The Lost Manuscript: A Novel

by Gustav Freytag

Her father had informed her of the death of an old friend. The good pastor had been borne away from the narrow valley to the place of rest, which he had chosen in the churchyard, near his wife. He had never recovered from the disquiet which the departure of Ilse had caused him; he had passed the winter in lingering illness, and one warm spring evening death came upon him while sitting before his peach-tree in the garden. There the faithful servant found him, and ran with the terrible news to the manor. A few hours before he had requested Clara to write to his dear child in the city, that all was well with him.

Ilse had often been anxious about the life of her friend during the winter, so the account was not a surprise to her. Yet now she felt his loss as a terrible misfortune; it was a life which had been firmly and faithfully devoted to her; she well knew that in later years she had become almost exclusively the object of his thoughts and fond affections. She had abandoned one who had been part of her life, impelled by a stronger feeling, and it now appeared as if she had done wrong in parting from him. She saw the staff broken which had bound her firmly to the feelings of her childhood. It seemed as if the ground tottered beneath her, as if all had become insecure, the heart of her husband, and her own future.

The Professor found her dissolved in tears and bending over the letter; her grief moved him, and he anxiously begged her to think of herself. He spoke to her tenderly, and at last she raised her eyes to him and promised to be composed.

But it was in vain. After a few hours he was obliged to carry her to bed.

It was a dangerous illness. There were days in which she lay unconscious in death-like weakness. When, at times, she opened her weary eyes, she looked into the careworn countenance of her husband, and saw Laura's curly head tenderly bending over her; then all would vanish again in vague insensibility.

It was a long struggle between life and death, but life was victorious. Her first impression, when she awoke as from a painless slumber, was the rustling of a black dress, and the large curl of Mrs. Struvelius, who had popped her head through the closed curtains, and was gazing sorrowfully on her with her great grey eyes. She gently called her husband by name, and the next moment he was kneeling by her bed, covering her hand with kisses; and the strong man had so completely lost all self-control that he wept convulsively. She laid her hand on his head, stroked the matted hair, and said to him, gently: "Felix, my love, I will live."

There followed now a time of great weakness and slow convalescence; she had many an hour of helpless depression, but withal a faint smile would play at times over her thin, pale lips.

Spring had come. The buds had not all been destroyed by the frost of the previous night, and the birds twittered before her windows. Ilse was deeply moved to see what a good nurse her husband was,--how adroitly he gave her medicine and food, and would scarcely suffer anyone to take his place by her bedside; he stubbornly refused to take a few hours' sleep in the night, till she herself begged him to do so, and then he could not resist. She learned from Laura that he had been in great distress of mind, and when she was at the worst had been quite distracted and moody, and angry with every one. He had sat day and night by her bedside, so that it was wonderful how he had been able to endure it. "The physician was unable to manage him," said Laura; "but I found the right way, for I threatened him seriously that I would complain to you of his obstinacy. Then he consented to my taking his place for a few hours, and at last Mrs. Struvelius also, but unwillingly, because he maintained that her dress rustled too much."

Laura herself showed how devoted was her love; she was always on the spot, hovering noiselessly about the sick-bed like a bird; she would sit motionless for hours, and when Ilse opened her eyes, and her strength was a little restored, she had always something pleasant to tell her. She informed her that Mrs. Struvelius had come on the second day, and, after making a little speech to the Professor, in which she solemnly claimed the right of a friend, she seated herself on the other side of the bed. He, however, had not listened to what she said, and had suddenly started and asked who she was, and what she wanted there. She had answered him quietly that she was Flaminia Struvelius, and that her heart gave her a right to be there; thereupon she repeated her argument, and at last he gave in. "Her husband, too, has been here," added Laura, cautiously. "Just when you were at the worst, he rushed up to your husband, who shook hands with him, but, between ourselves, I do not think he knew him. Then," related Laura, "that absurd fellow, the Doctor, came the very first evening, with a blanket and a tin coffee-machine, and declared he would watch also. As he could not be allowed in the sick-room, he placed himself with his tin apparatus in the Professor's room; the Professor took care of you, and the Doctor took care of the Professor." Ilse drew Laura's head down to her, and whispered in her ear, "and sister Laura took care of the Doctor." Upon this Laura kissed her, but shook her head vehemently. "He was not troublesome, at any rate," she continued; "he kept very quiet, and he was useful as a Cerberus to keep away the visitors and dismiss the many inquirers. This he did faithfully. If it were possible for you to see him, I believe it would give him great pleasure."

Ilse nodded. "Let him come in." The Doctor came; Ilse stretched out her hand towards him; and felt from the warm pressure, and from the emotion on his countenance, that the learned confidant of her beloved husband, on whose approbation she had not always counted, was a true friend. Ilse found also that other gentlemen pressed to her bedside.