During the whole dinner no one except the baron and myself had spoken. The mistress of the house gazed into vacancy with a look of quiet suffering, ate very little, and only showed herself eager to fill her husband's glass as soon as he had emptied it, which in the zeal of his debate occurred every moment. The others drank nothing but water, except Mademoiselle Suzon, whose glass, spite of her coquettish reluctance, the baron filled twice with Bordeaux. Two liveried servants moved to and fro as if shod with felt; but for so aristocratic a household the meal seemed to me rather meager and niggardly.
After dinner the baron, lighting a short hunting-pipe, took me into his study and discussed the plan of instruction I was to pursue with the heir. Biblical history, the catechism, the history of his native country, a little geography--the lessons in the two latter branches were to be shared with Leopoldine. She was far more talented than her brother, my patron remarked; but the lad possessed the germ of a genuine old-school Mark nobleman and an orthodox Christian, though it was overgrown by all manner of boyish naughtinesses. His affectionate papa hoped, from my experience in teaching and theological training, that my pupil would soon visibly grow in favor with God and man.
At the same time the baron allowed me to see that upon my success would depend my future position and promotion to the living. The present pastor, with increasing age, would become less and less capable of maintaining the strict discipline that was desirable, already displayed a lamentable tolerance in matters of faith, and, if he did not shortly apply for a discharge from his office, it would be necessary to obtain his removal.
When I left my patron's study, I should have liked to give my pupil a short examination at once and commence the training of the young plant intrusted to my charge. Achatz, however, was neither within sight nor hearing, but had disappeared, like the other members of the Round Table. So I went up to my tower-room, and set about unpacking my books. An old servant, who appeared to be the factotum of everybody in the castle who wanted help, made me--as there was no book-case--two rude sets of shelves out of boards, which, however, after they were filled with my ecclesiastical works, looked very respectable. My pupil's room adjoined mine. "Who occupies the second story under us?" I asked. "The young baroness and Fräulein Luise," was the reply. I don't know why this annoyed me, but I should have preferred to avoid the vicinity of the Canoness.
While thus occupied, twilight had closed in, and I resolved to walk down to the village and call on the old pastor.
As I entered the long village street, I prepared to assume the most gracious manner. The worthy folk should have an idea of what they might expect from their future pastor. But my nods and smiles, greetings and questions, did not produce the slightest impression. The children ran shyly away, and the grown people only gave me curt, suspicious answers, though they knew very well that I was the expected candidate, and enjoyed the favor of their noble church-patron. So I was not in the best humor when I reached the little old parsonage, whose dilapidated condition was revealed, at this early season of the year, by the bare vine-trellises and empty garden. Even the church, beside which it stood, only separated by the graveyard, urgently needed repairs, and I secretly wondered that so pious a man as the baron did not set more value on the proper preservation of the house of God.
But the interior of the parsonage looked all the brighter and more home-like. True, the walls of the rooms were only whitewashed, but there was not even a fly-speck on them; the thin white curtains seemed to have been freshly ironed only the day before, the floors were strewn with sand, and the household utensils were dazzlingly clean. A brisk, plump old lady, the pastor's wife, greeted me with so cordial a pressure of the hand, that I felt almost ashamed of having crossed her threshold with the selfish thoughts of a smiling heir.
She led me into a small back room, that was just illumined by the setting sun. Here, in an atmosphere so oppressive from the heat of the stove that I could scarcely breathe, an old gentleman was sitting by the window in a large arm-chair covered with calico. A small black cloth cap rested on his venerable head, and his gouty, swollen knee was wrapped in a woolen blanket. His kind, blue eyes gazed so affectionately at me that I involuntarily bent over his outstretched hand and would have kissed it, had he not withdrawn it, silently shaking his head. I was requested to sit beside him, and, while we were exchanging the first common-place remarks, I had time to again reflect what a brilliant young light of the church I was compared to this feebly flickering, almost burned-out tallow stump. For on the little book-shelf beside the desk stood a scanty group of theological works, so that, recalling my own abundant store, I seemed to myself, in the presence of this aged champion of God, like a hero armed to the teeth and clad in a steel corslet, opposed to an old warrior, who could only swing a rude iron-spiked club.
But I was not allowed to display my admirable armor, for the old gentleman subjected me to no theological examination, but merely inquired about my former life, parents, and relatives. When he heard that I had lost my mother when a child, he passed his withered hand over my arm with a gesture of timid kindness, and his old wife, who had often mingled in our conversation with some little jest, gazed at me with such maternal compassion that a very strange feeling came over me. Until then I had never realized my orphaned condition, but felt perfectly secure in my kinship to God.