תמונות בעמוד
PDF
ePub

My hand slips upon the cold, bare stones of the outer wall of the spiral as I begin my pursuit, step by step, cautiously at first, the turn is so sharp, more rapidly as I soon learn how.

I hear the silken brush of her dress only a little below me now, and, as I follow round and round dizzily, I reach down with one hand to stop her.

I touch merely the top of her head: I feel plainly the velvet of her coif, and snatch at it, hoping thereby decisively to stay her flight.

But she is so quick of thought that she unloosens it, and it comes off in my hand.

I do not care whether I break my head or not now. I am running down in a way calculated to make me mad and irresponsible when I do once touch her.

Suddenly I step upon her dress; there is the rasp of a tear, and, as she turns to free herself, I have her at last in my arms.

Her hair is brushing my face, her hands are pushing me off; she is trembling violently, and almost sobbing.

"Cecile "I bend down past the fluff of her hair to where it is warmer-" my beautiful queen, I will take my reward now."

I have loved ghosts ever since. I don't remember much more. I believe it is getting lighter at the end of the stair, just at the other bars which divide us from Darnley's

room.

tim. I want you to get up and turn the gas off."

Becker drew a long breath, and looked around with a radiant face: he suddenly felt free and light-hearted as if there were no Somebody who does'nt want to be pulled loads to be carried and dragged about on out of bed by the heels."

"What do you take me for?"

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors][merged small]

earth, as if every thing floated as lightly as

the skiff danced over the waves.

"Oh, how beautiful this is, father!" said Nannchen, looking up in his face.

[ocr errors]

Yes," said he; "and can you even think for a minute of going away from here?"

She had no time to answer, for Wilhelm rose and begged the helmsman to let him steer. He threw off his coat, removed his cap, said he had rowed and steered a great deal in his home on the Havel, and eloquentpraised the beauty of his native river.

"Now, this is too much." He furtively grasps from underneath at the edges of the bedclothes, which are drawn this warm nightly close up about his neck. "I have half a mind to fire something at you."

"I dare you to." I have taken hold of the counterpane. "Say your prayers, my friend, and don't think about breakfast."

And notwithstanding his frantic efforts to keep them as they are, slowly and determinedly I draw the bedclothes one by one away from him, until stark and shining is exposed to view the entire disguise, including the gleaming corslet and scarlet sash of my Lord Ruthven.

[ocr errors]

The little velvet coif hangs to-day upon my dressing-glass. It has been made over so as to hold shaving-paper cut to a convenient size, and twice a year, upon the anniversaries of the ghost party and of our wedding, Cecile

I believe she frees herself at last, and before I may snatch her again has crawled between these, and, without once having spok-replenishes it. en, is away through the moonlight.

I am left caged, the bars here are put so close together; and, as she flies, I beg her to wait for me until I may return up-stairs.

But I do not find her at all. Only the door opening out into the quadrangle is ajar, and shows that she has filed with the rest.

The next thing I know I am knocking at Dundas's door at the hotel-not only knocking, but entering.

We have heard, since her frolic, of the authorities in Edinburgh having replaced the iron bars at either extremity of the secret stairs in Holyrood with solid doors, as a greater security against trespassing, and Dundas has been as good as his word in making up to the guide the loss of his position there.

He is our gardener now at Rock Hill, and we love to walk in the garden and question him about the flowers, just for the sake of

Dundas is lying in bed, evidently fast listening to his broad Scotch accent. asleep.

The moon shines in here also, but, not content with its light, I walk deliberately to the gas-jet and set it aflame. When this is done, I hasten to inspect his sleeping counte

nance.

There is one thistle in the centre of the prettiest flower-bed, which he will never root up, Cecile loves it so.

The children love it too, and they call it the "pincushion flower."

"Pshaw!" said Becker, spitting into the Rhine; and, turning to Nannchen, added, in a low tone: "Now you see how conceited and bold these Prussians are! He has the impu dence, while on the Rhine, to talk about the Havel, whose marshy water is so thick that one can write with it if he dips in a pen. You see into what mire you will get if I don't pull you out."

"Yet, father," replied Nannchen, "that is nothing wrong. Every one praises his home, and thinks the place where he spent his childhood beautiful, and that is right."

The father looked angrily at his daughter,. and then gazed silently down into the waves. It vexed him to have his child overthrow all his best ideas as if they were of no value.

He looked at his daughter, but she did not see him; her eyes were fixed upon Wilhelm, and her father could not help acknowledging that the young soldier was a handsome fellow. Erect, yet lithe and graceful, the white vest fitted closely over his broad chest, his muscular arms appeared under the white shirt-sleeves, his neck was somewhat long but round and firm, his thick fair hair fell over a white forehead, his eyes were blue and bright, his cheeks bronzed by the sun, the lips under the brown mustache were fresh and red, and seemed to be still smiling for joy at having kissed Nannchen.

They landed at Rheinau. The island was quiet and lonely; it contained only one farmhouse, and nobody was at home except an old man-servant, who was taking his noonday nap in the stable. But the helmsman had brought several bottles of wine, and they were soon sitting on the grass talking and

I stand some little time gazing down upon him without uttering a word. Not an eyelid NANNCHEN OF MAYENCE. laughing merrily; only the porter jeered at

stirs, not a feature. He is stretched at full length, limp with innocence, ingenuously ab

stract.

"Will you be kind enough to conjugate

the irregular verb 'possum 9" inquire,

presently, in a tone resonant with solemnity. No answer.

"So you are asleep, are you? I suppose your consciousness is just now as obsolete as the dodo or the primitive ox?"

At this, he starts a little, and opens up at me two eyes which are very drowsy, and remarkably void of speculation.

"Holloa!" he cries, "where'd you come from? It's queer-I was just dreaming of you. I thought you'd gone mad, or something or other."

"So I have. And you'll be the first vic

FROM THE GERMAN OF BERTHOLD AUERBACH.

THE

IV.

HE helmsman had a boat of his own, and proposed, as there was still time, that they should row to Biebrich. The suggestion was joyfully accepted; Becker shrugged his shoulders, but went with the rest of the party.

They entered the boat. Nannchen sat beside her father, Wilhelm opposite to the aunt, and the uncle at the helm. The skiff floated lightly down the Main into the Rhine. Around the boat were numerous others filled with gayly dressed people, singing merry songs; and the sun shone so brightly, the waves sparkled, the shores gleamed, and

the whole party for drinking their wine sitting on the ground, and rowing out to an island, when they could have been so much more comfortable at an inn. It vexed him most of all that Nannchen and Wilhelm could sing so well together.

When evening closed in, they set out on their way home, and Wilhelm now showed that he really could row well; and very handsome he looked as he managed the oars so lightly. The helmsman nodded gayly to him, but Becker scarcely vouchsafed him a single glance.

[blocks in formation]

1

vexed him that the affair was not ended-nay, perhaps just begun. He was not sure that he had not been taken by surprise: had be not promised to speak to Meister Knussman?

That very evening a letter came from Wilhelm, in which the latter said he was very grateful to Herr Becker for having offered to speak to Meister Knussman, but it was no longer necessary: by a lucky accident he had met Meister Knussman on the river-bank, and was going to work with him early the next morning.

"These confounded Prussians are lucky," said Becker, as he went to bed.

For several days the porter was so sullen and angry that he could no longer join the others at the" Ship," where he drank his teno'clock pint of wine, in abusing the Prussians; he sat in silence, for he did not know whether he might not be obliged to bite the sour apple, and take a Prussian for a son-inlaw.

If he had been aware how many happy hours Nannchen and Wilhelm had talked away during the leisure evenings, how doubly happy she was to see him at work at his trade of cabinet-maker, and how contented the work made Wilhelm, who now had the two greatest boons a man can desire, love and labor-and he knew how to value both -as I said before, if her father had known this, which he perhaps suspected, he would have been still more provoked. Becker was already beginning to reflect upon what he should do the following Sunday: he did not wish to ramble about in the opan air to places where he really did not want to go, an object of ridicule to others and himself, and yet he did not know how to manage.

Early Sunday morning, just as he was about to leave the house, Wilhelm came up. He made a military salute, and said:

"Will you allow me to walk a little way with you? I have something to tell you." "But I am in a great hurry," replied Becker.

"So am I," said Wilhelm.

So the porter was obliged to walk through the city in broad daylight with the soldier, who very politely kept on the left side. Wilhelm said that the troops had unexpectedly received marching orders; his regiment was going to Magdeburg, and it was said that war was to be declared with Schleswig-Hol

stein.

Becker looked at him with a sarcastic smile.

"The Prussians declare war! Nonsense! It's nothing but talk. The Prussians never fight." However, he did not feel obliged to express his opinion, but walked silently on beside the soldier, and, when the latter asked him if he would allow him to bid Nannchen farewell, nodded he could not prevent him; no father can protect a girl who does not protect herself.

For the first time in his life, Becker stumbled in unloading the ship, and fell flat on the ground.

“That comes of not thinking about what one is doing," he said, rubbing his knees and elbows.

Meantime, Wilhelm was with Nannchen.

They did not sit idly side by side; Nannchen was collecting the clothes, and she took Wilhelm's shirts first of all and ironed them out of their turn.

Nannchen, unlike Wilhelm, submitted to the separation calmly. She promised to go down to the railway-station when the regi ment left; she would show her father and every one that she belonged to Wilhelm. The latter was obliged to go away very soon, but could come back again for an hour in the evening. Nannchen's father, uncle, and aunt, sat in the room together; as it grew dark, Nannchen entered, holding Wilhelm's hand. She requested that they should be formally betrothed; but, for the first time, failed to obtain the support of her uncle, who, speaking before her father, said:

"If you are agreed, it is not necessary, and if one should perhaps be deserted by the other, it is better for you not to be betrothed."

In spite of her aunt's persuasions-she, too, seemed to desert her cause-Nannchen would not be dissuaded from going to the railway-station. Her father said he would stay at home, but secretly followed her. Standing apart under a shed, Wilhelm placed a ring on his Nannchen's finger, they kissed each other, and as they looked up, a shootingstar darted in a wide curve through the sky over their heads.

The regimental band played merrily, loud cheers resounded through the air, and Nannchen said:

"I believe and you believe that we shall be true to each other; and now farewell, keep a brave heart, remember me to your mother, and write to me."

The cars rolled away, the cheers of the soldiers drowned the rumbling of the wheels, then a sudden silence fell upon the scene, and nothing was heard except the rushing of the river, which is not perceived amid the noisy sounds of day. Now, for the first time, Nannchen wept bitterly, and she knew that Wilhelm was weeping too, but she also knew he would regain his composure as quickly as she.

She went home. At the door her father met her. He consoled her, and stoutly declared that there would be no war, yet he secretly wished he might be wrong, and was almost angry with himself for hoping the Prussian would be shot; he had never wished anybody harm before in all his life.

"But

that's the way with us," he said, buttoning his coat "that's the way with us when we are betrayed into unnecessary follies."

Wilhelm sent a letter from Magdeburg, in which he said that they were in garrison, and the rumors of war had ceased. But, when the leaves were falling from the trees, a letter came which said, "We shall march to-morrow." Nannchen moved wearily about her work, and involuntarily sang, "To-morrow we shall march away, away, away."

V.

THE winter campaign was a hard one, but many warm-hearted letters passed to and fro between Altoona and Mayence.

Nannchen was full of sorrow about the severe winter, and in her dreams often saw

Wilhelm lying frozen in the snow; but consoling letters constantly arrived, and she wanted to give them to her father to read, but he would not look at them; he was angry with the Prussians who can write so well.

[ocr errors]

The day before the storming of the Düppel redoubt, a letter arrived at Gartenfeld, whose concluding lines were: "I remember your words, Keep a brave heart'-you may rely upon me. Amid the hail of bullets I shall always repeat them, and, if I fall, I send you a thousand loving messages. I do not want you to grieve away your life for me; make some other man happy, but you will not be so happy with any one as with me; and if I die, throw the ring I gave you into the Rhine on the anniversary of the day that we all went to Rheinau. It seems to me now as if it were a dream that there was ever such a happy day on earth. I expect such days will come again and again in heaven. And now, farewell; don't grieve too much; all may yet, please God, be well. Many a bullet passes by many a man, as we have often sung. Farewell a thousand times, and if I die tell your father he must forgive me if I ever offended him. Farewell a thousand times."

This time Becker was obliged to hear the letter. He said nothing for a long time; and, when Nannchen gazed at him with tearful eyes, at last muttered:

I wouldn't have supposed a Prussian had so much heart."

Days and nights elapsed, but no news arrived. The victory was in every one's mouth, but nothing could be learned of Wilhelm. Nannchen ventured to go to the commander; she secretly trembled as the quartermaster mumbled over the list of killed and wounded, often glancing over the top of the paper at the waiting girl. One man named Becker had fallen, but he was not called Wilhelm, and did not come from the Havel. No one could give her any further particulars. She now wrote to Wilhelm's mother, but she also replied that she was full of anxiety, and had received no tidings.

The first steamer went down the Rhine, now freed from its fetters of ice. When the boat's bell sounds for the first time every one is full of joy, all life is thawed out, the world is open again. The spring was beautiful, the flowers bloomed, the birds sang; but nothing could cheer Nannchen, and she was angry with her uncle when he said Wilhelm had certainly been taken prisoner; he was surely sensible enough to allow himself to be captured rather than shot.

"He never did that," said Nannchen; "he would rather die."

At last, on the Sunday after Easter, a letter came from Flensburg. It was in a stranger's hand, and ran as follows.

"DEAR NANNCHEN: Forgive me for not being able to write to you. I did not want to give you any news until matters had advanced so far."

(A mist dimmed Nannchen's eyes when she read this, but she passed her hand over them and continued :)

"For your sake, I preferred to die rather than be a cripple, though I know you would

not have deserted me. God will forgive me for having thought less of my mother than of you. The case stands thus: I received a bullet in my right arm, and they wanted to take it off, but I insisted I would rather die than be a cripple. And to-day the doctors said it could be saved, but whether I shall ever be able to use it they do not yet know. Dear Nannchen, don't grieve too much about it, remember that I might have died. Have no anxiety, I shall be well cared for. The lady who writes this to you is a doctor's wife. She is from Berlin, and a Jewess. But all people are alike in war, and ought to be so in peace. She looks like your friend Fränz; she, too, has short, black curls and a kind heart. She does not turn away when I talk about you. But she cannot stay with me long. In a week the doctors say I can be moved from here. I have begged to be taken to my mother. Write to me here at once, and, after a week, to my mother's care. I hope you will not have a crippled husband, but perhaps I shall no longer be able to work at my trade. I don't know what I ought to say. Tell me what you think of it, and your father, too."

When Nannchen had read this letter, she did not sit still, but went hastily about her work in the garden; yet, no sooner did she return to the house, than she read the letter over and over again. It all seemed like a dream. But she was at last forced to realize that it was the truth.

When her father came that evening, and Nannchen read the letter aloud, he again sat in silence for a long time, and at last uttered the words: "The Prussians provide well for their wounded. Now, Wilhelm can be beadle or toll-keeper in Poland, where the people go about wrapped in sheepskins ten months in the year. Do you feel inclined to marry him and live where you will hear nothing all the year round, except the whistling of the wind, and see nothing except a few carts with halfstarved horses? The inhabitants of that country don't believe that there is any such thing as wine in the world."

VI.

QUIET days elapsed, and Nannchen did not say another word about Wilhelm. Her father often looked at her in surprise, and was both pleased and vexed with her reserve. But his principal thought was: "She is a good girl, she won't allow herself to be helped in any thing." But he was also to learn that she would not allow herself to be opposed in any thing; for, one day, when a letter came from Havelstadt announcing that Wilhelm was with his mother, Nannchen said:

"Father, I have arranged every thing, the business can go on without me; I shall go to Wilhelm to-morrow."

"So you will go to him without even asking me?"

"Dear father, what shall I ask, when I am determined not to be persuaded to change my mind?"

"Don't say 'Dear father.' When people talk in that way, they needn't begin with 'Dear father.' Did you understand me? Why is your nimble little tongue so quiet?

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors]

He rose and put his hands on his lips. There was a strange mental conflict reflected in his face, and he said, at last:

"You won't go secretly, and you won't go alone. You will go with me, and I shall go with you. So long as my eyes are open, I will see where you go, and where you are, and where you stay. Be calm. Drop my hand. Why do you want to kiss it? This is all nonsense. I am your father, I shall go with you. But say nothing about it; let the people gossip when we are gone. Pack up what I want quietly; we will go down the Rhine early to-morrow morning on the first boat. I want to see how the river looks at Bingen. There-that's right, now you have your own bright face again. Your mother was just the same. I never saw her weep but twice, and afterward her face was as bright as the sky after a thunder - storm. There, now, we have talked enough for the present; there will be plenty of time on the way."

Nannchen arranged every thing carefully in the house and garden. Once she started in surprise, for she found herself singing. She sang while Wilhelm was lying severely wounded. But she had a feeling of certainty that now all would be well, and the happiness of being once more at peace with her father sparkled in her face, so that her aunt, who had come from Kostheim to console her, looked at her in astonishment. She would scarcely believe that Becker could be so amiable; but she was wise, too, and instantly said that the journey down the Rhine would cost very little; she would give her brotherin-law a pass belonging to her husband, who, as helmsman, always had a free passage on the steamers.

Early the next morning, the father and daughter went to the Rhine and gazed at the river and the gleaming landscape. Becker easily obtained permission to leave his work for a few days; he had never asked it before. Many of his companions were present, as Becker only took a ticket to Bingen. This served a double purpose: for, in the first place, his comrades did not know where he was going; and, secondly-as he explained to Nannchen on the steamer-on leaving Bingen, where he was not known, he could continue the journey under his brother-in-law's

name.

"O father, can you do that, travel under a strange name? People-" "Don't say it; you are right, I only fancied I could do it. Cost what it will, I'll pay my personal freight. And it won't be reckoned by weight," he added, smiling. "There, now, it's all right. Put your uncle's pass in your pocket, that I may not lose it."

And they sailed on down the Rhine. Until they reached Bingen Becker stood on the deck beside the helmsman, and helped him turn the wheel. He was glad to have something to do.

[blocks in formation]

the letter over and over again, then rubbed her folded handkerchief over her face, as if to efface all traces of sorrow, and looked brightly around her. "How wide and beautiful the world is, and yet yonder a good man is lying in a quiet room suffering intense pain! But now he must easily overcome it all, for to-day, at this very hour "-Nannchen had inquired at the post-office-" he will receive the letter with the news that she is coming. How delightful it is that people can write to each other!"

After leaving Bingen, the father joined his daughter and said:

"Won't you drink a glass of wine, too? The captain has some that's very nice. He only made me pay half the passage-money, and I have remained an honest man. Now I'll imagine myself an Englishman looking at our Rhine."

Becker was very gay and asked a young man, who held a red book in his hand, to tell him the names of the cities and mountains. Nannchen was delighted to see her father in such good spirits. The day was beautiful, not even the smallest cloud appeared in the sky, and Becker exclaimed: "Don't you smell any thing? I think I smell the vineyards, which are in bloom now. Thirty years ago there was a magnificent vintage; it was at the time we were married."

Tears glittered in his eyes, and he winked his lashes very hard, for the stern, rude man cherished a loving memory of his dead wife.

When the steamer stopped at Neuwied, Nannchen said:

"Wilhelm's uncle lives yonder in the valley." That was the only time she spoke of him; she did not wish to irritate her father, who was unusually gay.

During the railway journey he was as gloomy and irritable as he had been cheerful while on the Rhine.

"There," he said to Nannchen, “you see what we are coming to. And you want to stay in such a country!"

"What is the matter, father?"

Surely you can read. Read that." Nannchen read a placard fastened on thewall of the railway-station-"Beware of pickpockets"-and laughed.

"Do you laugh?" exclaimed her father; "and it seems to me as if I felt strangers' hands in my pockets all the time, and they wanted to steal the heart out of my body. Zounds! what are we coming to?"

He buttoned his coat closely up to his throat, but the next moment tore it open, exclaiming:

"They have robbed me of every thing already, my pocket-book and money are gone." "Father, what is the matter with you? You gave them to me."

"Did I? Yes. Have you got them? Look and see. There are a great many people running about, and every one of them may be a pickpocket."

"That may be the case at home."

Becker was silent for a time, and then began to abuse the Prussians, who were always in as great a hurry as if the world was coming to an end the next minute. Nann

chen listened patiently, and only begged him not to speak so loud. But one man, who sat in the carriage, heard the Rhinelander's words, and replied:

"You Rhinelanders seem to us rather frivolous, as we seem to you too harsh and stern. When we see you standing on the banks of the Rhine with your hands in your pockets, we think there can be no love of work in these careless, easy-going people, who appear to have a touch of the French nature, and yet you are industrious in your way, too."

“Thank you, kindly," replied Becker.

"You are coming to North Germany for the first time, and I again see that we NorthGermans have only one friend."

"Indeed-and who is that?"

"Our work. It is our only friend. Pay attention, and you will see how busy every one is. We have no time or inclination for good-natured idleness. We are harsh to others, but also to ourselves."

The man got out of the car, but the words he had uttered lingered with the Rhinelander. "The North-Germans have no friend but their work! There is something in that!"

When Becker began to complain that he could no longer get a drop of good winethe people had nothing but gin, and made wine they called Spanish, and the French red wine was really only medicine, and no wine at all; besides, one had scarcely time to drink the fiery stuff-Nannchen took a large bottle and glass from her basket.

"This is from home," said her father. "And you are very much like your mother. I don't know why it is, but it seems to me as if I were now traveling to meet her in the other world."

For the first time he told his daughter how he had made her mother's acquaintance. She had come down the river on the marketboat, which at that time still came down the Main. He carried her chest for her, and they talked together on the way. When she wanted to pay him, he refused the money, and said: "Now you owe me something: are you willing to be in my debt?" She nodded.

When both had saved something they bought the little house in Gartenfeld. To be sure it only stood there on sufferance; for if a war should come these houses must be torn down.

"But every thing in the world is only on sufferance," said her father, in conclusion, and then was silent for a long time.

The father and daughter, who had always lived on such good terms, thought that on this journey they understood each other's heart for the first time.

When they were approaching Havelstadt he wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve and said:

"For what are we coming here?"
"I don't understand you, father."

"These confounded Prussian railroads make such a noise that a man can't hear his own voice. Nannchen, for what shall we say we have come here?"

"To visit Welhelm." "And as what?"

"I am his betrothed bride." "Then what am I?"

"His father-in-law."

"So you are determined, even if he is a cripple, and no longer has the Prussians' only friend. You have heard that they have no friend but work."

"Then he will have me, and we can do something; if nothing else, we can keep an inn."

When the broad Havel appeared, Nannchen exclaimed:

"Father, look at all those beautiful white swans!" Becker nodded, and Nannchen continued: "They are not black at all."

[ocr errors]

'Why should they be black?"

"Because the Havel is so black that one can dip a pen into the water and write with it."

"You are very merry," said Becker. He wanted to add, "You are making fun of your father;" but he was really glad that his child was in such good spirits, and, to tease her, answered: “The Prussians make every thing out of tin; those are tin swans."

They found Wilhelm sitting in a chair. "I can only put one arm around your neck," he exclaimed; "but wait, the other will soon be well."

Becker was much pleased with the appearance of the house and people, especially of Wilhelm's mother. It was a great joke when she put Bierkaltschale* on the table. All day long he laughed at the enormity of eating beer-soup; but he saw that people liked it, and was only glad they did not compel him by their persuasions to enjoy it, too. But he found that the Prussians did not urge their guests to eat and drink. They offered the dishes, and, if others did not like them, said no more. They did not exclaim, "Just try it! You'll be sure to like it," etc.

One morning Becker said to his daughter: "Now I have it; you can't stay here; no vines thrive in this place."

"I'm not a vine."

"You know what I mean. But take care, people here have not and know nothing about the two best things in the world. Do you know what I mean?"

"No."

"Then take heed. They have no wine,

The father expressed this feeling once by and can't laugh." Saying:

"It is doubly hard that we must part just at this time when we love each other so fondly. Tell me, am I a hard-hearted father?"

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

"I am glad you are in such good spirits, father."

"Good spirits! I'm not in good spirits at all."

This was perfectly true. He walked about the little city and along the bank of the Havel, as if everybody ought to thank him for having left the beautiful Rhine to come there;

*A German beverage.

but nobody thanked him—on the contrary, he was not noticed at all.

As he stood still on the shore, watching the building of a large boat, and remarked that people did very differently on the Rhine, the carpenters scarcely looked at him, and worked steadily on; he even thought they made contemptuous remarks about him.

He could not help complaining to Nannchen that the people here were not at all friendly, but was startled when she told him that he now saw for himself how it seemed to be looked upon as a stranger. He had never treated the Prussians any differently at home.

Wilhelm had made wonderful progress toward recovery during the few days of Nannchen's stay.

The father saw that it was useless to struggle against the marriage, and now said he would make no further objections, but Wilhelm must go with him to Mayence. But the mother declared that Wilhelm was her only child, and she could not let him leave her.

"But suppose he had been killed in the war?" said Becker-" then you would have been obliged to give him up."

"That is something over which we have no control. The king requires his services, and our Lord disposes of his life; that is entirely different."

Becker looked at her in surprise. She did not plead with him, but talked authoritatively. Even the women in Prussia have a touch of the soldier.

He went angrily down to the wharf, from which a boat was to be launched that day.

Strange! There was no merriment over the work; every thing was done silently and dryly.

Becker moved nearer.

"Get out of the way, man; you don't belong here," said one of the workmen.

Becker stared at him in astonishment. Should he knock the man down? But he would not do that for his daughter's sake. He only pretended not to understand, and quietly stood still. The man went on the other side, and a lad came up and seized a stay.

Becker saw that the man was coming too near, and shouted loudly, "Go away! Zounds!"

The man turned at the shout, and at the same moment the stay broke, and he was lying under the boat.

A loud cry burst from the crowd. But Becker was quickly on the spot, raised the boat with superhuman strength, and released the man. Becker supported the boat on his shoulder a moment, then gave it a push which sent it into the water that dashed foaming around it. The old man's coat was torn from top to bottom. He stood panting for breath, and gazed around him. The man who had just ordered him away came up and said: "What are you doing? You don't belong here."

"Zounds! Are these your thanks?" He swore and raved at the Prussians, pouring forth all the wrath that was in his soul. Just at that moment the harbor-master

came up, laid his hand on his shoulder, and said:

"Calm yourself, Herr Becker. I knew you in Mayence, where I was sergeant. It is true that you startled the man, and he fell under the boat in his fright. But you bravely rescued him again, and are worthy of all honor. You have shown strength such as is not easily to be found. Come into my office. I'll send to your son-in-law's house for another coat."

When the porter was seated in the office, the man whom he had saved came in, thanked him, and then, turning to the harbor-master, said:

"I think this gentleman deserves the medal for saving a life."

Becker did not know whether he was in jest or earnest. But the harbor-master replied:

[ocr errors]

Certainly. And if Herr Becker wishes it, I'll report the matter to the government." "That's enough; I want nothing more." And when Becker went through the little city in his other coat he was another man, and all the people were different. Every one nodded to him, and he was welcomed with delight in his son-in-law's house, whither the news had already penetrated.

The harbor-master came, and several other men with him; they invited Becker and the whole family, as it was still broad day. light, to go on the first pleasure-trip in the new boat to the island of Werder. The doctor also arrived, and gave Wilhelm permission to make one of the party. And Nannchen exclaimed:

"Look, father; to-day Wilhelm will wear his badge of honor on his breast in the open air for the first time."

Becker nodded. They went down to the wharf as if in a triumphal procession. The black-and-white banner was raised on the new vessel, and the party sailed merrily

away.

"The water is a beautiful blue," said Becker, dipping his hand into it; "I never thought so before."

Nannchen and Wilhelm nodded to each other. And now the party began to sing only military songs, for the men knew no others; but Wilhelm and Nannchen joined them. Becker was not a little surprised to find such rich land on the island, and the harbormaster told him that formerly the whole had been mere marshes, but that a long time ago numerous inhabitants of Holland had immigrated there, and how every thing was now cultivated.

Becker was forced to confess that even on the Rhine there were no handsomer or finer fruit-trees.

"And you are here too," he said to the vine.

All sat joyously together. Native beer was drunk, and at last, as Becker could not relish it, wine. And Becker again heard wise words, which harmonized with those spoken on the railway; for the harbor-master said:

"Take notice, Herr Becker; this is also a parable. With you on the Rhine wine is drunk from open casks; with us from corked and sealed bottles. But the wine is the

same. And the human heart it gladdens is mentioned classes that the evidence against the same too." the doctors is to be chiefly gathered.

Becker joyously touched glasses with the

man.

On reaching home Becker said that the Prussians were really a very good sort of people. "And there are fine ships on the Havel too. But, after all, it is not so cheerful as the Rhine."

The vines, which had blossomed so beautifully, gave good wine in the autumn. The wedding was celebrated in the house of Nannchen's aunt, at Kostheim, and Fränz was bridesmaid.

Just before the departure of the young couple, Becker had another vexation, which, however, was quickly changed to joy.

[ocr errors]

"Wilhelm," he said to his son-in-law, one thing is fortunate, you will no longer be obliged to be a soldier."

"Thank God, I am not disabled," replied Wilhelm, "I am still in the Landwehr! And I must remain there."

As has been stated, this at first vexed Becker, but he said to his brother-in-law, as if he had changed his mind :

"These Prussiaus are an obstinate but excellent race."

This story happened ten years ago. One might almost say a hundred years ago; for have we not lived through a century since 1864?

The writer selects the criticisms of consumptives to emphasize his remarks, for several good reasons. It would seem that the treatment of consumption is among the most important labors of a physician's life, and therefore one upon which he directs, or should direct, his best powers of observation. It would also appear that, relatively, the disease is a simple one; that its general remedies are few; that little difference of opinion exists as to the kind of remedies, and that the disease is commonly of such slow development that it can be seized and expurgated long after it has established a fast hold in the system. In each and all of these: particulars it demonstrates its openness to attack and defeat, and the cases are comparatively few where it seizes upon a human being and hurries him into his grave, in spite of all prompt aid and care.

Most of the other great universal sicknesses are more complex, more violent, and are susceptible to more methods of treatment. Physicians differ radically in their estimates of the remedies that may be applied to them, and if one be attacked by a disease that belongs to one of these classes, he will receive a certain kind of treatment just as he happens to call a certain doctor. With consumption, however, the case is entirely different. The same general prescription that is good for the New-Englander is equal

MISMANAGEMENT BY ly good for the Old-Englander, and also equalPHYSICIANS.

DURING a recent visit of the writer to

Aiken, the noted sanitarium in South Carolina, he became impressed with the fact that the relations which existed between the invalid sojourners there and their physicians at home were, in a number of cases by far too large, of a wrongful and mischief-making character. It was distressingly common to meet those who were able and willing to lay at the door of their medical advisers the responsibility of a greater part of their ills, and who did not hesitate to denounce, in the most emphatic language, a certain lamentable ignorance, or something worse, that had governed the advice that had been given

them.

To even the coolest and most dispassionate observer, one accustomed to see faults in both parties to any issue, there must finally come, after he has heard the tales that many patients can tell, the conviction that there is a class of men among the medical practitioners of the higher orders who should be shorn of their titles, and thus prevented from doing further harm in the community.

The invalids who visit Aiken are those who seek an equable climate to aid them in their endeavors to throw off pulmonary disorders. There is a large number upon whom these disorders have settled but lightly; a large number who are conscious that they are in danger; and a smaller number who know perfectly well that it must be the work of a miracle if their strength is restored to them and their lives preserved. It is from the lips of some of the members of these two last

ly good for a native in Africa. Dry air, even temperature, nutritious food, and stri et watch on a few of his habits, and any physician can instruct him, if he can talk at all. The main course that he should take is laid out before him as straight and clear as any path in any medical task.

But the charge against the men who have proved themselves to be culprits is not that they do not see and understand this course— such a charge would fall to the ground of its own weight if it were brought against children. The accusations are far more important since they deal with faults infinitely more terrible than ignorance, i. e., carelessness and neglect of duty. Remember, we are now speaking of the experience of some consumptives in the hands of their physicians, not of the innumerable unfortunates who have to complain of the other great ills, and whose miseries and disappointments must be greater as their troubles are more complex; and do not forget that we are dealing with well-taught men and a simple disorder that has simple

cures.

The charges, then, are these: that many physicians fail to study the patient while they imperatively order new courses of life; that they turn enfeebled persons adrift in regions whose qualities and properties they (the physicians) know little or nothing of; that they do not tell the truth to those who seek the truth; and that they withhold it, not from a fear of the patient's inability to bear it, but from an aversion to implicate themselves in cases whose issues, being doubtful, may bring discredit upon themselves; that they fail most signally to bring to bear upon the questions of general treatment the cool,

« הקודםהמשך »