"A child of freshest clayDoth at our table stay:Hey! Hey!"--
"A child of freshest clay
Doth at our table stay:
Hey! Hey!"--
with which students usually welcome a new arrival. This was followed by
"Ça, Ça! be merry,"
"Ça, Ça! be merry,"
in which the words
"Edite, bibite"
"Edite, bibite"
had been paraphrased into "eating it, beating it." This introduction of university civilization into the retreats of village life was the work of Constantine. The boys were very proud of their new songs. Ivo joined in, lest he should appear "stuck up."
The three comrades were well drilled. Peter sang the air; and, though he had a fine voice, he spoiled it by bawling,--for peasants when they sing, and parsons when they preach, are equally apt to suppose that an overstrained voice is more beautiful and impressive than a natural one. Constantine always moved up and down as he sang, clenching his fists and buffeting the air. Florian rested his elbows on the table and sang with closed eyes, to exclude all outside distraction.
The first pint having been despatched in short order, the college chap cried, "Babbett, one more of them: it takes two legs to walk on," and then sang,--
"Wine, ho! Wine, ho!Or I'll stagger to and fro.I won't stagger, and I can't stand,And I won't be a Lutherand.Wine, ho! Wine, ho!Or I'll stagger so."
"Wine, ho! Wine, ho!
Or I'll stagger to and fro.
I won't stagger, and I can't stand,
And I won't be a Lutherand.
Wine, ho! Wine, ho!
Or I'll stagger so."
Then, without a pause, he sang again:--
"She I don't want to see,She's every day with me;And she I love so dear,She's far away from here."Can't get a pretty one,Won't take a homely one;Must have some sort o' one:What shall I do?"
"She I don't want to see,
She's every day with me;
And she I love so dear,
She's far away from here.
"Can't get a pretty one,
Won't take a homely one;
Must have some sort o' one:
What shall I do?"
"Why, Constantine, are you so smart at Polish begging?" asked Babbett. "Is it true that Emmerence sent you next door with a 'God help you'?"
"I'll bet you three pints of the best that she'll go to the bel-wether dance with me, and with nobody else."
Florian sang,--
"Fret for a pretty girl?That would be a shame:Turn to the next one,And ask for her name."
"Fret for a pretty girl?
That would be a shame:
Turn to the next one,
And ask for her name."
Peter fell in:--
"If I have no sweetheart,I live without distress;There's morning every day,And evening no less."
"If I have no sweetheart,
I live without distress;
There's morning every day,
And evening no less."
Constantine sang,--
"When it snows the snow is white,And when it freezes the frost is bright;What noodles do with fear and frightI do with all my might."
"When it snows the snow is white,
And when it freezes the frost is bright;
What noodles do with fear and fright
I do with all my might."
Florian began:--
"It's just a week to-day, to-day,My sweetheart told me to go away:She cried, and she sobb'd,But I was gay."
"It's just a week to-day, to-day,
My sweetheart told me to go away:
She cried, and she sobb'd,
But I was gay."
And
"Three weeks before EasterThe snow will be flush,My girl will be married,And I in the slush."
"Three weeks before Easter
The snow will be flush,
My girl will be married,
And I in the slush."
"That's not the way," said Constantine: "turn round the handle:"--
"Three weeks before Easter,There'll be slush in the snow:The jade will be marriedAnd I'll courting go."
"Three weeks before Easter,
There'll be slush in the snow:
The jade will be married
And I'll courting go."
Laughter and applause from all sides of the room were the reward of this poetic effort. Peter then struck up:--
"Sweetheart, you thief,You're all my grief;And while I live,No comfort you'll give."
"Sweetheart, you thief,
You're all my grief;
And while I live,
No comfort you'll give."
And
"If I but knewWhere my sweetheart has gone,My heart wouldn't beHalf so weary and lone."
"If I but knew
Where my sweetheart has gone,
My heart wouldn't be
Half so weary and lone."
Florian sang again:--
"If you would live like a little bird,And have no cares to shend ye;Just marry, till the summer's round,Whome'er the spring may send ye."
"If you would live like a little bird,
And have no cares to shend ye;
Just marry, till the summer's round,
Whome'er the spring may send ye."
Constantine sang again:--
"I come to see you;It pleased me to come;But I won't come any longer:It's too far from home."It wouldn't be too far,And it wouldn't be too rough,But, just understand,You're not near good enough."
"I come to see you;
It pleased me to come;
But I won't come any longer:
It's too far from home.
"It wouldn't be too far,
And it wouldn't be too rough,
But, just understand,
You're not near good enough."
Ivo sat at the table, absorbed in unpleasant reflections. He called to mind how at this hour he was usually to be found at his solitary lamp, struggling to penetrate the mysteries of creation and redemption,--how far he was then removed from all the doings of men, from all the wishes and aims of individuals; and he contrasted all this with what he now saw of the life led by his natural comrades in age and station. The nucleus of all their thoughts and actions was love, whether they made it the subject of wanton jibes or of strains of tender longing. Once more existence lay before him, severed, as by a sharp steel, into two irreconcilable halves,--the secular and the ecclesiastical. Babbett, who had watched him closely, had not failed to perceive the irksome twitches of the muscles of his face: she now approached the singers, saying,--
"Why, a'n't you ashamed of yourselves? Can't you sing a single decent song?"
Constantine replied,--
Can't you sing a single decent song?
"Well, if you don't like it,I like it the more;And, if you can do better,Just put in your oar."
"Well, if you don't like it,
I like it the more;
And, if you can do better,
Just put in your oar."
"Yes," said Florian: "we'll sing a good song if you'll join in."
"Oh, yes, I'll join in."
"What shall it be?" asked Peter.
"'Honest and true.'"
"'Is my wealth and my store'? no, I don't like that," said Constantine.
"Well, then, 'Ere the morning dew was wasted.'"
"Yes." Babbett sang lustily, and the others fell in:--
"Ere the morning dew was wasted,Ere the night-blown grass was shrunk,Ere another's eye had tasted,On my love mine eyes were sunk."Shoot the fox and rabbit early,Ere they travel in the wood;Love the girls ere they grow surly,Or forget how to be wooed."Till with vines the millstone teemeth,And the mill-race runs with wine,While life's current in us streameth,Thou art mine and I am thine."
"Ere the morning dew was wasted,
Ere the night-blown grass was shrunk,
Ere another's eye had tasted,
On my love mine eyes were sunk.
"Shoot the fox and rabbit early,
Ere they travel in the wood;
Love the girls ere they grow surly,
Or forget how to be wooed.
"Till with vines the millstone teemeth,
And the mill-race runs with wine,
While life's current in us streameth,
Thou art mine and I am thine."
Ivo thanked Babbett warmly for the pretty song; but Constantine immediately followed it up with
"I'm as poor as a mouse:There's no door to my house,There's no lock to my door,And I've no sweetheart more."It's all up with meOver land and sea:When the Danube dries upOur wedding shall be."And it will not dry up,And is wet to this day;To find another sweetheartI must up and away."
"I'm as poor as a mouse:
There's no door to my house,
There's no lock to my door,
And I've no sweetheart more.
"It's all up with me
Over land and sea:
When the Danube dries up
Our wedding shall be.
"And it will not dry up,
And is wet to this day;
To find another sweetheart
I must up and away."
"Now let's have 'A boy he would a walking go,'" said Babbett.
"Keep your boy at home," replied Constantine.
"Oh, you! If you'd been kept at home, they wouldn't have turned you out like a dog in the wrong kennel."
"Strike up," said Florian; and they sang:--
"Blithe let me be,If 'tis but well with thee,Although my youth and freshnessMust wither hopelessly."No streamlet on the hill-sideBut finds its course to run;But not a hand to openMy pathway to the sun."The sun, the moon, the stars,And all the firmament,Shall hang in mourning for meTill my long night be spent."
"Blithe let me be,
If 'tis but well with thee,
Although my youth and freshness
Must wither hopelessly.
"No streamlet on the hill-side
But finds its course to run;
But not a hand to open
My pathway to the sun.
"The sun, the moon, the stars,
And all the firmament,
Shall hang in mourning for me
Till my long night be spent."
Ivo fidgeted in his chair: this song was the expression of his own fate.
"Don't go," said Constantine, perceiving his uneasiness.
"Babbett, you don't do like the host at Cana: you give the good wine first and the bad afterward. You've brought Lutheran and Catholic wine together: that'll be a mixed marriage."
"'When the mice have had enough, the flour is bitter,'" answered the hostess.
"'Tell you what," cried Constantine; "we'll drink hot wine now."
"You've had enough for to-day," said Barbara.
"What we can't drink we can pour into our shoes. Let's make a night of it. Are you for it?--and you? and you?"
Every one nodded, and sang,--
"Brothers, let's go itAnd drink while we're young;Age will come quicklyAnd dry up the tongue.For the gentle wineWas made for good fellows:Brothers, be mellow,And drink the good wine."
"Brothers, let's go it
And drink while we're young;
Age will come quickly
And dry up the tongue.
For the gentle wine
Was made for good fellows:
Brothers, be mellow,
And drink the good wine."
The "warm wine" which was brought would have provoked a smile from any American or English boon companion. It bore about the same relation to mulled wine which water-gruel has to pepper-pot. The heat it had received from the fire was counterbalanced by the infusion of water until a child might have fattened upon it unharmed. But Germans can sing more drinking-songs over a cup of vinegar than would be heard in an American bar-room where brandy enough has been swallowed to account for a dozen murders.
Constantine welcomed the arrival of the beverage with a song, which he accompanied with his fists on the table:--
"I and my old wife,We go the whole figure;She carries the beggar's pouch,And I sing the jigger.Bring some Bavarian beer;Let's be Bavarians here;Bavarians, Bavarians let us be here."She's gone to town to beg,I wait and snicker;What she'll bring back with herI'll spend for liquor.Bring some Bavarian beer," &c.
"I and my old wife,
We go the whole figure;
She carries the beggar's pouch,
And I sing the jigger.
Bring some Bavarian beer;
Let's be Bavarians here;
Bavarians, Bavarians let us be here.
"She's gone to town to beg,
I wait and snicker;
What she'll bring back with her
I'll spend for liquor.
Bring some Bavarian beer," &c.
It grew late. A boy had brought Ivo the key to his father's house. The beadle had come to announce the hour for silence, but Constantine quieted him with a glass of wine: the same deep artifice succeeded with the watchman, who came an hour later. Constantine began to mimic the professors and boast of his student's pranks. Ivo rose to go. The others tried to hold him, but Constantine made room for him: in Ivo's absence there was nothing to interfere with his making himself the hero of the adventures of other students. He called after him, however, to "take the room-door into bed with him;" but Ivo did not hear it, for he was already in the open air.
The soft light of the summer moon was poured over the land, and seemed to strew the earth with calm and quiet. Ivo frequently stood still, laid his hand on his beating breast, and took off his cap to permit the gentle gales to fan him. When, at home, he undertook to undress himself, he felt doubly how his quick pulses were chasing each other: he left the house once more, therefore, to find refreshment in the peaceful silence of night. He walked along the highroad and across the fields: he was happy, he knew not why; he could have walked on forever: with his heart beating joyfully, the love of life was revived in him, and carried him aloft over the lovely, peaceful earth. Having returned home at last, he saw that the door of the first-floor chamber was open. Almost unconsciously, he entered, and stood spell-bound; for there lay Emmerence. The moon shone on her face: her head lay under her right arm, and her left hand rested on the frame. Ivo's breast heaved: he trembled from head to foot; he knew not what befell him; but he bent over Emmerence and kissed her cheek, almost as gently as the moonbeam itself. Emmerence seemed to feel it, for, turning upon her side, she murmured, "A cat, cat, cat." He waited a while to see if she would wake. But she slept on, and the august stillness recalled him to himself. Striking his forehead, he left the room. Arrived at his own bedside, he threw himself upon the floor, and, torturing his inmost soul, he cried, "God forgive me! let me die! I have sinned! I am a castaway, a villain! Lord God, stretch out thy right hand and crush me!"
Shivering with cold, he awoke, and found it broad day. He crept into his bed. His mother brought him coffee, found him looking very ill, and urged him not to get up; but he would not be dissuaded, for he had made up his mind to go to church that morning.
In passing the stable he heard Emmerence singing within:--
"No house to live,No farm to tend,No gauds to give,No money to lend,And such a lassieAs I amWill never find a friend."
"No house to live,
No farm to tend,
No gauds to give,
No money to lend,
And such a lassie
As I am
Will never find a friend."
"What makes you so down-hearted?" Ivo could not refrain from asking. "Didn't you sleep well?"
What makes you so down-hearted?
"I don't know any thing about sleeping well or ill. I am tired when I go to bed, and my eyes shut. I just happened to think of the song, and so I sang it."
"You needn't deny it: you would like to have Constantine for your sweetheart, wouldn't you?"
"Him! I'd rather take the French simpleton, or Blind Conrad: I've no mind to make up the balance of his half-dozen. I don't want any sweetheart: I am going to remain single."
"That's what all the girls say."
"You shall see whether I am in earnest about it or not."
"But if you can get a good husband you oughtn't to be too dainty."
"What could I get? Some old widower who has furnished the gravedigger with two or three wives already. No! whenever I can't stay in your house any more, my mind's made up: I promised Mag when she went away to go to America. But I'm so glad to see you care about what's to become of me: sure, if youaregoing to be a clergyman, that's no reason why you should never look after your old friends."
"I should like nothing better than to do something for your comfort and happiness in the world."
Emmerence looked at him with beaming eyes. "That's what I always said," cried she: "I knew you were good, and I never would believe you were proud. Ask your mother: we talk of you often and often. Don't your ears ever tingle?"
Thus they chatted for some time. Emmerence told him that she read his letters to his mother, and that she almost knew them by heart. Ivo thought it his duty to say that he too had not forgotten her, and that he hoped she would always be good and pious. He said this with a great effort of self-command, for the girl's warm-hearted candor had made a great impression upon him.
The church-bell rang, and some old women who passed with their prayer-books under their arms made Ivo aware that he was too late for matins.
"Where are you going to work to-day?" he asked, before leaving.
"Out by the pond."
He went into the fields, but in the opposite direction: a violent yearning drew him toward the spot where he knew Emmerence to be; but he only walked the faster, to suppress the cry of his heart. At length he returned home and took up a book; but he could not rivet his thoughts to the subject. He began a letter to Clement, intending to pour out his heart to his friend; but he soon tore it up, and consoled himself with the reflection that he would soon see Clement again.
Contrary to all his former habits, Ivo was now rarely at home. He frequently spent half a day at a time in Jacob's smithy. Smithies in Germany, as here, are the resorts of various drones, old men, and idlers: wagoners from a distance, and from the village, come and go, to have their horses shod or their tools or vehicles repaired. As the bellows fan the fire, so the arrivals and departures keep up the stream of conversation. Ivo often asked himself how things would have been if the wish of his early childhood had been fulfilled and he had become a blacksmith. He resolved, when in the ministry, to frequent these places and endeavor at times to edge in a wholesome word of counsel or encouragement. Sometimes the thought struck him that possibly it would not be his lot to take orders, after all. "So be it, then," he would say: "only let me never be like the 'college chap.'"
On his return to the convent, Ivo suffered several days to pass before informing his now pale and wasted-looking friend Clement of the emotions which had gone on within him: he had a natural dread of this disclosure.
As they walked in the Burgholz together, Clement grasped Ivo's hand and said, "I saw in a dream how Satan laid his snares to entrap you."
Ivo confessed his love for Emmerence.
"Alas!" cried Clement, "alas! you too are pursued by the tempter. If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out. You must trample this spark of hell-fire out of existence, though life itself should follow."
Ivo went to confession. He never disclosed the penance imposed upon him; but he agreed readily to Clement's proposal to sleep on the ground in future and to subject themselves to various deprivations. Clement always slept upon the ground in a sitting posture and with his arms spread out to represent the form of the cross.
With the whole force of his will, Ivo disengaged his thoughts from the affairs of this world, and succeeded in confining them once more to subjects of ecclesiastical learning. But a new demon soon dogged him even into the sacred precincts. He never dared to tell Clement of this last machination of the evil one; for Clement would have raised a fresh hue and cry. This made a rupture of their intimacy inevitable, and accident soon brought it about. Clement was speaking of the Godhead of Christ as manifested in his having assumed the bitterness of death upon his cross, and said that this was needed to complete the revelation of him as God and as the Savior of the world.
"I see nothing so superhuman in death upon the cross," said Ivo, very calmly. "It is holy and grand, but it is not superhuman, to die innocently in the promotion of a great cause. I should have esteemed him equally if there had been no occasion for a martyrdom to prove the truth of his divine mission, and if the blind Jews had acknowledged him without it, and had suffered him to live. Not the crucified, but the living Christ, His divine life and divine doctrines, are my salvation and my faith."
Clement stood trembling from head to foot: his lips swelled, and his eyes rolled wildly. With clenched fist he struck Ivo's face, making sparks of fire start from his eyes and causing his cheek to tingle. Ivo stood unmoved, or motionless; but Clement fell to the ground before him, seized his hand, and cried,--
"Down into the dust, forsaken one! Verily, the heaviest chastisement which could befall thy blasphemy has the Lord visited upon thee by my hand: it was not my will, but the Lord's, which hurled my arm against thee. Thou art the brother of my heart, and by me thou must be smitten; for thou must feel two-edged swords piercing thy flesh.
"If thou thrust me away, the Lord's wrath is thereby visited upon thee still more: thou shalt lose the best friend thou hast. Do what thy spirit will, put me away, and thou shalt be doubly wretched. The Lord must plunge thee into the depths of darkness, that thine eye may be opened to receive the light. He must give thee sadness to drink and gall to feed upon, until the spirit of lies shall depart and the slime of sin fall away from thee. Lord, let this offering be pleasing in thy sight: I offer thee half of my heart,--my friend. Thou art my friend, O Lord! Forgive me that my soul still clings to one who is the food of worms. Be gracious unto me, O Lord! give me the full cup of sorrow, and lead me in the thorny path to thee, thee!"
Ivo stood sadly regarding his friend, whose rashness grieved but did not surprise him. He offered to raise him up; but Clement refused, and Ivo soon saw the entire meaning of this fit of ecstasy. With a sensation of indescribable pain, he thought he saw the corpse of his friend in the place of his living body; and then again his own disembodied spirit seemed to stand before his own lifeless frame and look upon its last convulsive movements. He was giddy. He offered again to assist Clement in rising; but the latter sprang to his feet, and demanded, peremptorily,--
"Will you do penance? Will you wash the rust from your soul with tears of repentance?"
"No."
"To hell with you, then!" cried Clement, again seizing him by the throat. Ivo, however, defended himself stoutly, and the savage said, imploringly, "Smite me; tread me under foot: I will undergo all things willingly: but I must save you, for the Lord wills it."
Ivo turned on his heel without another word, and quitted his friend in silence.
For days Ivo walked about in thoughtful silence. The string of his heart which had the fullest tone was cruelly snapped asunder: he had buried the bright promise of youthful friendship. Besides, the excess of religious frenzy which he had witnessed had given fresh vitality to many half-slumbering doubts and scruples. He was "doubly wretched," as Clement had foretold; but he knew not how to help himself.
The chaplain of Horb had come to Tuebingen as a professor: he had never lost his preference for Ivo, who now sought his friendship and acquainted him with his troubles.
Strange to say, it was the Virgin Mary who had provoked his doubts especially. He first inquired "whether, as a saint, she was also omnipresent?" as he thought she ought to be, seeing that prayers were everywhere offered up to her.
The professor looked at him with some astonishment, and said, "The notion of omnipresence is a purely human one, deduced from bodily things, and, in strictness, applicable to them alone. In coupling 'omnis' (all) with 'present' we merely seek to comprehend the totality of existence: we do not really add to the number of our ideas, though we may seem to do so. Nothing which is not earthly can become, as such, the subject of our conceptions: for the same reason, we cannot legitimately undertake to subject a spirit to the measure of what is, in fact, a merely physical standard,--that of 'presence.' We must renounce, once for all, the idea of comprehending supernatural things logically: faith is the proper organ of their function, and no other."
Ivo was entirely satisfied with this answer, and only ventured timidly to ask how theVirginMary could be spoken of, when the Bible makes mention of brothers of Christ.
The professor answered, "The Greek wordαδελφος[Greek: adelphos]12is not to be taken literally: it is an Oriental expression, taken from the Hebrew, and signifies as much as 'kinsman,' or 'friend.'"
"Then I suppose the expressionυἱος θεου[Greek: huios theou]13is not to be taken literally either, but is also an Oriental expression?"
"By no means! Such an idea is at once repelled by the Messianic passages of the Old Testament, the Gospels, and the tenets of the Church. And, besides," added he, watching Ivo's features narrowly, "the incarnation of God has no other purpose than to give a hold to our human faculties, because, as I said before, we can form no conception of that which is not earthly: its essence is and must remain a mystery, which we can do nothing but believe in, and faith will be given you, if you take pains to keep your soul pure, childlike, and innocent."
"But that is not so easy," said Ivo, with some timidity.
"I will give you some advice which is founded on experience," answered the professor, laying his hand upon Ivo's shoulder: "as often as a thought arises within you which threatens to drift you away from the moorings of faith, banish it immediately by prayer and study, and do not suffer it to abide in your heart. We stand with our God much as we do with our friends: once estranged from them, it is not an easy matter to revive the old affection."
The advice and the illustration made a great impression on Ivo; but they came too late.
It must not be supposed, however, that inquiries of this kind carried Ivo out of the pale of the Church, and to the furthermost bounds of thought. He remained a believing spirit: he was firmly convinced of the reality of the miraculous: and only the soul which holds fast to this conviction is really within the pale prescribed for the genuine Churchman: faith is the surrender of the mind to the inexplicable, to a miracle.
His distaste to a clerical life was caused, in a far greater degree, by other considerations, which now pressed upon him with increasing vividness: he longed for a life of active energy. An early chain of reflections which had first manifested itself to his consciousness at Ehingen once more appeared on the surface of his thoughts. "Not the hard drudgery of hands," said he to himself, "is the punishment of sin; but, because mankind have once tasted of the tree of knowledge, they are now condemned everlastingly to seek it, without ever enjoying it to repletion. In the sweat of their brows they seek food for their minds: the dry rustling leaves of books are the foliage under which the fruit of knowledge is supposed to be concealed. Happy he to whom the Christmas-tree, with its tapers lighted by unseen hands, has proved this better tree of knowledge. Labor, Labor! Only the beast lives without labor: it goes forth to seek its food without preparing it: man, on the contrary, mingles his powers with the generative forces of mother earth, lends his aid to the activity of the universe, and thus the blessings of labor, rest, and peace of soul, fall to his share. Blind Roman, how vapid was your motto, that life is warfare! how tawdry the triumphs you held over subjugated brethren! Life is labor. True, even that is a strife with the silent forces of nature; but it is a strife of freedom, of love, which renovates the world. The stone's obduracy yields to the chisel's industry, and helps to form the shelter of the homestead. And more than all let me praise thee, tiller of the soil! Into the furrowed wounds of the earth thou strewest sevenfold life. The heart glows, the spirit moves, in thee. And as we subjugate the earth and make it serve us, so also we learn to govern and guide the earthly portion of our own natures; and as we wait for rain and sunshine from above to make our work take root and flourish, so it is thy will, O God, to pour out thy grace over us, to make the seed sown in our spirits to thrive and sanctify our bodies. Give me, O Lord, a little speck of earth, and I will plough it seven times over, so that its hidden juices may sprout forth in blades which bow their heads before the breath of thy mouth: I will raise the warts of my hands aloft to praise thee, until thou shalt draw me up into thy kingdom."
"I should like well enough," he once said to himself, "to be a parson on Sunday; but to spend a whole week occupied with nothing but the Lord and the nothing we know about him,--to be as much at home in the church as in one's bedroom,--why, that is to have no church and no Sunday at all. Oh, heavens! how happy was I when I used to go to church of a Sunday and say, 'Good-morning, God!' The sun shone more brightly, the houses looked better, and all the world was different from what it was on working-days." Perhaps he thought of Emmerence, for he continued,--"A Lutheran parson's life wouldn't suit me, either. To support a wife and a houseful of children on preaching? No, no!" Then his theological scruples returned, and he said, "Theology is the bane of religion: what need of so much subtlety? Love God: love thy neighbor. What more?"
Thus his whole being was racked and tossed. The thought of Emmerence would drive the fever-heat to his face, and then icy coldness returned when he thought of his own future. He was at a loss how to inform his parents of his irrevocable determination to leave the convent: it was hard to explain to them that he could not look upon a clerical life as his vocation, and that he did not find the faith within him strong enough to justify such a step.
This train of thought was interrupted by a letter from the squire of Nordstetten to the principal, requesting permission for Ivo to come home, as his mother had to undergo a severe surgical operation, which she wished to be performed in his presence.
Harrowed by anxiety, Ivo hastened home with the messenger who had brought the letter. He learned that his mother had broken her arm some time previously by falling down-stairs; that she had disregarded the injury, and that now she could only be saved by another artificial fracture and resetting of the limb; that she would have preferred death had she not thought it her duty to reserve herself for her children. Ivo was stung to the soul to find that the messenger always spoke of his mother as if she were already dead or, at least, beyond all hopes of recovery. "You couldn't find a better woman wherever cooking is done," was the curious proverbial expression which formed the burden of his answers.
The meeting between mother and son was heart-rending. "So, now! I can bear it all better," said she, "because you are here."
The surgeon came next day. He offered to blindfold the patient; but she said, "No: put the bed into the middle of the room, where I can see the Savior, and you will see that I won't budge nor murmur."
After much reluctance, her wish was complied with. In one hand--the hand of the injured arm--she grasped the rosary, while the other clasped that of her son. Her eyes rested on the crucifix, and she said, "Dear Savior, Thou hast borne the most cruel pain with a heavenly smile: dear Savior, give me Thy power, hold me when I would tremble; and, when the sharp swords pierce my soul, I will think of thee, O Mother of God, and suffer in silence. Pray with me, dear Ivo."
Without uttering another word, she suffered the operation to be performed; and when the bone cracked under the terrible pressure, when all around sobbed and wept, when Valentine was led half fainting into the adjoining room, and his suppressed sobs became louder as the door closed upon him, Christina was silent and motionless: only her lips quivered, her eyes were directed steadfastly upon the cross, and a holy brightness seemed to issue from them.
When all was over, and even the surgeon broke out into praise of the patient's fortitude, she sank upon her pillow, and her eyes closed; but a brilliant glory still rested upon her face. All the bystanders were dumb with admiration. Valentine had returned. He bent over his wife till he felt her breath, and then looked up with a heavy sigh and a cry of "God be praised!" Ivo kneeled at the bedside, looked up to his mother, and worshipped her. All folded their hands: not a breath was heard, and it seemed as if the living Spirit of God were passing through every heart.
When Christina awoke with the cry of "Valentine," the latter hastened to her side, pressed her hand upon his heart, and wept. "You forgive me, don't you, Christina?" he said, at length. "You shall never, never hear an unkind word from me again. I am not worthy of you: I see that now better than ever; and if the Lord had taken you away I should have gone mad."
"Be calm, Valentine. I have nothing to forgive you: I know how good you are, though you are not always yourself. Don't grieve now, Valentine: it's all right again. Our Lord only wished to try us."
She recovered with wonderful rapidity. Valentine kept his word most faithfully. He watched over his wife as over a higher being: the slightest motion of her eye was his command. He could scarcely be induced to allow himself the rest he needed.
Emmerence and Ivo took turns in sitting up with his mother; and she once said, "You are dear, good children: the Lord will certainly make you happy."
Often also, when his mother slept, and the one came to relieve the other, they had long conversations. Ivo confessed to her the longing of his mind for active employment; and she said, "Yes, I can understand that; I couldn't live if I hadn't plenty of work to do: I don't want to praise myself, but I can work just as hard as any in the village."
"And if you only had a house of your own you'd work harder still, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," said Emmerence, pushing up her short sleeves, and stiffening her powerful arms, as if to set about it at once: "yes, then; but even so I can do just as much work as turns up."
"Well," said Ivo, "do you think of any thing while you work?"
"Yes, of course."
"What, for instance?"
"Whatever happens to come into my head: I never thought of remembering it afterward."
"Well, give me an instance."
Usually so confident, the girl was in a perfect flurry of embarrassment.
"Are you ashamed to tell me?"
"Not a bit; but I don't know any thing to tell."
"What did you think this morning when you were cutting the rye? What sort of thoughts went through your head?"
"Well, I must think; but you mustn't laugh at me."
"No."
"At first, I guess, I thought of nothing at all. You might break me on the wheel, and I couldn't remember any thing. Then I came upon a nest of young quails,--dear little bits of things. I put them on one side, out of the way of the boys. Then I was wishing to see how surprised the old ones would be when they came to find their house in another spot. Then I thought of Nat's song, which you can sing too, about the poor soul. Then I thought, 'Where may Nat have gone to?' Then,--then I thought, 'I'm glad it's only half an hour till dinner-time,' for I was getting mighty hungry. There! that's all: it isn't much, is it?" She tugged bashfully at her sleeves, and could not raise her eyes to his face. Ivo asked again,--
"Don't you sometimes think how wonderful it is that God causes the seed which man throws out to bear sevenfold, and that the young crop sleeps under the snow until the sun wakes it in spring? How many millions of men have already lived upon the juices of the earth, and yet have not exhausted them!"
"Oh, yes, I often think that, but it wouldn't have occurred to me of my own accord: the parson says it often in sermons and in the catechism. You see, when you have to work at all these things yourself you don't find time for such reflections, but only think, 'Will it be ripe soon?' and 'Will it bear much?' The parsons, who don't work in the field, don't carry out the dung, and don't do any threshing, have more time for such thinking."
"But you must seek such thoughts a little, and then you will find them oftener. Won't you, Emmerence?"
"Yes, indeed I will: you are right: it is always well to admonish me. If you ask me often, you'll soon find I shall have more to tell you. I'm not so very stupid."
"You're a dear girl," said Ivo. He was on the point of taking her hand, but restrained himself with an effort, though he could not prevent himself from being more and more absorbed in admiration of her frank and sterling ways.
With a heavy heart Ivo returned to the convent. He admired the heroic endurance of his mother, and vowed to imitate it. But another subject occupied him. Through suffering and pain the paradise of his parental home had uprisen from its ashes, and he saw what an inexhaustible source of happiness is found in the attachment of two loving hearts which cling together the more closely the more rudely they are tossed by life's storms and changes. The undying sorrow of his heart broke forth again. He thought of Emmerence; and, sitting in the dark valley of pines, he wept. Down in the dingle was heard the harsh clang of a saw-mill; and Ivo wished that the boards being sawed there might be nailed into his coffin.
In the next holidays he was again almost constantly at home. Life was happy and peaceful there now. Valentine was regenerated, and a petulant word was never heard. Each member of the household behaved with tender consideration to all the others, and the Palm Sundays of early childhood seemed to have returned. But this very calm was to Ivo a source of unrest; in this very peace grew for him a tree of discord. He saw, with unmantled clearness, the solitary gloom of his own future, and knew that the happiness he witnessed was never to be his.
Two important events enhanced the interest of this vacation. Johnnie, Constantine's father, had had a house built for his son. Valentine and his sons had erected it; and Joseph, who became master-builder about this time, spoke the customary poem or oration.
The whole village had assembled before the building: the master and the journeymen were on the summit, engaged in fastening the crown of a young fir, hung with ribbons of all colors, to the peak of the gable. All were on the alert for Joseph's first performance. After a simple salutation, he began:--
Joseph's first performance.
"Here you see I have climb'd up unbidden:If I had had a horse I would have ridden;But, as I never had a horse,I may as well talk about something else, of course.The highest power in the State,The Kaiser,--God keep him, early and late,--And all the lords and princes round about,The carpenters' trade could never do without.A journeyman-carpenter here I stand,And I travel through every prince's land.I look about me with care,Whether I can make a living there.If I had every lassie's good-will,And every master's craft and skill,And all the wit of my friend the beadle,I could build a house on the point of a needle;But, as I can do nothing of the kind,I must first have my house design'd.He who would build on roads and streetsMust give every one a chance to try his wits.I like what is fine,Though it be not mine;Though it cannot be my treasure,It can always give me pleasure.So I'll drink its health in some yellow wine:Comrade, just fill up this glass of mine.Builder! I drink to your satisfaction,Not that I envy or wish you detraction,But for good feeling and brotherhood.Long life to the Kaiser and all his brood!Destruction to every enemy,And good luck to this worshipful company,And to all the people, from far and near,That have come to look at the building here.Now I drink over all your heads:Look out! what comes down's no feather-bed;What goes up must come down:Every man take care of his crown.Now I'll think no more about it,But drink the wine and throw away the glass without it."
"Here you see I have climb'd up unbidden:
If I had had a horse I would have ridden;
But, as I never had a horse,
I may as well talk about something else, of course.
The highest power in the State,
The Kaiser,--God keep him, early and late,--
And all the lords and princes round about,
The carpenters' trade could never do without.
A journeyman-carpenter here I stand,
And I travel through every prince's land.
I look about me with care,
Whether I can make a living there.
If I had every lassie's good-will,
And every master's craft and skill,
And all the wit of my friend the beadle,
I could build a house on the point of a needle;
But, as I can do nothing of the kind,
I must first have my house design'd.
He who would build on roads and streets
Must give every one a chance to try his wits.
I like what is fine,
Though it be not mine;
Though it cannot be my treasure,
It can always give me pleasure.
So I'll drink its health in some yellow wine:
Comrade, just fill up this glass of mine.
Builder! I drink to your satisfaction,
Not that I envy or wish you detraction,
But for good feeling and brotherhood.
Long life to the Kaiser and all his brood!
Destruction to every enemy,
And good luck to this worshipful company,
And to all the people, from far and near,
That have come to look at the building here.
Now I drink over all your heads:
Look out! what comes down's no feather-bed;
What goes up must come down:
Every man take care of his crown.
Now I'll think no more about it,
But drink the wine and throw away the glass without it."
Having dropped the glass, among the cheers of the crowd, he went on:--
"By God's help and his gracious powerWe have finish'd this house in good time and hour.And so we thank him, one and all,That he has suffer'd none to fall,--That none has been unfortunateIn life or limb, health or estate;And also to our Lord we prayUs henceforth still to keep alway;And now I commend this house into his hand,And all the German fatherland.And hope the owner may use it soAs to make a good living out of those who come and go.And I wish you, all together,Health and success in all wind and weather.And almost I had done great wrongTo have left the lassies out of my song,Who have wound for us these garlands fine,And hung them with roses and eglantine:The flowers in our hats we mean to wearIn honor of our lassies fair."
"By God's help and his gracious power
We have finish'd this house in good time and hour.
And so we thank him, one and all,
That he has suffer'd none to fall,--
That none has been unfortunate
In life or limb, health or estate;
And also to our Lord we pray
Us henceforth still to keep alway;
And now I commend this house into his hand,
And all the German fatherland.
And hope the owner may use it so
As to make a good living out of those who come and go.
And I wish you, all together,
Health and success in all wind and weather.
And almost I had done great wrong
To have left the lassies out of my song,
Who have wound for us these garlands fine,
And hung them with roses and eglantine:
The flowers in our hats we mean to wear
In honor of our lassies fair."
With the rosemary in his hat, and the apron of skins, Joseph came down to receive the applause and congratulations of his friends. His intended, Hansgeorge's Maria, took both his hands, gazed into his face with radiant eyes, and then looked triumphantly round on the bystanders.
Turning to Ivo, Joseph said, "I can preach too, if it comes to that: can't I, Ivo? This was my first mass, you see."
Ivo sighed deeply at the mention of the first mass.
All now returned home, except those specially invited by Constantine to partake of a grand dinner. Ivo, however, could not be persuaded to accept this invitation: he stood still a while, looking at the airy rafters, and thinking how happy Constantine must be in the possession of a house of his own. "As for these parsonages," he said to himself, "they are like sentry-houses, which belong to no one, and where no one leaves a trace of his existence: a solitary sentinel takes the place of his predecessor until he is relieved in his turn. But let me not be selfish: if the joys of a home are not for me, I will work for the welfare of others.