Chapter 46

REINHOLD LEAVES MASTER MARTIN'S HOUSE.

Master Martin's workshop was now as melancholy a place as it had once been merry. Reinhold, unable to work, remained in his room. Master Martin, with his arm in a sling, railed and rated unceasingly on the subject of his late evil, unintelligible journeyman. Rosa and Frau Martha with her children avoided the scene of the mad attempt, so that Friedrich's hammer on the wood sounded mournful and hollow, as he went on, finishing the job by himself.

Soon his heart was filled with the deepest sorrow. For he fancied he now saw very clearly that what he had long dreaded was the truth. He was _sure_ that Rosa loved Reinhold. It was not only that all her real friendliness, besides many a sweet word, had all along been given to him; but it was proof sufficient that, now that Reinhold was unable to come to the workshop, she never thought of leaving the house, either, doubtless, to nurse and take care of her lover. On Sunday, when everybody went out to make holiday, and Master Martin--now nearly well--asked him to go with Rosa and him to the meadow, he declined, and went off alone to the village on the height, overpowered with grief and love-anxiety. There, where he had first met Reinhold, he laid himself down on the flowery turf, and, as he thought how the beautiful Star of Hope, which had shone before him on all his journey home, had now--at the goal--vanished suddenly into the deepest night--how all his undertaking was now like the vain effort of a dreamer who stretches his longing arms to embrace empty images of air--the tears came to his eyes and rolled down his cheeks on to the grass, and the flowers, which hung their little heads as if in sorrow for his bitter fortune. He scarce knew how it came that the sighs which heaved his distracted breast took the form of words and music. But he sang the following song:--

"My star of hope! ah! whither hast thou fled? Alas! for me, slid down beneath the marge, To rise, in splendour, upon happier hearts. Thou trembling night-wind! smite upon this breast, And waken there the bliss which bringeth death, That so my heart, surcharged with tears of blood, May break, in longing ne'er to be assuaged. Dark trees! oh, tell me what mysterious words Ye whisper thus, in loving confidence. And ye, gold hems of heaven's wide-spread robe, Why shine ye down on me benignantly? Show me my grave! there is my hope's fair haven! There, and there only shall I rest in peace."

It sometimes happens that the deepest sorrow, if it can but find tears and words, dissolves into a mild, painfulness of melancholy, so that perhaps even a gentle shimmer of hope begins then to beam faintly through the heart. And thus it was that Friedrich felt wondrously consoled and strengthened after he had sung this song. The evening wind, and the dark trees which he had invoked, rustled and whispered as if with voices of comfort. Golden streaks appeared in the dark sky like sweet dreams of coming glory, and happiness still afar off. He rose, and walked down to the village. There he felt as if Reinhold was walking by his side as he had been when he first met him. All that Reinhold had said came back upon his mind. When he remembered Reinhold's story of the two painters who had tried for the prize, scales seemed to fall from his eyes. It was quite clear that Reinhold must, ere then, have seen, and loved, the fair Rosa. Nothing but this love had taken him to Master Martin's house in Nürnberg, and, by the painter's contest, he had meant nothing but his own and Friedrich's rivalry as regarded Rosa. Friedrich listened once more to what Reinhold had then said; that "to strive towards the same goal, bravely and openly, was true friendship, and must truly, in the depths of their hearts, rather unite than separate real friends; for nobleness or littleness never can find place in hearts which are true."

"Yes, friend of my heart!" Friedrich cried aloud, "to thee will I turn without reserve. Thou thyself shalt tell me if all hope is over for me."

It was broad day when Friedrich knocked at Reinhold's door. As all was silent within, he opened it--it was not fastened, as it generally was--and entered. When he did so, he stood transfixed like a statue; for there stood, on an easel before him, a full-length portrait of Rosa, in all the pride of her beauty, lighted up by the rays of the rising sun. The mahl-stick on the table, where it had been thrown down--the colours still wet--showed that the portrait had just been worked upon.

"Rosa! Rosa! oh, Father of Heaven!" Friedrich cried. Reinhold tapped him on the shoulder, and asked him, with a smile, what he thought of the picture. Friedrich pressed him to his heart saying:

"Ah, glorious fellow! mighty artist!--it is all clear to me now. You have gained the prize for which I--wretch that I am! was bold enough to try. What am I, compared to you; what is _my_ art, to _yours_? Alas! I had great ideas in my mind, too! Don't laugh me altogether to scorn, dear Reinhold. I thought w hat a glorious thing it would be to make a mould model of Rosa's beautiful form in the finest silver. But that, of course, would be mere child's play. But as for _you_!--how she smiles on one, in all the pride of her loveliness!--Ah, Reinhold! happiest of men! what you said long ago has now come true. We have striven for the prize. You have won it. You could not _but_ win. But I am still yours, with all my soul! I must get away; I could not bear to stay here. I should die if I saw Rosa again. Forgive me this, my dear, dear, glorious friend! This very day--this very moment--I must away into the wide world, whithersoever my love-sorrow--my inconsolable misery--may drive me." With which he would have left the room; but Reinhold held him fast, saying gently:

"You shall not go, because things may possibly turn out far otherwise than you suppose. It is time, now, that I should tell you what I have kept silence about hitherto. That I am not a cooper at all, but a painter, you probably now have gathered; and I hope the portrait has proved to you that I am not one of the worst. When I was very young, I went to Italy, the land of art; and there it chanced that some great masters took an interest in me, and fanned the sparks which smouldered within me into living fire. Thus I soon rose to some eminence, and my pictures became celebrated all over Italy. The Grand Duke of Florence took me to his Court. At that time I did not care to know anything of the German School of Art, and, without having seen any German pictures, I talked largely of the woodenness, the bad drawing, and the hardness of your Dürer and your Cranache. However, one day, a dealer brought a small Madonna of old Albrecht's into the Duke's gallery, which went to my heart in a wonderful manner; so that I completely turned away from the luxury of the Italian school, and at that hour determined to see for myself, in my native Germany, those masterpieces on which my thoughts were now bent. I came to Nürnberg here; and when I saw Rosa, it seemed to me as though that Madonna which beamed so brightly in my heart were walking the earth. In my case, just as in yours, dear Friedrich, all my being flamed up in a blaze of affection. I saw and thought of nothing but Rosa. Even art was only precious in my sight because I could go on drawing and painting Rosa hundreds of times, over and over again. In the unceremonious Italian fashion, I thought I should have no difficulty in approaching her, but all my efforts in this direction were vain. There was no way of getting introduced, in honour, to Master Martin's house. At last I thought of going and straight-forwardly announcing myself as one of her wooers, when I heard of Master Martin's determination to give her to nobody but a real, doughty, Master-Cooper. On this, I came to the, rather Quixotic, resolve that I would go and learn coopering at Strassburg, and then betake myself to Master Martin's workshop. The rest I left to Heaven's will. How I carried out my resolution, you know; but you have still to learn that, a few days ago, Master Martin told me I should make a first-rate cooper, and should be very acceptable to him as a son-in-law; for he saw well enough that I was trying to gain Rosa's favour, and that she liked me."

"How could it be otherwise?" Friedrich cried. "Yes, yes; she will be yours. How could I, most wretched of creatures, ever hope for such bliss!"

"My brother!" said Reinhold, "you forget that Rosa has by no means yet confirmed what wily Master Martin fancies he has seen. It is true she has always been very charming and kindly with me; but that is not exactly how a loving heart displays itself. Promise me, my brother, to keep yourself quiet for three days more, and work in the shop as usual. I might go back again there now, too; but since I have been busy at this picture, that miserable handicraft sickens me inexpressibly. I _cannot_ take a hammer in my hand again, come what will! On the third day I will tell you distinctly how matters stand between me and Rosa. If I should really be the fortunate man to whom she has given her heart, you may depart; and you will learn that time heals the very deepest wounds."

Friedrich promised to abide his destiny.

On the third day (Friedrich had carefully shunned the sight of Rosa) his heart trembled with fear and anxious expectation. He crept about the workshop like one in a dream, and his awkwardness was such as to give Master Martin occasion to scold angrily, in a way unusual with him. Taking things all round, something seemed to have come to the master which had taken away all satisfaction from him. He talked much of wicked artfulness and ingratitude, without further explaining what he was driving at. When evening came at length, and Friedrich was going back to town, near the city-gate he saw a man on horseback meeting him, whom he at once knew to be Reinhold. As soon as this latter caught sight of him he cried out: "Ha, ha! here you are!--just as I wished!" He got off his horse, threw the reins on his arm, and took his friend by the hand: "Let us stroll along together for a while," he said; "I can tell you now how my love-affair has turned out."

Friedrich noticed that Reinhold was dressed as he had been when they first met, and that the horse had a valise on him. Reinhold was looking rather pale and troubled. "Good-luck to you, brother-heart!" he cried, somewhat wildly. "You can go on hammering lustily away at your casks, for I am clearing out of your way. I have just said good-bye to the lovely Rosa, and worthy old Martin."

"What!" cried Friedrich, who felt a kind of electric shock go through him. "You are going away! when Master Martin wants you for a son-in-law, and when Rosa loves you?"

"Dear brother," answered Reinhold, "that is what your jealousy has led you to imagine. It has turned out that Rosa would have married me, from mere filial obedience, but that there is not a single spark of affection for me in that ice-cold heart of hers. Ha, ha! I should have been a celebrated cooper! Shaven hoops on week-days with my apprentices, and taken my worthy housekeeper-wife on Sundays to St. Catherine's or St. Sebald's to service, and then to the meadow in the evening, one year after another, all my life long."

"Well, you needn't jest over the simple, innocent life of the good townspeople," cried Friedrich, interrupting Reinhold in his laughter. "It's not Rosa's fault if she does not really love you. You are so angry--so wild!"

"You are right," said Reinhold; "it is only my stupid way of behaving like a spoilt child when I feel annoyed. You will understand that I told Rosa of my love for her, and of her father's good-will. The tears streamed from her eyes; her hand trembled in mine; she turned away her face, and said, 'Of course I must do as my father wishes.' That was enough. This strange vexation of mine cannot but have enabled you to read my inmost heart. You see that my efforts to gain Rosa were the result of a deception, which my mistaken feeling had prepared for itself. As soon as I had finished her portrait, my heart was at rest; and I often felt, in an inexplicable manner, as though Rosa had really been the picture, and the picture the real Rosa. The mean, wretched, mechanical handicraft grew detestable to me; the common style of life, and the whole business of having to get myself made a Master-Cooper, and marry, depressed me so that I felt as if I were going to be immured in a prison and chained to a block. How could that heavenly child whom I have worn in my heart--_as_ I have worn her in my heart--ever become my wife? Ah, no! she must for ever be resplendent in the master-works which my soul shall engender; in eternal youth, delightsomeness, and beauty. Oh, how I long to be working at them! How could I ever sever myself from my heavenly calling! Soon shall I bathe once more in thy fervid vapours, glorious land! home of all the arts!"

The friends had reached the point where the road which Reinhold meant to follow turned sharp off to the left. "Here we part!" he cried. He pressed Friedrich warmly to his heart, sprang into the saddle, and galloped away.

Friedrich gazed after him, in silence, and then crept home, filled with the strangest thoughts.

HOW FRIEDRICH WAS DRIVEN OUT FROM MASTER MARTIN'S WORKSHOP.

The next day Master Martin was labouring away at the Bishop of Bamberg's cask, in moody silence; and Friedrich too, who was now only feeling fully what he had lost in Reinhold, was not capable of a word, far less of a song. At last Martin threw down his hammer, folded his arms, and said in a low voice:

"So Reinhold has gone too! He was a great, celebrated painter, and merely making a fool of me with his coopering. If I had but had the slightest inkling of that when he came to my house with you, and seemed so handy and clever, shouldn't I just have shown him the door! Such an open, honest-looking face! and yet all deceit and falsehood! Well! he is gone; but _you_ are going to stick to me and the craft with truth and honour. When you get to be a doughty Master-Cooper--and if Rosa takes a fancy to you--well! you know what I mean, and can try if you can gain her liking." With which he took up his hammer, and went busily on with his work. Friedrich could not quite explain to himself why it was that Master Martin's words pained his heart--why some strange, anxious dread arose in him, darkening every shimmer of hope. Rosa came to the workshop, for the first time for long, but she was deeply thoughtful, and (as Friedrich remarked to his sorrow) her eyes were red from weeping. "She has been crying about _him_; she loves him;" a voice in his heart said; and he did not dare to raise his glance to her whom he loved so unutterably.

The cask was finished; and then, and only then, Master Martin, as he contemplated that highly successful piece of work, grew cheerful and light-hearted once more. "Ay, my lad," he said, slapping Friedrich on the shoulder, "it is a settled matter that, if you can turn out a right good master-piece, and win Rosa's good will, my son-in-law you shall be. After that you can join the Coopers' Guild, and gain much renown."

At this time Master Martin's commissions so accumulated that he had to hire two new journeymen, capital workmen, but rough fellows, who had picked up many evil habits during their long years of travel, as journey-men away from home. In place of the old merry talk, the jokes, and the pretty singing which used to go on in the workshop, nothing was to be heard there now but obscene ditties. Rosa avoided the place, so that Friedrich only saw her at long intervals, and when he then looked at her with melancholy longing, and sighed out, "Ah! dearest Rosa! if I could but talk with you again! if you would only be kindly with me as you used to be when Reinhold was here!" she would cast her eyes bashfully down, and murmur, "Have you anything to say to me, dear Friedrich?" But he would stand transfixed and speechless. The lucky moment would pass, as quick as lightning which flashes in the evening sky, and has vanished ere one has noticed it almost.

Master Martin was now all insistence that Friedrich should set to work on his "Master-piece." He had himself chosen, in his workshop, the finest, cleanest, most flawless timber, which had been stored there for over five years, and had not a vein or a streak in it; and nobody was to give Friedrich the slightest hand in the job except old Valentine. More and more intensely disgusted with the whole thing as Friedrich now was, on account of those brutes of journeymen, the thought that all his future life hung upon this piece of work almost stifled him. The strange sense of dread and anxiety which had developed itself in him when Master Martin had lauded his faithful devotion to the craft, took shape, now, more and more clearly. He felt convinced that he would come to the most utter and shameful failure in an occupation completely repugnant to his whole nature, filled as it was with the love of his own art. Reinhold, and Rosa's portrait he could not drive out of his mind; at the same time, his own branch of Art shone upon him in the brightest splendour. Often, when the terrible sense of the full wretchedness of the trade he was engaged in was like to overpower him as he was working at it, he would pretend to be unwell, and hurry off to the church of St. Sebald, where he would gaze for hours at Peter Fischer's marvellous monument, and then cry out, like one enchanted, "Oh, Father of Heaven!--to conceive, to execute such a work as that--could there be anything on earth more glorious!" and then when he had to go back to his staves and hoops, and remember that by means of them, only, Rosa was to be won, the very devil's glowing talons seemed to touch his heart, and he felt as if he must perish in the terrible misery of it all. Reinhold often appeared to him in dreams, bringing to him lovely designs, in which Rosa was worked in, and displayed now as a flower, now as a beautifully winged angel. But there was always a something wanting. Reinhold had forgotten to put a _heart_ in Rosa's image; and that he added himself. _Then_ all the flowers and leaves of the design seemed to begin moving and singing, and breathing out the most delicious odours; and the noble metals reflected Rosa's form as in a gleaming mirror, seeming to stretch her longing arms to her lover--but the image would vanish in dim vapour, and the beautiful Rosa, herself, seemed to be clasping him to her loving heart, all blissful desire. His feelings towards the miserable coopering work grew more and more terribly unendurable, and he went for aid and consolation (as well as for advice) to his old master, Johannes Holzschuer. This master allowed Friedrich to set about a little piece of work, for which an idea had occurred to him, and for the carrying out of which, and providing himself with the necessary gold and silver, he had saved up the wages which Master Martin gave him, for many a day.

Thus it came about that Friedrich, who was so very pale that there was but too much reason to believe (as he gave out) that he was suffering from strongly-marked consumptive symptoms, scarcely ever went to Master Martin's workshop, and that months elapsed without his having made the very slightest progress with his master-piece, the great two-fudder cask. Master Martin pressed him to work at least at much as his strength would permit him, and Friedrich was at length compelled to go once more to the hateful cutting-block, and take the broad-axe in hand again. As he was working, Master Martin came up and looked at the staves he had been finishing. He grew red in the face, and cried out--

"Why, Friedrich! what do you call this? A nice job and a half! Are those staves turned out by a journeyman trying to pass as master, or by an apprentice-boy who has only been a day or two in the shop! Bethink yourself, man; what demon has entered itself into you? My beautiful oak timber! The great masterpiece indeed! Clumsy, careless, goose!"

Overcome by all the hellish torments which were burning in his heart, Friedrich could contain himself no longer. He sent the broad-axe flying with all his force, and cried, "Master, it's all over! If it costs me my life--if I perish in misery unnamed, I cannot go on labouring at this wretched handicraft another minute. I am drawn to my own glorious Art with a power which I cannot withstand. Alas! I love your Rosa unutterably--as no other on earth can love her. It is for her sake alone that I have gone through with this abominable work in this place. I know I have lost her now. I shall soon die of grief for her. But I cannot help it. I must go back to my own glorious Art, to my own dear master, Johannes Holzschuer, whom I deserted so basely."

Master Martin's eyes shone like flaming tapers. Scarce able to articulate for anger, he stammered out--

"What! you too! lies and cheatery! impose on _me_--talk of a 'miserable handicraft!' Out of my sight, you shameless scoundrel--get out from here!" with which he took Friedrich by the shoulders and chucked him out of the workshop.

The derisive laughter of the other journeymen and the apprentices followed him. But old Valentine folded his hands, looked thoughtfully at the ground, and said, "I always saw that good fellow had something very different in his head from casks."

Frau Martha cried a great deal, and her children lamented over Friedrich, who used to play with them, and bring them many a nice piece of sweet-stuff.

CONCLUSION.

Notwithstanding Master Martin's anger with Reinhold and Friedrich, he could not but admit that, with them, all happiness and joy had fled from the workshop. His new journeymen caused him nothing but vexation and annoyance every day. He had to give himself trouble over every trifling detail of the work, and had difficulty in getting the very smallest matter done as he wished it. Wholly worn out with the worries of the day, he would often sigh, "Ah, Reinhold! ah, Friedrich! how I wish you had not deceived me so shamefully! Oh that you had only gone on being doughty coopers, and not turned out to be something else!" This went so far, that he often thought of giving up business altogether.

He was sitting one evening in a gloomy frame of mind of this description, when Herr Jacobus Paumgartner, and with him Master Johannes Holzschuer, came in unexpectedly. He felt sure their visit related to Friedrich, and in fact Paumgartner soon led the conversation to the subject of him, and Master Holzschuer began to extol him in every possible way, stating his opinion that with Friedrich's talents and diligence he would not only become a first-class goldsmith, but actually tread in Peter Fischer's footsteps as a modeller of eminence. Then Herr Paumgartner set to work to vehemently inveigh against the undeserved treatment that the poor fellow had received from Master Martin, and they both of them urged the latter that, if Friedrich should turn out a goldsmith and modeller, he should give him Rosa to wife, provided she should be really fond of him. Master Martin allowed them both to finish what they had to say; then he took off his cap and answered with a smile, "Worthy sirs, you speak strongly in favour of the lad, who has--all the same--deceived me in a shameful manner. I forgive him that, however, but you must not expect me to alter my firm decision, on his account. It is not the slightest use asking me to give him my Rosa--completely out of the question."

Just then, Rosa came in, pale as death, with eyes red from crying, and, in silence, placed glasses and wine on the table.