The Romance of the Canoness. Paul Heyse

      "She harnessed herself to Mother Lieschen's dogcart," he said loudly, with a jeering laugh, which displeased me extremely; and then whispered into his sister's ear so that all could hear, "I laughed at her well, and she tried to hit me, but I was spryer."

      And the little toad giggled spitefully.

      The baron uttered a few words in French, which I did not understand. Then he clasped his hands on the back of the chair, and said: "Let us thank the Lord."

      He asked a blessing, which did not seem to me amiss, only it appeared somewhat lengthy, especially as Achatz was constantly nudging his sister in the side with his elbow. Mademoiselle Suzon Duchanel made the sign of the cross at its beginning and end, which led me to secretly wonder how a Catholic could have been received into this rigidly Protestant family. Yet none of the others seemed to find it objectionable.

      The company then took their places at the table, the baroness at the head between her two children, the master of the house next to Achatz, then the French governess, by whose side my seat was assigned. There was a vacant chair opposite, next Fräulein Leopoldine, then came the baron's brother, to whom he presented me as we were taking our seats: "Herr Candidate Johannes Weissbrod--my brother Joachim."

      Just as the soup was being served, the folding-door again opened and the missing Luise entered, who of course proved to be the Canoness whom I had passed in the elm avenue outside. She had taken off her blue polonaise and little black kerchief, and in a plain gray dress, with snow-white frill, looked even more slender than before, somewhat as ancient statues represent the goddess of the chase. Her face was slightly flushed, whether from embarrassment or her hurried walk I could not determine. Yet she did not hang her head like a penitent, but went straight up to the old lady, bent down and kissed her cheek, then bore the baron's reproving glance without lowering her lashes, and silently took the vacant chair between the daughter of the house and "brother Joachim."

      Achatz stared and giggled, but grew as still as a mouse when she cast a sharp, quiet look at him across the table. I now saw that she had sparkling dark-brown eyes, against which the golden lashes stood forth in strong relief. Yet, on the whole, she did not seem to me so beautiful as when out-of-doors under the shadow of the elm-trees.

      There was a stern, defiant expression in her face, very unlike my ideal of feminine charm and lamb-like meekness. Moreover, she seemed to entirely overlook my precious self, which gave me no favorable impression of her character. Without uttering a word, she exchanged a hurried clasp of the hand with her next neighbor at table and then began to eat as indifferently as though she had been entirely alone.

      I was somewhat annoyed because I had received no special introduction to her; but my thoughts were soon directed from this perplexing young creature by the baron, who commenced a theological conversation with me, in which he showed himself a zealous Lutheran of the most rigid type. I was extremely cautious at first, having heard that he was a remarkably learned man. But I soon perceived that his knowledge was utterly unsubstantial; he merely scattered broadcast certain names and titles of books, which had been new years before, and persistently repeated a few established formulas, on which he set far too much value. He seemed especially to have received the stamp of the Schleiermacher school, repeated a pun on the name of its founder two or three times, but did not appear to have read even a page of his "Dogmatik" or of the "Discourses on Religion."

      The whole conversation was evidently solely intended to inspire me with a high opinion of his knowledge and spiritual enlightenment, though he himself did not really feel the slightest interest in the matter, for he turned a deaf ear to my modest objections, and as--though I regarded myself a valiant champion of the true faith--I knew how to keep my polished sword in its sheath on occasion, this first theological tourney passed off with mutual satisfaction. I only regretted that my position in the house forbade me to stretch my opponent on the sand and receive from fair hands the prize of victory.

      During the whole dinner no one except the baron and myself had spoken. The mistress of the house gazed into vacancy with a look of quiet suffering, ate very little, and only showed herself eager to fill her husband's glass as soon as he had emptied it, which in the zeal of his debate occurred every moment. The others drank nothing but water, except Mademoiselle Suzon, whose glass, spite of her coquettish reluctance, the baron filled twice with Bordeaux. Two liveried servants moved to and fro as if shod with felt; but for so aristocratic a household the meal seemed to me rather meager and niggardly.

      After dinner the baron, lighting a short hunting-pipe, took me into his study and discussed the plan of instruction I was to pursue with the heir. Biblical history, the catechism, the history of his native country, a little geography--the lessons in the two latter branches were to be shared with Leopoldine. She was far more talented than her brother, my patron remarked; but the lad possessed the germ of a genuine old-school Mark nobleman and an orthodox Christian, though it was overgrown by all manner of boyish naughtinesses. His affectionate papa hoped, from my experience in teaching and theological training, that my pupil would soon visibly grow in favor with God and man.

      At the same time the baron allowed me to see that upon my success would depend my future position and promotion to the living. The present pastor, with increasing age, would become less and less capable of maintaining the strict discipline that was desirable, already displayed a lamentable tolerance in matters of faith, and, if he did not shortly apply for a discharge from his office, it would be necessary to obtain his removal.

      When I left my patron's study, I should have liked to give my pupil a short examination at once and commence the training of the young plant intrusted to my charge. Achatz, however, was neither within sight nor hearing, but had disappeared, like the other members of the Round Table. So I went up to my tower-room, and set about unpacking my books. An old servant, who appeared to be the factotum of everybody in the castle who wanted help, made me--as there was no book-case--two rude sets of shelves out of boards, which, however, after they were filled with my ecclesiastical works, looked very respectable. My pupil's room adjoined mine. "Who occupies the second story under us?" I asked. "The young baroness and Fräulein Luise," was the reply. I don't know why this annoyed me, but I should have preferred to avoid the vicinity of the Canoness.

      While thus occupied, twilight had closed in, and I resolved to walk down to the village and call on the old pastor.

      As I entered the long village street, I prepared to assume the most gracious manner. The worthy folk should have an idea of what they might expect from their future pastor. But my nods and smiles, greetings and questions, did not produce the slightest impression. The children ran shyly away, and the grown people only gave me curt, suspicious answers, though they knew very well that I was the expected candidate, and enjoyed the favor of their noble church-patron. So I was not in the best humor when I reached the little old parsonage, whose dilapidated condition was revealed, at this early season of the year, by the bare vine-trellises and empty garden. Even the church, beside which it stood, only separated by the graveyard, urgently needed repairs, and I secretly wondered that so pious a man as the baron did not set more value on the proper preservation of the house of God.

      But the interior of the parsonage looked all the brighter and more home-like. True, the walls of the rooms were only whitewashed, but there was not even a fly-speck on them; the thin white curtains seemed to have been freshly ironed only the day before, the floors were strewn with sand, and the household utensils were dazzlingly clean. A brisk, plump old lady, the pastor's wife, greeted me with so cordial a pressure of the hand, that I felt almost ashamed of having crossed her threshold with the selfish thoughts of a smiling heir.

      She led me into a small back room, that was just illumined by the setting sun. Here, in an atmosphere so oppressive from the heat of the stove that I could scarcely breathe, an old gentleman was sitting by the window in a large arm-chair covered with calico. A small black cloth cap rested on his venerable head, and his gouty, swollen knee was wrapped in a woolen blanket. His kind, blue eyes gazed so affectionately at me that I involuntarily bent over his outstretched hand and would have kissed it, had he not withdrawn it, silently shaking his head. I was requested to sit beside him, and, while we were exchanging the first common-place remarks, I had time to again reflect what a brilliant young light of the church I was compared to this