerned with the historians. It can scarcely be imagined. But the most improbable things happen! Has, perhaps, the lost manuscript, by any accident, been found and got into his hands? But it is folly to worry about that."

He strode vehemently up and down, and, shaking his wife's hand with great emotion, exclaimed at last:

"It is so vexatious to find oneself mastered by selfish feelings."

He again went to his work and when Ilse gently opened the door she saw him busy writing. Toward evening, however, when she looked after his lamp and announced the arrival of the Doctor, he was sitting leaning his head on his hand in moody thought. She stroked his hair gently but he scarcely noticed it.

The Doctor did not take the affair so much to heart; but was very angry, both at the secret dealings of the other and at the magnanimity of his friend, and a lively discussion ensued.

"May you never regret this frank action on your part!" exclaimed the Doctor. "The man will coin money from your silver. Believe me, he will play you a trick."

"After all," concluded the Professor thoughtfully, "it is not worth while to excite myself about it. Should he, by any improbable and unforeseen accident, really have come into possession of something new, he has a right to all the materials at hand--both to what I have collected and to my assistance, so far as it is in my power to give it. If he is only exercising his critical acumen on the existing text, all he may be able to accomplish will be insignificant as compared with our childlike expectations."

Thus imperceptibly and harmlessly did this cloud arise on the academical horizon.

A month had passed, and the Professor had often met his colleague. It could not be deemed strange that Struvelius never let the name of Tacitus pass his silent lips; nevertheless, the Professor watched the conduct of his colleague with concern, for he thought he noticed that the other avoided him.

One quiet evening Felix Werner was sitting with Ilse and the Doctor at the tea-table, when Gabriel entered and laid a small pamphlet, wrapped in a common newspaper, before the Professor. The Professor tore off the cover, glanced at the title, and silently handed the pamphlet to the Doctor. The Latin title of the book, translated, was this: "A Fragment of Tacitus; Being a Trace of a Lost Manuscript. Communicated by Dr. Friedobald Struvelius, etc." Without saying a word the friends rose and carried the treatise into the Professor's study. Ilse remained behind, startled. She heard her husband reading the Latin text aloud and perceived that he was compelling himself to master his excitement by slow and firm reading. The story of this fatal writing must not be withheld from the reader.

Older contemporaries of the period in which tobacco was smoked in pipes, know the value of the twisted paper-lighter, an invention which was commonly called a fidibus; they know the normal length and breadth of such a strip of paper which our fathers formerly used to make out of musty old records. Such a strip, certainly not of paper, but cut from a sheet of parchment, had fallen into the hands of the author. But the strip had previously undergone a hard fate. Two hundred years before it had been glued by a bookbinder on the back of a thick volume, to strengthen the binding, and he had for this object covered it thickly with glue. On the removal of the glue there appeared characters of an old monk's writing. The word Amen and some holy names made it certain that what was written had served to promote Christian piety. But under this monk's writing other and larger Latin characters were visible, very faded, indeed almost entirely defaced, from which one could, with some difficulty, distinguish the Roman name Piso. Now, Professor Struvelius had, by perseverance, and by the employment of certain chemicals, made it possible to read this under-writing, and from the form of the characters he saw that it was a work of antiquity. But as the parchment fidibus was only a piece cut from an entire sheet, it naturally did not contain complete sentences, only single words, which fell on the soul of the reader like the lost notes of distant music borne by the wind to the ear: no melody could be made from it. It was that which had attracted the author. He had ascertained and filled in the disjointed words and guessed at the whole of the remaining leaf. By the wonderful application of great learning, he had, from a few shadowy spots of the fidibus, restored the whole page of a parchment writing, as it might have read twelve hundred years ago. It was an astonishing work.

The most distinctly written of the characters on this strip of parchment, though scarcely legible to the common eye, was the name of Pontifex Piso--literally translated. Peas the Bridgemaker. The parchment strip appeared very much concerned about Peas, for the name occurred several times. But the editor had shown from this name, and from fragments of destroyed words, that the strip of parchment was the last remains of a manuscript of Tacitus, and that the words belonged to a lost portion of the Annals; and he had at last proved from the character of the shadowy letters that the strip of parchment did not belong to any extant manuscript of the Roman, but that it was a part of one quite unknown, which had been destroyed.

After reading the treatise the friends sat gloomy and thoughtful. At last the Doctor exclaimed:

"How unfriendly to conceal this from you, and yet to call upon you for assistance."

"That signifies little," replied the Professor. "But I cannot approve of the work itself; hypercritical acuteness is applied to an uncertain matter, and objections might be made against much that he has restored and supposed. But why do you not say openly what interests us both much more than the mistakes of a whimsical man? We are on the track of a manuscript of Tacitus, and here we find a fragment of such a manuscript, which has been cut up by a bookbinder after the Thirty Years' War. The gain which might accrue to our knowledge from this little fragment is so insignificant that it would not pay for the energy expended on it, being a matter of indifference to all the world except to us. For, my friend, if a manuscript of Tacitus has really been cut into such strips, it is in all probability the same which we have been in search of. What is the result?" he added, bitterly. "We free ourselves from a dreamy vision which has perhaps too long made fools of us."

"How can this parchment be a part of the manuscript of our friend Bachhuber?" asked the Doctor; "many prayers have been written here over the old text."

"Who can assure us that the monks of Rossau have not written their spiritual aspirations over at least some faded sheets? It is not usual, but nevertheless possible."

"Above all, you must see Struvelius's parchment strip yourself," said the Doctor, decidedly. "An accurate examination may explain much."

"It is not agreeable to me to speak to him about it, yet I shall do so to-morrow."

The day following the Professor entered the room of his colleague Struvelius more composedly.

"You can imagine!" he began, "that I have read your treatise with especial interest. After what I have communicated to you concerning an unknown manuscript of Tacitus, you must perceive that our prospect of discovering this manuscript is very much diminished, if the strip of parchment has been cut from the leaves of a Tacitus which was preserved in Germany two hundred years ago."

"If it has been cut?" repeated Struvelius, sharply. "It has been cut from it. And what you have communicated to me about this concealed treasure at Rossau was very indefinite and I am not of the opinion that much value is to be attached to it. If, in reality, there was a manuscript of Tacitus in existence there, it has undoubtedly been cut up, and this ends the question."

"If such a manuscript was in existence there?" retorted Felix. "It was in existence. But I have come to request you to show me the parchment leaf. Since the contents have been published there can be no objection to it."

Struvelius looked embarrassed and answered: "I regret that I cannot meet your wishes, which are certainly quite justifiable, but I am no longer in possession of the strip."

"To whom am I to apply?" asked the Professor, surprised.

"Even upon that point I am at present obliged to be silent."

"That is strange," exclaimed Felix; "and forgive me for speaking plainly, it is worse than unfriendly. For be the importance of this fragment great or little, it ought not to be withdrawn from the eyes of others after the publication of its contents. It is incumbent upon you to enable others to prove the correctness of your restoration of the text."

"That I allow," replied Struvelius. "But I am not in a position to enable you to see this strip."

"Have you sufficiently considered," exclaimed the Professor, excitedly, "that by this refusal you expose yourself to the misinterpretation of strangers, to charges which never ought to be brought in contact with your name?"

"I consider myself quite capable of being the keeper of my own good name and must beg of you to leave its care entirely in my hands."

"Then I have nothing further to say to you," replied Felix, and went toward the door.

In going he observed that the middle door opened, and the Professor's wife, alarmed at the loud tones of the speakers, made her appearance like a good spirit, with her hands stretched imploringly toward him. But he, after a hurried salutation, closed the door and went angrily home.

The cloud had gathered and the heavens were darkened. The Professor once more took up the treatise of his ungracious colleague. It was as if a mountain-lion, wildly shaking his mane, had dashed in upon the prey of a lynx or fox, and wresting the booty from the clutches of the weaker animal, ignominiously routed him.

Twice Ilse called her husband to dinner in vain; when she approached his chair anxiously she saw a disturbed countenance. "I cannot eat," he said, abruptly; "send over and ask Fritz to come here directly."

Ilse, alarmed, sent for their neighbor and seated herself in the Professor's room, following him with her eyes as he strode up and down. "What has so excited you, Felix?" she asked, anxiously.

"I beg of you, dear wife, to dine without me to-day," he said, continuing his rapid strides.

The Doctor entered hastily. "The fragment is not from a manuscript of Tacitus," said the Professor, to his friend.

"Vivat Bachhuber!" replied he, while still at the door, waving his hat.

"There is no reason to rejoice," interrupted the Professor, gloomily; "the fragment, wherever it may have come from, contains a passage of Tacitus."

"It must have come from some place," said the Doctor.

"No," cried the Professor, loudly; "the whole is a forgery. The upper part of the text contains words put together at random and the attempts of the editor to bring them into a rational connection are not happy. The lower portion of the so-called fragment has been transcribed from one of the old fathers, who has introduced a hitherto unobserved sentence of Tacitus. The forger has written certain words of this quotation under one another on the parchment strip, regularly omitting the words lying between. This cannot be doubted."

He led the Doctor, who now looked as much perplexed as himself, to his books, and demonstrated to him the correctness of his statement.

"The forger gathered his learning from the printed text of the father, for he has been clumsy enough to transcribe an error in the print made by the compositor. So there is an end of the parchment sheet and of a German scholar also!"

He took out his handkerchief to dry the perspiration on his forehead and threw himself into a chair.

"Hold!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Here the honor and reputation of a scholar are concerned. Let us once more examine calmly whether this may not be an accidental coincidence."

"Try, if you can," said the Professor; "I have done with it."

The Doctor long and anxiously collated the restored text of Struvelius with the printed words of the father.

At last he said sorrowfully: "What Struvelius has restored agrees with the sense and tenor of the words of the father so remarkably, that one cannot help considering the slight variation in the words of his restoration as a cunning concealment of his acquaintance with the quotation; but still it is not impossible that by good luck and acuteness a person might arrive at the true connection, as he found it."

"I do not doubt for a moment that Struvelius made the restoration honorably and in good faith," replied the Professor; "but still his position is as annoying as possible. Deceiver or deceived, the unfortunate treatise is a terrible humiliation, not only for him but for our University."

"The words of the parchment strip itself," continued the Doctor, "are undoubtedly transcribed and undoubtedly a forgery; and it is your duty to reveal the true state of the case."

"The duty of my husband!" exclaimed Ilse, rising.

"Of him who has discovered the forgery, and if Struvelius were his most intimate friend, Felix would have to do it."

"Explain it first to him," implored Ilse. "Do not treat him as he has treated you. If he has been in error let him repair it himself."

The Professor reflected a moment and nodding to his friend said: "She is right." He hastened to the table and wrote to Professor Struvelius, expressing a wish to speak to him immediately on an important subject. He gave the letter to Gabriel and his heart felt lighter; he was now ready to enjoy his dinner.

Ilse begged the Doctor to remain with her husband and endeavored to lead their thoughts to other subjects. She took a letter from Mrs. Rollmaus from her pocket, in which the latter begged Ilse to send her something profound to read, selected by the Professor; and Ilse expressed a wish that they might thus make some return for the partridges and other game that Mrs. Rollmaus had sent to them. This helped in some degree to cast the sanguinary thoughts of the gloomy men into the background. At last she produced a huge round sausage, which Mrs. Rollmaus had especially destined for the Doctor, and placed it on the table. When they looked at the sausage as it lay there so peaceable and comfortable in its ample dimensions, encircled by a blue ribbon, it was impossible not to acknowledge that, in spite of false appearances and empty presumption, there was still something sterling to be found on earth. As they contemplated the good solid dish, their hearts softened, and a gentle smile betrayed their natural human weakness.

There was a ring at the door and Professor Struvelius made his appearance. The Professor collected himself and went with firm steps into his room; the Doctor went quietly away, promising to return again shortly.

It must have been apparent to Struvelius, after a glance at his colleague, that their last conversation was doomed to throw a shadow over their present meeting, for he looked frightened and his hair stood on end. The Professor laid before him the printed passage of the old monk and only added these words: "This passage has possibly escaped you."

"It has, indeed," exclaimed Struvelius, and sat for some time poring over it. "I ought to be satisfied with this confirmation," he said at last, looking up from the folio.

But the Professor laid his finger on the book, saying:

"An extraordinary typographical error in this edition has been copied into the text of the parchment strip which you have restored--an error which is corrected at the end of the book. The words of the parchment strip are thus partly put together from this printed passage and are a forgery."

Struvelius remained mute, but he was much alarmed, and looked anxiously upon the contracted brow of his colleague.

"It will now be to your interest to give the necessary explanations concerning this forgery to the public."

"A forgery is impossible," retorted Struvelius, incautiously. "I myself removed the old glue that covered the text from the parchment."

"Yet you tell me that the strip is not in your possession. You will believe that it is no pleasure to me to enter the ranks against a colleague; therefore you yourself must without delay make the whole matter public. For it stands to reason the forgery must be made known."

Struvelius reflected.

"I take for granted that you speak with the best intentions," he began at last, "but I am firmly convinced that the parchment is genuine, and I must leave it to you to do what you consider your duty. If you choose to attack your colleague publicly, I shall do my best to bear it."

Having said this, Struvelius went away obdurate, but much disquieted, and matters took their evil course. Ilse saw with sorrow how severely her husband suffered from the obstinacy of his colleague. The Professor set to work and published a short statement of the affair in the classical magazine to which he contributed. He introduced the fatal passage of the monk, and forbearingly expressed his regret that the acute author of the pamphlet had thus been imposed upon by a forgery.

This decisive condemnation created a tremendous sensation in the University. Like a disturbed swarm of bees, the colleagues moved about confusedly. Struvelius had but few warm friends, but he had no opponents. It is true that in the first few days after this literary condemnation, he was considered as done for. But he himself was not of this opinion and composed a rejoinder. In this he boasted, not without self complacency, of the satisfactory confirmation of his restoration by the passage in the monk's writing, which he had undoubtedly overlooked; he treated the coincidence of the error in printing with that in his parchment as an extraordinary, but in no ways unheard of accident; and finally, he did not scruple to cast some sharp, covert hints at other scholars, who considered certain authors as their own peculiar domain, and despised a small accidental discovery, though an unprejudiced judge could not hope for a greater.

This offensive allusion to the hidden manuscript cut the Professor to the quick, but he proudly disdained to enter into any further contest before the public. The rejoinder of Struvelius was certainly unsuccessful; but it had the effect of giving courage to those members of the University who were ill-disposed toward Felix to join the side of his opponent. The thing was, at all events, doubtful, they said, and it was contrary to good fellowship to accuse a colleague openly of such a great oversight; the assailant might have left it to others to do so. But the better portion of the leading members of the University contended from the camp of the Professor against these weak ones. Some of the most distinguished, among them all those who assembled at Ilse's tea-table, determined that the affair should not drop. In fact, the quarrel was so unfavorable to Struvelius, that it was seriously represented to him that he was bound in honor to give some kind of explanation of the parchment; but he kept silent against this array of propositions as best he could.

Even the evenings in Ilse's room assumed from this circumstance a warlike character. Their most intimate friends--the Doctor, the Mineralogist, and, not last, Raschke--sat there as a council of war, consulting against the enemy. Raschke acknowledged one evening that he had just been with the obstinate opponent and had implored of him, at least to contrive that a third person should obtain a view of the parchment. Struvelius had in some measure relented and had regretted that he had promised silence, because a prospect had been held out to him of obtaining other rare manuscripts. Then Raschke had conjured him to renounce such dubious treasures and thus to buy back freedom of speech. It must clearly have been an animated discussion, for Raschke wiped his nose and eyes with a small fringed tea-napkin, which was Ilse's pride, and put it into his pocket; and when Ilse laughingly reminded him of his theft, he brought out not only the napkin, but also a silk pocket-handkerchief, which he maintained must also belong to Ilse, although it was evidently the property of some gentleman who took snuff. It was, therefore, hinted that he might have brought the handkerchief from Struvelius's room.

"Not impossible," he said, "for we were excited." The strange pocket-handkerchief lay on a chair and was looked upon by the party present with frigid and hostile feelings.

CHAPTER XV.

THE PROFESSORS' BALL.

The Professors' ball took place during these academical disturbances. It was the only festival of the year which gave to all the families of the University the opportunity of meeting in gay society. The students and town-acquaintances were also invited. The ball was an important event in the city and invitations were in great demand.

An academical ball is something quite different from other balls; for besides all the merits of a distinguished meeting, it had the three excellences of German scholarship--industry, freedom, and indifference: industry in dancing, even in the case of the gentlemen, freedom in agreeable intercourse between young and old, and indifference to uniforms and patent leather pumps. Of course, the young people even here bore a cosmopolitan character, for the same modes of dancing, dresses, nosegays, and courtesies, glancing eyes and blushing cheeks, can be found at a thousand similar festivals from the Neva to California; but any one who was more observant might perceive in the faces of many of the girls the intellectual eyes and eloquent lips that descended to them from their learned fathers, and perhaps certain little academical peculiarities in curls and ribbons. The old saying which came from a past generation of students, that professors' daughters are either pretty or homely, commended itself here also to the notice of observers, the ordinary mixture of both qualities being rare. Besides a few officers and the flower of the city youth, there might be seen among the dancers here and there a young scholar, thin and pale, with smooth lank hair, more fitted to bend thoughtfully over books than to float about in the giddy dance. But what gave its value to this festival was, not the young people, but the middle aged gentlemen and ladies. Among the elderly gentlemen with grey hair and joyful countenances who stood together in groups or sauntered pleasantly among the ladies, were many important faces, with delicate features, brisk, animated, and cheerful demeanor. Among the ladies there were not a few who, the rest of the year, moved noiselessly about the studies of their husbands and the nursery, and who now saw themselves displayed in unwonted gala-dress under the bright glare of lights, and were as shy and bashful as they had been long ago in their maiden days.

There was upon this occasion, at the beginning of the festive meeting, an evident excitement in certain individual groups. Werner's tea-party had taken for granted that Struvelius would not come. But he was there. He stood wrapt in thought, with his usual absent look, not far from the entrance, and Ilse and her husband had to pass him. When Ilse walked through the ball-room on the Professor's arm, she saw that the eyes of many were directed curiously toward her, and a heightened color rose in her cheeks. The Professor led her up to the wife of his colleague Gunther, who had agreed to remain with her that evening, and Ilse was glad when she found herself established on one of the raised seats next to the vivacious woman; and at first she only ventured to look shyly about. But the splendor of the hall, the many fine people who moved about in it, and then the first sounds of the overture, raised her spirits. She now ventured to look more about her and search out her acquaintances and, above all, her dear husband. She saw him standing not far from the door of the room, in the midst of his friends and fellow-professors, towering head and shoulders above them. She saw not far from the other door his opponent, Struvelius, standing with his little retinue, chiefly of students. Thus stood these men, in every way divided, honorably restraining the angry feelings of their bosoms. Many of her husband's acquaintances came up to Ilse; amongst others the Doctor, who teased her because she had been so afraid that they would not find each other in the confusion of strange people. The Mineralogist also came and declared his intention of asking her to dance. But Ilse, earnestly entreating him, said:

"I beg of you not to do it. I am not perfect in these new city dances, and you would not get on well with me; I had rather not dance. Besides, it is not necessary, for I am in a very gay mood and it amuses me to look at all the fine people."

Soon various strangers approached and were introduced to her, and she acquired greater ease in refusing to dance.

The Historian then brought his daughter up to her and the worthy gentleman at last placed himself near Ilse and talked to her for a long time; she felt with pleasure that this was a great distinction. Afterward she ventured to move some steps from her place in order to ask the wife of Professor Raschke to sit by her. Thus, before long, a charming little circle of acquaintances collected about her. Pretty Mrs. Gunther joked pleasantly and gave her information about the strange ladies and gentlemen. The wife of the Rector also came up and said she must sit near her, as she observed that all were so merry about her. And the Rector's wife darted glances here and there which attracted one gentleman after another to the group; and all who wished to show their respect for the wife of the University president paid their compliments also to the wife of the colleague. There was a coming and going all around her like a fair, and Ilse and the Rector's wife sat there like two twin stars, the brilliancy of one increasing that of the other. All went well and charmingly. Ilse was delighted beyond measure, and there certainly was more shaking of hands in her vicinity than comports with the etiquette of a ball. When Felix approached her once and looked inquiringly at her, she pressed the tips of his fingers gently and gave him such a happy smile that he needed no further answer.

During a pause Ilse looked along the sides of the room and perceived the wife of Professor Struvelius on the opposite side. She wore a very dark dress and her Sappho lock hung seriously and sadly from her fine head. The wife of her husband's enemy looked pale and her eyes were quietly cast down. There was something in the beauty of the lady that moved Ilse's heart and she felt as if she must go over to her. She revolved in her mind whether Felix would think it right and was afraid of meeting with a cold rejection; but at last she took heart and walked right across the room up to the learned lady.

She had no idea of the effect produced by this step. Ilse had attracted much more attention and had been much more sharply watched than she knew, and those present were more occupied with the quarrel between the two professors than she imagined. As she now went with firm step up to the other lady and stretched out her hand, even before she reached her, there was a remarkable stillness in the room and many eyes were directed to both ladies. The wife of Struvelius rose stiffly, descended one step from her seat, and looked so freezing that Ilse became nervous and could scarcely frame her lips even into the every-day inquiry after her health.

"I thank you," replied the lady. "I do not enjoy noisy gatherings. It is perhaps because I am entirely deficient in all the necessary qualifications, for people are only in the right place when they have an opportunity of making their talents in some way available."

"As to my talents, they will go for nothing," said Ilse, shyly; "but everything is new to me here, and therefore it entertains me much to look on, and I would like to see everything."

"It is quite a different thing with you," replied the other, coldly.

Fortunately this embarrassed conversation was soon interrupted, for the wife of the Consistorial Councilor popped into the group like a curious magpie in order to mediate philanthropically or to take part in this startling scene. She broke into the conversation and talked for a short time on indifferent subjects.

Ilse returned to her place much chilled and a little discontented with herself. She had no reason for it. Little Mrs. Gunther said to her gently:

"That was right, and I am much pleased with you."

Professor Raschke darted up to her and did not allude to it, but he called her constantly his dear colleague's wife. He asked her anxiously whether he could not bring her something good--tea or lemonade. He admiringly took the finely carved fan that Laura had pressed upon her from her hand and placed it in the breast-pocket of his coat for safe keeping. Then he began to amuse her by telling her how, as a student, to please his wife, he had taught himself to dance in his own little room, and in the eagerness of the narration, he began to show Ilse the way in which he had privately learnt his first steps. As he was swinging round, the swan's down of the fan projected like a great feather out of his pocket, and a new dance beginning the Professor was carried off through the whirling couples with Laura's fan.

It was only a few steps that Ilse had taken through the hall; but this little expression of independent will had gained her the good opinion of the University; for, if there had been some remarks upon her country manners, now, on the other hand, men and women agreed in acknowledging that she had heart and character.

According to old custom, the ball was here interrupted by a general repast. Worthy professors had already wandered beforehand into the neighboring room, peering at the laying of the table, and had carefully placed their card in the places they reserved and arranged with the waiters about the wine. At last the whole company gathered about the table. When Ilse went on her husband's arm to her place, she asked, in a low tone:

"Was it right in me to go over there?"

And he replied, gravely:

"It was not wrong."

With this she was for the present obliged to be content.

During the supper the Rector proposed the first toast--"Our Academical Society"--and the assembled gentlemen thought his slight allusion to friendly concord among the colleagues touched in an indelicate way on the burning question of the day. But this effect passed away immediately in other toasts, and Ilse remarked that the supper speeches here were carried on very differently to those in the Rollmaus family. One colleague after another clinked the glass; and how elegantly and intellectually they knew how to portray things with their hands behind their backs and looking coolly around, and alluding, in fine sentences, to the guests, the ladies and the rest of mankind. When the corks of the champagne popped, the eloquence became overpowering, and two professors even clinked their glasses at the same time. Then the Professor of History arose; all became still. He greeted the new members of the University--women as well as men--and Ilse saw that this applied to herself and looked down on her plate. But she grew alarmed when she found that he became more personal, and at last her own name as well as that of the wife of the Mineralogist, who was sitting by Felix, sounded through the room. The glasses resounded, a flourish of trumpets was blown, many colleagues and some of the ladies arose and proceeded with their glasses toward them. A little procession took place behind the chairs, and Ilse and the Mineralogist's wife had to clink their glasses incessantly, to bow and return thanks. When Ilse rose blushingly for this purpose, her eyes glanced involuntarily to the next table, where the wife of Struvelius was sitting opposite, and she observed that the latter half moved her hand toward her glass, then quickly drew it back, and looked gloomily down.

The company rose, and now the hilarity began in good earnest, for the Professors became lively, and called to mind their old agility. There was a changed aspect in the room, for soon even respectable, middle-aged gentlemen waltzed with their own wives. Oh! it was a cheering and touching spectacle to Ilse. Many an old dress-coat and clumsy boot moved to the measure; and many of the gentlemen danced with various slidings of the feet, and bold movements of the knees, determined to recall the style of their youthful days, and with the feeling that they still understood the art. Some of the ladies clung shyly to the arms of the dancers, some were ungraceful in their movements, others showed how well they were able to govern at home,--for, when their husbands were not sufficiently practiced in the art, they knew how to carry them round the circle with vigorous swings. The Rector danced very neatly with his chubby wife, and Raschke danced with his wife, and looked triumphantly toward Ilse. The noisy merriment increased; all Ilse's neighbors were carried away by the excitement, and commenced waltzing. And Ilse stood looking on not far from a pillar. Somebody came behind and touched her; there was a rustling of a silk dress, and the wife of Struvelius approached her.

Ilse looked startled at the large grey eyes of her opponent, who began slowly:

"I take you to be a noble-minded woman, quite incapable of any mean feeling, and this is why I have now come to speak to you."

Ilse bowed slightly, in order to express her thanks for the unexpected declaration.

"I go about," continued Mrs. Struvelius, in her measured way, "as if a curse were on me. What I have suffered the last few weeks is unutterable; this evening I feel like an outcast in this joyous gathering." Her hand trembled, but she continued in a monotonous tone: "My husband is innocent, and is convinced that he is right in the main. It is fitting for me, as his wife, to share his views and his fate; but I see him inwardly disturbed by an unfortunate entanglement, and I perceive with dismay that he may lose the good opinion of his most intimate friends, if he should not succeed in dispelling the suspicions which gather about his head. Help me!" she cried, with a sudden outburst, wringing her hands, while two big tears rolled down her cheeks.

"How can I do that?" asked Ilse.

"There is a secret in the affair," continued Mrs. Struvelius: "my husband was incautious enough to promise unconditional silence, and his word is sacred to him; he is a child in matters of business, and is quite at a loss what to do in the matter. What may be necessary to justify him must be sought without his knowledge or co-operation. I beg of you not to refuse your assistance."

"I can do nothing that my husband would disapprove of, and I have never kept a secret from him," replied Ilse, seriously.

"I desire nothing that the strictest judgment could condemn," continued the other. "Your husband will be the first to know whatever I may be able to ascertain, and therefore I apply to you. Ah! not only on that account; I know no one whom I can trust. What I now tell you I have not learnt from my husband: he received the unfortunate parchment from Magister Knips, and he returned it to him."

"Is that the little Magister in our street?" inquired Ilse.

"The same. I must persuade him to produce the parchment again, or to tell me where it is to be found. But this is not the place to discuss this matter," she exclaimed, as the music ceased. "Situated as our husbands now are, I cannot visit you; it would be too painful for me, should I meet your husband, to feel his altered demeanor; but I wish for your advice, and beg of you to allow me to meet you at some other place."

"If Magister Knips is concerned in the matter," replied Ilse, with hesitation, "I would propose to you to come to the room of our landlord's daughter, Laura Hummel. We shall be undisturbed in her room, and she knows more of the Magister and his family than we do. But I fear we poor women can hardly accomplish much alone."

"I am determined to risk everything, in order to free my husband from the unworthy suspicion which threatens to be cast upon him. Prove yourself to be what you appear to me, and I will thank you on my knees."

She moved her hand convulsively, and then looked about her with an air of indifference.

"We shall meet to morrow," replied Ilse; "so far, at least, I can agree to your wishes."

They then settled the hour.

Thus the ladies separated. From behind the pillar Mrs. Struvelius once more gazed imploringly at Ilse with her large eyes; then both were lost in the throng of the departing ball-guests.

After her return home, Ilse long continued to hear in her dreams the music of the dance, and saw strange men and women come to her bedside, and she laughed and wondered at the queer people who chose to visit her now as she was lying in bed without her beautiful dress and fan. But in the midst of these pleasant musings she felt a secret anxiety as to what her Felix would say of all these visitors; and when she gently sighed over this anxiety, the dream floated back towards the ivory portals from whence it had come. She sank into a sound sleep.

The following morning Ilse went up to Laura and confided to her the events of the previous evening, and the request of Mrs. Struvelius. The secret meeting with the Professor's wife quite pleased Laura. She had for some time past more than once heard about the mysterious parchment at the tea-table. She thought the determination of Mrs. Struvelius very courageous, and spoke with contempt of anything that Magister Knips could contrive.

Just as the clock struck, Mrs. Struvelius entered. She looked much oppressed, and one could perceive anxious excitement even through her immovable features.

Ilse shortened the unavoidable introductory compliments and excuses by beginning:

"I have told Miss Laura of your desire to obtain the parchment, and she is ready to send over directly for Magister Knips."

"That is far more than I had ventured to hope," said Mrs. Struvelius. "I had intended with your kind assistance to look him up myself."

"He shall come here," said Laura, decidedly, "and he shall answer for himself. I have always found him unendurable, although I have frequently bought pretty pictures of him. His humility is such as does not become a man, and I consider him a sneak at heart."

The cook Susan was called, and despatched by Laura as a herald to the fortress of Knips.

"You are, under no consideration, to tell him that any one is with me; and when he comes, bring him up directly."

Susan returned with a sly look, and brought the Magister's compliments: "he desired her to say he would have the honor of waiting upon her immediately. He seemed astonished, but pleased."

"He shall be astonished," exclaimed Laura.

The allied ladies sat down around the sofa-table, feeling the importance of the task which was before them.

"When I am talking with him," began Mrs. Struvelius, solemnly, "have the kindness to attend accurately to his answers, that you may in case of necessity repeat them, and thus be my supporters and witnesses."

"I can write quickly," exclaimed Laura, "I will write down what he answers, then he cannot deny it."

"That would be too much like a trial," interposed Ilse, "and will only make him suspicious."

The furious bark of a dog was heard outside.

"He is coming," said Mrs. Struvelius, drawing herself up with dignity.

A loud step was heard on the stairs, Susan opened the door, and Magister Knips entered. He did not look dangerous. He was a short, crooked man; it was doubtful whether he was young or old. He had a pale face, prominent cheek bones, on which were two red spots, screwed up eyes such as short-sighted people generally have, and red from much night-work by dull lamps. He stood there, in a threadbare coat, with his head bent on one side, a humble servant, perhaps a victim of learning. When he saw the three ladies sitting, all stern and solemn, where his heart had only hoped to find one, and among them the wives of important men, he stopped confounded at the door; he composed himself, however, and made three low bows, probably one to each lady, but refrained from speaking.

"Sit down, Magister," began Laura, condescendingly, pointing to an empty chair opposite the sofa.

The Magister approached hesitatingly, pushed the chair further out of reach of the three goddesses of fate, and with another bow seated himself on the corner of the chair.

"It must be known to you, Magister," began Mrs. Struvelius, "that the last publication of my husband has occasioned discussions which have been painful to all engaged in them, and I assume also to you."

Knips made a piteous face, and dropped his head entirely on one shoulder.

"I now appeal to the interest which you take in the studies of my husband, and I appeal to your heart, when I beseech you to give me frankly and straightforwardly the information which must be desirable to us all."

She stopped. Knips, with bent head, looked askance at her, and also remained silent.

"I beg for an answer," said Mrs. Struvelius, emphatically.

"With all my heart," began Knips at last, in a piping voice. "But I do not know what I have to answer to."

"My husband received from you the parchment which was the subject of his last treatise."

"Did the Professor tell you that?" asked Knips, still more piteously.

"No," answered Mrs. Struvelius; "but I heard you come, and I also heard that he promised to be silent about something, and when I entered his room later I saw the parchment lying on his table, and when I enquired about it, he said, 'That is a secret.'"

The Magister looked round about uneasily, and at last cast his eyes down on his knees, where his trousers were unusually threadbare and smooth from wear.

"If the Professor himself considers that the affair is a secret, it is not for me to speak of it, even if I did know anything about it."

"Then you refuse to give us the information?"

"Ah, my dear lady, there is no one to whom I would rather make a communication than to the excellent ladies whom I have the honor of seeing here, but I am much too insignificant to be able to serve you in this."

"And have you taken into consideration the embarrassing consequences of your refusal, for my husband, for the whole University, and--what you, an advocate of truth, must consider more important than all--for science?"

Knips acknowledged himself to be the advocate of truth.

Laura remarked that the examination was wandering into by-paths on which the parchment was not to be found; she jumped up, and cried out:

"Go out of the room for a little while, Magister Knips, I wish to confer with the Professor's wife."

Knips rose very readily and made a bow.

"But you must not go away. Go into the next room. Come, I shall call you in again directly."

Knips followed her with bowed head, and Laura came back on tiptoes and said, in a low tone:

"I have locked him in, that he may not escape."

The ladies put their heads together in close consultation.

"You deal too tenderly with him, Mrs. Struvelius," whispered Laura. "Offer him money. That will allure him. It is hard for me to say so, but I know the Knips family--they are selfish."

"I also have thought of that, for an extreme case," replied Mrs. Struvelius, "only I did not wish to hurt him by such an offer, if there were any manly feeling in him."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Laura, "he is not a man, he is only a coward. If at first he refuses, offer him more. Here is my pocket-book; I beg of you to take it."

She ran to her writing-table and fetched out the embroidered purse.

"I thank you from my heart," whispered Mrs. Struvelius, taking out her purse from her pocket. "If there is only sufficient," she said, anxiously drawing the strings. "Let us see quickly how much we have."

"God forbid!" cried Laura, hastily. "It is full of gold."

"I have turned everything that I could into money," replied Mrs. Struvelius hurriedly; "everything else is of little value."

Ilse took the purses out of the hands of both ladies and said firmly:

"That is far too much. We ought not to offer him such sums; we do not know whether we should not thus be exposing the poor man to the temptation of doing wrong. If we offer him money we embark in a transaction which we do not thoroughly understand."

The others disputed this, and there was much whispered consultation. At last Laura decided:

"He shall have two pieces of gold, that is settled." Laura hastened out to bring back the prisoner.

When the Magister entered, Mrs. Struvelius looked so imploringly at Ilse, that the latter made up her mind to carry on the negotiation.

"Magister, we have set our hearts upon having this bit of manuscript with which the professors have been so much occupied, and as you know about it, we request your help to obtain it."

A submissive smile played over the lips of Magister Knips.

"We wish to buy it," interposed Mrs. Struvelius; "and we beg of you to undertake the purchase. You shall have the money necessary for it."

Forgetting her agreement in their intense anxiety, she put her hand into her purse and counted one louis d'or after another on the table, till Laura sprang up, terrified, and tugged at her shawl from behind.

Knips again laid his head on his shoulder, and fixed his eyes upon the small fingers of the Professor's wife, from which fell one gold piece after another.

"This, and still more, shall be yours," cried Mrs. Struvelius, "if you will procure me the parchment."

The Magister fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief, and wiped his forehead.

"It must be well known to the ladies," he said, plaintively, "that I have to read many proof-sheets, and to work late into the night before I can earn the tenth portion of what you lay before me. It is a great temptation to me; but I do not believe that I can obtain the strip of parchment; and if I should succeed I fear it will only be upon condition that it shall not get into the hands of any of the professors, but be destroyed here in your presence.

"Go out again, Magister Knips," cried Laura, springing up, "and leave your hat here that you may not escape us."

The Magister disappeared for the second time. Again the women put their heads together.

"He has the parchment, and he can produce it; we know that now," exclaimed Laura.

"We cannot agree to his offer," said Ilse. "It is not right for us to take possession of the parchment; it must be examined by our husbands, and then returned to the Magister."

"I beg of you to take away all this money," cried Laura, "and permit me now to adopt another tone with him, for my patience is at an end." She opened the door: "Come in, Magister Knips. Listen attentively to me. You have refused, and the money has disappeared, all but two pieces, which may still be yours; but only on the condition that you procure for us at once what Mrs. Struvelius has begged of you. For we have clearly seen that you possess the strip, and if you still refuse we shall have cause to suspect that you have acted dishonorably in the matter."

Knips looked terrified, and raised his hands imploringly.

"I shall go directly," continued Laura, "to your mother, and tell her that there is an end to all connection between her and our house; and I shall go over to Mr. Hahn, and tell him of your conduct, that he may set your brother at you. Your brother is in business, and knows what is upright; and if he does not see it in that light, Mr. Hahn will, and that would not be to the advantage of your brother. Finally, I tell you further, I will at once send over for Fritz Hahn and tell him everything, and then he shall deal with you. Fritz Hahn will get the better of you, you know, and so do I, for he always did when we were children. I know you, Magister. We, in our street, are not the sort of people to allow ourselves to be hoodwinked, and we value good conduct in the neighborhood. Therefore, procure the parchment, or you shall know Laura Hummel."

Thus spoke Laura with flaming eyes, and clenching her little hand at the Magister. Ilse looked with astonishment at her determined friend.

If a discourse is to be judged by its effect, Laura's speech was a pattern, for it worked most disturbingly on the Magister. He had grown up among the people and customs of that little street, and could well appreciate the consequences which Laura's hostility would exercise on the needy circumstances of his private life. He, therefore, struggled for a time for words, and at last began, in a low voice:

"As even Miss Laura suspects me, I am undoubtedly compelled to tell how the affair stands. I know an old traveling pedlar who carries about with him various antiquities--wood-cuts, miniatures, and also fragments of old manuscripts, and anything of the kind that comes in his way. I have frequently obtained him customers, and given him information upon the value of rare things. This man, during his stay here, showed me a collection of old parchment leaves, concerning which he was already, he said, in negotiation with a foreigner. Attention being drawn to the double writing on the leaves, the strip appeared noteworthy to him, and to me also. I read some of it, as far as could be made out through the paste that lay upon it; and begged him at least to lend me the parchment that I might show it to our scholars. I carried it to Professor Struvelius, and as he judged that it might perhaps be worth the trouble of examining, I went again to the dealer. He told me he would not sell the strip outright, but he should like something to be written concerning it, as that would increase its value; and he delivered it into my hands till his return. This week he came again to take it away with him. I do not know whether it is still to be had, or whether he will take this money for it. I fear not."

The ladies looked at each other.

"You all hear this statement," began Mrs. Struvelius. "But why, Magister, did you beg my husband to tell no one that the parchment came from you?"

The Magister turned on his chair and again looked at his knees embarrassed.

"Ah, the lady will not be angry if I speak out. Professor Werner had always been very friendly to me, and I feared that he might take it amiss if I did not first show him such a discovery. But Professor Struvelius had also a claim to my gratitude, for he had graciously intrusted to me the proof-sheets and table of contents of the new edition of his great work. I was, therefore, in fear of offending two valuable patrons."

This was unfortunate, certainly, and not improbable.

"Oh! do contrive that your husband may hear him," exclaimed Mrs. Struvelius.

"We hope, Magister, that you will repeat your words before others who can understand the import of them better than we do," said Ilse.

The Magister expressed his willingness timidly.

"But you must, nevertheless, procure the parchment," interposed Laura.

Knips shrugged his shoulders. "If it is possible," he said; "but I don't know whether the man will give it up for this sum."

Mrs. Struvelius was again putting her hand into her pocket; but Ilse held it back, and Laura cried out:

"We will give no more."

"Nevertheless," continued the Magister, impelled by the determination of his judges, "as doubts have been raised of its genuineness, the parchment may have lost some of its value for the dealer. But if I should succeed in being of service to you, I respectfully entreat you not to bear any malice against me for the unfortunate share which, without any fault on my part, I have had in this sad business. It has grieved me much the whole time; and since the criticism of Professor Werner has been printed, I have daily lamented that I ever set eyes on the parchment. I should sink into an abyss of misery if I were to lose my respected patrons."

These words excited the compassion of his judges, and Mrs. Struvelius said, kindly: