Part 25 (2/2)

”A lady?” cried Mr. Winimer, pa.s.sing his hand through his carefully-arranged hair, his pride and his ornament, a gesture for which he receives his punishment immediately in a reproving glance from the lady whose lock he wears upon his heart.

”Yes; a lady, a highly-gifted lyric talent.”

”No doubt, Primula; I mean Mrs. Professor Jager!” cries Mr. Winimer.

”You have guessed it; the poetess of the 'Cornflowers' and the interpreter of the fragments of Chrysophilos, will appear to-night as stars, and, we hope, be willing to accept a permanent engagement hereafter,” said Rector Clemens, with his softest smile.

A long-drawn, unisonous ”Ah!” of astonishment, testified to the interest felt by the company in this announcement.

”I had another reason, besides, why I invited Mr. and Mrs. Jager to-night,” continues the rector; ”it was, so to say, a consideration of humanity for our new colleague, Doctor Stein. He is an entire stranger in our circle, and seems to be remarkably shy, embarra.s.sed, and little accustomed to move in larger circles. Mr. and Mrs. Jager, he told me himself this morning, are old acquaintances of his--from the time when he was a tutor, I believe--and he will no doubt be glad to meet to-night among so many strange or nearly strange faces, at least a few old friends.”

”This delicate attention does you honor, _collega_,” says Professor Snellius, pressing the rector's hand, and displaying in the act the elegiac feature near the nostrils.

”But I think, Mrs. Clemens, the parts have all been distributed,” says Doctor Winimer, who is to read ”Max,” and is all the more opposed to any change of programme, as his beloved Thusnelda reads the ”Thekla,”

and he has spent four weeks' arduous study upon learning his part.

”I have given Doctor Stein the Captain, who was not yet given out,”

says Mrs. Clemens, in the tone of one not accustomed to contradiction, and allowing no opposition. ”That is a very nice part, and he can show to-night whether he can read or not. I should have liked, to be sure, to read it over with him, but he must look but for himself now. As to Mr. and Mrs. Jager, I have given them the Devereux and MacDonald, who were still vacant.”

”But, my dear Mrs. Clemens,” squeaked Doctor Kubel, ”do you really think those parts are quite suitable for our new friends at their first debut?”

”Why not, dear doctor?” asks the manager, with a frown of impatience.

”I only think they will hardly like it particularly to make their first appearance among us as murderers,” says Doctor Kubel.

The lady manager, whose brow has become darker and darker as her jocose guest speaks, is about to reply, but is prevented from doing so, for the door opens at that moment in order to admit Mr. and Mrs. Professor (ex-pastor) Jager into the room.

The n.o.ble pair have not left the ”lowly roof” and the ”country fields”

behind them without a change which might possibly escape the careless observer, but which the sharper eye would at once discern in many a characteristic symptom. Professor Jager knows but too well the use which the mask of humility, of modesty, and unpretending simplicity has rendered Pastor Jager, to lay it aside now when he has barely reached half of his ambitious end. He has only aired it a little, and he who has eyes to see, can at times very clearly discern underneath, his true face, marked with the double impress of the scholar's conceit and the priest's pride. Mrs. Jager affords the same sight, only translated into childish and foolish words. The author of the ”Cornflowers” has the air of a person who expects every moment an effusion of overwhelming praise, and is quite determined to deprecate it. If the appearance of the professor reminds one of the well-known wolf in sheep's clothes, and one cannot very well feel quite safe in his neighborhood, his wife's appearance recalls the familiar crow, who thought herself Juno's own bird, and it requires an effort to remain serious. The change in the outward appearance is less perceptible; the interpreter of Chrysophilos has exchanged his plain gla.s.ses in horn for a pair of gold spectacles, and Primula wears in her golden hair a few artistic imitations of those blue flowers that have furnished her with a t.i.tle for her poems. Both hold in their hands a copy of Wallenstein, full of joyous antic.i.p.ations, hoping to carry off the honors of the evening by their masterly declamation, and without the most remote suspicion of the mortal insult which is to be inflicted upon their pride during the next ten minutes.

Full of hope and free of suspicion they enter the room, welcome the ”highly-honored landlord and landlady,” and greet the younger gentlemen of the college, who are formally introduced. This is the first large party at which they appear since their triumphant return to Grunwald.

Rector Clemens is known for the intelligent and interesting company he has at his house; he surpa.s.ses in this the other professors of the university even, unless it be Privy Councillor Roban, whose parties, however, do not consume half as much poetical sentiment. Mr. and Mrs.

Jager are determined that this circle shall soon be only the nebular preparation for the brilliant light of their own superiority.

”Ah! my worthy friend,” says Professor Jager, after having saluted Clemens and Snellius, to Doctor Kubel, under whom he has been sitting as pupil, pressing the fat, white hands with great warmth; ”how delighted I am to meet you, my highly esteemed teacher, and to see you in such excellent health! Indeed, one might say of you as of Wallenstein, that the swift years have pa.s.sed over your brown hair without leaving a trace. Indeed, indeed, _mens sana in corpore sano_. I learnt that from you, but you have practised what you taught, Doctor Winimer, I rejoice exceedingly to make your personal acquaintance; both myself and my wife have known you long and held you dear, through your charming 'Mayflowers.' Permit me to present you to my wife; I should like to see the Cornflowers and the Mayflowers bound up in a bouquet, ha, ha, ha! Doctor Broadfoot, I am happy to meet a man of science, of your great merit. Your admirable monographs on Origens and Eusebius have rendered me essential service in writing my Fragments. I am glad to be able, at last, to thank you in person.”

While Professor Jager was thus making the round, winding snake-like through the circle of the gentlemen. Primula flitted sylph-like through the circle of ladies. She had, like the ”maiden from afar,” a gift for every one. She pays a compliment to the elder ladies. She envies Thusnelda and Fredegunda their ”charming, highly-poetical” names; she congratulates Ida Snellius on her progress in Portuguese, and pats Mary Kubel on the blus.h.i.+ng cheeks and calls her a dear, sweet child.

”But our colleague comes really a little too late,” says Rector Clemens, looking at his watch. ”I think, Augusta, we might have tea.”

”Whom do you expect, my dear sir?” asks Professor Jager of the rector.

”Whose foot did not yet cross this threshold?” asks Primula, who is full of reminiscences of Wallenstein, of the lady manager.

At the very moment, when the professor and his wife are about to answer these questions, the door opens and Oswald's tall form appears in the frame.

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