Only a Girl: or, A Physician for the Soul.

by Wilhelmine von Hillern

When Leonhardt went to his wife, he found her deep in friendly talk with Ernestine.

"My dear, kind Fräulein Hartwich," he began, "how it grieves me that you, who came to do me a kindness, should have been so insulted in my house! To be sure, they are only children, and they could not really insult you, but----"

"'As the parents are, so must the children be,' is what you would say," Ernestine interposed, "or what, at least, you think. Do not be distressed, Herr Leonhardt. I am used to insult and ridicule, and I have grown callous to them. But it is strange that a similar occurrence took place ten years ago to-day, at the first and only children's party which I ever attended. My misanthropy dates from that day; and the fresh proof that I have just had convinces me that I am not fitted to mix with the world,--least of all, with what passes for such in this country. Tell me, Herr Leonhardt, is it entirely impossible for you to enlighten these people in some small degree?"

"To speak frankly, I believe I could have done so had not my influence always been counteracted by their priests and pastors. As a teacher, subordinate always to a priest or pastor, I could effect nothing against the superstition, the religious intolerance, instilled into the peasants by their spiritual guides; for with peasants the authority is always the greatest that does not attempt to combat their errors. A quack who makes use only of old women's remedies will always inspire them with more confidence than a regular physician whose prescriptions gainsay all their medical and dietetic prejudices. A pastor who from a religious point of view justifies and encourages their superstition and ignorance will be regarded by them as a far worthier and more trustworthy guide than one who teaches only the pure truth of God. So, you see, I have always contended with unequal weapons, and have frequently been in danger of falling a victim to their malice and thus losing my place. In quiet times, when nothing occurred to show plainly the difference between us, all went pretty well; but since your arrival, Fräulein von Hartwich, the old quarrel has been renewed, and I see again how powerless I am."

"Then I am come only to sow discord in this peaceful spot," Ernestine said in a thoughtful tone. "Yes, yes,--misfortune attends me wherever I go."

"Oh, do not say that!" cried Frau Brigitta, seizing Ernestine's hand, "but it seems to me--forgive a simple old woman for speaking so plainly to you--it seems to me that a lady so beautiful and richly endowed as you are, ought not to live here so lonely and secluded. My husband and I often say, 'What a pity it is that such a splendid creature should bury herself alive!' It certainly is unnatural; and what is natural is sure to be best!"

Ernestine was silent, and sat with eyes cast down.

"I too must say," said Leonhardt timidly, "that you are not in your right place here. Did you ever see the statue of a renowned philosopher or artist set up in the midst of a village? Certainly not; for the village boys would pelt it with mud,--no one would understand its value,--it would be merely a doll, at which every one would laugh, and to deface which would be considered a very good joke. And will you, Fräulein Hartwich, in the bloom of life, with all your refinement of mind, voluntarily expose yourself to the same fate that would await such a statue were it erected here, for the purpose of inspiring this rude people with ennobling ideas? Surely you cannot answer to yourself for such a course of life!"

Ernestine gazed attentively at the old man's faded but still noble countenance. His address was so different from what she had expected from a simple village schoolmaster, that she was greatly astonished at it. It stimulated her to reply to him.

"I understand your comparison, Herr Leonhardt, and am greatly honoured by it, but,--forgive me for saying so,--it does not seem to me quite correct. I know of no village where statues either of Christ or the Madonna are not erected, and the rudest peasant pays them reverence,--because he appreciates the idea that they embody. Could we only breathe a sympathy with other than religious ideas into the minds of this neglected class, the representatives of such ideas would also receive the same reverence."