CÆSAREAN INSANITY IN THE HUMMEL FAMILY.
Mr. Hahn was walking by the side of his garden fence, his soul filled with gratitude; but as this was prevented from escaping through the usual outlet of friendly speech, it compelled him to take refuge in those chambers of his mind in which he kept the plans for the beautifying of his garden. His noble-hearted opponent was about to celebrate his birthday; this Mr. Hahn discovered in a roundabout way. On this day he might perhaps be able to show him some secret token of esteem. The greatest treasures in Mr. Hahn's garden were his standards and bush roses of every size and color,--splendid flowers which bloomed almost the whole year, and were much admired by the passers-by. They were all in pots, his delight was to move them about in the garden himself, and arrange them ornamentally in different groups. These roses he determined to dedicate as a quiet mark of homage to Mr. Hummel. He had long lamented a desolate space in the middle of his enemy's garden; it had lain bare the whole summer as a place of repose for the brindle dog or a roving cat. When Mr. Hummel should enter his garden on his birthday he should find the round bed changed into a blooming circle of roses.
This thought occasioned Mr. Hahn happy hours, and raised him a little from the depth of his sorrows. He carried the roses into a concealed corner, arranged them in rank and file according to their size and color, and wrote their numbers with chalk on the pots. The park-keeper, whose house stood at the extreme limit of the city by the river, had a little boat; this Mr. Hahn borrowed secretly for a few hours in the night. Before the early dawn of morning, on the birthday of his enemy, he slipped out of the house, rowed the pots in the boat to the small steps which led from the water-side into the garden of Mr. Hummel; he glided with his loved roses to the circular bed, arranged them noiselessly according to their numbers, planted each separately, and changed the desert spot into a blooming parterre of roses. When the sparrows in the gutters twittered out their first querulous abuse, he had smoothed down the earth in the bed with a small rake. He cast a look of pleasure on his work, and another on the still dusky outline of the house, within which Mr. Hummel still slept, unprepared for the surprise of the morning, and then glided with his spade and empty pots into his boat, rowed himself up to the house of the park-keeper, and concealed himself and his garden utensils on his own ground before the first rays of the rising sun painted his chimney with roseate colors.
Mr. Hummel entered his sitting-room at the usual hour, received with good-humor the congratulations of his ladies, looked graciously at the birthday cake which wife Philippine had placed with his coffee, and at the travelling-bag which Laura had embroidered for him, took his newspaper in his hand, and prepared himself by participation in the political concerns of men in general, for the business of his own life. All this passed off well; in his factory and in his office he received congratulations like a lamb; he stroked the snarling dog, and wrote business letters full of respect to his customers. When towards the middle of the day he returned to his ladies, and the Doctor entered his room to offer his congratulations, a dark cloud gathered on the sunny countenance of the master of the house, and lightning flashed from under his ambrosial eyebrows.
"What, Saul among the prophets! Are you come to fetch a lost ass back to your father's house? We cannot accommodate you. Or are you going to deliver a lecture upon the language of the orang-outang in the land of the cocoas?
"My lectures have not caused you any trouble so far," replied the Doctor. "I have not come in order that your hospitable politeness should take the trouble to entertain those present by the outpouring of your good humor. I have already expressed to you my wish never to be the object of it."
"Then defend yourself if you can," cried Hummel.
"I am only prevented," replied the Doctor, "by consideration for those present from giving you in your own house the answer which you seem to wish."
"I should be sorry if you were placed at any disadvantage in my house," replied Hummel. "I propose to you, therefore, to put yourself on an equal footing with me, by remaining in your own house and putting your head out of the window. I will do the same; we can then sing out to one another across the street, like two canary birds."
"But as I am here now," said the Doctor, with a bow, "I claim to be allowed to eat this piece of birthday cake in peace among friendly faces."
"Then I beg of you to resign the sight of my face without overpowering sorrow," replied Hummel.
He opened the door into the garden, and went down the steps discontentedly. While still at a distance he saw the young group of roses smiling innocently in the light of the sun. He walked round the spot, shook his head, and invited his ladies into the garden.
"Which of you got this idea?" he asked.
The ladies showed such lively surprise that he was convinced of their innocence. He called to the old storekeeper and the book-keeper. All showed entire ignorance. The countenance of Mr. Hummel became gloomy.
"What does this mean? Some one has slipped in here while we were asleep. Night garden-work is not to my taste. Who has ventured to enter my property without permission? Who has brought in these products of nature?"
He went restlessly along the side of the water: behind him followed Spitehahn. The dog crept down the steps to the water, smelt at a bit of brown wood which lay on the last step, came up again, turned towards the house of Mr. Hahn, and set up his back like a cat, mockingly, and made a snarling noise. It meant as clearly as if he had spoken the friendly words, "I wish you a pleasant meal."
"Right," cried Hummel; "the intruder has left the handle of the rudder behind. The brown handle belongs to the boat of the park-keeper. Take it over to him, Klaus. I demand an answer; who has ventured to bring his boat alongside here?"
The storekeeper hastened away with the piece of wood, and brought back the answer with an embarrassed air:
"Mr. Hahn had borrowed the boat in the night."
"If there are forebodings," cried Hummel, angrily, "this was one. This nocturnal prowling of your father I forbid under all circumstances," he continued, to the Doctor.
"I know nothing of it," rejoined the Doctor. "If my father has done this, I beg of you, even if you do not value the roses, to be pleased with the good intention."
"I protest against every rose that may be strewed on my path," cried Hummel. "First we had poisoned dumplings, with evil intentions; and now rose leaves, with good ones. Your father should think of something else than such jokes. The ground and soil are mine, and I intend to prevent roosters from scratching here."
He charged wildly into the roses, seized hold of stems and branches, tore them out of the ground, and threw them into a confused heap.
The Doctor turned gloomily away, but Laura hastened to her father and looked angrily into his hard face.
"What you have rooted up," she exclaimed, "I will replace with my own hands."
She ran to a corner of the garden, brought some pots, knelt down on the ground, and pressed the stems with the little balls of earth into them as eagerly as her father had rooted them up.
"I will take care of them," she called out, to the Doctor; "tell your dear father that not all in our house undervalue his friendship."
"Do what you cannot help," replied Mr. Hummel, more quietly. "Klaus, why do you stand there on your hind legs staring like a tortoise? Why do you not help Miss Hummel in her garden-work. Then carry the whole birthday-present back again to the youthful flower-grower. My compliments, and he must in the darkness have mistaken the gardens."
He turned his back upon the company, and went with heavy steps to his office. Laura knelt on the ground and worked at the ill-used roses with heightened color and gloomy determination. The Doctor helped silently. He had seen his father behind the hedge, and knew how deeply the poor man would feel this latest outburst on the part of his adversary. Laura did not desist till she had put all the flowers as well as possible into the pots; then she plunged her hands into the stream, and her tears mixed with the water. She led the Doctor back to the room; there she wrung her hands, quite beside herself.
"Life is horrible; our happiness is destroyed in this miserable quarrel. Only one thing can save you and me. You are a man, and must find out what can deliver us from this misery."
She rushed out of the room; the mother beckoned eagerly to the Doctor to remain behind, when he was on the point of following.
"She is beside herself," cried Fritz. "What do her words mean? What does she desire of me?"
The mother seated herself on the sofa, embarrassed and full of anxiety, cleared her throat, and twisted at her sleeves.
"I must confide something to you, Doctor," she began, hesitatingly, "which will be very painful to us both; but I know not what to do, and all the representations that I make to my unhappy child are in vain. Not to conceal anything from you,--it is a strange freak,--and I should have thought such a thing impossible."
She stopped and concealed her face in her pocket-handkerchief. Fritz looked anxiously at the disturbed face of Mrs. Hummel. A secret of Laura's that he had for weeks foreboded was now to fall destructively on his hopes.
"I will confess all to you, dear Doctor," continued the mother, with many sighs. "Laura esteems you beyond measure, and the thought of becoming your wife--I must say it in confidence--is not strange or disagreeable to her. But she has a fearful idea in her head, and I am ashamed to express it."
"Speak out," said the Doctor, in despair.
"Laura wishes you to elope with her."
Fritz was dazed.
"It is scarcely for a mother to express this wish to you, but I do not know how to do otherwise."
"But where to?" cried the Doctor, quite aghast.
"That is the most painful part of all, as you yourself must acknowledge. What put the idea into her head, whether poetry, or reading about the great world in the newspapers, I know not. But to her frame of mind, which is always excited and tragic, I can oppose no resistance. I am afraid to impart it to my husband. I conjure you to do what you can to calm my child. Her feelings are wounded, and I can no longer resist the inward struggle for this young heart."
"I beg permission," replied the Doctor, "to speak immediately with Laura on the subject."
Without waiting for the mother's answer, he hastened up the stairs to Laura's room. He knocked, but receiving no answer, opened the door. Laura was sitting by her writing-table, sobbing violently.
"Dear, sweet Laura," exclaimed the Doctor, "I have been speaking with your mother; let me know all."
Laura started.
"Every warm feeling is rejected with scorn, every hour that I see you is embittered by the hostility of my father. The heart of the poorest maiden palpitates when she hears the voice of the man she loves: but I must ask, is that the happiness of love? When I do not see you I am in anxiety about you, and when you come to us I feel tormented, and listen with terror to every word of my father. I see you joyless and cast down. Fritz, your love for me, makes you unhappy."
"Patience, Laura," said the Doctor; "let us persevere. My confidence in your father's heart is greater than yours. He will gradually reconcile himself to me."
"Yes, after he has broken both our hearts; even great love is crushed by constant opposition. I cannot, amidst the wrangling of our hostile families, become your wife; the narrow street and the old hatred are destructive to me. I have often sat here lamenting that I was not a man who could boldly battle for his own happiness. Listen to a secret, Fritz," she said, approaching him, again wringing her hands; "here I am becoming haughty, malicious, and wicked."
"I have observed nothing of that kind," replied Fritz, astonished.
"I conceal it from you," exclaimed Laura; "but I struggle daily with bad thoughts, and I am indifferent to the love of my parents. When my father pats my head, the devil cries within me he had better let it alone. When my mother admonishes me to have patience, her talk secretly irritates me, because she uses finer words than are necessary. I hate the dog, so that I often beat him without cause. The conversation at the Sunday dinner, the stories of the old actor, and the eternal little tittle-tattle of the street appear insupportable to me. I feel that I am an odious creature, and I have frequently in this place wept over and hated myself. These bad fits are ever recurring and become more overpowering. I shall never be better here: where we live under a curse, like two spoiled children. We sink, Fritz, in these surroundings! Even the loving care of parents ceases to make one happy--the anxiety that one should not wet one's feet, that one should wear woolen stockings, and have cakes and sugar plums on a Sunday--is one to go through all this every year of one's life?"
She hastily opened her journal, and held out to him a bundle of poems and letters.
"Here are your letters; through these I have learnt to love you, for here is what I revere in you. Thus would I always have you be. When, therefore, I think of what you have to go through between our houses and to bear from my father, and when I observe that you wear a double shawl under every rough blast, I become anxious and worried about you; and I see you before me as a pampered book-worm, and myself as a little stout woman with a large cap and an insignificant face, sitting before the coffee cups, talking over the daily passers by, and this thought oppresses my heart."
Fritz recognized his letters. He had long felt certain that Laura was his secret confidant, but when he now looked at the loved one who held up to him the secret correspondence, he no longer thought of the caprice which had occasioned him so much grief; he thought only of the true-heartedness and of the poetry of this tender connexion.
"Dear, dear Laura," he exclaimed, embracing her; "it seems as if two souls with which my heart had intercourse had become one, but you now divide me and yourself into human beings of daily life, and into higher natures. What has destroyed your cheerful confidence?"
"Our difficulties, Fritz, and the sorrow of seeing you without pleasure, and hearing your voice without being elevated by it; you are with me, and yet further off from me than in those days when I did not see you at all, or only in the society of friends."
She released herself from his embrace.
"Do you love me? and are you the man who has written these? If so, venture to withdraw me from this captivity. Begin a new life with me. I will work with you and be self-denying; you shall see of what I am capable; I will think day and night of how I can earn our maintenance, that you may be undisturbed by petty cares in your learned work. Be brisk and bold, cast off your eternal caution, venture for once to do what others may look at askance."
"If I were to do it," answered Fritz, seriously, "the risk would be small for me. For you the consequences may be such as you do not think of. How can you imagine that a rash determination can be good for you if it throws fresh discord into your soul, and burdens your whole life with a feeling of guilt towards others?"
"If I take upon myself to do what is wrong," exclaimed Laura, gloomily, "I do it not for myself alone. I feel but too well that it is wrong, but I venture it for our love. Never will my father voluntarily lay my hand in yours. He knows that I am devoted to you, and is not so hard as to wish my unhappiness, but he cannot overcome his disinclination. One day he is compelled to acknowledge that you are the man to whom I ought to belong, the next the bitter feeling of how hateful it is to him again returns. If you venture to defy him you will do what is really agreeable to him; show a strong will, and, though he may be angry, he will easily be appeased by your courage. He loves me," she said in a low tone, "but he is fearfully hard to others."
"Is he always so?" asked the Doctor. "It is clear the daughter does not know the full worth of her father. I should at this moment be doing both him and you an injustice if I were to conceal from you what he wishes to keep secret. Listen, then: when my poor father was sitting by me in despair, your father entered our house and gave us in the most magnanimous way the means of averting the threatened blow. Do you not know that his sulkiness and quarrelsomeness are frequently only the expression of a rough humor?"
Laura watched his mouth as if she wished to devour every word that fell from his lips.
"Did my father do this?" she exclaimed, startled to the utmost, raising her arms towards heaven, and throwing herself down upon her writing-table.
Fritz wished to raise her.
"Leave me," she entreated, passionately, "it will pass off. I am happy. Leave me alone now, beloved one."
The Doctor closed the door gently, and went down to the mother, who still sat on the sofa overwhelmed with anxiety, revolving in her mind, with motherly alarm, all the exciting scenes of an elopement.
"I beg of you," he said, "not to worry Laura now by remonstrances. She will regain her calmness. Trust to her noble heart."
With these wise words the Doctor endeavored to comfort himself. Meanwhile Laura lay supported against the chair, and thought over her injustice to her father. For years she had borne the sorrow which is bitterest to the heart of a child, and now the pressure was taken from her soul. At last she arose, drew out her diary, tore out one page after another, crumpled up the leaves and threw them into the fire--a small sacrifice. She watched it till the last sparks flickered in the dark ashes, then she closed the stove and hastened out of the room.
Mr. Hummel was sitting in his warehouse before a battalion of new hats with broad brims and round crowns, which were placed for review before his field-marshal's eye, and he spoke reprovingly to his bookkeeper:
"They are like mere barbers' basins; man is losing his dignity. At all events, we shall make profit by these coverings: no one notices the cats'-hairs of which they are made; but they rob the head of the German citizen of the last breath of fresh air that he has hitherto secretly carried about with him in his high hat. In my youth one recognized a citizen by three points: on his body he wore a coat of blue cloth, on his head a black hat, and in his pocket a great house-key, with the ring of which, in case of assault by night, he could twist the noses of assassins. Now he goes off in a gray jacket to drink his beer, opens the door of the house with a small corkscrew, and the last high hat will probably be bought up as a rarity for art collections. You may immediately put aside part of our manufacture for antiquarians."
This pleasant grumbling was interrupted by Laura, who entered eagerly, seized her father's hand with an imploring look, and drew him from his warehouse into his small office. Mr. Hummel submitted to be thus led, as patiently as Lot when the angel led him from the burning cities of the valley. When she was alone with her father she threw her arms about his neck, kissed and stroked his cheek, and for a long time could bring out nothing but "My good, noble father." Mr. Hummel was well pleased with this stormy fashion of endearment for a time.
"Now I have had enough of this caressing. What do you want? This introduction is too grand for a new parasol or a concert ticket."
"Father," cried Laura, "I know all that you have done for our neighbor. I beg your forgiveness; I, unfortunate one, have misunderstood your heart, and have many times inwardly resented your harshness."
She kissed his hands, tears falling from her eyes.
"Has that dough-face over the way been blabbing?" asked Mr. Hummel.
"He was obliged to tell me, and it was a happy moment for me. Now I will acknowledge all to you with shame and repentance. Forgive me."
She sank down before him.
"Father, I have long been sick at heart. I have thought you pitiless. Your eternal grumbling and enmity to our neighbor have made me very unhappy, and my life here has often been miserable."
Mr. Hummel sat erect and serious, but a little dismayed at the confession of his child, and he had an indistinct impression that he had carried his rough opposition too far.
"That is enough," he said; "this is all excitement and imagination. If I have been vexed through all these years, it has not done me any harm, nor the people over the way either. It is an unreasonable sorrow that now excites your lamentations."
"Have consideration for me," entreated Laura. "An irresistible longing to go forth from this narrow street, has entered my soul. Father, I would like to take a leap into the world."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Hummel. "I also should like to take a leap into it, if I only knew where this jolly world could be found."
"Father, you have often told me how light was your heart when you wandered forth as a boy from your native town, and that from these wanderings you became a man."
"That is true," replied Hummel. "It was a fine morning, and I had eight pence in my pocket. I was as lively as a dog with wings."
"Father, I also should like to rove about."
"You?" asked Hummel. "I have laid aside my knapsack; there are only a few hairs remaining on it, but you may tie your boots over it; then one cannot see it."
"Good father, I also want to go out and seek my way among strangers, and look out for what will please me. I will try my powers, and fight my may with my own hands."
"You must put on breeches," said Hummel; "you cannot otherwise go alone in your wanderings.'
"I will take some one with me," answered Laura, softly.
"Our maid Susan? She can carry a lantern for you. The paths in this world are sometimes muddy."
"No, father; I mean the Doctor."
She whispered to him:
"I want the Doctor to elope with me."
"Ah, you little spider!" cried Hummel, amazed. "The Doctor elope with you! If you were to elope with him, there would be more sense in it."
"That's just what I want to do," replied Laura.
"Mutually, then!" said Hummel. "Listen: the matter becomes serious. Leave off embracing me, keep your hands away, and make a face beseeming a citizen's daughter and not an actress."
He pushed her down on the window-seat.
"Now speak to the point. So you intend to carry off the Doctor? I ask you, with what means? For your pocket-money will not reach far, and he over the way has not much to spare for such Sunday pleasures? I ask you, will you first marry him? If so, the elopement would be very suspicious, for I have never yet heard of a woman carrying off her husband by force. If you do not marry him, there is something which you must learn from your mother, and which is called modesty. Out with it!"
"I wish to have him for a husband," said Laura, softly.
"Ah, that is it, is it? and was your Doctor ready to take charge of you before marriage, and to run away with you?"
"No; he spoke as you do, and reminded me that I ought not to give you pain."
"He is occasionally humane," replied Hummel; "I am indeed indebted to him for his good intentions. Finally, I ask you, where will you carry him off to?"
"To Bielstein, father. There is the church in which Ilse was married."
"I understand," said Hummel, "ours are too large; and what afterwards? Do you mean to work as a day-laborer on the estate?"
"Father, if we could but travel," said Laura, imploringly.
"Why not," replied Mr. Hummel, ironically; "to America, perhaps, as colleagues of Knips junior? You are as mad as a March hare. The legitimate and only daughter of Mr. Hummel will run away from her father and mother, from a comfortable house and flourishing business, with her neighbor's only son, who is in his way also legitimate, to a fools' paradise. I never could have thought that this hour would arrive."
He paced up and down.
"Now hear your father. If you had been a boy I would have had you well thrashed; but you are a girl, and your mother has formed you according to her principles. Now I perceive with regret that we have allowed you to have your own way too much, and that you may be unhappy for your whole life. You have got the Doctor into your head, and you might as well have fixed upon a tragic hero or a prince, and it shocks me to think of it."
"But I have not thought of such," replied Laura, dejectedly; "for I am my father's daughter."
Hummel laid hold of the plaits of her hair and examined them critically:
"Obstinacy; but the mixture is not throughout the same; there is something of higher womanliness with it; fancifulness, and whimsical ideas. That is the misfortune; here a powerful stroke of the brush is necessary."
These words he repeated several times, and sat down thoughtfully on his chair.
"So you wish for my consent to this little elopement. I give it you upon one condition. The affair shall remain between us two; you shall do nothing without my consent, and even your mother must not know that you have spoken to me of it. You shall take a drive into the world, but in my way. For the rest, I thank you for this present that you have made me on my birthday. You are a pretty violet for me to have brought up! Has one ever heard of such a plant taking itself by the head and tearing itself out of the ground?"
Laura embraced him again, and wept.
"Do not set your pump again in motion," cried Mr. Hummel, untouched, "that cannot help either of us. A happy journey, Miss Hummel."
Laura, however, did not go, but remained clinging to his neck. The father kissed her on the forehead.
"Away with you; I must consider with what brush I shall stroke you smooth."
Laura left the room. Mr. Hummel sat alone for a long time by his desk, holding his head with both hands. At last he began to whistle in a low tone the old Dessauer--a sign to the book-keeper, who was entering, that soft feelings had the upper hand with him.
"Go across to the Doctor, and beg him to take the trouble of coming over to me immediately."
The Doctor entered the office. Mr. Hummel rummaged in his desk and brought out a little paper.
"Here, I return you the present that you once made me."
The Doctor opened it, and two little gloves lay within.
"You may give these gloves to my daughter on the day on which you are married to her, and you can tell her they come from her father, from whom she has run away."
He turned away, approached the window, and thrummed on the pane.
"I have already told you before, Mr. Hummel, that I will not take back these gloves. Least of all will I do it for this purpose. If the happy day is ever to come to me when I can take Laura to my home, it will only be when you put your daughter's hand in mine. I beg you, dear Mr. Hummel, to keep these gloves until that day."
"Much obliged," replied Hummel; "you are a miserable Don Juan. I am in duty bound," he continued, in his usual tone, "to communicate to you what is of fitting importance to you. My daughter Laura wishes to elope with you."
"What now disturbs Laura," answered the Doctor, "and has given her these wild thoughts, is no secret to you. She feels herself oppressed by the unpleasant relations which subsist between us. I hope this excitement will pass away."
"May I be allowed to ask the modest question, whether it is your intention to agree to her plan?"
"I will not do it," rejoined the Doctor.
"Why not?" asked Hummel, coldly. "I for my part, have no objection to it."
"That is one reason the more for me not to act inconsiderately by you, nor to be treated in a like manner."
"I can bequeath my money to the hospital."
"To this remark I have only one answer," replied the Doctor. "You yourself do not believe that this consideration influences my actions."
"Unfortunately not," replied Hummel; "you are both unpractical people. So you hope that I will at last give you my blessing without an elopement?"
"Yes, I do hope it," exclaimed the Doctor. "However you may wish to appear to me, I trust that the goodness of your heart will be greater than your aversion."
"Do not count upon my indulgence. Doctor. I do not believe that I shall ever prepare a marriage-feast for you. My child gives herself with confidence into your hands; take her."
"No, Mr. Hummel," replied the Doctor, "I shall not do it."
"Has my daughter sunk so much in value because she is ready to become your wife?" asked Mr. Hummel, bitterly, and with a rough voice. "The poor girl has acquired some notions among her learned acquaintances, which do not suit the simple life of her father."
"That is unjust towards us all, and also towards our absent friends," said the Doctor, indignantly. "What now distracts Laura is only a petty enthusiasm; there is still in her some of the childish poetry of her early girlhood. He who loves her may have perfect confidence in her pure soul. Only in one respect must he maintain a firm judgment in dealing with her; he must here and there exercise a mild criticism. But I should be unworthy of the love of her pure heart if I should agree to a hasty proceeding, which would at a later period occasion her pain. Laura shall not do what is unbecoming to her."
"So that is Hindoo," replied Mr. Hummel; "there is a spark of sound common sense in your Botocudens and Brahmins. Do your learned books also find an excuse for a daughter not feeling happy in the house of her parents?"
"That is your fault alone, Mr. Hummel," replied the Doctor.
"Oho!" said Mr. Hummel; "so that's it."
"Forgive me my plain speaking," continued the Doctor. "It is the fashion of Laura's father to play the tyrant a little in his family, in spite of all his love for them. Laura has from her childhood been accustomed to view your strange nature with fear; therefore she does not form the impartial conception of your character, nor feel the pleasure in your mischievous humors that those not so intimately acquainted enjoy. If you had seen Laura's transport when I made known to her what you had done for my father, you would never doubt her heart. Now she is overcome with anguish about our future. But you may be assured, if Laura were to give in to her fancy and separate herself from her parents' house, she would soon feel gnawing repentance and longing for her parents. Therefore, the man for whom she would now make this sacrifice acts not only honorably, but also prudently, in resisting it."
Mr. Hummel looked fiercely at the Doctor.
"There is the old bear tied to a stake, the young puppies pull at his fur, and the cocks crow over his head. Take warning by my fate; under all circumstances avoid having female offspring." He put his hand upon the gloves, packed them up again, smoothed the paper, and shut them in his writing-desk. "Thus shall I lock up again my unnatural child; for the rest I remain your devoted servant. So your old Hindoos tell you that I am a droll screech-owl, and a jolly bonvivant to strangers. Is that your opinion of my natural propensities?"
"You are not quite so innocent," replied the Doctor, with a bow. "To me you have been always particularly rude."
"There is no one I would rather wrangle with than with you," acknowledged Mr. Hummel.
The Doctor bowed, and said:
"When you play with other men as with cats, they only bear such treatment because they perceive good intentions under your cross-grained exterior. I can say this to you, because I am one of the few men to whom you have shown real dislike; and, as you are also obstinate, I know very well that I shall still have to have many a tilt with you, and I am not at all sure how it will end between us. That, however, does not prevent my acknowledging the bitter amiability of your nature."
"I object to any further enlightenment as to my real character," exclaimed Mr. Hummel. "You have a disagreeable way of viewing your fellow-men microscopically. I protest against your painting me like a flea in the shadow on the wall. As concerns your proceedings as my daughter's lover, I am content with them. You do not choose to take my child in the way in which she is to be had; I thank you for your scruples. In this matter we are entirely of the same opinion, and you therefore shall not have her at all."
The Doctor wished to interrupt him, but Hummel waved his hand.
"All further talk is useless; you renounce my daughter, but you preserve the esteem of her father, and you have moreover the feeling of acting for the best for Laura. As you feel such great uprightness, you may console yourself with it. You will devote yourself to celibacy, and I should envy you, if it were not for the consideration of Madame Hummel."
"This will not avail, Mr. Hummel," replied the Doctor; "I have not the least intention of renouncing Laura's hand."
"I understand," replied Mr. Hummel; "you wish to besiege my daughter still, from across the street. This quiet pleasure I can, unfortunately no longer allow, for I am certainly of opinion that Laura must at some time leave my house; and as you have chosen the good opinion of the father rather than the daughter, we will confer on this point in mutual understanding. You are mistaken if you think that my daughter Laura will give up her fancies upon wise admonition. Have you not sometimes appealed to my conscience? It was all that could be expected, considering your age; but it has been of no avail with me. It will be the same with this obstinate child. Therefore I am, as a father, of opinion that we must give in to a certain degree to the folly of my child. Consider how far you can go to please us. She wishes to join the Professor's wife. She shall not go to this capital where my lodger has no home, but she has frequently been invited to Bielstein."
The Doctor answered:
"I have urgent reasons for going to my friend during the next few days. I will gladly make a detour by Bielstein, if you will allow me to accompany Laura on this journey, I shall make no secret of its purpose,--and least of all to my parents."
"This elopement is so shabby that, were I a girl, I should be ashamed of taking part in it. But one must not expect too much of you. I will not be at home when this departure takes place: you see, that is natural. I have already made my plans concerning my child's future. I give her over to you for the journey with confidence."
"Mr. Hummel," exclaimed the Doctor, disquieted, "I ask for still greater confidence. How have you decided concerning Laura's future?"
"As you have determined to show me such respect, I beg you will be content with the confidential intimation, that I have no intention of making you any such communication. You preserve my esteem, and I my daughter. My compact is concluded."
"But the compact is not quite satisfactory to me, Mr. Hummel," answered the Doctor.
"Hold your tongue. If in consequence of this agreement you resume your theatrical career, I should advise you never to act the rôle of lover. The audiences will run out of all the doors. Do I treat people like cats?--So I treated your father and his flowers this morning. You can give him an intimation of that. My wife has plucked to-day a few roosters for my birthday; if roasting these namesakes of yours does not excite painful feelings in you, it will give me pleasure to see you at dinner. You will not be under the embarrassment of having to talk only to my daughter, for the family clown is invited: he will keep up the conversation--you may be silent. Good morning, Doctor."
The Doctor again stretched out his hand to him. Mr. Hummel shook it, grumbling all the while. When he was again alone in his office the melody of the old Dessauer again sounded in the narrow room, now brisk and hearty. Then, soon after, Mr. Hummel broke forth with the second of the two airs--"the Dear Violet"--to which he had recourse when in an unconstrained humor. At last he mixed up the drumming of the Dessauer with "the Dear Violet" in an artistic medley. The book-keeper, who knew that this pot pourri betokened a state of the highest spring warmth, popped his face, smiling respectfully, into the office.
"You may come to dinner to-day," said Mr. Hummel, graciously.