The Lost Manuscript - BestLightNovel.com
You’re reading novel The Lost Manuscript Part 40 online at BestLightNovel.com. Please use the follow button to get notification about the latest chapter next time when you visit BestLightNovel.com. Use F11 button to read novel in full-screen(PC only). Drop by anytime you want to read free – fast – latest novel. It’s great if you could leave a comment, share your opinion about the new chapters, new novel with others on the internet. We’ll do our best to bring you the finest, latest novel everyday. Enjoy
One evening, Professor Raschke having looked in late, showed himself disposed to pa.s.s the evening with them, and Felix sent the servant to the Professor's wife, to set her mind at rest as to the absence of her husband. As Raschke, among all her husband's colleagues, was Ilse's favorite, she took pains to order something that would please him. This order doomed to death some chickens that shortly before had been brought in alive. The gentlemen were sitting in Ilse's room when a dreadful scream and clamor issued from the kitchen, and the cook, pale as death, opened the door and appealed to her mistress. It appeared that the girl's heart failed her in attempting to kill the fowls and as Gabriel, who had hitherto performed all such necessary slaughter, was absent, she did not know what to do, so Ilse herself had to perform the indispensable act. When she returned, Felix unfortunately asked why she had left the room, and Ilse told him what had occurred.
The chickens were placed upon the table and did the cook no discredit.
Ilse carved and served them, but her husband pushed back his plate, whilst Raschke, out of politeness, picked at the breast, but forbore to eat a morsel. Ilse regarded the two gentlemen with astonishment.
"You do not eat anything, Professor?" she at last said to her guest, anxiously.
"It is only a morbid weakness," replied Raschke, "and it's very foolish indeed, but the screams of the poor bird still linger in my ear."
"And in yours, too, Felix?" asked Ilse, with increasing wonderment.
"Yes," rejoined he. "Is it not possible to have these things done quietly?"
"Not always," answered Ilse, mortified, "when the house is so small, and the kitchen so near." She rang and ordered the ill-fated dish to be taken away. "Those who can't bear things to be killed should eat no meat."
"You are quite right," replied Raschke, submissively, "and our sensitiveness has but little justification. We find the preparations unpleasant, yet as a rule we are well satisfied with the result. But when one is accustomed to observe animal life with sympathy, he is necessarily shocked at the sudden termination of an organism for his own selfish purposes, when it is done in a way to which he is not accustomed. For the whole life of an animal is full of mystery to us.
The same vital power which we observe in ourselves, is fundamentally at work with them, only limited by a less complicated, and, on the whole, less complete organization."
"How can you compare their souls with that of man's?" asked Ilse; "the irrational with the rational; the transitory with the eternal?"
"As to irrational, my dear lady, it is a word to which in this case one does not attach a very clear meaning. What the difference may be between man and beast is difficult to decide, and on this subject a little modesty becomes us. We know but little of animals, even of those who pa.s.s their lives among us. And I confess that the attempt to fathom this unknown problem fills me with awe and reverence, which occasionally rises into fear. I cannot bear that any one who belongs to me should grow fond of an animal. This arises from a weakness of feeling which I own is sentimental. But the influence of the human mind on animals has always seemed to me wonderful and weird; phases of their life are developed, which in certain directions make them very similar to man. Their affectionate devotion to us has something so touching in it, that we are disposed to bestow much more love on them than is good either for them or us."
"Still an animal remains what it was from the creation," said Ilse; "unchanged in its habits and inclinations. We can train a bird, and make a dog fetch and carry what he would rather eat, but that is only an outward compulsion. If let to themselves, their nature and manners remain unaltered, and what we call culture they lack utterly."
"Even upon that point we are by no means sure," rejoined Raschke. "We do not know but that each race of animals has a history and an evolution which extends from the earliest generation to the present. It is not at all impossible that acquirements and knowledge of the world, so far as they may exist in animals, have acted among them, though in a narrower sphere, just as with men. It is quite an a.s.sumption that birds sang just the same way a thousand years ago as they do now. I believe that the wolf and the lynx, in cultivated regions, stand on the same footing in the struggle for life as do the remnants of the red Indians among the whites; whilst those animals that live in comparative peace with man, like sparrows and other small creatures, and bees especially, improve in their mode of work, and in the course of time make progress--progress which we in some cases surmise, but which our science has not yet been able to describe."
"Our forester would quite agree with you in this," said Ilse, quietly; "as he complains bitterly that the bullfinches of our neighborhood have, within his memory, quite deteriorated in their singing, because all the good singers have been caught, and the young birds have no one to teach them."
"Exactly," said Raschke; "among animals of every species there are clever and stupid individuals, and it must follow that to some of them is a.s.signed a definite spiritual mission which extends far beyond their own life. And the experience of an old raven, or the enchanting notes of a melodious nightingale, are not lost on the future generations of their race, but influence them continuously. In this sense we may well speak of culture and continued improvement among animals. But as regards the cooking, I admit that we exhibited our sympathies at the wrong time and place, and I hope you are not angry with us, dear friend."
"It shall all be forgotten now," replied Ilse, "I will give you boiled eggs the next time; they will involve no scruples."
"The egg, too, has its story," answered Raschke; "but for the present, I may fitly waive discussing this. What has brought me here,"
addressing Felix, earnestly, "was neither fowls nor eggs, but our colleague, Struvelius. I am seeking forgiveness for him."
Felix drew himself up stiffly. "Has he commissioned you to come?"
"Not exactly; but it is the wish of some of our colleagues. You know that next year we require an energetic Rector. Some of our acquaintance are speaking of you. Struvelius will probably be Deacon, and for this reason we wish to bring you into friendly relations; and still more for the sake of peace at the University. We regret exceedingly to see our cla.s.sicists at variance."
"What the man has done to me," replied the Professor, proudly, "I can easily forgive, although his mean and underhand conduct has deeply offended me. I feel much more seriously the effect of his foolish work upon himself and our University. What separates me from him is the dishonesty of spirit that has actuated his conduct."
"The expression is too strong," cried Raschke.
"It applies to his behavior exactly," returned the Professor. "When the forgery was pointed out to him, his fear of humiliation was greater than his love of truth, and he lied in order to deceive others--conduct unworthy of a German professor, and I can never forgive it."
"Again you are too severe," replied Raschke; "he has frankly and loyally admitted his error."
"He did so only when Magister Knips and others clearly proved the forgery that had been committed in the ma.n.u.script, and so made any further evasion impossible."
"Human feelings are not so easy to a.n.a.lyze as numbers are," rejoined Raschke; "and only he who judges charitably, judges rightly. He struggled with wounded pride perhaps too long, but he gave in at last."
"I tolerate no unknown quant.i.ty in the sense of honor of a scientist; the question here was: Black or white? Truth or falsehood?"
"You have, nevertheless," said Ilse, "shown the Magister much greater leniency, and I have seen him with you since, more than once."
"The Magister was less to blame in the matter," her husband replied.
"When the question was clearly before him, he employed his acuteness to some purpose."
"He took money for it," said Ilse.
"He is a poor devil, accustomed, as a broker, to take his profits on any exchange of antiquities, and no one would expect in such a transaction that he should act like a gentleman. So far as his oppressed spirit belongs to science, it is not without a sort of manly pride; and I have the warmest sympathy for a nature of that kind. His life on the whole is a continual martyrdom to the interests of others; and when I employ such a man, I know exactly how far to trust him."
"Do not deceive yourself in that!" cried Raschke.
"I shall take the risk and the responsibility," replied the Professor.
"But have done with the Magister--it is not he who is in question. When I compare his offense with that of Struvelius, there is no doubt in my mind as to who has shown the greater deficiency in sense of honor.
"This again is so unjust," cried Raschke, "that I cannot listen to such expressions in the absence of my colleague. It is with deep regret that I miss in you the candor and dispa.s.sionate impartiality which I consider to be unreservedly demanded in judging a fellow-professor."
"You yourself told me," replied Felix, more quietly, "that he promised silence to the trader, because the latter had held out the prospect of obtaining other secret parchments. How can you, after such an exhibition of selfishness, find a word to say in his defense?"
"It is true he did so," replied Raschke, "and therein was his weakness?"
"Therein was his dishonesty," said the Professor, "and that I shall never condone. Whoever thinks otherwise, may shake his hand in approbation of his conduct."
Raschke rose. "If your words mean that he who grasps the hand of Struvelius in pardon for what he has done, has lost in character and self-respect, I reply to you that I am the man, and that this act of mine has never lessened my sense of dignity nor humiliated me in my own eyes. I entertain the highest respect for your pure and manly feelings, which I have ever deemed exemplary; but I must now tell you, that I am not satisfied with you. If this obduracy has come upon you merely because Struvelius has personally offended you, you are violating the standard which we are ever in duty bound to observe in judging our fellow men."
"Let it not be observed then!" exclaimed the Professor. "I recognize no standard of leniency when I have to do with the demands which I make upon the sense of honor and propriety in my personal acquaintances. It affects me deeply that you are opposed to me in this way of thinking; but such as I am, an erring and imperfect mortal, I cannot moderate these claims upon those about me.
"Let me hope then," broke in Raschke, "that it will never be your misfortune to have to confess to others that you have been deceived by an impostor in the very matter wherein your consciousness of self-reliance has been so strongly aroused. For he who judges others so proudly, would suffer no small affliction in the confession of his own shortsightedness."
"Yes, that would be fearful for me," said Felix, "to involve others in error and falsehood against my will. But trust me, to atone for such a wrong I would use all my life and strength. Meanwhile, between that man and me the gulf will remain as dark as ever."
Raschke shoved back his chair. "I must go, then, for our discussion has so excited me that I should make a very unentertaining companion. It is the first time, my dear lady, that I have ever left this house with any feeling of unpleasantness; and it is not my least annoyance, that my untimely advocacy of the existence of souls in poultry made me bristle up my crest against you also."
Ilse regarded the excited countenance of the worthy man with pain, and, in order to soothe him and restore the old friendly relations, she said to him, coaxingly: "But you shall not escape the poor chicken, you'll have to eat it, and I shall take care that your wife gives it to you to-morrow morning for breakfast."
Raschke pressed her hand, and rushed out through the door. The Professor walked up and down the room in agitation, and then stopping before his wife said, abruptly, "Was I in the wrong?"
"I don't know," replied Ilse, hesitating; "but when our friend spoke to you, all my feelings went with him, and I felt that he was right."
"You, too!" said the Professor, moodily. He turned on his heel and went into his study.
Ilse once more sat alone with a heavy heart, and she murmured, "In many things he looks on life very differently from what I do. Towards animals he is kinder, and towards men sometimes harsher than I am.
Strive as I may, I shall always be to him an awkward country la.s.s. He was kind to Madam Rollmaus, and will be so towards me; but he will ever have to make allowances for me."
She sprung from her chair with a burning face.
In the meantime Raschke was roving about in the anteroom; there too disorder prevailed. Gabriel had not returned from his distant errand, and the cook had put all the dinner things upon a side-table till his return, and Raschke had to look for his own great-coat. He groped among the clothes and seized a coat and a hat. As to-day he was not as absent-minded as usual, a glance at the rejected meal reminded him of the fact that he had to eat a chicken, as enjoined by Ilse. He, therefore, seized a newspaper which Gabriel had carefully laid out for his master, took the chicken from the dish, wrapped it up in the paper, and deposited it in his pocket, the depth and capacity of which agreeably surprised him. Rus.h.i.+ng past the astonished cook he left the house. On opening the front door he stumbled over something on the threshold, and heard a fearful growl behind him as he hurried down the steps into the open air.