Chapter XVI The Professors’ Ball
The Professors’ ball took place during these academical disturbances. It was the only festival of the year which gave to all the families of the University the opportunity of meeting in gay society. The students and town-acquaintances were also invited. The ball was an important event in the city and invitations were in great demand.
An academical ball is something quite different from other balls; for besides all the merits of a distinguished meeting, it had the three excellences of German scholarship—industry, freedom, and indifference: industry in dancing, even in the case of the gentlemen, freedom in agreeable intercourse between young and old, and indifference to uniforms and patent leather pumps. Of course, the young people even here bore a cosmopolitan character, for the same modes of dancing, dresses, nosegays, and courtesies, glancing eyes and blushing cheeks, can be found at a thousand similar festivals from the Neva to California; but any one who was more observant might perceive in the faces of many of the girls the intellectual eyes and eloquent lips that descended to them from their learned fathers, and perhaps certain little academical peculiarities in curls and ribbons. The old saying which came from a past generation of students, that professors’ daughters are either pretty or homely, commended itself here also to the notice of observers, the ordinary mixture of both qualities being rare. Besides a few officers and the flower of the city youth, there might be seen among the dancers here and there a young scholar, thin and pale, with smooth lank hair, more fitted to bend thoughtfully over books than to float about in the giddy dance. But what gave its value to this festival was, not the young people, but the middle aged gentlemen and ladies. Among the elderly gentlemen with grey hair and joyful countenances who stood together in groups or sauntered pleasantly among the ladies, were many important faces, with delicate features, brisk, animated, and cheerful demeanor. Among the ladies there were not a few who, the rest of the year, moved noiselessly about the studies of their husbands and the nursery, and who now saw themselves displayed in unwonted gala-dress under the bright glare of lights, and were as shy and bashful as they had been long ago in their maiden days.
There was upon this occasion, at the beginning of the festive meeting, an evident excitement in certain individual groups. Werner’s tea-party had taken for granted that Struvelius would not come. But he was there. He stood wrapt in thought, with his usual absent look, not far from the entrance, and Ilse and her husband had to pass him. When Ilse walked through the ball-room on the Professor’s arm, she saw that the eyes of many were directed curiously toward her, and a heightened color rose in her cheeks. The Professor led her up to the wife of his colleague Gunther, who had agreed to remain with her that evening, and Ilse was glad when she found herself established on one of the raised seats next to the vivacious woman; and at first she only ventured to look shyly about. But the splendor of the hall, the many fine people who moved about in it, and then the first sounds of the overture, raised her spirits. She now ventured to look more about her and search out her acquaintances and, above all, her dear husband. She saw him standing not far from the door of the room, in the midst of his friends and fellow-professors, towering head and shoulders above them. She saw not far from the other door his opponent, Struvelius, standing with his little retinue, chiefly of students. Thus stood these men, in every way divided, honorably restraining the angry feelings of their bosoms. Many of her husband’s acquaintances came up to Ilse; amongst others the Doctor, who teased her because she had been so afraid that they would not find each other in the confusion of strange people. The Mineralogist also came and declared his intention of asking her to dance. But Ilse, earnestly entreating him, said:
“I beg of you not to do it. I am not perfect in these new city dances, and you would not get on well with me; I had rather not dance. Besides, it is not necessary, for I am in a very gay mood and it amuses me to look at all the fine people.”
Soon various strangers approached and were introduced to her, and she acquired greater ease in refusing to dance.
The Historian then brought his daughter up to her and the worthy gentleman at last placed himself near Ilse and talked to her for a long time; she felt with pleasure that this was a great distinction. Afterward she ventured to move some steps from her place in order to ask the wife of Professor Raschke to sit by her. Thus, before long, a charming little circle of acquaintances collected about her. Pretty Mrs. Gunther joked pleasantly and gave her information about the strange ladies and gentlemen. The wife of the Rector also came up and said she must sit near her, as she observed that all were so merry about her. And the Rector’s wife darted glances here and there which attracted one gentleman after another to the group; and all who wished to show their respect for the wife of the University president paid their compliments also to the wife of the colleague. There was a coming and going all around her like a fair, and Ilse and the Rector’s wife sat there like two twin stars, the brilliancy of one increasing that of the other. All went well and charmingly. Ilse was delighted beyond measure, and there certainly was more shaking of hands in her vicinity than comports with the etiquette of a ball. When Felix approached her once and looked inquiringly at her, she pressed the tips of his fingers gently and gave him such a happy smile that he needed no further answer.
During a pause Ilse looked along the sides of the room and perceived the wife of Professor Struvelius on the opposite side. She wore a very dark dress and her Sappho lock hung seriously and sadly from her fine head. The wife of her husband’s enemy looked pale and her eyes were quietly cast down. There was something in the beauty of the lady that moved Ilse’s heart and she felt as if she must go over to her. She revolved in her mind whether Felix would think it right and was afraid of meeting with a cold rejection; but at last she took heart and walked right across the room up to the learned lady.
She had no idea of the effect produced by this step. Ilse had attracted much more attention and had been much more sharply watched than she knew, and those present were more occupied with the quarrel between the two professors than she imagined. As she now went with firm step up to the other lady and stretched out her hand, even before she reached her, there was a remarkable stillness in the room and many eyes were directed to both ladies. The wife of Struvelius rose stiffly, descended one step from her seat, and looked so freezing that Ilse became nervous and could scarcely frame her lips even into the every-day inquiry after her health.
“I thank you,” replied the lady. “I do not enjoy noisy gatherings. It is perhaps because I am entirely deficient in all the necessary qualifications, for people are only in the right place when they have an opportunity of making their talents in some way available.”
“As to my talents, they will go for nothing,” said Ilse, shyly; “but everything is new to me here, and therefore it entertains me much to look on, and I would like to see everything.”
“It is quite a different thing with you,” replied the other, coldly.
Fortunately this embarrassed conversation was soon interrupted, for the wife of the Consistorial Councilor popped into the group like a curious magpie in order to mediate philanthropically or to take part in this startling scene. She broke into the conversation and talked for a short time on indifferent subjects.
Ilse returned to her place much chilled and a little discontented with herself. She had no reason for it. Little Mrs. Gunther said to her gently:
“That was right, and I am much pleased with you.”
Professor Raschke darted up to her and did not allude to it, but he called her constantly his dear colleague’s wife. He asked her anxiously whether he could not bring her something good—tea or lemonade. He admiringly took the finely carved fan that Laura had pressed upon her from her hand and placed it in the breast-pocket of his coat for safe keeping. Then he began to amuse her by telling her how, as a student, to please his wife, he had taught himself to dance in his own little room, and in the eagerness of the narration, he began to show Ilse the way in which he had privately learnt his first steps. As he was swinging round, the swan’s down of the fan projected like a great feather out of his pocket, and a new dance beginning the Professor was carried off through the whirling couples with Laura’s fan.
It was only a few steps that Ilse had taken through the hall; but this little expression of independent will had gained her the good opinion of the University; for, if there had been some remarks upon her country manners, now, on the other hand, men and women agreed in acknowledging that she had heart and character.
According to old custom, the ball was here interrupted by a general repast. Worthy professors had already wandered beforehand into the neighboring room, peering at the laying of the table, and had carefully placed their card in the places they reserved and arranged with the waiters about the wine. At last the whole company gathered about the table. When Ilse went on her husband’s arm to her place, she asked, in a low tone:
“Was it right in me to go over there?”
And he replied, gravely:
“It was not wrong.”
With this she was for the present obliged to be content.
During the supper the Rector proposed the first toast—“Our Academical Society”—and the assembled gentlemen thought his slight allusion to friendly concord among the colleagues touched in an indelicate way on the burning question of the day. But this effect passed away immediately in other toasts, and Ilse remarked that the supper speeches here were carried on very differently to those in the Rollmaus family. One colleague after another clinked the glass; and how elegantly and intellectually they knew how to portray things with their hands behind their backs and looking coolly around, and alluding, in fine sentences, to the guests, the ladies and the rest of mankind. When the corks of the champagne popped, the eloquence became overpowering, and two professors even clinked their glasses at the same time. Then the Professor of History arose; all became still. He greeted the new members of the University—women as well as men—and Ilse saw that this applied to herself and looked down on her plate. But she grew alarmed when she found that he became more personal, and at last her own name as well as that of the wife of the Mineralogist, who was sitting by Felix, sounded through the room. The glasses resounded, a flourish of trumpets was blown, many colleagues and some of the ladies arose and proceeded with their glasses toward them. A little procession took place behind the chairs, and Ilse and the Mineralogist’s wife had to clink their glasses incessantly, to bow and return thanks. When Ilse rose blushingly for this purpose, her eyes glanced involuntarily to the next table, where the wife of Struvelius was sitting opposite, and she observed that the latter half moved her hand toward her glass, then quickly drew it back, and looked gloomily down.
The company rose, and now the hilarity began in good earnest, for the Professors became lively, and called to mind their old agility. There was a changed aspect in the room, for soon even respectable, middle-aged gentlemen waltzed with their own wives. Oh! it was a cheering and touching spectacle to Ilse. Many an old dress-coat and clumsy boot moved to the measure; and many of the gentlemen danced with various slidings of the feet, and bold movements of the knees, determined to recall the style of their youthful days, and with the feeling that they still understood the art. Some of the ladies clung shyly to the arms of the dancers, some were ungraceful in their movements, others showed how well they were able to govern at home,—for, when their husbands were not sufficiently practiced in the art, they knew how to carry them round the circle with vigorous swings. The Rector danced very neatly with his chubby wife, and Raschke danced with his wife, and looked triumphantly toward Ilse. The noisy merriment increased; all Ilse’s neighbors were carried away by the excitement, and commenced waltzing. And Ilse stood looking on not far from a pillar. Somebody came behind and touched her; there was a rustling of a silk dress, and the wife of Struvelius approached her.
Ilse looked startled at the large grey eyes of her opponent, who began slowly:
“I take you to be a noble-minded woman, quite incapable of any mean feeling, and this is why I have now come to speak to you.”
Ilse bowed slightly, in order to express her thanks for the unexpected declaration.
“I go about,” continued Mrs. Struvelius, in her measured way, “as if a curse were on me. What I have suffered the last few weeks is unutterable; this evening I feel like an outcast in this joyous gathering.” Her hand trembled, but she continued in a monotonous tone: “My husband is innocent, and is convinced that he is right in the main. It is fitting for me, as his wife, to share his views and his fate; but I see him inwardly disturbed by an unfortunate entanglement, and I perceive with dismay that he may lose the good opinion of his most intimate friends, if he should not succeed in dispelling the suspicions which gather about his head. Help me!” she cried, with a sudden outburst, wringing her hands, while two big tears rolled down her cheeks.
“How can I do that?” asked Ilse.
“There is a secret in the affair,” continued Mrs. Struvelius: “my husband was incautious enough to promise unconditional silence, and his word is sacred to him; he is a child in matters of business, and is quite at a loss what to do in the matter. What may be necessary to justify him must be sought without his knowledge or co-operation. I beg of you not to refuse your assistance.”
“I can do nothing that my husband would disapprove of, and I have never kept a secret from him,” replied Ilse, seriously.
“I desire nothing that the strictest judgment could condemn,” continued the other. “Your husband will be the first to know whatever I may be able to ascertain, and therefore I apply to you. Ah! not only on that account; I know no one whom I can trust. What I now tell you I have not learnt from my husband: he received the unfortunate parchment from Magister Knips, and he returned it to him.”
“Is that the little Magister in our street?” inquired Ilse.
“The same. I must persuade him to produce the parchment again, or to tell me where it is to be found. But this is not the place to discuss this matter,” she exclaimed, as the music ceased. “Situated as our husbands now are, I cannot visit you; it would be too painful for me, should I meet your husband, to feel his altered demeanor; but I wish for your advice, and beg of you to allow me to meet you at some other place.”
“If Magister Knips is concerned in the matter,” replied Ilse, with hesitation, “I would propose to you to come to the room of our landlord’s daughter, Laura Hummel. We shall be undisturbed in her room, and she knows more of the Magister and his family than we do. But I fear we poor women can hardly accomplish much alone.”
“I am determined to risk everything, in order to free my husband from the unworthy suspicion which threatens to be cast upon him. Prove yourself to be what you appear to me, and I will thank you on my knees.”
She moved her hand convulsively, and then looked about her with an air of indifference.
“We shall meet to morrow,” replied Ilse; “so far, at least, I can agree to your wishes.”
They then settled the hour.
Thus the ladies separated. From behind the pillar Mrs. Struvelius once more gazed imploringly at Ilse with her large eyes; then both were lost in the throng of the departing ball-guests.
After her return home, Ilse long continued to hear in her dreams the music of the dance, and saw strange men and women come to her bedside, and she laughed and wondered at the queer people who chose to visit her now as she was lying in bed without her beautiful dress and fan. But in the midst of these pleasant musings she felt a secret anxiety as to what her Felix would say of all these visitors; and when she gently sighed over this anxiety, the dream floated back towards the ivory portals from whence it had come. She sank into a sound sleep.
The following morning Ilse went up to Laura and confided to her the events of the previous evening, and the request of Mrs. Struvelius. The secret meeting with the Professor’s wife quite pleased Laura. She had for some time past more than once heard about the mysterious parchment at the tea-table. She thought the determination of Mrs. Struvelius very courageous, and spoke with contempt of anything that Magister Knips could contrive.
Just as the clock struck, Mrs. Struvelius entered. She looked much oppressed, and one could perceive anxious excitement even through her immovable features.
Ilse shortened the unavoidable introductory compliments and excuses by beginning:
“I have told Miss Laura of your desire to obtain the parchment, and she is ready to send over directly for Magister Knips.”
“That is far more than I had ventured to hope,” said Mrs. Struvelius. “I had intended with your kind assistance to look him up myself.”
“He shall come here,” said Laura, decidedly, “and he shall answer for himself. I have always found him unendurable, although I have frequently bought pretty pictures of him. His humility is such as does not become a man, and I consider him a sneak at heart.”
The cook Susan was called, and despatched by Laura as a herald to the fortress of Knips.
“You are, under no consideration, to tell him that any one is with me; and when he comes, bring him up directly.”
Susan returned with a sly look, and brought the Magister’s compliments: “he desired her to say he would have the honor of waiting upon her immediately. He seemed astonished, but pleased.”
“He shall be astonished,” exclaimed Laura.
The allied ladies sat down around the sofa-table, feeling the importance of the task which was before them.
“When I am talking with him,” began Mrs. Struvelius, solemnly, “have the kindness to attend accurately to his answers, that you may in case of necessity repeat them, and thus be my supporters and witnesses.”
“I can write quickly,” exclaimed Laura, “I will write down what he answers, then he cannot deny it.”
“That would be too much like a trial,” interposed Ilse, “and will only make him suspicious.”
The furious bark of a dog was heard outside.
“He is coming,” said Mrs. Struvelius, drawing herself up with dignity.
A loud step was heard on the stairs, Susan opened the door, and Magister Knips entered. He did not look dangerous. He was a short, crooked man; it was doubtful whether he was young or old. He had a pale face, prominent cheek bones, on which were two red spots, screwed up eyes such as short-sighted people generally have, and red from much night-work by dull lamps. He stood there, in a threadbare coat, with his head bent on one side, a humble servant, perhaps a victim of learning. When he saw the three ladies sitting, all stern and solemn, where his heart had only hoped to find one, and among them the wives of important men, he stopped confounded at the door; he composed himself, however, and made three low bows, probably one to each lady, but refrained from speaking.
“Sit down, Magister,” began Laura, condescendingly, pointing to an empty chair opposite the sofa.
The Magister approached hesitatingly, pushed the chair further out of reach of the three goddesses of fate, and with another bow seated himself on the corner of the chair.
“It must be known to you, Magister,” began Mrs. Struvelius, “that the last publication of my husband has occasioned discussions which have been painful to all engaged in them, and I assume also to you.”
Knips made a piteous face, and dropped his head entirely on one shoulder.
“I now appeal to the interest which you take in the studies of my husband, and I appeal to your heart, when I beseech you to give me frankly and straightforwardly the information which must be desirable to us all.”
She stopped. Knips, with bent head, looked askance at her, and also remained silent.
“I beg for an answer,” said Mrs. Struvelius, emphatically.
“With all my heart,” began Knips at last, in a piping voice. “But I do not know what I have to answer to.”
“My husband received from you the parchment which was the subject of his last treatise.”
“Did the Professor tell you that?” asked Knips, still more piteously.
“No,” answered Mrs. Struvelius; “but I heard you come, and I also heard that he promised to be silent about something, and when I entered his room later I saw the parchment lying on his table, and when I enquired about it, he said, ‘That is a secret.’”
The Magister looked round about uneasily, and at last cast his eyes down on his knees, where his trousers were unusually threadbare and smooth from wear.
“If the Professor himself considers that the affair is a secret, it is not for me to speak of it, even if I did know anything about it.”
“Then you refuse to give us the information?”
“Ah, my dear lady, there is no one to whom I would rather make a communication than to the excellent ladies whom I have the honor of seeing here, but I am much too insignificant to be able to serve you in this.”
“And have you taken into consideration the embarrassing consequences of your refusal, for my husband, for the whole University, and—what you, an advocate of truth, must consider more important than all—for science?”
Knips acknowledged himself to be the advocate of truth.
Laura remarked that the examination was wandering into by-paths on which the parchment was not to be found; she jumped up, and cried out:
“Go out of the room for a little while, Magister Knips, I wish to confer with the Professor’s wife.”
Knips rose very readily and made a bow.
“But you must not go away. Go into the next room. Come, I shall call you in again directly.”
Knips followed her with bowed head, and Laura came back on tiptoes and said, in a low tone:
“I have locked him in, that he may not escape.”
The ladies put their heads together in close consultation.
“You deal too tenderly with him, Mrs. Struvelius,” whispered Laura. “Offer him money. That will allure him. It is hard for me to say so, but I know the Knips family—they are selfish.”
“I also have thought of that, for an extreme case,” replied Mrs. Struvelius, “only I did not wish to hurt him by such an offer, if there were any manly feeling in him.”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed Laura, “he is not a man, he is only a coward. If at first he refuses, offer him more. Here is my pocket-book; I beg of you to take it.”
She ran to her writing-table and fetched out the embroidered purse.
“I thank you from my heart,” whispered Mrs. Struvelius, taking out her purse from her pocket. “If there is only sufficient,” she said, anxiously drawing the strings. “Let us see quickly how much we have.”
“God forbid!” cried Laura, hastily. “It is full of gold.”
“I have turned everything that I could into money,” replied Mrs. Struvelius hurriedly; “everything else is of little value.”
Ilse took the purses out of the hands of both ladies and said firmly:
“That is far too much. We ought not to offer him such sums; we do not know whether we should not thus be exposing the poor man to the temptation of doing wrong. If we offer him money we embark in a transaction which we do not thoroughly understand.”
The others disputed this, and there was much whispered consultation. At last Laura decided:
“He shall have two pieces of gold, that is settled.” Laura hastened out to bring back the prisoner.
When the Magister entered, Mrs. Struvelius looked so imploringly at Ilse, that the latter made up her mind to carry on the negotiation.
“Magister, we have set our hearts upon having this bit of manuscript with which the professors have been so much occupied, and as you know about it, we request your help to obtain it.”
A submissive smile played over the lips of Magister Knips.
“We wish to buy it,” interposed Mrs. Struvelius; “and we beg of you to undertake the purchase. You shall have the money necessary for it.”
Forgetting her agreement in their intense anxiety, she put her hand into her purse and counted one louis d’or after another on the table, till Laura sprang up, terrified, and tugged at her shawl from behind.
Knips again laid his head on his shoulder, and fixed his eyes upon the small fingers of the Professor’s wife, from which fell one gold piece after another.
“This, and still more, shall be yours,” cried Mrs. Struvelius, “if you will procure me the parchment.”
The Magister fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief, and wiped his forehead.
“It must be well known to the ladies,” he said, plaintively, “that I have to read many proof-sheets, and to work late into the night before I can earn the tenth portion of what you lay before me. It is a great temptation to me; but I do not believe that I can obtain the strip of parchment; and if I should succeed I fear it will only be upon condition that it shall not get into the hands of any of the professors, but be destroyed here in your presence.
“Go out again, Magister Knips,” cried Laura, springing up, “and leave your hat here that you may not escape us.”
The Magister disappeared for the second time. Again the women put their heads together.
“He has the parchment, and he can produce it; we know that now,” exclaimed Laura.
“We cannot agree to his offer,” said Ilse. “It is not right for us to take possession of the parchment; it must be examined by our husbands, and then returned to the Magister.”
“I beg of you to take away all this money,” cried Laura, “and permit me now to adopt another tone with him, for my patience is at an end.” She opened the door: “Come in, Magister Knips. Listen attentively to me. You have refused, and the money has disappeared, all but two pieces, which may still be yours; but only on the condition that you procure for us at once what Mrs. Struvelius has begged of you. For we have clearly seen that you possess the strip, and if you still refuse we shall have cause to suspect that you have acted dishonorably in the matter.”
Knips looked terrified, and raised his hands imploringly.
“I shall go directly,” continued Laura, “to your mother, and tell her that there is an end to all connection between her and our house; and I shall go over to Mr. Hahn, and tell him of your conduct, that he may set your brother at you. Your brother is in business, and knows what is upright; and if he does not see it in that light, Mr. Hahn will, and that would not be to the advantage of your brother. Finally, I tell you further, I will at once send over for Fritz Hahn and tell him everything, and then he shall deal with you. Fritz Hahn will get the better of you, you know, and so do I, for he always did when we were children. I know you, Magister. We, in our street, are not the sort of people to allow ourselves to be hoodwinked, and we value good conduct in the neighborhood. Therefore, procure the parchment, or you shall know Laura Hummel.”
Thus spoke Laura with flaming eyes, and clenching her little hand at the Magister. Ilse looked with astonishment at her determined friend.
If a discourse is to be judged by its effect, Laura’s speech was a pattern, for it worked most disturbingly on the Magister. He had grown up among the people and customs of that little street, and could well appreciate the consequences which Laura’s hostility would exercise on the needy circumstances of his private life. He, therefore, struggled for a time for words, and at last began, in a low voice:
“As even Miss Laura suspects me, I am undoubtedly compelled to tell how the affair stands. I know an old traveling pedlar who carries about with him various antiquities—wood-cuts, miniatures, and also fragments of old manuscripts, and anything of the kind that comes in his way. I have frequently obtained him customers, and given him information upon the value of rare things. This man, during his stay here, showed me a collection of old parchment leaves, concerning which he was already, he said, in negotiation with a foreigner. Attention being drawn to the double writing on the leaves, the strip appeared noteworthy to him, and to me also. I read some of it, as far as could be made out through the paste that lay upon it; and begged him at least to lend me the parchment that I might show it to our scholars. I carried it to Professor Struvelius, and as he judged that it might perhaps be worth the trouble of examining, I went again to the dealer. He told me he would not sell the strip outright, but he should like something to be written concerning it, as that would increase its value; and he delivered it into my hands till his return. This week he came again to take it away with him. I do not know whether it is still to be had, or whether he will take this money for it. I fear not.”
The ladies looked at each other.
“You all hear this statement,” began Mrs. Struvelius. “But why, Magister, did you beg my husband to tell no one that the parchment came from you?”
The Magister turned on his chair and again looked at his knees embarrassed.
“Ah, the lady will not be angry if I speak out. Professor Werner had always been very friendly to me, and I feared that he might take it amiss if I did not first show him such a discovery. But Professor Struvelius had also a claim to my gratitude, for he had graciously intrusted to me the proof-sheets and table of contents of the new edition of his great work. I was, therefore, in fear of offending two valuable patrons.”
This was unfortunate, certainly, and not improbable.
“Oh! do contrive that your husband may hear him,” exclaimed Mrs. Struvelius.
“We hope, Magister, that you will repeat your words before others who can understand the import of them better than we do,” said Ilse.
The Magister expressed his willingness timidly.
“But you must, nevertheless, procure the parchment,” interposed Laura.
Knips shrugged his shoulders. “If it is possible,” he said; “but I don’t know whether the man will give it up for this sum.”
Mrs. Struvelius was again putting her hand into her pocket; but Ilse held it back, and Laura cried out:
“We will give no more.”
“Nevertheless,” continued the Magister, impelled by the determination of his judges, “as doubts have been raised of its genuineness, the parchment may have lost some of its value for the dealer. But if I should succeed in being of service to you, I respectfully entreat you not to bear any malice against me for the unfortunate share which, without any fault on my part, I have had in this sad business. It has grieved me much the whole time; and since the criticism of Professor Werner has been printed, I have daily lamented that I ever set eyes on the parchment. I should sink into an abyss of misery if I were to lose my respected patrons.”
These words excited the compassion of his judges, and Mrs. Struvelius said, kindly:
“We believe you, for it is a dreadful feeling to have deceived others, even unintentionally.”
But Laura, who had established herself as president of the council, decided shortly:
“I beg that all who have taken part in this will meet here to-morrow at the same hour. I give you to that time, Magister Knips, to procure the parchment. After the expiration of this respite our house will be closed to you, our washing withdrawn, and notice given to the Hahn family. See, therefore, that we come to an amicable settlement.”
The Magister approached the table, drew with one finger the gold pieces into the palm of his hand, which he modestly held under the edge of the table, made three low bows, and took leave of the ladies.
Ilse related the adventure to her husband, and Felix listened with astonishment at the rôle which the learned factotum had played in the tragedy.
On the following morning the Magister made his appearance before the Professor. Breathless he drew out of his pocket the unfortunate strip of parchment, and carried it with bowed head and outstretched hand, bending lower and lower, humbly and imploringly, from the door to the writing-table of the Professor.
“I venture to bring this to you, rather than encounter the ladies for a second time. Perhaps you will graciously deign to deliver this through your wife into the hands of its new possessor.”
When the Professor examined him severely, he began a statement in defence of himself. What he said was not improbable. The name of the doubtful trader was known to the Professor. He was aware that he had been staying in the town during the course of the last few weeks, and from the numerous communications that Knips had had with this man in the interest of his patrons, there was nothing extraordinary in their intimacy. The Professor examined the parchment carefully. If there had been a forgery here, it had been carried out in a masterly way; but Knips produced a microscope from his waistcoat pocket, and pointed out how, by means of the magnifying glass, one could discover that sometimes the shadowy characters of the apparently very ancient handwriting had been introduced over the words of the church prayers, and had therefore been painted on at a later period.
“Your strictures in the Classical Gazette drew my attention to this, and early this morning, when I obtained the parchment, I carefully examined what had been rendered indistinct by the paste. So far as I may be permitted to have a judgment in such things, I now venture to share your opinion that a forgery has been perpetrated on this strip.”
The Professor threw it aside.
“I regret that you have ever had anything to do with it, even though unintentionally; you have done a mischief, the painful effects of which you cannot fail to see. I am sorry for it on your own account. This unfortunate occurrence will throw a shadow over your life; and I would give much to be able to wipe it away. For we have known one another through much mutual work, Magister, and I have always felt a sympathy in your self-sacrificing activity in favor of others. In spite of your book-chaffering, which I do not approve of, and in spite of your waste of time in labors which might be done by less efficient persons, I have always considered you as a man whose extraordinary knowledge inspires respect.”
The humble Magister raised his head, and a smile passed over his face.
“I have always, Professor, considered you as the only one among my distinguished patrons, who has the right to tell me that I have learned too little; you are also, Professor, the one to whom I venture to confess that I have secretly never ceased to esteem myself as a man of learning. I hope that you will not deny me the testimony that I have always been a trustworthy and faithful laborer in that cause.”
He fell back into his humble attitude, as he continued:
“What has happened will be a lesson for me in future.”
“I demand more of you. First, you must take the trouble of ascertaining through your acquaintance the hidden source from which this forgery has emanated, for it can scarcely be the accidental idea of an unscrupulous man; it is rather the work of an ill-directed industry, which in time will produce more evil. Further, it is your duty at once to deliver the parchment to Professor Struvelius, and impart to him your discovery. You yourself will do well to be more cautious in future in the choice of the traders with whom you deal.”
In these views Knips fully acquiesced and departed, whilst he imploringly besought the kind consideration of the Professor for the future.
“He has, I am certain, to some extent been concerned in the knavery,” exclaimed the Doctor.
“No,” rejoined the Professor. “His fault has been, that up to the last moment he cared more for his bargain than for the discovery of the truth.”
In the afternoon Mrs. Struvelius said to Ilse:
“What we have succeeded in obtaining has been very painful to my husband. For it has convinced him that he was deceived, while others discovered the true state of the case. It is a cruel grief to a wife when she is the instrument of bringing about such humiliation to him she loves best. This sorrow I shall long continue to feel. Besides this, our husbands are so estranged from one another, that a long time will elapse, before their wounded feelings will admit of a reconciliation, or allow them to cherish for each other the respect which as colleagues they mutually owe. I hope, however, that the relations between you and me will not suffer. I have discovered the worth of your heart, and I beg of you—in spite of my unprepossessing manner, of which I am well aware—to accept the friendship which I feel for you.”
As she walked slowly towards the door in her black dress. Ilse looked after her with a feeling of surprise, that the first impression made upon her by the learned lady should have been so quickly obliterated by other feelings.
In the next number of the Classical Gazette there appeared a short explanation by Professor Struvelius, in which he honorably acknowledged that he had been deceived, by undoubtedly a very expert deception, and that he must be grateful to the acuteness and friendly activity of his honored colleague who had contributed to the clearing up of the matter.
“This explanation has been written by his wife,” said the obdurate Doctor.
“We may hope that the disagreeable affair has come to an end for all concerned in it,” concluded the Professor with a light heart.
But the hopes even of a great scholar are not always fulfilled. This quarrel of the scepter-bearing princes of the University had not only introduced Ilse into a new position, but had brought another into notice.
On the evening of the decisive day that revealed the worthlessness of the parchment, Magister Knips sat shivering upon the floor in an unwarmed room of his poverty-stricken dwelling. Books lay in disorderly heaps on the shelves by the wall and on the floor, and he sat surrounded by them, like an ant-lion in his den. He shoved into a dark corner an old cigar chest of his brother’s, which was filled with many small bottles and paint-pots, and laid the old books upon it. Then he placed the lamp on a stool near him, and with secret satisfaction took up one old book after another, examined the binding, read the title and last page, stroked it caressingly with his hand, and then again laid it on the heap. At last he seized an old Italian edition of a Greek author with both hands, moved nearer to the lamp, and examined it leaf by leaf.
His mother called through the door:
“Leave your books and come from that cold room to your supper.”
“This book has not been seen by any scholar for two hundred years. They deny, mother, that it is even in existence; but I have it in my hands—it belongs to me! This is a treasure, mother.”
“What good will your treasure do you, wretched boy?”
“But I have it, mother,” said the Magister, looking up at the hard-featured woman; and his winking eyes glistened brightly. “To-day I have read some proof-sheets in which a man of note maintains that this volume which I hold here has never existed. He wishes the ’never existed’ to be printed in italics, and I have so marked it for the compositor, though I know better.”
“Are you coming?” called out the mother angrily. “Stop your work. Your beer is getting flat.”
The Magister rose unwillingly, slipped out of the room with his felt shoes, and seating himself at the table helped himself to the scanty fare before him and without further ado began to eat.
“Mother,” he said to the woman, who was watching his rapid meal, “I have some money remaining; if you want anything, buy it; but I will know how you spend it, and I will see that my brother does not again borrow anything from you, for it has been earned by hard work.”
“Your brother will now pay all back, for Hahn has improved his position, and he has a good salary.”
“That is not true,” replied the Magister, looking sharply at his mother. “He has become too stylish to dwell with us now; but whenever he comes he always wants something of you, and you have always loved him more than me.”
“Do not say so, my son,” cried Mrs. Knips. “He is quite different; you are always industrious, quiet, and collected, and even as a small boy you began to save.”
“I have obtained for myself what was dear to me,” said the Magister, looking toward his room, “and I have found much.”
“Ah, but what hardships you suffer for it, my poor child!” said the mother flatteringly.
“I take things as they come,” answered the Magister, making a cheerful grimace. “I read proof-sheets, and I do much work for these learned men, who drive in carriages like people of distinction, and when I come to them they treat me like a Roman slave. No man knows how often I correct their stupid blunders, and the bad errors in their Latin. But I do not do it for all—only for those who have deserved well of me. I let the mistakes of the others remain, and I shrug my shoulders secretly at their empty heads. All is not gold that glitters,” he said, holding his thin beer complacently up to the light, “and I alone know many things. I am always correcting their miserable manuscripts, but do not correct their worst errors. I see how they torment themselves and the little they do know they pilfer from other books. One sees that every day, mother, and one laughs in secret at the course of the world.”
And Magister Knips laughed at the world.