The Romance of the Canoness: A Life-History

III.

Several weeks have passed since I wrote the last lines. When I laid the sheet in the portfolio--a music portfolio Frau Luise had left, and in which I usually kept some of the airs from GlÜck's operas arranged for the piano--I was startled by the bulk of the MS., and asked myself: "Will any one have patience to read all this? And why should you add to it?"

Ah, if you were a professional author, and, instead of a truthful narrative of the life of the woman so dear to you, could transform her fate into a genuine romance, skillfully blending fact and fiction, or if you at least possessed the gift of describing these experiences in hues so fresh and vivid that no one could help finding her as charming as she is to you! But you are only a clumsy, simple chronicler of events, and the man for whom you intend these records will smile at the labor improbus you have bestowed on so superfluous a work and at your innocent idea that you were thereby doing him a favor.

Well, I then thought, even if you are only pleasing yourself by again conjuring up your old joys and sorrows, what harm is there in that? He can let the avalanche of MS. you hurl into his house roll quietly aside with the others the mail brings to importune him. Who compels him to do more than cast a compassionate glance at it?

But, if he forgives the lonely man his volubility, and eats through this biographical mountain, as Klas Avenstak ate through the hill of pancakes, he must expect that I shall not defraud him of the end, especially as the early close the gods decreed to Luise's life was spiced with much that was sweet, to compensate for many bitter things in her previous destiny.

So I will summon courage to again take up my pen, endeavoring, however, to be as brief as possible, especially in the incidents which concern my insignificant self.

Therefore I will say nothing of the state of mind in which I spent the first few days after my friend's secret departure. Fortunately I had a number of disagreeable affairs on my hands, was forced to attend to the questions, complaints, business, and reproaches of the deserted company of actors, undertake the distribution of the money and provide for the sale of the fundus, which latter affair was settled more quickly and profitably than I had feared. Frau Luise's destination was as little known as the distant shore to which the great artist had shaped his course. So I took a sorrowful leave of my colleagues, who, with the exception of the three oldest members, Laban, Gottlieb SchÖnicke, and the good prompter, who grieved sincerely for the vanished woman, seemed to be tolerably consoled by the considerable sum that fell to the share of each, and, as I was far too sad at heart and dull of brain to form any sensible plan for the future, I sent my trunk to my native town, strapped my knapsack on my back, and wandered through Pomerania and the Mark to my old home. I believe that during those eight or ten days I did not have one sensible thought, for the Orpheus aria constantly rang in my ears:

"Alas, I have lost her,
All my happiness is o'er!"

It will be considered perfectly natural that the news of my return excited no special rejoicing in the small provincial town, and no one felt impelled to kill a fatted calf to do honor to the Prodigal Son. At first I kept out of the way as much as possible, since wherever I appeared I was stared at as though I were some wild animal just escaped from a menagerie, or, still worse, shunned with evident fear of contagion, being regarded as a dangerous sinner who, lured by the lust of the world and the flesh, had exchanged the preacher's calling for a dissipated vagabond life among jugglers and strollers.

One old friend, however, who meantime had become principal of the highest public school, treated me with his old cordiality, listened sympathizingly to the account of my fate, and, as I was absolutely penniless, offered me temporary shelter in an attic room in his little house. Ere long, spite of my antecedents, he succeeded in getting me the position of teacher of singing to the three lower classes, as the old chorister was daily growing deafer. When he became wholly incapable of further service, the three upper classes were also transferred to me, and, after having conscientiously done my duty for several years, and meanwhile showed by my irreproachable conduct that I was not the Don Juan and demon of darkness rumor had pronounced me, I was advanced--partly in consequence of the services of my dead father, whose memory was still honored--to the position of teacher of geography and history, in which I was often reminded of the time when I had related the same beautiful stories to my little pupil and his haughty sister.

My kind fellow-citizens had pardoned my past--nay, with the feminine portion of the population, it merely helped to surround the commonplace fellow I was and am with that halo of impiety which is usually more attractive to the weaker sex than the most beautiful aureola of unsullied virtue. Many very estimable mothers of marriageable daughters greeted me in the street with an encouraging glance--nay, there was no lack of efforts to tempt me to their houses, especially after a small legacy, which I inherited very unexpectedly, enabled me, with my modest salary as a teacher, to establish a quiet home of my own. Even my friend and present colleague gave me numerous well-meant hints--Heaven would rather provide for two than for one, and so would the fathers of the city. But I answered all such admonitions with a smile and a shrug of the shoulders. How could I have been such a scoundrel as to deceive an innocent, unsuspecting girl by letting her suppose a heart free which had long been firmly bound?

The ten years I spent in this way were joyless and desolate enough. I had lost my taste even for the society of men; foolish political discussions and standing local jests had no interest for me, and I had never cared for any game of cards except the one with which such beloved memories were associated. So I spent the evenings in my lonely room, and used the money I saved from gambling and drinking for the purchase of books, though the volumes were wholly different in character from those I had inherited from my dear father. Besides the newest philosophical works, I ordered novels by English authors, among whom Thackeray was my special favorite, while Dickens seemed to me a sentimental mannerist, striving for effect, who had no correct ideas of women. But I will leave this part of my life and hasten on to the main subject.

One Wednesday afternoon in March--I had no school, but a furious snow-storm prevented my taking my usual walk into the country--some one knocked at my door, and an old woman, on whom I had never set eyes before, hobbled into the room. She was almost out of breath, for, as she said, she had come from the alms-house at the opposite end of the town, and the wind had almost blown her away. She drew from the folds of her thick shawl a crumpled note, in which was scribbled in pencil:

"If you have not yet forgotten your old friend, dear Johannes, give her the pleasure of a visit. She has been ill for a fortnight, and is permitted to sit up to-day for the first time. The messenger knows where she is to be found.

Luise."

I will not attempt to describe the tempest of feeling those few words awakened in my soul. For a moment the room and all it contained whirled around me, and I should not have been surprised had the old woman suddenly thrown off her patched clothing and stood before me in the guise of a beautiful fairy.

With trembling haste I hurried on my coat, seized my hat and cane, and went out into the street ere I asked if this were really true, and how she had happened to serve the lady as a messenger.

There was nothing strange in that, the old dame had answered. Madame Spielberg had arrived a fortnight ago, in her own carriage, very ill with measles, and had asked to be taken to the hospital. But as, on account of the rebuilding, no one could be received there, and the only patient, by the burgomaster's orders, had meantime been removed to the almshouse, the stranger had been transported there, to her entire satisfaction for, thank Heaven, she had lacked nothing. The doctor had been instantly summoned, and then the seven old dames who now lived there shared the nursing, which had prospered so well that to-day she had eaten her soup with an excellent appetite and been able to drink a tiny glass of wine. The doctor had told them to be very attentive to the sick lady, who was of noble birth and a Canoness. Well, that was no hard task for them. There was not such another lovely lady in the whole world, she was always apologizing for giving so much trouble, and that day, after she sat up, had sent for her trunk and given each one some article of clothing for a present. Then she asked about the schoolmaster, but, when she saw the storm, said the note could wait till to-morrow. But she, the old dame, would not hear of that, and now I would see for myself how well the lady was taken care of. She occupied No. 12, the best room in the whole house.

When I had entered the dusky corridor and shaken the snow from my clothing, and my guide, pointing to one of the little doors, had said, "That's number 12," I was obliged to pause a few moments to calm myself before I knocked. Is it really true? I thought. Ten years have passed like one day! In your heart at least! And she--how will you find her? But I had scarcely heard her "Come in!" when I knew she must be just the same as ever; time, grief, and even want had no power over her strong soul; and, whether I found her in this wretched almshouse or on a throne, she would ever be the mistress of my thoughts and feelings.

So I entered, and the first look in which our eyes met thrilled me with the warmth and happiness a patient, on whom an operation for a cataract has been performed, feels when the bandage is removed for the first time.

She was sitting in a large arm-chair by the window, past which the snow-flakes were whirling, and held on her knee an open book. The large room was bare and wholly unadorned, the walls were white-washed, the bed was covered with a brown shawl that I distinctly remembered, her trunk stood at the foot, there was a plain table and two chairs--the usual almshouse furniture. But on the table beside the carafe stood a glass containing a bunch of snow-drops, in front of a daguerreotype of her child in a small easel-frame wreathed with the same white blossoms. Everything was just as usual, for she had always kept this picture near her, and she still wore, as at the time I last saw her, her mourning dress, with the little black silk kerchief wound in her fair hair, only its amber hue was not so deep, but seemed powdered with a gray dust. The beautiful oval face, however, was wholly unchanged, save for an expression of cheerfulness which had been alien to it during the last period of our companionship. How she smiled at me, how her voice sounded--was she really a sorely-afflicted woman, who had passed her fortieth year? And I, was I the dried up, provincial Philistine and pedagogue I had so long believed myself to be, or still a reckless young fellow, ready at any moment to commit the wildest folly for this woman's sake.

She did not rise to greet me, but held out both hands, and I could only clasp and hold them in the utmost embarrassment. I did not venture to kiss them. I had too often seen this knightly homage paid by the man who had inflicted the keenest suffering upon her heart, and would not remind her of any bitter experience.

"Frau Luise," I said, "it is really you--you have not changed in the least--I am so happy to see you again--and you were ill and I only learn your presence here to-day."

"Sit down by me, Johannes," she said. "I, too, am glad to see your face once more. You look very well; you have grown a little stouter, but it is becoming; teaching seems to suit you better than the dramatic business. Oh, my dear friend, this is like the day of judgment, when everything is to be brought together. True, only the shadow of the very best of all returns!" She glanced at the picture of Joachimchen on the table, and her eyes grew grave.

"I can not yet recover from my joyful surprise," I said, as I took my seat at the window opposite to her. "You here! And what tempted you to this out-of-the-way corner? And whence do you come?"

She smiled again.

"You tempted me, my friend--you, and no one else. I was very ill and thought I should not recover. So, before my death, I wanted to again clasp the hand of my last friend, and thank him for all the love and fidelity he has shown me. Believe me, I know everything that has happened to you during our separation--it is not much--Uncle Joachim constantly inquired about you and wrote me all he learned. He alone, of all my acquaintances, knew where I was to be found."

"And did not answer one single word, the envious man, though I wrote to him three times to obtain news of you."

"He could not. I had strictly forbidden it. I wanted to be dead to every one, and always hoped that God would be merciful and speedily summon me from the world. But He had different plans for me, and I will not murmur against His will. Where did I hide myself? Why, in a very remote corner of the Uckermark, on the estate of a nobleman who had advertised for a companion for his invalid wife and a governess for his little daughter. How I fared in that house, and learned to practice every deed of charity, I will tell you some other time or not at all. I can only repeat the old words: 'With the sick I became well, with the poor rich, with the dying I learned to live.' And all this exactly in my own way, with people whom I tenderly loved. You know the professional neighborly love a deaconess practices would be contrary to my nature, like a public display of piety and love for God. But when the gentle sufferer died, and a few weeks after her little daughter followed her, I could no longer remain in the house; for the sorrowing widower, otherwise a thoroughly admirable man, offered me his heart and hand, and, when I told him that I was not free, proposed to make every effort to have my missing husband declared dead and then marry me. Just at that time I received a letter from our Liborius, the gardener, informing me that Uncle Joachim was very ill and wished to see me. This instantly afforded me an escape from my painful position. For, though I could be nothing to the worthy man, I pitied his desolation and his hopeless love. Willing or not, he was now obliged to let me go at once."

"Poor woman!" I said. "How you must have suffered in returning to the old scenes which had so many hated associations."

"You are wrong," she answered. "Those few weeks on the estate are among the most consoling my life has known. I saw none of the faces that were repulsive to me--indeed many of those I held dear were also missing. Aunt Elizabeth had slept for six years in the family vault. Her 'inconsolable husband,' as he styles himself on the tombstone, coupled with a verse from the Bible expressing a hope of a reunion--perhaps you have seen it in the newspaper?--Uncle Achatz, went to France directly after the funeral, accompanied by the young Englishwoman, who, after the separation from Mademoiselle Suzon, had become indispensable to him as a reader and companion. In Paris, where to improve his finances he frequented gambling-houses, he met a doubtful character, who quarreled with him at faro and then shot him in a duel. As the traveling companion disappeared the same day, leaving nothing of any value, the unfortunate man was buried in a very simple manner at the expense of the Prussian embassy, and is still awaiting in French soil the day when he is to be interred by his wife's side. Hitherto my young cousin has lacked time and means to do this. Immediately after his father's death, he set to work zealously, under Uncle Joachim's supervision, to extricate his financial affairs from their utter disorder, and in every possible way improve the estate, so that in time the former splendor of the family might be restored. I should have been very glad to see Achatz, who had not been your pupil one whole summer entirely in vain. But just before I arrived he had set out with his young wife on a wedding journey to Italy. Nor did I see my cousin Leopoldine, who as you know married Cousin Kasimir, and has had no light cross to bear. My best friend, Mother Lieschen, had long since gone to her last rest. So I found only the old servants, the gardener, the villagers, who were all fond of me because Aunt Elizabeth's kind deeds reached them by my hands--and my dear old uncle, the sight of whom fairly startled me. He was sitting, crippled with gout, our family disease, in an uncomfortable chair by the stove, his dog, a grand-daughter of our old Diana, lying beside him, and his pipe, which had gone out, between his teeth. He could not light it himself with his bandaged hands, and Liborius did not always have time to attend to him. But his mind was as clear and bright as in his best days, and his old heart still throbbed as warmly as ever. I can not tell you, dear Johannes, what joy and enlightenment, even amid the saddest feelings, I experienced during those last days spent with the dying man. There the last ring forged around me by my own hard fate was shattered into fragments, and I felt ashamed of my weak-hearted melancholy in the presence of the quiet, brave, cheerful sufferer, who never allowed a complaint to escape his lips. Only when the pain became too severe, a stifled nom d'un nom! sometimes slipped through his teeth with the smoke, and then he begged me to put my hand on his heart, that the raging thing might feel its mistress.

"So he at last died, with a chivalrous jest on his lips and a loving look at me. The gout, as people say, went to his heart. It was not until after his death that I fully realized what a noble man he had been. I sat for hours beside the open coffin, and resolved that I would fight as bravely through the span of life still left me, and again look forth upon the world with cheerful eyes.

"But I could not yet devote myself to my own affairs, an epidemic of measles had broken out in the village, and I was needed from early till late, in house after house, to help the doctor abolish the absurd torments still in use from the treatment of ancient times. Meanwhile, the small sum of money I had brought with me was consumed in the expenses of my uncle's funeral and the needs of the village hospital. When at last the disease attacked me also, I had just enough left to pay for the carriage which was to bring me here to my old friend.

"But when I had arrived it seemed kinder not to startle this faithful man, perhaps even expose him to the same calamity by summoning him to my sick bed. So I waited till I had had my first bath, which I took yesterday, and now I can give you my hand without peril, and tell you how glad I am that a respite on this chilly earth is still granted me, and that I hope to enjoy a few more beautiful springs in this lower world."

She had again given me her hand, which I now raised to my lips.

"Frau Luise," I replied, "you have bestowed upon me the greatest joy and honor I have ever experienced. I value your coming here as highly as though you had dubbed me a knight. And, in truth, during all these years, I have felt myself your knight and worn your colors."

A slight flush mounted into her face, which made her look still younger. "Do not overestimate me," she replied. "I had two objects in coming, only one of which was unselfish. I wanted to see you again to have you help me in my need, but also, it is true, to provide for your own future."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "What future can there be for a man like me, whose presence no one would miss. You see, my dear friend, men of my stamp are indispensable to the human race, but only like the stones the architect cements together in the earth, that they may form a solid foundation for his proud temple. We are invisibly bound together, and render service as a whole, but the individual is not much noticed; even if he is moldering, he does his duty while he fills his little space. Why do you talk to me of the future? So long as you stay with me, time will vanish."

Luise shook her head gravely.

"I am not in question," she replied, "and, if we are to remain good friends, you must not make any more of these extravagant speeches. You are no longer an enthusiastic youth, but still young enough to take a fresh start in life, have a beloved wife and a house full of children, without entirely forgetting your old friend. It is not necessary to have a proud ideal of the future for that. But you ought to be ashamed of so depreciating yourself, burying your talent, dreaming and grieving away your life in this secluded hamlet, instead of seeking a sphere of influence where all your gifts might develop. Or, if you have lost the courage and desire to live for mankind, why will you not at least make one individual happy, and diffuse warmth enough from your hearth-stone to benefit the immediate neighborhood?"

"Because I am no longer free, but have long languished in bonds and fetters," I replied, and, unbuttoning my vest at the neck, drew out her gold chain, which I never laid aside. She again flushed slightly, but forced herself to assume a stern expression, and said: "You are incorrigible; but I won't give you up yet. I know that you will do much to afford me pleasure. First, however, you must do me another service. I have told you that I spent my last thalers for the carriage which brought me here. I should like to look about me for another position, where I can make myself useful, and you shall help me by advancing a small sum. I don't need much, but I haven't paid a farthing in this house, and should not like to live on at the expense of a community upon which I have not even the claim of being a native of the place. But I am not too proud to beg from you."

"You could have made me no more valuable gift," I exclaimed. "And now we won't say another word about this trifle. Tell me about yourself, and, above all, whether you are well cared for here, and what I can do for your comfort."

She smiled again.

"I am treated like a princess. You know that old women were always fond of me. Now I have no less than seven of them in one group, and they are so attentive and so jealous of my favor that I am obliged to act on the defensive. Whenever I rang, all seven of them would come hobbling in to ask my wishes. They felt honored by the presence of an ex-Canoness in the almshouse; the coachman, who came from our estate, had told them who I was, or rather might be, if I had not destroyed my own prospects. My coming here ill with such a commonplace disease, and lying down contentedly in so plain a bed, as if I had never slept in a castle, won their hearts at a single stroke. But, to escape their officious zeal without wounding the jealous devotion of any one, I arranged to have each dame serve me one day in the week. In this way I learned to know them all, and am now aware of everything Mother Schulzen, Mother Jenicke, Mother Grabow and the others have suffered during their insignificant, sorrowful lives. But you will be little interested in this. Besides, I have already talked too much--the doctor would scold. Go now, dear friend, and if you have time come again to-morrow. While I am here, we will see a great deal of each other."

These were pleasant and prophetic words. I owe the happiest part of my life to the time Frau Luise spent beneath this humble roof.

Of course, I now visited her daily, and as she rapidly recovered our talks became longer, so, when the last snow had disappeared and the world grew warm and bright again, we did not stay within the four bare walls, but took the most delightful walks, at first near the house and church, but afterward we rambled for hours along the shore of the lake, and even entered the little grove beyond.

We were always compelled to do this when my princess desired to escape from the attendance of her court. So long as we remained near the house, the seven old dames persistently followed us, the one who was on duty that day in front, the six others, each holding her knitting in her old withered hands, behind, as if to do the honors of the neighborhood, but really because their hearts drew them to this new inmate of the household. They seemed to find comfort in merely looking at her or hearing the distant sound of her voice. But their feeble old limbs would not carry many of them farther than the shore of the lake, and the two youngest, who were only seventy and still very vigorous, dared not take any special liberties.

We never went into the city. Frau Luise did not wish to fan the public curiosity, already excited. True, the burgomaster had considered it his duty to wait upon the lady, and urge her to move into more elegant lodgings which he had secured for her.

He, too, was so charmed by her appearance and manner that his first embarrassment soon vanished, especially after she had requested him not to call her Baroness, but simply Frau Spielberg, and had thanked him for the hospitality extended to her here. So comfortable an abode for old women--to whose number she herself would soon belong--could scarcely be found in the whole Mark, and she begged to be allowed to stay until she had decided how to shape her future life.

But, as she could remain nowhere without bestowing on her environments the impress of her own nature, the burgomaster at his first visit marveled at the changed appearance of the almshouse and its inmates. The seven old dames, who had formerly crept about in forlorn tatters, with their thin hair hanging over their brows, and lines of discontent on their faces--nay, sometimes bearing tokens of very unchristian deeds, the result of their quarrels--suddenly appeared transformed into neat, civil matrons, for they had noticed that they did not please their mistress unless they appeared with clean faces and carefully mended dresses. Even the building itself had changed. The corridors and rooms were spick and span from scouring, and strewed with clean sand. The most beautiful of all was the garden, a narrow strip of ground beneath the low windows. Without saying much about it, Frau Luise one day dug with her own hands the patch below her own window, divided it into small beds, and planted some flowers she had asked me to get for her. Her old guard had scarcely seen this ere they became possessed with an ambition to imitate the noble lady, and, as the latter willingly helped them with seeds and young plants, the wilderness, in which formerly nothing but nettles and weeds of all kinds had flourished, was transformed into a gay garden, and under each window stood a small, rudely made bench, painted with cheap green paint, on which every leisure evening one of the old crones sat in the sunset glow with the everlasting knitting in her lap.

I had ordered Frau Luise's bench to be made somewhat larger, so that there was room for a slender person by her side. There I sat many an hour, often with a book from which I read aloud to her, or talking cheerfully and earnestly about God and the world, not infrequently recalling memories of the beloved child, whose smallest trait of character had not been forgotten by either of us. His father's name was never mentioned. I only knew that he was still dragging out his useless existence in some foreign land.

At that time I learned to know the deep wisdom of the words "All things work together for good to them that love God." For all the good and evil, strange and detestable things this woman had experienced, had worked together in her strong, clear soul, till after the dross had been separated pure gold remained. Now, as ever, she was reluctant to needlessly mention the name of God, and, had she been catechized about her faith, probably would not have passed the examination well. But she possessed the consciousness that, whenever she went down into the depths of her heart, she would find the spirit of peace, love, and truth, and this consciousness was so vivid that a divine calmness and confidence, visible to the dullest senses, illumined her brow. But a new trait in her was a peculiar sense of humor, a mirthfulness which had rarely flashed out in her youth, yet now appeared to be the predominant mood of her nature. When she was gay, she could make the most comical remarks about herself and her surroundings, mutual old acquaintances, and the seven dames knitting on their little benches, remarks whose drollery could not be surpassed by Dickens or Thackeray. Her merry satire did not even spare me. But, as I was utterly defenseless, she soon let the subject drop, though she could see by my hearty laughter that I was flattered rather than offended.

This uniformly charming idyl would have satisfied all my wishes, had I been able to shake off the fear that it would some day come to an end. For Frau Luise daily studied all the advertisements for governesses or nurses, and several times had applied for something, fortunately without success. I racked my brains to discover some plan that would keep her near me. But, though she unhesitatingly accepted my friendly assistance as a loan, she was inexorable whenever I spoke of having no question concerning "mine and thine" rise between us in the future.

"Whoever can work must gain a living!" she answered once, in a tone that deprived me of all courage to return to the subject.

Then a fortunate chance caused, in a very simple and easy way, the fulfillment of the sum total of my wishes.

One Sunday afternoon in May we had taken a delightful walk, and on our return the little almshouse chapel stood before us in its dense robe of ivy, illumined by the full radiance of the sun, looking so beautiful and venerable that, for the first time, we gazed at it attentively and remarked how strange it was that we had never desired to see the interior. Though we now heard from the seven matrons that it was perfectly bare and the walls had nothing but spiders' webs, Frau Luise asked for the key, which had not been used for years, and, attended by the whole train of knitting courtiers, we entered the deserted old chapel.

There was, in truth, nothing remarkable to be seen. A tolerably bright light fell through four long, narrow, arched windows, but illumined nothing save bare walls destitute of pillars, entablatures, or other architectural decorations. Within the choir there was only the square, brick foundation of the altar, raised one step above the floor. In a corner opposite stood a bier covered with a black pall, thickly coated with dust. The little almshouse chapel had doubtless served for a receiving tomb so long as the graveyard outside was used. This thought did not make the cellar-like place more agreeable, and we were about to go back to the warm spring sunshine when my eyes fell upon a high, narrow, wooden box, which stood on the other side just opposite to the altar. Great was my surprise when, after having vainly fumbled about the case for a time, a lid suddenly flew back, and an old harmonium appeared. How it came there I could never ascertain. These instruments are still very rare in our province, and it is hardly probable that years ago the almshouse had a pious and wealthy patron in the city, who desired to aid the religious service in the poor little church by such an endowment.

So we examined our treasure with astonished eyes. When I touched the keys, dull and somewhat rusty, yet not wholly discordant notes stole forth, as if the sleeping soul, so long confined there, were waking, and its first sound was a timid expression of thanks to its deliverers.

The case was instantly drawn forward, and I prepared to play. Frau Luise, with sparkling eyes, came to my side. I began "A mountain fastness is our Lord," and she joined in with her voice, at first timidly, it was so long since she had sung a note, but soon with all her former depth of feeling, till my heart thrilled with ecstasy. When it was over, I began the introduction to our beloved Orpheus aria, and how my friend's marvelous alto voice rang through the lofty, empty chapel! The seven old dames sat silently on the step of the altar, the click of the knitting-needles was no longer heard, nothing mingled with the melody except the low twittering of the birds. So in the utmost delight we practiced for some time, not stopping with this one aria, and many airs which we had sung to our little Joachim returned to his mother's mind.

At last emotion overpowered her, and I ceased playing, rose, and held out my hand, which she cordially pressed. We knew what remained unuttered.

"This must not be the last time we are happy here," I said; "later in the summer this concert-room will be a pleasant refuge, though now the damp, close atmosphere oppresses us. I wonder that you could control your voice so well, Frau Luise."

She made no reply, but passed out through the doorway. I walked by her side, and the seven maids-of-honor followed. But what was our amazement to see a crowd of people gathered outside the threshold, who respectfully formed into two lines to allow the singer and her train to pass. Not only some of the plain people from the few neighboring houses had flocked hither, attracted by the music, but several of the prominent families in the city, among them the burgomaster and his two daughters, who while returning from a Sunday walk had heard with astonishment the strong, beautiful tones issuing from the long silent chapel, and stopped to enjoy the free concert.

The burgomaster himself, a great lover of music, seemed so amazed by the discovery that so admirable an artist had been concealed in the humble almshouse that he did not utter a word to express his homage--only bowed low and silently lifted his hat as she passed. The audience of both high and low degree speedily dispersed; yet, as I walked home in the evening, I caught many a word from the worthy citizens, sitting before their doors or going to get their beer, which betrayed how our church-music still echoed in the ears of the listeners.

The Canoness at the almshouse formed the topic of every conversation during the evening, and no three women whispered together ten minutes over their coffee without saying something for or against their interesting new neighbor.

When, on the following afternoon, I went to my friend, she asked, smiling: "Guess what distinguished visitor I have had to-day, Johannes?" Then she told me that the burgomaster himself had called on her, and, amid many compliments on, her singing, asked if she would give lessons to his daughters. The two girls, who had been waiting outside, entered, blushing, and, as she did not refuse the request, sang to her at their father's bidding in fresh, though untrained, young voices, after which she gladly consented to give them two lessons a week, and was to begin the next morning. The only point now was to procure a piano, the harmonium being far too powerful to be used to accompany singing.

It was difficult for me to repress my joy at these glad tidings. Now she is ours, I thought. Now she need no longer pore over the advertisements in the last pages of the Voss and Spener journals.

But I said quite calmly: "This happens capitally. I have a piano"--this one luxury had been procured for little money, as, though the old instrument was originally good, it had seen much service--"and I will send it early to-morrow to the almshouse, where there are plenty of vacant rooms which would be cheerfully given up to you for your lessons."

This plan was accomplished. Ere a month had passed, all the girls from fifteen to five-and-twenty were enrolled in my friend's volunteer corps of singers, and it was considered as fashionable to send a daughter to the Canoness as it is in the capitals to secure admission to the conservatory.

She had fixed a very moderate price for her lessons. Still, as she also superintended choir-singing, and soon had all her time occupied, her income was so large that I jestingly said she would soon be able to buy an estate.

She shrugged her shoulders, smiling, and I well knew what this meant. For her left hand was never aware of what her right hand was doing, and, though our town had an organized system of charity, there was ample opportunity for deeds of benevolence.

We never exchanged a word about her remaining in the almshouse. But she persistently resisted the entreaties of her young pupils and their parents to move into better lodgings in the city. "I could not do without my seven guardian angels," she said, smiling. She merely obtained somewhat better furniture for her room, sent for Uncle Joachim's old chest of drawers and the two pictures of Napoleon--he had left her everything he possessed--and added two beautiful engravings from my aunt's legacy. The large room with two windows, adjoining her own, was fitted up for her lessons, and my piano was moved into it. Many an afternoon, when I had arrived before the close of the lessons, I sat outside on the bench in her little garden, listening to the chirping within, the regular solfeggios and runs, and the magnificent bell-like tones of the teacher ringing out between them, or the sweet voices of the full choir, which practiced not only solemn motettos and cantatas, but sought recreation in Mendelssohn, Schubert, and Schumann.

The service she was rendering the young people could not fail to dispel their parents' prejudices against the wife of the strolling actor, and make them endeavor to draw her to their houses. But on this point she was inexorable. "I detest these provincial entertainments," she said to me. "I will cheerfully give the people among whom I live as much of my life as can be of service to them, but the rest I will keep for myself. To sit on the sofa a whole evening between the wives of the burgomaster and the councilor, and talk about servants and betrothals, would kill me. Besides, my opinions would rouse their displeasure before an hour was over. There is where Mother Schulzen, Mother Grabow, and the other five Fates deserve praise. They think me a saint, though I don't go to church."

But, while she retained this view and avoided the society of the mothers, she was all the more friendly in her intercourse with the daughters. Every other Sunday her pupils, about twenty in number, were allowed to spend the evening with her, and she gave them a little supper of tea, cake, and bread and butter. But these pleasant meetings were not intended merely for merry talk with the children--they were expected to produce better results. She read to them from the works of our classic writers the most beautiful and ennobling selections adapted to their age and culture, a couple of acts from one of Schiller's tragedies, which they were afterward to finish at home, once the whole of Iphigenia, at another time ballads from Goethe and Uhland, and then let her youthful audience express their ideas of what they had heard, only adding a few wise remarks of her own.

I did not attend these readings, but took the liberty of lingering outside the open window and listening to her recitations. I will not speak of the indescribable enjoyment that fell to my lot. But, though my love for this woman may make me appear somewhat partial, the assertion can be believed that she would have surpassed many a famed tragic actress, had she given her readings on the stage.

How completely she captivated her young listeners!

Many of the older people were made somewhat anxious by finding that the actor's wife was on such intimate terms with her young pupils that she directed not only their singing but their thoughts and feelings. But the last ice melted, though it was the very middle of winter; when a nocturnal conflagration destroyed several houses and robbed some families of their whole property. Frau Luise instantly advertised a concert in the town-hall for the benefit of the sufferers. She herself sang, her pupils helped to the best of their ability in solos, choir-singing, and recitations. Every nook in the hall, spite of the high price of admission, was occupied, and the next day there was but one verdict in house and hovel, namely, that no such pleasure had ever been enjoyed by even the oldest inhabitants, and no more noble soul ever dwelt in woman's breast than in the tuneful one of this greatly misjudged lady.

So she had reached this point.

The swan, that had lost its way in the marsh, had plunged into the clear water of this quiet country lake, shaken its feathers, and lo! they were once more snow-white as in its early days.

Even the pastor, who had been unable to forgive her for not appearing at his church and having even chosen as her only intimate friend a renegade theologian, whom he could not help doubly condemning--even this zealous shepherd of souls could not permanently refuse her his esteem. After the concert he called on her, and had a conversation which lasted two hours. I met him just as he was leaving the almshouse. His face looked as I imagine Moses' might have done after he had seen the Lord in the naming bush. I did not even consider this strange. What victory over human hearts might I not have expected this woman to achieve!

The "overflowing treasure of grace" she so lavishly bestowed benefited me also. For the first time, my modest greeting to the secretly resentful man was returned with a friendly gesture, in which I fancied I noticed a shade of curious interest. We afterward became better acquainted, and learned to sincerely value each other.

My position as the Canoness's special friend was of course much envied by my colleagues and other acquaintances, and many questions were asked about her. But, as I had no intimacies, I was not obliged to put any unusual bolts on my heart, that it might keep its secrets. And I must add one thing more which, amid such narrow, provincial environments, does the highest honor to human nature: never, by even the most trivial jest, was the slightest shadow cast upon the purity of my intercourse with her.

Nay, a still more extraordinary thing: even the most arrogant among the wives of the dignitaries willingly yielded her the precedence she never claimed, and without envy or hatred beheld this stranger, who had been received into the almshouse from Christian charity, ruling the city as it were from her little room--at least, in all matters relating to the common welfare of the inhabitants and their intellectual life. Even the burgomaster's wife and her friends, who gathered at society meetings and coffee-parties, did not consider it beneath their dignity to seek the Canoness's advice on any charitable business, or any question concerning education or etiquette, with a faith as devout as if the almshouse were the oracle of Delphi, and Frau Luise sat on the tripod as priestess. She told me the drollest stories about these occasions, which I, as a faithful servant of the temple, vowed to silence, must not betray here.

Thus the renown of her talents and virtues could not fail to extend beyond the precincts of our little town, till at last even the newspapers mentioned her. She took no notice of it; indeed, she did not look at the papers, now that the advertisements no longer interested her. I think she secretly dreaded to accidentally read the name of the man whom she desired to forever forget.

But her concert for the sufferers by the conflagration had made such a sensation that all Preignitz and Uckermark rang with its fame. So one day, when I came to chat with her a little while after she had finished her lessons, I saw standing in front of the almshouse a dusty carriage, on whose door I recognized the coat of arms of her own family, though the faces of coachman and footman were unfamiliar to me.

Nevertheless, I did not hesitate to knock at her door, and, on entering, saw a pretty, stylish young lady sitting on the sofa by her side, while at the first glance I recognized in her companion my former pupil--Baron Achatz. He had not grown much taller, but a little blonde mustache had ventured forth under his turned-up Zieten nose, and the light-blue eyes beneath his low brow had so frank an expression that I was instantly reminded of his excellent mother, now resting in the peace of God.

"Come nearer, my dear friend," cried Frau Luise. "You will find an old acquaintance, who has already been inquiring for you, and his young wife. This is our candidate, dear Luitgarde, of whom Achatz has often told you. What do you say, Herr Johannes? My cousins have come in person to invite me to spend the rest of my life with them. They have heard I was an inmate of an almshouse, which did not seem to them a proper place for a member of their family. Now they want to carry me off in triumph to their castle, like a precious jewel that has been taken from the family treasures and at last found again. Is it not kind in these young people, who could not be blamed if, for a time, they had thought only of themselves and their own happiness. But you are misinformed, my dear cousins. I live here just as I desire, and want for nothing, though my claims upon life are not the most modest. Tell Achatz, my dear Johannes, how I am spoiled here. Am I not pleasantly lodged? The adjoining room is my music-hall, and my reception-day is always crowded. The attendance leaves me nothing to desire, seven maids and waiting-women, whose united ages number more than five hundred years; where should I ever find the like again? If you could stay longer, you would be convinced that I am at least as well cared for here as though I were living in a chapter, while I need not even wear the veil and dress of the order, but can cut my garments according to my own taste. Nevertheless, I thank you from my heart for your kind intentions"--and as she spoke she kissed the young wife, whose blushes followed each other in swift succession--"but, if you really must go to-day, you must first see that your old cousin can offer her guests a very tolerable cup of tea. First, however, I will take you over my little kingdom, of whose orderly government I am so vain that the sarcastic candidate is fond of calling me 'the queen of the almshouse.'"

She rose, tied her little black kerchief over her hair, and then drew the young baroness' slender arm through hers. We men followed, and, while Frau Luise, with sportive self-ridicule, pointed out all the modest beauties of the building and its environs, and finally gathered a bouquet for the bride in her little garden, my pupil (pardon the slip) plucked up courage to beg me, in a whisper, to persuade his cousin to accept his well-meant offer. Even if she herself was satisfied with her humble position, it would place him and the whole family in a bad light if it should be rumored that he had allowed his nearest relative to live in an almshouse, and from considerations of kinship she owed it to him and to herself to return to--

"My dear baron," I replied, "you overestimate my influence with your cousin. She knows exactly what she owes to herself. But, if you speak of family considerations, allow me to say, with all the freedom warranted by my old acquaintance with you, that the occurrences during your father's life-time must absolve Frau Luise before God and man from any duty to her family. And now, pray, let us say no more about it. I congratulate you sincerely upon your marriage. Your wife seems endowed with every physical and mental gift that would have led your mother to greet her joyfully as her son's wife, and love her most tenderly."

The good fellow silently pressed my hand, and I saw his honest little eyes sparkle.

When we returned to the house--the lake and ivy-mantled chapel had fairly enraptured the somewhat romantic young wife--we found the tea-table set, a task for which Mother Schulzen, whose day it was, possessed especial skill, and supplied with fresh bread, golden butter, and a little cold meat. "The cups are not SÈvres," said Frau Luise in a jesting tone, "and, as I had more pressing wants than silver table-ware, you must be content with pewter spoons and bone-handled knives and forks. While I am making the tea, friend Johannes will give you a proof of his greatest talent, which consists in buttering bread."

She was so irresistibly charming in her quiet cheerfulness that the young wife at last lost her embarrassment, and we four sat together for an hour, talking in the gayest manner like old friends. When the time for departure had come, the ladies affectionately embraced each other, and promised to correspond regularly. The young baron kissed his cousin's hand, but she embraced him with maternal tenderness, saying: "I can not see the kind face you have inherited from your mother, Achate, without remembering how often I kissed that saintly woman's cheek. Now, farewell; remember me to old Liborius, and Krischan, too, though he has become a drunkard, and, when you meet Leopoldine, tell her that I should be very glad to see her again. But traveling is uncomfortable for an old woman like myself; she must come to me."

This visit, which of course was much discussed in the little city, greatly increased and strengthened the love and reverence my friend enjoyed. It was considered greatly to her credit that she had resisted the temptation to return to her aristocratic circle, and preferred the humble almshouse to the proud castle. Mother Schulzen, of course, under the pretext that she must be close at hand, had listened at the door, and, though she usually declared herself to be hard of hearing, had not lost a word of the conversation.

From that time Frau Luise was secretly regarded as a sort of honorary citizen of our town, and would have been cheerfully granted the most jealously guarded privilege of citizenship, that of fishing in the lake, had she displayed any love for angling.

Yet she continued to live on in the unassuming manner previously described, and, as she enjoyed perfect health, she compared, in her droll way, her own condition with that of the little dismantled steamer that lay anchored in the calm inland lake, resting comfortably from every storm.

But one more tempest burst over her, which threatened to shake even her steadfast nature.

We had been permitted for three years to call her ours. Spring had come again, but no March snow-flakes were fluttering through the air as in the time when she arrived; the sun was shining brightly, and, as the song says, the weather tempted one to walk. Still, though it was Saturday afternoon and school had therefore been dismissed, I was obliged to leave her earlier than usual, as I had taken charge of the lessons in German for a sick colleague, and had a whole pile of exercise-books to correct by Monday.

I was sitting at my work again early Sunday morning, when a hurried message, brought by one of the seven almshouse dames, startled me. I must come at once to the Canoness--as her train preferred to call her.

I could not learn what had happened from the messenger. It was not her day, and she had not seen Frau Luise.

When I entered, I was no little surprised to find her in bed for the first time since I had known her. She tried to smile in order to soothe me, but it was only like a fleeting sunbeam which instantly vanished behind clouds of gloom.

"My life is not threatened, dear friend," said she; "nay, I am not even really ill--only so exhausted by mental emotion that, when I tried to rise, I fell back again. Sit down and listen."

She then related the horrible story. On the afternoon of the previous day, as, lured by the beautiful sunshine, she continued her walk alone as far as the lake, a wretched figure had suddenly confronted her, just at the spot where a group of willows cast a dense shade. It was a man with long, gray locks and a haggard, sunken face, holding his hat in his hand with the gesture of a mendicant. Lost in thought, she had not at first noticed him particularly, but felt in her pocket to throw alms into his hat. Suddenly the beggar seized her hand, and, covering it with passionate kisses, exclaimed: "Do you no longer know me, Luise?"

The sudden fright fairly made her heart stop beating. She could not move a limb, but, wrenching her hand from his grasp, stood staring at him, as though the specter must dissolve into mist before her eyes.

But unhappily it remained, tangible and audible, and the wife perceived with horror the ruin time had wrought in the proud and stately man. Absolutely unable to utter a word, she had been forced to listen to the long, carefully-studied speech, in which the hapless actor gave her a succinct account of his adventures and experiences in two hemispheres, protested his eternal love and longing for his worshiped wife, and in exaggerated theatrical phrases besought her forgiveness.

Not until he paused and, panting for breath, again tried to take her hand, did she recover sufficient self-control to retreat a step and say, "We have parted forever." With these words she turned to leave him. But he grasped her dress, and again began the litany of his complaints, entreaties, and self-reproaches. Fearing that some person might pass whom the desperate man would make a witness of this pathetic scene, she imperiously commanded him to leave her at once, but inquire for her in the evening at that house--she pointed to the almshouse.

"And you did not inform me at once?" I interposed.

"Why should I, dear friend? I knew what I had to do, and no one could represent me. True, the hours before night closed in--the bitter and anxious feelings seething in my soul, shame at the thought that I had once imagined I loved this man, horror of his presence, and grief for the downfall of a human being who had once been good and noble--you can easily understand how all these things agitated me. But when he entered, I had at least attained sufficient outward composure to tell him my decision in curt, resolute words."

"'You will swear,' I said, 'never to appear before my face again. Your sins against me have long since been forgiven. You were like one dead to me, and will be so once more as soon as the door has closed between us. But you must remain unknown to others, and therefore must agree never to mention your name here, and to leave this place early to-morrow morning, not to return. The little I have saved I will give you. But, if you rely on my weakness and ever again remind me of your existence, either verbally or in writing, I will appeal to the protection of the law, and use the right of self-defense. Here on the table is the money. It will be enough to pay your passage to America. What you do there is your own affair. I have made many sacrifices for your sake; I will not allow you to ruin the last remnant of life and peace I have won.'

"Spare me the description of the scene the unfortunate man now rehearsed," she continued. "Dragging himself to me on his knees, he poured forth flatteries, curses on his evil destiny, imprecations on the stupid world that leaves genius to languish--in short, he used the whole stock of his pitiful theatrical arts. When he saw that he made no impression upon me, he staggered to his feet, straightened his shabby velvet coat, tossed back his thin locks, with a look into yonder little mirror, and then cast a quick glance toward the table on which the money lay. My loathing, especially as he diffused a horrible odor of bad liquor, had grown so strong that I was afraid every moment of fainting. Fortunately he speedily released me from his intolerable presence. With a flood of high-sounding words, he swore to respect my wish, until I myself changed, which he expected sooner or later from my generous heart. Meantime he found himself compelled to accept one last favor from me, of course only as a loan, which he would repay with interest, when I had become convinced of his complete regeneration, and recalled him to spend the evening of our lives in loving harmony, and look back with a pitying smile on the storm and stress of our wandering youth.

"With these words he went to the table, put the money in his breast-pocket, made a movement as if to take my hand, but, when I drew back, cast a sorrowful glance heavenward, and with a low bow tottered out of the room.

"I listened to discover whether he really went away. Then, with trembling hands, for I did not feel absolutely secure from a fresh surprise, I bolted the door, and threw myself, utterly exhausted, upon the bed.

"I told myself that I could have pursued no other course--that his life was not to be saved, even if I threw my own into the gulf of ruin after it. Yet, my friend--the man whom I was forced to drive from my threshold had once laid his hand in mine for an eternal union--and had been the father of my beloved child.

"I did not sleep quietly an hour. Every time the spring wind shook my window and rattled the blind, I started up and listened to hear if he was standing outside, rapping. And to-day I feel as though I were paralyzed, and moreover have constantly before my eyes the piteous figure of the poor, homeless man, and tremble at the thought of the woe that may still be in store for us both."

She then begged me to inquire whether he had been seen in the city, or where he had gone. I soon brought her news that he had spent the night at the "Crown Prince," did not enter the public-room, but ordered wine and rum to be brought to him. He had not mentioned his name, and early that morning--about eight o'clock--had departed as he came, on foot and without luggage, after paying his bill and buying a bottle of brandy to take with him. After giving the waiter a thaler for his fee, he turned his steps toward the north.

I succeeded in partially soothing her agitated mind. I spent nearly the whole day with her, played some of her favorite melodies, and shared the simple meal brought to her bed-side. When I at last went away, she pressed my hand with a touching look of gratitude. "Don't forsake me, dear friend," she said. "And do not think me an affected simpleton, because I am lying here so helpless. I shall be in my place again to-morrow. Only I will defer our spring concert"--she had been in the habit of giving a musical entertainment, aided by her pupils, every three months--"for a fortnight. I fear I should not be able to sing with them now."

These words proved true, but not in the way she had meant.

Her great strength of will soon roused her from the lethargy into which the sad meeting with her husband had plunged her, and even on Monday she gave her lessons as though nothing had occurred. But on Friday news came that tore the old wounds open afresh.

A few miles down the river, near a little village, a fisherman had found, drifting in the water among the reeds, the body of a man with long gray locks, dressed in a black-velvet coat. It must have been there several days, for it was swollen and livid, like the corpses of the drowned who do not instantly rise to the surface; besides, the pocket-book containing his papers was completely sodden, and the money in it spoiled by the water. In each of his two pockets he carried a half-empty bottle. There could be no doubt that he had met with his death while in a state of bewilderment, perhaps partial unconsciousness. With the exception of an American passport bearing a foreign name, nothing was found on him that could throw any light upon his personal relations.

Nevertheless the rumor spread with amazing celerity through the whole neighborhood that the Canoness's missing husband had returned to find his death in the waves of their native river. The burgomaster called on Frau Luise to impart the sad news considerately. But the old gossips who served her had anticipated him.

I was with her when she received the visit of the father of the city. "It is true," she said, "the man is my unfortunate husband. But do not expect me to feign a grief I do not feel. That he sought death I do not believe. He was supplied with money, and could indulge his sole passion, which had stifled all his nobler feelings. His death was an easy one, and now the poor restless wanderer has found repose. You can not desire me to see him again. Have him buried as quietly as possible; I will place a cross upon the grave at my own expense." Then, in a few brief words, she told the worthy magistrate about her last interview with the dead man.

This occasion clearly revealed the love and esteem in which she was held by the whole community, high and low. There was not a single malicious gossip who molested her with a visit of feigned condolence, while secretly gloating over the fact that the husband of this much-lauded woman had met with a miserable end like any common vagabond. On the contrary, all who could boast of her acquaintance endeavored to show her by little attentions that the misfortune of her life, which had here reached so tragical an end, had only made them love and honor her the more. Not one of her pupils came to take a singing-lesson without bringing a bunch of violets or early lilies-of-the-valley, or a hyacinth raised at home, and no coffee-party was given from which the hostess did not send her a plate of cakes, which, it is true, only benefited the almshouse dames. Though Frau Luise gratefully appreciated these discreet tokens of affection, she was remarkably quiet and thoughtful. She wore no mourning robe, but her soul seemed muffled in a black veil.

This mood was deepened by the death of the oldest of the almshouse dames, a feeble crone of eighty-four, who had recently been unable to perform her duties as attendant. During the last three days she was unconscious, and her exhausted flame of life went out without a flicker: When I spoke to my friend, who had not left her side, of this easy death as something enviable, she shook her head gravely, and replied: "I would prefer a different one, like my dear Uncle Joachim's. I wish to be conscious when I am dying, to experience my own death, and not, so to speak, steal out of the world behind my own back."

She insisted that, at the burial in the almshouse church-yard--where only the inmates of the almshouse were interred--her pupils should sing a choral and Mendelssohn's "It is Appointed by God's Will," an honor which had never before fallen to a poor woman's lot, so that some wiseacres asserted she was overdoing the matter. But that did not trouble her in the least.

"When they bear me out some day," she said, as we returned from the funeral, "see, dear friend, that I, too, find my last resting-place yonder. I do not wish to be dragged through the whole city to the other cemetery, with its pompous marble monuments. And place no cross on my grave. I have borne it enough during my life; in death, let the earth rest lightly on me. What I possess will go to my old guard; you must attend to it, after first choosing some memento you value. Promise me that! I have written my last will and given it to the burgomaster."

These words could not specially disturb or sadden me. I saw her walking by my side in the full vigor of life, and though, since the day she had sustained such a fright, her hair had grown still more silvery, she seemed, in her gentle melancholy, younger and fairer than ever.

She was also even more affectionate and tender to all, including myself. And, though I had already passed my fortieth year and ought to have grown sensible, her mild words and the faint air of sadness that surrounded her fanned the old flames I had with so much difficulty subdued, and one evening they not only flashed from my eyes but darted from my tongue.

The heat for several days had been equal to that of summer, so we had been weeding and watering the young plants in her garden. Then we sat down side by side on the little bench, and I said: "Do you know, Frau Luise, that this is the anniversary of the day on which, twenty years ago, I first saw you?"

She reflected a short time and then answered: "I have no memory for dates. But I know one thing, Johannes: there has not been a single day since then when I could have doubted you."

While speaking, she gazed thoughtfully into vacancy, as if this great truth were dawning upon her to-day for the first time. This gave me some little encouragement.

"Frau Luise," I continued, "that day seems to me like yesterday. And not one has passed since then that I have not felt you are the dearest creature in the world to me. But must we live on thus to the end, only together a few hours, though we feel that we belong to each other? You have long known my feelings. Can you not resolve to make the bond that unites us still firmer, to grant me the right to lay my whole insignificant self at your feet before the eyes of the world?"

The words had leaped from my lips as if some one else had lured them from my inmost soul, and I was startled at my boldness as I heard the sound of my own voice. I dared not look at her. I felt, or thought I felt, that she was forcing herself to keep calm and not rebuke my presumption. After a long pause, she replied, in a voice whose tones were sorrowful rather than indignant:

"Why have you said this, Johannes? You ought to know me and be aware that I have done with life. Do not suppose that the opinion of the world would awe me, if I felt that I was still young enough to be happy and make others happy. But I was probably never created to devote myself with my whole heart to a single individual, as a true wife ought. Even my unfortunate first love was but a delusion of my imagination. I have every talent for friendship or for being a Sister of Charity, and my most passionate feeling has ever been a fervent sympathy with pauvre humanitÉ, as Mademoiselle Suzon said. But you would not wish to be married from compassion.

"No," she continued, as I was about to protest, "it would be a cruel pity. In a few years I should easily pass for your mother, and you would cut a ridiculous figure in attending me through the streets. You are still a young man and a very foolish one, as you have just proved. Your heart must still possess a fountain of youth, though you are no mere lad. Why don't you do me the favor to marry my Agnes, who is nine and twenty, an epitome of every feminine virtue, and, moreover, in love with you?"

This Agnes was her favorite pupil, the daughter of the district physician, and, as I lived opposite to her house, our names had already been associated by the gossips. It was by no means humiliating to be suspected of cherishing a special liking for this exemplary and by no means ugly girl. But, Good Heavens, I!

I could only shake my head and answer: "Why do I not love your Agnes? Because I don't want to marry a bundle of virtues, but one human being, and in fact only that one who in my eyes will always be young, and whom I desire to call mine in order to please no mortal save myself. However, as you have so little love for me that you would willingly serve as a match-maker in my behalf, it was of course folly to ask if you would become Frau Johannes Weissbrod, and I therefore most humbly beg your pardon."

I rose with an uncontrollable sense of grief, and, scarcely bowing to her, stalked away like a thoroughly rude, defiant man.

The next day, it is true, I returned humbly, and remorsefully besought her to forgive my spiteful escapade. She was quite right; I was nothing but a crack-brained young man who grasped at the stars, and in doing so fell on the ground. Frau Luise gazed silently into vacancy, and then said: "The most difficult task and the one we learn latest is to cut our garments according to the cloth, though we feel it will grow with us. Let us say no more about it."

I did not exactly understand what she meant. It became clear to me afterward.

We again lived on as before, and, after she had survived the spring tempest, life seemed to become dear to her once more, though a slight shadow rested on her brow. At Easter she gave her concert for the benefit of the poor, which was a brilliant success. Her birthday came just after Whitsuntide, and, in token of the love and gratitude of the whole community, was to be celebrated with special pomp. I, of course, began the festival with a morning serenade executed under her windows by my pupils, after which she invited the whole choir in and treated them to coffee and cakes. At ten o'clock the burgomaster's wife and her most distinguished friends called, and attended her in a stately procession down to the shore of the lake. There the greatest surprise awaited her. The burgomaster had sent to Berlin several days before for a machinist and some assistants to inspect the little steamer and put her in safe condition to make an excursion over the mirror-like surface of the lake. The boiler and engine were found to be still in tolerable order, and a trial trip was taken at night whose result was perfectly satisfactory.

When we came down to the shore, the little vessel, gayly decked with flags, hung with garlands of fir, and sending upward a light column of smoke from its smokestack, looked extremely pretty and inviting; and Frau Luise's eyes dilated with astonishment when she understood that this smoke was floating from the stack, so long empty, in honor of her. The burgomaster's wife and I led her across the long, swaying plank that extended to the deck; but here she was so startled that she almost made a misstep, for an exultant pÆan suddenly resounded with such vehement, youthful energy from invisible throats that it was almost too much for her composure. Her pupils had posted themselves behind a canvas awning, which was afterward drawn over the deck as a protection from the sun, and in the excitement of the moment were singing the festal melody I had composed and arranged with more regard to the feelings of their hearts than the rules of art, by which state of affairs neither words nor music were especially enhanced. However, in the open air and amid the general emotion, this modest overture performed its part acceptably. Then the deck suddenly became thronged with joyous, loving faces; and, when the anchor was weighed and the little vessel swept with majestic calmness through the glittering water, first along the shore and then across the lake to the little grove, while the chorus of fresh young voices, now mindful of every nicety of execution they owed to their mistress, began the superb air, "Who has Thee, Forest Fair--" I saw the sweet face of the woman I loved illumined with gentle, divine emotion, and was forced to turn away that my tears might fall into the water unobserved.

But all this was merely the prelude to the festival. The banquet was served in the wood, where, in an open space under tall fir-trees, stood a large table adorned with bouquets and covered with dishes, which had been brought there early in the morning, and received the last dressing over an improvised hearth by some experienced housekeepers. Under the seat that had been arranged for the heroine of the day lay the gift her young friends had prepared, a large rug for her room, the work of many industrious hands, and as gayly adorned with the most beautiful garlands of roses and arabesques of violets as provincial love could accomplish. Still, here amid the green foliage and before the festal board, the strange work of art with its glaring colors and grotesque flourishes looked very bright, and each of the fellow-workers won from the deeply agitated recipient a kiss and clasp of the hand. After this we took our places at the table, and began the feast with the best possible appetite.

Of course, there was no lack of admirable speeches, merry clinking of glasses, and frequent embraces between the feminine members of the party, during which I played the part of envious spectator. I also contributed my shred to the general eloquence by emptying my glass to the health of the six almshouse dames, who were seated in holiday garb at the table below, and imagined themselves in Paradise--never had they dreamed of such honors and delights on earth. Their patroness, the queen, had not even been obliged to stipulate that they were not to remain at home. The givers of the festival knew that without her faithful followers something would be lacking from the pleasures of the day.

Of course, the meal did not pass without singing, and, when we had risen from the table and were enjoying a little rest on the moss-grown soil of the wood, the young ladies walked arm in arm in little groups along the dusky woodland-paths, raising their voices in an alternative melody very sweet to hear. All sorts of games followed, in which, however, the presence of young men was secretly missed. I was malicious enough to remain with the mothers or talk with the six or seven fathers who had joined the party, in order not to go near Agnes, whom my cruel friend, as a punishment for my sins, desired to force upon me as a wife.

I saw that the long-continued festivity was wearying her, though she exerted herself to acknowledge, with unvarying winsomeness, the efforts made by these worthy people. I heard her cough, so I drew the burgomaster's wife aside and persuaded her to give the signal for departure.

After some delay and discussion we all went on board the steamer again, and, making a wide sweep around the lake, returned to our harbor.

Frau Luise stood on deck in the bow of the vessel with several of her favorite pupils near her; no one uttered a word. We were allowing the memories of this delightful day to re-echo in our hearts. Her head was turned toward the west, where the sun was slowly sinking, and her dear face and tall figure were warmly illumined by the crimson glow. With what a youthful light her eyes sparkled! The silvery luster of her hair had vanished in the golden radiance. It seemed impossible to believe that this woman had just celebrated her forty-fourth birthday.

"Sing something!" said Agnes, who stood nearest. "Ah, yes, do sing!" entreated the others.

She did not seem to have heard them. Yet suddenly, as if in a dream, she sang, mezza voce, an Italian air, an aria from PaËsiello, of which she was especially fond. And, as the steamer swept on into the crimson light, the song rose clearer and stronger till she poured forth the full power of her voice, whose every note must have been distinctly audible on the shore. The whole company had gradually glided closer to us, and I saw by their rapt faces how they were enjoying the foreign beauty of the melody, whose words no one understood. Even the people on the shore, peasants with their carts and solitary pedestrians, stopped as if enchanted, and gazed at the black ship slowly dividing the waves bearing a singing nixie on her deck.

Then the vessel turned, and the sun was behind us. The aria was finished, and the burgomaster had given the signal for applause, in which all joined with great fervor. When silence was restored, and the group waited for the singing to be resumed, she began, without waiting to be asked, Beethoven's "Knows't thou the Land!" which she had transposed to suit the deeper notes of her voice. "Mignon certainly had an alto voice," she once jestingly said to me. Never had I heard her sing it so superbly, never heard the "Thither! thither!" express such strong, sweet, uncontrollable yearning. We reached the landing-place just as the last notes died away. The burgomaster was so deeply moved that he forgot to applaud, went to her, and, with tears in his honest old eyes, bent, seized both hands, and faltered: "I thank you, I thank you a thousand times, madame! This is the fairest day of my life! You have made us all happy."

She smiled and looked at me. "It was my swan song," she said. "I fear I shall be obliged to give up singing. Just hear how hoarse this little exertion has suddenly made me."

I saw her shiver slightly, and hastened to wrap a shawl around her. "Good-night, my dear friends," she said. "I owe you all thanks for a pleasure never to be forgotten. Forgive me for taking my leave so abruptly. But this was a little too much joy for an old woman who has not deserved so much love and kindness. No, I am perfectly well; a little rest will make me quite myself again. My beautiful rug must be put in my room at once. I will feast my eyes on the lovely flowers and think of the dear givers till I fall asleep."

She then shook hands with every one. As I helped her across the plank to the shore, I felt the difficulty she experienced in holding herself erect. "It is nothing, dear friend," she whispered hoarsely. "My heart is as light as a bird's, only my limbs are heavy. My good mother Grabow shall put me to bed. Perhaps I took cold in the wood. But you know I am like a cork figure, my head is always uppermost. Good-night."

I had by no means a good night. When, before school the next morning, I inquired at the almshouse for Frau Luise, she was still asleep, that is, she was lying in a feverish dream, raving incoherently without recognizing any one. I spoke to the doctor, who had been already called in the night. The old man had the thoughtful wrinkle between his bushy eyebrows that always boded trouble.

"But she is so strong and full of vital energy," I said.

"The strongest constitutions fare the worst. But we can still hope, and she could not be more carefully nursed if she were a princess."

It was the same at noon. I spent the whole day with her, had a couch made up for me in the music-room at night, and the following morning sent a message to my friend the head teacher--who meantime had been made superintendent of the school--requesting him to do me the favor to take charge of my classes. I was unable to do my duty while my friend's life was in danger.

This lasted four, five days. The doctor shook his head more and more despairingly. "I can give the disease no special name! It is a sort of nervous fever, but in a very unusual form, and the ordinary remedies do not avail. It is fortunate that she is unconscious. Only the expression of pain on her face shows that she has a dull sense of the life-and-death struggle raging in her frame."

During those days it seemed as though the little almshouse had been transferred to the heart of the city. Instead of being solitary and deserted as usual, it was now constantly surrounded by a crowd of persons of all ages and sexes, treading lightly with a sorrowful look on their faces. They did not venture to ring the bell, and indeed it was not necessary: one of the old dames was constantly cowering outside of the door, and gave to all questions the same sad answer. When prominent people came, I was obliged to go out and reply to the queries myself. Every one thought it was a matter of course that I now belonged to the household.

Scarcely any change occurred in her critical condition, nothing save a slight ebb and flow of the fever, a lower or louder intonation of the voice, as she raved of the visions of her bewildered brain. Sometimes, with wide-open eyes that rested on nothing, she repeated correctly and distinctly a few lines from one of her husband's parts. Sometimes she seemed to be talking with her son, and a happy smile that pierced me to the heart flitted over her colorless lips. Sometimes she sang, but only diatonic scales, and when her voice failed to reach the high notes she shook her head mournfully, whispering: "Too high, too high! Trees must not grow to the sky. Down! down! It is pleasant to dwell below."

At such times I could not restrain my tears.

But, on the fifth day, a crisis seemed imminent. The fever had lessened several degrees; the old doctor's face, for the first time, wore a hopeful look.

He gave several directions, and promised to come in the next morning earlier than usual. I could send home the young girls, who called at a late hour to inquire, with a little hope, which, however, I did not feel myself. Then I returned to my post. It was Mother Schulzen's turn to keep watch that night, but she was so deaf that I could not trust the invalid solely to her, though nothing would have induced her to go to bed. She was sitting in a low chair by the wall, and, after keeping herself awake for a while by knitting and taking snuff, at last fell peacefully asleep.

A lamp, protected by a green shade, was burning in the room; outside, the moon was sailing through a cloudless sky; deep silence surrounded us. Frau Luise had not uttered a word since noon, and for the first time seemed to be quietly asleep.

Suddenly--it was about ten o'clock--while I sat by the bed without turning my eyes from her face, her eyes slowly opened and wandered about the room with a strained gaze till they rested upon me. Then she said, in a perfectly clear voice: "I feel wonderfully well!"

After a pause, during which I scarcely ventured to breathe, as if the slightest sound might drive the approaching convalescence away, she murmured: "Are you here, dear friend? Have I slept long? How delightful that I can see you as soon as I wake!"

She moved her hand as if seeking something. I timidly clasped it, and stooped to press my burning brow upon it. Just at that moment I felt her other hand laid gently on my head, and, while stroking my hair, she continued in the same calm voice:

"My last hour is near, Johannes. But I am glad that I have waked once more before the long night begins. I have something to say to you, my friend. You know the tenor of my last will, and that I wish to be laid in the church-yard outside with my old almshouse friends. If there is a Day of Judgment, I would like to rise with my body-guard; they have spoiled me; I could no longer do without their service. And let my coffin be covered with the rug; afterward it shall belong to you. Do you hear me? Come a little nearer. What I now have to say is to be a secret between us two. I deceived you when I told you, a short time ago, that I was not created to see the universe in a single individual. It cost me no little effort, for my heart belied my lips. I should have been very happy if I could have become your wife. I knew that long, long ago--ever since the day you took our Joachimchen in your arms when he grew weary and carried him home, I said to myself: 'Could I possess this child and this man, no wish would remain ungratified.' But it might not be. I was obliged to bury the child and hide my love for the man in the inmost depths of my heart. But it always lived on there, and now I can thank you, Johannes, for all the love and faith you have lavished upon me. Lift my head a little--there--I want to see you clearly once more, and--it is strange--my eyes are so heavy, though my soul is awake."

I helped her rise higher on her pillows, bowed my face nearer hers, and saw her eyes fixed on me with strange brilliancy.

"I love you, my friend," she said. "There is not one false line in your face nor in your heart, but a great sorrow now fills both. Be happy, dear one, and remember your friend without tears. Shall I not remain with you, wherever I go? True, to see each other again--" She slowly shook her head. "Ah, if I might only see you and my boy--but the other masks--no, no! We have eaten at the table of life here below till we are satisfied--or rather, we are wise and stop just when the food tastes best; now others will sit in our chairs. But we will first cordially wish each other 'a good appetite!' Come! kiss me once, just as a loving husband kisses his beloved wife--then I will stretch myself out and take my afternoon rest."

My quivering lips touched her cool mouth. "Dear Johannes!" she murmured, clasping my hand tightly as she fell back on the pillows. Then she smiled once more, an unearthly smile, and closed her eyes. Her hand trembled a little.

An hour after it lay cold and still in mine.

FOOTNOTES:

Footnote 1: Bunzlau is famed for its pottery.--Tr.

Footnote 2: A round hole in a tailor's table, through which he brushes useless bits of cloth, and--as is generally supposed--some that are valuable.--Tr.

Footnote 3: An old coin, worth a little more than the groschen now in general use; for a time both circulated together.--Tr.

Footnote 4: The bug-bear of German nurseries.--Tr.

THE END.

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