The Goose Man Part 84

"I am not going to remain in the city," said Daniel. "I am planning to return to my native Eschenbach."

The pupils looked at each other. Thereupon the speaker remarked: "We want to go with you." They all nodded.

Daniel got up and shook hands with each one of them.

Two days later, Daniel's furniture and household belongings had all been packed. Benda came to say good-bye: his work, his great duty was calling him.

At first Benda could hardly realise that Daniel was yet to live an active life; that there was still a whole life in him; that his life was not merely the debris of human existence, the ruins of a heart. But it was true.

There was about Daniel the expression, the bearing of a man who had been liberated, unchained. No one could help but notice it. Though more reticent and laconic than in former days, his eyes had taken on a new splendour, a renewed brilliancy and clarity; they were at once serious and cheerful. His mood had become milder, his face more peaceful.

The friends shook hands. Benda then left the room slowly, went down the steps slowly, and once out on the street he walked along slowly: he felt so small, so strangely unimportant.

VII

Daniel returned to Eschenbach, and moved into the house of his parents.

His pupils took rooms with the residents of the village.

He was regarded by the natives as a peculiar individual. They smiled when they spoke of him, or when they saw him pa.s.sing through the streets absorbed in his own thoughts. But it was not a malicious smile. If there was the faintest tinge of ridicule in it at first, it soon gave way to a vague feeling of pride.

He gained a mysterious influence over people with whom he came in contact; many sought his advice when in trouble. His pupils especially adored him. He had the gift of holding their attention, of carrying them along. The means he employed were the very simplest: his splendid, cheerful personality, the harmony between what he said and what he did, his earnestness, his humanness, his resignation to the cause that lay close to his heart, and his own belief in this cause-those were the means through which and by which he gained a mysterious influence over those with whom he came in touch.

He became a famous teacher; the number of pupils who wished to study under him increased from year to year. But he admitted very few of them to his cla.s.ses. He took only the best; and the certainty with which he made his selections and differentiated was wellnigh infallible.

No inducements of any kind could persuade him to leave the isolated place where he had elected to live.

He was almost always in a good humour; he was never distracted; and the preciseness and sharpness with which he observed whatever took place was remarkable. The one thing that could throw him into a rage was to see some one abuse a dumb beast. Once he got into trouble with a teamster who was beating his skinny old jade in order to make it pull a load that was far in excess of its strength. The boys on the street made fun of him; the people laughed with considerable satisfaction, and said: "Ah, the professor: he's a bit off."

Agnes kept house for him; she was most faithful in looking out for his wants. When he would leave the house, she would bring him his hat and walking stick. Every evening before she went to sleep, he would come in to her and kiss her on the forehead. It was rare that they spoke with each other, but there was a secret agreement, a peaceful harmony, between them.

Gottfried grew up to be a strong, healthy boy. He had Daniel's physique and Eleanore's eyes. Yes, they were the eyes with that blue fire; and they had Eleanore's elfin-like chast.i.ty and her hatred of all that is false and simulated. Daniel saw in this a freak of nature of the profoundest significance. All the laws of blood seemed unsubstantial and shadowy. His feelings often wandered between grat.i.tude and astonishment.

Of Dorothea he heard one day that she was making her living as a violinist in a woman's orchestra. He made some inquiries and traced her as far as Berlin. There he lost her. A few years later he was told that she had become the mistress of a wealthy country gentleman in Bohemia, and was driving about in an automobile on the Riviera.

He was also informed of the death of Herr Carovius. His last hours were said to have been very hard: he had kept crying out, "My flute, give me my flute!"

VIII

In August, 1909, Daniel's pupils celebrated the fiftieth birthday of their master. They made him a great number of presents, and gave him a dinner in the inn at the Sign of the Ox.

One of his pupils, an extremely handsome young fellow for whose future Daniel had the highest of hopes, presented him with a huge bouquet of orange lilies, wild natives of the woods around Eschenbach. He had gathered them himself, and arranged them in a costly vase.

The menu at the dinner was quite frugal; the wine was Franconian country wine. During the dinner, Daniel rose, took his gla.s.s in his hand, and, with a far-away look in his eyes, said: "I drink to the health and happiness of a creature who is a stranger to all of you. She grew up here in Eschenbach. Many years ago she vanished in a most mysterious way. But I know that she is alive and happy at this hour."

His pupils all raised their gla.s.ses. They looked at him, and were deeply moved by the strength and clarity of his features.

After the dinner he and his pupils went to the old church. He had both of the large doors opened so that the bright light of day might pour in unimpeded. Up in the lofty vaults of the nave, where all had been dark but a moment ago, there was now a milky clearness and cheerfulness.

He went to the organ and began to play. Some men and women who chanced to be pa.s.sing by came in and sat down on the benches with the boys. Then a group of children entered. They tripped timidly through the open doors, stopped, looked around, and opened their eyes as wide as children can. Other people came in; for the tones of the organ had penetrated the humble homes. They looked up at the organ silently and seriously; for its exalted melodies had, without their being prepared for it, carried them away from their everyday existence, and lifted them up above its abject lowliness.

The tones grew louder and louder, until they sounded like the prayer of a heart overflowing with feeling. As the close of the great hymn drew on, a little girl was heard weeping from among the uninvited auditors.

It was Agnes who wept. Had life been fully awakened in her? Was love calling her out into the unknown? Was the life of her mother being repeated in her?

Children grow up and are seized by their fate.

Toward evening, Daniel took a walk with his nine pupils out over the meadow. They went quite far. The last song of the birds had died out, the glow of the sun had turned pale.

The beautiful youth, then walking by Daniel's side, said: "And the work, Master?"

Daniel merely smiled; his eye roamed over the landscape.

The landscape shows many shades of green. Around the weirs the gra.s.s is higher, so high at times that one can see nothing of the geese but their beaks. Were it not for their cackling, one might take these beaks for strangely mobile flowers.

THE END