The hour passed very pleasantly. Miss Mertens was both refined and cultivated, and Reinhard told many delightful stories of his travels and researches.
"Probably we should not have thought of returning home for some time," he said in concluding an interesting account of adventures in Spain, "had we not received unfavourable accounts from Thuringia, which, following fast upon each other, induced Herr von Walde to give up new plans for travel. The ambition of power often makes its possessor blind. The incautious request from a feminine pen that Herr von Walde would pension off the good old village pastor at Lindhof, because he had grown prosy and was incapable of training the souls under his care, capped the climax of our unwelcome hews, and we set out for home immediately.
"When, late in the evening, as we approached Lindhof, we left the highroad and our carriage, that we might go the rest of the way on foot, we met with a most charming adventure. How odd! look, Reinhard, what do you suppose is the meaning of that light in the ruins of Castle Gnadeck?' asked Herr von Walde. 'It means that there is a lamp there,' was my reply. 'We must investigate this,' said he, and we ascended the hill. The light grew brighter, and at last, to our astonishment, we saw that it streamed from two high illuminated windows. And then, light steps were heard behind us, something white fluttered among the bushes, and suddenly, what I took for a being of ethereal mould hovered before us upon the moonlit sward. I took heart and approached, expecting every moment that the airy form would vanish before the breath of my lips; but alas! its own lips opened, and told of two well-trained goats and a canary bird."
All laughed at this account.
"While we were descending the mountain," Reinhard continued, "my master said not a word; but from certain signs I judged that he was quite as ready to laugh at me as you were; it would have been a fine thing if you could have accompanied us as a good fairy, for we left all the moonlight and beauty behind us upon the mountain, and had to walk on through the dim valley, where the mists were rising, and where there was nothing, not even a wandering zephyr to bid us welcome home. At Castle Lindhof numberless lights were flitting to and fro like will-o'-the-wisps. The carriage, with our luggage, had already arrived, and seemed to have produced the same effect by the sound of its rolling wheels, as that ascribed to the thunder at the day of judgment, for there was such hurry, confusion, and disorder reigning there when we arrived, that, for my part, I should have been thankful to retrace my steps, and lay my weary head upon the first quiet, mossy spot that I could find in the forest. The only person who, in the midst of the universal agitation, presented an appearance of placid self possession was the chaplain, Möhring. He had put on a white cravat with great despatch, and welcomed the master of the house at the foot of the grand staircase in a speech full of unction."
"The reign of that stern gentleman is at an end now, is it not?" asked the forester.
"Yes, indeed, thank God!" replied Miss Mertens. "He will leave Lindhof in a short time. Baroness Lessen's influence has procured him a good parish. He could not endure to sink back into insignificance where he had so lately held sway. I can readily understand it, for he had ruled with all the persecuting zeal of a tyrant who seeks to tread every one beneath his feet. He would not allow a thought in his kingdom without his permission, and even the baroness, his mistress, upon whom he smiled so servilely, felt his iron rule. Every one in the household, without exception, was obliged to write down, in the evening, the thoughts and sentiments that had occurred to them during the avocations of the day. I can see before me now the poor housemaids, to whom even a short letter to their friends at home is a greater task than a long ironing-day, sitting in that cold room on the winter evenings, holding the pen in their tired clumsy fingers, and beating their poor brains for something to say.
"'Yes, if the chaplain had worked as hard as I have done the whole day,' one would whisper softly but angrily to another, 'he would not relish writing much.'"
"Indeed, I think so," cried the forester. "What a shameful system of torture and oppression has been carried on there under the cloak of service to the Lord!"
"The worst of it all is," said Ferber, "that unless a man is possessed of great culture, or of a special fund of good humour, he ends by detesting not only his tormentors but the whole subject of religion that causes him such suffering. Thus, he is led more and more astray from all faith, while his outward observance of forms must be stricter than ever, his subsistence depending upon his wearing the mask well. All this gives the death-blow to true religion among the people."