Part 2 (2/2)
”To the physician!” cried the old man, almost angrily, and stretched himself up in every limb, ”I am well. Therein it lies. My soul longs and strives for death, and my body selfishly withstands it!”
”These dreams, father, agitate you.”
”Dreams! I tell you that I was awake, as I am at this moment.”
”I do not doubt, father, that you were awake; but so much the more does this severe attack, which pursues you with visions even when you are awake, alarm me. See! even now you are quite overcome by the mere recollection, and your pulse rises. I know, little of a doctor as I am, that you had fever last night and are under its influence now.”
”And you think that you know as much as _that_ poor worm!” cried the old man. ”Oh, the marvellous wisdom! Oh, the gracious science! But what right have I to complain? Do I not deserve punishment for blurting out G.o.d's secrets, and making my full heart a mark for the scorner? Is this the fruit of your learning? Do you expect to gather figs from this bramble? But I know you well--you miserable ones, who make new G.o.ds for the people, and in your hearts wors.h.i.+p yourselves alone--your days are numbered.”
He went towards the door; his bare forehead was flushed. He did not look towards Clement, who stood gazing on the floor; suddenly he felt his father's hand on his shoulder.
”Tell me openly, my son, are you as far gone already as those whose ravings I have read of with shuddering? Do you already hold, with those sleek materialists, that the miracle is ridiculous, and the _spirit_ but a tale told from one to another, and to which man listens? Has neither thy youth, nor the seeds of thankfulness G.o.d sowed in your heart, been able to choke those weeds? Answer me, Clement!”
”Father,” said the young man, after some consideration, ”how shall I answer you this thing? I have dedicated my whole life to the consideration of this question. I have heard it decided in different ways, by men whose opinions I revere. Amongst my dearest friends are some who think what you condemn. I hear and learn and do not venture as yet to decide.”
”He who is not for me is against me, saith the Lord.”
”How can I be against _Him_? How can I be against the _Spirit_? Who ventures to ignore the spiritual, even though he binds it to the material? Do not its miracles remain what they were, even though they may be the result of natural causes? Is it a disgrace to a n.o.ble statue that it is hewn out of stone?”
”You speak like them all; so they intoxicate you with dark similes, so they deafen you with high sounding words, that you may not hear the still small voice within you; and you have come to keep Whitsuntide holy with _us_?”
”I came because I loved you.”
There was silence between them. Several times the old man opened his mouth as if about to speak, and then pressed his lips firmly together again. They heard Mary's voice below in the house, and Clement stepped, listening, back from the window, at which he had been standing sorrowfully. ”It is Mary,” said the old man; ”have you forgotten _her_ too? Did the recollection of your childhood's playmate never pa.s.s before your soul, when your blasphemous companions endeavoured to destroy your pure, G.o.dly childishness of heart with their miserable sneers? Did _she_ never remind you of the wonders the spirit can perform--even when it is deprived of sense--alone, out of itself. I should say of G.o.d, in a humble heart, which is rich in faith?”
Clement repressed the answer which rose ready to his lips. They heard the light step of the blind girl on the stairs. The door opened, and with flus.h.i.+ng cheek Mary stood on the threshold; ”Clement,” she cried, fixing the bright brown eyes on the spot where he really stood. He approached her and took the hand that waited for his. ”Oh! what pleasure you have given your parents! Welcome, welcome! How quiet you are!” she added.
”Dearest Mary, yes, I am here once again. I was _obliged_ to come to see you all. How well you look, and you have grown so tall.”
”I have gained a fresh life since the spring. The winter was heavy for me. I am so happy with your father and mother, Clement! Good day, dearest father.” she added, ”we went out so early that I could not press your hand;” she took it now. ”Go below my child;” said the old man, ”Clement will go with you--you can show him your garden. There is yet a little time before dinner. Think on my words, Clement.”
The young people went. ”What is the matter with the father?” asked Mary, when they were below. ”His voice sounded strangely, and yours too. Was he angry with you?”
”I found him excited. He seems ill. Has he not complained of anything?”
”Not to me; but he has been restless, and sometimes silent for hours together. It struck my mother, too. Has he been harsh towards you?”
”We had a discussion about serious things; he asked me, and I could not deny my opinions.”
The girl became thoughtful; not until they reached the open air did her face brighten. ”Is it not beautiful here?” she asked, spreading out her hands.
”I really did not recognize it again,” he answered. ”What a wonderful place you have made out of the little barren spot! Ever since I can remember there were only a few fruit trees, and mallows and alders; and now it is full of roses!”
”Yes,” she said. ”Your mother used not to care about the garden then, and now she delights in it The sacristan's son, who has learned gardening in the town, gave me the first rose bush, and planted it himself; then we added others and now it is quite beautiful. But the finest are not in flower yet.”
”And you take care of them yourself?”
”You are astonished at it, because I cannot see,” she said gaily; ”but I understand what is good for plants. I can tell by the scent when one is fading, or going out of flower, or wants watering; they always tell me. But, indeed, I cannot gather you a flower; for they p.r.i.c.k my fingers.”
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