Chapter I: Breaking Up

It was very hot in the school-room at Steinheim, almost as hot as in an oven, although the faded green blinds were drawn down. Neither learning nor teaching goes forward satisfactorily on such days; and, indeed, it was as much as the good schoolmaster could do, especially during this hot summer, to keep himself and his dear children awake over their books. When he walked up and down the narrow space between his tall chair and the school-benches, like a caged lion, the children asked one another anxiously, "Do you think he is angry?" not knowing that he only did so to prevent himself from falling fast asleep in his chair. There was not much danger of this happening among the children, for if any one of them dropped his head somewhat over his book, another was sure to tickle him under the nose with a pen-feather, so that he suddenly woke up again.

To-day, however, the children were not sleepy, but neither were they industrious. Whilst they were reading, they kept looking up continually from their books to the door, as if expecting somebody, and yet at this time there seldom came any one, unless now and then an over-anxious mother who thought that her Michael or little Jacob had been too hardly dealt with. To-day, however, according to old custom, the schoolmaster's daughter Mina, and the bailiff's Emma, were gone to the clergyman's to ask about the breaking-up. For always as the time of the holidays approached, Mr. Erdmann, the schoolmaster, drew up a very politely expressed document in the name of the children, in which the clergyman was requested, "now the harvest season was at hand," that he would give permission to the children to discontinue their attendance at school "in order," said the writing, "that we may be able to assist our parents in the laborious business of the field."

These petitions were then beautifully copied out by the best-writer in the school, and two little girls chosen to present them to the clergyman, because they were so much gentler and better-behaved than the unmannerly boy population.

It was never known that the clergyman had returned a negative to these petitions for the school vacation, and yet there was always an uneasiness and an excitement amongst the children which could not be allayed. They might now almost have been on the eve of a little revolution; even Fritz, the schoolmaster's son, could not keep himself quiet, but fidgeted restlessly hither and thither. And yet Fritz was the best and cleverest scholar in the school; he was destined for the church, and had been instructed in Latin and Greek by the clergyman; therefore it was his duty to set a good example to all the others. This honourable post, it is true, had cost him an extra number of canings from his father, till finally he was advanced so far that the schoolmaster was able to say, with fatherly pride, when the others were lazy or behaved ill, "There, look at my Fritz!"

At length the door opened, and the girls entered, who had on this occasion an especial importance in the eyes of the boys, and who, with their smooth, beautifully plaited hair and pink frocks, looked very pretty.

"We are to break up!" said they, delivering thus to the schoolmaster, with beaming countenances, the answer to the embassy. "We are to break up!" was whispered loud and low throughout the school; but the master struck a blow with the hazel stick upon his desk, and amidst an instantaneous silence he said in a clear voice, "Silentium! that is to say, keep your tongues still! The clergyman has consented to the breaking up. Fritz, say it in Latin."

"Hodie feriæ habemus!" proclaimed Fritz in a shrill voice.

"Good! That is to say, to-day we break up," explained the schoolmaster. "But you must, every one of you, write three beautiful copies; farther, you must commit to memory the six hymns that are marked, and two pages of selections, as well as ''Tis harvest time, the nodding corn!' Now, behave well, all of you, and be industrious; and go very quietly home, every one of you, like well-conducted children."

Yes, indeed, very quietly and well-conducted! The little troop burst forth like a wild herd into the open air, as soon as the door was opened.

"Hurrah! Breaking up!" shouted they, wild with joy; even the exemplary Fritz set up such an unbecoming shout of exultation that his father, who, however, was well pleased himself, thought it right to give him an admonitory pluck by the hair. Soon after the wild herd dispersed; many amongst them entering into such poor, joyless homes, that in comparison the school must have appeared a paradise, and yet they rejoiced that they had broken up, and we cannot be angry with them. It is the fact of labour, of regular occupation, which makes the feeling of liberty so like a golden blessing; the neglected lad, who lounges about idly one day after another, certainly never experiences the happy sense of a breaking up.

Arrived at home, the schoolmaster exchanged his thin school-coat for his house-doublet, and seated himself comfortably on the wooden squab, for which his wife had made a cushion, for he had neither a house-coat nor yet a sofa.

"Now, thank Heaven, for again a short pause," said the weary and hard-working man; "it will do me good to have a little rest, and look after my garden; and the bailiff has promised me some beautiful carnation-layers, it is not yet too late for them; we'll have it very beautiful, won't we, mother?"

"Yes, yes, father," replied the acquiescent wife; "only early in the morning, and not in the blazing heat of noon."

In the meantime, Fritz was earnestly and mysteriously whispering to Mina in a corner. "Do _you_ ask," at length said Mina. "Nay, _you_ had better," returned he.

Mina, who had this day been with the clergyman, might surely venture a word with her father, and she began therefore, at first shyly, and then more boldly, "But, father, is it true?"

"What true?" asked he.

"May we?" asked she again slowly.

"May you what?" inquired he again.

"Go to see Mrs. Dote at the castle!" exclaimed Fritz, now speaking quite boldly, and astonished at his own courage.

"Yes, oh yes, father!" now besought Mina, earnestly and in a winning tone. "You have no objection, mother, have you?" asked she, addressing her mother; "and if mother is willing, father, you won't say no, will you?"

"And Mrs. Dote has invited us," said Fritz decisively; "and you promised, you know, father, and you always keep your word."

"Why, yes; what do you think, mother?" said the good-natured father, somewhat undecidedly.

"I don't know what to say," replied the mother, thoughtfully, "whether Mrs. Dote really meant it; and it is such a long way."

"Oh, mother!" exclaimed Fritz, "five hours' walk, the nearest way fifteen miles; we can do that very well."

"But you can't spare Mina, can you?" suggested the father.

"Well, as far as that goes," said the mother smiling, "I think I can manage; little Paul will soon run alone, and Adolf plays about nicely in the garden. If you have no objection, father, we might give them the pleasure for once; I can soon have their few things ready."

"Oh, mother, how kind and good you are!" exclaimed little Mina joyfully; Fritz threw his cap in the air, and shouted, "Hurrah! all the world over!"

The father's consent was silently given, and preparations for the journey began as if it really were round the world that they were going.