  From The German Of Conrad Von Bolanden. Chapter VI.—Continued.The tumult continued. As soon as the orator attempted to speak, his voice was drowned by cries and stamping. “Commissary!” cried the chairman to that officer, “I demand that you extend to our assembly the protection of the law.” “I am here simply to watch the proceedings of your meeting,” replied Parteiling with cool indifference. “Everybody is at liberty in meetings to signify his approval or disapproval by signs. No act forbidden by the law has been committed by your opponents, in my opinion.” “Bravo! bravo! Three cheers for the commissary!” All at once the noise was subdued to a whisper of astonishment. A miracle was taking place under the very eyes of progress. Banker Greifmann, the moneyed prince and liberal, made his appearance upon the platform. The rioters saw with amazement how the mighty man before whom the necks of all such as were in want of money bowed—even the necks of the puissant leaders—stepped before the president of the assembly, how he politely bowed and spoke a few words in an undertone. They observed how the chairman nodded assent, and then how the banker, as if to excite their wonder to the highest pitch, mounted to the speaker's desk. “Gentlemen,” began Carl Greifmann, “although I have not the honor of sharing your political views, I feel myself nevertheless urged to address a few words to you. In the name of true progress, I ask this honorable assembly's pardon for the disturbance occasioned a moment ago by a band of uncultivated rioters, who dare to pretend that they are acting in the cause and with the sanction of progress. I solemnly protest against the assumption that their disgraceful and outrageous conduct is in accordance with the spirit of the party which they dishonor. Progress holds firmly to its principles, and defends them manfully in the struggle with its opposers, but it is far from making itself odious by rudely overstepping the bounds of decency set by humanity and civilization. In political contests, it may be perfectly lawful to employ earnest persuasion and even influences that partake of the rigor of compulsion, but rudeness, impertinence, is never justifiable in an age of civilization. Commissary Parteiling discovers no legally prohibited offence in the expression of vulgarity and lowness—may be. Nevertheless, a high misdemeanor has been perpetrated against decorum and against the deference which man owes to man. Should the slightest disturbance be again attempted, I shall use the whole weight of my influence in prosecuting the guilty parties, and convince them that even in the spirit of progress they are offenders and can be reached by punishment.” He spoke, and retired to the other end of the hall, followed by loud applause [pg 193] He hung his head in a melancholy mood, and his heart protested earnestly against the inference which was irresistibly forcing itself upon his mind, that the sister shared her brother's sentiments. “This doubt must be cleared up, cost what it may,” thought he. “My God, what if Louise also turned out to be a progressionist, a woman without any faith, an infidel! No, that cannot be! Yet suppose it really were the case—suppose she actually held principles in common with such vile beings as Schwefel, Sand, Erdblatt, and Shund? Suppose her moral nature did not harmonize with the beauty of her person—what then?” He experienced a spasmodic contraction in his heart at the question, he hesitated with the answer, but, his better self finally getting the victory, he said: “Then all is over. The impressions of a dream, however delightful, must not influence a waking man. My father's calculation was wrong, and I have wasted my kindness on an undeserving object.” [pg 194]So completely wrapt up was he in his meditations that he heard not a word of the speeches, not even the concluding remarks of the president. Greifmann's approach roused him, and they left the hall together. “That was ruffianly conduct, of which progress would have for ever to be ashamed,” said the banker indignantly. “They bayed and yelped like a pack of hounds. At their first volley I was as embarrassed and confused as a modest girl would be at the impertinence of some young scapegrace. Fierce rage then hurried me to the platform, and my words have never done better service, for they vindicated civilization.” “I cannot conceive how a trifle could thus exasperate you.” Greifmann stood still and looked at his companion in astonishment. “A trifle!” echoed he reproachfully. “Do you call a piece of wanton impudence, a ruffianly outrage against several hundreds of men entitled to respect, a trifle?” “I do, compared with other crimes that you have suffered to pass unheeded and uncensured,” answered Gerlach. “You had not an indignant word for the unutterable meanness of those three leaders, who were immoral and unprincipled enough to invest a notorious villain with office and honors. Nor did you show any exasperation at the brutal terrorism practised by men of power in this town over their weak and unfortunate dependents.” “Take my advice, and be on your guard against erroneous and narrow-minded judgments. The leaders merely had a view to their own ends, but they in no manner sinned against propriety. The raising a man of Shund's abilities to the office of mayor is an act of prudence—by no means an offence against humanity.” “Yet it was an outrage to moral sentiment,” opposed Seraphin. “See here, Gerlach, moral sentiment is a very elastic sort of thing. Sentiment goes for nothing in practical life, and such is the character of life in our century.” “Well, then, the mere sense of propriety is not worth a whit more.” “I ask your pardon! Propriety belongs to the realm of actualities or of practical experiences, and not to the shadowland of sentiment. Propriety is the rule that regulates the intercourse of men, it is therefore a necessity, nothing else will serve as a substitute for it, and it must continue to be so regarded as long as a difference is recognized between rational man and the irrational brute.” “The same may be said with much more reason of morality, for it also is a rule, it regulates our actions, it determines the ethic worth or worthlessness of a man. Mere outward decorum does not necessarily argue any interior excellence. The most abandoned wretch may be distinguished for easy manners and elegant deportment, yet he is none the less a criminal. A dog may be trained to many little arts, but for all that it continues to be a dog. “It is delightful to see you breaking through that uniform patience of yours for once and showing a little of the fire of indignation,” said the banker pleasantly. “I shall tell Louise of it, I know she will be glad to learn that Seraphin too is susceptible of a human passion. But this by the way. Now watch how I shall meet your arguments. That very moral sentiment of which you speak has caused and is still causing the most enormous crimes against humanity, and the laws of morality are as changeable as the wind. When an Indian who has not been raised from barbarism by civilization dies, [pg 195] Seraphin could not but admire the skill with which Greifmann jumbled together subjects of the most heterogeneous nature. But he could not, at the same time, divest himself of some alarm at the banker's declarations, for they betrayed a soul-life of little or absolutely no moral worth. Money, interest, and respectability constituted the only trinity in which the banker believed. Morality, binding the conscience of man, a true and only God, and divine revelation, were in his opinion so many worn-out and useless notions, which the progress of mankind had successfully got beyond. “When those who hold power take advantage of it at elections, they in no manner offend against propriety,” proceeded Carl. “Progress has convictions as well as ultramontanism. If the latter is active, why should not the former be so too? If, on the side of progress, the weak and dependent permit themselves to be cowed and driven, it is merely an advantage for the powerful, and for the others it is a weakness or cowardice. For this reason, the mode of electioneering pursued by Spitzkopf and his comrades amused but nowise shocked me, for they were not acting against propriety.” Seraphin saw it plainly: for Carl Greifmann there existed no distinction between good and evil; he recognized only a cold and empty system of formalities. The two young men issued from a narrow street upon the market-place. This was occupied by a large public building. In the open space stood a group of men, among whom Flachsen appeared conspicuous. He was telling the others about Greifmann's speech at the meeting of the ultramontanes. They all manifested great astonishment that the influential moneyed prince should have appeared in such company, and, above all, should have made a speech in their behalf. “He declared it was vulgar, impudent, ruffianly, to disturb a respectable assembly,” reported Flachsen. “He said he knew some of us, and that he would have us put where the dogs would not bite us if we attempted to disturb them again. That's what he said; and I actually rubbed my eyes to be quite sure it was banker Greifmann that was speaking, and really it was he, the banker Greifmann himself, bodily, and not a mere apparition.” “I must say the banker was right, for it isn't exactly good manners to howl, stamp, and whistle to annoy one's neighbors,” owned another. [pg 196]“But we were paid for doing it, and we only carried out the orders given by certain gentlemen.” “To be sure! Men like us don't know what good breeding is—it's for gentlemen to understand that,” maintained a third. “We do what men of good breeding hire us to do, and if it isn't proper, it matters nothing to us—let the gentlemen answer for it.” “Bravo, Stoffel, bravo!” applauded Flachsen. “Yours is the right sort of servility, Stoffel! You are a real human, servile, and genuine reactive kind of a fellow—so you are. I agree with you entirely. The gentlemen do the paying, and it is for them to answer for what happens. We are merely servants, we are hirelings, and what need a hireling care whether that which his master commands is right or not? The master is responsible, not the hireling. What I am telling you belongs to the exact sciences, and the exact sciences are at the pinnacle of modern acquisitions. Hence a hireling who without scruple carries out the orders of his master is up to the highest point of the age—such a fellow has taken his stand on servility. Hallo! the election has commenced. Be off, every man of you, to his post. But mind you don't look too deep into the beer-pots before the election is over. Keep your heads level, be cautious, do your best for the success of the green ticket. Once the election is carried, you may swill beer till you can no longer stand. The gentlemen will foot the bill, and assume all responsibilities.” They dispersed themselves through the various drinking-shops of the neighborhood. Near the door of the building in which the voting was to take place stood a number of progressionist gentlemen. They all wore heavy beards, smoked cigars, and peered about restlessly. To those of their party who chanced to pass they nodded and smiled knowingly, upon doubtful voters they smiled still more blandly, added some pleasant words, and pressed the acceptance of the green ticket, but for ultramontane voters they had only jeers and coarse witticisms. As Greifmann approached they respectfully raised their hats. The banker drew Gerlach to one side, and stood to make observations. “What swarms there are around the drinking-shops,” remarked Greifmann. “It is there that the tickets are filled under the persuasive influence of beer. The committee provide the tickets which the voters have filled with the names of the candidates by clerks who sit round the tables at the beer-shops. It is quite an ingenious arrangement, for beer will reconcile a voter to the most objectionable kind of a candidate.” A crowd of drunken citizens coming out of the nearest tavern approached. Linked arm-in-arm, they swayed about and staggered along with an unsteady pace. Green tickets bearing the names of the candidates whom progress had chosen to watch over the common weal could be seen protruding from the pockets of their waistcoats. Gerlach, seeing the drunken mob and recollecting the solemn and important nature of the occasion, was seized with loathing and horror at the corruption of social life revealed in the low means to which the party of progress had recourse to secure for its ends the votes of these besotted and ignorant men. Presently Schwefel stepped up and saluted the young men. “Do you not belong to the committee in charge of the ballot-box?” inquired Greifmann. “No, sir, I wished to remain entirely [pg 197] “In that case there can be no question of failure,” said the banker. “Your office is closed to-day, no doubt?” “Of course!” assented the manufacturer of straw hats. “This day is celebrated as a free day by the offices of all respectable houses. Our clerks are dispersed through the taverns and election districts to use their pens in filling up tickets.” “I am forced to return to my old assertion: an election is mere folly, useless jugglery,” said the banker, turning to Seraphin. “Holding elections is no longer a rational way of doing, it is no longer a business way of proceeding, it is yielding to stupid timidity. Mr. Schwefel, don't you think elections are mere folly?” “I confess I have never considered the subject from that point of view,” answered the leader cautiously. “But meanwhile—what do you understand by that?” “Be good enough to attend to my reasoning for a moment. Progress is in a state of complete organization. What progress wills, must be. Another party having authority and power cannot subsist side by side with progress. Just see those men staggering and blundering over the square with green tickets in their hands! To speak without circumlocution, look at the slaves doing the behests of their masters. What need of this silly masquerade of an election? Why squander all this money, waste all this beer and time? Why does not progress settle this business summarily? Why not simply nominate candidates fit for the office, and then send them directly to the legislature? This mode would do away with all this nonsensical ado, and would give the matter a prompt and business cast, conformable to the spirit of the age.” “This idea is a good one, but we have an election law that would stand in the way of carrying it out.” “Bosh—election law!” sneered the banker. “Your election law is a mere scarecrow, an antiquated, meaningless instrument. Do away with the election law, and follow my suggestion.” “That would occasion a charming row on the part of the ultramontanes,” observed the leader laughing. “Was the lion ever known to heed the bleating of a sheep? When did progress ever pay any attention to a row gotten up by the ultramontanes?” rejoined Greifmann. “Was not the fuss made in Bavaria against the progressionist school-law quite a prodigious one? Did not our own last legislature make heavy assaults on the church? Did not the entire episcopate protest against permitting Jews, Neo-pagans, and Freemasons to legislate on matters of religion? But did progress suffer itself to be disconcerted by episcopal protests and the agonizing screams of the ultramontanes? Not at all. It calmly pursued the even tenor of its way. Be logical, Mr. Schwefel: progress reigns supreme and decrees with absolute authority—why should it not summarily relegate this election law among the things that were, but are no more?” “You are right, Greifmann!” exclaimed Gerlach, in a feeling of utter disgust. “What need has the knout of Russian despotism of the sanction [pg 198] “You have again misunderstood me, my good fellow. I am considering the actual state of things. Should ultramontanism at any time gain the ascendency, then it also will be justified in behaving in the same manner.” Upon more mature consideration, Gerlach found himself forced to admit that Greifmann's view, from the standpoint of modern culture, was entirely correct. Progress independently of God and of all positive religion could not logically be expected to recognize any moral obligations, for it had not a moral basis. Everything was determined by the force of circumstances; the autocracy of party rule made anything lawful. Laws proceeded not from the divine source of unalterable justice, but from the whim of a majority—fashioned and framed to suit peculiar interests and passions. “We have yet considerable work to do to bring all to thinking as clearly and rationally as you, Mr. Greifmann,” said the leader with a winning smile. Schwefel accompanied the millionaires into a lengthy hall, across the lower end of which stood a table. There sat the commissary of elections surrounded by the committee, animated gentlemen with great beards, who were occupied in distributing tickets to voters or receiving tickets filled up. The extraordinary good-humor prevailing among these gentlemen was owing to the satisfactory course of the election, for rarely was any ultramontane paper seen mingling in the flood that poured in from the ranks of progress. The sides of the hall were hung with portraits of the sovereigns of the land, quite a goodly row. The last one of the series was youthful in appearance, and some audacious hand had scrawled on the broad gilt frame the following ominous words: “May he be the last in the succession of expensive bread-eaters.” Down the middle of the hall ran a baize-covered table, on which were numerous inkstands. Scattered over the table lay a profusion of green bills; the yellow color of the ultramontane bills was nowhere to be seen. The table was lined by gentlemen who were writing. They were not writing for themselves, but for others, who merely signed their names and then handed the tickets to the commissary. Several corpulent gentlemen also occupied seats at the table, but they were not engaged in writing. These gentlemen, apparently unoccupied, wore massive gold watch-chains and sparkling rings, and they had a commanding and stern expression of countenance. They were observing all who entered, to see whether any man would be bold enough to vote the yellow ticket. People of the humbler sort, mechanics and laborers, were constantly coming in and going out. Bowing reverently to the portly gentlemen, they seated themselves and filled out green tickets with the names of the liberal candidates. Most of them did not even trouble themselves to this degree, but simply laid their tickets before the penman appointed for this special service. All went off in the best order. The process of the election resembled the smooth working of an ingenious piece of machinery. And there was no tongue there to denounce the infamous terrorism that had crushed the freedom of the election or had bought the votes of vile and venal men with beer. Seraphin stood with Greifmann in the recess of a window looking on. “Who are the fat men at the table?” inquired he. [pg 199]“The one with the very black beard is house-builder Sand, the second is Eisenhart, machine-builder, the third is Erdfloh, a landowner, the fourth and fifth are tobacco merchants. All those gentlemen are chieftains of the party of progress.” “They show it,” observed Gerlach. “Their looks, in a manner, command every man that comes in to take the green ticket, and I imagine I can read on their brows: ‘Woe to him who dares vote against us. He shall be under a ban, and shall have neither employment nor bread.’ It is unmitigated tyranny! I imagine I see in those fat fellows so many cotton-planters voting their slaves.” “That is a one-sided conclusion, my most esteemed,” rejoined the banker. “In country villages, the position here assumed by the magnates of progress is filled by the lords of ultramontanism, clerical gentlemen in cassocks, who keep a sharp eye on the fingers of their parishioners. This, too, is influencing.” “But not constraining,” opposed the millionaire promptly. “The clergy exert a legitimate influence by convincing, by advancing solid grounds for their political creed. They never have recourse to compulsory measures, nor dare they do so, because it would be opposed to the Gospel which they preach. The autocrats of progress, on the contrary, do not hesitate about using threats and violence. Should a man refuse to bow to their dictates, they cruelly deprive him of the means of subsistence. This is not only inhuman, but it is also an accursed scheme for making slaves of the people and robbing them of principle.” “Ah! look yonder—there is Holt.” The land cultivator had walked into the hall head erect. He looked along the table and stood undecided. One of the ministering spirits of progress soon fluttered about him, offering him a green ticket. Holt glanced at it, and a contemptuous smile spread over his face. He next tore it to pieces, which he threw on the floor. “What are you about?” asked the angel of progress reproachfully. “I have reduced Shund and his colleagues to fragments,” answered Holt dryly, then approaching the commissary he demanded a yellow ticket. “Glorious!” applauded Gerlach. “I have half a mind to present this true German man with another thousand as a reward for his spirit.” The fat men had observed with astonishment the action of the land cultivator. Their astonishment turned to rage when Holt, leisurely seating himself at the table, took a pen in his mighty fist and began filling out the ticket with the names of the ultramontane candidates. Whilst he wrote, whisperings could be heard all through the hall, and every eye was directed upon him. After no inconsiderable exertion, the task of filling out the ticket was successfully accomplished, and Holt arose, leaving the ticket lying upon the table. In the twinkling of an eye a hand reached forward to take it up. “What do you mean, sir?” asked Holt sternly. “That yellow paper defiles the table,” hissed the fellow viciously. “Hand back that ticket,” commanded Holt roughly. “I want it to be here. The yellow ticket has as good a right on this table as the green one—do you hear me?” “Slave of the priests!” sputtered his antagonist. “If I am a slave of the priests, then you are a slave of that villain Shund,” retorted Holt. “I am not to be browbeaten—by such a fellow as you particularly—least of all by a vile slave of [pg 200] “That is an impudent dog,” growled leader Sand. “Who is he?” “He is a countryman of the name of Holt,” answered he to whom the query was addressed. “We must spot the boor,” said Erdfloh. “His swaggering shall not avail him anything.” Holt was not the only voter that proved refractory. Mr. Schwefel, also, had a disagreeable surprise. He was standing near the entrance, observing with great self-complacency how the workmen in his employ submissively cast their votes for Shund and his associates. Schwefel regarded himself as of signal importance in the commonwealth, for he controlled not less than four hundred votes, and the side which it was his pleasure to favor could not fail of victory. The head of the great leader seemed in a manner encircled with the halo of progress: whilst his retainers passed and saluted him, he experienced something akin to the pride of a field-marshal reviewing a column of his victorious army. Just then a spare little man appeared in the door. His yellowish, sickly complexion gave evidence that he was employed in the sulphurating of straw. At sight of the commander the sulphur-hued little man shrank back, but his startled look did not escape the restless eye of Mr. Schwefel. He beckoned to the laborer. “Have you selected your ticket, Leicht?” “Yes, sir.” “Let me see the ticket.” The man obeyed reluctantly. Scarcely had Schwefel got a glimpse of the paper when his brows gathered darkly. “What means this? Have you selected the yellow ticket and not the green one?” Leicht hung his head. He thought of the consequences of this detection, of his four small children, of want of employment, of hunger and bitter need—he was almost beside himself. “If you vote for the priests, you may get your bread from the priests,” said Schwefel. “The moment you hand that ticket to the commissary, you may consider yourself discharged from my employ.” With this he angrily turned his back upon the man. Leicht did not reach in his ticket to the commissary. Staggering out of the hall, he stood bewildered near the railing of the steps, and stared vaguely upon the men who were coming and going. Spitzkopf slipped up to him. “What were you thinking about, man?” asked he reproachfully. “Mr. Schwefel is furious—you are ruined. Sheer stupidity, nothing but stupidity in you to wish to vote in opposition to the pleasure of the man from whom you get your bread and meat! Not only that, but you have insulted the whole community, for you have chosen to vote against progress when all the town is in favor of progress. You will be put on the spotted list, and the upshot will be that you will not get employment in any factory in town. Do you want to die of hunger, man—do you want your children to die of hunger?” “You are right—I am ruined,” said the laborer listlessly. “I couldn't bring myself to write Shund's name because he reduced my brother-in-law to beggary—this is what made me select the yellow ticket.” “You are a fool. Were Mr. Schwefel to recommend the devil, your duty would be to vote for the devil. What need you care who is [pg 201] “I am sorry now, but it's too late.” sighed Leicht. “I wouldn't have thought, either, that Mr. Schwefel would get angry because a man wanted to vote to the best of his judgment.” “There you are prating sillily again. Best of your judgment!—you mustn't have any judgment. Leave it to others to judge; they have more brains, more sense, more knowledge than you. Progress does the thinking: our place is to blindly follow its directions.” “But, Mr. Spitzkopf, mine is only the vote of a poor man; and what matters such a vote?” “There is your want of sense again. We are living in a state that enjoys liberty. We are living in an age of intelligence, of moral advancement, of civilization and knowledge, in a word, we are living in an age of progress; and in an age of this sort the vote of a poor man is worth as much as that of a rich man.” “If only I had it to do over! I would give my right hand to have it to do over!” “You can repair the mischief if you want.” “Instruct me how, Mr. Spitzkopf; please tell me how!” “Very well, I will do my best. As you acted from thoughtlessness and no bad intention, doubtless Mr. Schwefel will suffer himself to be propitiated. Go down into the court, and wait till I come. I shall get you another ticket; you will then vote for progress, and all will be satisfactory.” “I am a thousand times obliged to you, Mr. Spitzkopf—a thousand times obliged!” The agent went back to the hall. Leicht descended to the courtyard, where he found a ring of timid operators like himself surrounding the sturdy Holt. They were talking in an undertone. As often as a progressionist drew near, their conversation was hushed altogether. Holt's voice alone resounded loudly through the court, and his huge strong hands were cutting the air in animated gesticulations. “This is not a free election; it is one of compulsion and violence,” cried he. “Every factoryman is compelled to vote as his employer dictates, and should he refuse the employer discharges him from the work. Is not this most despicable tyranny! And these very tyrants of progress are perpetually prating about liberty, independence, civilization! That's a precious sort of liberty indeed!” “A man belonging to the ultramontane party cannot walk the streets to-day without being hooted and insulted,” said another. “Even up yonder in the hall, those gentlemen who are considered so cultivated stick their heads together and laugh scornfully when one of us draws near.” “That's so—that's so, I have myself seen it,” cried Holt. “Those well-bred gentlemen show their teeth like ferocious dogs whenever they see a yellow ticket or an ultramontane. I say, Leicht, has anything happened you? You look wretched!” Leicht drew near and related what had occurred. The honest Holt's eyes gleamed like coals of fire. “There's another piece of tyranny [pg 202] Leicht shunned the society of the ultramontanes and stole away. Presently Spitzkopf appeared with the ticket. “Your ticket is filled out. Come and sign your name to it.” Schwefel was again standing near the entrance, and he again beckoned the laborer to approach. “I am pacified. You may now continue working for me.” Carl and Seraphin returned to the Palais Greifmann. Louise received them with numerous questions. The banker related what had passed; Gerlach strode restlessly through the apartment. “The most curious spectacle must have been yourself,” said the young lady. “Just fancy you on the rostrum at the ‘Key of Heaven’! And very likely the ungrateful ultramontanes would not so much as applaud.” “Beg pardon, they did, miss!” assured Seraphin. “They applauded and cried bravo.” “Really? Then I am proud of a brother whose maiden speech produced such marvellous effects. May be we shall read of it in the daily paper. Everybody will be surprised to hear of the banker Greifmann making a speech at the ‘Key of Heaven.’ ” Carl perceived the irony and stroked his forehead. “But what can you be pondering over, Mr. Seraphin?” cried she to him. “Since returning from the turmoil of the election, you seem unable to keep quiet.” He seated himself at her side, and was soon under the spell of her magical attractions. “My head is dizzy and my brain confused,” said he. “On every hand I see nothing but revolt against moral obligation, sacrilegious disregard of the most sacred rights of man. The hubbub still resounds in my ears, and my imagination still sees those fat men at the table with their slaveholder look—the white slaves doing their masters' bidding—the completest subjugation in an age of enlightenment—all this presents itself to me in the most repulsive and lamentable guise.” “You must drive those horrible phantoms from your mind,” replied Louise. “They are not phantoms, but the most fearful reality.” “They are phantoms, Mr. Seraphin, so far as your feelings exaggerate the evils. Those factory serfs have no reason to complain. There is nothing to be done but to put up with a situation that has spontaneously developed itself. It is useless to grow impatient because difference of rank between masters and servants is an unavoidable evil upon earth.” A servant entered to call them to dinner. At her side he gradually became more cheerful. The brightness of [pg 203] “After you will have done justice to your diary,” said she at parting, “we shall take a drive, and then go to the opera.” Instead of going to his room, Seraphin went into the garden. He almost forgot the occurrences of the day in musing on the inexplicable behavior of Louise. Again she had not uttered a word of condemnation of the execrable doings of progress, and it grieved him deeply. A suspicion flitted across his mind that perhaps Louise was infected with the frivolous and pernicious spirit of the age, but he immediately stifled the terrible suggestion as he would have hastened to crush a viper that he might have seen on the path of the beautiful lady. He preferred to believe that she suppressed her feelings of disgust out of regard for his presence, that she wisely avoided pouring oil upon the flames of his own indignation. Had she not exerted herself to dispel his sombre reflections? He was thus espousing the side of passion against the appalling truth that was beginning faintly to dawn upon his anxious mind. But soon the spell was to be broken, and duty was to confront him with the alternative of either giving up Louise, or defying the stern demands of his conscience. The brother and sister, thinking their guest engaged with his diary, walked into the garden. They directed their steps towards the arbor where Gerlach had seated himself. He was only roused to consciousness of their proximity by the unusually loud and excited tone in which Louise spoke. He could not be mistaken; it was the young lady's voice—but oh! the import of her words. He looked through an opening in the foliage, and sat thunderstruck. “You have been attempting to guide Gerlach's overexalted spirit into a more rational way of thinking, but the very opposite seems to be the result. Intercourse with the son of a strait-laced mother is infecting you with sympathy for ultramontanism. Your speech to-day,” continued she caustically, “in yon obscure meeting is the subject of the talk of the town. I am afraid you have made yourself ridiculous in the minds of all cultivated people. The respectability of our family has suffered.” “Of our family?” echoed he, perplexed. “We are compromitted,” continued she with excitement. “You have given our enemies occasion to set us down for members of a party who stupidly oppose the onward march of civilization.” “Cease your philippic,” broke in the brother angrily. “Bitterness is an unmerited return for my efforts to serve you.” “To serve me?” “Yes, to serve you. The disturbing of that meeting made a very unfavorable impression on your intended. He scorned the noisy mob, and was roused by what, from his point of view, could not pass for anything better than unpardonable impudence. To me it might have been a matter of indifference whether your intended was pleased or displeased with the fearless conduct of progress. But as I knew both you and the family felt disposed to base the happiness of your life on his couple of millions, as [pg 204] “But you have pardoned yourself too easily,” proceeded she, unappeased. “The very first word uttered by a Greifmann in that benighted assembly was a stain on the fair fame of our family. We shall be an object of contempt in every circle. ‘The Greifmanns have turned ultramontanes because Gerlach would have refused the young lady's hand had they not changed their creed,’ is what will be prated in society. A flood of derision and sarcasm will be let loose upon us. I an ultramontane?” cried she, growing more fierce; “I caught in the meshes of religious fanaticism? I accept the Syllabus—believe in the Prophet of Nazareth? Oh! I could sink into the earth on account of this disgrace! Did I for an instant doubt that Seraphin may be redeemed from superstition and fanaticism, I would renounce my union with him—I would spurn the tempting enjoyments of wealth, so much do I hate silly credulity.” Seraphin glanced at her through the gap in the foliage. Not six paces from him, with her face turned in his direction, stood the infuriate beauty. How changed her countenance! The features, habitually so delicate and bright, now looked absolutely hideous, the brows were fiercely knit, and hatred poured like streams of fire from her eyes. Sentiments hitherto skilfully concealed had taken visible shape, ugly and repulsive to the view of the innocent youth. His noble spirit revolted at so much hypocrisy and falsehood. What occurred before him was at once so monstrous and so overwhelming that he did not for an instant consider that in case they entered the arbor he would be discovered. He was not discovered, however. Louise and Carl retraced their steps. For a short while the voice of Louise was still audible, then silence reigned in the garden. Seraphin rose from his seat. There was a sad earnestness in his face, and the vanishing traces of deep pain, which however were soon superseded by a noble indignation. “I have beheld the genuine Louise, and I thank God for it. It is as I feared, Louise is a progressionist, an infidel that considers it disgraceful to believe in the Redeemer. Out upon such degeneracy! She hates light, and how hideous this hatred makes her. Not a feature was left of the charming, smiling, winning Louise. Good God! how horrible had her real character remained unknown until after we were married! Chained for life to the bitter enemy of everything that I hold dear and venerate as holy—think of it! With eyes bandaged, I was but two paces from an abyss that resembles hell—thank God! the bandage has fallen—I see the abyss, and shudder. “ ‘The ultramontane Seraphin’—‘the fanatical Gerlach’—‘the shortsighted Gerlach,’ whose fortune the young lady covets that she may pass her life in enjoyment—a heartless girl, in whom there is not a spark of love for her intended husband—how base! “ ‘Ultramontane’?—‘fanatical’?—yes! ‘Shortsighted?’ by no means. One would need the suspicious eyes of progress to see through the hypocrisy of this lady and her brother—a simple, trusting spirit like mine cannot penetrate such darkness. At any rate, they shall not find me weak. [pg 205] He hastened from the garden to his room and rang the bell. “Pack my trunks this very day, John,” said he to his servant. “Tomorrow we shall be off.” He then entered in his diary a circumstantial account of the unmasked beauty. He also dwelt at length upon the painful shock his heart experienced when the bright and beautiful creature he had considered Louise to be suddenly vanished before his soul. As he was finishing the last line, John reappeared with a telegraphic despatch. He read it, and was stunned. “Meet your father at the train this evening.” He looked at the concise despatch, and fancied he saw his father's stern and threatening countenance. The contemplated match had for several years been regarded by the families of Gerlach and Greifmann as a fixed fact. Seraphin was aware how stubbornly his father adhered to a project that he had once set his mind upon. Here now, just as the union had became impossible and as the youth was about to free himself for ever from an engagement that was destructive of his happiness, the uncompromising sire had to appear to enforce unconditional obedience to his will. A fearful contest awaited Seraphin, unequal and painful; for a son, accustomed from childhood to revere and obey his parents, was to maintain this contest against his own father. Seraphin paced the room and wrung his hands in anguish. To Be Continued. |
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