IV
Four weeks after the inspector’s visit a letter came for Balzer. He was offered the school at Ottenheim. Ottenheim lay in the rich district of teeming pastures—“the butter district.” So the school was twice as important as that of Neideck. That same evening, too, a neighbor stopped at the castle to offer Balzer his congratulations on another “streak of luck,” the death of Röderbauer. Röderbauer had climbed a tree to pick cherries to make his celebrated cordial; he had fallen from the tree and been picked up dead. Delicacy impelled Balzer to deny that he saw luck in Röderbauer’s death, but in his heart he knew that the event would make his own life easier, and he could not find any excuse for attributing this last blessing to his castle.
He gave his pupils a three days’ vacation and set off for Ottenheim, wondering if it would be possible to live so far from Neideck. He was not sure of this. As he passed the new castle, the home of the heirs and owners of Neideck, a smile of pity flitted over his lips. What a fall; from Neideck to Westerau! History had made Neideck glorious; Westerau had no history! A prince may build a castle, but even Omnipotence can not give ancestry to an unfledged baron!—Philip was shocked; pride in his castle had caused him to blaspheme; he had cast a doubt upon Omnipotence!
Driving back these confusing thoughts, he went on across the crest of the Dill Mountains, that looked down upon the broad green plains, the well-kept, regularly measured meadows, the corn-fields swaying in the wind, and the highway lined with fruit trees. Set on the verdant, gold-flecked carpet rested the villages with red-tiled roofs. The church spires were glittering in the sunlight. But it was tame! There were no woods, no rocks, no stronghold. Not a ruin! The long stretch of level land oppressed him, but he went on. Arrived at Ottenheim, he saw the schoolroom; large, light, limewashed. The windows looked out on a playground; from the ground sprang four slim young lindens; they looked like brooms standing on their sticks. His heart quailed. Homesick dread filled his soul. How could he live and teach in such a place? He turned and fled.
At Steinfurt he stopped to salute the girl with the long, fair hair. In her black dress, her long lashes wet with tears, Lizzie was even prettier than when she had visited Neideck. In his dust-stained traveling coat (he had no other) Philip followed Röderbauer’s coffin to the grave—and the peasants envied him.
After the funeral he talked of the future with his betrothed. His appointment to Ottenheim pleased the girl, but she knew that she had money enough now to build in Neideck. Philip declared that he would never live in the butter district, where there were no woods, no rocks, no strongholds. His future, a great future, lay in Neideck. He knew it.
“Such talk is foolish,” answered Lizzie, and they quarreled; the girl told him that she would never live in the lodge. She called the castle “old and ugly.” She refused to marry him. Philip protested that he would die a bachelor rather than go to Ottenheim. He reminded Lizzie of her visits to Neideck and of the beauty of the castle. Lizzie answered: “I did not go there to see the castle; I went there to see you.” That was too much! Philip set off for Neideck cut to the heart. But he was not rash; he gave her time to think it over. After two weeks he returned to Steinfurt—and again they quarreled. “Whoever takes me must take my castle!” said Philip; and Lizzie answered: “If you do not love me more than you love the castle, I do not want you!” Philip’s heart was heavy; Lizzie thought less of the matter. Pride was mingled with Philip’s sorrow. “The castle has done so much for me,” thought he; “it has made me what I am. Even if I have to renounce my love to keep my trust, I must be faithful.” So he declined the offer of Ottenheim and continued to appear before the world as the poorest of the schoolmasters, the head of the smallest school in Germany.