"You mustn"t do anything of the kind, my dear," said her father, gently.
"You"ve no right to give yourself away to that romantic old goose." He put up his hand to interrupt her protest. "This thing has got to be gone to the bottom of. But you"re not to do it. I will see March myself. We must consider your dignity in this matter--and mine. And you may as well understand that I"m not going to have any nonsense. It"s got to be managed so that it can"t be supposed we"re anxious about it, one way or the other, or that he was authorized to write to you in this way--"
"No, no! He oughtn"t to have done so. He was to blame. He couldn"t have written to you, though, papa--"
"Well, I don"t know why. But that"s no reason why we should let it be understood that he has written to you. I will see March; and I will manage to see his wife, too. I shall probably find them in the reading-room at Pupp"s, and--"
The Marches were in fact just coming in from their breakfast at the Posthof, and he met them at the door of Pupp"s, where they all sat down on one of the iron settees of the piazza, and began to ask one another questions of their minds about the pleasure of the day before, and to beat about the bush where Burnamy lurked in their common consciousness.
Mrs. March was not able to keep long from starting him. "You knew," she said, "that Mr. Burnamy had left us?"
"Left! Why?" asked the general.
She was a woman of resource, but in a case like this she found it best to trust her husband"s poverty of invention. She looked at him, and he answered for her with a promptness that made her quake at first, but finally seemed the only thing, if not the best thing: "He"s had some trouble with Stoller." He went on to tell the general just what the trouble was.
At the end the general grunted as from an uncertain mind. "You think he"s behaved badly."
"I think he"s behaved foolishly--youthfully. But I can understand how strongly he was tempted. He could say that he was not authorized to stop Stoller in his mad career."
At this Mrs. March put her hand through her husband"s arm.
"I"m not so sure about that," said the general.
March added: "Since I saw him this morning, I"ve heard something that disposes me to look at his performance in a friendlier light. It"s something that Stoller told me himself; to heighten my sense of Burnamy"s wickedness. He seems to have felt that I ought to know what a serpent I was cherishing in my bosom," and he gave Triscoe the facts of Burnamy"s injurious refusal to help Stoller put a false complexion on the opinions he had allowed him ignorantly to express.
The general grunted again. "Of course he had to refuse, and he has behaved like a gentleman so far. But that doesn"t justify him in having let Stoller get himself into the sc.r.a.pe."
"No," said March. "It"s a tough nut for the casuist to try his tooth on.
And I must say I feel sorry for Stoller."
Mrs. March plucked her hand from his arm. "I don"t, one bit. He was thoroughly selfish from first to last. He has got just what he deserved."
"Ah, very likely," said her husband. "The question is about Burnamy"s part in giving him his deserts; he had to leave him to them, of course."
The general fixed her with the impenetrable glitter of his eye-gla.s.ses, and left the subject as of no concern to him. "I believe," he said, rising, "I"ll have a look at some of your papers," and he went into the reading-room.
"Now," said Mrs. March, "he will go home and poison that poor girl"s mind. And, you will have yourself to thank for prejudicing him against Burnamy."
"Then why didn"t you do it yourself, my dear?" he teased; but he was really too sorry for the whole affair, which he nevertheless enjoyed as an ethical problem.
The general looked so little at the papers that before March went off for his morning walk he saw him come out of the reading-room and take his way down the Alte Wiese. He went directly back to his daughter, and reported Burnamy"s behavior with entire exactness. He dwelt upon his making the best of a bad business in refusing to help Stoller out of it, dishonorably and mendaciously; but he did not conceal that it was a bad business.
"Now, you know all about it," he said at the end, "and I leave the whole thing to you. If you prefer, you can see Mrs. March. I don"t know but I"d rather you"d satisfy yourself--"
"I will not see Mrs. March. Do you think I would go back of you in that way? I am satisfied now."
x.x.xIX.
Instead of Burnamy, Mrs. Adding and her son now breakfasted with the Marches at the Posthof, and the boy was with March throughout the day a good deal. He rectified his impressions of life in Carlsbad by March"s greater wisdom and experience, and did his best to antic.i.p.ate his opinions and conform to his conclusions. This was not easy, for sometimes he could not conceal from himself, that March"s opinions were whimsical, and his conclusions fantastic; and he could not always conceal from March that he was matching them with Kenby"s on some points, and suffering from their divergence. He came to join the sage in his early visit to the springs, and they walked up and down talking; and they went off together on long strolls in which Rose was proud to bear him company. He was patient of the absences from which he was often answered, and he learned to distinguish between the earnest and the irony of which March"s replies seemed to be mixed. He examined him upon many features of German civilization, but chiefly upon the treatment of women in it; and upon this his philosopher was less satisfactory than he could have wished him to be. He tried to excuse his trifling as an escape from the painful stress of questions which he found so afflicting himself; but in the matter of the woman-and-dog teams, this was not easy. March owned that the notion of their being yokemates was shocking; but he urged that it was a stage of evolution, and a distinct advance upon the time when women dragged the carts without the help of the dogs; and that the time might not be far distant when the dogs would drag the carts without the help of the women.
Rose surmised a joke, and he tried to enjoy it, but inwardly he was troubled by his friend"s apparent acceptance of unjust things on their picturesque side. Once as they were sauntering homeward by the brink of the turbid Eger, they came to a man lying on the gra.s.s with a pipe in his mouth, and lazily watching from under his fallen lids the cows grazing by the river-side, while in a field of scraggy wheat a file of women were reaping a belated harvest with sickles, bending wearily over to clutch the stems together and cut them with their hooked blades. "Ah, delightful!" March took off his hat as if to salute the pleasant sight.
"But don"t you think, Mr. March," the boy ventured, "that the man had better be cutting the wheat, and letting the women watch the cows?"
"Well, I don"t know. There are more of them; and he wouldn"t be half so graceful as they are, with that flow of their garments, and the sway of their aching backs." The boy smiled sadly, and March put his hand on his shoulder as they walked on. "You find a lot of things in Europe that need putting right, don"t you, Rose?"
"Yes; I know it"s silly."
"Well, I"m not sure. But I"m afraid it"s useless. You see, these old customs go such a way back, and are so grounded in conditions. We think they might be changed, if those who rule could be got to see how cruel and ugly they are; but probably they couldn"t. I"m afraid that the Emperor of Austria himself couldn"t change them, in his sovereign plenitude of power. The Emperor is only an old custom too, and he"s as much grounded in the conditions as any." This was the serious way Rose felt that March ought always to talk; and he was too much grieved to laugh when he went on. "The women have so much of the hard work to do, over here, because the emperors need the men for their armies. They couldn"t let their men cut wheat unless it was for their officers"
horses, in the field of some peasant whom it would ruin."
If Mrs. March was by she would not allow him to work these paradoxes for the boy"s confusion. She said the child adored him, and it was a sacrilege to play with his veneration. She always interfered to save him, but with so little logic though so much justice that Rose suffered a humiliation from her championship, and was obliged from a sense of self-respect to side with the mocker. She understood this, and magnanimously urged it as another reason why her husband should not trifle with Rose"s ideal of him; to make his mother laugh at him was wicked.
"Oh, I"m not his only ideal," March protested. "He adores Kenby too, and every now and then he brings me to book with a text from Kenby"s gospel."
Mrs. March caught her breath. "Kenby! Do you really think, then, that she--"
"Oh, hold on, now! It isn"t a question of Mrs. Adding; and I don"t say Rose had an eye on poor old Kenby as a step-father. I merely want you to understand that I"m the object of a divided worship, and that when I"m off duty as an ideal I don"t see why I shouldn"t have the fun of making Mrs. Adding laugh. You can"t pretend she isn"t wrapped up in the boy.
You"ve said that yourself."
"Yes, she"s wrapped up in him; she"d give her life for him; but she is so light. I didn"t suppose she was so light; but it"s borne in upon me more and more."
They were constantly seeing Rose and his mother, in the sort of abeyance the Triscoes had fallen into. One afternoon the Addings came to Mrs.
March"s room to look from her windows at a parade of bicyclers" clubs from the neighboring towns. The spectacle prospered through its first half-hour, with the charm which German sentiment and ingenuity, are able to lend even a bicycle parade. The wheelmen and wheelwomen filed by on machines wreathed with flowers and ribbons, and decked with streaming banners. Here and there one sat under a moving arch of blossoms, or in a bower of leaves and petals, and they were all gay with their club costumes and insignia. In the height of the display a sudden mountain shower gathered and broke upon them. They braved it till it became a drenching down-pour; then they leaped from their machines and fled to any shelter they could find, under trees and in doorways. The men used their greater agility to get the best places, and kept them; the women made no appeal for them by word or look, but took the rain in the open as if they expected nothing else.
Rose watched the scene with a silent intensity which March interpreted.
"There"s your chance, Rose. Why don"t you go down and rebuke those fellows?"
Rose blushed and shrank away without answer, and Mrs. March promptly attacked her husband in his behalf. "Why don"t you go and rebuke them yourself?"
"Well, for one thing, there isn"t any conversation in my phrase-book Between an indignant American Herr and a Party of German Wheelmen who have taken Shelter from the Rain and are keeping the Wheelwomen out in the Wet." Mrs. Adding shrieked her delight, and he was flattered into going on. "For another thing, I think it"s very well for you ladies to realize from an object-lesson of this sort what spoiled children of our civilization you are. It ought to make you grateful for your privileges."
"There is something in that," Mrs. Adding joyfully consented.
"Oh, there is no civilization but ours," said Mrs. March, in a burst of vindictive patriotism. "I am more and more convinced of it the longer I stay in Europe."
"Perhaps that"s why we like to stay so long in Europe; it strengthens us in the conviction that America is the only civilized country in the world," said March.
The shower pa.s.sed as quickly as it had gathered, and the band which it had silenced for a moment burst forth again in the music which fills the Carlsbad day from dawn till dusk. Just now, it began to play a pot pourri of American airs; at the end some unseen Americans under the trees below clapped and cheered.
"That was opportune of the band," said March. "It must have been a telepathic impulse from our patriotism in the director. But a pot pourri of American airs is like that tablet dedicating the American Park up here on the Schlossberg, which is signed by six Jews and one Irishman. The only thing in this medley that"s the least characteristic or original is Dixie; and I"m glad the South has brought us back into the Union."
"You don"t know one note from another, my dear," said his wife.
"I know the "Washington Post.""
"And don"t you call that American?"