The Lost Manuscript: A Novel

by Gustav Freytag

But also Mrs. Hummel was subject to a higher power, and this power was exercised by her little daughter, Laura. This was the only surviving one of several children, and all the tenderness and affection of the mother were lavished upon her. And she was a splendid little girl; the whole town knew her ever since she wore her first red shoes; she was often detained when in the arms of her nurse; and had many presents given her. She grew up a merry, plump little maiden, with two large blue eyes and round cheeks, with dark, curly hair, and an arch countenance. When the little, rosy daughter of Mr. Hummel walked along the streets, her hands in the pockets of her apron, she was the delight of the whole neighborhood. Sprightly and decided, she knew how to behave toward all, and was never backward in offering her little mouth to be kissed. She would give the woodcutter at the door her buttered roll, and join him in drinking the thin coffee out of his cup; she accompanied the letter-carrier all along the street, and her greatest pleasure was to run with him up the steps, to ring and deliver his letters; she even once slipped out of the room late in the evening, and placed herself by the watchman, on a corner-stone, and held his great horn in impatient expectation of the striking of the hour at which it was to be sounded. Mrs. Hummel lived in unceasing anxiety lest her daughter should be stolen; for, more than once she had disappeared for many hours; she had gone with children, who were strangers, to their homes, and had played with them--she was the patroness of many of the little urchins in the street, knew how to make them respect her, gave them pennies, and received as tokens of esteem dolls and little chimney-sweeps, constructed of dried plums and little wooden sticks. She was a kind-hearted child that rather laughed than wept, and her merry face contributed more toward making the house of Mr. Hummel a pleasant abode, than the ivy arbor of the mistress of the house, or the massive bust of Mr. Hummel himself, which looked down imperiously on Laura's doll-house.

"The child is becoming unbearable," exclaimed Mrs. Hummel, angrily dragging in the troubled Laura by the hand. "She runs about the streets all day long. Just now when I came from market she was sitting near the bridge, on the chair of the fruit-woman, selling onions for her. Everyone was gathering around her, and I had to fetch my child out of the crowd."

"The little monkey will do well," answered Mr. Hummel, laughing; "why will you not let her enjoy her childhood?"

"She must give up this low company. She lacks all sense of refinement; she hardly knows her alphabet, and she has no taste for reading. It is time, too, that she should begin her French letters. Little Betty, the councillor's daughter, is not older, and she knows how to call her mother chère mère, in such a pretty manner."

"The French are a polite people," answered Mr. Hummel. "If you are so anxious to train your daughter for the market, the Turkish language would be better than the French. The Turk pays money if you dispose of your child to him; the others wish to have something into the bargain."

"Do not speak so inconsiderately, Henry!" exclaimed the wife.

"Be off with you and your cursed French letters, else I promise you I will teach the child all the French phrases I know; they are not many, but they are strong. Baisez-moi, Madame Hummel!" Saying this, he left the room with an air of defiance.

The result, however, of this consultation was that Laura went to school. It was very difficult for her to listen and be silent, and for a longtime her progress was not satisfactory. But at last her little soul was fired with ambition; she climbed the lower steps of learning with Miss Johanne, and then she was promoted to the renowned Institute of Miss Jeannette, where the daughters of families of pretension received education in higher branches. There she learned the tributaries of the Amazon, and much Egyptian history; she could touch the cover of the electrophorus, speak of the weather in French, and read English so ingeniously that even true-born Britons were obliged to acknowledge that a new language had been discovered; lastly, she was accomplished in all the elegancies of German composition. She wrote small treatises on the difference between walking and sleeping, on the feelings of the famed Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi, on the terrors of a shipwreck, and of the desert island on which she had been saved. Finally, she gained some knowledge of the composition of strophes and sonnets. It soon became clear that Laura's strong point was German, not French; her style was the delight of the Institute; nay, she began to write poems in honor of her teachers and favorite companions, in which she very happily imitated the difficult rhymes of the great Schiller's "Song of the Bell." She was now eighteen, a pretty, rosy, young lady, still plump and merry, still the ruling power of the house, and still loved by all the people on the street.

The mother, proud of the accomplishments of her daughter, after her confirmation, prepared an upper room for her, looking out upon the trees of the park; and Laura fitted up her little home like a fairy castle, with ivy-vines, a little flower-table, and a beautiful ink-stand of china on which shepherds and shepherdesses were sitting side by side. There she passed her pleasantest hours with her pen and paper, writing her diary in secret.

She also partook of the aversion of her parents for the neighboring family. Even as a little child she had passed poutingly before the door of that house; never had her foot crossed its threshold, and when good Mrs. Hahn once asked her to shake hands, it was long before she could make up her mind to take her hand out of her apron pocket. Of the inhabitants of the neighboring house the one most annoying to her was young Fritz Hahn. She seldom associated with him, but unfortunately she was always in some embarrassment which enabled Fritz Hahn to act the part of her protector. Before she went to school, the eldest son of Mrs. Knips, already quite a big fellow, who painted fine pictures and birthday cards, and sold them to people in the neighborhood, wished to compel her to give the money she held in her hand for a devil's head which he had painted, and which no one in the street would have; he treated her so roughly and so ill, that contrary to her wont, she became frightened and gave him her pennies, and weeping, held the horrible picture in her hand. Fritz Hahn happened to come that way, inquired what had taken place, and when she complained to him of Knips's violent conduct, he grew so indignant that she became frightened about him. He set upon the lad, who was his school-fellow and in a class above him, and began to thrash him on the spot, while the younger Knips looked on laughing, with his hands in his pocket. Fritz pushed the naughty boy against the wall and compelled him to give up the money and take back his devil. But this meeting did not help to make her like Fritz any the better. She could not bear him, because already as an undergraduate he wore spectacles, and always looked so serious. And when she came from school, and he went with his portfolio to the lecture, she always endeavored to avoid him.