square in front of it were men and women walking to and fro, carriages
rolling along, and priests proceeding to their various churches.
Ferdinand was standing on the broad stair, with his eyes over the
multitude, looking at them as they came up to attend the service. The
sunshine glittered on the white stones, all were seeking shelter from
the heat. He alone had stood for a long time leaning on a pillar, amid
the burning beams, without regarding them; for he was lost in the
remembrances which mounted up within his mind. He was calling back his
bygone life; and inspiring his soul with the feeling which had
penetrated all his being, and swallowed up every other wish in itself.
At the same hour, in the past year, had he been standing here, looking
at the women and the maidens coming to mass; with indifferent heart, and
smiling face, he had viewed the variegated procession; many a kind look
had roguishly met his, and many a virgin cheek had blushed; his busy eye
had observed the pretty feet, how they mounted the steps, and how the
wavering robe fell more or less aside, to let the dainty little ankles
come to sight. Then a youthful form had crossed the square: clad in
black; slender, and of noble mien, her eyes modestly cast down before
her, carelessly she hovered up the steps with lovely grace; the silken
robe lay round that fairest of forms, and rocked itself as in music
about the moving limbs; she was mounting the highest step, when by
chance she raised her head, and struck his eye with a ray of the purest
azure. He was pierced as if by lightning. Her foot caught the robe; and
quickly as he darted towards her, he could not prevent her having, for
a moment, in the most charming posture, lain kneeling at his feet. He
raised her; she did not look at him, she was all one blush; nor did she
answer his inquiry whether she was hurt. He followed her into the
church: his soul saw nothing but the image of that form kneeling before
him, and that loveliest of bosoms bent towards him. Next day he visited
the threshold of the church again; for him that spot was consecrated
ground. He had been intending to pursue his travels, his friends were
expecting him impatiently at home; but from henceforth his native
country was here, his heart and its wishes were inverted. He saw her
often, she did not shun him; yet it was but for a few separate and
stolen moments; for her wealthy family observed her strictly, and still
more a powerful and jealous bridegroom. They mutually confessed their
love, but knew not what to do; for he was a stranger, and could offer
his beloved no such splendid fortune as she was entitled to expect. He
now felt his poverty; yet when he reflected on his former way of life,
it seemed to him that he was passing rich; for his existence was
rendered holy, his heart floated forever in the fairest emotion; Nature
was now become his friend, and her beauty lay revealed to him; he felt
himself no longer alien from worship and religion; and he now crossed
this threshold, and the mysterious dimness of the temple, with far other
feelings than in former days of levity. He withdrew from his
acquaintances, and lived only to love. When he walked through her
street, and saw her at the window, he was happy for the day. He had
often spoken to her in the dusk of the evening; her garden was adjacent
to a friend's, who, however, did not know his secret. Thus a year had
passed away.
All these scenes of his new existence again moved through his
remembrance. He raised his eyes; that noble form was even then gliding
over the square; she shone out of the confused multitude like a sun. A
lovely music sounded in his longing heart; and as she approached, he
retired into the church. He offered her the holy water; her white
fingers trembled as they touched his, she bowed with grateful kindness.
He followed her, and knelt down near her. His whole heart was melting in
sadness and love; it seemed to him as if, from the wounds of longing,
his being were bleeding away in fervent prayers; every word of the
priest went through him, every tone of the music poured new devotion
into his bosom; his lips quivered, as the fair maiden pressed the
crucifix of her rosary to her ruby mouth. How dim had been his
apprehension of this Faith and this Love before! The priest elevated the
Host, and the bell sounded; she bowed more humbly, and crossed her
breast; and, like a flash, it struck through all his powers and
feelings, and the image on the altar seemed alive, and the coloured
dimness of the windows as a light of paradise; tears flowed fast from
his eyes, and allayed the swelling fervour of his heart.
The service was concluded. He again offered her the consecrated font;
they spoke some words, and she withdrew. He stayed behind, in order to
excite no notice; he looked after her till the hem of her garment
vanished round the corner; and he felt like the wanderer, weary and
astray, from whom, in the thick forest, the last gleam of the setting
sun departs. He awoke from his dream, as an old withered hand slapped
him on the shoulder, and some one called him by name.
He started back, and recognised his friend, the testy old Albert, who
lived apart from men, and whose solitary house was open to Ferdinand
alone: "Do you remember our engagement?" said the hoarse husky voice. "O
yes," said Ferdinand: "and will you perform your promise today?"
"This very hour," replied the other, "if you like to follow me."
They walked through the city to a remote street, and there entered a
large edifice. "Today," said the old man, "you must push through with me
into my most solitary chamber, that we may not be disturbed." They
passed through many rooms, then along some stairs; they wound their way
through passages: and Ferdinand, who had thought himself familiar with
the house, was now astonished at the multitude of apartments, and the
singular arrangement of the spacious building; but still more that the
old man, a bachelor, and without family, should inhabit it by himself,
with a few servants, and never let out any part of the superfluous room
to strangers. Albert at length unbolted the door, and said: "Now, here
is the place." They entered a large high chamber, hung round with red
damask, which was trimmed with golden listings; the chairs were of the
same stuff; and, through heavy red silk curtains covering the windows,
came a purple light. "Wait a little," said the old man, and went into
another room. Ferdinand took up some books: he found them to contain
strange unintelligible characters, circles and lines, with many curious
plates; and from the little he could read, they seemed to be works on
alchemy; he was aware already that the old man had the reputation of a
gold-maker. A lute was lying on the table, singularly overlaid with
mother-of-pearl, and coloured wood; and representing birds and flowers
in very splendid forms. The star in the middle was a large piece of
mother-of-pearl, worked in the most skilful manner into many
intersecting circular figures, almost like the centre of a window in a
Gothic church. "You are looking at my instrument," said Albert, coming
back; "it is two hundred years old: I brought it with me as a memorial
of my journey into Spain. But let us leave all that, and do you take a
seat."
They sat down beside the table, which was likewise covered with a red
cloth; and the old man placed upon it something which was carefully
wrapped up. "From pity to your youth," he began, "I promised lately to
predict to you whether you could ever become happy or not; and this
promise I will in the present hour perform, though you hold the matter
only as a jest. You need not be alarmed; for what I purpose will take
place without danger; no dread invocations shall be made by me, nor
shall any horrid apparition terrify your senses. The business I am on
may fail in two ways: either if you do not love so truly as you have
been willing to persuade me; for then my labour is in vain, and nothing
will disclose itself; or, if you shall disturb the oracle and destroy it
by a useless question, or a hasty movement, should you leave your seat
and dissipate the figure; you must therefore promise me to keep yourself
quite still."
Ferdinand gave his word, and the old man unfolded from its cloths the
packet he had placed on the table. It was a golden goblet, of very
skilful and beautiful workmanship. Round its broad foot ran a garland of
flowers, intertwined with myrtles, and various other leaves and fruits,
worked out in high chasing with dim and with brilliant gold. A
corresponding ring, but still richer, with figures of children, and wild
little animals playing with them, or flying from them, wound itself
about the middle of the cup. The bowl was beautifully turned; it bent
itself back at the top as if to meet the lips; and within, the gold
sparkled with a red glow. Old Albert placed the cup between him and the
youth, whom he then beckoned to come nearer. "Do you not feel
something," said he, "when your eye loses itself in this splendour?"
"Yes," answered Ferdinand, "this brightness glances into my inmost
heart; I might almost say I felt it like a kiss in my longing bosom."
"It is right, then!" said the old man. "Now let not your eyes wander any
more, but fix them steadfastly on the glittering of this gold, and think
as intensely as you can of the woman whom you love."
Both sat quiet for a while, looking earnestly upon the gleaming cup. Ere
long, however, Albert, with mute gestures, began, at first slowly, then
faster, and at last in rapid movements, to whirl his outstretched finger
in a constant circle round the glitter of the bowl. Then he paused, and
recommenced his circles in the opposite direction. After this had lasted
for a little, Ferdinand began to think he heard the sound of music; it
came as from without, in some distant street, but soon the tones
approached, they quivered more distinctly through the air; and at last
no doubt remained with him that they were flowing from the hollow of the
cup. The music became stronger, and of such piercing power, that the
young man's heart was throbbing to the notes, and tears were flowing
from his eyes. Busily old Albert's hand now moved in various lines
across the mouth of the goblet; and it seemed as if sparks were issuing
from his fingers, and darting in forked courses to the gold, and
tinkling as they met it. The glittering points increased; and followed,
as if strung on threads, the movements of his finger to and fro; they
shone with various hues, and crowded more and more together till they
joined in unbroken lines. And now it seemed as if the old man, in the
red dusk, were stretching a wondrous net over the gleaming gold; for he
drew the beams this way and that at pleasure, and wove up with them the
opening of the bowl; they obeyed him, and remained there like a cover,
wavering to and fro, and playing into one another. Having so fixed them,
he again described the circle round the rim; the music then moved off,
grew fainter and fainter, and at last died away. While the tones
departed, the sparkling net quivered to and fro as in pain. In its
increasing agitation it broke in pieces; and the beaming threads rained
down in drops into the cup; but as the drops fell, there arose from them
a ruddy cloud, which moved within itself in manifold eddies, and mounted
over the brim like foam. A bright point darted with exceeding swiftness
through the cloudy circle, and began to form the Image in the midst of
it. On a sudden there looked out from the vapour as it were an eye;
over this came a playing and curling as of golden locks; and soon there
went a soft blush up and down the shadow, and Ferdinand beheld the
smiling face of his beloved, the blue eyes, the tender cheeks, the fair
red mouth. The head waved to and fro; rose clearer and more visible upon
the slim white neck, and nodded towards the enraptured youth. Old Albert
still kept casting circles round the cup; and out of it emerged the
glancing shoulders; and as the fair form mounted more and more from its
golden couch, and bent in lovely kindness this way and that, the soft
curved parted breasts appeared, and on their summits two loveliest
rose-buds glancing with sweet secret red. Ferdinand fancied he felt the
breath, as the beloved form bent waving towards him, and almost touched
him with its glowing lips; in his rapture he forgot his promise and
himself; he started up and clasped that ruby mouth to him with a kiss,
and meant to seize those lovely arms, and lift the enrapturing form from
its golden prison. Instantly a violent trembling quivered through the
lovely shape; the head and body broke away as in a thousand lines; and a
rose was lying at the bottom of the goblet, in whose redness that sweet
smile still seemed to play. The longing young man caught it and pressed
it to his lips; and in his burning ardour it withered and melted into
air.
"Thou hast kept thy promise badly," said the old man, with an angry
tone; "thou hast none but thyself to blame." He again wrapped up the
goblet, drew aside the curtains, and opened a window: the clear daylight
broke in; and Ferdinand, in sadness, and with many fruitless excuses,
left old Albert still in anger.
In an agitated mood, he hastened through the streets of the city.
Without the gate, he sat down beneath the trees. She had told him in the
morning that she was to go that night, with some relations, to the
country. Intoxicated with love, he rose, he sat, he wandered in the
wood: that fair kind form was still before him, as it flowed and mounted
from the glowing gold; he looked that she would now step forth to meet
him in the splendour of her beauty, and again that loveliest image broke
away in pieces from his eyes; and he was indignant at himself that, by
his restless passion and the tumult of his senses, he should have
destroyed the shape, and perhaps his hopes, forever.
As the walk, in the afternoon, became crowded, he withdrew deeper into
the thickets; but he still kept the distant highway in his eye; and
every coach that issued from the gate was carefully examined by him.
The night approached. The setting sun was throwing forth its red
splendour, when from the gate rushed out the richly gilded coach,
gleaming with a fiery brightness in the glow of evening. He hastened
towards it. Her eye had already seized him. Kindly and smilingly she
leaned her glittering bosom from the window; he caught her soft
salutation and signal; he was standing by the coach, her full look fell
on his, and as she drew back to move away, the rose which had adorned
her bosom flew out, and lay at his feet. He lifted it, and kissed it;
and he felt as if it presaged to him that he should not see his loved
one any more, that now his happiness had faded away from him forever.
* * * * *
Hurried steps were passing up stairs and down; the whole house was in
commotion; all was bustle and tumult, preparing for the great
festivities of the morrow. The mother was the gladdest and most active;
the bride heeded nothing, but retired into her chamber to meditate upon
her changing destiny. The family were still looking for their elder son,
the captain, with his wife; and for two elder daughters, with their
husbands: Leopold, the younger, was maliciously busied in increasing the
disorder, and deepening the tumult; perplexing all, while he pretended
to be furthering it. Agatha, his still unmarried sister, was in vain
endeavouring to make him reasonable, and persuade him simply to do
nothing, and to let the rest have peace; but her mother said: "Never
mind him and his folly; for today a little more or less of it amounts to
nothing; only this I beg of one and all of you, that as I have so much
to think about already, you would trouble me with no fresh tidings,
unless it be of something that especially concerns us. I care not
whether any one have let some china fall, whether one spoon or two
spoons are wanting, whether any of the stranger servants have been
breaking windows; with all such freaks as these, I beg you would not vex
me by recounting them. Were these days of tumult over, we will reckon
matters; not till then."
"Bravely spoken, mother!" cried her son; "these sentiments are worthy of
a governor. And if it chance that any of the maids should break her
neck; the cook get tipsy, or set the chimney on fire; the butler, for
joy, let all the malmsey run upon the floor, or down his throat, you
shall not hear a word of such small tricks. If, indeed, an earthquake
were to overset the house! that, my dear mother, could not be kept
secret."
"When will he leave his folly!" said the mother: "What must thy sisters
think, when they find thee every jot as riotous as when they left thee
two years ago?"
"They must do justice to my force of character," said Leopold, "and
grant that I am not so changeable as they or their husbands, who have
altered so much within these few years, and so little to their
advantage."
The bridegroom now entered, and inquired for the bride. Her maid was
sent to call her. "Has Leopold made my request to you, my dear mother?"
said he.
"I did, forsooth!" said Leopold. "There is such confusion here among us,
not one of them can think a reasonable thought."
The bride entered, and the young pair joyfully saluted one another. "The
request I meant," continued the bridegroom, "is this: That you would not
take it ill, if I should bring another guest into your house, which, in
truth, is full enough already."
"You are aware yourself," replied the mother, "that extensive as it is,
I could scarcely find another chamber."
"Notwithstanding, I have partly managed it already," cried Leopold; "I
have had the large apartment furbished up."
"Why, that is quite a miserable place," replied the mother; "for many
years it has been nothing but a lumber-room."
"But it is splendidly repaired," said Leopold; "and our friend, for whom
it is intended, does not mind such matters, he desires nothing but our
love. Besides, he has no wife, and likes to be alone; it is the very
place for him. We have had enough of trouble in persuading him to come,
and show himself again among his fellow-creatures."
"Not your dismal conjuror and gold-maker, certainly?" cried Agatha.
"No other," said the bridegroom, "if you will still call him so."
"Then do not let him, mother," said the sister. "What should a man like
that do here? I have seen him on the street with Leopold, and I was
positively frightened at his face. The old sinner, too, almost never
goes to church; he loves neither God nor man; and it cannot come to good
to bring such infidels under the roof, on a solemnity like this. Who
knows what may be the consequence!"
"To hear her talk!" said Leopold, in anger. "Thou condemnest without
knowing him; and because the cut of his nose does not please thee, and
he is no longer young and handsome, thou concludest him a wizard, and a
servant of the Devil."
"Grant a place in your house, dear mother," said the bridegroom, "to our
old friend, and let him take a part in our general joy. He seems, my
dear Agatha, to have endured much suffering, which has rendered him
distrustful and misanthropic; he avoids all society, his only exceptions
are Leopold and myself. I owe him much; it was he that first gave my
mind a good direction; nay, I may say, it is he alone that has rendered
me perhaps worthy of my Julia's love."
"He lends me all his books," continued Leopold; "and, what is more, his
old manuscripts; and what is more still, his money, on my bare word. He
is a man of the most christian turn, my little sister. And who knows,
when thou hast seen him better, whether thou wilt not throw off thy
coyness, and take a fancy to him, ugly as he now appears to thee?"
"Well, bring him to us," said the mother; "I have had to hear so much of
him from Leopold already, that I have a curiosity to be acquainted with
him. Only you must answer for it, that I cannot lodge him better."
Meantime strangers were announced. They were members of the family, the
married daughters, and the officer; they had brought their children with
them. The good old lady was delighted to behold her grandsons; all was
welcoming, and joyful talk; and Leopold and the bridegroom, having also
given and received their greeting, went away to seek their ancient
melancholic friend.
The latter lived most part of the year in the country, about a league
from town; but he also kept a little dwelling for himself in a garden
near the gate. Here, by chance, the young men had become acquainted with
him. They now found him in a coffee-house, where they had previously
agreed to meet. As the evening had come on, they brought him, after some
little conversation, directly to the house.
The stranger met a kindly welcome from the mother; the daughters stood a
little more aloof from him. Agatha especially was shy, and carefully
avoided his looks. But the first general compliments were scarcely
over, when the old man's eye appeared to settle on the bride, who had
entered the apartment later; he seemed as if transported, and it was
observed that he was struggling to conceal a tear. The bridegroom
rejoiced in his joy, and happening sometime after to be standing with
him by a side at the window, he took his hand, and asked him: "Now, what
think you of my lovely Julia? Is she not an angel?"
"O my friend!" replied the old man, with emotion, "such grace and beauty
I have never seen; or rather, I should say (for that expression was not
just), she is so fair, so ravishing, so heavenly, that I feel as if I
had long known her; as if she were to me, utter stranger though she is,
the most familiar form of my imagination, some shape which had always
been an inmate of my heart."
"I understand you," said the young man: "yes, the truly beautiful, the
great and sublime, when it overpowers us with astonishment and
admiration, still does not surprise us as a thing foreign, never heard
of, never seen; but, on the other hand, our own inmost nature in such
moments becomes clear to us, our deepest remembrances are awakened, our
dearest feelings made alive."
The stranger, during supper, mixed but little in the conversation; his
looks were fixed on the bride, so earnestly and constantly, that she at
last became embarrassed and alarmed. The captain told of a campaign
which he had served in; the rich merchant of his speculations and the
bad times; the country gentleman of the improvements which he meant to
make in his estate.
Supper being done, the bridegroom took his leave, returning for the last
time to his lonely chamber; for in future it was settled that the
married pair were to live in the mother's house, their chambers were
already furnished. The company dispersed, and Leopold conducted the
stranger to his room. "You will excuse us," said he, as they went along,
"for having been obliged to lodge you rather far away, and not so
comfortably as our mother wished; but you see, yourself, how numerous
our family is, and more relations are to come tomorrow. For one thing,
you will not run away from us; there is no finding of your course
through this enormous house."
They went through several passages, and Leopold at last took leave, and
bade his guest good-night. The servant placed two wax-lights on the
table; then asked the stranger whether he should help him to undress,
and as the latter waived his help in that particular, he also went away,
and the stranger found himself alone.
"How does it chance, then," said he, walking up and down, "that this
Image springs so vividly from my heart today? I forgot the long past,
and thought I saw herself. I was again young, and her voice sounded as
of old; I thought I was awakening from a heavy dream; but no, I am now
awake, and those fair moments were but a sweet delusion."
He was too restless to sleep; he looked at some pictures on the walls,
and then round on the chamber. "Today," cried he, "all is so familiar to
me, I could almost fancy I had known this house and this apartment of
old." He tried to settle his remembrances, and lifted some large books
which were standing in a corner. As he turned their leaves, he shook his
head. A lute-case was leaning on the wall; he opened it, and found a
strange old instrument, time-worn, and without the strings. "No, I am
not mistaken!" cried he, in astonishment; "this lute is too remarkable;
it is the Spanish lute of my long-departed friend, old Albert! Here are
his magic books; this is the chamber where he raised for me that
blissful vision; the red of the tapestry is faded, its golden hem is
become dim; but strangely vivid in my heart is all pertaining to those
hours. It was for this the fear went over me as I was coming hither,
through these long complicated passages where Leopold conducted me. O
Heaven! On this very table did the Shape rise budding forth, and grow up
as if watered and refreshed by the redness of the gold. The same image
smiled upon me here, which has almost driven me crazy in the hall
tonight; in that hall where I have walked so often in trustful speech
with Albert!"
He undressed, but slept very little. Early in the morning he was up, and
looking at the room again; he opened the window, and the same gardens
and buildings were lying before him as of old, only many other houses
had been built since then. "Forty years have vanished," sighed he,
"since that afternoon; and every day of those bright times has a longer
life than all the intervening space."
He was called to the company. The morning passed in varied talk: at last
the bride entered in her marriage-dress. As the old man noticed her, he
fell into a state of agitation, such that every one observed it. They
proceeded to the church, and the marriage-ceremony was performed. The
party was again at home, when Leopold inquired: "Now, mother, how do you
like our friend, the good morose old gentleman?"
"I had figured him, by your description," said she, "much more
frightful; he is mild and sympathetic, and might gain from one an honest
trust in him."