A Hero of the Pen

Jane, meanwhile, remained motionless in her place. The door-bell rang anew, but this time more gently than before; a step echoed in the hall, but she did not stir until the door of the balcony-room opened. Then she started up. Professor Fernow stood before her! They had not met since that evening upon the Ruènberg; he had indeed, not crossed her path and the persistence with which he avoided a repetition of those earlier accidental meetings in the house and garden, was only excelled by the resoluteness with which Jane shunned every possibility of a re-union. For a fortnight, they had managed to forego the most casual glance, the coldest greeting; and now, all at once, they stood face to face, so near, so entirely alone, that the meeting could not be ignored.

Jane had sprung from her chair; whatever she might have been thinking a moment before, all vanished at the sight of this man, whom she could never forgive for his triumph, and her humiliation. The old, hostile spirit again raged wildly within her. Why did he now appear so suddenly in her uncle's apartments which he had never before entered,–here, where he must apprehend a meeting with her? Was this appearance on her account? The young lady stood there ready for the fray, determined with her whole strength to defy a might to which this time certainly she would not yield.

But her heroism was, just now, quite superfluous; it happened differently from what she had dreamed. The professor still remained upon the threshold; his glance slowly swept the room, but it did not rest upon her.

"I beg your pardon; I seek Doctor Stephen."

"My uncle is in the garden."

"I thank you."

He closed the door behind him, and, without looking at her, walked through the room to the balcony. Jane's brow flushed deeply; she had made up her mind to meet an attack, and met, instead, the most entire disregard; this was more than she could endure; her hand convulsively grasped the arm of her chair.

Meantime, in the balcony, the professor had run against the doctor, who was just returning from the garden, and at once engrossed him entirely.

"Well, here you are at last! Professor, in God's name, what kind of a freak have you been playing? Frederic has thrown the whole house into an uproar by his ill-starred tidings."

So saying, without further parley, he grasped the professor by the arm, and drew him back into the house. This seemed to be the last thing the professor wished; he followed the doctor with evident reluctance, and, regardless of the invitation to sit down, stood upright by the chair offered him.

Without a word, Jane rose and left the room. The doctor gazed after her in surprise and displeasure; the discourtesy of his niece, toward this inmate of his house, began to surpass all bounds. Fernow's lips quivered, but no glance betrayed that he had even noticed this movement.

Miss Forest, meantime, had not gone far; in the next room, morose and hostile, she leaned against a window. She would not remain in the same room with the man who allowed himself to ignore her and her resentment, but–she would hear what he wanted of her uncle, and, through the half-open door, she caught every syllable of the conversation, which the doctor opened with an impressive lecture.

"And now, before all things, tell me, has that Frederic lost his wits, or is it true that you have been declared fit for the military service, that you yourself urged this declaration, that you have represented yourself as healthy, while it would only have cost you a word, a mere silence even, to have proved quite the contrary? Have we heard aright?"

The professor cast down his eyes.

"It was a sudden inspiration," he said, softly; "I was sure of rejection, but the rather contemptuous sympathy of the examining physician enraged me beyond measure. To be sent home as a miserable weakling, when all were hastening to the conflict,–that I could not bear! It was an act of folly for which I must atone with my life; but–I would do the same thing again!"

"You seem at times to have very wonderful inspirations," said the doctor with a glance at the morning journal. "Well, we will speak of that another time, our first business now is how we shall atone for this stupidity,–now, don't fly into a passion, I mean the surgeon, not you–how we shall atone for this fellow's stupidity. I will preach him a sermon! I shall drive over to H. with you, and he shall use his influence to have you detailed for duty in some of the bureaus. This is the only thing we can do, as you cannot now wholly withdraw from the service."

A dark, portentous glow overspread the professor's face; his brow contracted, and his voice had a singularly angry tone, as he replied: "I thank you for your good intentions, doctor, but I must decline all intermeddling on your part in my affairs, I am called to active service, and shall follow the call in the sense in which it was given."

The doctor gazed at him in speechless astonishment. He had been accustomed to absolute authority over his patient, who had always yielded him the most implicit obedience; and now, all at once, he had risen in open rebellion against his best and most deliberate conclusions, this was too much for the doctor; he grew angry.

"Are you mad?" he cried excitedly. "You will enter active service? You? No, that surpasses all conception."

The professor was silent, but he set his teeth together as Frederic had before described, a deep flush covered his face, and he gazed at the doctor with a glance which forced that gentleman to assume another tone.

"Give me only one reason, one single sensible reason, for this insane proceeding!" he said, almost imploringly. "Could you not serve the Fatherland just as well with the pen, if you could only bring your mind to that? Why will you not enter one of the bureaus? only tell me why."

"I will not!"

"You have an obstinate head!" cried the doctor again becoming angry. "In this you have a remarkable likeness to my niece. 'I will not!' and now the whole world might rise against it; but it must be! Exactly Jane's manner, exactly her tone; just as if you had learned of her. One is just like the other; you would make a nice, 'married pair!'"

"Doctor, please spare me this foolish jesting!" broke out the professor with great violence, at the same time stamping furiously.

For a moment Doctor Stephen stood utterly dumb before this passionate outbreak of his amiable patient, then he said, in a tone of sincere astonishment.

"I believe that even you can be rough and violent!"

Fernow frowned and turned away.

"Well it was only a jest!" said the doctor apologetically. "I know that you and Jane stand half upon a war-footing; but you can become very angry now, professor! I notice that, for the last two months, you have not been the same person you used to be!"

Fernow did not defend himself against the reproach with a single word; he preserved an obstinate silence.

"Well, to go back to the main business," began the Doctor anew–but this time in a low voice–"you will not accept my proposition?"

"No!"

"You will really march to-morrow with the army?"

"In any event."

"Well then–I cannot compel you, and if it cannot be otherwise,"–here the doctor's patriotism broke through all resentment; he cordially extended his hand to his patient–"well then, go in God's name! Who knows? The surgeon-in-chief, may be cleverer than we all; of one thing at least he has convinced you, one which you would never believe from me: that you are not consumptive, that you have no decided illness, and as to your nerves–do you remember what I prescribed to you four weeks ago?"

The professor slowly raised his eyes.

"Some powerful remedy," he said softly.

"Certainly! A radical cure, at which you were horrified at that time. You would not take upon yourself the life of a day-laborer; but you now plunge into the military life, without asking me. Well, I should not certainly have advised so powerful a remedy as this, for we cannot cease taking it at will; if the dose is too strong, we must either bend or break! But if you are determined to venture upon it–good luck to you!"

The professor smiled sadly. "I have little confidence in this blood and iron cure," he said calmly. "I shall fall, I feel sure of that, either in face of the enemy, or in consequence of the unwonted exertion. But it does not matter; in any case it will be better and more speedily than to die at my writing desk after a consumption, years in duration. Do not rob me of this conviction, doctor; it is the best I take with me; I shall at least be of some use in the world!"

"Do not approach me again with your premonitions of death!" cried the doctor excitedly. "To die–nonsense! We in B. forbid ourselves that idea. And so you are of no use in the world! You have written no work over which the whole learned world is beside itself in admiration, eh?"

The professor's lips quivered, as he said bitterly; "and to the rest of the world, it will remain mere nonsense,–dead, fruitless, valueless."

"Do you really think so? And your article in this morning's paper, was that, too, mere nonsense? Yes, be horrified as much as you like, because I know; the whole city knows, the university also. Professor since you have written that article, I deem all things possible to you, I doubt you in nothing more!"

Fernow scarce heard these last words; his glance had followed the motion of the doctor's hand as he pointed to the morning paper, and his eyes suddenly flamed up as if in deep, glowing satisfaction–the paper lay in the arm chair where Jane had just been sitting.

"And you ought to be ashamed of yourself," cried Doctor Stephen growing more and more excited; "you ought really to be ashamed of yourself, for having so little self-esteem, when with your pen you can rouse thousands to the most glowing enthusiasm."

The professor's face again grew dark; a hard, bitter expression lay upon it.

"With the pen," he said slowly. "The pen must always fall into disrepute when the moment demands deeds. With all my knowledge and abilities, I stand below Frederick, who, with a pair of vigorous arms, can fight for the Fatherland. At the highest, I can die for it, and for this, I must still thank your surgeon-in-chief; he, at least, has lifted from me the curse of being only a hero of the pen!"

The doctor shook his head. "If I only knew how all at once you have become possessed of such terrible bitterness! This sounds as if some one had given you a deadly insult in these words. I tell you your whole nature is changed."

With a deep, repressed sigh, as if he would throw off a heavy burden, Fernow rose to his full height.

"I entirely forget what brings me to you," he said evasively. "They leave us little time; we must return to H. this evening, for we are ordered to march early to-morrow morning. I would request you to take my rooms and my library under your care. In case of my death, you can dispose of the former as you think best; the latter must go to the university; it contains many valuable books, a large share of which I have inherited."

"Yes, and if a formal testament is to be made," interposed the doctor, "I beg you give me the address of your relatives, so that I may be prepared for any emergency. Hitherto, I have made no inquiries concerning them; you have maintained such a strict secrecy in regard to your family affairs."

"Secrecy! I had nothing to conceal. I have no relatives."