One old friend, however, who meantime had become principal of the highest public school, treated me with his old cordiality, listened sympathizingly to the account of my fate, and, as I was absolutely penniless, offered me temporary shelter in an attic room in his little house. Ere long, spite of my antecedents, he succeeded in getting me the position of teacher of singing to the three lower classes, as the old chorister was daily growing deafer. When he became wholly incapable of further service, the three upper classes were also transferred to me, and, after having conscientiously done my duty for several years, and meanwhile showed by my irreproachable conduct that I was not the Don Juan and demon of darkness rumor had pronounced me, I was advanced--partly in consequence of the services of my dead father, whose memory was still honored--to the position of teacher of geography and history, in which I was often reminded of the time when I had related the same beautiful stories to my little pupil and his haughty sister.
My kind fellow-citizens had pardoned my past--nay, with the feminine portion of the population, it merely helped to surround the commonplace fellow I was and am with that halo of impiety which is usually more attractive to the weaker sex than the most beautiful aureola of unsullied virtue. Many very estimable mothers of marriageable daughters greeted me in the street with an encouraging glance--nay, there was no lack of efforts to tempt me to their houses, especially after a small legacy, which I inherited very unexpectedly, enabled me, with my modest salary as a teacher, to establish a quiet home of my own. Even my friend and present colleague gave me numerous well-meant hints--Heaven would rather provide for two than for one, and so would the fathers of the city. But I answered all such admonitions with a smile and a shrug of the shoulders. How could I have been such a scoundrel as to deceive an innocent, unsuspecting girl by letting her suppose a heart free which had long been firmly bound?
The ten years I spent in this way were joyless and desolate enough. I had lost my taste even for the society of men; foolish political discussions and standing local jests had no interest for me, and I had never cared for any game of cards except the one with which such beloved memories were associated. So I spent the evenings in my lonely room, and used the money I saved from gambling and drinking for the purchase of books, though the volumes were wholly different in character from those I had inherited from my dear father. Besides the newest philosophical works, I ordered novels by English authors, among whom Thackeray was my special favorite, while Dickens seemed to me a sentimental mannerist, striving for effect, who had no correct ideas of women. But I will leave this part of my life and hasten on to the main subject.
One Wednesday afternoon in March--I had no school, but a furious snow-storm prevented my taking my usual walk into the country--some one knocked at my door, and an old woman, on whom I had never set eyes before, hobbled into the room. She was almost out of breath, for, as she said, she had come from the alms-house at the opposite end of the town, and the wind had almost blown her away. She drew from the folds of her thick shawl a crumpled note, in which was scribbled in pencil:
"If you have not yet forgotten your old friend, dear Johannes, give her the pleasure of a visit. She has been ill for a fortnight, and is permitted to sit up to-day for the first time. The messenger knows where she is to be found.
Luise."
I will not attempt to describe the tempest of feeling those few words awakened in my soul. For a moment the room and all it contained whirled around me, and I should not have been surprised had the old woman suddenly thrown off her patched clothing and stood before me in the guise of a beautiful fairy.
With trembling haste I hurried on my coat, seized my hat and cane, and went out into the street ere I asked if this were really true, and how she had happened to serve the lady as a messenger.
There was nothing strange in that, the old dame had answered. Madame Spielberg had arrived a fortnight ago, in her own carriage, very ill with measles, and had asked to be taken to the hospital. But as, on account of the rebuilding, no one could be received there, and the only patient, by the burgomaster's orders, had meantime been removed to the almshouse, the stranger had been transported there, to her entire satisfaction for, thank Heaven, she had lacked nothing. The doctor had been instantly summoned, and then the seven old dames who now lived there shared the nursing, which had prospered so well that to-day she had eaten her soup with an excellent appetite and been able to drink a tiny glass of wine. The doctor had told them to be very attentive to the sick lady, who was of noble birth and a Canoness. Well, that was no hard task for them. There was not such another lovely lady in the whole world, she was always apologizing for giving so much trouble, and that day, after she sat up, had sent for her trunk and given each one some article of clothing for a present. Then she asked about the schoolmaster, but, when she saw the storm, said the note could wait till to-morrow. But she, the old dame, would not hear of that, and now I would see for myself how well the lady was taken care of. She occupied No. 12, the best room in the whole house.