Part 60 (1/2)
Meanwhile, Habermann had arrived in Rahnstadt, at the Frau Pastorin's.
He had turned off from the direct road, and made a circuit, until he could collect himself, that he might not appear before his child in such fearful excitement. As he entered the Frau Pastorin's door, he had indeed controlled himself, but the terrible conflict he had just fought out in his heart left a la.s.situde and weariness, which made him look ten years older, and could not but strike the little Frau immediately.
She sprang up, letting the coffee boil over, which she was taking off, and cried:
”Good heavens! Habermann, what is the matter? Are you sick?”
”No--yes, I believe so. Where is Louise?”
”She went to look for you, didn't you meet her? But sit down! Bless me, how exhausted you look!”
Habermann sat down, and looked about the room, as if to see whether he were alone with the Frau Pastorin.
”Habermann, tell me, what ails you?” said the little Frau, grasping his cold hands in her own.
”It is all over with me; I must go through the world, henceforth, as a useless and dishonored man.”
”Oh, no! no! Don't talk like that!”
”That the opportunity of working should be taken from me, I can bear, though it is hard; but that I should also lose my honest name, that pierces me to the heart, that I cannot bear.”
”And who should take that from you?” asked the Frau Pastorin, looking him trustfully in the eyes.
”The people who know it best, the Herr von Rambow and his wife,” said the old man, and began to tell the story with a weak, and often broken, voice; but when he came to the end, how the young Frau had also deserted him, had turned her back upon him, and let him go out of the door, as a thief and a traitor, then his anger broke out, he sprang from his chair, and walked up and down the room, with gleaming eyes and clenched fist, as if he were ready for combat with the wicked world.
”Oh,” he cried, ”if that were only all! But they have injured me more cruelly than they know, they have ruined my child's happiness along with mine. There! read it, Frau Pastorin!” and he gave her the letter from Franz. She read, the sheet trembling in her hand, so greatly had the story excited her, while he stood before her, and looked at her, without once turning away his eyes.
”Habermann,” she said, grasping his hand, when she had read it, ”don't you see the finger of G.o.d? The injury which one cousin has done you, shall be made up to you by the other.”
”No, Frau Pastorin,” said he sternly, ”I should be the scoundrel which the world will henceforth deem me, if I could let a brave, trustful man take to his house a wife with a dishonored name. Poor and honest! For all I care! But dishonest? never!”
”Dear heart!” cried the little Frau, ”where is my Pastor, now? If my Pastor were only here! He could help and counsel us.
”That he could,” said Habermann, to himself. ”I cannot do it,” he cried, ”my child must decide for herself, and you must help her, you have done more to educate her sense of right and wrong, than I alas!
have been able to do. If my child considers it right and honourable, in spite of everything, to accept his offer, if you yourself agree with her, then let it be! I will exert no influence in the matter, I will not see her, until she has decided. Here is a letter from Franz to her, give it to her, telling her, beforehand, what has happened; just as I have told you, is the truth. I will go up to my room; I cannot, I dare not touch a finger.” He left the room, but came back again; ”Frau Pastorin, consult her happiness only, have no regard for mine! Forget what I said before. I will do what I can to keep my dishonoured name in concealment.”
He went out again, saying to himself as he mounted the stairs, ”I cannot do otherwise, I cannot do otherwise.” As he threw himself down on the sofa, in his little room, and everywhere about him saw the hand of his daughter, how she had arranged and ordered everything for his comfort, he put his hand over his eyes, and wept. ”Shall I lose all this?” He sighed deeply. ”And why not? why not? If it is for her happiness,” he cried aloud, ”I will never see her again!” The house-door opened, he heard Brasig's voice, he heard the bright greeting of his child. All was still again, he listened for every sound. Now Frau Pastorin was telling what had happened, now his darling's heart was torn. Slowly there came steps up the stairs; Brasig came in, looking as silent and composed as if death were walking over his grave, his eyebrows, which he generally raised so high when anything unusual occurred, lay deep and heavy over his eyes, he said nothing but ”I know, Karl, I know all,” and sat down by his friend, on the sofa.
So they sat long, in the half-twilight, and neither spoke; at last Brasig grasped Habermann's hand: ”Karl,” said he, ”we have known each other these fifty years. Don't you remember, at old Knirkstadt's? What a pleasant youth we had! always contented and joyous! and, excepting a couple of foolish jokes that we played together, we have, upon the whole, nothing to reproach ourselves with. Karl, it is a comfortable sort of feeling, when one can look back upon old days, and say, 'Follies, to be sure, but nothing base!'”
Habermann shrank back, and drew his hand away.
”Karl,” said Brasig again, ”a good conscience is a fine thing, when one is growing old, and it is noticeable, quite noticeable, how this good conscience stands by us when we are old, and will not leave us. Karl, my dear old boy!” and he fell upon Habermann's neck, and wept bitterly.
”Brasig,” said Habermann, ”don't make my heart heavy, it is heavy enough already.”
”Eh, how, Karl! How can your heart be heavy? Your heart is as pure as Job's; it should be as light as a lark, which mounts in the clear heavens; for this story of the infamous--no, I won't talk about that; I would say---- Why, what were we talking about? Yes, so! about the conscience. It is a wonderful thing, about the conscience, Karl! For instance, there is Kurz, with his, for he has one, as well as you and I, and I suppose he will stand before G.o.d with it sometime; but before me he stands very badly, for he peeps at the cards, when we play Boston; he has a sort of groschens-conscience; for, you see, in great things, he is quite correct, for example, in renting the house to the Frau Pastorin; but ell-wise, and pot-wise and pound-wise, he takes what he can get, he isn't at all ashamed, that is when he can get anything; when he don't get anything he is ashamed of himself. And let me tell you, Karl, if you live here, you must have a good deal of intercourse with him, and that pleasure will be a good deal like his conscience, for he is fond of discoursing about farming, and it is as if he were taking a drive for pleasure in a manure-cart. It will be no pleasure to you, and so I have thought, when I have seen our young pastor through his spring seed-time, and everything is in train, I will come over here to you, and we can cheer each other up a little; and then in harvest time, we can go out to Gurlitz, to keep the poor fellow from getting into difficulties; and he will not, for Jurn is a considerate fellow, and he himself begins,--thank G.o.d,--to do all sorts of useful things, with Lining's a.s.sistance. And when he has finished his first year, you shall see, he will be quite rid of his Pietistry, but we must let him struggle a little sometimes, that he may learn to know himself and the world, and find that there is something more in human life than to read psalm-books. Yes, and then I will come to you, Karl, and we will live as they do in Paris, and you shall see, Karl, this last quarter of our lives shall be the best piece of the whole ox.”
And he embraced him again, and talked of past times and future, alternately, like a mother trying to divert her child to other thoughts. The moon shone in at the window, and what can better heal a torn heart, than its soft light, and the love of an old, tried friend, who has been true to us? I always think that the bright, warm suns.h.i.+ne is more suitable for love, but with friends.h.i.+p, the moonlight harmonizes best.
While they were sitting thus, the door opened, and, with light step, a slender form entered the room, and remained standing, in the full moonlight, the arms crossed on her breast, and the white face gleaming in the moons.h.i.+ne, as if it were a statue of white marble, against a dark wall of yew-trees: ”Was hat man Dir, Du armes Kind, gethan?”[7]