round."_Es ist doch selbstverstaendlich_. We shall all understand."
Then he turned suddenly, and Harris saw that his face had turned mostoddly and disagreeably sinister. It may only have been the shadows againplaying their tricks with the wretched oil lamps on the wall, for thedark expression passed instantly as they retraced their steps down thecorridor, but the Englishman somehow got the impression that he had saidsomething to give offence, something that was not quite to the other'staste. Opposite the door of the _Bruderstube_ they stopped. Harrisrealised that it was late and he had possibly stayed talking too long.He made a tentative effort to leave, but his companion would not hear ofit.
"You must have a cup of coffee with us," he said firmly as though hemeant it, "and my colleagues will be delighted to see you. Some of themwill remember you, perhaps."
The sound of voices came pleasantly through the door, men's voicestalking together. Bruder Kalkmann turned the handle and they entered aroom ablaze with light and full of people.
"Ah,--but your name?" he whispered, bending down to catch the reply;"you have not told me your name yet."
"Harris," said the Englishman quickly as they went in. He felt nervousas he crossed the threshold, but ascribed the momentary trepidation tothe fact that he was breaking the strictest rule of the wholeestablishment, which forbade a boy under severest penalties to come nearthis holy of holies where the masters took their brief leisure.
"Ah, yes, of course--Harris," repeated the other as though he rememberedit. "Come in, Herr Harris, come in, please. Your visit will be immenselyappreciated. It is really very fine, very wonderful of you to have comein this way."
The door closed behind them and, in the sudden light which made hissight swim for a moment, the exaggeration of the language escaped hisattention. He heard the voice of Bruder Kalkmann introducing him. Hespoke very loud, indeed, unnecessarily,--absurdly loud, Harris thought.
"Brothers," he announced, "it is my pleasure and privilege to introduceto you Herr Harris from England. He has just arrived to make us a littlevisit, and I have already expressed to him on behalf of us all thesatisfaction we feel that he is here. He was, as you remember, a pupilin the year '70."
It was a very formal, a very German introduction, but Harris ratherliked it. It made him feel important and he appreciated the tact thatmade it almost seem as though he had been expected.
The black forms rose and bowed; Harris bowed; Kalkmann bowed. Every onewas very polite and very courtly. The room swam with moving figures; thelight dazzled him after the gloom of the corridor, there was thick cigarsmoke in the atmosphere. He took the chair that was offered to himbetween two of the Brothers, and sat down, feeling vaguely that hisperceptions were not quite as keen and accurate as usual. He felt atrifle dazed perhaps, and the spell of the past came strongly over him,confusing the immediate present and making everything dwindle oddly tothe dimensions of long ago. He seemed to pass under the mastery of agreat mood that was a composite reproduction of all the moods of hisforgotten boyhood.
Then he pulled himself together with a sharp effort and entered into theconversation that had begun again to buzz round him. Moreover, heentered into it with keen pleasure, for the Brothers--there were perhapsa dozen of them in the little room--treated him with a charm of mannerthat speedily made him feel one of themselves. This, again, was a verysubtle delight to him. He felt that he had stepped out of the greedy,vulgar, self-seeking world, the world of silk and markets andprofit-making--stepped into the cleaner atmosphere where spiritualideals were paramount and life was simple and devoted. It all charmedhim inexpressibly, so that he realised--yes, in a sense--the degradationof his twenty years' absorption in business. This keen atmosphere underthe stars where men thought only of their souls, and of the souls ofothers, was too rarefied for the world he was now associated with. Hefound himself making comparisons to his own disadvantage,--comparisonswith the mystical little dreamer that had stepped thirty years beforefrom the stern peace of this devout community, and the man of the worldthat he had since become,--and the contrast made him shiver with a keenregret and something like self-contempt.
He glanced round at the other faces floating towards him through tobaccosmoke--this acrid cigar smoke he remembered so well: how keen they were,how strong, placid, touched with the nobility of great aims andunselfish purposes. At one or two he looked particularly. He hardly knewwhy. They rather fascinated him. There was something so very stern anduncompromising about them, and something, too, oddly, subtly, familiar,that yet just eluded him. But whenever their eyes met his own they heldundeniable welcome in them; and some held more--a kind of perplexedadmiration, he thought, something that was between esteem and deference.This note of respect in all the faces was very flattering to his vanity.
Coffee was served presently, made by a black-haired Brother who sat inthe corner by the piano and bore a marked resemblance to BruderSchliemann, the musical director of thirty years ago. Harris exchangedbows with him when he took the cup from his white hands, which henoticed were like the hands of a woman. He lit a cigar, offered to himby his neighbour, with whom he was chatting delightfully, and who, inthe glare of the lighted match, reminded him sharply for a moment ofBruder Pagel, his former room-master.
"_Es ist wirklich merkwuerdig_," he said, "how many resemblances I see,or imagine. It is really _very_ curious!"
"Yes," replied the other, peering at him over his coffee cup, "the spellof the place is wonderfully strong. I can well understand that the oldfaces rise before your mind's eye--almost to the exclusion of ourselvesperhaps."
They both laughed presently. It was soothing to find his mood understoodand appreciated. And they passed on to talk of the mountain village, itsisolation, its remoteness from worldly life, its peculiar fitness formeditation and worship, and for spiritual development--of a certainkind.
"And your coming back in this way, Herr Harris, has pleased us all somuch," joined in the Bruder on his left. "We esteem you for it mosthighly. We honour you for it."
Harris made a deprecating gesture. "I fear, for my part, it is only avery selfish pleasure," he said a trifle unctuously.
"Not all would have had the courage," added the one who resembledBruder Pagel.
"You mean," said Harris, a little puzzled, "the disturbing memories--?"
Bruder Pagel looked at him steadily, with unmistakable admiration andrespect. "I mean that most men hold so strongly to life, and can give upso little for their beliefs," he said gravely.
The Englishman felt slightly uncomfortable. These worthy men really madetoo much of his sentimental journey. Besides, the talk was getting alittle out of his depth. He hardly followed it.
"The worldly life still has _some_ charms for me," he replied smilingly,as though to indicate that sainthood was not yet quite within his grasp.
"All the more, then, must we honour you for so freely coming," said theBrother on his left; "so unconditionally!"
A pause followed, and the silk merchant felt relieved when theconversation took a more general turn, although he noted that it nevertravelled very far from the subject of his visit and the wonderfulsituation of the lonely village for men who wished to develop theirspiritual powers and practise the rites of a high worship. Others joinedin, complimenting him on his knowledge of the language, making him feelutterly at his ease, yet at the same time a little uncomfortable by theexcess of their admiration. After all, it was such a very small thing todo, this sentimental journey.
The time passed along quickly; the coffee was excellent, the cigars softand of the nutty flavour he loved. At length, fearing to outstay hiswelcome, he rose reluctantly to take his leave. But the others would nothear of it. It was not often a former pupil returned to visit them inthis simple, unaffected way. The night was young. If necessary theycould even find him a corner in the great _Schlafzimmer_ upstairs. Hewas easily persuaded to stay a little longer. Somehow he had become thecentre of the little party. He felt pleased, flattered, honoured.
"And perhaps Bruder Schliemann
will play something for us--now."
It was Kalkmann speaking, and Harris started visibly as he heard thename, and saw the black-haired man by the piano turn with a smile. ForSchliemann was the name of his old music director, who was dead. Couldthis be his son? They were so exactly alike.
"If Bruder Meyer has not put his Amati to bed, I will accompany him,"said the musician suggestively, looking across at a man whom Harris hadnot yet noticed, and who, he now saw, was the very image of a formermaster of that name.
Meyer rose and excused himself with a little bow, and the Englishmanquickly observed that he had a peculiar gesture as though his neck had afalse join on to the body just below the collar and feared it mightbreak. Meyer of old had this trick of movement. He remembered how theboys used to copy it.
He glanced
Three More John Silence Stories Page 4
