One day as we were sitting in the summer-house after coffee, Minna handed me a note-book and asked me to draw the capitals of the Doric and Ionic columns with the entablature appertaining, and add the names, all of which she thought most peculiar. While I was sharpening a pencil, the wind turned over a page, and I saw an unsuccessful attempt at the same thing on the page before me.
"No, you must not," she said, her face quite flushed and imploring, as she tore the book from my hands; "you will only laugh at me! I will see myself if it is rightly done. Of course it isn't, and the names I could not remember at all."
I promised not to look at her attempt, and started on my own, which, I assured her, would seem very poor in the eyes of an architect. It did not indeed take long before I began to get muddled; for it is simple enough to know what architrave, triglyph, and metope mean; but when one has, for the first time, to express oneself on paper, many minor difficulties arise which are not easily overcome. It was therefore a welcome suggestion when Mrs. Hertz asked Minna to help her to clear away and to wash up the cups. She was sitting near me, evidently to watch, and had not anticipated being called away before the drawing was finished. Hesitatingly she responded to this summons, and before she went she seemed more than once to have something on her lips, which she could not bring herself to say; her anxious glance also clearly told me not to examine this mysterious book, on the homely linen cover of which was printed, in very clumsy golden letters, "Poesy," and I reassured her with a smile.
I sat alone gnawing my pencil, wondering whether the architrave in the Doric order was parted or not, when the draught again turned the leaves, and on this occasion to written pages farther back. Both prose and poetry revealed themselves. I did not imagine for a moment that Minna was the author of these compositions, but that made me wish all the more to see what favourite sentences and extracts she had liked to preserve, and in this way to gain an insight into her character and knowledge. Twice I resisted the temptation; but a longer piece of prose remained open before me until, half against my will, I caught sight of a few words which whetted my curiosity too much.
I made sure that I was not watched, and read in German the following extracts, written in a fine, rather sloping Gothic handwriting:—
"Between a young couple, who by nature are in harmony with one another, nothing can add more to a pleasant intercourse than for the girl to be anxious to learn, and the young man willing to teach. It produces a profound and agreeable relationship between them. She sees in him the creator of her spiritual existence, and he in her a creation, which owes its perfection not to nature, accident, or a single will, but to a union of wills; and the interchange of thought is so beautiful, that from such a meeting of two natures, the strongest passions, bringing as much happiness as misfortune, have sprung, at which we cannot wonder. So it has been since the old and the new Abelard."
In reading these last words I heard a door being closed upstairs and quick steps coming down. I hastily turned the leaves, and resolutely drew an architrave with one division with the triglyph over; the lines were not very clear, for my hand was shaky, and the guttae I forgot altogether. But whether the palpitation of my heart came from what I had read, or from fear of having been discovered, I cannot tell.
Minna sat down next to me with her needlework, and seemed very satisfied to find me so engrossed in my drawing. The air had been sultry all day, and clouds had gathered. Hardly had I finished my two sketches before we heard loud thunder, and big dark spots soon appeared on the stone steps. I helped to take off the table-cloth, and then we went up to the old people. We but seldom occupied their sitting-room before tea-time, for being a corner one, facing south and west with two windows on each side, it was, on sunny days, unbearable during the afternoon.
Between two of the windows stood a small, hard, upholstered sofa, and between the other two windows, a table. Over this hung a common oleograph of the Kaiser and the Crown Prince, and under them Hertz had hung one of his special treasures, which followed him after the fashion of the Penates; it was a small portrait of Kant, a Königsberger-print, faintly coloured, and from his own time. The whole figure of the philosopher was shown standing near a long-legged writing desk, and so stooping and humpbacked, that one would say an invisible hand was pushing his face down to the paper; while from the little grey wig protruded a bit of pigtail, over the high coffee-coloured coat collar. This quaint and old-fashioned picture, with its mildew, spots that came from old age, and flat mahogany frame, gave a certain cosiness to the low room, which was increased by the small window panes, and by an enormous fire-clay stove that occupied, I should think, an eighth part of the room.
Near this latter Minna soon seated herself, with her back turned towards the window so that she could not see the lightning, which constantly lit up the reddish brown bend of the river. When the blinding reflection came into the room, or the thunder roared so furiously that the house shook and the window-panes rattled, she gave a start, and sometimes even a little scream, though she evidently tried her utmost to control herself. Mrs. Hertz got up from the sofa and calmed her with motherly kindness, and Minna smiled as courageously as she could, though with the fear of the next shock always written on her pale face. Old Hertz looked sympathetically up from his newspaper, which the constant flashes nearly prevented him from reading.
As for myself, I sat near the little window, down which the rain was washing like a shower-bath. My thoughts were constantly occupied by what I had read in The Poesy-Book. I did not know the extract, but the style reminded me of Goethe. When recently I read his autobiography and, in the lovely episode with Gretchen, suddenly came across these well-known words, what a storm of feelings overwhelmed my soul! In Wahrheit und Dichtung I did not get further, but tried to calm my painfully sweet emotion by writing down these memories, which can only lay claim to the first word of this famous title.
The question as to the authorship did not trouble me much in those days, but the application of it distressed me considerably. I had noticed that Minna, in our conversations, sometimes betrayed artistic knowledge which she could not have gained in school or college, nor by herself. Besides, I knew quite well from whom I suspected that she had obtained her information. Were those reflections written now, or then? There was no date to them, and they were separated, by a considerable interval, from the leaf upon which I had been asked to draw, but it had not escaped my notice that this piece of prose was written with fresher ink than the preceding extract, dated a couple of years before. This, I thought, might be in my favour, but on the other hand my hopes might be built upon the sand.
It was nearly tea-time before the storm was over. Then Minna, who in the reaction from her nervousness had become quite jubilant, took a grey stone jar and went down to fetch water, and I followed her. The way of obtaining water at this spot was very romantic; there was neither well nor pump, but all the water had to be fetched from the spring close to the banks of the Elbe below the house. Just where the meadow-grass ended, and only separated from the running stream by three or four yards of stone and gravel, lay the little basin with clear water, that constantly bubbled up from the small stones and sand, which latter moved as if it was full of small living animalcules. We jokingly called it the spring of youth, after a fairy tale that old Hertz had told us one evening.
The breeze which met us was fresh and pure, with a healthy smell of wet earth mingled with the odour of moist foliage and grass, and spiced with the scent of flowers, especially of honeysuckle; an air which the lungs drink in deep draughts, in the same way that one enjoys a pure wine. The heavy clouds had parted; here they were rolling away in murky, smoke-like masses; there dissolving into fleecy vapour or vanishing like thin mist. Overhead, the sky shone a lilac blue; farther on there were patches of pale green, and golden rays were appearing in the west. Between the low-hanging clouds with their deep leaden or reddish stone colour, high ones, standing out with glowing tops, could be seen. On the side of Lilienstein appeared a broad rainbow column which rapidly grew more vivid. At the very top of the longish plateau of this isolated mountain lay a small detached cloud which remained suspended in the fir wood, in the same way as tobacco smoke might remain when blown into a child's curly hair. Only a dull light from the sun lit up the hills over the long quarries; and all the steep crags around lay in a cool bluish haze. The river was still an opaque reddish brown in the curve, but farther on it again resumed its mirror-like appearance. Now and then faint flashes of lightning were to be seen over the open country, and long drawn-out rolls of thunder were heard echoing in the mountains.
"Look," Minna exclaimed, "what colouring! It is quite a Poussin!"
These words of hers stabbed me to the heart. My God! what young girl knows Poussin, and still more has him ready to hand to quote? All the same, the resemblance was quite striking. Now, if she had only said: "It looks like a picture of Poussin in the gallery." But this: "It is quite a Poussin," made me furious! I longed to seize her, as "Carl Moor" seizes "Roller," and cry out: "Who inspired thee with that word? That human soul of thine did not produce it, but that of a painter did."
But she had already run down the long row of shiny wet stones. Whether my face had betrayed my feelings, or whether she was ashamed of having borrowed another's phrase, I do not know, but evidently she had run away from her Poussin.
She did not at once start baling out the water, but placed the stone jar on the lower step near the spring, and turned to a pretty little twelve-year-old boy who sat close by. He was the son of the landlord, who had a partnership in one of the big quarries, the rows of which start under the Bastei rocks. The farthest and largest of the quarries stood out against the bright sky-line like a promontory split up to its summit, where a thin line of weather-beaten pines seemed to touch the copper-coloured edge of the low-hanging clouds. The boy pointed out to us the quarry which was his father's property.
He was very busy over an ingenious toy: a water-mill, which he had constructed at the outlet of the spring. Through a little unripe apple he had stuck a stick as an axle, and round it he had fixed, in a circle of incisions, large wings cut out of wood. He had dammed up the water-course, so that a tiny mill-pond was formed from which there was sufficient fall; and there the wheel whirled and whirled, without, however, accomplishing any work. From the summer-house, and also from the window, I had seen this funny little thing continually turning round and round. The powerful storm of rain had broken through the dam, and the boy was occupied in trying to repair it, but he found it difficult to get the axle to rest in such a way that it could not get stuck.
"I should so much like to make it go by the time father comes home from work," said the boy, looking earnestly at Minna. "For father is always amused when I find out a thing like that, and I should like him to be in a good temper to-night, for then I will ask him if I may go to see the blasting to-morrow."
"Are they going to blast in the quarry?"
"Oh yes! A whole wall."
"Do you think we might be allowed to see it?" Minna asked.
"You might ask my father."
"To-morrow would suit me admirably; my pupils are going with their mother to see an aunt at Pirna. Wouldn't you also like to see this performance?"
Naturally I had nothing whatever to say against such a proposal.
A long "Oh," into which the little boy suddenly burst, made us look away from the quarries and turn round. The rainbow column had grown to a perfect arch, a reflection of which was just forming, but the lower part only stood clear, while the arch itself was very faint and broken in places. Soon afterwards this also became perfect, and the two bows formed the outer and inner brilliant edge of a broad violet band. Under this bridge the encircled sky-ground was darker than that above it, where the blue soon shone through; in the middle of this dark ground, under the glorious arch, and lit up by the sun, which shed its rays under the clouds through the whole valley, stood Lilienstein, like a smoking stone altar, with the little cloud still resting on its surface. This image had also formed itself in the little boy's imagination, for quite lost in wonder he said: "It's just like in master's picture-bible, where Noah makes his offering."
In perfect harmony with this patriarchal impression, Minna took her stone jar, the plain homely shape of which no old German painter would have hesitated to put into a Rebecca's hand; but her blue skirt, which she lifted with her left hand, might perhaps have been scarcely suitable as a dress for that nomadic lady, though it was neither draped nor trimmed. Bending down over the spring, in order to press the obstinate jar into the water, her one shoe with its non-nomadic heel slipped on the wet stones, and she would have got a cold bath, if I had not caught her round the waist and kept her steady. She let go the jar, which floated upon the water; the mirror on the surface of the pool reflected a smile on her face, which seemed more arch than displeased, but in the same moment the jar had filled, and, in going to the bottom, produced a whirlpool that obliterated the image in the water. She had now recovered her balance, but I was far too careful of her, as if the little pool was a precipice, to hasten to release her; yes, I even felt that in this favourable moment I might have permitted myself more than this lingering pressure, which was excusable, had the surroundings only been more secluded. But a few yards away we had the youthful observer, and the windows were not far off.
"Thank you, I shan't fall any more now," she said, and jumped up to the path. "By the way, the water?"
I took the full jar out of the spring, and carried it after her.
When, after tea, we heard the landlord's voice, we went down to ask about the blasting. It was to take place the next day, surely enough, and we should be welcome to see it. Accordingly we arranged that little Hans, whose request had been granted, should show us the way to the quarries.
The moon had risen over the wood-covered heights on the other side of the river. It reflected itself in the middle of the stream, and between the stones close to the bank. The sky was almost clear, save that behind Lilienstein, which was but dimly visible, a dark mist was hanging. On the other side the contour of the rocks was clearly defined against the pale sky, but presently their masses also assumed life; the projections stood out, while the fissures were in deep shadow, and the surface of the quarries was but faintly lighted. On the terrace of "Erbgericht" many lamps shone amongst the foliage; and on the top of the Bastei a bonfire burned in changing colours, and scattered notes from a waltz tune came down from the heights.
The beautiful evening soon tempted Mr. and Mrs. Hertz to come down, though it was too wet to walk on the grass. We remained on the steps in front of the house, and entertained ourselves with the landlord and landlady. The handsome, rather square-built woman rocked a baby on her arm; Hans sat on one of the steps and cut new wings for his water-mill; the landlord, meanwhile, perched himself astride on the railing and puffed at his pipe, delighted over the storm and the coolness it had brought. Well might they need coolness up in the stone quarries, where, although the sun at midday sent the temperature up to a hundred and thirty degrees, hard work had still to continue. Old Hertz inquired about the profit and the prices. The landlady told him of the difficulties during high water in the spring, and of some years when the river had come up almost to the foot of the steps.
A sudden whistle, which rang through the valley, and a passing light between the trees on the other bank, gave the signal for dispersing. As usual I accompanied Minna to her home.
To tell the truth, during the whole evening I had looked forward to this little moonlight walk with a certain nervous expectation. It seemed as if, from the moment near the spring, something was due to me, but if so the vital hour had evidently not come. In spite of the moon, the brook with the alder shrubs, the mountain valley, the loneliness, all undoubted sentimental ingredients, nothing would bring Minna into a sentimental mood. Had she only been silent! But she chattered in the sweetest way about many things that were not in the least connected with love. She would not understand anything: I delicately alluded to the well, but this only caused her to discuss the difficulties of the inhabitants when the river overflowed in spring, and to wonder what would then be the nearest spot from which to fetch water. "Very likely 'Erbgericht'; but perhaps there would be a well on higher ground in the old inn 'Zum Rosengarten,'—surely there must be!"
In short, we talked as sensibly, and parted as formally, as if no such things as slippery steps nor springs of youth had ever existed.