The Lost Manuscript: A Novel. Gustav Freytag

that I ought not to abandon the work I have undertaken, even though too extensive for my powers; least of all exchange it for a new circle of interests, in which my deficient knowledge would be a burden to you."

      After the reception of these letters both were somewhat more at ease. But certain expressions in them made some further explanation necessary to both, so they set to work and wrote again to each other, shortly and pithily, as became thoughtful men. The Professor answered: "I thank you from my heart, my dear Fritz, for your letter; but I must repeat that you always estimate your own worth too low, and this is all that I can reproach you with."

      Fritz replied: "How deeply touched I feel by your friendship at this moment! This only will I say, that among the many things I have to learn from you, there is nothing I need more than your modesty; and when you speak of your knowledge so comprehensive and fertile in results, as being limited, be not angry if I strive after the same modesty with regard to my work."

      After sending the letter, the Professor, still disquieted, went to his lecture, and was conscious that his mind wandered during his discourse. Fritz hastened to the library, and diligently collected all the referenced which he could find respecting the Manor of Bielstein. At midday, on their return home, each of them read the second letter of his friend: then the Professor frequently looked at the clock, and when it struck three he hastily put on his hat and went with great strides across the street to the hostile house. As he laid hold of the door-knob of the Doctor's room, he felt a counter pressure from within. Pushing the door open, he found Fritz standing before him, also with his hat on, intending to visit him. Without saying a word the two friends embraced each other.

      "I bring you good tidings from the book-seller," began the Professor.

      "And I of the old Manor," exclaimed Fritz.

      "Listen," said the Professor. "The book-seller bought the monk's book of a retail-dealer who travels about the country collecting curiosities and old books. The man was brought into my presence; he had himself bought the little book in the town of Rossau, at an auction of the effects of a cloth-maker, together with an old cupboard and some carved stools. It is at least possible that the remarks in cipher at the end, which evade unpracticed eyes, may never, after the death of the friar, have excited observation nor caused investigation. Perhaps there may still be preserved in some church-record at Rossau an account of the life and death of the monk Tobias Bachhuber."

      "Possibly," assented Fritz, much pleased. "A congregation of his persuasion still exists. But Manor Bielstein lies at a distance of half an hour from the town of Rossau, on a woody height-see, here is the map. It formerly belonged to the ruling sovereign, but in the last century it passed into private hands; the buildings, however, remain. It is represented on this map as an old chateau, at present the residence of a Mr. Bauer. My father also knows about the house; he has seen it from the high road on his journeys, and describes it as a long stretch of buildings, with balconies and a high roof."

      "The threads interweave themselves into a satisfactory web," said the Professor, complacently.

      "Stop a moment," cried the Doctor, eagerly. "The traditions of this province have been collected by one of our friends. The man is trustworthy. Let us see whether he has recorded any reminiscences of the neighborhood of Rossau." He hastily opened and looked into a book, and then gazed speechless at his friend.

      The Professor seized the volume and read this short notice: "It is said that in the olden times the monks in the neighborhood of Bielstein walled up a great treasure in the manor-house."

      Again did a vision of the old, mysterious manuscript arise before the eyes of the friends so distinctly that it might be seized.

      "It is certainly not impossible that the manuscript may yet lie concealed," remarked the Professor, at last, with assumed composure. "Instances of similar discoveries are not lacking. It is not long since that a ceiling of a room in the old house of the proprietor of my home was broken through; it was a double ceiling, and the empty space contained a number of records and papers concerning the ownership, and some old jewels. The treasure had been concealed in the time of the great war, and no one for a century had heeded the lowly ceiling of the little room."

      "Naturally," exclaimed Fritz, rubbing his hands. "And within the facing of old chimneys empty spaces are sometimes found. A brother of my mother's found, on rebuilding his house, in such a place a pot full of coins." He drew out his purse. "Here is one of them, a beautiful Swedish dollar; my uncle gave it to me at my confirmation as a luck-penny, and I have carried it in my purse ever since. I have often struggled against the temptation to spend it."

      The Professor closely examined the head of Gustavus Adolphus, as if he had been a neighbor of the concealed Tacitus, and would convey information concerning the lost book in its inscription. "It is true," he said, reflectively, "if the house is on a height, even the cellars may be dry."

      "Undoubtedly," answered the Doctor. "Often, too, the thick walls were built double, and the intervening space filled with rubbish. In such a case it would be easy, through a small opening, to make a hollow space in the inside of the wall."

      "But now," began the Professor, rising, "the question arises, what are we to do? For the knowledge of such a thing, whether it be of great or little importance, imposes upon the investigator the duty of doing all that is possible to promote the discovery. And this duty we must fulfill promptly and completely."

      "If you impart this record to the public, you will allow the prospect of discovering the manuscript to pass out of your own hands."

      "In this business, every personal consideration must be dismissed," said the Professor, decisively.

      "And if you now make known the cloister-record you have found," continued the Doctor, "who can answer for it, that the nimble activity of some antiquary, or some foreigner, may not prevent all further investigations? In such a case the treasure, even if found, would be lost, not only to you, but also to our country and to science."

      "That, at least, must not be," cried the Professor.

      "And besides, even if you apply to the government of the province, it is very doubtful whether they will render you any assistance," replied the Doctor, triumphantly.

      "I do not think of committing the matter to strangers and officials," answered the Professor. "We have a person in the neighborhood whose good fortune and acuteness in tracing out rarities is wonderful. I have a mind to tell Magister Knips of the manuscript; he may lay aside his proof-sheets for a few days, travel for us to Rossau, and there examine the ground."

      The Doctor jumped up. "That will never do. Knips is not the man to trust with such a secret."

      "I have always found him trustworthy," replied the Professor. "He is wonderfully skillful and well-informed."

      "To me it would appear a desecration of this fine discovery, to employ such a man," answered Fritz, "and I would never consent to it."

      "In that case," cried the Professor, "I have made up my mind. The vacation is at hand; I will go myself to the old house. And as you, my friend, intended to travel for a few days, you must accompany me; we shall go together. Here is my hand on it."

      "With all my heart," cried the Doctor, clasping his friend's hand. "We will penetrate into the manor-house, and summon the spirits which hover over the treasure."

      "We will first come to an understanding with the owner of the house. Then we shall see what is to be done. Meanwhile let us keep the affair secret."

      "That is right," assented Fritz; and the friends descended, well satisfied, into the garden of Mr. Hahn, and, pausing for a few moments beneath the White Muse, they consulted with regard to the opening of the campaign.

      The imagination of the Scholar was fast pent up by his methodical train of thought; but in the depths of his soul there was a rich and abundant stream from the secret source of all beauty and energy. Now a hole had been torn in the dam, and the flood poured itself joyfully over the seed. Ever did the wish for the mysterious manuscript return to him. He saw before him the opening in the wall, and the first glimmer of light falling on the grey books in the hollow; he saw the treasure in his hands as he drew it out, and would not part with it till he had deciphered the illegible pages. Blessed spirit of Brother Tobias Bachhuber, if thou shouldst