Illustration."We consigned to the glowing embersall the books and writings of Onesimus."Page 198.
Not many weeks later the prior and his brother, Jephune, with Timotheus and several other followers, fled about four hundred miles toward the setting of the sun, until beyond all Christian government they reached a stream which runs toward the Mississippi, New River by name, where they were joined soon after by the rest of the Eckerlings.
With their exit an immediate change took place. The mills were immediately closed, and word sent abroad that all our agreements were cancelled—only we would fulfill our standing orders—but that hereafter no grain or seed or logs or rags would be purchased by us, excepting such as would be absolutely necessary for our own use. Our horses and wagons and oxen were sold, and the different helpers who were not of our belief discharged, for we were determined that, as we had come here to serve God and not Mammon, God we would serve. But in spite of our resolution such was the excellence of the flour and the wheat and the oil, and the quality of the paper and cardboard we had made, that for many years demands were made upon us repeatedly; but I rejoice to say no effort was made in all the long after years again to reinstatethese things for anything except our own uses, and when two years later three of our mills were lost by fire, which certain malicious ones attributed to our superintendent, and which could not be extinguished either by our wooden fire charms or our incantations, not one of us greatly regretted the event, so far as the loss of the mills themselves were concerned, only that we felt the loss of the large stores of wheat and other grain. Thus as Brother Lamech hath well said, "Did the fire, with God's permission, make an end to all the mammon which the Eckerlings, by their flaying, scraping, miserly conduct had gathered in the former household."
And now I feel I must turn again to my Sonnlein, who by this time was a sturdy boy of about thirteen, and that it may be known from his actions, instead of my great love for him what manner of boy he was, I shall tell of his first fight, that is, the first one I knew of; and this I can say of him, even though he was not a perfect example of the doctrine of non-resistance, he cared naught for fighting, but suffered in silence many a taunt and vile insult that made the blood rush to his cheeks; for not only did the neighbors' children—learning this from their idle-tongued parents—call him a "nobody's child"—for as he grew older he soon found there were ever ready ones to poison his happiness by telling him of his unknownparentage—but the elders themselves oft nicknamed him "Brother Jabez' chicken," for that he was always under my wing.
But one hot day in summer—and I take an unholy pleasure in writing this—Sonnlein and a lot of other boys and girls, were paddling bare-legged in the cool waters of the Cocalico, nigh the turnpike ford, filling the air with their thoughtless shrieks and laughter, so that the quiet-loving Brothers and Sisters were sorely tried in patience. Suddenly the harmless shrieks and laughter rose into a tremendous uproar, and so unusual was this tumult to mine ears I started hurriedly for the ford, fearing some awful calamity had befallen the children. As I came nigh I saw a lot of boys of all ages and sizes—so I wondered where they all came from—gathered in a struggling, yelling mass in the meadow along the creek, a fringe of frightened, white-faced little girls in the background—each boy, large and small, with might and main pressing forward toward the center of the howling little maniacs as if something of great moment were proceeding there. And indeed there was, for I was almost on them before they saw me or heard me call out sternly, "What meaneth all this noise?" When they did hear me and see my form hanging over them like some great thunder cloud they fled quickly, only that some from a distance in derision of my tonsure cried out at me, "AlterBlatkopf" (old baldhead), so that like Elisha I wished the bears to eat them up.
All but two had fled, and they were rolling about in the grass, now one on top and then the other, then to their feet, striking, clawing, and scratching like nothing so much as two angry cats; but suddenly the smaller but more active one, who seemed to me strangely like Sonnlein, delivered a marvelously directed blow full upon the upturned nose of the other, bringing forth a goodly stream of rich, red blood, whereupon the bleeding one put across the meadows, his hand to his face, bawling at the top of his lungs, the victorious gladiator following a short distance and crying after the vanquished, "Dost want some more of 'Brother Jabez' chicken'?" and then horrors upon horrors, I saw through all the mud and dirt and disordered hair, and the fierce, distorted features, 'twas my boy Sonnlein!
He saw me about the same time, and then the angry face fell into one of shame as I called to him, "Come hither!" He came obediently enough, saying nothing; but the wild passion of conflict could not die out at once, and as he stood there, digging his toes into the earth and casting sullen, rebellious glances at me, such as I had never received from him, and sorely they wounded me, he blurted out, "He began 't."
"Have I not often told thee," I demanded, asmuch in sorrow as in anger, "thou must not fight? Would couldst see thyself now to know how much like the beasts we become when we stoop to fight and tear each other asunder."
Still he said, but less defiantly, "He began 't, I tell thee."
"Art thou not sorry for breaking his nose?" I asked.
"Nay, he began 't; I had to fight. He hath been calling me names and trying to stir up a quarrel. Now he hath what he looked for."
"Couldst thou not have left him? Thou hast legs to carry thee," I reminded him.
But he only replied more firmly, "I'm glad I beat him, and that right well. He will trouble me no more."
And then as I took him by the hand and we were about to go to our cells I noticed within a few steps one of the little girls who had formed part of the frightened group in the background. She seemed about my boy's age, perhaps a trifle younger, with such deep blue eyes and long yellow hair, I thought of our Sister Bernice, only that our poor sister was never so rosy-cheeked and strong looking as this pretty little maid standing timidly nigh, and finally bursting into a plaintive appeal, "Don't whip him, Brother Jabez, it was Johann's own fault." Johann I suppose being the name of the still fleeing one.
"And why should I not punish Sonnlein for fighting, my little sister?" I asked gently.
"Because," she replied falteringly, and I could see her face was red as fire.
"'Because' may be reason sufficient for little girls, but not for big men," I replied still gently.
"Johann called him names," she rejoined.
"But surely hard names break no bones. If we fought whenever we heard ill of ourselves we should have little time for else than fighting. Now tell me truly why did they fight?"
And then I felt Sonnlein tugging at my hand and looking up at me more shamefaced than ever as he cried out, "Let us go,Vaterchen, I told thee why we fought," all the while frowning at our little sister as though warning her not to say anything.
I am not overly inquisitive, but now I was resolved to know all, so I said to her sternly, "My little sister, tell me the truth," and then more tenderly I said, "thou knowest Brother Jabez would not hurt thee or Sonnlein—not overmuch." Upon which great assurance she spake up as bravely as she could between the sobs that would not keep back, "Johann said I must be his wife when I was grown up, and Sonnlein said I was to be his wife, and—and—I—I—said so too."
"Well, what then?" I asked between stern surprise and tenderness as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
"Why, then we will keep house together," she replied innocently.
"I meant not what ye were going to do. I meant what did Johann do after thou didst promise thyself to Sonnlein?"
"Why Johann called Sonnlein bad names and struck me in the face and Sonnlein hit him." And then she said with such proud defiance I was greatly shocked, "Sonnlein licked him."
"And so ye two are to be man and wife when ye are grown up? What is thy name?" I asked turning to the little shrew.
"Mary."
"Well," and I spake out strongly, "let me not hear of this again, else will I tell thy parents, Mary; and as for thee, Sonnlein, if I hear aught of this man and wife wickedness again thou shalt have opportunity to celebrate thy first whipping." Thus did I threaten in my unwisdom these poor, innocent children.
"Ye do promise ye will never again speak to each other such nonsense?"
Whereat they both promised so willingly they would not that I greatly doubted the promise would stand any great strain.
As Sonnlein and I turned back again to the Kloster, leaving Mary to find her way home without the protection of her young knight, he looked up at me innocently and asked as sweetly as thoughhe had never known such fierce feeling as fighting, "Wast never in love,Vaterchen?"
I was about to reply with unwonted crossness, "What is't to thee," but just then I caught a glimpse of the mound, not more than a stone's throw to our right, beneath which lay our Bernice, so I merely remained quiet and answered not at all, only I could not help thinking that even Ecclesiastes sayeth there is a time for love and a time for war, and though Sonnlein was rather young for me to predict what his manhood would be, it will be seen that my fond hopes were none of the brightest for making him a gentle, peaceful celibate.
Come, Corinna, let me kiss thee!Come, my dearest, to me here!I would know why joy should miss thee,I would have thine answer clear.Smiling sweetly said she, "No,"Then demurely yielded so.—Francis Daniel Pastorius (of Germantown).
Come, Corinna, let me kiss thee!Come, my dearest, to me here!I would know why joy should miss thee,I would have thine answer clear.Smiling sweetly said she, "No,"Then demurely yielded so.
—Francis Daniel Pastorius (of Germantown).
How the years slipped by! Twenty years ago my Sonnlein had come to me a little toddler. Now he was a tall youth—even taller than I—strong and straight as the pine under which I found him; full of healthful animal spirits that sometimes in their exuberance give me vague fears as to what his active, enthusiastic nature might lead him to. Thus far he had done naught to shake my confidence in him. He was a constant solace to me. Brother Obed, with unwearying patience for Sonnlein's livelyways, was exceedingly proud of his acquirements, for between Brother Obed and me Sonnlein had not only learned to speak our mother tongue like one of us, but even in Latin and Greek he was no indifferent scholar. We had also taught him the arts of rhetoric and logic and mathematics, and had versed him in literature and history, poetry and music.
But above all mathematics, history, language, and literature, Brother Obed and I had taught Sonnlein what we knew and what we could teach him to find out for himself about this world of ours, this delightful book of nature our Creator gave us to read and search with no less diligence than his written word, and so the moon and the stars by night, the sun by day, the ever-recurring seasons, calm and tempest, the sparkling streams, waving trees, the sweet and lovely flowers, the creatures that fill God's earth, man, bird, and beast—all these were taught so that our boy understood them as so many manifestations of his power and beauty and love and tenderness for us who were created in his image. And that our boy might have the best of all guides for the interpretation of this visible life and the unseen world beyond the gates of death, we taught him gently but persistently God's holy word, for in our simple view of life it seemed a great shame that one should know all about the kings and princes of this fleeting earthbut know naught of the Prince of princes and the King of kings. Thus our boy, we fondly trusted, was prepared to fill any place in this world according to his gifts, happily for himself and others.
But I dare not pretend that he was a youthful saint, for frequently to my poorly concealed amusement and the evident chagrin of our superintendent, Sonnlein often put the former to utter rout in the discussion of some of his finespun interpretations of holy writ. Indeed, I fear there was no love lost between our estimable leader and my boy, for Sonnlein had that inexorable logic, that sure keenness of mind that pierces a sophistry as a skillful archer wings his arrow to the center of the mark. At times Sonnlein's apparent want of reverence, his seeming irreligion, his lack of deference for Brother Beissel's peculiar views, threatened to disrupt the brotherly relations that ever existed between our superintendent and me, his associate; for with all his sternness, his austerity, his unbending will and ambition, I recognized that our leader was no ordinary man, and while not a scholar he was a man of great and many talents—all in all, just the one to hold together our little community.
The trouble was that while Sonnlein had much of the sweet reasonableness and charity that comes from the study and contemplation of the humanities, he added to his poetic, philosophical temperament the energy and will that mark the manof action. An ardent, impetuous, positive nature like his was bound to clash with one like the superintendent's, and more than once it called forth all my wits to prevent actual rupture between the two, which would have scandalized us sorely. Thus it was that while I frequently reproached Sonnlein for his irreverence for Brother Beissel, I just as often placated the latter by pleading Sonnlein's youth and inexperience.
I recall especially one occasion when our leader had delivered a long discourse on one of his pet theories, that in heaven we should have the same occupations we had followed here. Sonnlein's brief comment, so it was brought to mine ears, was he pitied grave-diggers and the like if that was all the reward they were to receive. In our Kloster there were tattlers and talebearers, just as in more worldly places, and our leader hearing of the thing, which I knew Sonnlein had said more in jest than in disrespect, came to me in high dudgeon and demanded Sonnlein make open apology before all the Brotherhood. This I knew full well Sonnlein would not do and I besought our worthy leader to overlook the matter and forgive him. I shall never forget how he almost yelled at me, his small frame quivering with righteous indignation beneath my towering stature. "Forgive him! So sayest thou ever. I verily believe thou couldst forgive the devil!"
"In truth, dear brother, I oft have done so," I replied, smiling quietly and looking down into his angry eyes meaningly.
He straightened up and, as he walked savagely away, delivered this parting shot: "No doubt; thou hast had abundant opportunity in thy precious Sonnlein!"
It was my turn to flush now, but happily I controlled myself and said nothing, consoling myself with the reflection that our superintendent's witty retort would go far to appease his indignation and that by the morrow he would greet me with his accustomed affection and good-will, for in order to make others love us it is only necessary to make them love themselves, and many a rascal by this knowledge hath overcome many a wise man.
That night I spake to Sonnlein kindly but firmly, reminding him how poorly it accorded with his manhood's estate to indulge in such levity; that even if he could not always agree with the hair-splitting speculations of our worthy superintendent, it were surely wiser to hold one's tongue lest that unruly member poison all our peace.
"But," replied he gently, as was ever his way toward me, "Vaterchen, Brother Beissel hath something about him that everything he says and does irritates me. It passeth my understanding why he alone of all our Brothers and Sisters so affects me. I sometimes fear I hate him and thathe returns the same feeling, yet I know not that he hath ever harmed me. I promise thee to curb this tongue of mine. Good night,Vaterchen;schlafen Sie wohl," and so saying he went meekly to hisKammer, from whence I could soon tell by his deep, regular breathing what I had said was not greatly disturbing his sleep.
Late in the afternoon of the following day, being now in the wane of what we have since learned to call the "Indian summer," I was wandering, somewhat aimlessly I confess, along the borders of the Sisters' close, when suddenly, on lifting mine eyes from the earth, I perceived one of the Sisterhood directly in my pathway, but a short distance ahead, sitting quietly on a projecting root, which, springing from the base of a towering chestnut tree, formed a comfortable seat.
She had not observed me, I felt sure, and thinking not to disturb her meditations, for I doubted not she was rapt in contemplation of the heavenly Bridegroom, I stepped quietly aside into the cover of a near-by thicket. I hardly had done so when, not far beyond the Sister, a rich, deep voice rang out in an old German hunting song:
"Out into the woods three hunters went,On the white deer's chase their wishes bent."
"Out into the woods three hunters went,On the white deer's chase their wishes bent."
From my hiding-place I saw the form at the foot of the tree sit more erect in listening posture, andas the face was uplifted, the fair features of Sister Genoveva met my gaze, such a pensive wistfulness and tenderness informing every feature of the lovely face turned unwittingly toward me, I somehow thought of my Bernice, who so soon was called to her celestial Bridegroom.
Again the fine, strong voice rang out, still nearer:
"Down under the fir-trees' shade they lay,The same strange dream came to each that day."THE FIRST."'I dreamt I beat on a sheltering bush,From out its fold sprang the deer, husch, husch!'"
"Down under the fir-trees' shade they lay,The same strange dream came to each that day.
"THE FIRST.
"'I dreamt I beat on a sheltering bush,From out its fold sprang the deer, husch, husch!'"
And now I caught occasional glimpses of the gray fox-skin hunter's cap Sonnlein wore when on the chase, for I had recognized his voice full well. Some one else too seemed to know, for I could not help seeing, e'en though I never have known much of the signs and symptoms of love, that Sister Genoveva's pensiveness had given way to a gentle smile that brought an added charm to the wonderful loveliness of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
Still nearer came the trumpet tones:
"THE SECOND."'And as he sprang from the hound's hoarse laugh,I branded him deep on the hide, piff, paff!'"
"THE SECOND.
"'And as he sprang from the hound's hoarse laugh,I branded him deep on the hide, piff, paff!'"
Where had the scamp learned to sing with such faithfulness to the sense? I heard plainly the "hound's hoarse laugh," the "piff, paff!" And again I wondered where he had learned to sing so true. Surely not from our leader; no Æolian harp about these manly, resounding notes:
"THE THIRD."'And as on the earth him slain I saw,Lustily into the horn I blew, trara!'"
"THE THIRD.
"'And as on the earth him slain I saw,Lustily into the horn I blew, trara!'"
That "trara," like the blast of a hunting horn, transported me to my boyhood days in theVaterland, where often I had heard the huntsmen call to each other in the thick forests and mountain glens.
And then mockingly came the stanza:
"So there they lay and bragged these three—And there, ran by them the white deer—free!"
"So there they lay and bragged these three—And there, ran by them the white deer—free!"
Surely the light-hearted boy, for boy he always has been to me, was meant for a minnesinger.
And now he was so nigh only a thin wall of brush separated him, all unconscious, from Sister Genoveva and me, as she sat in the little clearing at the foot of the tree. Her eyes were now sparkling with merriment; delicate dimples of mirthfulness played hide and seek over chin and cheeks, despite the dignified efforts to maintain a sober mien as became one of the holy Sisterhood. Surelyshe was thinking of the surprise in store for him when he should burst the bushy barriers—and see her. It seemed to me she might have left the spot, for certain it was there was no lack of opportunity. Once, in faith, I was about to call to her sternly, but I could not, for verily I believe we both were held by the witchery of his song.
Then came the last verse, still strong and clear, with its vein of mockery:
"But hardly was he within their sightHe was gone again over deep and heightHusch, husch! piff, paff! trara!"
"But hardly was he within their sightHe was gone again over deep and heightHusch, husch! piff, paff! trara!"
The echoes of his stentorian tones had hardly died away when he was on us. Rather, I should say, he was in the presence of Sister Genoveva, for I was safely ensconced in the thicket, resolved now to see the meeting to its conclusion. And what a picture they made in that leaf-strewn clearing, all red and brown and gold with the jewels of the dying year, the chestnut stretching its arms out over the two forms as if in a blessing!
Not all the studied plainness and cloistral severity of the black dress could suppress the womanly grace and beauty of the full, rounded form of Sister Genoveva; nor could the hideous hood, which had fallen on her shoulders, have hidden from view those sweet features, so delicately strong and full of noble calmness and serenity—and yet no cold,marble, nun-like face, for the full red lips, the rosy flush of the rounded cheeks, the dimpled chin, and the warmth of those luminous, deep blue eyes betokened an affectionate and loving heart; and now that I saw her with such opportunity to scan her without myself being seen, I could understand the reports that had come to me of the wonderful influence she already exerted over the Sisterhood by reason of her clear vision, her piety, her strong will, her even temper, and above all that largeness of heart that made her sought even more thanMutterMaria in the troubles and fears and temptations that even our simple, secluded life could not wholly shut out from our little world.
But if she was the perfect Eve in this little paradise under the spreading chestnut, Sonnlein was no unworthy Adam. I knew not which of the two most satisfied my carnal eye with their fresh, young, healthful beauty. From beneath his gray cap his thick black hair hung in heavy, wavy masses about his neck and shoulders. His ruddy, sunburned face glowed with the spirit and animation of his song. At first, when he burst upon her, he started back in surprise, and then he called to her in gentle gayety, as he dropped on one knee, cap in hand, bowing gracefully (so that I wondered where he had caught those courtier-like airs which not at all pleased my plain ways), "Thou queen of the Roses of Saron, art thou holding court in thy temple of beauty?"
And then, for I could have sworn when he burst upon us she had been thinking of him in maidenly tenderness, she looked up indifferently, even coldly, and rebuked him, "Shame on thee to disturb these sacred grounds with thy worldly, boisterous song, thou noisy reveler. Thou idle, mighty Nimrod, where are the fruits of thy chase? Perchance" (and I saw a sly twinkle in her eyes that his abashed face did not observe) "thou didst dream too long under the fir tree and the white deer escaped thee? Gay garments torn from innocent beasts to add to vain adornment do not make one a great hunter."
"Nay, Sister Genoveva," he replied more earnestly, "no white deer ran through my dreams; no fir trees' shade soothed mine eyes to sleep. Wide awake was I, and yet I dreamed of a fair, sweet rose that I, even though it had thorns to prick me, would wear next my heart."
"Indeed, thou poet, thou speakest as though inspired with love. Surely it is time thou dost take the vow of loyalty to the celestial Virgin and join the consecrated Brotherhood; why delayest thou so long? In her love thou wilt find no thorns."
"But, dear sister, I want the rose with the thorns" (how delicately he emphasized the "with"). "Canst thou not see whom I mean, or dost thou not care to know?"
And then I saw the delicious mockery leave herface and voice as she said to him in solemn tones, "Nay, my brother Sonnlein, I dare not know; for thy sake as well as mine I must not know. Thou art possessed by some idle fancy the Evil One hath put into thee. Thou must not disrespect me by making my woman's heart struggle 'gainst my vows of celibacy."
He lifted his head and looking into her eyes that met his so fearlessly, his passionate heart burst forth into a very torrent of love, so I wondered she could withstand him. "I do love thee, sister," murmured tumultuously the low, warm voice, "with all my heart and mind and body and soul. I do not hold thee lightly in my respect or I had spoken of this long ago; but my respect for thee, forVaterchen, for our Holy Order forbade; but I can no longer withhold myself." And then masterfully he stood erect and in strong, earnest tones declared, "I for one am not ashamed of human love. I should rather be ashamed of myself did I not love such as thou art to me." And then, the eloquent diplomat, "Brother Beissel, whom the Roses of Saron worship as little less than God himself, hath he not declared, is it not the very foundation of your vows of celibacy that man was first a spirit containing both the elements of man and woman; that this spiritual virgin, theSophia, left him? Then was woman formed from a rib of his side, whereby man lost his woman'sattributes and retained merely man's? Thou must not smile and shake thy head, my sister. Thou art, I care not if the wide world know it, mySophia, my angel, my celestial virgin, that left me in my creating. Canst marvel and deem me mad or blasphemous because I long to come to mine own other self again, to have thee, mine own sweet rib, evermore at my side, beneath my heart, caressing it and content to hear it murmur its undying love for thee—my sister,mein Liebchen—tell me, dost thou not love me?"
How like one inspired he pleaded! Surely she would yield, for I saw the steady light in her eyes falter, and for a moment she clasped her hands meekly before her, like a humble captive before some proud conqueror, but just for a moment—strange is the heart of woman—and then I was most inconsistently displeased to see her lift her gaze all unabashed to his as she said lightly, "What an orator thou art; now know I what we oft have marveled at, how thou wheedlest our good Brother Jabez into so much forgiveness for thy indifference to our holy life."
"So our good brother is wheedled," thought I, indignantly at first, and then smiling in a superior manner at the impossibility of such a thing as my being wheedled.
But my boy was not one of those who could easily be laughed away from his purpose, for I hadtaught him—in season and out—never to let sarcasm or ridicule have the slightest effect on him when he had once chosen his ground and knew he was right. If he did feel Genoveva's gentle mockery he showed it not, but instead did what I never could have had the courage to do, unless upon modest invitation, and that was to step resolutely forward and take Sister Genoveva by the hands and hold her thus against her feeble striving to free herself while he said to her boldly, "Thou dost love me or else wouldst not tease me so!"
"Hast forgotten our promise to good Brother Jabez when thou didst fight Johann, that we would never again talk to each other of love?"
"That promise hath no life; we were but children, and secondly, 'twas drawn from us by fear. Such promisesVaterchen, who knoweth the law, himself sayeth are not binding."
"Oh, thou lawyer," thought I to myself; "thou'rt far too worldly-wise for a minnesinger."
"Thou dost love me," he again said strongly.
"Thou tyrant to hold me against my will. Loose thy hold or else I shall not doubt I dislike thee," she declared right vehemently, though it seemed to me she might have struggled more earnestly to loosen his grasp.
But like a true-hearted man he obeyed her request, dropping her hands and saying softly, "Thou dost not hate me, then, thou cold-hearted nun?"
"Nay, naught of reason have I to hate thee, Sonnlein"—and how sweetly she said his name—"but dost not know, thou mighty hunter, woman expects little less than perfection in him she would love," and then she said maliciously, so I could not fathom her, "surely thou dost not think thyself perfect?"
"As to thy last," he rejoined, "I shall make answer, I am human. I leave it to woman to be perfect"—the flatterer. "As to thy first I doubt not thy sex ever looks for perfection in our imperfect sex, and it strikes me this accounts more for our Sisterhood than does their love for their heavenly Bridegroom, whom they see not until after death."
"Thou irreverent scoundrel," thought I.
"And yet," continued he, "when I think of him for whom our Sister Eunice lately left the Roses of Saron, it seemeth as though some of thy sex at least look not for perfection."
"Still I say our foolish hearts yearn for the ideal, but when we love the attainable we forgive everything, and this is woman's weakness."
"Nay, sister, 'tis her most glorious strength that she, an angel, can stoop down and make him see heaven in her."
"That I had the gift to speak with such a golden tongue," thought I, and then fortunately for us all—for I liked not my spying, and yet I could notleave unnoticed—Sonnlein chanced to see Brother Alburtus approach. Suddenly that scamp of mine kissed her full on her sweet lips. How she blushed and said not a word, as he held her close to him for a moment whispering passionately, "Thou must love me as I love thee, forever!" and then as they both saw Brother Alburtus perilously nigh, she quietly sat down again at her former place, most demurely, while Sonnlein passed on toward hisKammer.
As Brother Alburtus came upon her he stopped for a moment, hand rubbing hand as usual, looked at her in grave absorption and passed on as though she were not there.
And then I could have sworn I saw peering at her, and next at the departing form of Brother Alburtus, the loathsome features of that awful woman whom I had not seen for over ten years, from the shelter of a tangled clump of vines and brush, which I solemnly promised myself should be cut down on the morrow, root and branch.
Stealthily I crept out of my hiding-place and proceeded to where it seemed I had seen the witch, but as I came near I saw naught, and yet as I walked slowly away there came faintly to mine ears as though receding from me, that horrible, cackling laugh I had reason to hold in so much dread.
O thou whose glory fills the etherial throne,And all ye deathless powers, protect my son!—Iliad.
O thou whose glory fills the etherial throne,And all ye deathless powers, protect my son!
—Iliad.
Twilight was fast deepening into night when I returned to myKammerin the large Brother House, or Bethania, which we built a few years after the departure of the Eckerlings, down in the meadow, nigh the Cocalico, and facing the Sister House, or Saron, Brother Beissel's cabin sitting circumspectly between the two houses of our Order.
Here, as in Zion, Sonnlein and I had adjoining cells. I was not greatly surprised as I entered mine, to hear him whistle softly a worldly tune, though where he had caught it I knew not—surely not from me—for our sober lives never favored such godless puckerings and twistings of the lips!
Then he hummed the blasphemous thing for a while, changing into whistling again, and in his humming and whistlings making such vain and perverse changes, flying from high to low, from loud to soft, mingling with it all such sundry quiverings and queer little runs and trillings, until not able to stand it longer—for it seemed he would never stop—I marched sternly to the doorway of his cell, flung back the light door and spake to him, "Art crazy or in love?"
"Both,Vaterchen, both!" he fairly shouted, as he grabbed me ere I knew what was up, and spun me around so I could hardly keep my feet.
"Surely thou'rt mad," I gasped feebly as I sank down on his bench, "Hast been drinking?"—though I knew he had not.
"Yea," he shouted again even louder than before, "from the loving cup of the gods!"
"Be not so boisterous, thou blasphemer! Wouldst have the Brethren think thee drunk?"
"The Brethren are not about; I am not so wild I know not how to save thy gentle reputation,Vaterchen"—and in truth in his adventures he ever regarded me.
"Still it poorly becometh thee to act like a thoughtless boy," I remonstrated.
"Surely,Vaterchen," he laughed gayly, "if thou didst but know what it is to be in love thou couldst not scold me so!"
"Every man to his trade," I replied dryly, not trusting myself to look at him; "my trade is preaching and trying to behave myself. Thine appears to be loving," saying the latter as sarcastically as my dislike for sharp words and my love for him would allow.
But he only laughed the louder as he said, "'Tis a trade that never had to advertise for apprentices."
"Cease thy levity; canst not be sober-minded? If thou must make music we have hundreds of noble hymns in our books."
"They are not framed to my mood, but"—and now in truth he looked more serious and manlike, as I most admired him—"dost thou agree with our superintendent that marriage is a sinful state?"
"Dost ask for mere curiosity, or hast found some foolish woman who careth for thee?" I asked with seeming ignorance.
He flushed at this, and then said gently, the schemer, "Nay, but sometime I might see one foolish enough, as thou sayest, to love me and perchance I might commit in all ignorance the grievous sin of marriage."
"I commend thy great thoughtfulness," said I, looking at him in a way that made him in turn look at me as though wondering whether I knew more than I cared to tell. "To relieve thy anxiety I shall tell thee, which I would not have proclaimedfrom the housetops, there being those who hold to stricter views, I do not regard marriage as sinful. The word of God sayeth not so. In truth it esteemeth marriage highly. We base our views of celibacy on what Paulus sayeth, thou rememberest, 'For I would that all men were even as I myself,' meaning unmarried."
"But Paulus himself wrote that he spake this by permission and not of commandment."
"True, and so say I, now that I am older and wiser. We practise celibacy, and praise it because we believe that, as good soldiers of the Lord, we can go better to battle than if we are impeded by wives and children."
A long pause and then anxiously, as though much depended on my reply, he asked with a touch of reverence in his voice, "Wouldst think it wrong for any of our Sisters to marry?"
"Our vows are binding only on our consciences. We compel no one to celibacy. Each follows his own will. Thou knowest many of the Brethren and Sisters who were married when they joined our order left us again to live together and no one said them 'nay,' but our single Sisters and Brethren have almost invariably remained with us."
"If I were to marry one of the Sisterhood, wouldst thou condemn either of us?" he asked eagerly.
"When thou'rt sure thou hast found one tobreak her vows for thee it were time to ask me that," I admonished him; and then, as I arose to return to my cell, I said smiling, not meaning it with malice, "thou knowest much may happen between sunrise and sunset."
Hardly had I said this—and oft it hath come to me how like it was to the fulfilling of a prophecy—when the Kloster bell rang out from Mt. Sinai strong and clear as though calling us to face some sudden danger. Alarm was writ plainly on our faces as we looked out of the little window, fearing to see the glare of fire against the sky, but we saw nothing. Soon the hall and corridors were filled with the anxious brethren, for it was still a few hours from midnight, and each of us knew something of great moment must be about to cause this hurried ringing so early in the night.
As Sonnlein and I hastened out of the corridor and the low doorway for Brother Beissel's cabin, the rest of the anxious brothers trooping after us, we saw our prioress and a number of the Sisters gathered about our leader in front of his cabin, the changing light from the fat lamps showing clearly enough the fear and consternation oppressing us.
As our leader saw me, he called me to him and said, his voice trembling in spite of him: "Our Sister Genoveva cannot be found; no one hath seen her since sunset."
I could feel Sonnlein's grip on my arm like the hold of a drowning man, but he said nothing.
"I myself saw her then in the Sisters' close, sitting at the foot of a large chestnut tree," said I slowly, for I could not help thinking of that evil face I now felt certain I had really seen peering at our sister from behind the thicket.
"She may have gone to some of the neighbors to attend some sick one," suggested Brother Beissel, but saying it as against his own belief.
"But first she would have left word with us," the prioress reminded him, "for such is our rule."
"Still, there may have been sudden illness that left no time for word to us," persisted our leader.
So far, no one had said a word as to the great fear that I knew was clutching the hearts of my Brothers and Sisters, which was that the Indians had either killed or carried away our Genoveva; for over a year had gone by since the French and Indians had taken up musket and tomahawk against the English settlements, and though we had thus far been spared the horrors of this savage war, yet we heard now and then of awful massacres of the whites by the Indians not many miles to the north and west, among the outlying settlements off our province, so that the whole country, by reason of these barbarous deeds and the want of proper defense, was in a great state of excitement and apprehension.
Calling Brother Alburtus to me, I asked him slowly and distinctly, for he seemed oft not to understand one: "Thou wast in the Brother woods and the Sister woods at sunset. Didst see signs of Indians, the red men?"
But he only shook his head with his accustomed vacant air, so that Brother Beissel exclaimed impatiently: "'Tis waste of time to question him; he never seeth aught."
"Brother Beissel, if thou wilt send of the brethren among the neighbors to inquire of our sister, Sonnlein and I will go to the Sister woods," and with this I turned about for Sonnlein, but he was gone as though he too had been swallowed up, for I had felt him but a moment before at my elbow. My flesh was beginning to creep and prick with unmanly fright when one of the brethren spake:
"He hath just gone with a fagot to Mt. Sinai," and as I looked where my brother pointed, I saw the occasional glimmer of a light through the trees and bushes.
Without waiting for a light, though the night was dark and overcast with heavy clouds, threatening rain, I dashed after my boy as fast as the gloom and my knowledge of our Kloster ground would let me.
When I reached him he was already at the chestnut tree, kneeling, torch in hand, closely searching the ground. As I came nigh I saw hisface was hard and drawn, and though I could see his hands tremble, his voice was firm as a rock as he commanded me, as he never spoke to me before, to stand back a moment.
All around the base of the tree he looked, missing, as I thought, not a leaf or twig or stone, I wondering now at the patience of him who never since I had known him had been overly patient.
Then slowly he got up from the ground, still holding his torch close to the earth, and started off, now stopping as in doubt, then holding aside a branch or vine in his way, I all the while following as meekly as a little boy his parent, but rejoicing now that Sonnlein's living in the woods so much had taught him what I knew so little of. On we slowly and surely went, he often stooping down and scrutinizing the earth as though he had lost his guiding marks, but always finding them again, until we had gone down over the hill and were aiming toward the Cocalico where it wound its course fully a half-mile below the Brother House.
A great fear again chilled me to the bones. Our sister had thrown herself into the cold waters of the creek rather than weakly surrender herself to love for man! But when I had seen her last she seemed not over-weighted with grief or remorse. Nay, not self-murder!
And now as we were following the right bank of the Cocalico and were treading the wet, softearth, I could see plainly now and then what a child could have seen—through the weeds and grasses, footprints of three people, one of whom I felt sure was our sister, for some of the prints were small and delicate, such as would be made by the wooden soles of her sandals. Other of the prints from their size were those of a grown man, but whether white or Indian I had not sufficient woodcraft to tell. The other marks were too small for a man's and yet not Genoveva's, being differently shaped.
We had not gone far along the Cocalico, when suddenly the grassy bank spread out into a stony, gravelly beach, where the deep pool we had been following dwindled away to a shallow, rippling stream. On this hard beach I at once lost the footprints, but Sonnlein never hesitating led the way, still silent and grim, to the water's edge, and there again I plainly saw the foot-marks in the soft mud among the stones.
He paused but a moment as he looked at the marks, and then plunged into the stream without waiting to see whether or how I might follow. My selfish indignation at his indifference to me lasted but the space of a lightning's flash, for I immediately thought of the great trouble that had come to my boy, and without any ado I plunged into the icy waters that, despite its shallowness, caught me knee-deep at times, and with suchsavage eagerness as I feared more than once would sweep my feet off the slippery bed of the stream and no doubt drown me, for in my neglect of earthly things I had never learned to swim.
But with all my floundering and splashing I did at last reach the farther side, where I found Sonnlein following the shore looking closely for the footprints, of which I could see none. But suddenly we found them again quite a distance below where we had emerged from the Cocalico, and I realized now that the captors had practised the old trick of walking in the water some distance to destroy all pursuit.
But now Sonnlein's fagot was almost burnt out and the rain was beginning to fall, lightly as yet, though I knew it would soon be drenching us to the skin, and by washing away the footprints make it impossible to follow any further.
I tried to call Sonnlein's mind to the utter folly of hoping to accomplish aught in the darkness and the rain, but his only reply was to make a fresh torch from the dead branches of an old tree overhanging the creek. Lighting the sticks from his fast expiring fagot, he suddenly turned to me, as if for the first time since we had left the chestnut tree he were aware of me, and said shortly, "Stay thou here till I come back," and with that he plunged into the heavy brush, mine eyes following anxiously as far as I could the light of his torch.
It was not long until, with all the straining of my sight, I no more could see aught of his light, and then heavy-hearted—as I had not been for many a year—and wet and shivering from the cold rain that was beating down faster and faster, I crouched up close to the dry side of the old dead tree, and patiently awaited in all the misery of my body and mind the return of my boy.
Not that I feared he could not take care of himself, for I knew he had the strength of a lion and the quickness of a cat, but I knew his determined, persistent nature, and that he would go to the ends of the earth, if needs be, for her he loved.
How long I waited under the old tree I remember not. Through all the rushing of the rain and the sweeping of the winds, I heard faintly the Kloster bells, and I knew it must be midnight. I could see in mind the Brothers and Sisters file out of Bethania and Saron for our little chapel for the accustomed devotions, and I found much comfort because I felt sure earnest, loving prayers were ascending to Him to watch over our sister and my boy and me, and bring us back safe and whole to the fold.
But mortal flesh is ever weak, and as I stood and waited with the storm howling about me, wondering where our sister was in all this wind and rain, wondering where my boy was and when he would come back to me, I lost heart and faith.Besides the wind and the rain and the murmuring of the creek, everything was absolutely silent. I seemed utterly alone in the world. I thought to myself, Who or what am I in all this great universe? What careth God for me? While in this weak mood an owl hooted overhead, and though I had never before found the hooting of owls aught but sad and mournful, this one sounded to me almost as sweet as our own dear bells. And then I thought of what our Master had said about a sparrow's fall—and I doubt not he also regardeth owls—so that I felt better again.
And great need I had of comfort, for hour after hour I waited for my boy. I was drenched to the skin and so cold I shook like a leaf. More than once as I had made up my mind to wait no longer I started to leave, but then crouched closer to the tree again, ashamed of myself for wanting to leave my post. Still as the long, awful night grew toward morning and the faint light of a gloomy dawn came on, I thought to wait longer were of no avail, and so in great anguish of mind, heeding not the lesser pains of the flesh, I made my way back, heavy-eyed and still more heavy-hearted to my cell, drying myself as best I might, and then throwing myself on my hard bench to seek in sleep some peace for body and mind.