The Lost Manuscript: A Novel

Raschke passed his hands over his eyes, drew on his coat, and put the letter to Struvelius in his pocket. In doing so he found another letter, took it out, and read the address. "A letter from my wife to you," he said; "How did it come into my pocket!"

Werner opened it; again a slight smile passed over his face. "Mrs. Aurelia begs me to take care of you. The charge comes at the right moment. I will accompany you to your place of departure; we will not forget the cap or cloak."

The Professor conducted his friend to the conveyance; they spoke together, up to the last moment, of the lectures which both wished to give in the approaching term. "Remember my letter to Struvelius," were Werner's last words, when his friend was seated in the carriage.

"I shall think of it whenever I think of you," said Raschke, stretching out his hand from the carriage.

The Professor went to the castle for a last conversation with the man who had called him to his capital. The household received him with embarrassed looks. "The Sovereign is just starting on a journey, and will not return for some days; we do not know where he is going," said the Intendant, with concern. The Professor, nevertheless, desired him to announce him to the Sovereign, his request was urgent; the servant brought as an answer that his master could not be spoken to before his return; the Professor might impart his wishes to one of the aides-de-camp.

Werner hastened to the adjacent house of the Lord High Steward. He was taken into the library, and gave a fleeting glance at the faded carpet, the old hangings, which were covered with engravings in dark frames, and on the large bookshelves, with glass doors, lined within, as if the possessor wished to conceal what he read from the eyes of strangers. The High Steward entered hastily.

"I seek for an interview with the Sovereign before his departure," began the Professor, "I beg of your Excellence to procure me this audience."

"Pardon my asking you your object," said the High Steward. "Do you wish again to speak to a sufferer concerning his disease?"

"The diseased man administers a high office, and has the power and rights of a healthy one; he is answerable to his fellow-men for his deeds. I consider it a duty not to go from here without informing him that he is no longer in a condition to perform the duties of his position."

The Lord High Steward looked with astonishment at the Scholar.

"Do you insist on this interview?"

"What I have learned since my return here from the country compels me to do so; I must seek this interview by every possible means in my power, whatever may be the consequences."

"Even the consequences to yourself?"

"Even these. After all that has passed, the Sovereign cannot refuse to hear me speak before I go."

"What he ought not to do he will yet try to do."

"He will do it at his peril," replied the Professor.

The High Steward placed himself in front of the Professor, and said, impressively:

"The Sovereign is going to Rossau to-day. The plan is secret. I accidentally learnt the orders, which were given at the princely stables."

The Scholar started.

"I thank your Excellence from my heart for this communication," he exclaimed, with forced composure. "I will endeavor to send a speedy warning beforehand. I shall not start, myself, till your Excellence has seconded my efforts to speak to the Sovereign before his journey."

"If you seek an audience through me," said the High Steward, after some consideration, "I will, as an officer of the Court, and from personal esteem for you, immediately convey your wish to the Sovereign. But I will not conceal from you, Professor, that I consider a criticism from you upon past events as very risky in every point of view."

"But I am thoroughly impressed with the conviction that the criticism must be made," exclaimed the Professor.

"To the Sovereign alone, or before others?" asked the High Steward.

"If the ears and mind of the Sovereign remain closed, then before the world. I shall thus fulfil an imperative duty to all who might suffer from the dark fancies of this disordered mind; a duty from which I, as an honest man, cannot escape. If calm remonstrance will not move him, I shall publicly arraign him before the rulers and people of our nation. For it is not to be borne that the conditions of ancient Rome should again rise to life among our people."

"That is decisive," replied the High Steward.

He went to his bureau, took out a document, and presented it to the Scholar.

"Read this. Will you renounce a personal interview with the Sovereign if this paper is signed by his hand?"

The Professor read, and bowed to the High Steward.

"As soon as he ceases to be what he has been, I shall consider him merely as an afflicted man; in this case my interview with him would be useless. Meanwhile I repeat my request to procure an audience before the Sovereign's departure."

The High Steward took back the document.

"I will endeavor to act as your representative. But do not forget that the Sovereign travels to Rossau in another hour. If we ever see each other again, Mr. Werner," concluded the old lord, solemnly, "may both our hearts be free from anxiety about that which sometimes one esteems lightly, as you do at this moment, but which one does not willingly allow one's self to be robbed of by the intervention of another."

The Professor hastened to the inn and called for his servant.

"Show me your fidelity to-day, Gabriel: none but a messenger on horseback can arrive at Bielstein in time. Do your best, take courier's horses, and put a letter into the hands of my wife before the Court carriages arrive there."

"At your command, Professor," said Gabriel, with a military salute, "it is a hard ride even for a hussar; if I am not detained in changing horses, I trust to be able to deliver the letter in due time."

The Professor wrote in haste, and despatched Gabriel; then he returned to the dwelling of the High Steward.

The Sovereign was lying wearily on his sofa, his cheeks pale and his eyes dim-a thoroughly sick man.

"I had formerly other thoughts, and could, when I had touched the keys, play more than one melody; now everything changes itself into a discordant measure: she has gone, she is in the neighborhood of the boy, she laughs at her foolish wooer. I see nothing before me but the track on the high road that leads to her. A strange power eternally strikes the same notes within me, a dark shadow stands near me and points with its finger incessantly to the same path; I cannot control myself, I hear the words, I see the road, I feel the dark hand over my head."

The servant announced the High Steward.

"I will not see him," said the Sovereign, imperiously. "Tell his Excellence that I am on the point of departing for the country."

"His Excellence begs admittance, it is a question of an urgent signature."

"The old fool," murmured the Sovereign, "usher him in."

"I am unfortunately much pressed for time, your Excellence," he called out to him, as he entered.

"I do not wish to make a long demand upon the time of my most Serene Lord," began the courtier. "Prof. Werner begs that your Highness will consent to receive him before his departure."

"What is the cause of this importunity?" exclaimed the Sovereign; "he has already been here, and I have refused him."

"I must be permitted to make the respectful remark that after all that has passed, the honor of a personal interview cannot well be refused him. Your Highness would be the last to approve of so marked a violation of seemly considerations."

The Sovereign looked vindictively at the High Steward.

"All the same, I will not see him."

"Besides these considerations, it is not advisable to refuse this interview," continued the old lord, with emphasis.

"Of that I am the best judge," replied the Sovereign, carelessly.

"This person has become privy to certain things, the exposure of which, for the sake of the princely dignity, must be avoided, even at a heavy sacrifice, for he is not bound to keep the secret."

"No one will listen to an individual, and a dreamer at that."

"What he will divulge will not only be believed, but will excite a storm against your Highness."

"Gossip from bookworms will not hurt me."

"This person is a highly-respected man of character, and will use his observations to demand of the whole civilized world that the possibility of similar occurrences at this Court should be made impossible."

"Let him do what he dare," cried the Sovereign, with an outbreak of fury, "we shall know how to protect ourselves."

"The exposure may yet be guarded against; but there is only one last and radical remedy."

"Speak out, your Excellence; I have always respected your judgment."

"What inflames the Professor," continued the courtier, cautiously, "will become generally known; at all events it will produce a great sensation and dangerous scandal; nothing further. It was a personal observation only that he was compelled to make at the foot of the tower; it was a conjecture only which he gave vent to beneath the same tower. According to his assertion, two attempts have been made, and yet neither has been followed by evil consequences. To be able to provoke the public judgment of the civilized world on such grounds is doubtful. However upright the narrator may be, he may himself have been deceived. Your Highness remarks rightly that the irritation of a single scholar would occasion disagreeable gossip, nothing further."

"Most admirable, your Excellence," interrupted the Sovereign.

"Unfortunately there is one important circumstance that I have not yet added. With respect to that personal observation at the foot of the tower, the Scholar has a witness, and I am that witness. When he calls upon me for my testimony and speaks of my personal observation, I must declare that he is right, for I am not accustomed to consider half-truth as truth."

The Sovereign started.

"It was I who restrained the hand," remarked the courtier; "and because that simple scholar is in the right, and because I must confirm his views concerning the state of my gracious master's health, I tell you there is only one last and radical remedy." The High Steward took the document out of the portfolio. "My remedy is, that your Highness should, by a great resolve, anticipate the storm, and high-mindedly consent to make this declaration the expression of your will."

The Sovereign cast a look on the paper, and flung it away from him:

"Are you mad, old man?"

"Insanity has not yet been discovered in me," replied the High Steward, sorrowfully. "If my gracious master would but weigh the circumstances with his usual acuteness! It has unfortunately become impossible for your Highness to carry on the duties of your high calling in the way you have hitherto done. Even if your Highness considered it possible, your faithful servants are in the painful position of not partaking of this opinion."

"These faithful servants are my High Steward?"

"I am one of them. If your Highness will not consent to give your princely approbation to this project, consideration for that which is dearer to me than your Highness's favor will forbid my remaining in your service."

"I repeat the question, have you become insane. Lord High Steward?"

"Only deeply moved; I did not think that I would ever have to choose between my honor and my service to your Highness."

He took out another document from the portfolio.

"Your resignation," exclaimed the Sovereign, reading. "You should have added to it, 'with permission.'" The Sovereign seized the pen. "Here, Baron von Ottenburg, you are released from your office."

"It is no joyful thanks that I express to your Highness for it. But now it is done, I, Hans von Ottenburg, express to you my respectful request that your Highness would still, at this hour, be pleased to sign the other document. For in case your Highness should hesitate to fulfil the earnest entreaties of a former servant, this same request, from now on, will be forced upon your Highness's ear in many ways, and by persons who would not use so much consideration for your Highness as I have hitherto done. Till now there has been one who has begged of you, a professor, – now there are two, he and I, – in another hour the number will become burdensome to your Highness."

"A former High Steward, a rebel!"

"Only a petitioner. It is your Highness's right, of your own free will, to make the high decision to which I endeavor to influence you. But I beg you once more to consider that it can no longer be avoided. Your Highness's Court will, in the next hour, be brought front to front with the same alternative as myself; for my regard for the honor of these gentlemen and ladies will compel me, on the same grounds which have led to my decision, not to be silent with respect to them. Without doubt, the gentlemen of the Court will, like me, approach your Highness with earnest entreaties, and, like me, will resign in case their entreaties are unsuccessful, and without doubt your Highness will have to find new attendants. Respect for the honor and the office of those who rule under you will oblige me to make the same communication to your Highness's ministers. True, these also might be replaced by less important servants of the State. But further, from loyalty and devotion to your Highness's house, from anxiety about the life and welfare of the Hereditary Prince and his illustrious sister, as well as from attachment to this country in which I have grown gray, I see myself obliged to appeal to every Government connected with ours for an energetic enforcement of this my request. As long as I was a servant of the Court, my oath and allegiance compelled me to silence and careful regard for your Highness's personal interests. I am now relieved from this obligation, and I shall from henceforth advocate the interests of our people in opposition to those of your Highness. Your Highness may yourself judge what that would lead to; this signature may be put off, but can no longer be avoided. Every delay makes the situation worse; the signing will no longer appear as the voluntary act of a high-minded decision, but as a necessity forced upon you. Finally, let your Highness bear in mind that the Professor has made in the Tower Castle another important observation, – another with respect to the conduct of a certain Magister; it is my destiny to know much which does not belong to the secrets of my department."

The Sovereign lay on his sofa, with his head turned away. He folded his hands before his face. A long oppressive silence intervened.

"You have been my personal enemy from the first day of my reign," suddenly put in the Sovereign.

"I have been the faithful servant of my gracious master; personal friendship has never been my portion, and I have never simulated it."

"You have always intrigued against me."

"Your Highness well knows that I have served you as a man of honor," replied the Baron, proudly. "Now, also, when once more I beg of you to sign this document, I do not stand upon the right which many years of confidence give me with your Highness; I do not advance as an excuse for this repeated importunity the interest that I have been entitled to take in the dignity and welfare of this princely house; I have another ground for relieving your Highness from the humiliation of a public discussion of your Highness's state of mind. I am a loyal and monarchically-minded man. He who has respect for the high office of a prince is under the urgent necessity of guarding this office from being lowered in the eyes of the nation. This he must do, not by concealing what is insupportable, but by extirpating it. Therefore, since that scene in the tower, there has been this struggle between me and your Highness, that I, in order to maintain your Highness's exalted office, must sacrifice your Highness's person. I am determined to do so, and there consequently only remains to your Highness the choice of doing that which is inevitable, of your own free will, and honorably in the eyes of the world, or dishonorably and at the instance of importunate strangers. The words are spoken; I beg for a speedy decision."

The old lord stood close before the ruler. He looked firmly and coldly into the restless eyes of his former master, and pointed with his finger fixedly to the parchment. It was the keeper conquering the patient.

"Not now-not here," exclaimed the Sovereign, beside himself. "In the presence of the Hereditary Prince I will take counsel and come to a decision."

"The presence and signature of your ministers are necessary for the document, not the presence of the Hereditary Prince. But as your Highness prefers signing in the presence of the Prince, I will do my self the honor of following your Highness to Rossau, and beg one of the ministers to accompany me for this object."

The Sovereign looked reflectively down.

"I am still a ruler," he exclaimed, springing up; and seizing the signed resignation of the High Steward, he tore it up. "High Steward von Ottenburg, you will accompany me in my carriage to Rossau."

"Then the minister will follow your Highness in my carriage," said the old lord, calmly. "I hasten to inform him."

CHAPTER XL.

ON THE ROAD TO THE ROCK

Towards the quiet country town which pious colonists had once built about the monastery walls of praying monks, and towards the rock on which the heathen maiden had once whispered oracles to her race, were now hastening along different roads horses and wheels, together with living men who were seeking the decision of their fate; here joyful, rising hopes-there downward, declining powers; here the pure dream of enthusiastic youth-there the destructive dream of a gloomy spirit. In the valley and over the rock hovered the spirits of the country; they prepared themselves to receive the flying strangers with the hospitality of home.

The early dawn sent its pale glimmer into Laura's study; she stood by her writing-table, and cast a lingering look on the familiar book in which, with rapid hand, she had written the concluding words. She fastened the book and the Doctor's poems together, and concealed them under the cover of her trunk. She cast another look on the sanctuary of her maiden life, and then flew down the stairs into the arms of her anxious mother. It was a wonderful elopement-a quiet Sunday morning, a mysterious light, gloomy rainclouds, contrasting strongly with the deep red glow of morning. Laura lay long in the arms of her weeping mother, till Susan urged her departure; then she passed into the street, where the Doctor awaited her, and hastened with him into the carriage; for the carriage was ordered to wait in a deserted place around the corner, and not before the house; upon this Laura had insisted. It was a wonderful elopement-a modest, sedate traveling-companion, the object of the journey the house of a loved friend, and, lastly, a large leather bag containing cold meat and other victuals, which Mrs. Hahn herself carried to the carriage, in order that she might once more kiss her son and Laura, and bless them amid tears.

Spitehahn had for several days found it difficult to bear his lonely existence; since the departure of the learned lodgers he had been much disturbed, but when the master of the house also disappeared, there was no one to recognize him. This morning he cast cold glances on Laura as she hovered round her sorrowing mother, and looked askance at Susan when she carried the great traveling-trunk to the carriage; then he sneaked out into the street in order to give expression to his hatred of the neighboring house. But when Mrs. Hahn hastened to the carriage with the leather bag, he saw that something was wrong and he crept after his neighbor from across the way; and whilst she mounted on the step of the carriage to warn her Fritz of the sharp morning air, and to kiss Laura once more, he sprang upon the footboard and ensconced himself under the leather apron of the coachbox, determined to abide his time. The coachman seated himself, and supposing the dog belonged to the travelers, cracked his whip and started off. Another look and call to the mother, and the adventurous journey began.

Laura's soul trembled under the pressure of passionate feelings, which were called forth by this long-desired but dreaded hour. The houses of the city disappeared, and the poplars on the high road seemed to dance past. She looked anxiously at her Fritz, and placed the tips of her fingers in his hand. He smiled, and pressed the little hand warmly.

His cheerfulness was a support to her. She looked tenderly into his true face.

"The morning is cool," he began, "allow me to fasten your cloak."

"I am very comfortable," replied Laura, again putting her trembling hand within his.

Thus they sat silently together, the sun peeped modestly from behind his red curtains and smiled on Laura, so that she was obliged to close her eyes. Her whole childhood passed before her in fleeting pictures; and finally, she heard the significant words of her friends at her last visit. Her godmother had said to her. Return soon again, child; and Laura now felt with emotion that this return was at an immeasurable distance. Her other godmother had kindly asked, When shall we see each other again? and a touching echo sounded in Laura's heart, Who knows when? All Nature was stirring in the fresh morning: a flock of pigeons flew across the field, a hare ran along the road as if racing, a splendid cluster of blue flowers grew on the border of the ditch, and red roofs shone from among the fruit trees. Everything on earth looked green and hopeful, blooming and waving in the morning breeze. The country people who were going to the city met them, a peasant sitting on his waggon smoking his pipe nodded a good morning to Laura, who held out her hand as if she wished to send a greeting to the whole world. The milkwoman in her little cart, who was going to sell her milk, also greeted her, saying, "Good morning. Miss Laura." Laura drew back, and, looking alarmed at Fritz, said:

"She has recognized us."

"Without doubt," replied the Doctor, gaily.

"She is a gossip, Fritz; she cannot hold her tongue, and will tell all the servant-girls in our street that we are driving together along this road. This distresses me, Fritz."

"We are taking a drive," replied the Doctor, triumphantly; "going to pay a visit to some one; we are going to act as sponsors together in the country. Do not mind these trifles."

"It began by our being sponsors together, Fritz," answered Laura, tranquilized. "It has all been owing to the cat's paws."

"I do not know," replied Fritz, slyly, "whether this misfortune did not originate earlier. When you were quite a little girl I kissed you once."

"I do not remember that," said Laura.

"It was for a basket of colored beans that I brought you from our garden. I demanded the kiss, and you consented to give the price, but immediately after wiped your mouth with your hand. From that time I have liked you better than all others."

"Do not let us talk of these things," said Laura, troubled; "my recollections of old times are not all so harmless."

"I have always been kept at a distance," exclaimed Fritz, "even to-day. It is a shame. It must not go on so; I must have some serious talk about it. Travelling together as we are, it is not fitting that we should use the stiff you in talking to one another."

Laura looked reproachfully at him. "Not to-day," she said, softly.

"It is of no use now," replied Fritz, boldly. "I will no longer be treated as a stranger. I once heard the honest thou from you, but never since. It pains me."

Laura regretted that. "But only when we are quite alone," she entreated.

"I propose it for all time," continued Fritz, undisturbed, "otherwise there will be continually mistakes and confusion."

He offered her his hand, which she shook gently, and before she could stop him she felt a kiss on her lips.

Laura looked at him tenderly, but then immediately drew back and ensconced herself in a corner of the carriage. Fritz was quite different to-day from usual; he looked confident and bold. In the house he had always been modest, while Laura had more than once thought of this relation, and had written in her book: "When two human beings are united in soul they ought to let each other know it." Now he used little ceremony. He looked boldly out of the carriage, and when they met travelers did not retreat as she had done after meeting the milkwoman, but looked as if challenging notice, and greeting people first.