CHAPTER XI.
PROGRESS GROWS JOLLY
In passing near the tables Gerlach overheard conversations which revealed to him unmistakably the communistic aspirations and tendencies prevailing among the lower orders, their fiendish hatred of religion and the clergy, their corruption and appalling ignorance. On every hand he perceived symptoms of an alarmingly unhealthy condition of society. He heard blasphemies uttered against the Divinity which almost caused his blood to run cold; sacred things were scoffed at in terms so coarse and with an animus so plainly satanical that his hair rose on his head. It was clear to him that the firmest supports, the only true foundations of the social order, were tottering-rotted away by an incurable corruption.
In Gerlach's life, also, as in that of many other men, there had been a period of mental struggle and of doubt. He, too, had at one time himself face to face with questions the solution of which involved the whole aim of his existence. During this period of mental unrest, he had thought and studied much about faith and science, but not with a silly parade of superficial scepticism. He had resolutely engaged in the soul struggle, and had tried to end it for once and all. Supported by a good early training and a disposition naturally noble, instructed and guided by books of solid learning, he had come out from that crisis stronger in faith and more correct in his views of human science. The scenes which he was witnessing reminded him vividly of that turning-point in his life; they were to him an additional proof that man's dignity disappears as soon as he refuses to follow the divine guidance of religion. Grave in mood, he returned to the table around which were gathered the chieftains. The marks of respect shown to the millionaire were numerous and flattering. Even the bluff Sand exerted himself unusually in paying his respects to the wealthy landholder, and Erdblatt, whose embarrassed financial condition enabled him beyond them all to appreciate the worth of money, filled a glass with his own hand, and reached it to Mr. Conrad with the deference of an accomplished butler, Gerlach was pleased to speak in terms of praise of the nut-brown beverage, which greatly tickled Belladonna, the fat brewer. Naturally enough, the conversation turned upon the subject of the celebration.
"I confess I am not quite clear respecting the purpose of your city in the matter of schools," said Mr. Conrad. "How do you intend to arrange the school system?"
"In such a way as to make it accord with the requirements of the times and the progressive spirit of civilization," answered Hans Shund. "An end must be put to priest rule in the schools. The establishment of common schools will be a decided step towards this object. For a while, of course, the priests will be allowed to visit the schools at specified times, but their influence and control in school matters will be greatly restricted. Education will be withdrawn from the church's supervision, and after a few years we hope to reach the point when the school-rooms will be closed altogether against the priests. There is not a man of culture but will agree that children should not be required to learn things which are out of date, and the import of which must only excite smiles of compassion."
"Whom do you intend to put in the place of the clergy?" inquired Mr. Conrad.
"We intend to impart useful information and a moral sense in harmony with the spirit of the age," replied Hans Shund.
"It seems to me the elementary branches have been very competently taught heretofore in our schools, consequently I do not see the need of a change on this head," said Gerlach. "But you have not understood my question, I mean, who are to fill the office of instructors in morals and in religion?"
The chieftains looked puzzled, for such a question they had not expected to hear from the wealthiest man of the country.
"You see, Mr. Gerlach," said Sand bluntly, "religion must be done away with entirely. We haven't any use for such trash. Children ought to spend their time in learning something more sensible than the catechism."
"I am not disposed to believe that what you have just uttered is a correct expression of the general opinion of this community on the subject of the school question," returned the millionaire with some warmth. "It is impossible to bring up youth morally without religion. You are a housebuilder, Mr. Sand. What would you think of the man who would expect you to build him a house without a foundation-a castle in the air?"
"Why, I would regard him as nothing less than a fool," cried Sand.
"The case is identically the same with moral education. Morality is an edifice which a man must spend his life in laboring at. Religion is the groundwork of this edifice. Moral training without religion is an impossibility. It would be just as possible to build a house in the air, as to train up a child morally without a religious belief, without being convinced of the existence of a holy and just God."
"Facts prove the contrary," maintained Hans Shund. "Millions of persons are moral who have no religious belief."
"That's an egregious mistake, sir," opposed the landholder. "The repudiation of a Supreme Being and the violent extinction of the idea of the Divinity in the breast are of themselves grave offences against moral conscience. I grant you that, in the eyes of the public, thousands of men pass for moral who have no faith in religion. But public opinion is anything but a criterion of certainty when the moral worth of a man is to be determined. A man's interior is a region which cannot be viewed by the eye of the public. You know yourselves that there are men who pass for honorable, moral, pure men, whose private habits are exceedingly filthy and corrupt."
Hans Shund's color turned a palish yellow; the eyes of the chieftains sank.
"Besides, gentleman, it would be labor lost to try to educate youth independently of religion. Man is by his very nature a religious being. It is useless to attempt to educate the young without a knowledge of God and of revealed religion; to be able to do so you would previously have to pluck out of their own breasts the sense of right and wrong, and out of their souls the idea of God, which are innate in both. Were the attempt made, however, believe me, gentlemen, the yearning after God, alive in the human breast, would soon impel the generation brought up independently of religion to seek after false gods. For this very reason we know of no people in history that did not recognize and worship some divinity, were it but a tree or a stone, that served them for an object of adoration. In my opinion, it would be far more indicative of genuine progress to adhere to the God of Christians, who is incontestably holy, just, omnipotent, and kind, whilst to return to the sacred oaks of ancient Germany or to adopt the fetichism of uncivilized tribes would be a most monstrous reaction, the most degrading barbarism."
The chieftains looked nonplussed. Earnest thinking and investigation upon subjects pertaining to religion were not customary among the disciples of progress. They looked upon religion as something so common and trivial that anybody was free to argue upon and condemn it with a few flippant or smart sayings; But the millionaire was now disclosing views so new and vast, that their weak vision was completely dazzled, and their steps upon the unknown domain became unsteady.
Mr. Seicht, observing the embarrassment of the leaders, felt it his duty to hasten to their relief. His polemical weapons were drawn from the armory of bureaucracy.
"The progressive development of humanity," said Mr. Seicht, "has revealed an admirable substitute for all religious ideas. A state well organized can exist splendidly without any religion. Nay, I do not hesitate to maintain that religion is a drawback to the development of the modern state, and that, therefore, the state should have nothing whatever to do with religion. An invisible world should not exert an influence upon a state-the wants of the times are the only rule to be consulted."
"What do you understand by a state, sir?" asked the millionaire.
"A state," replied the official, "is a union of men whose public life is regulated by laws which every individual is bound to observe."
"You speak of laws; upon what basis are these laws founded?"
"Upon the basis of humanity, morality, liberty, and right," answered the official glibly.
"And what do you consider moral and just?"
"Whatever accords with the civilization of the age."
A faint smile passed over the severe features of Mr. Conrad.
"I was watching the procession," spoke he. "I have seen the religious feelings of a large number of citizens publicly ridiculed and grossly insulted. Was that moral? Was it just? You are determined to oust God and religion from the schools; yet there are thousands in the country who desire and endeavor to secure a religious education for their children. Is it moral and just to utterly disregard the wishes of these thousands? Does it accord with a profession of humanity and freedom to put constraint on the consciences of fellow-citizens?"
"The persons of whom you speak are a minority in the state, and the minority is obliged to yield to the will of the majority," answered Seicht.
"It follows, then, that the basis of morality and justice is superior numbers?"
"Yes, it is! In a state, it appertains to the majority to determine and regulate everything."
"Gentlemen," spoke Gerlach with great seriousness, "as I was a moment ago strolling over this place, I overheard language at several tables, which was unmistakably communistic. Laborers and factory men were maintaining that wealth is unequally distributed; that, whilst a small number are immensely rich, a much greater number are poor and destitute; that progress will have to advance to a point when an equal division of property must be made. Now, the poor and the laboring population are in the majority. Should they vote for a partition, should they demand from us what hitherto we have regarded as exclusively our own, we, gentlemen, will in consistency be forced to accept the decree of the majority as perfectly moral and just-will we not?"
There was profound silence.
"I, for my part, should most emphatically protest against such a ruling of the majority," declared Greifmann.
"Your protest would be contrary to morals and equity; for, according to Mr. Seicht, only what the majority wills is moral and just," returned the landowner. "And, in mentioning partition of property, I hinted at a red monster which is not any longer a mere goblin, but a thing of real flesh and bone. We are on the verge of a fearful social revolution which threatens to break up society. If there is no holy and just God; if he has not revealed himself, and man is not obliged to submit to his will; if the only basis of right and of morals is the wish of the majority, this terrible social revolution must be moral and just, for the majority wills it and carries it out."
"Of course, there must be a limit," said the official feebly.
"The demands of the majority must be reasonable."
"What do you understand by reasonable, sir?"
"I call reasonable whatever accords with the sense of right, with sound thinking, with moral ideas."
"Sense of right-moral ideas? I beg you to observe that these notions differ vastly from the sole authority of numbers. You have trespassed upon God's kingdom in giving your explanation, for ideas are supersensible; they are the thought of God himself. And the sense of right was not implanted in the human breast by the word of a majority; it was placed there by the Creator of man."
The official was driven to the wall. The chieftains thoughtfully stared at their beer-pots.
"It is clear that the will of the majority alone cannot be accepted as the basis of a state," said Schwefel. "The life of society cannot be put at the mercy of the rude and fickle masses. There must be a moral order, willed and regulated by a supreme ruler, and binding upon every man. This is plain."
"I agree with you, sir," said the millionaire. "Let us continue building on Christian principles. As everybody knows, our civilization has sprung from Christianity. If we tear down the altars and destroy the seats from which lessons of Christian morality are taught, confusion must inevitably follow. And I, gentlemen, have too exalted an opinion of the German nation, of its earnest and religious spirit, to believe that it can be ever induced to fall away completely from God and his holy law. Infidelity is an unhealthy tendency of our times; it is a pernicious superstition which sound sense and noble feeling will ultimately triumph over. We will do well to continue advancing in science, art, refinement, and industry, in true liberty and the right understanding of truth; we will thus be making real progress, such progress as I am proud to call myself a partisan of."
The chieftains maintained silence. Some nodded assent. Hans Shund gave an angry bite to his pipe-stem, and puffed a heavy cloud of smoke across the table.
"I have confidence in the enlightenment and good sense of our people," said he. "You have called modern progress 'a pernicious superstition and an unhealthy tendency of the times,' Mr. Gerlach," turning towards the millionaire with a bow. "I regret this view of yours."
"Which I have substantiated and proved," interrupted Gerlach.
"True, sir! Your proofs have been striking, and I do not feel myself competent to refute them. But I can point you to something more powerful than argument. Look at this scene; see these happy people meeting and enjoying one another's society in most admirable harmony and order. Is not this spectacle a beautiful illustration and vindication of the moral spirit of progress?"
"These people are jubilant from the effect of beer, why shouldn't they be? But, sir, a profound observer does not 'suffer himself to be deceived by mere appearances.'"
An uproar and commotion at a distance interrupted the millionaire. At the same instant a policeman approached out of breath.
"Your honor, the factorymen and the laborers are attacking one another!"
"What are you raising such alarm for," said Hans Shund gruffly. "It is only a small squabble, such as will occur everywhere in a crowd."
"I ask your honor's pardon: it is not a small squabble, it is a bloody battle."
"Well, part the wranglers."
"We cannot manage them; there are too many of them. Shall I apply for military?"
"Hell and thunder-military!" cried Hans Shund, getting on his feet. "Are you in your senses?"
"Several men have already been carried off badly wounded," reported the policeman further. "You have no idea how serious the affray is, and it is getting more and more so; the friends of both sides are rushing in to aid their own party. The police force is not a match for them."
Women, screaming and in tears, were rushing in every direction. The bands had ceased playing, and noise and confusion resounded from the scene of action. Louise ran to take her brother's arm in consternation. The wives and daughters of the chieftains huddled round their natural protectors.
"Hurry away and report this at the military post," was Seicht's order to the policeman. "The feud is getting alarming. One moment!"
Tearing a leaf from a memorandum book, he wrote a short note, which he sent by the messenger.
"Off to the post-be expeditious!"
Louise hastened with her brother and Gerlach senior to their carriage, and her feeling of security returned only when the noise of the combat had died away in the distance.
The next day the town papers contained the following notice: "The beautiful celebration of yesterday, which, on account of its object, will be long remembered by the citizens of this community, was unfortunately interrupted by a serious conflict between the laborers and factorymen. A great many were wounded during the mêlée, of whom five have since died, and it required the interference of an armed force to separate the combatants."
CHAPTER XII.
BROWN BREAD AND BONNYCLABBER
Seraphin had not gone to the celebration. He remained at home on the plea of not feeling well. He was stretched upon a sofa, and his soul was engaged in a desperate conflict. What it was impossible for himself to look upon, had been viewed by his father with composure: the burlesque procession, the public derision of holy practices, the mockery of the Redeemer of the world, in whose place had been put a broken bottle on the symbol of salvation. He himself had been stunned by the spectacle; and his father? Was it his father? Again, his father had accompanied the brother and sister to the infamous celebration. Was not this a direct confirmation of his own suspicions? His father had become a fearful enigma to his soul! And what if, upon his return from the festival, the father were to come and insist upon the marriage with Louise, declaring her advanced notions to be an insufficient ground for renouncing a pet project? A wild storm was convulsing his interior. He could not bear it longer, he was driven forth. Snatching his straw hat, he rushed from the house, ran through the alleys and streets, out of the town, onward and still onward. The August sun was burning, and its heat, reflected from the road, was doubly intense. The perspiration was rolling in large drops down the glowing face of the young man, whom torturing thoughts still kept goading on. Holt's whitewashed dwelling became visible on the summit of a knoll, and gleamed a friendly welcome as he came near it-a welcome which seemed opportune for one who hardly knew whither he was hastening. The walnut-tree which could be seen from afar was casting an inviting shade over the table and bench that seemed to be confidingly leaning against its stem. A flock of chickens were taking a sand-bath under the table, flapping their wings, ruffling their feathers, and wallowing in the dust. Seated on the sunny hillock, the cottage appeared quiet, almost lonesome but for a ringing sound which came from the adjoining field and was made by the sickle passing through the corn. A broad-brimmed straw hat with a blue band could be noticed from the road moving on over the fallen grain, and presently Mechtild's slender form rose into view as she pushed actively onward over the harvest field. Hasty steps resounded from the road. She raised her head, and her countenance first indicated surprise, then embarrassment. Whom did her eyes behold rushing wildly by, like a fugitive, but the generous rescuer of her family from the clutches of the usurer Shund. His hat was in his hand, his auburn locks were hanging down over his forehead, his face aglow, his whole being seemed to be absorbed in a mad pursuit. To her quick eye his features revealed deep trouble and violent excitement She was frightened, and the sickle fell from her hand. Not a day passed on which she would not think of this benefactor. Perhaps there was not a being on earth whom she admired and revered as much as she did him. All the pure and elevated sentiments of an innocent and blooming girl, united to form a halo of affection round the head of Seraphin. At evening prayer when her father said, "Let us pray for our benefactor Seraphin," her soul sent up a fervent petition to God, and she declared with joy that she was willing to sacrifice all for him. But behold this noble object of her admiration and affection suddenly presented before her in a state that excited the greatest uneasiness. With his head sunk and his eyes directed straight before him, he would have rushed past without noticing the sympathizing girl, when a greeting clear and sweet as the tone of a bell caused him to look up. He beheld Mechtild with her beautiful eyes fixed upon him in an expression of anxiety.
"Good-morning, Mr. Seraphin," she said again.
"Good-morning," he returned mechanically, and staring about vaguely. His bewilderment soon passed, however, and his gaze was riveted by the apparition.
She was standing on the other side of the ditch. The fear of some unknown calamity had given to her beautiful face an expression of tender solicitude, and whilst a smile struggled for possession of her lips her look indicated painful anxiety. Mechtild's appearance soon directed the young man's attention to his own excited manner. The dark shadow disappeared from his brow, he wiped the perspiration from his face, and began to feel the effect of his walk under the glowing heat of midsummer.
"Ah! here is the neat little white house, your pretty country home, Mechtild," he said pleasantly. "If you had not been so kind as to wish me good-morning, I should actually have passed by in an unpardonable fit of distraction."
"I was almost afraid to say good-morning, Mr. Seraphin, but-" She faltered and looked confused.
"But-what? You didn't think anything was wrong?"
"No! But you were in such a hurry and looked so troubled, I got frightened," she confessed with amiable uprightness. "I was afraid something had happened you."
"I am thankful for your sympathy. Nothing has happened me, nor, I trust, will," he replied, with a scarcely perceptible degree of defiance in his tone. "This is a charming situation. Corn-fields on all sides, trees laden with fruit, the skirt of the woods in the background-and then this magnificent view! With your permission, I will take a moment's rest in the shade of yon splendid walnut-tree planted by your great-grandfather."
She joyfully nodded assent and stepped over the ditch. She shoved back the bolt of the gate. Together they entered the yard, which a hedge separated from the road. The cock crew a welcome to the stranger, and led his household from the sand-bath into the sunshine near the barn.
"This is a cool, inviting little spot," said the millionaire, as he pointed to the shade of the walnut-tree. "No doubt you often sit here and read?"
"Yes, Mr. Seraphin; but the dirty chickens have scattered dust all over the bench and table. Wait a minute, you'll get your clothes dusty."
She hurried into the house. His eyes followed her receding form, his ears kept listening for her departing steps, he heard the opening and closing of doors: presently she reappeared, dusted the bench and table with a brush, and spread a white cloth over the table. Seraphin looked on with a smile.
"I do not wish to be troublesome, Mechtild!"
"It is no trouble, Mr. Seraphin! Sit down, now, and rest yourself. I am so sorry father and mother are not at home. They will be ever so glad to hear that you have honored us with a visit."
"Is nobody at home?"
"Father is in town, and mother is at work with the children in the harvest field."
"Are you not afraid to stay here by yourself?"
"What should I be afraid of? There are no ghosts in daytime," she said with a bewitching archness; "and as for thieves, they never expect to find anything worth having at our house."
She was standing on the other side of the table, looking at him with a beautiful smile.
"Won't you have a seat on this bench?" said he, making room for her. "You need rest more than I do. You have been working, and I am merely an idle stroller. Do take a seat, Mechtild."
"Thank you, Mr. Seraphin-I could not think of doing so! It would not be becoming," she answered with some confusion.
"Why not becoming?"
"Because you are a gentleman, and I am only a poor girl."
"Your objection on the score of propriety is not worth anything. Oblige me by doing what I ask of you."
"I will do so, Mr. Seraphin, since you insist upon it, but after a while. I would like to offer you some refreshments beforehand, if you will allow me."
"With pleasure," he said, nodding assent.
A second time she hurried away to the house, whilst he kept listening to her footsteps. The extraordinary neatness and cleanliness which could be seen everywhere about the little homestead did not escape his observation. On all sides he fancied he saw the work of Mechtild. The purity of her spirit, which beamed so mildly from her eyes and was revealed in the beauty of her countenance and the grace of her person, seemed embodied in the very odor of roses wafted over from the neighboring flower garden. He was unconscious of the rapid growth within his bosom of a deep and tender feeling. This feeling was casting a warm glow, like softest sunshine, over all that he beheld. Not even the chickens looked to him like other fowls of their kind; they were ennobled by the reflection that they were objects of Mechtild's care, that she fed them, that when they were still piping little pullets she had held them in her lap and caressed them. He abandoned himself completely to this sentiment; it carried him on like a smooth current; and he could not tell, did not suspect even, why so wonderful a reaction had in so short a time taken place in his interior. Beholding himself seated under the walnut-tree surrounded only by evidences of honorable poverty and rural thrift, and yet feeling a degree of happiness and peace he had never known before, he fancied he was performing a part in some fairy tale which he was dreaming with his eyes open. And now the fairy appeared at the door having on a snowy-white apron, and carrying a shallow basket from which could be seen, protruding above the rest of its contents, a milk jar. She set before him a pewter plate, bright as silver. Then she took out the jar and a cup, next she laid a knife and spoon for him, and finished her hospitable service with a huge loaf of bread.
"Don't get dismayed at the bread, Mr. Seraphin! I am sorry I cannot set something better before you. But it is well baked and will not hurt you!"
"You baked it yourself, did you not?"
"Yes, Mr. Seraphin!"
He attacked the loaf resolutely. From the dimensions of the slice which he cut off, it was plain that appetite and his confidence in her skill were satisfactory. She raised the jar of bonnyclabber, which lurched out in jerks upon his plate, whilst he kept gayly stirring it with the spoon. Then she dipped a spoonful of rich cream out of the cup and poured it into the refreshing contents of the plate.
"Let me know when you want me to stop, Mr. Seraphin." Mechtild poured spoonful after spoonful; he sat immovable, seemingly observing the spoon, but in reality watching her soft plump fingers, then her well-shaped hand, next her exquisitely arm, and, when finally he raised his eyes to her face, they were met by a mischievous smile. The cup was empty, and all the cream was in his plate.
"May I go and fetch some more?" she asked.
"No, Mechtild, no! Why, this is a regular yellow sea!"
"You wouldn't cry 'enough!'"
"I forgot about it," he replied, somewhat confused. "To atone for my forgetfulness, I will eat it all."
"I hope you will relish it, Mr. Seraphin!"
"Thank you! Where is your plate?"
"I had my dinner before you came."
"Well, then, at any rate you must not continue standing. Won't you share this seat with me?"
She seated herself upon the bench, took off her hat, smoothed down her apron, and appeared happy at seeing him eating heartily.
"Don't you find that dish refreshing, Mr. Seraphin?"
"You have done me a real act of charity," he replied. "This bread, is excellent. Who taught you how to make bread?"
"I learned from mother; but there isn't much art in making that sort of bread, Mr. Seraphin. The food which people in the country eat does not require artistic preparation. It only needs good, pure material, so that it may give strength to labor."
"I suppose you attend to the kitchen altogether, do you not?"
"Yes, Mr. Seraphin. That's not very difficult, our meals are of the plainest kind. We have meat once a week, on Sundays. When the work is unusually hard, as in harvest time, we have meat oftener. We raise our own meat and cure it."
"You have assumed household cares at quite an early age, Mechtild."
"Early? I am seventeen now, and am the oldest. Mother has a great deal of trouble with the small ones, so the housework falls chiefly to my share. It does not require any great exertion, however, to do it. Plain and saving is our motto. Mother specially recommends four things: industry, cleanliness, order, and economy. She advises me not to neglect any one of these points when once I will have a household of my own."
"Do you think you will soon set up a separate household?" asked he with some hesitation.
"Not for some time to come, Mr. Seraphin, yet it must be done one day. If my own inclination were consulted, I would prefer never to leave home. I should like things to continue as they are. But a separation must come. Death will pay us a visit as it has done to others, father and mother will pass away, and the course of events will sever us from one another."
Her head sank, the brightness of her face became obscured beneath the shadow of these sombre thoughts, and, when she again looked up, there appeared in her eyes so touching and childlike a sadness that he felt pained to the soul. And yet this revelation of tenderness pleased him, for it made known to him a new phase of her amiable nature.
For a long time he continued conversing with the artless girl. Every word she uttered, no matter how trifling, had an interest for him. Besides her charming artlessness, he had frequent occasions to admire the wisdom of her language and her admirable delicacy. The setting sun had already cast a subdued crimson over the hilltops, hours had sped away, the chickens had gone to roost, still he remained riveted to the spot by Mechtild's grace and loveliness.
"Father is just coming," she said, pointing down the road. "How glad he will be to find you here!"
His head bent forward. Holt came wearily plodding up the road. His right hand was hidden in the pocket of his pantaloons, and his head was bowed, as if beneath a heavy weight. As Mechtild's clear voice rang out, he raised his head, caught sight of his high-hearted benefactor, and smiled in joyful surprise.
"Welcome, Mr. Seraphin; a thousand times welcome!" he cried from the other side of the road. "Why, this is an honor that I had not expected!"