The afternoon was beautifully still and warm when the time came for me to go down the hill. I ran rather than walked along the path, which passed cottages and hedges, and through the little lane between the garden walls that opened to the glorious, bright Elbe valley. But as every stride brought me nearer to my fate, and altogether I had only a short distance to go, my pace slackened, and I came to a complete standstill when I saw the lower stone-step leading from the narrow meadow up to the cottage. The smallest movement would now have enabled me to see its corner, with the projecting summer-house appearing behind the foliage of a fruit tree in the neighbouring garden. It was as if somebody had caught hold of my throat, and my legs seemed to have disappeared from under me.
There was the sunlit lime wall under the shining tiles, the vine creeper, the shadow projected by the tree, enveloping the summer-house, where the grey-green table-cloth had a crooked sun-streak of yellow—I looked for a long time at this streak so that the critical moment might be delayed; some leaves of the fruit tree hid the corner of the table-cloth, and over them came the steam of the coffee-machine. A white-bearded man I had already discovered, now also the old lady, but no one else was there.
I continued to stare, hoping that I might after all be able to see her. In spite of the intense heat of the sun I shivered as if I was standing in an evening mist, but I was again master of myself, which, until then, I had hardly been. My first idea was to creep away, for I did not doubt that, if she had wanted to come, she would already have been there. But perhaps she had gone up to fetch something for the coffee-table, or she had been prevented from coming, and a message was waiting for me. This explanation of her absence I offered to myself, and then refused it as a weakness of my poor soul, which dared not look matters straight in the face.
A rattling stone, or an indistinct vision of something which moved, made me look in the opposite direction, down towards the river. There, at the little well, hardly fifty yards from me, a figure rose into view.…
It was Minna.
I wanted to run to meet her, but Hertz had already discovered me and called out, "Mr. Fenger, do hurry up, do hurry up!" I also saw that he waved his hand, and though I did not understand the meaning of all this excitement, I obeyed willingly. When running at top speed, I had reached the verandah, I nearly knocked over a long, bony woman, who rushed out of the door with a bag and a plaid in her hands.
"At last! What a good thing that you came!" Mr. Hertz said.
"We nearly sent for you, but Minna insisted that you were sure to come."
"Just imagine, we are off to Prague this evening! Yes, in a minute."
"But we are not going to drive you away for that reason. On the contrary, we hope you will accompany us for a little way. The express does not stop here, so we are obliged to go on to Schandau, and we will do that by boat. The weather is beautiful now, so you might as well take that trip with us. There is a train back at nine o'clock. Minna has already promised to come."
Of course I hastened to do the same.
My fertile, self-tortured brain had for a minute whispered to me the possibility that my letter had not been delivered, and that Minna's presence was without meaning, and that everything might still end in disappointment. But Mr. Hertz's remark that Minna had insisted that I was sure to come calmed me.
She herself now came up the steps, dressed in the same light chamois-coloured frock which she had worn during our expedition to the quarry. In giving me an unusually long and firm shake of the hand—her way of shaking hands was individual and sincere—she smiled, but only with her eyes, that looked straight into my soul, with a glance as different from all former ones as "my love" is from "my friend." All the blood flew to my head; and when she let go my hand, it trembled, and my knees shook. Now, for the first time, when I had certainty and felt quite calm and happy, I could physically feel how much the dreadful strain and fear had affected me.
Minna had felt it, and could not help smiling secretly with a rather flattered air, while she poured out the glass of cold-well water for Mr. Hertz, which he always appreciated so much with his coffee it was just as if we were in a café. And while he was sipping first the coffee and then the water, he talked in his excited way—
"For you must know, yes, it is sure to interest you, perhaps it will tempt you to follow us to Prague. Well, you will not? But indeed it is better so, for then Minna will have company on her return, and to you we dare trust her. Well, in Prague a manuscript has been found of Faust, of Faust, my dear boy, that is to say, a part of the first scenes—which differs, of course, only in details, but, all the same, there lies the interest. It is supposed to be stronger in expressions, and is very likely one of the first sketches. A queer old man, he is a pensioned colonel, inherited it, God knows how long ago, from a great-aunt or some one like that, who, at the Court in Weimar, was—well, how intimate with Goethe I really cannot say! And it doesn't very much matter. By the way, there you have our modern military Germany! He inherits a chest with letters and papers in which, if he had not been an ignoramus, he might have guessed there were things from Goethe; but contempt for everything literary prevents him from even opening the chest. He is in want of money, a spendthrift of course, and must throw himself into the arms of the moneylender, though all the time he has a treasure in his loft, with which he could buy a castle. And it is not as though no hint had been given him, for we had an idea that something might be there, perhaps not a manuscript, but letters and information—I have written to him myself. But no, family papers, defamatory secrets perhaps, and he would see that they were not given into the hands of those damned literary fellows, of course he reasoned like this. So he contents himself with Johannisberger-Dorf in his cellar, it is notorious that he was a skilled connoisseur of wine. And all the time a castle in his loft. That is Nemesis! Oh, how this fellow has annoyed us! Well, he is dead now, thank goodness, and the manuscript has been found. That I should not be there! But to-day, dear friend, I received a letter calling me in, so to speak, as an authority, and you can imagine …"
Just as no smile of Minna's escaped me, nor any of her movements, so no word of his account was lost upon me. I felt a vastness and elasticity of mind, as if at the same time it could hold all sorts of impressions, so long as they were pleasing and pure. The old man had never had a more sympathetic and attentive listener, indeed some of his exaltation even communicated itself to me. My condition was like a slight opium intoxication, which makes music sound still more wonderful. While I congratulated him on this interesting journey, which conferred so much honour upon him, and questioned him and answered his lively outbursts, I drank my cup of coffee which Minna had poured out and given me. But far from finding the "brown nectar," prepared by my beloved's hands, incomparable, I decided in my own mind that Minna, true to her Saxonian origin, made "Bliemchen-Kaffee," and that the time would come when she would have to grow accustomed to be less economical with the coffee-beans.
I do not think, however, that I should have had the heart to refuse another cup, if I had not heard from the river the dull sound of the steamer's propeller. The others insisted that it was too early, but soon afterwards we saw the funnel of the ship over the green fields, like a black line coming forward on the white background of the waste slope under the quarries.
We were soon seated on the deck under the awning, and saw the house gliding by, the greenish table-cloth still shining in the shadow of the summer-house. We sailed towards Lilienstein and its twin brother Königstein, which now appeared opposite the former, with sunlight on the margin of its wall and on the small watch-towers. The glare of the yellow quarries flickered over the water, in which each red spot, or violet-shaded line above, here grew into a long, quivering streak. Along the banks, the fields, bushes, and fruit trees dipped their green reflections in the river. From the ploughing prow long mussel-shaped waves slid out to the sides, and as they came towards the bank the reflecting colours flowed into their blue, shining valleys just like a fluid which suddenly finds a canal and draws out the picture in an elongated distortion, until everything was jumbled up in a vibrating mixture of tongue-shaped and twisted spiral colours, all light and clear as glass.
Old Hertz was very lively, and talked untiringly about the wonders of Prague; about the peculiar Teyn Church, where my famous countryman Tycho Brahe was buried, about the dirty Jewish quarter with its gloomy Synagogue, and the overgrown churchyard, where the plain Oriental grave-stones stood slanting and leaning, and crowded so closely together that they looked as if they would push one another out of the ground. About Hradschin, the Bohemian Acropolis, and its terrace-shaped Palace-gardens climbing up the side of the rock. Of all those wonders which I should be able to admire the next day, if I allowed myself to be persuaded to go on with them to-night. For he pretended all the time to hope that I would eventually give way, and good-naturedly enjoyed listening to the many feeble excuses I made to his reiterated invitations.
But he always wound up by saying, "Yes, yes, it is also a good thing that Minna gets company, though I am quite sure that she would not be afraid to return alone." Then of course she began to assure us how willing she was to do this daring act, and that I was "on no account to give up this enjoyable trip for her sake, when there was such a good chance to take it with pleasant companions." While teasing me in this way she laughed with her half-closed blinking eyes, so that in the end I did not know what to answer. We, in our turn, amused ourselves heartily over the fact that the good-natured man, while meaning to make fun of us, was in reality himself deceived, as he could not have any notion of how on this, of all evenings, it was really impossible for me to leave her. Mrs. Hertz, however, who sat on the bench opposite us, sometimes shook her grey curls and smiled while she looked at us, as if this talk tired her, but at the same time with a questioning look, as if searching a secret under this play of words.
In Schandau we scarcely had time for anything except to have supper in the garden of an hotel near the river. Dusk closed in quickly. Hertz reminded us about the home-journey. But Minna assured us that the steamboat, in connection with the train service, started regularly a quarter of an hour before the departure of the train, a fact which we must surely know from the time-table. As the station is situated on the other side of the river and a good half-mile from the centre of the town and the landing-place, the communication is kept up by means of a little steamboat. This combination made old Hertz feel uneasy; he began to get travelling fever, and every minute pulled out his gold watch with its face cover.
Minna admitted at last that it was now time for us to be moving.
There was no boat visible at the little bridge. The black water, which had a shimmer over it from the light of the lanterns that collected in the whirlpools, flowed freely past its empty planks, where there was not so much as a portmanteau or handbag to be seen.
"Surely we have come to the wrong bridge, it must be the steamer bridge," Mrs. Hertz said.
"Not at all, we are only too early," Minna answered, and she seemed to be a little hurt at this want of confidence.
We dawdled up and down for a few minutes, without seeing anybody or anything. Hertz went into the open shed, which served as a waiting-room, and sat down. In one corner there was a working man sleeping, with the brim of his hat pulled down over his forehead, for the smoking oil-lamp gave just sufficient light to dazzle one's eyes. Hertz stood up after having consulted his watch two or three times, approached the stranger, sauntered round him, coughed, and at last cautiously asked whether the gentleman also waited for the steam-launch going to meet the Dresden train.
"Nach Brag!" the stranger muttered mechanically, without looking up, and almost without waking.
A faint hope began to break upon me. When I saw a porter slouching down to the bridge I went up to him and asked for information. "The steam-launch for the Dresden train left ten minutes ago," he replied. Inwardly beaming with joy, and outwardly as annoyed as possible, I went up to the ladies with my news. They stood close to the little lamp, and I could see that Minna's annoyance at being disgraced over her assurance was struggling with a joy which, fortunately, was not imcomprehensible to me. She seemed purposely to avoid meeting my eyes.
"There is plenty of time, it is sure to come, he has not had proper information.… Look, is it not the one out there? "
A red lantern approached from the other side of the river, near the spot where the station was. A couple of ropes were soon faintly to be seen, and the steam, driven ahead by the wind over the launch, which slowly came up against the current, floated above like a little rosy cloud. The stroke of the propeller could be heard.
I felt rather mortified, and looked impatiently at old Hertz, who uttered a heart-felt "Thank goodness," and hurried down the bridge, as if there was no time to be wasted, and as if he himself was going to Dresden.
The boat came out of the darkness, the whistle sounded, a shout from the launch was answered by the porter, and past the bridge-lantern flew a lasso, that nearly caught the good Hertz, and landed a few yards behind him. The little steamboat lay beside the bridge with its coal-smeared hull still quivering; on the low, dirty cabin wall fell the glare from the machine-room, where the slow puff-puff still continued; and nauseating fumes of burnt oil, mixed with coal smoke, streamed into the fresh night air.
"For Dresden train?"
"No, the express for Vienna. There's plenty of time, for we stay here nearly half an hour."
"Yes, but the train for Dresden?"
"We have just taken the people across for that."
"But there's still time enough. Can't we get a boat to take us across?"
"I don't think you will get any boat at this time of night. I say, Heinrich, is there any boat to be got?"
"No, of course there's no boat to be got," answered the porter, and spat in the water. "People ought to be here in time for the launch."
A load fell from my heart, and it seemed to me that Minna also breathed more freely. But Hertz looked quite terrified; evidently he felt that he was solely responsible for having put us in this predicament, and for being compelled to leave us in it.
"But it was also your fault, Minna! Why were you so positive? One ought never to rely upon one's memory in such a case, and the time-table may be altered from one year to another. I ought to have thought of that myself. It really is very annoying."
"Oh dear me!" said Mrs. Hertz soothingly, "after all, it is nothing so very dreadful. You will be obliged to remain here for the night, but anyhow there are plenty of hotels in Schandau; the town contains hardly anything else."
This practical remark quieted him down.
"Luckily there is an early train to-morrow. But perhaps you will be missed," Hertz said to Minna.
"Oh, I shall be back before anybody is up," she replied.
We walked up and down for a few minutes, and then Hertz took me aside.
"Tell me, dear Mr. Fenger, you came on this expedition so unprepared, and besides you did not think of staying the night here—I mean have you, by accident, not enough money with you?"
I hastily reassured him, as I, really "by accident," had more than sufficient with me.
The old man looked at me in astonishment and hesitatingly put his purse, which he had already taken out, back into his enormous deep pocket, while he moved his lower lip as if he was going to speak.
"The ladies and gentlemen will be obliged to stay overnight," shouted the mate of the steamboat; "there are no more trains northwards."
"No, but we are going southwards. We are bound for Prague."
"But you were asking for the Dresden train."
Hertz began to explain the situation.
A steam whistle sounded on the other side of the river, and like a shining centipede the train glided past hissing and squeaking. It was the one that was to have taken us back to Rathen. I stood alone next to Minna and, as I thought nobody noticed us, I gave way to my gaiety and made a face at the passing train. Minna burst out laughing, and a rather coarse bass, a little to the side of us, joined in. I turned round, almost alarmed, and discovered the porter, who seemed to understand the situation.
"But what in the world are you laughing at?" asked Mrs. Hertz.
Hertz now busied himself with getting on board, as if there was danger of the launch leaving them behind. They remained near the railing, and for a quarter of an hour we kept up a spasmodic conversation, searching for something to say, all of us tired of waiting. Hertz recommended an hotel which was good and "moderate." At last the signal bell rang. Hertz remembered the man in the waiting-room.
"Let him come if he cares to," said the mate.
But the old man got excited. I ran and woke up the phlegmatic stranger, who followed me grumpily. As soon as he had passed over the gangway, it was hauled in, and the steamer glided away, turned slowly, and disappeared in the darkness. Minna kept on waving her handkerchief.
I was on the point of embracing her, when I remembered that perhaps we might still be visible from the boat. Besides, the porter was sitting a few yards away, astride on the railing.