The Lost Manuscript: A Novel. Gustav Freytag

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      The Professor had, with amusement, observed the secret vexation of his friend; but Ilse turned to him, saying:

      "I am surprised that your friend takes note of such stories; it is not right, such things should be forgotten."

      "You know that he himself does not believe in them," answered the Professor, in mitigation. "What he searches for are only the traditions of the people. For these legends originated in a time when our whole nation believed in these spirits, as they do now the teachings of the Bible. He collects these reminiscences in order to ascertain what was the faith and poetry of our ancestors."

      The maiden was silent. Then after a time she said:

      "This also, then, is connected with your labors."

      "It is," replied the Professor.

      "It is good to listen to you," continued Ilse, "for your mode of speech is different from ours. Formerly when it was said of any one, he speaks like a book, I thought it was a reproach; but there is no doubt that this is the correct expression, and it gives one pleasure to listen."

      Thus saying, with her large open eyes she looked from the interior of the grotto at the Scholar, who stood in the entrance leaning against the stone, brightly lighted up by the rays of the sun.

      "There are, however, many books that talk badly," answered the Professor, smiling; "and nothing tires one so much as lengthy book-wisdom from living mouths."

      "Yes, yes," acquiesced Ilse. "We have an acquaintance, a learned woman, Mrs. Rollmaus. When she visits us on Sundays, she places herself on the sofa, and begins a discourse with my father. He cannot escape her, turn which way he will, she knows how to pin him down by talking about the English and Circassians, comets and poets. But the children discovered she had a cyclopedia for conversation, from which she gathers it all; and when anything happens in the country, or the newspapers make a noise about anything, she reads in the cyclopedia what bears upon it. We have procured the same book, and when her visit is impending, we think over what subject is then uppermost. Then the children look out and read this beforehand, Saturday evenings; and our father also listens and himself looks at the book, and the next day the children are delighted that father vanquishes the lady by means of her own book; for our book is a newer edition, and has new events in it of which she knows little."

      "So Sunday is the time when we can win honors here," said the Professor.

      "In winter we meet often during the week," continued Ilse. "But there is not much intercourse in the neighborhood; and if we sometimes chance to have a visitor who leaves some pleasant thoughts behind, we are grateful and preserve them faithfully."

      "Yet the best thoughts are those which come to men through their own exertions," said the Professor, kindly. "The little that I have seen on the estate here tells me how beautifully life can thrive, even when far removed from the noisy bustle of the world."

      "That was a kindly speech," exclaimed Ilse. "But we are not lonely here; and we do interest ourselves about our countrymen, and about the great world. When the neighboring proprietors come to visit, not a word is said about the farm, and amusing subjects are talked of. Then there is our dear Pastor, who tells us about things in foreign parts, and reads the newspapers that are taken by my father with us. And when there are applications in them for contributions to serve a good object, the children are liberal, and each gives his mite from his savings, but our father gives abundantly. And Hans, as the eldest, collects, and has the right to pack up the money, and in the accompanying letter he sets down the initial of the name of each that has contributed. Then afterwards there comes a printed receipt, when each looks for his own initial. Often a wrong one has been printed, and this vexes the children."

      From the distance they heard the cries and laughter of the children, who were returning with the Doctor from their excursion. The girl rose, the Professor approached her, and said with much feeling:

      "Whenever my thoughts revert to this day, it will be with a feeling of heartfelt gratitude for the manner in which you have so honestly spoken of your happy life to a stranger."

      Ilse looked at him with innocent confidence.

      "You are not a stranger to me; for I saw you at the child's grave."

      The joyous troop surrounded them both, and they proceeded further into the valley.

      It was evening when they returned to the house where the proprietor was already awaiting them. After supper the elders passed another hour together. The strangers gave an account of their tour, and told the last news from the world; and then there was conversation on politics, and Ilse rejoiced that her father and the strangers agreed so well on the subject. When the cuckoo on the house dock proclaimed that it was ten, they separated with a friendly good-night.

      The housemaid lighted the strangers to their bedroom. Ilse sat on a chair with her hands folded on her lap, looking silently before her. After a short time the proprietor came from his room and took the bedroom candle from the table.

      "What! Still up, Ilse? How do the strangers please you?"

      "Very much, father," said the maiden, gently.

      "They are not such simpletons as they look," said the host, pacing to and fro. "What he said of the great fire was right," he repeated, "and that about our little governments was also right. The younger would have made a good schoolmaster; and as for the tall one, by heaven it is a shame that he has not worn jack-boots these four years; he would be a clever inspector. Good-night, Ilse."

      "Good-night, father." The daughter rose and followed her father to the door. "Do the strangers remain here to-morrow, father?"

      "Hum," said the host, meditating. "They will remain for dinner at all events; I will show them over the farm. See that you have something nice for dinner."

      "Father, the Professor has never in his life eaten roast pig," said the daughter.

      "Ilse, what are you thinking of? My pig for the sake of Tacitus!" exclaimed the Proprietor. "No, I cannot stand that; be content with your poultry. Stop! Just hand me the volume of the encyclopedia lettered T, I want to read up about that fellow."

      "Here, father; I know where it is."

      "See! See!" said the father, "just like Mrs. Rollmaus. Good-night."

      The Doctor looked through the window into the dark court. Sleep and peace lay over the wide space; from a distance sounded the tread of the watchman who went his rounds through the homestead, and then the suppressed howl of the farm dog.

      "Here we are," he said, at last, "two genuine adventurers in the enemy's fortress. Whether we shall carry anything away from it, is very doubtful," he continued, looking significantly at his friend, with a smile.

      "It is doubtful," said the Professor, measuring the room with long strides.

      "What is the matter with you, Felix?" asked Fritz, anxiously, after a pause; "you are very absentminded, which is not usually your way."

      The Professor stood still.

      "I have nothing to tell you. I have strong but confused feelings, which I am trying to control. I fear I have this day received an impression against which a sensible man should guard himself. Ask me nothing further, Fritz," he continued, pressing his hand vehemently. "I do not feel unhappy."

      Fritz, deeply troubled, placed himself on his bed, and looked for a boot-jack.

      "How does our host СКАЧАТЬ