still a moment, and then said, as they walked on: "These phrases, which
one has been forced to hear thousands of times, how unable am I to join
in them! According to this, it would be the great world, or what is
called good company, which a man should seek, in order to attain, under
the influence of paltry wit, coquetry, scandal and babble, that
maturity which solitude cannot afford us. Though in most things I am of
your opinion, yet on this point I must directly differ from you. Women!
They it is precisely who seem to have been stationed by a malignant
destiny, for the very purpose of reducing man, if he is sufficiently
weak, under their dominion; of stripping him of every thing manly,
noble, vigorous, and ingenuous, and transforming him, as far as
possible, into his opposite, that he may be just good enough to serve
them as a contemptible toy. What you were just now expressing, is a
mode of thinking which belonged to an age that has now almost gone by,
an age, which stood in hostile opposition to truth, but particularly to
religious feeling. I must also inform you, that you will not find that
style of behaviour, by which our young gentlemen formerly thought they
improved themselves, in the society of these women, because with them
all is sacred truth, innocence and genuine piety."
His friend endeavoured to justify his opinion and himself, as in
animated conversation they briskly pursued their way. They now saw
before them the garden, where, in the cool walks, the Baroness, with
her family and some select friends, was awaiting their arrival. All
felt refreshed and at ease amid the verdant scene.
Only the young counsellor Alfred found a difficulty, at first, in
adapting himself to the tone and topics of the company. He was, as is
frequently the case, too much on the stretch, to give himself up with
ease to the conversation; he had also too much at his heart, which he
strove to bring forward with a timidity, by means of which he often
confused himself, and was put out by others; for by the time he had
digested his thoughts into a speech, the proper moment for introducing
it had gone by; and, among the new subjects of conversation, there
occurred a multitude of things which seemed to him unintelligible, and
on which he was too bashful to beg more particular information. In
addition to this, he was in a manner dazzled by the charms of the
ladies; the married daughter Kunigunde was a brilliant beauty; still
more radiant was the loveliness of her younger sister Clementine, to
which the light complexion and girlish physiognomy of the youngest,
miss Clara, formed a sweet contrast; the mother herself might still
make pretensions to a pleasing person, and it was evident that she had
been in her youth a beautiful woman. Dorothea, the eldest daughter,
attracted the least attention in this circle, beautiful as was her eye,
and delicate as was her shape; she herself shrank back, and kept still
and shy; she seemed even to take but little interest in the animated
conversation of her sisters, and it was remarkable that no speech or
question was addressed to her, notwithstanding the pains which all the
men in the company took to ingratiate themselves with the other
daughters or the mother.
Among the men, there distinguished himself an elderly person, who
generally took the lead in the conversation, gave information to every
body, and decided all disputed or doubtful cases. Even the officer
treated him with submissive humility, and this friend of the family
addressed himself with kindness and condescension to all, asking them
questions, setting them right, animating them, and endeavouring, in his
way, to encourage or enlighten every one. He succeeded too at last in
drawing the embarrassed Alfred into the conversation, and his gratitude
vented itself in a glowing speech, which he now found an opportunity of
introducing, and in which he unfolded his wish for improvement, his
reverence for domestic happiness, and his hope that the genuine
religious temper and true piety would diffuse themselves throughout
Germany, with general approbation and to his own satisfaction.
The most attentive of all had been the fair Kunigunde, and she it was
who most loudly expressed her approbation. "How fortunate are we," she
at last concluded, "to assemble in our dear circle more and more of
those spirits, who aim at what is good and noble; who have a perception
of something above the earthly, and to whom the world, with all its
alluring treasures, appears but vanity. But it is the property of truth
and goodness to attract better natures, and to sublimate the weak.
While social intercourse has this happy effect in a larger sphere, it
is, in the confined domestic circle, the blissfulness of wedlock, that
kindles in the souls which it unites a still more fervent enthusiasm
for every thing divine, which here still more powerfully raises the
weaker spirit to the love of the infinite Being."
"Yes indeed," said a young man, who sat by the elderly gentleman, "this
is what I feel every day more intensely and thankfully." He sighed and
looked at the clouds, and the counsellor learnt upon inquiry, that this
was the husband of the lovely and pious Kunigunde.
The mother took up the theme and said, not without emotion, "How happy
I needs must feel, thus to have found in the circle of my children the
highest end of life, and to have enabled them also to attain the
noblest acquisition this earth can yield. How utterly unable I am to
take an interest in the pursuits of the generality of mankind! Nay, I
rather feel my pity moved by the various turns of their enthusiasm,
than could find, in that multiplicity of exertions to attain what they
call a good, any thing that claims our respect. So they run after art,
or philosophy; suppose that the eternal light is to dawn upon them in
science, or in colour and sound; weary themselves with history and the
perplexed affairs of life; and in their eagerness neglect the one thing
needful, which supplies and makes up for all beside. Since I have found
this spring which so sweetly satiates every thirst of the soul, I have
had no sense left for that motley variety of objects, towards which in
my youth I myself turned many a longing look."
"How you force my admiration!" exclaimed the counsellor: "with what
eagerness have I sought life, and grasped only an empty shadow! And yet
how easy is it, to find that truth, which never deceives us, never
slips away from us, which fills every desire of the heart, that in
which alone we have real life and being."
"I understand you," answered the Baroness, "You belong to our circle;
it is a blessed thing to feel, that the communion of pious and
heavenly-minded spirits is constantly increasing."
"We have a prospect of the most glorious times!" exclaimed the young
officer in a rapture. "And how blest we must feel ourselves, since that
which elevates us above the stale routine of life, is eternal truth
itself; since this it is which rules us, and under its control we can
never miscarry, never err; for we surrender ourselves to love, to work
in us and reveal its mysteries to our hearts."
"Precisely so," concluded the dignified elderly gentleman; "this it is,
which gives us that assurance which distinguishes us from ordinary
enthusiasts or fanatics. You have spoken a great truth, my dear
Ferdinand, and it is on this account I value you so highly. No one
finds the right point by so direct a road as yourself, and no one can
then express it so clearly and simply." He embraced the young man,
looked towards heaven, and a big tear sparkled in his fine dark eye.
The Baroness rose, and joined the group; all were moved, only Miss
Dorothea turned away, and seemed to be searching for something she had
lost in the shrubbery.
It did not escape Alfred's attention, that the mother looked with an
expression of pain towards her eldest child, who seemed strangely
excluded from this circle of sympathy and love. Baron Wallen, that was
the name of the elderly friend of the house, with an air of melting
benignity approached the young lady, who timidly cast her eyes to the
ground, and whose cheeks at the same instant were flushed with a
crimson glow. He spoke to her in an under-tone and with great emotion,
but in her embarrassment she seemed not to pay particular attention to
his words; for a lady now coming along the walk towards the party, she
went hastily to meet her, and folded her in her arms with the greatest
cordiality and joy.
The mother slightly shook her head, and looked at Baron Wallen with an
inquiring eye; he smiled, and the conversation of the party turned to
quite different and commonplace topics; for Madame von Halden, who now
came up, chattering loudly, laughing and telling news, made all flights
of rapture, every communication of sentiment perfectly impossible, so
that all but Miss Dorothea were rather disconcerted; she, as if she was
relieved and cheered, hung with her looks on the speaker's lips, and
now paid still less attention to the rest of the company.
"Who then is this retailer of news?" asked Alfred, displeased, "that,
like a wild bird, flies into our quiet circle, and scares away all
delicate feelings?"
"A neighbour of our honoured Baroness," answered Baron von Wallen: "she
has gained an incomprehensible influence over the mind of Miss
Dorothea, which we all cannot but lament. Even in her earlier years,
her excellent governess, Miss von Erhard, a relative of the family,
endeavoured to prevent this intimacy from stifling the lovely girl's
better capacities; but from first to last all her pains have been
unavailing."
The governess, who had hitherto been little observed, now came up,
seeing that she was the subject of remark, and joined in the
conversation. She related how, in this affectionate and lofty-minded
family, Dorothea had from her early youth led a secluded life, and
among so many sisters had been in a manner quite alone. Miss Charlotte
von Erhard told this with a rough and hoarse voice, but was so agitated
that she could not refrain from tears. Alfred, who was already
softened, in his exalted mood thought the elderly and rather ugly lady
amiable and agreeable, and hearty disgust and vehement contempt were
pointed against poor Dorothea, who now took leave of her gossiping
friend, and returned to the rest of the party. She was evidently in a
serener mood, but one could see what a struggle it cost her, again to
take part in the serious conversation. She mentioned that Madame von
Halden was in treaty, and would probably sell her estate.
"Sell her estate?" asked the mother astonished, "and she could
nevertheless be so cheerful, nay, so gay?"
"She thinks," replied Dorothea, "she ought not to reject so
advantageous a bargain on account of her infant children."
"Is there any advantage," said the mother, "which can counterbalance to
children the happiness of home? And she herself, your friend, who grew
up here upon her estate, who lived here with parents and brothers and
sisters, and afterwards with a beloved husband, how can she thus become
a voluntary outcast, and turn her back upon these trees, banish herself
from the rooms which she loved and was familiar with as a child? Again
and again I am struck with observing how utterly unintelligible to me
are the conduct and motives of the great majority of mankind.----And
who, then, is the purchaser?"
"The thing is odd enough," replied Dorothea; "the purchaser will not
have his name published; but one Count Brandenstein conducts the
negotiation. My friend is eager and decided, for the foreigner from
America is buying several other estates, so that she esteems it a
privilege, as he does not look minutely at the price, to be able to
dispose of hers to the stranger."
At the name of Brandenstein the mother turned pale. She endeavoured
however to compose herself directly, and said after a little pause,
"Ay, that was the name which has been lying, for a week past, heavy
upon my heart. I was already aware that this man is here, who will now
for some time spoil our quiet enjoyment, and disturb the harmony of our
circle. And I cannot avoid seeing him, for he is an old acquaintance of
our family, and the custom of the world forces us, we know, to maintain
a friendly intercourse even with persons whom we most heartily dislike,
nay, whom, however candid may be our thoughts, we cannot help
acknowledging to be bad and profligate men."
Dorothea was of opinion that, where so distinct a feeling prevailed, a
man ought to put no constraint upon himself; and that particularly in
the country, where they lived, it would be still easier than in town,
to avoid such offensive intrusions. The mother however said, "You do
not understand this, my child. Were it not that an unconscientious
unprincipled man might injure or mortify us in the most sensible
manner; were it not that he had it in his power, by means of wit and
frivolity, to embitter our whole existence, I would coldly repel him,
and, with my love of truth, tell him without ceremony, that I would
keep up no commerce with him; but as this is impossible, I must treat
him with courtesy, endeavour to lay the evil spirit in him by delicacy
and good-will, and afterwards, as imperceptibly as possible, withdraw
from his pernicious influence."
The other daughters crowded round the mother and embraced her, as if to
console her. "If I had not you!" sighed the Baroness: "if it were not
that I may calculate on the assistance of our generous friend, the
visit of this godless man would make me still more uneasy."
"Who is he, after all?" asked the Baron.
"A man," answered the mother, "who, at an early age, ranged about in the
world, and among its snares; who, taught by his own heart, vilely
ridicules and persecutes all that bears the name of charity, meekness
and piety, a gross self-seeker, incapable of loving any one, and whom
the Holy, the Unearthly, wherever he perceives it, wherever he does but
catch a glimpse of it, transports into a disgusting rage, which then
inspires him with that frivolous wit, which we all so deeply despise.
It was the misfortune of my life, that he formed an acquaintance with
my good departed husband, who took a liking to him, and in many gloomy
hours abandoned himself to his society and his melancholy philosophy."
"You are painting, honoured madam," said the officer, "one of those
characters, which, heaven be thanked, have already grown more rare."
"A profligacy," said the Baron, "which rails at every thing spiritual,
being grounded on self-contempt. You however, as well as all of us, are
raised above this misery."
"His moderate fortune," proceeded the mother, "was soon spent; he then
quitted Europe, roamed about among heaven knows what savage hordes, and
has now returned, I hear, as the agent of an immensely rich American,
who will follow him in the course of a year, and who has taken the
fancy of buying several estates in our neighbourhood, to form one large
domain."
Dorothea still persisted in her opinion, that people might and ought to
avoid so bad a man, and that she herself would engage to make the house
unapproachable to him, if her mother would give her the requisite
powers for the purpose; the Baroness however grew displeased, and
forbad the name of the peace-breaker to be mentioned that day any more.
The carriages now drew up, the family meaning to return to their
country-seat in the neighbourhood in the cool of the evening, when at
the same moment a singular scene displayed itself. The old Baron had
already several times approached Dorothea, who however had avoided him,
but he took advantage of the moment when he was helping her into the
carriage, to whisper some friendly words into her ear; she sprang back,
got hastily away from the coach, and ran down the shaded walk. The
Baron could not overtake her in spite of all his efforts; when he was
at the bottom of the garden, she came back out of breath, threw her
veil over her heated face, and wept bitterly as she timidly shrank from
the interrogating and reproving glances of her more than astonished
mother. The carriage drove rapidly off, and the Baron, after he had
taken a confused and embarrassed leave of his young friends got into
his own, severely mortified, as his looks shewed, notwithstanding his
attempts at a forced composure.
When the young counsellor and the officer were on their way back to the
city, the former said after a pause, "What was that? I cannot recover
from my surprize, that, among persons of such refinement and delicacy,
so indecorous a scene could have occurred! In fact, how comes this
girl, this singular, even repulsive character, into a family, which I
should be almost inclined to call a holy one? Some deep culpability
must bow her down, that she always shrinks timidly back, never takes a
share in the conversation, and is treated too by all the rest with a
condescending, almost a contemptuous pity, which is very striking to a
stranger. One is forced into scandalous conjectures, however little one
may be inclined to suspicion."
"You would however be mistaken," said his military friend, "for no
fault, no offence bows this being down. Among persons of such lofty
character as all these are, a failure of that sort might perhaps be
repaired without any great struggle, did there but subsist a harmony of
soul, in other respects, between this sister and the rest. But the
worst of all is, that she was born with a more groveling ignoble
spirit, that does not comprehend the aim of all the rest, and still is
forced to confess that it is something lofty and noble, only for her
unattainable. This feeling of unworthiness depresses her more than the
consciousness of a fault could do. She feels herself an alien among her
nearest relations, a stranger in her own house; she seeks relief in the
company of her unworthy acquaintances, of that pursy and gossiping
neighbour for instance, and particularly shuns the Baron, whom we all
so highly revere, and who condescends too much, with almost a degree of
passion, to unfold her sensibilities for a higher state of being."
They now turned the corner of the rock, and saw the city lying before
them. But to their horror they at the same time observed that corpulent
Baron von Willen, from whom, in the afternoon, the young counsellor had
with difficulty got away. "Well," cried he as they came towards him,
"are you come back already out of heaven? Has there been a fine shower
of ambrosial phrases? Did the nectarean sentiments take kindly? There
was no scarcity, I hope, of seraphic feelings?"
The friends, who amid the beauties of nature and in the lovely evening
would have been glad to indulge their feelings in harmonious
reminiscences, endeavoured to get rid of him, but as they were
returning by the same road to the city, this was impossible. "Not so
fast!" he exclaimed with a peremptory voice: "we remain stedfast
together, and at the spring below there we shall meet with another poor
sinner, who is waiting for me."
The two young people saw themselves forced to make a virtue of
necessity, particularly as the insensible Baron proceeded with a
boisterous voice: "I observe well enough, that you would like still to
be sentimental in the environs here, particularly as the moon will soon
make its appearance; but such disorders are not tolerated in my prosaic
company. Take my word for it, young men, all that etherializing, and
that luscious piety yonder, has no other object, than that you should
bite at this tempting bait in the way of marriage, provided, that is,
you have places and fortune. There are so many daughters there, and
only the eldest, a wild thing, is mad enough to reject all offers. Ay,
that it is, the dear, good, much-desired matrimony, the wooing, towards
which all the telescopes are pointed, when such fine noble daughters
are sitting in the family saloon, round and plump, red and white,
comely and clever, full-grown and finished! And in the midst of them
the prudent mother, on the alert, lurking and watching, her eyes turned
in every direction, her feelers out, to try every one that enters,
whether the fine coat is paid for, whether he that talks of his travels
and balls, is in condition to maintain a wife suitably to her quality.
Then drop from the good matron's tender lips such pious, soft, and
perfectly undesigning phrases, her looks glance towards heaven, and to
the right and left, and all the words and all the looks swim like a
hundred hooks in the stream of the insipid conversation, and the
youngsters shoot, now after this, now after that line, wriggling and
playing, till, at last, though it be some weeks first, one or other of
them is fastened. So they have hooked for Kunigunde that delicate
whiting, and forthwith put it into his head that the plump girl is a
great deal too good for him, so that he pulls like a repentant sinner
at the car of matrimony, and cannot help feeling himself honoured, that
the lofty being has stooped to him; now Clara, Clementine, and the
earthly-minded Dorothea are still to be settled, nay I will not
warrant, that the well-stricken proselyte-maker herself does not one of
these days shape her a bridegroom out of some pious stripling, and
shuffle a settlement into his hands instead of the catechism. Ay, ay!
For better, for worse! How all the world scampers, as if they were
blind and deaf, under the melancholy yoke, and sacrifice freedom and
fancy to the evil genius, which almost always debases a man into a
slave."
"You are an abominable scoffer," said the officer; "out of a libertine
humour you hate marriage, and desire now that all men should live as
licentious freethinking bachelors, and because your taste is not suited
to that circle, you slander those persons, who are exalted above every
calumny."
"Quite martial!" cried the Baron. "And yet I shall prove to be right,
and perhaps you yourself, sooner or later, when you are forced, like a
squirrel, to make the same orthodox springs over and over again at the
end of your chain, in order to crack the nuts which your wife allows
you, will sigh, 'Ah! had I but believed my resolute friend Willen!'"
"No, sir," said the counsellor with warmth, "your view of the subject
proceeds from nothing but despair: nay, you do not even believe
yourself."
"For aught I care," cried the other, "it may be that a creature totally
different from myself is speaking out of me; for that is often the case
in life, and, even among those apostolical folks themselves, there
often peeps a something like an ape, out of their fringed and stiffened
drapery. Is it not so? Especially out of that elderly maiden, the too
unworldly Miss Erhard, that incomparable mistress of the art of
education? She has set the pattern of a close cap of inward sentiment
for the whole family, while for herself she has fitted a headdress of
religion after the most flourishing fashion. You think when she crows
out her oracle, and twists her little eyes, we unbelievers must
immediately truckle under. It is with her I am most out of patience,
for she it is in fact that has radically ruined the whole family."
They were now standing at the spring. The sun had long set, and a man
was seen winding out of the darkness from behind the willow bush. "Ah!
Michael!" cried the Baron. "May you have occasion, gentlemen, for an
honest servant?"
"Why," asked the officer, "have you quitted the service of the
excellent Baroness, who takes such maternal care of her people?"
"Ah! your honour," said the servant, "because the other day I told a
little bit of a harmless fib, I was directly turned off."
"That is as it should be!" cried the officer, "there I recognize that
noble-minded woman."
"All was but a plot," proceeded Michael, "of that spiteful Miss Erhard:
she cannot bear that man and maid should be kind to each other, because
nobody will release her from her single life, and ever since she saw me
give the housemaid a kiss, a month ago it was, she has borne me a
grudge for it."
"How vulgar!" exclaimed Alfred.