Conrad von Bolanden
The Progressionists, and Angela.
Seraphin contemplated Greifmann, who smiled, and hardly knew how to take him.
"An inborn longing for happiness has possession of all men," said he with reserve. "The days of faith were ruled by moral influences; the spirit of this age is ruled by base matter. Between the moral struggles of the past strong in faith, and the base matter of the present, there is, say what you will, a notable difference."
"Doubtless!" conceded Greifmann. "The middle ages were incontestably the grandest epoch of history. I am actuated by the honest intention of acquainting you with the active principles of the present."
"Yes, and you have been not immaterially aided by luck. But for the order from Vienna for straw hats, the bills of exchange, and that villa, you would hardly have attained your aim."
Greifmann smiled.
"The straw-hat story is merely a mystification, my dear friend. When the end will have been reached, when Hans Shund will have been elected mayor and assemblyman, a few lines will be sufficient to inform Mr. Schwefel that the house in Vienna has countermanded its order. Nor is any villa to be constructed. I shall pay Sand for his drawings, and this will be the end of the project. The matter of the bills of exchange is not a hoax, and I am still free to proceed against Erdblatt in the manner required by the interests of my business."
Seraphin stood before the ingenuous banker, and looked at him aghast.
"It is true," said Greifmann gaily, "I have laid out fifteen hundred florins, but I have done so against one hundred per cent.; for they are to secure me victory in our wager."
"Your professional routine is truly admirable," said Gerlach.
"Not exactly that, but practical, and not at all sentimental, my friend."
"I shall take a walk through the garden to get over my astonishment," concluded Gerlach; and he walked away from the astute man of money.
CHAPTER III.
SERAPHIN AND LOUISE
Sombre spirits flitted about the head of the young man with the blooming cheeks and light eyes. He was unable to rid himself of a feeling of depression; for he had taken a step into the domain of progress, and had there witnessed things which, like slimy reptiles, drew a cold trail over his warm heart. Trained up on Christian principles, schooled by enlightened professors of the faith, and watched over with affectionate vigilance by a pious mother, Seraphin had had no conception of the state of modern society. For this reason, both Greifmann Senior and Gerlach Senior committed a blunder in wishing to unite by marriage three millions of florins, the owners of which not merely differed, but were the direct opposites of each other in disposition and education.
Louise belonged to the class of emancipated females who have in vain attempted to enhance the worth of noble womanhood by impressing on their own sex the sterner type of the masculine gender. In Louise's opinion, the beauty of woman does not consist in graceful gentleness, amiable concession and purity, but in proudly overstepping the bounds set for woman by the innate modesty of her sex. The beautiful young lady had no idea of the repulsiveness of a woman who strives to make a man of herself, but she was sure that the cause and origin of woman's degradation is religion. For it was to Eve that God had said: "Thou shalt be under thy husband's power, and he shall have dominion over thee." Louise considered this decree as revolting, and she detested the book whose authority among men gives effect to its meaning. On the other hand, she failed to observe that woman's sway is powerful and acknowledged wherever it exerts itself over weak man through affection and grace. Quite as little did Miss Louise observe that men assume the stature of giants so soon as women presume to appear in relation to them strong and manlike. Least of all did she discover anything gigantic in the kind-hearted Seraphin. In the consciousness of her fancied superiority of education, she smiled at the simplicity of his faith, and, as the handsome young gentleman appeared by no means an ineligible parti, she believed it to be her special task to train her prospective husband according to her own notions. She imagined this course of training would prove an easy undertaking for a lady whose charms had been uniformly triumphant over the hearts of gentlemen. But one circumstance appeared to her unaccountable-that was Seraphin's cold-bloodedness and unshaken independence. For eight days she had plied her arts in vain, the most exquisite coquetry had been wasted to no purpose, even the irresistible fire of her most lovely eyes had produced no perceptible impression on the impregnable citadel of the landholder's heart.
"He is a mere child as yet, the most spotless innocence," she would muse hopefully. "He has been sheltered under a mother's wings like a pullet, and for this I am beholden to Madame Gerlach, for she has trained up an obedient husband for me."
Seraphin sauntered through the walks of the garden, absorbed in gloomy reflections on the leaders of progress. Their utter disregard of honor and unparalleled baseness were disgusting to him as an honorable man, whilst their corruption and readiness for deeds of meanness were offensive to him as a Christian. Regarding Greifmann, also, he entertained misgivings. Upon closer examination, however, the unsuspecting youth thought he discovered in the banker's manner of treating the leaders and their principles a strong infusion of ridicule and irony. Hence, imposed upon by his own good nature, he concluded that Greifmann ought not in justice to be ranked among the hideous monstrosities of progress.
With head sunk and rapt in thought, Gerlach strayed indefinitely amid the flowers and shrubbery. All at once he stood before Louise. The young lady was seated under a vine-covered arbor; in one hand she held a book, but she had allowed both hand and book to sink with graceful carelessness upon her lap. For some time back she had been observing the thoughtful young man. She had been struck by his manly carriage and vigorous step, and had come to the conclusion that his profusion of curling auburn hair was the most becoming set-off to his handsome countenance. She now welcomed the surprised youth with a smile so winning, and with a play of eyes and features so exquisite, that Seraphin, dazzled by the beauty of the apparition, felt constrained to lower his eyes like a bashful girl. What probably contributed much to this effect was the circumstance of his being at the time in a rather vacant and cheerless state of mind, so that, coming suddenly into the presence of this brilliant being, he experienced the power of the contrast. She appeared to him indescribably beautiful, and he wondered that this discovery had not forced itself upon him before. Unfortunately, the young gentleman possessed but little of the philosophy which will not suffer itself to be deceived by seductive appearances, and refuses to recognize the beautiful anywhere but in its agreement with the true and good.
Louise perceived in an instant that now was at hand the long-looked-for fulfilment of her wishes. The certainty which she felt that the conquest was achieved diffused a bewitching loveliness over her person. Seraphin, on the other hand, stood leaning against the arbor, and became conscious with fear and surprise of a turmoil in his soul that he had never before experienced.
"I have been keeping myself quiet in this shady retreat," said she sweetly, "not wishing to disturb your meditations. Carl's wager is a strange one, but it is a peculiarity of my brother's occasionally to manifest a relish for what is strange."
"You are right-strange, very strange!" replied Seraphin, evidently in allusion to his actual state of mind. The beautiful young lady, perceiving the allusion, became still more dazzling.
"I should regret very much that the wager were lost by a guest of ours, and still more that you were deprived of your splendid race-horses. I will prevail on Carl not to take advantage of his victory."
"Many thanks, miss; but I would much rather you would not do so. If I lose the wager, honor and duty compel me to give up the stakes to the winner. Moreover, in the event of my losing, there would be another loss far more severe for me than the loss of my racers."
"What would that be?" inquired she with some amazement.
"The loss of my good opinion of men," answered he sadly. "What I have heard, miss, is base and vile beyond description." And he recounted for her in detail what had taken place.
"Such things are new to you, Mr. Seraphin; hence your astonishment and indignation."
The youth felt his soul pierced because she uttered not a word of disapproval against the villainy.
"Carl's object was good," continued she, "in so far as his manœuvre has procured you an insight into the principles by which the world is just now ruled."
"I would be satisfied to lose the wager a thousand times, and even more, did I know that the world is not under such rule."
"It is wrong to risk one's property for the sake of a delusion," said she reprovingly. "And it would be a gross delusion not to estimate men according to their real worth. A proprietor of fields and woodland, who, faithful to his calling, leads an existence pure and in accord with nature's laws, must not permit himself to be so far misled by the harmlessness of his own career as to idealize the human species. For were you at some future day to become more intimately acquainted with city life and society, you would then find yourself forced to smile at the views which you once held concerning the present."
"Smile at, my dear miss? Hardly. I should rather have to mourn the destruction of my belief. Moreover, it is questionable whether I could breathe in an atmosphere which is unhealthy and destructive of all the genuine enjoyments of life!"
"And what do you look upon as the genuine enjoyments of life?" asked she with evident curiosity.
He hesitated, and his childlike embarrassment appeared to her most lovely.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Seraphin! I have been indiscreet, for such a question is allowable to those only who are on terms of intimacy." And the beauty exhibited a masterly semblance of modesty and amiability. The artifice proved successful, the young man's diffidence fled, and his heart opened.
"You possess my utmost confidence, most esteemed Miss Greifmann! Intercourse with good, or at least honorable, persons appears to me to be the first condition for enjoying life. How could any one's existence be cheerful in the society of people whose character is naught and whose moral sense expired with the rejection of every religious principle?"
"Yet perhaps it might, Mr. Seraphin!" rejoined she, with a smile of imagined superiority. "Refinement, the polished manners of society, may be substituted for the rigor of religious conviction."
"Polished manners without moral earnestness are mere hypocrisy," answered he decidedly. "A wolf, though enveloped in a thousand lambskins, still retains his nature."
"How stern you are!" exclaimed she, laughing. "And what is the second condition for the true enjoyment of life, Mr. Seraphin?"
"It is evidently the accord of moral consciousness with the behests of a supreme authority; or to use the ordinary expression, a good conscience," answered the millionaire earnestly.
A sneering expression spontaneously glided over her countenance. She felt the hateful handwriting of her soul in her features, turned crimson, and cast down her eyes in confusion. The young man had not observed the expression of mockery, and could not account for her confusion. He thought he had perhaps awkwardly wounded her sensitiveness.
"I merely meant to express my private conviction," said Mr. Seraphin apologetically.
"Which is grand and admirable," lauded she.
Her approbation pleased him, for his simplicity failed to detect the concealed ridicule. After a walk outside of the city which Gerlach took towards evening, in the company of the brother and sister, Carl Greifmann made his appearance in Louise's apartment.
"You have at last succeeded in capturing him," began he with a chuckle of satisfaction. "I was almost beginning to lose confidence in your well-tried powers. This time you seemed unable to keep the field, to the astonishment of all your acquaintances. They never knew you to be baffled where the heart of a weak male was to be won."
"What are you talking about?"
"About the fat codfish of two million weight whom you have been successful in angling."
"I do not understand you, most mysterious brother!"
"You do not understand me, and yet you blush like the skies before a rainstorm! What means the vermilion of those cheeks, if you do not understand?"
"I blush, first, on account of my limited understanding, which cannot grasp your philosophy; and, secondly, because I am amazed at the monstrous figures of your language."
"Then I shall have to speak without figures and similes upon a subject which loses a great deal in the light of bare reality, which, I might indeed say, loses all, dissolves into vapor, like will-o'-the-wisps and cloud phantoms before the rising sun. I hardly know how to mention the subject without figures, I can hardly handle it except with poetic figures," exclaimed he gaily, seating himself in Louise's rocking-chair, rocking himself. "Speaking in the commonest prose, my remarks refer to the last victim immolated to your highness-to the last brand kindled by the fire of your eyes. To talk quite broadly, I mean the millionaire and landholder Seraphin Gerlach, who is head and ears in love with you. Considered from a business and solid point of view, it is exceedingly flattering for the banker's brother to see his sister adored by so considerable a sum of money."
"Madman, you profane the noblest feelings of the heart," she chidingly said, with a smile.
"I am a man of business, my dear child, and am acquainted with no sanctuary but the exchange. Relations of a tender nature, noble feelings of the heart, lying as they do without the domain of speculation, are to me something incomprehensible and not at all desirable. On the other hand, I entertain for two millions of money a most prodigious sympathy, and a love that casts the flames of all your heroes and heroines of romance into the shade. Meanwhile, my sweet little sister, there are two aspects to everything. An alliance between our house and two millions of florins claims admiration, 'tis true; yet it is accompanied with difficulties which require serious reflection." The banker actually ceased rocking and grew serious.
"Might I ask a solution of your enigma?"
"All jesting aside, Louise, this alliance is not altogether free from risks," answered he. "Just consider the contrast between yourself and Seraphin Gerlach's good nature is touching, and his credulous simplicity is calculated to excite apprehension. Guided, imposed upon, entirely bewitched by religious phantasms, he gropes about in the darkness of superstition. You, on the contrary, sneer at what Seraphin cherishes as holy, and despise such religious nonsense. Reflect now upon the enormous contrast between yourself and the gentleman whom fate and your father's shrewdness have selected for your husband. Honestly, I am in dread. I am already beginning to dream of divorce and every possible tale of scandal, which would not be precisely propitious for our firm."
"What contradictions!" exclaimed the beauty with self-reliance. "You just a moment ago announced my triumph over Seraphin, and now you proclaim my defeat."
"Your defeat! Not at all! But I apprehend wrangling and discord in your married life."
"Wrangling and discord because Seraphin loves me?"
"No-not exactly-but because he is a believer and you are an unbeliever; in short, because he does not share your aims and views."
"How short-sighted you are! As you conceive of it, love is not a passion; at most, only, a cool mood which cannot be modified by the lovers themselves. Your apprehension would be well grounded concerning that kind of love. But suppose love were something quite different? Suppose it were a passion, a glowing, dazzling, omnipotent passion, and that Seraphin really loved me, do you think that I would not skilfully and prudently take advantage of this passion? Cannot a woman exert a decisive and directing influence over the husband who loves her tenderly? I have no fears because I do not view love with the eyes of a trader. I hope and trust with the adjurations of love to expel from Seraphin all superstitious spirits."
"How sly! Surely nothing can surpass a daughter of Eve in the matter of seductive arts!" exclaimed he, laughing. "Hem-yes, indeed, after what I have seen to-day, it is plain that the Adam Seraphin will taste of the forbidden fruit of ripened knowledge, persuaded by this tenderly beloved Eve. Look at him: there he wanders in the shade of the garden, sighing to the rose-bushes, dreaming, of your majesty, and little suspecting that he is threatened with conversion and redemption from the kingdom of darkness."
CHAPTER IV.
HANS SHUND
Hans Shund returned home from business in high feather. Something unusual must have happened him, for his behavior was exceptional. Standing before his desk, he mechanically drew various papers from his pockets, and laid them in different drawers and pigeon-holes. The mechanical manner of his behavior was what was exceptional, for usually Hans Shund bestowed particular attention upon certain papers; his soul's life was in those papers. Moreover, on the present occasion, he kept shaking his head as if astonishment would not suffer him to remain quiet. Yet habitually Hans Shund never shook his head, for that proceeding betrays interior emotion, and Shund's neck was as hardened and stiff as his usurer's soul. The other exceptional feature of his behavior was a continuous growing, which at length waxed into a genuine soliloquy. But Hans Shund was never known to talk to himself, for talking to one's self indicates a kindly disposition, whilst Shund had no disposition whatever, as they maintain who knew him; or, if he had ever had one, it had smouldered into a hard, impenetrable crust of slag.
"Strange-remarkably strange!" said he. "Hem! what can it mean? How am I to account for it? Has the usurer undergone a transformation during the night?" And a hideous grin distorted his face. "Am I metamorphosed, am I enchanted, or am I myself an enchanter? Unaccountable, marvellous, unheard of!"
The papers had been locked up in the desk. A secret power urged him up and down the room, and finally into the adjoining sitting-room, where Mrs. Shund, a pale, careworn lady, sat near a sewing-stand, intent on her lonely occupation.
"Wife, queer things have befallen me. Only think, all the city notables have raised their hats to your humble servant, and have saluted me in a friendly, almost an obsequious manner. And this has happened to me to-day-to me, the hated and despised usurer! Isn't that quite amazing? Even the city regent, Schwefel's son, took off his hat, and bowed as if I were some live grandee. How do you explain that prodigy?"
The careworn woman kept on sewing without raising her head.
"Why don't you answer me, wife? Don't you find that most astonishing?"
"I am incapable of being astonished, since grief and care have so filled my heart that no room is left in it for feelings of any other kind."
"Well, well! what is up again?" asked he, with curiosity.
She drew a letter written in a female hand from one of the drawers of the sewing-stand.
"Read this, villain!"
Hastily snatching the letter, he began to read.
"Hem," growled he indifferently. "The drab complains of being neglected, of not getting any money from me. That should not be a cause of rage for you, I should think. The drab is brazen enough to write to you to reveal my weaknesses, all with the amicable intention of getting up a thundergust in our matrimonial heaven. Do learn sense, wife, and stop noticing my secret enjoyments."
"Fie, villain. Fie upon you, shameless wretch!" cried she, trembling in every limb.
"Listen to me, wife! Above all things, let us not have a scene, an unnecessary row," interrupted he. "You know how fruitless are your censures. Don't pester me with your stale lectures on morals."
"Nearly every month I get a letter of that sort written in the most disreputable purlieus of the town, and addressed to my husband. It is revolting! Am I to keep silent, shameless man-I your wedded wife? Am I to be silent in presence of such infamous deeds?"
"Rather too pathetic, wife! Save your breath. Don't grieve at the liberties which I take. Try and accustom yourself to pay as little attention to my conduct as I bestow upon yours. When years ago I entered the contract with you vulgarly denominated marriage, I did it with the understanding that I was uniting myself to a subject that was willing to share with me a life free from restraints; I mean, a life free from the odor of so-called hereditary moral considerations and of religious restrictions. Accustom yourself to this view of the matter, rise to my level, enjoy an emancipated existence."
He spoke and left the room. In his office he read the letter over.
"This creature is insatiable!" murmured he to himself. "I shall have to turn her off and enter into less expensive connections. I am talking with myself to-day-queer, very queer!"
A heavy knock was heard at the door.
"Come in!"
A man and woman scantily clad entered the room. The sight of the wretched couple brought a fierce passion into the usurer's countenance. He seemed suddenly transformed into a tiger, bloodthirstily crouching to seize his prey.
"What is the matter. Holt?"
"Mr. Shund," began the man in a dejected tone, "the officer of the law has served the writ upon us: it is to take effect in ten days."
"That is, unless you make payment," interrupted Shund.
"We are not able to pay just now, Mr. Shund, it is impossible. I wished therefore to entreat you very earnestly to have patience with us poor people."
The woman seconded her husband's petition by weeping bitterly, wringing her hands piteously. The usurer shook his head relentlessly.
"Patience, patience, you say. For eight years I have been using patience with you; my patience is exhausted now. There must be limits to everything. There is a limit to patience also. I insist upon your paying."
"Consider, Mr. Shund, I am the father of eight children. If you insist on payment now and permit the law to take its course, you will ruin a family of ten persons. Surely your conscience will not permit you to do this?"
"Conscience! What do you mean? Do not trouble me with your nonsense. For me, conscience means to have; for you, it means you must. Therefore, pay."
"Mr. Shund, you know it is yourself that have reduced us to this wretched condition!"
"You don't say I did! How so?"
"May I remind you, Mr. Shund, may I remind you of all the circumstances by which this was brought about? How it happened that from a man of means I have been brought to poverty?"
"Go on, dearest Holt-go on; it will be interesting to me!" The usurer settled himself comfortably to hear the summary of his successful villanies from the mouth of the unfortunate man with the same satisfaction with which a tiger regales itself on the tortures of its victim.
"Nine years ago, Mr. Shund, I was not in debt, as you know. I labored and supported my family honestly, without any extraordinary exertion. A field was for sale next to my field at the Rothenbush. You came at the time-it is now upwards of eight years, and said in a friendly way, 'Holt, my good man, buy that field. It lies next to yours, and you ought not to let the chance slip.' I wanted the field, but had no money. This I told you. You encouraged me, saying, 'Holt, my good man, I will let you have the money-on interest, of course; for I am a man doing business, and I make my living off my money. I will never push you for the amount. You may pay it whenever and in what way you wish. Suit yourself.' You gave me this encouragement at the time. You loaned me nine hundred and fifty florins-in the note, however, you wrote one thousand and fifty, and, besides, at five per cent. For three years I paid interest on one thousand and fifty, although you had loaned me only nine hundred and fifty. All of a sudden-I was just in trouble at the time, for one of my draught-cattle had been crippled, and the harvest had turned out poorly, you came and demanded your money. I had none. 'I am sorry,' said you, 'I need my money, and could put it out at much higher interest.' I begged and begged. You threatened to sue me. Finally, after much begging, you proposed that I should sell you the field, for which three years previous I had paid nine hundred and fifty florins, for seven hundred florins, alleging that land was no longer as valuable as it had been. You were willing to rent me the field at a high rate. And to enable me to get along, you offered to lend me another thousand, but drew up a note for eleven hundred florins at ten per cent., because, as you pretended, money was now bringing ten per cent. since the law regulating interest had been abrogated. For a long while I objected to the proposal, but found myself forced at last to yield because you threatened to attach my effects. From this time I began to go downhill, I could no longer meet expenses, my family was large, and I had to work for you to pay up the interest and rent. But for some time back I had been unable to do as I wished. I could not even sell any of my own property; for you were holding me fast, and I was obliged to mortgage everything to you for a merely nominal price. My cottage, my barn, my garden, and the field in front of my house-worth at least two thousand florins-I had to give you a mortgage upon for one thousand. The rest of my immovable property, fields and meadows, you took. Nothing was left to me but the little hut and what adjoined it. With respects, Mr. Shund, you had long since sucked the very marrow from my bones, next you put the rope about my neck, and now you are about to hang me."
"Hang you? Ha-ha! That's good, Holt! You are in fine humor," cried the usurer, after hearing with a relish the simple account of his atrocious deeds. "I have no hankering for your neck. Pay up, Holt, pay up, that is all I want. Pay me over the trifle of a thousand florins and the interest, and the house with everything pertaining to it shall be yours. But if you cannot pay up, it will have to be sold at auction, so that I may get my money."
"For heaven's sake, Mr. Shund, be merciful," entreated the wife. "We have saved up the interest with much trouble; every farthing of it you are to receive. For God's sake, do not drive us from our home, Mr. Shund, we will gladly toil for you day and night. Take pity, Mr. Shund, do take pity on my poor children!"
"Stop your whining. Pay up, money alone has any value in my estimation-pay, all the rest is fudge. Pay up!"
"God knows, Mr. Shund," sobbed the woman, wringing her hands, "I would give my heart's blood to keep my poor children out of misery-with my life I would be willing to pay you. Oh! do have some commiseration, do be merciful! Almighty God will requite you for it."
"Almighty God, nonsense! Don't mention such stuff to me. Stupid palaver like that might go down with some bigoted fool, but it will not affect a man of enlightenment. Pay up, and there's an end of it!"
"Is it your determination then, Mr. Shund, to cast us out mercilessly under the open sky?" inquired the countryman with deep earnestness.
"I only want what belongs to me. Pay over the thousand florins with the interest, and we shall be quits. That's my position, you may go."
In feeling words the woman once more appealed to Hans Shund. He remained indifferent to her pleading, and smiled scornfully whenever she adduced religious considerations to support her petition. Suddenly Holt took her by the arm and drew her towards the door.
"Say no more, wife, say no more, but come away. You could more easily soften stones than a man who has no conscience and does not believe in God."
"There you have spoken the truth," sneered Shund.
"You sneer, Mr. Shund," and the man's eyes glared. "Do you know to whom you owe it that your head is not broken?"
"What sort of language is that?"
"It is the language of a father driven to despair. I tell you" – and the countryman raised his clenched fists-"it is to the good God that you are indebted for your life; for, if I believed as little in an almighty and just God as you, with this pair of strong hands I would wring your neck. Yes, stare at me! With these hands I would strangle Shund, who has brought want upon my children and misery upon me. Come away, wife, come away. He is resolved to reduce us to beggary as he has done to so many others. Do your worst, Mr. Shund, but there above we shall have a reckoning with each other."
He dragged his wife out of the room, and went away without saluting, but casting a terrible scowl back upon Hans Shund.
For a long while the usurer sat thoughtfully, impressed by the ominous scowl and threat, which were not empty ones, for rage and despair swept like a rack over the man's countenance. Mr. Shund felt distinctly that but for the God of Christians he would have been murdered by the infuriated man. He discovered, moreover, that religious belief is to be recommended as a safeguard against the fury of the mob. On the other hand, he found this belief repugnant to a usurer's conscience and a hindrance to the free enjoyment of life. Hans Shund thus sat making reflections on religion, and endeavoring to drown the echo which Holt's summons before the supreme tribunal had awakened in a secret recess of his soul, when hasty steps resounded from the front yard and the door was suddenly burst open. Hans' agent rushed in breathless, sank upon the nearest chair, and, opening his mouth widely, gasped for breath.
"What is the matter, Braun?" inquired Shund in surprise. "What has happened?"
