Reinhold did not answer. What could he answer? How could he hope to come to any understanding with a man whose views were so diametrically opposed to his own in all things, and who always pushed these views to their furthest limit without offering any concession to him even as a guest, when only an hour ago he had received him with such hearty affection almost as a father would welcome his son after a long separation?

"Perhaps I have made a lasting breach between us," thought Reinhold. "I am sorry, but I cannot give myself up bound hand and foot to the mercy of this old tyrant. If I am not able to find a topic which will please this rugged nature, I must get the ladies to help me; it is their place."

Aunt Rikchen had plainly read his thoughts in his face. She answered his silent request by a quick furtive glance and an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders, as if to say, "He is always like that now! There is no help for it." Ferdinanda did not seem to notice the interruption. She sat as she had sat almost throughout the whole meal, with a fixed, absent look on her face, gazing straight before her, and took no notice even now, when her aunt turned towards her to say a few words. Uncle Ernst, who was just about to refill his empty gla.s.s, set the bottle down heavily upon the table.

"I have begged you fifty times to stop that dreadful whispering, Rike!

What is the matter now?"

A slight flush of anger rose in Aunt Rikchen's withered cheeks as the hated name sounded in her ear; but she answered in the voice expressive of resigned indifference, with which she was accustomed to reply to her brother's reproofs:

"Oh, nothing! I only asked Ferdinanda whether Justus was not coming this evening."

"Who is Justus?" asked Reinhold, delighted that a fresh subject had been started.

"Rike likes to call everybody by their Christian names," said Uncle Ernst.

"And why not, when they almost belong to the family?" replied Aunt Rikchen, who seemed determined this time not to be put down. "Justus, or, if your uncle prefers it, Herr Anders, is a young sculptor."

"Aged one and thirty," said Uncle Ernst.

"Aged one and thirty," pursued Aunt Rikchen, "or, to be more precise, three and thirty. He has lived here--who knows how long he has lived here?"

"Don't you know, Ferdinanda?" asked Uncle Ernst.

"Ferdinanda is in fact his pupil," continued Aunt Rikchen.

"Oh!" said Reinhold. "I congratulate him."

"It is not worth while," said Ferdinanda.

"His favourite pupil!" exclaimed Aunt Rikchen. "He told me so only yesterday, and that the committee are very much pleased with her 'Shepherd Boy.' I must tell you that Ferdinanda has sent to the exhibition a shepherd boy, executed from the description in Schiller's poem--"

"'Uhland,' aunt."

"I beg your pardon, I have not had such advantages in education as some people--now I don't remember what I was saying."

"It won't make much odds," grumbled Uncle Ernst.

"You were speaking of Ferdinanda's 'Shepherd Boy,'" said Reinhold, coming to her a.s.sistance.

His aunt shot a grateful look at him, but before he could answer the bell rang, and a clear voice was heard asking whether they were still at supper.

"It is Justus!" cried Aunt Rikchen. "I thought so. Have you had any supper?"

CHAPTER IV.

"Not yet, Aunt Rikchen," said the new-comer. "How are you all? I must apologise, Herr Schmidt, for coming so late. Captain Schmidt? Should have known you from the family likeness, even if I had not heard you were expected to day. Delighted to make your acquaintance. Now no ceremony, Aunt Rikchen; I only want a bit of bread and b.u.t.ter and a cup of tea, if there is one, nothing more. How goes the world with you, Fraulein Ferdinanda? The 'Shepherd Boy' has got a capital place in the first room by the window. My bust's in the second--not so bad except for that abominable reflected light; but my group in the third! Night and darkness surrounds them; nor will silence be wanting--the silence of the public--broken by the shrill cackle of the critics. We poor artists! Might I ask you for a piece of sugar, Herr Schmidt?"

Reinhold could hardly help laughing. The appearance, manners, and speech of this bearded, partially bald-headed little sculptor, his cheerfulness, friendliness, and ease, all formed such a marvellous contrast to the rather stiff and irritable tone of the former occupants of the table. And now he was asking Uncle Ernst for a bit of sugar! It seemed rather like asking a lion to dance! But the lion did what he was asked, and did it amiably, with a kindly smile such as was seldom seen on that stern face.

"He succeeds better than, I do," thought Reinhold. "More shame to me."

At sight of this man, who with the innocence of a child seemed able to go about the world either not seeing, or at least not caring for its dangers, Reinhold quite recovered his usual temper, and hailed with joy the appearance of this more cheerful addition to the party. The sculptor on his side was attracted by the powerful-looking man, the frank open countenance, clear blue eyes, and curly brown beard; his own small, restless, rather red eyes constantly turned in that direction, and he addressed his conversation mostly to him.

"Don't let your uncle put you out of conceit with Berlin," said he.

"Let me tell you it is a charming place, and is getting more so every day. We have now got the only thing that was wanting--money, and when our pockets are full of money, you don't know all that we can do here in Berlin. Berlin is to be the capital of the world. Don't look so indignantly at me, Fraulein Ferdinanda. It is an old story for us, but Captain Schmidt is probably not in the secret yet, and we must warn him lest he should be utterly overpowered with astonishment when the sublime image of the monster is unveiled before him to-morrow, with its hundreds and thousands of heads, legs, and arms. What trouble we take over it. We feed the monster with our heart's blood. I am nothing but skin and bone as it is, and that reminds me that I have got another commission, Aunt Rikchen."

"Another monument in memory of our victories?" asked Aunt Rikchen eagerly.

"Of course! You must know, Captain Schmidt, that no small town exists, however insignificant, but must have its monument. And why not? The good people in Posemuckel are quite as proud of the six brave fellows whom they sent into the field, as we are of our six hundred or our six thousand, and are anxious to let posterity know how Tom, d.i.c.k, and Harry fought and conquered in so many battles and skirmishes, and that Fritz Haberstroh, widow Haberstroh's only son, was shot dead as a door-nail at Sedan for the honour and glory of the German Empire. And quite right and proper too, I think, and the fact that they always collect a few pounds less than will pay any living man to make anything for them, is not their fault."

"And how do you get over that difficulty?" asked Reinhold.

"He just puts a new head on an old statue, and the Victory or Germany is ready," said Uncle Ernst.

"I protest utterly against such atrocious calumny," cried the sculptor.

"I tried the experiment only once, by taking away the venerable head of a Homer, who had stood for a long time in my studio, and changing him into a Germany; but it was only on account of those splendid folds, those really perfect folds, of which Hahmel in Dresden had spoken so very highly!"

"And the experiment failed?" asked Reinhold.

"Yes and no," answered Justus, rubbing his bald forehead. "No, because my Germany stands firmly fixed upon her sandstone pedestal in Posemuckel, and with the uplifted left hand holding a laurel wreath, blesses the German Fatherland and her faithful Posemucklers, while the right hand, heavily armed, sinks wearily by her side; but when the veil was drawn away, and the schoolboys sang 'Nun danket alle Gott,' then I still saw my venerable, dusty old Homer of blessed Dresden memory; the laurel wreath in the left hand became again a lyre, the sword in the right hand a Plektron. And I thanked heaven too, but it was because my fine cla.s.sic folds were in Posemuckel, and not on the Donhofsplatz here."

And the sharp red eyes of the sculptor twinkled, and every feature of his happy face that was not hidden by the rough beard sparkled with fun. Reinhold joined heartily in the laugh, as the last trace of discord vanished, and even Uncle Ernst looked from under his bushy eyebrows at the cheerful little man much after the fashion of a good-natured lion permitting a little dog to jump and bark round him.

"I wish, though, that your Germany was in the Donhofsplatz," said he.

"Why?"

"An old and venerable trunk upon which some clever conjuror has placed a new head, which does not fit it--that seems to me a perfect picture of the new German unity, and it would be a very good thing if our compliant representatives could see it whichever way they turned."

Justus laughed heartily, as if Uncle Ernst had perpetrated the mildest of jokes.

"Listen to that," said he, turning to Reinhold.

"That is so like your uncle. His ruling pa.s.sion is jealousy! He is jealous of the Almighty having made the beautiful world."

"For shame, Justus!" said Aunt Rikchen.

"And of a poor little earth-worm like myself, for every n.o.ble statue that leaves my studio. He feels that of course he could have done it so much better, and so far he is right. He is a born artist, a Michael Angelo--at least in imagination--a Michael Angelo without arms. And every stroke of the saw which cuts the marble into steps or such like contemptible articles goes through his heart, for each time he thinks, what might have been made or shaped out of this!"

"Do not talk such nonsense," said Uncle Ernst.

"It is the simple truth," cried Justus, still addressing Reinhold.

"He has ideas in abundance, great ideas, sometimes not quite practical--somewhat t.i.tanic, after the manner of Michael Angelo--but no matter. One can cut them down to one's own dwarf-like proportions and secretly laugh when he is brought face to face with the completed work, and shaking the t.i.tanic head, murmurs, 'I had imagined something quite different. They have spoilt my idea again!'"