When, after some time, he opened his eyes again, he saw the maid-servant, who had no idea what all this could mean, still standing helplessly in the middle of the room. "What are you doing here, Kathrin?" he said harshly. "Go to bed, leave me, I want nothing more to-day. No, no light. I can see well enough. Good night."

The faithful servant glided silently out of the room, and he sank back again in the corner of the sofa, helplessly giving himself up, in the loneliness and darkness, to his bitter anguish.

CHAPTER VIII.

So he had lost her--his brave little wife, his good comrade, the friend who sympathized with all his moods and thoughts, all his feelings and wishes! The right hand must do without the left, the complete man had become a pitiful fragment, a crumbling ma.s.s of ruin.

The blow was so sudden, so unexpected, that for the first hour his bewilderment swallowed up all sense of pain. If anything earthly had ever seemed positive and secure from loss, it had been the possession of this heart. The secret fear (which sometimes blends with the joy of pa.s.sionate love,) that exuberance of feeling may fall from its exaltation and undergo the common lot of change, he had never known. He had never toiled in anxiety and doubt to win the woman's love; it had been his long before he suspected it; why should he fancy that it could ever change! And now she had deserted him!

No feeling of reproach or bitterness, that she failed him now when he needed her more than ever, rose in his heart. He esteemed her too highly to believe her capable of any petty irritability, any ordinary feminine weakness, such as going "to make herself missed." If she could feel that her place was no longer beside him, she must have had good reasons for her belief, reasons which would bear the examination not only of her sorely tried heart, but of her reason. What they might be, well as he knew her, was not clear to him. Did she not know him too, and know he would never leave her? But he also knew whom she had seen, and that this visitor had been the cause of her sudden resolution he was perfectly convinced.

But however that might be--he had lost her. True--in the midst of his deep sorrow, a voice within whispered consolingly it was not possible, not conceivable that he could have lost her forever. If she had suspected that he would return to her to-day, how desolate the lonely house would seem, how sleepless the night would be--perhaps she would have remained. And it could have needed only one word, one look into each other's eyes, to have banished all the ghosts that had come between them. But even if she returned with him--he missed her to-day, and had been longing all day to see her, as he had never done before, and only endured the weary hours, because he knew the last would bring him to her arms.

In the midst of the bitterest grief and regret, his mind suddenly grew strangely clear and calm. For the strength of a n.o.ble love that really fills a man's heart, is such, that in its glorious fervor it consumes all other feelings, and even in the denial of the beloved object, the renunciation of the joy of her presence and reciprocating love, renders him happy whose being it pervades. All the happiness Edwin had enjoyed during these four years of quiet possession, seemed like a pale twilight in comparison with the radiant brightness that suddenly burst upon him in this separation. For the first time, the inmost depths of his being were pervaded by the feeling that he would give the whole world to call this woman his again.

With the rapturous timidity of a young man in love, but far distant from the object of his longing, and who meantime indemnifies himself for all deprivations by the boldness of his waking dreams, he conjured up the image of his beloved wife and murmured confusedly a thousand happy, sweet, and sorrowful words. He sued for her heart as if she had never granted him a kind word, and in imagination whispered his yearning love in her ear and waited with a throbbing heart for some sound from her lips that might seem to favor his suit. Her little work basket stood on the table before the sofa, where he still lay in the dark. Just as she had toyed with his book, his pen, he now took up one after another, the skeins of silk, silver thimble, and little scissors; the thimble he put on and pressed to his lips. It was such a consolation to him to be permitted to touch the things that had belonged to her, as if they were hostages she would ransom when he had her again. "To Berlin," he said suddenly to himself. "Why should we not go there?" He said "we," as if they were to set out on their journey the next morning together. For the moment he had entirely forgotten that she was not sitting beside him.

So he lay in his dark corner in a condition between sleeping and waking, while visions of all his past and future happiness successively rose before him. He was so absorbed in his reverie that he did not hear the noise in the street outside, a strange humming and buzzing, as if a great crowd had a.s.sembled, but were moving gently about with subdued voices and light steps, in order not to betray some secret design. It was about nine o'clock, an hour at which such a gathering, except in case of fire, was utterly unprecedented. Now the gleam of several wavering lights penetrated the dark room seemingly stationary before the house. Still the dreamer's attention was not aroused. Not until the street had again become perfectly silent and a duet began, softly sung by two voices without, did Edwin start up. What was that? Who was singing that beautiful, familiar melody, which he could never hear without deep emotion, since it had been the last greeting of Balder's friends, ere they left him to his eternal repose? _Integer vitae_--now it rose again, sung before his house by young, fresh voices, a greeting of life to the living. At first he listened without thinking how it happened that the old tune was now heard outside. Its melody fell so softly on his heart, and the words, with which he was perfectly familiar, seemed like the friendly consolation of a good spirit, closely allied to him. When the fourth verse began, he rose gently and approached the closed window. The street was crowded with people, whose faces were all turned toward him, though he was evidently not yet perceived against the dark background of the room for the expression of expectation, which rested on every countenance, did not alter as he approached. In the centre stood the singers, pupils belonging to the first cla.s.ses of his school; his colleague, the singing-master, had stationed himself before the semi-circle, and by the light of some torches was beating time as intently as if some grand musical exhibition were taking place in a hall. Among the bystanders Edwin recognized many of the most prominent citizens in the place, the president of the workmen's society and several friends and neighbors, and could no longer doubt that the serenade was intended for him, a discovery, which even in his dark hiding place, made him blush to his temples.

What could have induced these good people, who as he well knew, were his friends, to express their feelings to him on this particular day, and in such a manner? Who had arranged this conspiracy so secretly, that even Franzelius, who would certainly have prepared him, had heard nothing of it? He was just resolving to choose the simplest way of solving the mystery, by going out and inquiring, when the door was cautiously opened and one of his younger colleagues, the teacher of history, with an exclamation of joy, entered the dark room. "So you are at home!" he cried, eagerly grasping Edwin's hand. "As the windows still remained dark, we were afraid that the beadle, who positively declared he saw you return by the evening train, might have been mistaken. It was known that you went away early this morning, and the serenade which had been appointed for this evening was of course deferred. But when you came back, there was no restraining them; all who were to take part were hastily a.s.sembled, and now nothing will save you; you must leave your hiding place and show yourself to the people, although so far as speech making is concerned, we can't under present circ.u.mstances stick to the original programme."

He then hastily told his astonished hearer, how all this had come to pa.s.s. Notwithstanding the secrecy with which the affair was managed, the rumor that Edwin was to be dismissed on account of his lecture before the workmen's society and the freethinking he had never denied, had spread itself among the pupils, who were greatly attached to him, and through this channel had reached the citizens and workmen.

Instantly the thought occurred to them of averting the danger of losing their dear teacher and friend, by a solemn demonstration. If the city manifested its unanimous desire not to let Edwin go, those occupying high places would perhaps be startled. So an address had been secretly prepared, which was to be carried to Edwin escorted by a torchlight procession, and followed by a supper at the citizen's club. A partial knowledge of this had reached the ears of the princ.i.p.al of the school, who in his fear of offending both parties, could think of no wiser course than to telegraph to his superiors and beg them to adopt moderate measures. As soon as he had received an answer conceding his pet.i.tion, he sent for the ringleaders among the pupils and told them no one had any intention of depriving them of their teacher, only that every thing must be avoided which would make an uproar and irritate the ecclesiastical authorities. There must be no torchlight procession nor any satirical addresses, either verbal or written; this was the condition of a mutual good understanding, which no one desired more than he, since he himself felt the highest esteem for the honored colleague in question.

"So we were obliged to content ourselves by merely singing a few songs to you, my dear friend," the young man concluded. "It is possible that even this course may destroy our pastor's rest. But why does he meddle with our affairs and disturb our little circle? It was hard enough for the lads to pledge themselves to do nothing more. Our little head boy had prepared a speech, which would have borne witness that he had read Thucydides to some purpose. And it seems as if I had never heard them sing so before!"

Edwin's only reply was to press his friend's hands; he then accompanied him into the street, where the last song was being sung. All present bared their heads, when they saw him, and seemed to expect a speech.

But he only went up to the old music teacher, uttered a few cordial words, shook hands with him, and then embraced the head boy. "We know each other, my young friends," he said, "we will hold to each other in future, and I shall ever treasure it as one of my greatest joys, that you sang this particular song. I will tell you why another time. But here are other friends I must thank. Dear Herr Wolfhart," he said, addressing an old white-haired cabinet-maker, "you, too, have taken the trouble to come here to do me honor, although as I know, you are not a good walker. How shall I thank you for it--and you--and all of you!

Well, I think the charming singing of our gallant lads will repay you for the trouble, better than I could do if I made a long speech. True, I might say a great deal to you all, but the street is not a suitable place for it, and we shall meet each other again at some more fitting opportunity. For your confidence in me and belief in my honest intentions, I thank you cordially; and now we will beg our singers to rejoice our hearts with a few more songs."

While the singing began again, many pressed around Edwin to shake hands with him and whisper how delighted they were to have this opportunity of showing their esteem for him and how the thought of losing him had alarmed them all. He accepted these proofs of friendship in his usual straight forward manner, said very little in reply, and escaped the most enthusiastic, as well as he could, by pretending to be completely absorbed in the music. But at heart he was strangely agitated and touched by this beautiful and affectionate ceremonial, and yet amid his joy he was deeply saddened by the thought that he must witness it without her, whose existence was most closely interwoven with his. He became more and more absorbed in this grief, which made him insensible to all that was pa.s.sing around him. When the last notes had died in the air, the dark crowd silently melted away; the singers took leave of him, and those colleagues who ventured to share in the ovation, accompanied him to the door of the house with a last good night; he crossed the deserted threshold with a sense of sorrowful oppression, as if instead of this pleasurable event, some heavy grief had befallen him, and he felt actual horror at the thought that he must now remain through the long night alone with his despair.

Again he threw himself on the sofa, but the blissful certainty of happiness, in which he had just rested there, had fled. He had never felt more clearly, that he had lost the capacity for enjoying any pleasure, which she did not share with him, that his weal and woe were so indissolubly connected with this other self, that the mere thought of losing her palsied every aspiration of his soul.

Suddenly he fancied he heard a light foot coming along the street--now it ascended the steps--seemed to pause a moment at the door, which was ajar--and then to come through the dark entry--a footstep he knew so well! but no, impossible! She is far away or could his thoughts have had the power--? A hand is laid on the door k.n.o.b; Edwin starts up with a beating heart, is about to say: "Who is there?" and prepares to reconcile himself to see a strange form enter, when the door opens, and Leah who has witnessed every thing that has just taken place before the house,--with what emotion! standing unnoticed among the crowd, not daring to approach!--appears, trembling from head to foot, like a criminal before her judge, on the threshold of the room she had left with such an agitated soul.

Another instant and she was clasped in his arms. As if beside himself in the exuberance of this unprecedented happiness, he raised the tottering form and carried, rather than led her to the sofa.

"Leah!" he exclaimed, "is it you?--you in bodily form clasped to my heart again? I hold, I feel you, come, speak one word, compose yourself--oh! you do not know what you have done for me in not going away!"

Meantime she had recovered from her bewilderment, but was still incapable of uttering a word. But he--all that he had just said in imagination, his newly awakened, pa.s.sionate love, his wooing for her heart, the doubts and fears of a lover, he now poured forth aloud, while again and again seeking with his quivering lips her hands, her cheeks, the quiet mouth for which he had so ardently longed. "And you are here," he cried, "you have not fled from me, have not left a poor defenceless mortal alone in his need; no, my brave, faithful wife, now for the first time wholly mine and fairer and happier than ever, and all the idols which I had beside you, have crumbled into ruin forever."

"Oh Edwin," she whispered, "you make me both happy and miserable. You do not know, I am a bad wife--mean and cowardly, and not worthy to have you idolize me so. Oh! that this must be said now, but I must not allow any falsehood to come between us--you must see me as I am, even if you take back the treasure you have just poured into my lap."

"Speak out, if it must be told," he said with his brightest smile. "I am curious to see how far a person who has just saved another's life, can succeed in appearing odious."

He held her hands firmly clasped in his, but she glided down on the carpet before him, and on her knees, like a grievous sinner, confessed all that we already know. He let her talk on only interrupting now and then by an ironical word or saucy laugh. "Have you finished?" he asked, when she paused. She nodded, but made no effort to rise.

"Your sins are heavy," said he. "Above all, that of having given another man, even though he be a friend, to whom I do not grudge any good thing, the kiss which I myself so shamefully neglected to take with me, when I set out early this morning. However, in consideration that I too did not escape from the magic castle entirely unscathed, the only penance imposed upon you shall be, that in the future, if you want to kiss your own husband, you must never suppose that such folly does not beseem thinking beings, who have made a sensible marriage, but allow your heart every sweet absurdity--as in this hour. Leah, were there ever two happier mortals?"

"I fear I shall not survive the joy--" she murmured. Then withdrawing from his embrace she continued: "You are crushing me,--and you must be very gentle with me now--not for my own sake--Edwin, you do not yet know--I--I bear another life--"

This earth has joys that no heavenly joy can surpa.s.s, and which can be described by no human tongue.

CHAPTER IX.

This night was succeeded by days, whose radiance and joy exceeded even the far famed happiness of the honeymoon. And in fact many drops of gall had mingled with the honey of our lovers' first days of wedlock; the daughter's sorrowful parting from her beloved father, whose future at that time seemed far more lonely and joyless, because there was not the faintest thought of a marriage with his first love; the young wife's many household cares, and for Edwin himself numerous annoyances in his new position, where the reputation of being a philosopher who believes neither in religion nor in G.o.d, had preceded him.

They had pa.s.sed honestly through all troubles hand in hand. But much as these trials aided in strengthening the foundation upon which their home was to be built, the happy rapture of joy, the unrestrained, tumultuous delight with which young couples usually enter upon a new life, had been lacking in them. Now all this was bestowed in overflowing measure, when as Leah smilingly said, "they had really been married too long to be so childishly happy."

True, they did not allow, the outside world to see much of the treasure they had so suddenly found under their own hearthstone, and he who had entered the sitting room on the following day would hardly have taken the quiet young teacher, who was writing the first chapter of his philosophical work, and the young wife, who was painting a study in water colors from a bouquet of fresh roses, for two newly married people, in whose hearts amazement at all the wonders of happy love was still burning with a bright flame. But the first chapter did not progress very rapidly, or the bouquet bloom speedily on the paper.

Every ten minutes the writer had something to ask the artist, and the question generally concerned some childish folly, such as is usually discussed gravely and thoroughly only in the nursery; or the artist, who had gone out of the room a moment, could not as usual, on returning, find the way directly back to her own window, but being obliged to pa.s.s the other, her dress, with all its appurtenances would catch on something which was no rose bush, but two arms extended toward her like a sign post, that would not let her go until she had paid a suitable toll for crossing the boundary line.

"Since we have discovered that we are in love with each other, like ordinary foolish mortals, we can no longer abide within the same four walls!" said Edwin laughing. "It is fortunate that we shall soon need a larger dwelling at any rate. At least the neighbors will not notice it, if we, from pure love, cannot continue beside each other."

He threw his pen aside, gave his arm to his little wife, and went to the printers with her. Reginchen received them with eyes sparkling with delight, but Reinhold, after yesterday's rare expenditure of eloquence, was as monosyllabic as if he were compelled to make up for his unprecedented lavishness by redoubled parsimony. But the quiet smile that gleamed through his bushy beard was enough to tell his friends how the sun of their happiness warmed his heart. They must come again in the evening he said; but Edwin instantly declined--they were going into the country, or to the shooting match, or somewhere--in short, they did not know what wise or foolish thing they might undertake, but two such frivolous young people could not enter into any positive engagement.

The remainder of this last week of vacation pa.s.sed in the same way.

They were only seen for very short periods, when they talked in a courteous, but abstracted manner, smiled at vacancy, and suddenly departed again, as if they had some important business to transact, and at hours when no staid citizen would think of going to walk, would be met on the wall of the town or in the neighboring forest, strolling along hand in hand, or sitting on some bench engaged in eager conversation or absorbed in happy silence.

Yet despite all this, the first chapter did make considerable progress--more than the picture of the bouquet of roses, since the original of the latter did not expand so quietly as Edwin's thoughts, which had long before been bound into a beautiful wreath. "I know now,"

said he, "why I never could write the book before. Certain things cannot be done by reason and calm judgment. A hazardous enterprise, like the final expression of thought, can be undertaken only when, like a somnambulist, we wander over the heights of life, intoxicated by the winged flight of a rapturous happiness, or the march of a grand, solemn fate, with a courage which helps us to surmount all heights and depths.

No can can be so bold, except he who has shaken off all the burdens of mortality and escaped into eternity. When I woke last night, my darling, and gazed at your sleeping face--the moon was still shining brightly--you had a saucy smile on your lips, while your grave brow--will you believe, that a light suddenly dawned upon that pa.s.sage in Kant, over which I have racked my brains so long? now my third chapter need not end with an interrogation point."

Thus pa.s.sed the bright time of this most cloudless summer. On Sunday, the last day of vacation, they walked to a neighboring village and pa.s.sed the little church, just as the service was over. A flood of melody from the organ floated solemnly through the open door, like an invisible stream, which was bearing the church-goers into the world again. The two lovers stood still and let the congregation pa.s.s slowly by. A portion of it was composed of peasants with their wives and children. Many residents of the city, who were spending the summer in the country, had joined it, princ.i.p.ally ladies, who nodded to Leah as they pa.s.sed, but owing to the religious views which the pair were known to entertain, did not approach them at the moment.

"The pastor of this village is famed for his toleration and oratorical talent," said Leah. "Does it not seem as if all these faces bore witness, that a beautiful and n.o.ble gospel has just been preached, a religion of love and charity? How differently the people look, when they come from our city church, where your zealous opponent enters the pulpit every Sunday with a heart full of hatred and desire for persecution! These people have really been benefited; they have sanctified their holiday, and we ought to thank them for secretly pitying us, because they do not suspect we are doing so too, in our own way."

"Certainly," replied Edwin, "so long as they confine themselves to secret pity, and do not allow their acts to be affected by it, so long as they do not force upon us the consciousness that we have other wants and satisfy them in a different way. For after all the ultimate and most common standard of a man's value is, whether he is capable of devotion or not, whether he can raise his thoughts above the dust of workday life and produce and worthily enjoy a holiday stillness. In this alone men differ and foolishly wrangle about how it happens. Those who only in dense crowds can succeed in remembering their common humanity, their universal weakness, their need, and all that binds them under the universal law, consider those persons arrogant and presumptuous, who can only feel the presence of the eternal powers, when communing with their own hearts in the deepest solitude, or with their most intimate friends. Nothing alien and fortuitous must touch me, if I am to approach what people have agreed to call G.o.d. The voice of a good man, who wants to obtrude upon me his little well meant pa.s.sages from Scripture, the faces of his innocent hearers, to whom each word is a revelation, baffle and destroy my best efforts to rise above earthly appearances into the one and all. That which now speaks to us from the open house of G.o.d, is a feeling so strangely made up of memories of our childhood, universal philanthropy, the summer air, and the notes of the organ, that we gladly allow it to produce its effect upon us. But when we seriously reflect, it leads us away from, rather than into ourselves. It draws us toward natures which have little in common with us. We have often said, dearest, that mankind might be divided into two great cla.s.ses, those who strive toward what is steadfast, calm, and limited, and those who never forget that every thing is fleeting, and are only satisfied when they themselves are in the current of the eternal stream. How could the piety of these two cla.s.ses be the same? When the former pa.s.s from the restless, ever moving world, through a church door into their Sunday, where every thing has remained the same from time immemorial, the inexpressible appears before them confined within set forms, and for all new wants and sorrows the same consolations are ready, which have soothed their ancestors for a thousand years. How can it surprise us, that people who find their salvation in remaining ever the same and prefer to stifle certain instincts of the soul and mind, rather than be allured into the illimitable, cannot understand us, whose piety is rooted in the strength and boldness which in moments of enthusiasm, enable us to burst the barriers that confine us, in order through presentments and intuition, to grasp all s.p.a.ce?"

"They do not know," said Leah gently, after a short pause, "how much more courage and humility it requires, to confess that we cannot recognize G.o.d, then to believe ourselves his pet children, in whose ears He whispers the secret of the world, and thereby relieves from all future care."

When they returned home in the evening and entered their cosy room, they espied a letter lying on the desk. "I don't know why it is," said Edwin, "but I fear this stranger which has crept in, will destroy the pleasure of the last hours of vacation."

"Don't read it until to-morrow," pleaded Leah.

But Edwin had already opened the letter, and a smaller note fell out.

As Leah picked it up, he glanced at the signature of the large one.

"Doctor Basler," he read, and his light tone instantly grew sad. "A letter from there--six closely written pages--strange, how far distant it seems, all that transpired there, as if years had intervened; so greatly does happiness harden us to the sorrows of others! And now once more it appears like yesterday. Poor creature, to be so quickly forgotten, even by your only friend! Perhaps though it may not contain a word about her. Come we will sit down on the sofa and read the letter together."

Leah had become perfectly silent. Without exactly concealing the note she had picked up, she held it in her hand, so that for the instant Edwin forgot it. They seated themselves near the lamp and read: