"We believe you, for it is a dreadful feeling to have deceived others, even unintentionally."
But Laura, who had established herself as president of the council, decided shortly:
"I beg that all who have taken part in this will meet here to-morrow at the same hour. I give you to that time, Magister Knips, to procure the parchment. After the expiration of this respite our house will be closed to you, our washing withdrawn, and notice given to the Hahn family. See, therefore, that we come to an amicable settlement."
The Magister approached the table, drew with one finger the gold pieces into the palm of his hand, which he modestly held under the edge of the table, made three low bows, and took leave of the ladies.
Ilse related the adventure to her husband, and Felix listened with astonishment at the rôle which the learned factotum had played in the tragedy.
On the following morning the Magister made his appearance before the Professor. Breathless he drew out of his pocket the unfortunate strip of parchment, and carried it with bowed head and outstretched hand, bending lower and lower, humbly and imploringly, from the door to the writing-table of the Professor.
"I venture to bring this to you, rather than encounter the ladies for a second time. Perhaps you will graciously deign to deliver this through your wife into the hands of its new possessor."
When the Professor examined him severely, he began a statement in defence of himself. What he said was not improbable. The name of the doubtful trader was known to the Professor. He was aware that he had been staying in the town during the course of the last few weeks, and from the numerous communications that Knips had had with this man in the interest of his patrons, there was nothing extraordinary in their intimacy. The Professor examined the parchment carefully. If there had been a forgery here, it had been carried out in a masterly way; but Knips produced a microscope from his waistcoat pocket, and pointed out how, by means of the magnifying glass, one could discover that sometimes the shadowy characters of the apparently very ancient handwriting had been introduced over the words of the church prayers, and had therefore been painted on at a later period.
"Your strictures in the Classical Gazette drew my attention to this, and early this morning, when I obtained the parchment, I carefully examined what had been rendered indistinct by the paste. So far as I may be permitted to have a judgment in such things, I now venture to share your opinion that a forgery has been perpetrated on this strip."
The Professor threw it aside.
"I regret that you have ever had anything to do with it, even though unintentionally; you have done a mischief, the painful effects of which you cannot fail to see. I am sorry for it on your own account. This unfortunate occurrence will throw a shadow over your life; and I would give much to be able to wipe it away. For we have known one another through much mutual work, Magister, and I have always felt a sympathy in your self-sacrificing activity in favor of others. In spite of your book-chaffering, which I do not approve of, and in spite of your waste of time in labors which might be done by less efficient persons, I have always considered you as a man whose extraordinary knowledge inspires respect."
The humble Magister raised his head, and a smile passed over his face.
"I have always, Professor, considered you as the only one among my distinguished patrons, who has the right to tell me that I have learned too little; you are also, Professor, the one to whom I venture to confess that I have secretly never ceased to esteem myself as a man of learning. I hope that you will not deny me the testimony that I have always been a trustworthy and faithful laborer in that cause."
He fell back into his humble attitude, as he continued:
"What has happened will be a lesson for me in future."
"I demand more of you. First, you must take the trouble of ascertaining through your acquaintance the hidden source from which this forgery has emanated, for it can scarcely be the accidental idea of an unscrupulous man; it is rather the work of an ill-directed industry, which in time will produce more evil. Further, it is your duty at once to deliver the parchment to Professor Struvelius, and impart to him your discovery. You yourself will do well to be more cautious in future in the choice of the traders with whom you deal."
In these views Knips fully acquiesced and departed, whilst he imploringly besought the kind consideration of the Professor for the future.
"He has, I am certain, to some extent been concerned in the knavery," exclaimed the Doctor.
"No," rejoined the Professor. "His fault has been, that up to the last moment he cared more for his bargain than for the discovery of the truth."
In the afternoon Mrs. Struvelius said to Ilse:
"What we have succeeded in obtaining has been very painful to my husband. For it has convinced him that he was deceived, while others discovered the true state of the case. It is a cruel grief to a wife when she is the instrument of bringing about such humiliation to him she loves best. This sorrow I shall long continue to feel. Besides this, our husbands are so estranged from one another, that a long time will elapse, before their wounded feelings will admit of a reconciliation, or allow them to cherish for each other the respect which as colleagues they mutually owe. I hope, however, that the relations between you and me will not suffer. I have discovered the worth of your heart, and I beg of you--in spite of my unprepossessing manner, of which I am well aware--to accept the friendship which I feel for you."
As she walked slowly towards the door in her black dress. Ilse looked after her with a feeling of surprise, that the first impression made upon her by the learned lady should have been so quickly obliterated by other feelings.
In the next number of the Classical Gazette there appeared a short explanation by Professor Struvelius, in which he honorably acknowledged that he had been deceived, by undoubtedly a very expert deception, and that he must be grateful to the acuteness and friendly activity of his honored colleague who had contributed to the clearing up of the matter.
"This explanation has been written by his wife," said the obdurate Doctor.
"We may hope that the disagreeable affair has come to an end for all concerned in it," concluded the Professor with a light heart.
But the hopes even of a great scholar are not always fulfilled. This quarrel of the scepter-bearing princes of the University had not only introduced Ilse into a new position, but had brought another into notice.
On the evening of the decisive day that revealed the worthlessness of the parchment, Magister Knips sat shivering upon the floor in an unwarmed room of his poverty-stricken dwelling. Books lay in disorderly heaps on the shelves by the wall and on the floor, and he sat surrounded by them, like an ant-lion in his den. He shoved into a dark corner an old cigar chest of his brother's, which was filled with many small bottles and paint-pots, and laid the old books upon it. Then he placed the lamp on a stool near him, and with secret satisfaction took up one old book after another, examined the binding, read the title and last page, stroked it caressingly with his hand, and then again laid it on the heap. At last he seized an old Italian edition of a Greek author with both hands, moved nearer to the lamp, and examined it leaf by leaf.
His mother called through the door:
"Leave your books and come from that cold room to your supper."
"This book has not been seen by any scholar for two hundred years. They deny, mother, that it is even in existence; but I have it in my hands--it belongs to me! This is a treasure, mother."
"What good will your treasure do you, wretched boy?"
"But I have it, mother," said the Magister, looking up at the hard-featured woman; and his winking eyes glistened brightly. "To-day I have read some proof-sheets in which a man of note maintains that this volume which I hold here has never existed. He wishes the 'never existed' to be printed in italics, and I have so marked it for the compositor, though I know better."
"Are you coming?" called out the mother angrily. "Stop your work. Your beer is getting flat."
The Magister rose unwillingly, slipped out of the room with his felt shoes, and seating himself at the table helped himself to the scanty fare before him and without further ado began to eat.
"Mother," he said to the woman, who was watching his rapid meal, "I have some money remaining; if you want anything, buy it; but I will know how you spend it, and I will see that my brother does not again borrow anything from you, for it has been earned by hard work."
"Your brother will now pay all back, for Hahn has improved his position, and he has a good salary."
"That is not true," replied the Magister, looking sharply at his mother. "He has become too stylish to dwell with us now; but whenever he comes he always wants something of you, and you have always loved him more than me."
"Do not say so, my son," cried Mrs. Knips. "He is quite different; you are always industrious, quiet, and collected, and even as a small boy you began to save."
"I have obtained for myself what was dear to me," said the Magister, looking toward his room, "and I have found much."
"Ah, but what hardships you suffer for it, my poor child!" said the mother flatteringly.
"I take things as they come," answered the Magister, making a cheerful grimace. "I read proof-sheets, and I do much work for these learned men, who drive in carriages like people of distinction, and when I come to them they treat me like a Roman slave. No man knows how often I correct their stupid blunders, and the bad errors in their Latin. But I do not do it for all--only for those who have deserved well of me. I let the mistakes of the others remain, and I shrug my shoulders secretly at their empty heads. All is not gold that glitters," he said, holding his thin beer complacently up to the light, "and I alone know many things. I am always correcting their miserable manuscripts, but do not correct their worst errors. I see how they torment themselves and the little they do know they pilfer from other books. One sees that every day, mother, and one laughs in secret at the course of the world."
And Magister Knips laughed at the world.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE DECEPTION OF MR. HUMMEL.
In the houses of the park there reigned peace, forbearance, and secret hope. Since the arrival of Ilse the old strife seemed to have ceased, and the hatchet to have been buried. It is true that Mr. Hummel's dog snarled and snapped at Mr. Hahn's cat and was boxed on the ear in return; and that Rothe, the porter, of A. C. Hahn, declared his contempt of the storekeeper of the factory of Mr. Hummel. But these little occurrences passed away like inoffensive air-bubbles which rise in the place where there has been a whirlpool of enmity. The intercourse between the two houses flowed on like a clear brook, and forget-me-nots grew on its banks. If a misanthropical spell had penetrated the ground at the time when Madame Knips ruled there alone, it had now been expelled by female exorcists.
One morning, shortly before the fair, a book-seller's porter placed a pile of new books on the Doctor's writing-table; they were the advance copies of the first great work he had written. Fritz opened the book and gazed at the title-page for a moment in quiet enjoyment; then he hastily seized his pen, wrote some affectionate words on the fly-leaf and carried it to his parents.
The book treated, in the words of Gabriel, of the old Aryans as well as of the old Germans; it entered into the life of our ancestors before the time in which they took the sensible resolution of making pretty nosegays on the Blocksberg and rinsing their drinking horns in Father Rhine. It was a very learned book, and so far as the knowledge of the writer reached, it revealed many secrets of antiquity.
It was not necessary for strangers to inform the father and mother of the importance of the book which Fritz now brought them. The mother kissed her son on the forehead, and could not control her emotion when she saw his name printed in such large and beautiful characters on the title-page. Mr. Hahn took the book in his hands, and carried it into the garden. There he laid it on the table of the Chinese temple, read the dedication several times and took a turn or so about the pavilion, looking in again occasionally, in order to observe whether the style of building harmonized well with the book; then he cleared his throat in order to master his joyful emotions.
Not less was the pleasure in the study of the Professor; he went hastily through the book from beginning to end. "It is remarkable," he then said, much pleased, to Ilse, "how boldly and firmly Fritz grapples with the subject; and with a self-control, too, for which I should not have given him credit. There is much in it that is quite new to me. I am surprised that he should have concluded the work so quickly and quietly."
What the learned world thought of the Doctor's book may be known from many printed eulogies. It is more difficult to determine what effect it had in his own street. Mr. Hummel studied a detailed review of the work in his paper, not without audible remarks of disapprobation however; he hummed at the word Veda and grumbled at the name Humboldt, and he whistled through his teeth at the praise which was accorded to the deep learning of the author. When at the conclusion the reviewer formally thanked the Doctor in the name of science, and urgently recommended the work to all readers, Mr. Hummel's humming broke into the melody of the old Dessauer, and he threw the paper on the table. "I do not intend to buy it," was all that he vouchsafed to say to his wife and daughter. But in the course of the day he cast an occasional glance at the corner of the hostile house where the Doctor's room was, and then again at the upper story of his own house, as if he wished to weigh the comparative merits of both the learned men and their abodes.
When Ilse told Laura her husband's opinion of the book, Laura colored a little, and replied, throwing back her head: "I hope it is so learned that we need not meddle with it." Yet this disinclination to meddle with the book did not prevent her some days later from borrowing the book from the Professor, upon the plea that she wished to show it to her mother. It was carried to her own little room, where it remained for a long time.
Among the other inhabitants of the street, the importance of the Hahn family--whose name had acquired such renown, and whose Fritz was praised so much in the papers--was greatly increased. The scales of popular favor sank decidedly on the side of this house, and even Mr. Hummel found it expedient not to object to his family's speaking with moderate approbation of their neighbor's son. When Dorchen, as sometimes happened, met Gabriel in the streets, she even ventured to accompany him for a few minutes into the courtyard of the enemy, in spite of the growling of the dog and the sinister frowns of the master.
One warm evening in March she had said a few civil words to Gabriel in passing and was tripping neatly across the street to her own house, with Gabriel looking after her full of admiration, when Mr. Hummel came out just in time to witness the last greeting.
"She is as pretty as a red-breast," said Gabriel to Mr. Hummel. The latter shook his head benevolently. "I well see, Gabriel, how the wind blows, and I say nothing, for it would be of no use. But one piece of good advice I will give you. You do not understand how to deal with women; you are not gruff enough with the girl. When I was young they trembled at the faintest movement of my handkerchief, and yet they swarmed about me like bees. This sex must be intimidated and you'll spoil all by kindness. I think well of you Gabriel, and I give you this counsel therefore as a friend. Look you, there is Madame Hummel. She is a strong-willed woman, but I always keep her under restraint; if I didn't growl, she would. And, as there must be growling, it is more agreeable for me to do it myself."
"Every animal has its ways," replied Gabriel. "I have no talent for developing into a bear."
"It can be learnt," said Mr. Hummel, benignantly. He raised his eye-brows, and made a sly grimace. "Something is in progress in the garden over there; they are probably speculating again on some new arrival, to which I, in due time, shall take upon myself, under all circumstances, to give the right name"--he lowered his voice--; "something anonymous has been unpacked, and brought out into the garden." With a feeling of indignation at his own caution, he continued: "Believe me, Gabriel, the world is growing cowardly from this over-production of children; and people are so crowded that freedom ceases to exist; life is now slavery from the cradle to the grave. Here I stand on my own ground, and if I choose to dig a hole on this spot to the centre of the earth, no man can prevent me; and yet, on my own property, we cannot express an outspoken opinion; and why? Because it might be heard, and displease the ears of strangers. To such a point have we come; a man is the slave of his neighbors. Now, only think, I have but one neighbor opposite; on the other side I am protected by the water and the factory, yet I must swallow the truth, as I dare not speak out beyond my boundary. He who is surrounded on all sides by neighbors must lead a lamentable life; he cannot even cut off his head in his own garden without the whole neighborhood raising a cry because the sight is not pleasing to them." He pointed with his thumb to the neighboring house, and continued, confidentially: "We are reconciled now; the women would not rest until we were. I assure you they lacked the true spirit to carry on a quarrel over there; the affair became tedious and so I gave in."
"Yet it is well that all is settled," said Gabriel. "If the fathers quarrel, how can the children meet on good terms?"
"Why shouldn't they make faces at each other?" returned Mr. Hummel, crossly. "I can't bear this everlasting bowing and scraping."
"Every one knows that," replied Gabriel. "But if Miss Laura meets the Doctor in our house, which often happens, she surely cannot growl at him."
"So they meet often!" repeated Hummel, thoughtfully. "There again you have an instance of this overcrowding; they can't get out of each other's way. Well! I can trust to my daughter, Gabriel; she has my disposition."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," replied Gabriel laughing.
"I assure you she is quite of my mind," affirmed Hummel, decidedly. "But, as to this cessation of hostilities, you need not rejoice so much at it; for, depend upon it, it cannot last long between our houses. When the ice has thawed, and the garden amusements begin, there will be trouble again. It has always been so and I do not see why it should not continue so, in spite of reconciliations, and in spite of your new mistress, for whom I nevertheless have great respect."
The conversation, which had been carried on in the garden, was interrupted by a dark, solemn-looking man, who presented a large letter in a tinted envelope. He introduced himself to Mr. Hummel, and brought him an invitation for his absent daughter to undertake the office of godmother to a baby that had just been born to limit the space in the world still more. To this invitation no objection could be made; the young mother, the wife of a lawyer, was Laura's friend, and the daughter of her godmother. It was an old connection of the family, and Hummel, as father and citizen, duly accepted the invitation.
"For whom is the other letter you have in your hand?" he asked of the messenger.
"For Doctor Hahn, who is to stand with Miss Laura."
"Indeed!" said Hummel, ironically; "matters are going at a great pace. Take your letter over there. Did I not tell you so, Gabriel?" he added, turning to his confidant. "Scarcely reconciled before the tribunal, and at once sponsors together; who may know but that to-morrow morning the old scarecrow himself will come over and offer to be 'hail-fellow-well-met' with me. There again you have the consequences of over-crowding, and of Christianity too. This time my poor child is the victim."
He took the letter into the room and threw it on the table before his wife and daughter.
"This comes from reconciliation, weak women," he cried, tauntingly. "Now you will have nurse, midwife, godfather, and all, about your heels."
The ladies studied the letter, and Laura thought it inconsiderate in her godmother to have chosen just the Doctor for her partner.
"That's to accommodate the sponsor's carriage," exclaimed Mr. Hummel, mockingly, from the corner. "It was made to carry two at once. Now, that fellow Humboldt will come over here in white gloves in order to fetch you to church, and I believe he will have impudence enough to send you a sponsorial present."
"If he did not do so, it would be an insult," replied the wife. "He must do it, or it would give occasion for people to talk. We cannot object to it; he will send a basket of flowers with gloves for the godmother, and Laura will send him in return the pocket-handkerchief, as is the custom among our acquaintances. You know that Laura's godmother thinks a great deal of these things."
"His flowers in our house, his gloves on our fingers, and our handkerchief in his pocket!" said the master of the house, bitterly; "Pray, what are things coming to."
"I beg of you, Hummel," rejoined his wife, displeased, "do not annoy us by finding fault with the civilities which are unavoidable, on such an occasion, and of which no one takes advantage."
"I thank you for your civilities which one cannot avoid, and to which no one attributes anything. Nothing is so insupportable to me, among the people here, as their eternal obeisances before one's face, whilst they pull one to pieces behind one's back."
He left the room and slammed the door behind him.
The mother then began:
"He has nothing really to say against it; he only wishes to maintain his character for sternness. It is not absolutely necessary that you should send the Doctor a present on this occasion, but you still owe him some little attention from that encounter with the shepherd."
Laura was reconciled to the thought of becoming godmother with the Doctor, and said:
"I will make a design for the corner of the handkerchief, and will embroider it."
The following morning she went out to buy cambric. But Mr. Hummel also went out. He visited an acquaintance who was a furrier, took him confidentially aside, and ordered a pair of gloves of white cat's skin for a small hand; he directed that a cat's claw be fastened at the point of each finger. But he wished it to be a delicate one, of an unborn cat, or failing in that, of a very young kitten, and that the claw should stand out stiffly. Then he entered another shop and asked for some colored printed cotton pocket-handkerchiefs--such as one buys for a few pennies--and chose one black and red, with a frightful portrait, that just suited his frame of mind. This purchase he put in his pocket.
The morning of the christening arrived. In the house of Mr. Hummel the flat-irons clattered; the mother added some last stitches; and Laura tripped busily up and down the stairs. Meanwhile, Hummel wandered back and forth between the door of the house and factory, watching every person that entered. Spitehahn was sitting on the threshold growling whenever the foot of a stranger approached the door of the house.
"Show yourself as you are, Spitehahn," grumbled Hummel, approaching his dog; "and catch hold of the woman from yonder by the dress; she will not venture in, if you keep watch."
The red dog answered by showing his teeth maliciously at his master.
"That's right," said Hummel, and continued his walk.
At last Dorchen appeared at her own house-door, and tripped with a covered basket in her hand to the steps of Mr. Hummel's house. Spitehahn rose grimly, uttered a hoarse growl, and bristled his hair.
"Call that frightful dog away, Mr. Hummel," cried Dorchen, snappishly. "I have a message for Miss Laura."
Mr. Hummel assumed a benevolent expression of countenance and put his hand in his pocket.
"The ladies are at work, my pretty child," he said, drawing out a heavy piece of money; "perhaps I can attend to it."
The messenger was so startled at the unexpected politeness of the tyrant, that she made a mute courtesy and let the basket slip out of her hand.
"It shall be attended to carefully," completed Mr. Hummel, with an engaging smile.
He carried the basket into the house, and called Susan to take it to the ladies; after which he went into the hall again, and stroked the dog. It was not long before he heard the door of the sitting-room fly open and his name called loudly in the hall. He entered cautiously into the ladies' room, and found them in a dreadful state of disturbance. A beautiful basket was standing on the table, flowers were scattered about, and two little fur gloves, with large claws at the ends of the fingers, lay on the floor, like paws cut from a beast of prey. Laura was sitting before them sobbing.
"Holloa!" cried Mr. Hummel, "is that one of the sponsorial pleasantries?"
"Henry," cried his wife vehemently, "your child has received an insult; the Doctor has dared to send these to your daughter."
"Ha!" cried Hummel; "cat's paws, and with claws! Why not? They will keep you warm in church; you can lay hold of the Doctor with them."
"It must be a joke," cried Laura, with the hot tears flowing down her cheeks; "it is because I have sometimes teased him. I should never have believed him capable of such rudeness."
"Do you know him so well?" inquired Mr. Hummel. "Well, if it is a joke, as you say, take it as a joke then; this emotion isn't necessary."
"What is to be done now?" cried the mother; "can she still stand godmother with him after this insult?"
"I should think so," replied Mr. Hummel, ironically; "this insult is a childish affair compared to others--compared to house-building, bell-ringing, and dog-poisoning. If you can stomach all that, why not cats' paws, too?"
"Laura has hemmed and embroidered a handkerchief for him," exclaimed the mother; "and she had taken the greatest pains to finish it in time."
"I will not send it to him," cried Laura.
"So you hemmed and embroidered it yourself?" rejoined Hummel. "It is charming to live in friendship with one's neighbors. You are weak womenfolk, and you take the matter too seriously. These are courtesies which one cannot avoid, and to which no importance is attached. Do as you said you would. You must just send the thing over to him. You must not give him or any one else occasion to make remarks. Keep your contempt to yourself."
"Father is right," cried Laura, springing up; "away with the handkerchief, and my account with the Doctor will be closed for ever."
"That's right," assented Hummel. "Where is the rag? Away with it."
The handkerchief lay ready on a plate, wrapped up in fine blue paper, and also covered with spring flowers.
"So this is the hemmed and embroidered thing? We will send it over immediately."
He took the plate from the table, and carried it quickly into the factory; from thence the blue packet went, with many compliments, to the godfather in the house of the enemy.
Mrs. Hahn brought the card of greeting and the present to her son's room.
"Ah, that is a charming attention," remarked the Doctor, closely examining the flowers.
"It is not so customary now-a-days to send presents to the gentlemen too," said the Doctor's mother. "But I always thought it such a pretty custom."
She unfolded the paper inquisitively, and looked up in astonishment. A printed cotton handkerchief lay within, as thick as leather and woven with coarse threads. It might be a mask only, and in this hope she unfolded it, but a frightful caricature alone appeared in diabolical colors of red and black.
"That is not a nice joke," said the mother, vexed.
The Doctor looked downcast. "I have sometimes teased Laura Hummel. This probably has reference to some bantering that has passed between us. I beg of you, mother, to place the flowers in a glass."
He took the handkerchief, concealed it in a drawer, and again bent over his writing.
"I should not have expected this of Laura," continued the mother, much disturbed. But as her son did not encourage further complaints, she arranged the flowers for him and left the room, pondering upon the mortification of her child.
The carriage drove up and the Doctor got into it to fetch the godmother.
"Our doors are so near together," said Hummel, who was standing at the window, "that he will only just have time to creep out from the other side."
After some difficulty in turning, the carriage arrived at the steps of Mr. Hummel. The servant opened the door, but before the Doctor could jump down Susan appeared on the steps and called out:
"Do not take the trouble of entering, the young lady will come immediately."
Laura swept down the steps, all in white as if veiled in a snowcloud; and how pretty she looked! Her cheeks were indeed paler than usual, and her brows were gloomily knit, but the sad expression gave an enchanting dignity to her countenance. She avoided looking at the Doctor, only slightly moving her head at his greeting, and when he offered his hand to assist her, she passed by him and seated herself in her place as if he were not there. He had some difficulty in finding room next to her; she nodded, ignoring him, to Mr. Hummel, who was standing on the steps looking far more cheerful than his child. The horses trotted slowly on; Laura looked neither to the right nor to the left. "It is the first time she officiates as godmother," thought the Doctor, "that causes this solemn mood; or perhaps she is repentant because of the colored handkerchief!" He looked at her hands; the gloves that he sent were not to be seen. "Have I offended against etiquette?" he thought again, "or were they too large for her little hands?"
"He is silent," she thought, "that is his bad conscience; he is thinking of the cat's claws, and has not a word of thanks for my pocket-handkerchief; I have been sadly mistaken in him." This consideration made her so sorrowful that tears again rose to her eyes; but she pressed her lips tightly together, squeezed the thumb of her right hand, and silently counted from one up to ten, an old recipe she had formerly used for restraining vehement feeling.
"Things cannot go on so," thought the Doctor, "I must speak to her."
"You have not been able to use the gloves that T ventured to send you," he began modestly; "I fear I have made a bad selection."
This was too much; Laura turned her head sharply toward the Doctor. For a moment he saw two flashing eyes, and heard the contemptuous words: "I am no cat." Again her lips were compressed, and she clenched her hand convulsively.
Fritz reflected with astonishment whether gloves that wrinkle could ever have been considered a characteristic sign of our domestic animal. He thought the remark incongruous. "What a pity she is so whimsical!" After a time he began again: "I fear you will feel the draught; shall I close the window?"
"Not at all," answered Laura, with icy coldness.
"Do you know what the baby is to be called?" continued the doctor.
"He is to be called Fritz," returned Laura; and for the second time a flaming look of anger met his spectacles, then she turned away again.
Ah! in spite of the lightning that flashed from her eyes, the Doctor could not deny but that she was at this moment wonderfully lovely. She also felt obliged to say something now, and began, over her shoulder:--
"I think the name a very common one."
"It is my own name," said the Doctor; "and as I hear it every day, I must agree with you. It is at least a German name," he added, good-humoredly. "It is a pity that they are so much neglected."
"As my name is a foreign one," replied Laura, again over her shoulder, "I have a right to prefer foreign names."
"If she continues like this the whole day," thought Fritz, discouraged, "I shall have a very pleasant time of it, indeed."
"I must sit next him at dinner, and bear the insult," thought she. "Ah! life is terrible."
They arrived at the house, both glad to find themselves among others. When they entered the room, they hurried to different parts of it; but, of course, being obliged to greet the young mother, they again had to meet. When Laura turned to her godmother, the Doctor also approached from the other side, and the good lady called to mind the day when they had come together to her summer residence, and she could not refrain from exclaiming: "That portends something; you have again come together, dear children."
Laura raised her head proudly, and replied: "Only because you have wished it."
They went to church. The little Fritz tossed about in his godmother's arms, frightened at the baptismal font; but when he was handed over to the tall Fritz, he broke out into an angry cry; and Laura observed with contempt how disconcerted the Doctor was, and what awkward efforts he made, by raising and lowering his arms, and by his looks, to appease the little squaller, till at last the nurse--a very resolute woman--came to his assistance.
With the approach of sunset the duties of the day became more insupportable. At the christening feast all Laura's most gloomy anticipations were fulfilled, for she was seated beside the Doctor; and, for both, it was a most disagreeable meal, indeed. The Doctor once more ventured to make some advances, hoping to break through her incomprehensible mood, but he might as well have attempted to thaw the ice of a glacier with a lucifer match, for Laura had now become an adept in the expression of social contempt. She conversed exclusively with the father of the child, who sat at her other side, and encouraged by his cheerful gossip she recovered her wonted elasticity of spirit; while Fritz became more silent, and noticeably neglected a pleasing young woman, his left-hand neighbor. But things grew still worse. When the proper time approached, the other godfather, a city councillor, a man of the world and a good speaker, came behind the Doctor's chair, and declared that he could not undertake to bring the christening toast as he was suffering with a headache, which drove away all his thoughts, and that the Doctor must speak in his stead. The possibility of this had never occurred to the Doctor, and it was so unpleasant to him in his present mood that he quietly, but firmly, refused his consent to the proposal. Laura again listened with deep contempt to the discussion between the two gentlemen about an oratorical exercise which was not even to be put in writing. The master of the house also observed it, and a feeling of awkward expectation threw a gloom over the society, which is not calculated to encourage unwilling after-dinner speakers, but rather to depress them, and scatter their thoughts. Just, however, as the Doctor was on the point of performing his duty, Laura, after giving him another cold look, rose and clinked her glass. She was greeted with a loud bravo; and she then said, to the astonishment of herself, and delight of all present: "As the gentlemen sponsors are so little inclined to do their duty, I crave your pardon for undertaking what they ought to have done." Thereupon, she bravely proposed and led the toast; it was a bold undertaking, but it was successful, and she was overwhelmed with applause. On the other hand, sarcastic speeches were made against the Doctor by the gentlemen present. Nevertheless, he extricated himself tolerably, the situation being so desperate that it restored to him his powers; nay, he had the impudence to declare that he delayed intentionally, in order to procure for the society the pleasure which all must have experienced in listening to the eloquence of his neighbor. He then made an amusing speech on every possible subject; and all laughed, but they did not know what he was aiming at, till he adroitly turned it upon the godfathers and godmothers and in particular proposed the health of his charming neighbor who sat beside him. This answered well enough for the other guests, but to Laura it was insufferable mockery and hypocrisy; and when she had to clink glasses with him, she looked so indignantly at him, that he quickly drew back from her.
He now began to show his indifference after his fashion; he talked loudly to his neighbor, and drank many glasses of wine. Laura drew her chair away from him; fearing that he might drink too much, he became an object of annoyance to her, and she gradually relapsed into silence. But the Doctor took no heed of this; again he clinked his glass, and made another speech, which was so comical that it produced the happiest effect on the company. But Laura sat as stiff as a stone image, only casting an occasional stolen glance towards him. After that the Doctor left her side; his chair stood vacant, but, figuratively speaking, the cotton pocket-handkerchief and the small fur gloves still lay upon it, and it seemed quite uneasy under its invisible burden. The Doctor, meanwhile, went about the table, stopping here and there to pay his respects; and wherever he stopped there was laughing and clinking of glasses. When he had finished his round, he approached the host and hostess; and Laura heard them thank him for the merry evening, and praise the gaiety of his spirits.
He then returned to his place; and now he had the impudence to turn to Laura, and, with an expression in which she clearly perceived a sneer, he held out his hand to her under the table, saying, "Let us make peace, naughty godmother; give me your hand." Laura's whole heart revolted, and she exclaimed, "You shall have my hand immediately." She put her hand quickly into her pocket, put on one of the cat's-skin gloves, and scratched him with it on the back of his hand. "There, take what you deserve."
The Doctor felt a sharp pain; he raised his hand, and he perceived it was tattooed with red streaks. Laura threw her glove into his lap, and added: "If I were a man, I would make you feel in another way the insult you have offered me."
The Doctor looked about him; his left-hand neighbor had risen; and on the other side, the master of the house, bending over the table, formed a convenient wall between them and the outer world. He looked in astonishment at the challenge in his lap; it was all incomprehensible to him; he was conscious but of one thing, that Laura, in spite of her passion, was enchantingly beautiful.
He too put his hand into his pocket, and said: "Happily, I am in a position to bind your present of this morning about the wounds." He pulled out the red and black handkerchief, and began to wind it round his wounded hand; in doing which, it could not fail being seen that the hand had a most uncanny murderous appearance. When Laura saw the bloody scratches, she was shocked, but she bravely concealed her repentance, saying coldly, "At least it would be better for your hand if you would take my handkerchief as a bandage, instead of that stiff clumsy thing."
"It is your handkerchief," replied the Doctor, sorrowfully.
"This is worst of all," cried Laura, with quivering voice. "You have behaved towards me to-day in a manner that is highly humiliating to me, and I ask you what have I done to deserve such treatment?"
"What have I done to deserve such reproaches?" asked the Doctor, in return. "This morning you sent me this with your compliments.
"I?" cried Laura; "you sent me these cat's paws. But I did not send that handkerchief. My handkerchief had none of the beauty of this colored print--it was only white."
"I may say the same of my gloves; they were not blessed with claws--they were plain kid."
Laura turned to him, anxiously gazing into his face. "Is that true?"
"It is true," said the Doctor, with convincing sincerity; "I know nothing about these gloves."
"Then we are both victims of a deception," cried Laura, confounded. "Oh, forgive me, and forget what has passed." Guessing the state of the case, she continued: "I beg of you to say no more on the subject. Permit me to bind your hand with this handkerchief."
He held out his hand; she staunched the blood with her handkerchief, and hastily wound it about the scratches.
"It is too small for a bandage," she said, sorrowfully; "we must put your own over it. This has been a disagreeable day, Doctor. Oh, forget it, and do not be angry with me."
The Doctor was by no means inclined to be angry, as might be perceived from the eager conversation into which they now fell. Their hearts were lightened; they vied with each other in their efforts at sincerity; and when the carriage set them down at their own doors, they bade each other a cordial good-night.
The following morning, Mr. Hummel entered Laura's private room, and laid a blue paper upon the table.
"There was a mistake yesterday," he said; "here is what belongs to you."
Laura opened the paper quickly; it contained an embroidered handkerchief.
"I have also sent back the gloves to the Doctor, with my compliments, informing him that there was a misunderstanding, and that I, your father, Hummel, sent him what was his own."
"Father," cried Laura, going up to him, "this new insult was unnecessary. Upon me you may inflict whatever your hatred to your neighbors prompts you to do, but that you should again wound another after what has happened yesterday, is cruel of you. This handkerchief belongs to the Doctor, and I shall give it to him at the first opportunity."
"Exactly," said Hummel; "was it not hemmed and embroidered by your own hands? You are responsible for whatever you do now. But you know, and he knows too, how I feel about these exchanges of civilities. If you choose to act contrary to my expressed wishes, you may. I will not consent to our house being upon terms of exchanging presents, either small or great, with the Hahn's; and since you, as I hear, often meet the Doctor at our lodger's, it will be as well for you to bear this in mind."
He went out of the room complacently, and left his daughter in revolt against his harsh commands. She had not ventured to contradict him, for he was unusually calm to-day, different from his ordinary blustering manner, and she felt there was a meaning in his words that checked her utterance and sent the blood to her cheeks. It was a stormy morning for her journal.
Mr. Hummel was busy at his office with a consignment of soldiers' caps, when he was disturbed by a knock at the door, and to his surprise, Fritz Hahn entered. Hummel remained seated with dignity, till his caller had made a respectful bow, then he slowly rose, and began, in a business tone:
"What can I do for you, Doctor? If you need a fine felt hat, as I presume you do, the salesroom is on the floor below."
"I know that," replied the Doctor, politely. "But I am come, in the first place, to thank you for the handkerchief you so kindly selected and sent me as a present yesterday."
"That's pretty good!" said Hummel. "Old Blücher was painted upon it; he is a countryman of mine, and I thought on that account the handkerchief would be acceptable to you."
"Quite right," answered Fritz. "I shall be careful to preserve it as a keepsake. I must, at the same time, add to my thanks the request that you will deliver these gloves to Miss Laura. If a mistake occurred yesterday in the delivery, as you kindly informed me, it was not my fault. As these gloves already belong to your daughter, I, of course, cannot take them back."
"That's better still!" said Hummel, "but you are in error. The gloves do not belong to my daughter; they were bought by you, and have never been seen by her; and early this morning they were returned to their possessor."
"Pardon me," rejoined Fritz, "if I take your own words as testimony against you; the gloves were yesterday, according to the custom of the country, sent as a present to Miss Laura; you yourself received them from the hands of the messenger, and, by your words, acknowledged them. The gloves, therefore, by your own co-operation, have become the property of the young lady, and I have no claim to them."
"No advocate could put the case in a better light," replied Hummel easily. "There is only one objection to it. These gloves were non-apparent; they were covered with paper and flowers, like frogs in the grass. Had you come to me openly with your gloves, and requested to be allowed to give them to my daughter, I should have told you yesterday what I now say, that I consider you a worthy young man, and that I have no objection to your standing as godfather every day in the year, but I do very much object to your showing my daughter what hereabouts are called attentions. I am not kindly disposed towards your family and, what is more, I do not wish to be; therefore I cannot permit that you should be so towards mine. For what is right for one is fitting for the other."
"I am placed again in the unfortunate predicament of confuting you by your own actions," rejoined the Doctor. "You, yesterday, honored me with a mark of civility. As you have made me a present of a handkerchief, in token of your favor, to which, as I had not stood godfather with you, I had no claim, I also may say that what is right for one is fitting for the other. Therefore you cannot object to my sending these gloves to a member of your family."
Mr. Hummel laughed. "With all respect to you, Doctor, you have forgotten that father and daughter are not quite the same thing. I have no objection that you should occasionally make me a present if you cannot resist the inclination to do so; I shall then consider what I can send you in return; and if you think that these gloves will suit me, I will keep them as a token of reconciliation between us; and if ever we should stand together as godfathers, I shall put them on and exhibit them for your benefit."
"I have delivered them to you as the property of your daughter," replied Fritz, with composure; "how you may dispose of them I cannot decide. You know my wishes."
"Yes, perfectly, Doctor," assented Hummel; "the affair is now settled to the satisfaction of all concerned, and there is an end of it."
"Not quite yet," replied the Doctor. "What now comes is a demand I have upon you. Miss Laura, as godmother with me, prepared and sent me a handkerchief. The handkerchief has not come into my hands, but I have undoubtedly the right to consider it as my property, and I beg of you most humbly to send it to me."
"Oho!" cried Hummel, the bear beginning to stir within him, "that looks like defiance, and must be met with different language. You shall not receive the handkerchief with my good will; it has been given back to my daughter, and if she presents it to you she will act as a disobedient child, contrary to the commands of her father."
"Then it is my intention to oblige you to recall this prohibition," replied the Doctor, energetically. "Yesterday I accidentally discovered that you exchanged the gloves I sent to Miss Laura for others which must have excited in her the belief that I was an impertinent jester. By such deceitful and injurious treatment of a stranger, even though he were an adversary, you have acted as does not become an honorable man."
Hummel's eyes widened, and he retreated a few steps.
"Zounds!" he growled, "is it possible? Are you your father's son? Are you Fritz Hahn, the young Humboldt? Why you can be as rude as a boor."
"Only where it is necessary," replied Fritz. "In my conduct towards you I have never been deficient in delicacy of feeling; but you have treated me with injustice, and owe me due satisfaction. As an honorable man you must give me this, and my satisfaction will be the handkerchief."
"Enough," interrupted Hummel, raising his hand, "it will be of no avail. For, between ourselves, I have nothing of what you call delicacy of feeling. If you feel yourself offended by me, I should be very sorry, in so far as I see in you a young man of spirit, who also can be rude. But when, on the other hand, I consider that you are Fritz Hahn, I convince myself that it is quite right that you should feel aggrieved by me. With that you must rest content."
"What you say," replied Fritz, "is not only uncivil, but unjust. I leave you, therefore, with the feeling that you owe me some reparation; and this feeling is, at all events, more agreeable to me than if I were in your position."
"I see we understand each other in everything," replied Hummel. "Like two business men, we both seek our own advantage. It is agreeable to you to feel that I have injured you, and to me that is a matter of indifference. So let it remain, Doctor; we are at heart, and before all the world, enemies, but for the rest, all respect to you."
The Doctor bowed and left the office.
Mr. Hummel looked meditatingly on the spot where the Doctor had stood.
He was during the whole day in a mild, philanthropic mood, which he at first showed by philosophizing with his book-keeper.
"Have you ever raised bees?" he asked him, over the counter.
"No, Mr. Hummel," replied he; "how could I manage it?"
"You are not very enterprising," continued Hummel, reproachfully. "Why should you not give yourself this pleasure?"
"I live in a garret, Mr. Hummel."
"That does not matter. By the new inventions you may keep bees in a tobacco-box. You put the swarm in, open the window, and from time to time cut your honey out. You might become a rich man by it. You will say that these insects might sting your fellow-lodgers and neighbors; do not mind that; such views are old-fashioned. Follow the example of certain other people, who place their bee-hives close to the street in order to save the expense for sugar."
The book-keeper seemed to wish to comply with this proposition.
"If you mean----" he replied humbly.
"The devil I mean, sir," interrupted Hummel; "do not think of coming to my office with a swarm of bees in your pocket. I am determined under no circumstances to suffer such a nuisance. I am Bumble-bee enough for this street and I object to all humming and swarming about my house and garden."
In the afternoon, when he was taking a walk in the garden with his wife and daughter, he suddenly stopped.
"What was it that flew through the air?"
"It was a beetle," said his wife.
"It was a bee," said Hummel. "Are this rabble beginning to fly about. If there is anything I detest, it is bees. Why there is another. They annoy you, Phillipine."
"I cannot say so," she replied.
A few minutes after, a bee flew about Laura's curls, and she was obliged to protect herself with a parasol from the little worker, who mistook her cheeks for a peach.
"It is strange; they were not so numerous formerly," said Hummel, to the ladies; "it seems to me that a swarm of bees must have established itself in a hollow tree of the park. The park-keeper sleeps out there on a bench. You are on good terms with the man; call his attention to it. The vermin are insufferable."
Madam Hummel consented to make inquiries, and the park-keeper promised to look to it. After a time he came to the hedge, and called out, in a low voice:
"Madam Hummel."
"The man calls you," said Hummel.
"They come from the garden of Mr. Hahn," reported the park-keeper, cautiously; "there is a beehive there."
"Really?" asked Hummel. "Is it possible that Hahn should have chosen this amusement?"
Laura looked at her father anxiously.
"I am a peaceful man, keeper, and I cannot believe my neighbor would do us such an injury."
"It is certain, Mr. Hummel," said the park-keeper; "see, there is one of the yellow things now."
"That's so," cried Hummel, shaking his head; "it's yellow."
"Don't mind, Henry; perhaps it will not be so bad," said his wife, soothingly.
"Not so bad?" asked Hummel, angrily. "Shall I have to see the bees buzzing around your nose? Shall I have to suffer my wife to go about the whole summer with her nose swollen up as large as an apple? Prepare a room for the surgeon immediately: he will never be out of our house during the next month."
Laura approached her father.
"I can see you wish to begin a quarrel anew with our neighbors: if you love me, do not do so. I cannot tell you, father, how much this quarreling annoys me. Indeed I have suffered too much from it."
"I believe you," replied Hummel, cheerfully. "But it is because I love you that I must in good time put an end to this annoyance from over there, before these winged nuisances carry away honey from our garden. I don't intend to have you attacked by the bees of any of our neighbors, do you understand me?"
Laura turned and looked gloomily in the water, on which the fallen catkins of the birch were swimming slowly towards the town.
"Do something, keeper, to preserve peace between neighbors," continued Hummel. "Take my compliments to Mr. Hahn, with the request from me that he will remove his bees, so that I may not be obliged to call in the police again."
"I will tell him, Mr. Hummel, that the bees are disagreeable to the neighborhood; for it is true the gardens are small."
"They are so narrow that one could sell them in a bandbox at a Christmas fair," assented Hummel. "Do it out of pity to the bees themselves. Our three daffodils will not last them long as food, and afterwards there will be nothing for them but to gnaw the iron railings."
He gave the park-keeper a few coppers, and added, to his wife and daughter:
"You see how forbearing I am to our neighbor, for the sake of peace."
The ladies returned to the house, depressed and full of sad forebodings.
As the park-keeper did not appear again, Mr. Hummel watched for him on the following day.
"Well, how is it?" he asked.
"Mr. Hahn thinks that the hives are far enough from the street; they are behind a bush and they annoy no one. He will not give up his rights."
"There it is!" broke out Hummel. "You are my witness that I have done all in the power of man to avoid a quarrel. The fellow has forgotten that there is a Section 167. I am sorry, keeper; but the police must be the last resort."
Mr. Hummel conferred confidentially with a policeman. Mr. Hahn became excited and angry when he was ordered to appear in court, but Hummel had in some measure the best of it, for the police advised Mr. Hahn to avoid annoyance to the neighbours and passers-by by the removal of the hive. Mr. Hahn had taken great pleasure in his bees; their hive had been fitted with all the new improvements, and they were not like our irritable German bees; they were an Italian sort, which only sting when provoked to the utmost. But this was all of no avail, for even the Doctor and his mother herself begged that the hives might be removed; so, one dark night they were carried away, with bitter and depressed feelings, into the country. In the place which they had occupied he erected some starlings' nests on poles. They were a poor comfort. The starlings had, according to old customs, sent messengers of their race through the country and hired their summer dwellings, and only the sparrows took exulting possession of the abode, and like disorderly householders, left long blades of grass hanging from their nests. Mr. Hummel shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and in a loud bass voice, called the new invention the sparrow telegraph.
The garden amusements had begun; the sad prognostication had become a reality; suspicion and gloomy looks once more divided the neighboring houses.