Conrad von Bolanden
The Progressionists, and Angela.
"The first blessing of the year," said the proprietor. "The rapes have turned out well. We had a fine blooming season, and the flies could not do much damage."
"I have often observed those little flies in the rape-fields," said Frank. "You can count millions of them; but I did not know that they injured the crop."
They both went into the house, where a bottle of Munich beer awaited them. Soon after, the servants went through the hall, and Frank heard Angela's voice from the kitchen, where she was busily occupied. The servants brought bread, plates, cheese, and jugs of light wine to the servants' room.
"Neighbor," said Siegwart, "I invite you to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock to a family entertainment-providing it will be agreeable to you."
The invitation was accepted.
"You must not expect much from the entertainment. It will, at least, be new to you."
Frank was much interested in the character of this ultramontane entertainment. He thought of a May party, a coronation party; but rejected this idea, for Siegwart promised a family entertainment, and this could not be a May party. He thought of all kinds of plays, and what part Angela would take in them. But the play also seemed improbable, and at last the subject of the invitation remained an interesting mystery to him, the solution of which he awaited with impatience.
An hour before the appointed time Richard left Frankenhöhe, after Klingenberg had excused him from the daily walk. He took a roundabout way along the edge of the forest; for he knew that the Siegwart family would be at divine service, and he did not wish to arrive at the house a moment before the time. Sunday stillness rested on all. The mountains rose up a deep blue; the vari-colored fields were partly yellow; the vineyards alone were of a deep green, and when the wind blew through them it wafted with it the pleasant odors of the vine-blossoms.
Madame Siegwart was just returning home from Salingen between her two children. Henry, a youth of seventeen and the future proprietor of the property, had the same manners as his father. He walked leisurely on the road-side, examining the blooming wheat and ripening corn. When he discovered nests of vine weevils, he plucked them off and crushed the eggs of the hated enemies of all wine-growers. Angela remained constantly at her mother's side, and as she accidentally raised her eyes to where Richard stood, he made a movement as though he was caught disadvantageously.
A short distance behind them came Siegwart, surrounded by some men. They often stopped and talked in a lively manner. Frank thought that these men were also invited, and hoped to become acquainted with the élite of Salingen. He was, however, disappointed; for a short distance from Siegwart's house the men turned back to Salingen. They had only accompanied the proprietor part of the way. The servants of Siegwart also came hastening along the road, first the men-servants, and some distance behind them the maid-servants. Frank had observed this separation before, and thought it must be in consequence of the strict orders of the master. Frank considered this narrow-minded, and thought of finding fault with it, in true modern spirit. But then he considered the results of his observations, which had extended to the servants. He often admired the industry and regular conduct of these people. He never heard any oath or rough expressions of passion; every one knew his work, and performed it with care and attention. He observed this regular order with admiration, particularly when he thought of the disobedience, dissatisfaction, and untrustworthiness of the generality of servants. Siegwart must possess a great secret to keep these people in agreement and order; therefore he rejected his former opinion of narrow-mindedness, and believed the proprietor must have good reason for this separation of the sexes.
Frank remained for a time under the shadow of an oak, looked at his watch, and finally descended the shortest way. He was expected by Siegwart, and immediately conducted to the large room. The arrangement of the room showed at a glance its use. There was a small altar at one side, and religious pictures hung on the walls. There was also a harmonium, and on the windows hung curtains on which were painted scenes from sacred history. In the middle of the room there was a desk, on which lay a book. To the right of the desk sat the men-servants, to the left the maids, the Siegwart family in the centre. A smile passed over Frank's countenance at the present religious entertainment-for him, at least, a new sort of recreation. At his entrance the whole assembly rose. He greeted Angela and her mother, pressed warmly the hand of Henry, and took the seat allotted to him.
Angela ascended the pulpit, sat down and opened the book. She read the life of the servant St. Zitta, whom the church numbers among the saints. Angela read in a masterly manner. The narrative tone of her soft, melodious voice ran like a quickening stream through the soul. Some passages she pronounced with plastic force, and into the delivery of others she breathed warm life. All listened with great attention. Zitta's childhood passed in quick review, then her hard lot with a master difficult to please. The servants listened with astonishment. They heard with pious attention of Zitta's pure conduct, of her fidelity and humility, of her industry and self-denial. They all felt personally their own deficiency in comparison with this shining model. When Angela closed the book, Frank saw that the servants were deeply impressed. Meditatively they left the room, as though they had heard a striking sermon.
"Ah!" thought Frank. "Now I know one of the means by which Siegwart influences his people."
"Now comes the second part of the entertainment," said the proprietor, taking Richard's arm. "We will now go into the garden."
On the way thither Frank saw under the lindens a long table set with food and wine, and at it sat the servants. Richard heard their conversation in passing. They talked of St. Zitta and recounted the striking facts of her life.
Near the garden wall grew a vine-arbor, which caught the cool air as it passed and loaded it with pleasant odors. Thousands of the flowers of the blooming vine appeared between the indented leaves. Each of these diminutive flowers breathed forth a fragrance which for sweetness of odor could not be surpassed.
A young brood of goldfinches, who had taken possession of the arbor, now cleared off. They flew up on the dwarf trees, or hid among the roses, which of all colors and kinds grew in the garden. The hungry young ones cried incessantly, and tested severely the parental duty of support. But the old ones were not ashamed of this duty. Here and there they caught flies and other insects, and carried them to the young ones, who stood with outstretched wings and flabby bills wide open. Then the old ones would fly away again, light on the branches-mostly on bean-stalks-make quick dodges, wave their tails, smack their tongues, and seize as quick as lightning a harmless passing fly. The sparrows did not behave so harmlessly. They pecked at the bright shining cherries that hung in full clusters on the swaying branches. Others of this sharp-billed gentry hopped about on the strawberry-beds, and disfigured the large berries as they tore off great pieces of the soft meat. One of them had even the boldness to hop about on the decorated table that stood at the upper end of the arbor, to strike his sharp bill into the buttered bread, make an examination of the preserves, ogle the slices of ham, and admire the black bottles that stood on the ground. He also took to flight as the company arrived. The vine-blossoms seemed to send forth a sweeter fragrance as Angela, bright and beaming, approached, leaning on the arm of her mother.
"Do you have this edifying reading every Sunday?" asked Richard.
"Regularly," answered the proprietor. "It is an old custom of our family, and I find it has such good results that I will not have it abolished. The servants are not obliged to be present. They are free after vespers, each one to employ himself as best suits him. But it seldom happens that a servant or a maid is absent. They like to hear the legends, and you may have remarked that they listen with great attention to the reading."
"I have observed it," said Frank. "Miss Angela is also such an excellent reader that only deaf people would not attend."
She smiled and blushed a little at this praise.
"I consider it a strict obligation of employers to have a supervision over the conduct of the servants," said Madame Siegwart. "Many, perhaps most, servants are treated like the slaves in old heathen times. They work for their masters, are paid for it, and there the relation between master and servant ends. This is why they neglect divine service on Sundays and feast-days; their moral wants are not satisfied, their natural inclinations are not purified by restraints of a higher order. The servants sit in the taverns, where they squander their wages, and the maids rove about and gossip. This is a great injustice to the servants, and full of bad consequences. It cannot be questioned that masters should shield their servants from error and keep them under moral discipline."
"Precisely my opinion," returned Frank. "If servants are frequently spoiled and general complaint is made of it, the masters are greatly in fault. I have long since admired the conduct of your servants. I looked upon Herr Siegwart as a kind of sorcerer, who conjured every thing under his charge according to his will. Now a part of the sorcery is clear to me."
"Well, you were favorable in your judgment," said the proprietor, laughing. "So you considered me a magician; others consider me an ultramontanist, and that is something still worse."
Richard smiled and blushed slightly.
"You no doubt have heard this honorable title applied to me, Herr Frank?"
"Yes, I have heard of it."
"And I scarcely deceive myself in supposing," continued Siegwart good-humoredly, "that your father has spoken to you of his neighbor, the ultramontane."
"You do not deceive yourself at all," answered Frank. "I consider it a great honor to have become better acquainted with the ultramontane."
"I have often wished to speak to you," continued the proprietor, "of the reason which called forth your father's displeasure with me. I suppose, however, that you have heard it."
"My father never spoke of it, and I am eager to know the unfortunate cause."
"It is as follows. About ten years ago your father, with some other gentlemen, wished to establish a great factory in this neighborhood. The land on which it was to stand is a marsh lying near a pond, the water of which was to be made of use to the factory. I tried with all my power to prevent this design, and even for social and religious reasons. Our neighborhood needed no factory. There are but few very poor people, and these support themselves sufficiently well among the farmers. Experience proves that factories have a bad effect on the people in their neighborhood. Our people are firm believers. The peasants keep conscientiously the Sundays and festivals. In all their cares for the earthly they do not forget the eternal life. This religious sentiment spreads happiness and peace over our quiet neighborhood. The factory, which knows no Sunday, and the operatives, who are sometimes very bad men, would have brought a harsh discordance into the quiet harmony of the neighborhood. I considered these and other injurious influences, and offered a higher price for the swamp than your father and his friends. As there was no other convenient place about, the enterprise had to be given up. Since that time your father is offended with me because I made his favorite project impossible. This is the way it stands. That it is painful to me, I need not assure you. But according to my principles and views I could not do otherwise. Now judge how far I am to be condemned."
"I speak freely," said Frank. "You have acted from principles that one must respect, and which my father would have respected if he had known them."
The proprietor could have observed that he had, in a long letter, justified himself to Herr Frank. But he suppressed the observation, as he felt it would be painful to his son.
"Father," said Henry, "hunger and thirst are appeased. Can I ride out for an hour?"
"Yes, my son; but not longer. Be back by supper-time."
The young man promised, and, after a friendly bow to Frank, hastened from the garden. The little circle continued some time in friendly chat. The servants under the lindens became noisy and sang merry songs. The maids sat around the tea-table in the kitchen and praised St. Zitta.
The cook appeared in the arbor and announced that Herr von Hamm was in the house, and wished to speak on important business to Herr and Madame Siegwart.
"What can he want?" said the proprietor in surprise. "Excuse me, Herr Frank; the business will soon be over. I beg you to remain till we return. Angela, prevent him from going."
Angela, smiling, looked after her retiring parents and then at Richard.
"I must keep you, Herr Frank. How shall I begin?"
"That is very easy, Fräulein. Your presence is sufficient to realize your father's wish. A weak child of human nature cannot resist one who can conquer steers."
"Now you make a steer-catcher of me. Such a thing never happened in Spain; for there the steers are not so cultivated and docile as they are with us."
She took out her knitting.
"This is Sunday, Miss Angela!"
"Do you consider knitting unlawful after one has fulfilled one's religious duties?"
"The case is not clear to me," said Frank, smiling secretly at the earnestness of the questioner. "My casuistic knowledge is not sufficient to solve such a question reasonably."
"The church only forbids servile work," said she. "I consider knitting and sewing as something better than doing nothing."
"I am rejoiced that you are not narrow-minded, Fräulein. But this little stocking does not fit your feet?"
"It is for little bare feet in Salingen," she replied, laying the finished stocking on the table and stroking it with both hands as a work of love.
"I have heard of your beneficence," said Frank. "You knit, sew, and cook for the poor people. You are a refuge for all the needy and distressed. How good in you!"
"You exaggerate, Herr Frank. I do a little sometimes, but not more than I can do with the house-work, which is scarcely worth mentioning. I make no sacrifice in doing it; on the contrary, the poor give me more than I give them; for giving is to every one more pleasant than receiving."
"To every one, Fräulein?"
"To every one who can give without denying herself."
"But you are accustomed also to visit the sick, and the hovels of poverty are certainly not attractive."
"Indeed, Herr Frank, very attractive," she answered quickly. "The thanks of the poor sick are so affecting and elevating that one is paid a thousand times for a little trouble."
Frank let the subject drop. Angela did not give charities from pride or the gratification of vanity, as he had been prepared to assume, but from natural goodness and inclination of the heart. He looked at the beautiful girl who sat before him industriously sewing, and was almost angry at his failure to detect a fault in her pure nature.
"Do you always adorn the statue of the Virgin on the mountain?" said he after a pause.
"No; not now. The month of our dear Lady is over. I always think with pleasure of the happy hours when in the convent we adorned her altar with beautiful flowers."
"You must have a great reverence for Mary, or you would not ascend the mountain daily."
"I admire the exalted virtues of Mary, and think with sorrow of her painful life on earth; and then, a weak creature needs much her powerful protection."
"Do you expect, Miss Angela, by such attention as you show the statue to obtain protection of the saint?"
"No, I do not believe that. The adorning of the pictures of saints would be idle trifling if the heart wandered far from the spirit of the saints. Our church teaches, as you know, that the real, true veneration of the saints consists in imitating their virtues."
Frank sat reflecting. The examination and probation were thoroughly disgusting to him. Siegwart appeared in the garden, and came with quick steps to the arbor. His countenance was agitated and his eyes glowed with indignation. Without speaking a word, he drank off a glass of wine. Frank saw how he endeavored not to exhibit his anger.
"Has Herr von Hamm departed?" asked Richard.
"Yes, he is off again," said the proprietor. "Angela, your mother has something to say to you."
"Now guess what the assessor wanted?" said Siegwart, after his daughter had left the arbor.
"Perhaps he wanted the Peter-pence collection," said Frank, smiling.
"No. Herr von Hamm wanted nothing more or less than to marry my daughter!"
Frank was astonished. Although he long since saw through Hamm's designs, he did not expect so sudden and hasty a step.
"And in what manner did he demand her?"
"It is revolting," said the proprietor, much offended. "Herr von Hamm graciously condescends to us peasants. He showed that it would be a great good fortune for us to give our daughter to the noble, the official with brilliant prospects."
"Herr von Hamm does not think little of himself," said Richard drily.
"How did the man ever come to ask my daughter? He and Angela! What opposites!"
"Which, of course, you made clear to him."
"I reminded the gentleman that identity of moral and religious principles alone could render matrimonial happiness possible. I reminded him that Angela was an ultramontane, whose opinions would daily annoy him, while his modern opinions must deeply offend Angela. This I set before him briefly. Then I told him frankly and freely that I did not wish to make either him or Angela unhappy, and at this he went away angrily."
"You have done your duty," said Frank. "I am also of opinion that similar convictions in the great principles of life alone insure the happiness of married life."
When Richard came home, he wrote in his diary:
"June 4. – Unconditional surrender. What I supposed only to exist in the ideal world is realized in the daughter of an ultramontane. Angela, compared to our crinolines, our flirts, our insipid coquettes-how brilliant the light, how deep the shadow!
"My visits to that family have no longer a purpose. I feel they must be discontinued for the sake of my peace. I dare not dream of a happiness of which I am unworthy. But my future life will feel painfully the want of a happiness the possibility of which I did not dream. This is a punishment for presuming to penetrate the pure, glorious character of the Angel of Salingen."
He buried his face in his hands, and leaned on the table. He remained thus a long time; when he raised his head, his face was pale, and his eyes were moist with tears.
CHAPTER VII.
POISONOUS FOOD
"Herr Frank has not been here for four days," said Siegwart as he returned one day from the field. "He will not come to-day, for it is already nine o'clock, I hope the young man is not ill."
Angela started.
"Ill? May God forbid!"
"At least, I know no other reason that could prevent him from coming. He has become a necessity to me; I seem to miss something."
Angela concealed her uneasiness in true womanly fashion. She busied herself about the room, dusted the furniture, arranged the vases, and trimmed the flowers; but one could see that her mind was not in the work.
"Would it not be well, father, to send and inquire after his health?"
"It would if we were certain that he was ill. I only made a conjecture. However, if he does not come to-morrow, I will send Henry over.
"We owe him this attention; he is sensible, modest, and very intelligent. We find at present in the cities and first families few young men of so little assumption and so much goodness and manliness."
Angela pricked her finger. She had incautiously wandered into the thicket, as if she did not know that roses have thorns.
"Many things tell of his kind-heartedness," she replied, with averted face. "He sends five dollars every week to the old blind woman in Salingen; he often takes the money himself, and comforts the unfortunate creature. The blind woman is full of enthusiasm about him. He bought the cooper a full set of tools, that he might be able to support his mother and seven little sisters."
"Very praiseworthy," said the father.
As Siegwart came home in the evening, Angela met him in the yard. She carried a basket and was about to go into the garden.
"Herr Frank is not unwell," said he; "I saw him in the field and went through the vineyard to meet him; but when he discovered my intention, he turned about and hastened toward the house. That surprises me."
Angela went into the garden. She stood on the bed and gazed at the lettuce. The empty basket awaited its contents, and in it lay the knife whose bright blade glistened before the idle dreamer. She stood thus meditating, lost in thought for a long time, which was certainly not her custom.
Herr Frank had returned from the city, and was roughly received by the doctor.
"Have you spoken to your son?" said he sharply.
"No! I have just alighted from the carriage," answered Frank in astonishment.
The doctor walked up and down the room, and Frank saw his face growing darker.
"You disturb me, good friend. How is Richard?"
"Bad, very bad! And it is all your fault. You gave Richard those materialistic books which I threw out of the window. He has read the trash-not read, but studied it; and now we have the consequences."
"Pardon me, doctor. I did not give my son those books. He was passing the window when you threw them out, and took them to his room."
"You knew that! Why did you leave him the miserable trash?"
"I had no idea of the danger of these writings. Explain yourself further, I entreat."
"You must first see your son. But I bind it on your conscience to use the greatest precaution. Do not show the least surprise. We have to deal with a dangerous disorder. Do not say a word about his changed appearance. Then come back to me again."
Greatly disturbed, the father passed to the room of his son. Richard sat on the sofa gazing at the floor. His cheeks had lost their bloom, his face was emaciated, and his eyes deeply sunken. Vogt's Physiological Letters lay open near him. He did not rise quickly and joyfully to kiss his father, as was his custom. He remained sitting, and smiled languidly at him. Herr Frank, grieved and perplexed, sat down near him, and took occasion to pick up the book:
"How are you, Richard?"
"Very well, as you see."
"You are industrious. What book is this?"
"A rare book, father-a remarkable book. One learns there to know what man is and what he is not. Until now, I did not know that cats, dogs, monkeys, and all animals were of our race. Now I know; for it is clearly demonstrated in that book."
"You certainly do not believe such absurdities?"
"Believe? I believe nothing at all. Faith ends where proof begins."
Herr Frank read the open page.
"All this sounds very silly," said he. "Vogt asserts that man has no soul, and proves it from the fact that men become idiotic. If the functions of the brain are disturbed, the soul ceases, says Vogt. He therefore concludes that the spirit consists in the brain. The man must have been crazy when he wrote that. I am no scholar; but I see at the first glance how false and groundless are Vogt's inferences. Every reasonable man knows that the brain is the instrument of the mind, which enables it to participate in the world of sense; now, when the instrument is destroyed, the participation of the mind with the outward world must cease. Although a man may be an expert on the violin, he cannot play if the strings are broken or out of tune. But the player, his ideas, the art, still remain. In like manner the spirit remains, although it can no longer play on the injured or discordant fibres of the brain."
"You must read the whole book, father, and then those others there."
"But, Richard, you must not read books that rob man of all dignity."
"Of course not. I should do as the ostrich. When he is in danger, he sticks his head into the bushes not to see the danger. A prudent plan. But I cannot close my eyes to the light, even if that light should destroy my human respect."
Greatly afflicted, Herr Frank returned to the doctor.
"Great God! in what a condition is my poor Richard!" said the oppressed father.
"He will, I hope, be rescued. My stay at Frankenhöhe was to end with the month of May; but I cannot forsake a young man whom I love, in this helpless state of mental delirium."
"I do not understand the condition of my son; and your words give me great anxiety. Have the goodness to tell me what is the matter with Richard, and how it came about."
"It would be very difficult to make your son's condition clear to you. In you there is only business, lucrative undertakings, speculative combinations. The bustle of the money market is your world. You have no idea of the power of an intellectual struggle. You know the thoughtful, intellectual nature of your son; and here I begin. In the first place, I will remind you that Richard wishes to be governed by the power of deduction. With him fantasies and passions retreat before this force, although usually in men of his years, and even in men with gray hair, clearness of mind and keen penetration are often swept away by the current of stormy passions. Richard's aversion to women is the result of cool reflection and inevitable inference, and therefore on this question I do not dispute his views. I know it would be useless, and I know that the study of a pure feminine nature would overcome this prejudice. The same force of logical inferences places Richard in this unhappy condition. He read the writings of the materialist. There he found the physiological proofs that man is a beast. From these proofs Richard drew all the terrible consequences contained in those destructive doctrines. As the intellectual life predominates in him, and as he has a strong repugnance to materialistic madness, his nature must be stirred in its profoundest depths. If Richard succumbs, he will act in his habitual consistent manner. All moral basis lost, morality would be foolishness to him, since it is useless for beasts to curb the passions by moral laws. As with immortality disappears man's eternal destiny, it would be foolish to 'fight the giant fight of duty.' If he is convinced that man is a beast, he will live like a beast-although he might cloak his conduct with the varnish of decency-and thus suddenly would the sensible Richard stand before his astonished father a ruined man. This is one view; there is still another," said the doctor hesitatingly. "I remember in the course of my practice a suicide who wrote on a slip of paper, 'What do I here? Eat, drink, sleep, worry, and fret; much suffering, little joy; therefore-' and the man sent a bullet through his head. This suicide thought logically. This earthly life is insupportable; it is foolishness to a man who thinks and is at the same time a materialist."
"What prospects-horrible!" cried Herr Frank, wringing his hands. "Accursed be those books; and I am the cause of this misfortune!"
"The involuntary cause," said Klingenberg consolingly. "You now have a firm conviction of the devastating effects of those bad books. But how many are there who consider every warning in this connection an exhibition of prejudice or narrow-mindedness! How few readers are so modest as to admit that they want the scientific culture to refute a bad book, to separate the poison from the honey of sweet phrases and winning style! How few can see that they cannot read those bad books without detriment! No one would sit on a cask of powder and touch it off for amusement; and yet those hellish books are more dangerous than a cask full of powder. To me this is incomprehensible. Poisonous food is always injurious; yet thousands and millions drink greedily from this poisonous stream of bad reading which deluges all grades of society."
"I will do immediately what must be done," said Herr Frank as he hastily rose.
"What will you do?"
"Take from my son those execrable books."
"By no means," said Klingenberg. "This would be a psychological mistake. Richard would buy the same books again at the book-shop, and read them secretly. A man who has the resolution of your son must be won by honorable combat. Authority would here be badly applied. Therefore I forbid you to interfere. You know nothing of the matter. Treat him kindly, and have forbearance with his sensitiveness. That is what I must require of you."
Greatly afflicted, Herr Frank left the doctor. Overwhelming himself with reproaches, he wandered restlessly about the house and garden. He saw Richard standing at the open window with folded arms, dreamy and pale, his hair in disorder like a storm-beaten wheat-field-truly a painful sight for the father. He went up to his room, where the small library stood in its beautiful binding. A servant stood near him with a basket. The works of Eugene Sue, Gutzkow, and like spirits fell into the basket.
"All to the fire!" commanded Herr Frank.
The doctor had compared bad literature to poisonous food. The comparison was not inapt; at least, it gave Richard the appearance of a man in whose body destructive poison was working. He was listless and exhausted; in walking, his hands hung heavily by his side. His eyes were directed to the ground, as if he were seeking something. If he saw a snail, he stopped to examine the crawling creature. He sought to know why the snail crawls about, and, to his astonishment, found that the snail always followed an object; which is not always the case with man, animal of the moment, who goes about without an object. If a caterpillar accidentally got under his foot, he pushed it carefully aside and examined if it had been hurt. It seemed to him logical that creeping and flying things had the same claims to forbearance and proper treatment as man, since according to Vogt and Büchner's striking proofs, all creeping and flying things are not essentially different from man.
