But I was not so completely taken with my friends, as not to see that

few of them could really feel the sense of those affecting words and

emblems; and that from these they drew as little benefit as formerly

they did from the symbolic language of the Church. Yet, notwithstanding,

I went on with them, not letting this disturb me. I thought I was not

called to search and try the hearts of others. Had not I, too, by

long-continued innocent exercisings of that sort, been prepared for

something better? I had my share of profit from our meetings: in

speaking, I insisted on attending to the sense and spirit, which, in

things so delicate, is rather apt to be disguised by words than

indicated by them; and for the rest, I left, with silent tolerance, each

to act according to his own conviction.

These quiet times of secret social joy were shortly followed by storms

of open bickering and contradiction,--contentions which excited great

commotion, I might almost say occasioned not a little scandal, in court

and town. The period was now arrived when our chaplain, that stout

gain-sayer of the Herrnhut Brethren, must discover to his deep, but, I

trust, sanctified humiliation, that his best and once most zealous

hearers were now all leaning to the side of that community. He was

excessively provoked: in the first moments he forgot all moderation, and

could not, even if he had inclined it, retract afterwards. Violent

debates took place, in which happily I was not mentioned, both as being

an accidental member of those hated meetings, and then because, in

respect of certain civic matters, our zealous preacher could not safely

disoblige either my father or my friend. With silent satisfaction I

continued neutral. It was irksome to me to converse about such feelings

and objects, even with well-affected people, when they could not

penetrate the deepest sense, and lingered merely on the surface. But to

strive with adversaries, about things on which even friends could

scarcely understand each other, seemed to me unprofitable, nay,

pernicious. For I soon perceived, that many amiable noblemen, who on

this occurrence could not shut their hearts to enmity and hatred, had

rapidly passed over to injustice, and, in order to defend an outward

form, had almost sacrificed their most substantial duties.

Far as the worthy clergyman might, in the present case, be wrong; much

as others tried to irritate me at him,--I could never hesitate to give

him my sincere respect. I knew him well: I could candidly transport

myself into his way of looking at these matters. I have never seen a

man without his weaknesses: only in distinguished men they strike us

more. We wish, and will at all rates have it, that persons privileged as

they are should at the same time pay no tribute, no tax whatever. I

honored him as a superior man, and hoped to use the influence of my calm

neutrality to bring about, if not a peace, at least a truce. I know not

what my efforts might have done; but God concluded the affair more

briefly, and took the chaplain to himself. On his coffin all wept, who

had lately been striving with him about words. His uprightness, his fear

of God, no one had ever doubted.

I, too, was erelong forced to lay aside this Herrnhut doll-work, which,

by means of these contentions, now appeared before me in a rather

different light. Our uncle had, in silence, executed his intentions with

my sister. He offered her a young man of rank and fortune as a

bridegroom, and showed, by a rich dowry, what might be expected of

himself. My father joyfully consented: my sister was free and

forewarned; she did not hesitate to change her state. The bridal was

appointed at my uncle's castle: family and friends were all invited, and

we came together in the cheerfullest mood.

For the first time in my life, the aspect of a house excited admiration

in me. I had often heard of my uncle's taste, of his Italian architect,

of his collections and his library; but, comparing this with what I had

already seen, I had formed a very vague and fluctuating picture of it in

my thoughts. Great, accordingly, was my surprise at the earnest and

harmonious impression which I felt on entering the house, and which

every hall and chamber deepened. If elsewhere pomp and decoration had

but dissipated my attention, I felt here concentrated and drawn back

upon myself. In like manner the preparatives for these solemnities and

festivals produced a silent pleasure, by their air of dignity and

splendor; and to me it seemed as inconceivable that one man could have

invented and arranged all this, as that more than one could have worked

together in so high a spirit. Yet, withal, the landlord and his people

were entirely natural: not a trace of stiffness or of empty form was to

be seen.

The wedding itself was managed in a striking way: an exquisite strain of

vocal music came upon us by surprise, and the clergyman went through the

ceremony with a singular solemnity. I was standing by Philo at the time;

and, instead of a congratulation, he whispered in my ear, "When I saw

your sister give away her hand, I felt as if a stream of boiling water

had been poured over me."--"Why so?" I inquired. "It is always the way

with me," said he, "when I see two people joined." I laughed at him, but

I have often since had cause to recollect his words.

The revel of the party, among whom were many young people, looked

particularly glittering and airy; as every thing around us was dignified

and serious. The furniture, plate, table-ware, and table-ornaments

accorded with the general whole; and if in other houses you would say

the architect was of the school of the confectioner, it here appeared as

if even our confectioner and butler had taken lessons from the

architect.

We staid together several days, and our intelligent and gifted landlord

had variedly provided for the entertainment of his guests. I did not in

the present case repeat the melancholy proof, which has so often in my

life been forced upon me, how unhappily a large mixed company are

situated, when, altogether left to themselves, they have to select the

most general and vapid pastimes, that the fools of the party may not

want amusement, however it may fare with those that are not such.

My uncle had arranged it altogether differently. Two or three marshals,

if I may call them so, had been appointed by him: one of them had charge

of providing entertainment for the young. Dances, excursions, little

games, were of his invention and under his direction: and as young

people take delight in being out-of-doors, and do not fear the

influences of the air, the garden and garden-hall had been assigned to

them; while some additional pavilions and galleries had been erected and

appended to the latter, formed of boards and canvas merely, but in such

proportions, so elegant and noble, they reminded one of nothing but

stone and marble.

How rare is a festivity in which the person who invites the guests feels

also that it is his duty to provide for their conveniences and wants of

every kind!

Hunting and card parties, short promenades, opportunities for trustful

private conversations, were afforded the elder persons; and whoever

wished to go earliest to bed was sure to be lodged the farthest from

noise.

By this happy order, the space we lived in appeared to be a little

world: and yet, considered narrowly, the castle was not large; without

an accurate knowledge of it, and without the spirit of its owner, it

would have been impossible to entertain so many people here, and quarter

each according to his humor.

As the aspect of a well-formed person pleases us, so also does a fair

establishment, by means of which the presence of a rational, intelligent

mind is manifested. We feel a joy in entering even a cleanly house,

though it may be tasteless in its structure and its decorations, because

it shows us the presence of a person cultivated in at least one sense.

Doubly pleasing is it, therefore, when, from a human dwelling, the

spirit of a higher though merely sensual culture speaks to us.

All this was vividly impressed on my observation at my uncle's castle. I

had heard and read much of art; Philo, too, was a lover of pictures, and

had a fine collection: I myself had often practised drawing; but I had

been too deeply occupied with my emotions, striving exclusively after

the one thing needful, which alone I was bent on carrying to perfection;

and then, such objects of art as I had hitherto seen, appeared, like all

other worldly objects, to distract my thoughts. But now, for the first

time, outward things had led me back upon myself: I now first perceived

the difference between the natural charm of the nightingale's song, and

that of a four-voiced anthem pealed from the expressive organs of men.

My joy over this discovery I did not hide from my uncle, who, when all

the rest were settled at their posts, was wont to come and talk with me

in private. He spoke with great modesty of what he possessed and had

produced here, with great decision of the views in which it had been

gathered and arranged: and I could easily observe that he spoke with a

forbearance towards me; seeming, in his usual way, to rate the

excellence, which he himself possessed below that other excellence,

which, in my way of thinking, was the best and properest.

"If we can conceive it possible," he once observed, "that the Creator of

the world himself assumed the form of his creature, and lived in that

manner for a time upon earth, this creature must appear to us of

infinite perfection, because susceptible of such a combination with its

Maker. Hence, in our idea of man, there can be no inconsistency with our

idea of God; and if we often feel a certain disagreement with him and

remoteness from him, it is but the more on that account our duty, not

like advocates of the wicked Spirit, to keep our eyes continually upon

the nakedness and weakness of our nature, but rather to seek out every

property and beauty by which our pretension to a similarity with the

Divinity may be made good."

I smiled, and answered, "Do not make me blush, dear uncle, by your

complaisance in talking in my language! What you have to say is of such

importance to me, that I wish to hear it in your own most peculiar

style; and then what parts of it I cannot quite appropriate I will

endeavor to translate."

"I may continue," he replied, "in my own most peculiar way, without any

alteration of my tone. Man's highest merit always is, as much as

possible to rule external circumstances, and as little as possible to

let himself be ruled by them. Life lies before us, as a huge quarry lies

before the architect: he deserves not the name of architect, except

when, out of this fortuitous mass, he can combine, with the greatest

economy and fitness and durability, some form, the pattern of which

originated in his spirit. All things without us, nay, I may add, all

things on us, are mere elements; but deep within us lies the creative

force, which out of these can produce what they were meant to be, and

which leaves us neither sleep nor rest, till, in one way or another,

without us or on us, that same have been produced. You, my dear niece,

have, it may be, chosen the better part; you have striven to bring your

moral being, your earnest, lovely nature, into accordance with itself

and with the Highest: but neither ought we to be blamed, when we strive

to get acquainted with the sentient man in all his comprehensiveness,

and to bring about an active harmony among his powers."

By such discoursing, we in time grew more familiar; and I begged of him

to speak with me as with himself, omitting every sort of condescension.

"Do not think," replied my uncle, "that I flatter you when I commend

your mode of thinking and acting. I reverence the individual who

understands distinctly what it is he wishes; who unweariedly advances,

who knows the means conducive to his object, and can seize and use them.

How far his object may be great or little, may merit praise or censure,

is the next consideration with me. Believe me, love, most part of all

the misery and mischief, of all that is denominated evil in the world,

arises from the fact, that men are too remiss to get a proper knowledge

of their aims, and, when they do know them, to work intensely in

attaining them. They seem to me like people who have taken up a notion

that they must and will erect a tower, and who yet expend on the

foundation not more stones and labor than would be sufficient for a hut.

If you, my friend, whose highest want it was to perfect and unfold your

moral nature, had, instead of those bold and noble sacrifices, merely

trimmed between your duties to yourself and to your family, your

bridegroom, or perhaps your husband, you must have lived in constant

contradiction with your feelings, and never could have had a peaceful

moment."

"You employ the word sacrifice," I answered here: "and I have often

thought, that to a higher purpose, as to a divinity, we offer up by way

of sacrifice a thing of smaller value; feeling like persons who should

willingly and gladly bring a favorite lamb to the altar for the health

of a beloved father."

"Whatever it may be," said he, "reason or feeling, that commands us to

give up the one thing for the other, to choose the one before the other,

decision and perseverance are, in my opinion, the noblest qualities of

man. You cannot have the ware and the money both at the same time; and

he who always hankers for the ware without having heart to give the

money for it, is no better off than he who repents him of the purchase

when the ware is in his hands. But I am far from blaming men on this

account: it is not they that are to blame; it is the difficult,

entangled situation they are in: they know not how to guide themselves

in its perplexities. Thus, for instance, you will on the average find

fewer bad economists in the country than in towns, and fewer again in

small towns than in great; and why? Man is intended for a limited

condition; objects that are simple, near, determinate, he comprehends,

and he becomes accustomed to employ such means as are at hand; but, on

entering a wider field, he now knows neither what he would nor what he

should; and it amounts to quite the same, whether his attention is

distracted by the multitude of objects, or is overpowered by their

magnitude and dignity. It is always a misfortune for him when he is

induced to struggle after any thing with which he cannot connect himself

by some regular exertion of his powers.

"Certainly," pursued he, "without earnestness there is nothing to be

done in life; yet, among the people whom we name cultivated men, little

earnestness is to be found: in labors and employments, in arts, nay,

even in recreations, they proceed, if I may say so, with a sort of

self-defence; they live, as they read a heap of newspapers, only to have

done with it; they remind one of that young Englishman at Rome, who

said, with a contented air one evening in some company, that to-day he

had despatched six churches and two galleries. They wish to know and

learn a multitude of things, and precisely those they have the least

concern with; and they never see that hunger is not stilled by snapping

at the air. When I become acquainted with a man, my first inquiry is,

With what does he employ himself, and how, and with what degree of

perseverance? The answer regulates the interest I shall take in him for

life."

"My dear uncle," I replied, "you are, perhaps, too rigorous: you perhaps

withdraw your helping hand from here and there a worthy man to whom you

might be useful."

"Can it be imputed as a fault," said he, "to one who has so long and

vainly labored on them and about them? How much we have to suffer in our

youth from men who think they are inviting us to a delightful

pleasure-party, when they undertake to introduce us to the Danaides or

Sisyphus! Heaven be praised! I have rid myself of these people: if one

of them unfortunately comes within my sphere, I forthwith, in the

politest manner, compliment him out again. It is from such persons that

you hear the bitterest complaints about the miserable course of things,

the aridity of science, the levity of artists, the emptiness of poets,

and much more of that sort. They do not recollect that they, and the

many like them, are the very persons who would never read a book which

had been written just as they require it; that true poetry is alien to

them; that even an excellent work of art can never gain their

approbation except by means of prejudice. But let us now break off, for

this is not the time to rail or to complain."

He directed my attention to the different pictures hanging on the wall:

my eye dwelt on those whose look was beautiful or subject striking. This

he permitted for a while: at last he said, "Bestow a little notice on

the spirit manifested in these other works. Good minds delight to trace

the finger of the Deity in nature: why not likewise pay some small

regard to the hand of his imitator?" He then led my observation to some

unobtrusive figures; endeavoring to make me understand that it was the

history of art alone which could give us an idea of the worth and

dignity of any work of art; that we should know the weary steps of mere

handicraft and mechanism, over which the man of talents has struggled in

the course of centuries, before we can conceive how it is possible for

the man of genius to move with airy freedom on the pinnacle whose very

aspect makes us giddy.

With this view he had formed a beautiful series of works; and, whilst he

explained it, I could not help conceiving that I saw before me a

similitude of moral culture. When I expressed my thought to him, he

answered, "You are altogether right; and we see from this, that those do

not act well, who, in a solitary, exclusive manner, follow moral

cultivation by itself. On the contrary, it will be found, that he whose

spirit strives for a development of that kind, has likewise every

reason, at the same time, to improve his finer sentient powers; that so

he may not run the risk of sinking from his moral height by giving way

to the enticements of a lawless fancy, and degrading his moral nature by

allowing it to take delight in tasteless baubles, if not in something

worse."

I did not suspect him of levelling at me; but I felt myself struck, when

I reflected how many insipidities there might be in the songs that used

to edify me, and how little favor the figures which had joined

themselves to my religious ideas would have found in the eyes of my

uncle.

Philo, in the mean time, had frequently been busied in the library: he

now took me along with him. We admired the selection, as well as the

multitude, of books. They had been collected on my uncle's general

principle: there were none to be found among them but such as either

lead to correct knowledge, or teach right arrangement; such as either

give us fit materials, or further the concordance of our spirit.

In the course of my life I had read very largely; in certain branches,

there was almost no work unknown to me: the more pleasant was it here to

speak about the general survey of the whole; to mark deficiencies, and

not, as elsewhere, see nothing but a hampered confusion or a boundless

expansion.

Here, too, we became acquainted with a very interesting, quiet man. He

was a physician and a naturalist: he seemed rather one of the _Penates_

than of the inmates. He showed us the museum, which, like the library,

was fixed in glass cases to the walls of the chambers, adorning and

ennobling the space, which it did not crowd. On this occasion I recalled

with joy the days of my youth, and showed my father many of the things

he had been wont to lay upon the sick-bed of his little child, just

opening its little eyes to look into the world then. At the same time

the physician, in our present and following conversations, did not

scruple to avow how near he approximated to me in respect of my

religious sentiments: he warmly praised my uncle for his tolerance, and

his esteem of all that testified or forwarded the worth and unity of

human nature; admitting, also, that he called for a similar return from

others, and would shun and condemn nothing else so heartily as

individual pretension and narrow exclusiveness.

Since the nuptials of my sister, joy had sparkled in the eyes of our

uncle: he often spoke with me of what he meant to do for her and for her

children. He had several fine estates: he managed them himself, and

hoped to leave them in the best condition to his nephews. Regarding the

small estate where we at present were, he appeared to entertain peculiar

thoughts. "I will leave it to none," said he, "but to a person who can

understand and value and enjoy what it contains, and who feels how

loudly every man of wealth and rank, especially in Germany, is called on

to exhibit something like a model to others."

Most of his guests were now gone: we, too, were making ready for

departure, thinking we had seen the final scene of this solemnity, when

his attention in affording us some dignified enjoyment produced a new

surprise. We had mentioned to him the delight which the chorus of

voices, suddenly commencing without accompaniment of any instrument, had

given us, at my sister's marriage. We hinted, at the same time, how

pleasant it would be were such a thing repeated; but he seemed to pay no

heed to us. The livelier was our surprise, when he said, one evening,

"The music of the dance has died away; our transitory, youthful friends

have left us; the happy pair themselves have a more serious look than

they had some days ago. To part at such a time, when, perhaps, we shall

never meet again, certainly never without changes, exalts us to a solemn

mood, which I know not how to entertain more nobly than by the music you

were lately signifying a desire to have repeated."

The chorus, which had in the mean while gathered strength, and by secret

practice more expertness, was accordingly made to sing to us a series of

four and of eight voiced melodies, which, if I may say so, gave a real

foretaste of bliss. Till then I had only known the pious mode of

singing, as good souls practise it, frequently with hoarse pipes,

imagining, like wild birds, that they are praising God, while they

procure a pleasant feeling to themselves. Or, perhaps, I had listened to

the vain music of concerts, in which you are at best invited to admire

the talent of the singer, and very seldom have even a transient

enjoyment. Now, however, I was listening to music, which, as it

originated in the deepest feeling of the most accomplished human beings,

was, by suitable and practised organs in harmonious unity, made again to

address the deepest and best feelings of man, and to impress him at that

moment with a lively sense of his likeness to the Deity. They were all

devotional songs, in the Latin language: they sat like jewels in the

golden ring of a polished intellectual conversation; and, without

pretending to edify, they elevated me and made me happy in the most

spiritual manner.

At our departure he presented all of us with handsome gifts. To me he

gave the cross of my order, more beautifully and artfully worked and

enamelled than I had ever seen it before. It was hung upon a large

brilliant, by which also it was fastened to the chain: this he gave me,

he said, "as the noblest stone in the cabinet of a collector."

My sister, with her husband, went to their estates, the rest of us to

our abodes; appearing to ourselves, so far as outward circumstances were

concerned, to have returned to quite an every-day existence. We had

been, as it were, dropped from a palace of the fairies down upon the

common earth, and were again obliged to help ourselves as we best could.

The singular experiences which this new circle had afforded left a fine

impression on my mind. This, however, did not long continue in its first

vivacity: though my uncle tried to nourish and renew it by sending me

certain of his best and most pleasing works of art; changing them, from

time to time, with others which I had not seen.

I had been so much accustomed to be busied with myself, in regulating

the concerns of my heart and temper, and conversing on these matters

with persons of a like mind, that I could not long study any work of art

attentively without being turned by it back upon myself. I was used to

look at a picture or copper-plate merely as at the letters of a book.

Fine printing pleases well, but who would read a book for the beauty of

the printing? In like manner I required of each pictorial form that it

should tell me something, should instruct, affect, improve me; and,

after all my uncle's letters to expound his works of art, say what he

would, I continued in my former humor.

Yet not only my peculiar disposition, but external incidents and changes

in our family, still farther drew me back from contemplations of that

nature; nay, for some time even from myself. I had to suffer and to do

more than my slender strength seemed fit for.

My maiden sister had, till now, been as a right arm to me. Healthy,

strong, unspeakably good-natured, she had managed all the housekeeping;

I myself being busied with the personal nursing of our aged father. She

was seized with a catarrh, which changed to a disorder of the lungs: in

three weeks she was lying in her coffin. Her death inflicted wounds on

me, the scars of which I am not yet willing to examine.

I was lying sick before they buried her: the old ailment in my breast

appeared to be awakening; I coughed with violence, and was so hoarse I

could not speak beyond a whisper.

My married sister, out of fright and grief, was brought to bed before

her time. Our old father thought he was about to lose at once his

children and the hope of their posterity; his natural tears increased my

sorrow: I prayed to God that he would give me back a sufferable state of

health. I asked him but to spare my life till my father should die. I

recovered: I was what I reckoned well, being able to discharge my

duties, though with pain.

My sister was again with child. Many cares, which in such cases are

committed to the mother, in the present instance fell to me. She was not

altogether happy with her husband; this was to be hidden from our

father: I was often made judge of their disputes, in which I could

decide with the greater safety, as my brother trusted in me; and the two

were really worthy persons, only each of them, instead of humoring,

endeavored to convince, the other, and, out of eagerness to live in

constant harmony, never could agree. I now learned to mingle seriously

in worldly matters, and to practise what of old I had but sung.

My sister bore a son: the frailty of my father did not hinder him from

travelling to her. The sight of the child exceedingly enlivened and

cheered him: at the christening, contrary to his custom, he seemed as if

inspired; nay, I might say like a Genius with two faces. With the one,

he looked joyfully forward to those regions which he soon hoped to

enter; with the other, to the new, hopeful, earthly life which had

arisen in the boy descended from him. On our journey home he never

wearied talking to me of the child, its form, its health, and his wish

that the gifts of this new denizen of earth might be rightly cultivated.

His reflections on the subject lasted when we had arrived at home: it

was not till some days afterwards that I observed a kind of fever in

him, which displayed itself, without shivering, in a sort of languid

heat commencing after dinner. He did not yield, however: he went out as

usual in the mornings, faithfully attending to the duties of his office,

till at last continuous serious symptoms kept him within doors.

I never shall forget with what distinctness, clearness, and repose of

mind he settled in the greatest order the concerns of his house, nay,

the arrangements of his funeral, as he would have done a business of

some other person.

With a cheerfulness which he never used to show, and which now mounted

to a lively joy, he said to me, "Where is the fear of death which I once

felt? Shall I shrink at departing? I have a gracious God; the grave

awakens no terror in me; I have an eternal life."

To recall the circumstances of his death, which shortly followed, forms

one of the most pleasing entertainments of my solitude: the visible

workings of a higher Power in that solemn time, no one shall ever argue

from me.

The death of my beloved father altogether changed my mode of life. From

the strictest obedience, the narrowest confinement, I passed at once

into the greatest freedom: I enjoyed it like a sort of food from which

one has long abstained. Formerly I very seldom spent two hours from

home: now I very seldom lived a day there. My friends, whom I had been

allowed to visit only by hurried snatches, wished now to have my company

without interruption, as I did to have theirs. I was often asked to

dinner: at walks and pleasure-jaunts I never failed. But, when once the

circle had been fairly run, I saw that the invaluable happiness of

liberty consisted, not in doing what one pleases and what circumstances

may invite to, but in being able, without hinderance or restraint, to do

in the direct way what one regards as right and proper; and, in this

instance, I was old enough to reach a valuable truth, without smarting

for my ignorance.

One pleasure I could not deny myself: it was, as soon as might be, to

renew and strengthen my connection with the Herrnhut Brethren. I

hastened, accordingly, to visit one of their establishments at no great

distance; but here I by no means found what I had been anticipating. I

was frank enough to signify my disappointment, which they tried to

soften by alleging that the present settlement was nothing to a full and

fitly organized community. This I did not take upon me to deny; yet, in

my thought, the genuine spirit of the matter might have displayed itself

in a small body as well as in a great one.

One of their bishops, who was present, a personal disciple of the count,

took considerable pains with me. He spoke English perfectly; and as I,

too, understood a little of it, he reckoned this a token that we both

belonged to one class. I, however, reckoned nothing of the kind: his

conversation did not in the least satisfy me. He had been a cutler; was

a native of Moravia; his mode of thought still savored of the artisan.

With Herr Von L----, who had been a major in the French service, I got

upon a better footing: yet I could never bring myself to the

submissiveness he showed to his superiors; nay, I felt as if you had

given me a box on the ear, when I saw the major's wife, and other women

more or less like ladies, take the bishop's hand and kiss it. Meanwhile

a journey into Holland was proposed; which, however, doubtless for my

good, did not take place.

My sister had been delivered of a daughter; and now it was the turn of

us women to exult, and consider how the little creature should be bred

like one of us. The husband, on the other hand, was not so satisfied,

when in the following year another daughter saw the light: with his

large estates, he wanted to have boys about him, who in future might

assist him in his management.

My health was feeble: I kept myself in peace, and, by a quiet mode of

life, in tolerable equilibrium. I was not afraid of death; nay, I wished

to die: yet I secretly perceived that God was granting time for me to

prove my soul, and to advance still nearer to himself. In my many

sleepless nights, especially, I have at times felt something which I

cannot undertake to describe.

It was as if my soul were thinking separately from the body: she looked

upon the body as a foreign substance, as we look upon a garment. She

pictured with extreme vivacity events and times long past, and felt, by

means of this, events that were to follow. Those times are all gone by;

what follows likewise will go by; the body, too, will fall to pieces

like a vesture; but I, the well-known I, I am.

The thought is great, exalted, and consoling; yet an excellent friend,

with whom I every day became more intimate, instructed me to dwell on it

as little as I could. This was the physician whom I met in my uncle's

house, and who had since accurately informed himself about the temper of

my body and my spirit. He showed me how much these feelings, when we

cherish them within us independently of outward objects, tend, as it

were, to excavate us, and to undermine the whole foundation of our

being. "To be active," he would say, "is the primary vocation of man:

all the intervals in which he is obliged to rest, he should employ in

gaining clearer knowledge of external things; for this will in its turn

facilitate activity."

This friend was acquainted with my custom of looking on my body as an

outward object: he knew also that I pretty well understood my

constitution, my disorder, and the medicines of use for it; nay, that,

by continual sufferings of my own or other people's, I had really grown

a kind of half-doctor: he now carried forward my attention from the

human body, and the drugs which act upon it, to the kindred objects of

creation; he led me up and down as in the paradise of the first man;

only, if I may continue my comparison, allowing me to trace, in dim

remoteness, the Creator walking in the garden in the cool of the

evening.

How gladly did I now see God in nature, when I bore him with such

certainty within my heart! How interesting to me was his handiwork! how

thankful did I feel that he had pleased to quicken me with the breath of

his mouth!

We again had hopes that my sister would present us with a boy: her

husband waited anxiously for that event, but did not live to see it. He

died in consequence of an unlucky fall from horseback; and my sister

followed him, soon after she had brought into the world a lovely boy.

The four orphans they had left I could not look at but with sadness. So

many healthy people had been called away before poor, sickly me; might I

not also have blights to witness among these fair and hopeful blossoms?

I knew the world sufficiently to understand what dangers threaten the

precarious breeding of a child, especially a child of quality; and it

seemed as if, since the period of my youth, these dangers had increased.

I felt that, weakly as I was, I could not be of much, perhaps of any,

service to the little ones; and I rejoiced the more on finding that my

uncle, as indeed might have been looked for, had determined to devote

his whole attention to the education of these amiable creatures. And

this they doubtless merited in every sense: they were handsome; and,

with great diversities, all promised to be well-conditioned, reasonable

persons.

Since my worthy doctor had suggested it, I loved to trace out family

likenesses among our relatives and children. My father had carefully

preserved the portraits of his ancestors, and got his own and those of

his descendants drawn by tolerable masters; nor had my mother and her

people been forgotten. We accurately knew the characters of all the

family; and, as we had frequently compared them with each other, we now

endeavored to discover in the children the same peculiarities outward or

inward. My sister's eldest son, we thought, resembled his paternal

grandfather, of whom there was a fine youthful picture in my uncle's

collection: he had been a brave soldier; and in this point, too, the boy

took after him, liking arms above all things, and busying himself with

them whenever he paid me a visit. For my father had left a very pretty

armory; and the boy got no rest till I had given him a pair of pistols

and a fowling-piece, and he had learned the proper way of using them. At

the same time, in his conduct or bearing, there was nothing like

rudeness: far from that, he was always meek and sensible.

The eldest daughter had attracted my especial love; of which, perhaps,

the reason was, that she resembled me, and of all the four seemed to

like me best. But I may well admit, that, the more closely I observed

her as she grew, the more she shamed me: I could not look on her without

a sentiment of admiration, nay, I may almost say, of reverence. You

would scarcely have seen a nobler form, a more peaceful spirit, an

activity so equable and universal. No moment of her life was she

unoccupied, and every occupation in her hands became dignified. All

seemed indifferent to her, so that she could but accomplish what was

proper in the place and time; and, in the same manner, she could

patiently continue unemployed, when there was nothing to be done. This

activity without need of occupation I have never elsewhere met with. In

particular, her conduct to the suffering and destitute was, from her

earliest youth, inimitable. For my part, I freely confess I never had

the gift to make a business of beneficence: I was not niggardly to the

poor; nay, I often gave too largely for my means; yet this was little

more than buying myself off: and a person needed to be made for me, if I

was to bestow attention on him. Directly the reverse was the conduct of

my niece. I never saw her give a poor man money: whatever she obtained

from me for this purpose, she failed not in the first place to change

for some necessary article. Never did she seem more lovely in my eyes,

than when rummaging my clothes-presses: she was always sure to light on

something which I did not wear and did not need; to sew these old

cast-off articles together, and put them on some ragged child, she

thought her highest happiness.

Her sister's turn of mind appeared already different: she had much of

her mother; she promised to become very elegant and beautiful, and she

now bids fair to keep her promise. She is greatly taken up with her

exterior: from her earliest years she could decorate and carry herself

in a way that struck you. I still remember with what ecstasy, when quite

a little creature, she saw herself in a mirror, decked in certain

precious pearls, once my mother's, which she had by chance discovered,

and made me try upon her.

Reflecting on these diverse inclinations, it was pleasant for me to

consider how my property would, after my decease, be shared among them,

and again called into use. I saw the fowling-pieces of my father once

more travelling round the fields on my nephew's shoulder, and birds once

more falling from his hunting-pouch: I saw my whole wardrobe issuing

from the church, at Easter Confirmation, on the persons of tidy little

girls; while the best pieces of it were employed to decorate some

virtuous burgher maiden on her marriage-day. In furnishing such children

and poor little girls, Natalia had a singular delight; though, as I must

here remark, she showed not the smallest love, or, if I may say it,

smallest need, of a dependence upon any visible or invisible Being, such

as I had in my youth so strongly manifested.

When I also thought that the younger sister, on that same day, would

wear my jewels and pearls at court, I could see with peace my

possessions, like my body, given back to the elements.

The children waxed apace: to my comfort, they are healthy, handsome,

clever creatures. That my uncle keeps them from me, I endure without

repining: when staying in the neighborhood, or even in town, they seldom

see me.

A singular personage, regarded as a French clergyman, though no one

rightly knows his history, has been intrusted with the oversight of all

these children. He has them taught in various places: they are put to

board now here, now there.

At first I could perceive no plan whatever in this mode of education;

till at last our doctor told me the abbé had convinced my uncle, that,

in order to accomplish any thing by education, we must first become

acquainted with the pupil's tendencies and wishes; that, these once

ascertained, he ought to be transported to a situation where he may, as

speedily as possible, content the former and attain the latter, and so,

if he have been mistaken, may still in time perceive his error, and at

last, having found what suits him, may hold the faster by it, may the

more diligently fashion himself according to it. I wish this strange

experiment may prosper: with such excellent natures it is, perhaps,

possible.

But there is one peculiarity in these instructors, which I never shall

approve of: they study to seclude the children from whatever might

awaken them to an acquaintance with themselves and with the invisible,

sole, faithful Friend. I often take it ill of my uncle, that, on this

account, he considers me dangerous for the little ones. Thus in practice

there is no man tolerant! Many assure us that they willingly leave each

to take his own way, yet all endeavor to exclude from action every one

that does not think as they do.

This removal of the children troubles me the more, the more I am

convinced of the reality of my belief. How can it fail to have a

heavenly origin, an actual object, when in practice it is so effectual?

Is it not by practice alone that we prove our own existence? Why, then,

may we not, by a like mode, prove to ourselves the influence of that

Power who gives us all good things?

That I am still advancing, never retrograding; that my conduct is

approximating more and more to the image I have formed of perfection;

that I every day feel more facility in doing what I reckon proper, even

while the weakness of my body so obstructs me,--can all this be

accounted for upon the principles of human nature, whose corruption I

have so clearly seen into? For me, at least, it cannot.

I scarcely remember a commandment: to me there is nothing that assumes

the aspect of law; it is an impulse that leads me, and guides me always

aright. I freely follow my emotions, and know as little of constraint as

of repentance. God be praised that I know to whom I am indebted for such

happiness, and that I cannot think of it without humility! There is no

danger I should ever become proud of what I myself can do or can forbear

to do: I have seen too well what a monster might be formed and nursed in

every human bosom, did not higher Influence restrain us.

[Footnote 3: So in the original.--ED.]

BOOK VII.

CHAPTER I.

Spring had come in all its brilliancy; a storm that had been lowering

all day went fiercely down upon the hills; the rain drew back into the

country; the sun came forth in all its splendor, and upon the dark vapor

rose the lordly rainbow. Wilhelm was riding towards it: the sight made

him sad. "Ah!" said he within himself, "must it be that the fairest hues

of life appear to us only on a ground of black? And must drops fall, if

we are to be enraptured? A bright day is like a dull day, if we look at

it unmoved; and what can move us but some silent hope that the inborn

inclination of our soul shall not always be without an object? The

recital of a noble action moves us; the sight of every thing harmonious

moves us: we feel then as if we were not altogether in a foreign land;

we fancy we are nearer the home towards which our best and inmost wishes

impatiently strive."

Meanwhile a pedestrian overtook him, and, walking with a stout step by

the side of the horse, began to keep him company. After a few common

words, he looked at the rider, and said, "If I am not mistaken, I must

have already seen you somewhere."

"I, too, remember you," said Wilhelm: "had we not some time ago a

pleasant sail together?"--"Right!" replied the other.

Wilhelm looked at him more narrowly, then, after a pause, observed, "I

do not know what alteration has occurred in you. Last time we met, I

took you for a Lutheran country clergyman: you now seem to me more like

a Catholic priest."

"To-day, at least, you are not wrong," replied the other, taking off his

hat, and showing him the tonsure. "Where is your company gone? Did you

stay long with them?"

"Longer than was good: on looking back upon the period which I passed

in their society, it seems as if I looked into an endless void; nothing

of it has remained with me."

"Here you are mistaken," said the stranger: "every thing that happens to

us leaves some trace behind it; every thing contributes imperceptibly to

form us. Yet often it is dangerous to take a strict account of that. For

either we grow proud and negligent, or downcast and dispirited; and both

are equally injurious in their consequences. The safe plan is, always

simply to do the task that lies nearest us; and this in the present

case," added he, with a smile, "is to hasten to our quarters."

Wilhelm asked how far Lothario's house was distant: the stranger

answered that it lay behind the hill. "Perhaps I shall meet you there,"

continued he: "I have merely a small affair to manage in the

neighborhood. Farewell till then!" And, with this, he struck into a

steep path that seemed to lead more speedily across the hill.

"Yes, the man is right!" said Wilhelm to himself, as he proceeded: "we

should think of what is nearest; and for me, at present, there is

nothing nearer than the mournful errand I have come to do. Let me see

whether I can still repeat the speech, which is to put that cruel man to

shame."

He then began reciting to himself this piece of oratory: not a syllable

was wanting; and the more his recollection served him, the higher grew

his passion and his courage. Aurelia's sorrows and her death were

vividly present to his soul.

"Spirit of my friend!" exclaimed he, "hover round me, and, if thou

canst, give some sign to me that thou art softened, art appeased!"

Amid such words and meditations, he had reached the summit of the hill;

and, near the foot of its declivity, he now beheld a curious building,

which he at once took to be Lothario's dwelling. An old, irregular

castle, with several turrets and peaked roofs, appeared to have been the

primitive erection; but the new additions to it, placed near the main

structure, looked still more irregular. A part of them stood close upon

the main edifice: others, at some distance, were combined with it by

galleries and covered passages. All external symmetry, every shade of

architectural beauty, appeared to have been sacrificed to the

convenience of the interior. No trace of wall or trench was to be seen;

none of avenues or artificial gardens. A fruit and pot-herb garden

reached to the very buildings, and little patches of a like sort showed

themselves even in the intermediate spaces. A cheerful village lay at no

great distance: the fields and gardens everywhere appeared in the

highest state of cultivation.

Sunk in his own impassioned feelings, Wilhelm rode along, not thinking

much of what he saw: he put up his horse at an inn, and, not without

emotion, hastened to the castle.

An old serving-man received him at the door, and signified, with much

good-nature, that to-day it would be difficult to get admission to his

lordship, who was occupied in writing letters, and had already refused

some people that had business with him. Our friend became more

importunate: the old man was at last obliged to yield, and announce him.

He returned, and conducted Wilhelm to a spacious, ancient hall; desiring

him to be so good as wait, since perhaps it might be some time before

his lordship could appear. Our friend walked up and down unrestfully,

casting now and then a look at the knights and dames whose ancient

figures hung round him on the walls. He repeated the beginning of his

speech: it seemed, in presence of these ruffs and coats of mail, to

answer even better. Every time there rose any stir, he put himself in

posture to receive his man with dignity; meaning first to hand him the

letter, then assail him with the weapons of reproach.

More than once mistaken, he was now beginning to be really vexed and out

of tune, when at last a handsome man, in boots and light surtout,

stepped in from a side-door. "What good news have you for me?" said he

to Wilhelm, with a friendly voice: "pardon me, that I have made you

wait."

So speaking, he kept folding a letter which he held in his hand.

Wilhelm, not without embarrassment, delivered him Aurelia's paper, and

replied, "I bring you the last words of a friend, which you will not

read without emotion."

Lothario took it, and returned to his chamber with it; where, as Wilhelm

through the open door could very easily observe, he addressed and sealed

some letters before opening Aurelia's. He appeared to have perused it

once or twice; and Wilhelm, though his feelings signified that the

pathetic speech would sort but ill with such a cool reception, girded up

his mind, went forward to the threshold, and was just about beginning

his address, when a tapestry-door of the cabinet opened, and the

clergyman came in.

"I have got the strangest message you can think of," cried Lothario to

him. "Pardon me," continued he, addressing Wilhelm, "if I am not in a

mood for speaking further with you at this moment. You remain with us

to-night: you, abbé, see the stranger properly attended to."

With these words, he made his guest a bow: the clergyman took Wilhelm by

the hand, who followed, not without reluctance.

They walked along some curious passages in silence, and at last reached

a very pretty chamber. The abbé led him in, then left him, making no

excuses. Erelong an active boy appeared: he introduced himself as

Wilhelm's valet, and brought up his supper. In waiting, he had much to

say about the order of the house, about their breakfasting and dining,

labors and amusements; interspersing many things in commendation of

Lothario.

Pleasant as the boy was, Wilhelm endeavored to get rid of him as soon as

possible. He wished to be alone, for he felt exceedingly oppressed and

straitened in his new position. He reproached himself with having

executed his intention so ill, with having done his errand only half.

One moment, he proposed to undertake next morning what he had neglected

to-night; the next, he saw, that, by Lothario's presence, he would be

attuned to quite a different set of feelings. The house, too, where he

was, seemed very strange to him: he could not be at home in his

position. Intending to undress, he opened his travelling-bag: with his

night-clothes, he took out the Spirit's veil, which Mignon had packed in

along with them. The sight of it increased the sadness of his humor.

"Flee, youth! flee!" cried he. "What means this mystic word? What am I

to flee, or whither? It were better had the Spirit called to me, Return

to thyself!" He cast his eyes on some English copper-plates hung round

the room in frames; most of them he looked at with indifference: at last

he met with one, in which a ship was represented sinking in a tempest; a

father, with his lovely daughters, was awaiting death from the intrusive

billows. One of the maidens had a kind of likeness to the Amazon: an

indescribable compassion seized our friend; he felt an irresistible

necessity to vent his feelings; tears filled his eyes, he wept, and did

not recover his composure till slumber overpowered him.

Strange dreams arose upon him towards morning. He was in a garden, which

in boyhood he had often visited: he looked with pleasure at the

well-known alleys, hedges, flower-beds. Mariana met him: he spoke to

her with love and tenderness, recollecting nothing of any by-gone

grievance. Erelong his father joined them, in his week-day dress; with a

look of frankness that was rare in him, he bade his son fetch two seats

from the garden-house; then took Mariana by the hand, and led her into a

grove.

Wilhelm hastened to the garden-house, but found it altogether empty:

only at a window in the farther side he saw Aurelia standing. He went

forward, and addressed her, but she turned not round; and, though he

placed himself beside her, he could never see her face. He looked out

from the window: in an unknown garden, there were several people, some

of whom he recognized. Frau Melina, seated under a tree, was playing

with a rose which she had in her hand: Laertes stood beside her,

counting money from the one hand to the other. Mignon and Felix were

lying on the grass, the former on her back, the latter on his face.

Philina came, and clapped her hands above the children: Mignon lay

unmoved; Felix started up and fled. At first he laughed while running,

as Philina followed; but he screamed in terror when he saw the harper

coming after him with large, slow steps. Felix ran directly to a pond.

Wilhelm hastened after him: too late; the child was lying in the water!

Wilhelm stood as if rooted to the spot. The fair Amazon appeared on the

other side of the pond: she stretched her right hand towards the child,

and walked along the shore. The child came through the water, by the

course her finger pointed to; he followed her as she went round; at last

she reached her hand to him, and pulled him out. Wilhelm had come

nearer: the child was all in flames; fiery drops were falling from his

body. Wilhelm's agony was greater than ever; but instantly the Amazon

took a white veil from her head, and covered up the child with it. The

fire was at once quenched. But, when she lifted up the veil, two boys

sprang out from under it, and frolicsomely sported to and fro; while

Wilhelm and the Amazon proceeded hand in hand across the garden, and

noticed in the distance Mariana and his father walking in an alley,

which was formed of lofty trees, and seemed to go quite round the

garden. He turned his steps to them, and, with his beautiful attendant,

was moving through the garden, when suddenly the fair-haired Friedrich

came across their path, and kept them back with loud laughter and a

thousand tricks. Still, however, they insisted on proceeding; and

Friedrich hastened off, running towards Mariana and the father. These

seemed to flee before him; he pursued the faster, till Wilhelm saw them

hovering down the alley almost as on wings. Nature and inclination

called on him to go and help them, but the hand of the Amazon detained

him. How gladly did he let himself be held! With this mingled feeling he

awoke, and found his chamber shining with the morning beams.

CHAPTER II.

Our friend was called to breakfast by the boy: he found the abbé waiting

in the hall; Lothario, it appeared, had ridden out. The abbé was not

very talkative, but rather wore a thoughtful look: he inquired about

Aurelia's death, and listened to our friend's recital of it with

apparent sympathy. "Ah!" cried he, "the man that discerns, with lively

clearness, what infinite operations art and nature must have joined in

before a cultivated human being can be formed; the man that himself as

much as possible takes interest in the culture of his fellow-men,--is

ready to despair when he sees how lightly mortals will destroy

themselves, will blamelessly or blamably expose themselves to be

destroyed. When I think of these things, life itself appears to me so

uncertain a gift, that I could praise the man who does not value it

beyond its worth."

Scarcely had he spoken, when the door flew violently up: a young lady

came rushing in; she pushed away the old servant, who attempted to

restrain her. She made right to the abbé, and seized him by the arm: her

tears and sobs would hardly let her speak these words: "Where is he?

Where have you put him? 'Tis a frightful treachery! Confess it now! I

know what you are doing: I will after him,--will know where you have

sent him!"

"Be calm, my child," replied the abbé, with assumed composure; "come

with me to your room: you shall know it all; only you must have the

strength to listen, if you ask me to relate." He offered her his hand,

as if he meant to lead her out. "I will not return to my room," cried

she: "I hate the walls where you have kept me prisoner so long. I know

it already: the colonel has challenged him; he is gone to meet his

enemy: perhaps this very moment he--once or twice I thought I heard the

sound of shots! I tell you, order out a coach, and come along with me,

or I will fill the house and all the village with my screaming."

Weeping bitterly, she hastened to the window: the abbé held her back,

and sought in vain to soothe her.

They heard a sound of wheels: she threw up the window, exclaiming, "He

is dead! They are bringing home his body."--"He is coming out," replied

the abbé: "you perceive he lives."--"He is wounded," said she wildly,

"else he would have come on horseback. They are holding him! The wound

is dangerous!" She ran to the door, and down the stairs: the abbé

hastened after her; and Wilhelm, following, observed the fair one meet

her lover, who had now dismounted.

Lothario leaned on his attendant, whom Wilhelm at once knew as his

ancient patron, Jarno. The wounded man spoke very tenderly and kindly to

the tearful damsel: he rested on her shoulder, and came slowly up the

steps, saluted Wilhelm as he passed, and was conducted to his cabinet.

Jarno soon returned, and, going up to Wilhelm, "It appears," said he,

"you are predestined everywhere to find a theatre and actors. We have

here commenced a play which is not altogether pleasant."

"I rejoice to find you," answered Wilhelm, "in so strange an hour: I am

astonished, frightened; and your presence already quiets my mind. Tell

me, is there danger? Is the baron badly wounded?"

"I imagine not," said Jarno.

It was not long till the young surgeon entered from the cabinet. "Now,

what say you?" cried Jarno to him. "That it is a dangerous piece of

work," replied the other, putting several instruments into his leathern

pouch. Wilhelm looked at the band, which was hanging from the pouch: he

fancied he knew it. Bright, contrary colors, a curious pattern, gold and

silver wrought in singular figures, marked this band from all the bands

in the world. Wilhelm was convinced he beheld the very pouch of the

ancient surgeon who had dressed his wounds in the green of the forest;

and the hope, so long deferred, of again finding traces of the lovely

Amazon, struck like a flame through all his soul.

"Where did you get that pouch?" cried he. "To whom did it belong before

you? I beg of you, tell me."--"I bought it at an auction," said the

other: "what is it to me whom it belonged to?" So speaking, he went out;

and Jarno said, "If there would come but one word of truth from our

young doctor's mouth!"--"Then, he did not buy the pouch?" said Wilhelm.

"Just as little as Lothario is in danger," said the other.

Wilhelm stood, immersed in many reflections: Jarno asked how he had

fared of late. Wilhelm sketched an outline of his history; and when he

at last came to speak of Aurelia's death, and his message to the place,

his auditor exclaimed, "Well! it is strange! most strange!"

The abbé entered from Lothario's chamber, beckoned Jarno to go in

instead of him, and said to Wilhelm, "The baron bids me ask you to

remain with us a day or two, to share his hospitality, and, in the

present circumstances, contribute to his solacement. If you need to give

any notice to your people, your letter shall be instantly despatched.

Meanwhile, to make you understand this curious incident, of which you

have been witness, I must tell you something, which, indeed, is no

secret. The baron had a small adventure with a lady, which excited more

than usual attention; the lady having taken him from a rival, and

wishing to enjoy her victory too ostentatiously. After a time he no

longer found the same delight in her society; which he, of course,

forsook: but, being of a violent temper, she could not bear her fate

with patience. Meeting at a ball, they had an open quarrel: she thought

herself irreparably injured, and would be revenged. No knight stepped

forth to do battle for her; till her husband, whom for years she had not

lived with, heard of the affair and took it up. He challenged the baron,

and to-day he has wounded him; yet, as I hear, the gallant colonel has

himself come still worse off."

From this hour our friend was treated in the house as if he had belonged

to it.

CHAPTER III.

At times they had read a little to the patient: Wilhelm joyfully

performed this service. Lydia stirred not from Lothario's bed: her care

for him absorbed her whole attention. But to-day the patient himself

seemed occupied with thought: he bade them lay aside their book.

"To-day," said he, "I feel through my whole heart how foolishly we let

our time pass on. How many things have I proposed to do, how many have I

planned; yet how we loiter in our noblest purposes! I have just read

over the scheme of the changes which I mean to make in my estates; and

it is chiefly, I may say, on their account that I rejoice at the

bullet's not having gone a deadlier road."

Lydia looked at him with tenderness, with tears in her eyes; as if to

ask if _she_, if his friends, could not pretend to any interest in his

wish to live. Jarno answered, "Changes such as you project require to be

considered well on every side before they are resolved on."

"Long considerations," said Lothario, "are commonly a proof that we have

not the point to be determined clearly in our eye; precipitate

proceedings, that we do not know it. I see distinctly, that, in managing

my property, there are several particulars in which the services of my

dependants cannot be remitted; certain rights which I must rigidly

insist on: but I also see that there are other articles, advantageous to

me, but by no means indispensable, which might admit of relaxation. Do I

not profit by my lands far better than my father did? Is not my income

still increasing? And shall I alone enjoy this growing benefit? Shall

not those who labor with and for me partake, in their degree, of the

advantages which expanding knowledge, which a period of improvement, are

procuring for us?"

"'Tis human nature!" cried Jarno: "I do not blame myself when I detect

this selfish quality among the rest. Every man desires to gather all

things round him, to shape and manage them according to his own

pleasure: the money which he himself does not expend, he seldom reckons

well expended."

"Certainly," observed Lothario, "much of the capital might be abated if

we consumed the interest less capriciously."

"The only thing I shall mention," said the other, "the only reason I can

urge against your now proceeding with those alterations, which, for a

time at least, must cause you loss, is, that you yourself are still in

debt, and that the payment presses hard on you. My advice is, therefore,

to postpone your plan till you are altogether free."

"And in the mean while leave it at the mercy of a bullet, or the fall

of a tile, to annihilate the whole result of my existence and activity!

O my friend! it is ever thus: it is ever the besetting fault of

cultivated men, that they wish to spend their whole resources on some

idea, scarcely any part of them on tangible, existing objects. Why was

it that I contracted debts, that I quarrelled with my uncle, that I left

my sisters to themselves so long? Purely for the sake of an idea. In

America I fancied I might accomplish something; over seas, I hoped to

become useful and essential: if any task was not begirt with a thousand

dangers, I considered it trivial, unworthy of me. How differently do

matters now appear! How precious, how important, seems the duty which is

nearest me, whatever it may be!"

"I recollect the letter which you sent me from the Western world," said

Jarno: "it contains the words, 'I will return; and in my house, amid my

fields, among my people, I will say, _Here or nowhere is America!_'"

"Yes, my friend; and I am still repeating it, and still repining at

myself that I am not so busy here as I was there. For certain equable,

continuous modes of life, there is nothing more than judgment necessary,

and we study to attain nothing more: so that we become unable to discern

what extraordinary services each vulgar day requires of us; or, if we do

discern them, we find abundance of excuses for not doing them. A

judicious man is valuable to himself, but of little value for the

general whole."

"We will not," said Jarno, "bear too hard upon judgment: let us grant,

that, whenever extraordinary things are done, they are generally

foolish."

"Yes! and just because they are not done according to the proper plan.

My brother-in-law, you see, is giving up his fortune, so far as in his

power, to the Community of Herrnhut: he reckons, that, by doing so, he

is advancing the salvation of his soul. Had he sacrificed a small

portion of his revenue, he might have rendered many people happy, might

have made for them and for himself a heaven upon earth. Our sacrifices

are rarely of an active kind: we, as it were, abandon what we give away.

It is not from resolution, but despair, that we renounce our property.

In these days, I confess it, the image of the count is hovering

constantly before me: I have firmly resolved on doing from conviction

what a crazy fear is forcing upon him. I will not wait for being cured.

Here are the papers: they require only to be properly drawn out. Take

the lawyer with you; our guest will help: what I want, you know as well

as I; recovering or dying. I will stand by it, and say, _Here or nowhere

is Herrnhut!_"

When he mentioned dying, Lydia sank before his bed: she hung upon his

arm, and wept bitterly. The surgeon entered: Jarno gave our friend the

papers, and made Lydia leave the room.

"For Heaven's sake! what is this about the count?" cried Wilhelm, when

they reached the hall and were alone. "What count is it that means to

join the Herrnhuters?"

"One whom you know very well," said Jarno. "You yourself are the ghost

who have frightened the unhappy wiseacre into piety: you are the villain

who have brought his pretty wife to such a state that she inclines

accompanying him."

"And she is Lothario's sister?" cried our friend.

"No other!"--"And Lothario knows"--

"The whole!"

"Oh, let me fly!" cried Wilhelm. "How shall I appear before him? What

can he say to me?"

"That no man should cast a stone at his brother; that when one composes

long speeches, with a view to shame his neighbors, he should speak them

to a looking-glass."

"Do you know that too?"

"And many things beside," said Jarno, with a smile. "But in the present

case," continued he, "you shall not get away from me so easily as you

did last time. You need not now be apprehensive of my bounty-money: I

have ceased to be a soldier; when I was one, you might have thought more

charitably of me. Since you saw me, many things have altered. My prince,

my only friend and benefactor, being dead, I have now withdrawn from

busy life and its concerns. I used to have a pleasure in advancing what

was reasonable; when I met with any despicable thing, I hesitated not to

call it so; and men had never done with talking of my restless head and

wicked tongue. The herd of people dread sound understanding more than

any thing: they ought to dread stupidity, if they had any notion what

was really dreadful. Understanding is unpleasant, they must have it

pushed aside; stupidity is but pernicious, they can let it stay. Well,

be it so! I need to live: I will by and by communicate my plans to you;

if you incline, you shall partake in them. But tell me first how things

have gone with you. I see, I feel, that you are changed. How is it with

your ancient maggot of producing something beautiful and good in the

society of gypsies?"

"Do not speak of it!" cried Wilhelm: "I have been already punished for

it. People talk about the stage, but none that has not been upon it can

form the smallest notion of it. How utterly these men are unacquainted

with themselves, how thoughtlessly they carry on their trade, how

boundless their pretensions are, no mortal can conceive. Each would be

not only first, but sole; each wishes to exclude the rest, and does not

see that even with them he can scarcely accomplish any thing. Each

thinks himself a man of marvellous originality; yet, with a ravening

appetite for novelty, he cannot walk a footstep from the beaten track.

How vehemently they counterwork each other! It is only the pitifullest

self-love, the narrowest views of interest, that unite them. Of

reciprocal accommodation they have no idea: backbiting and hidden

spitefulness maintain a constant jealousy among them. In their lives

they are either rakes or simpletons. Each claims the loftiest respect,

each writhes under the slightest blame. 'All this he knew already,' he

will tell you! Why, then, did he not do it? Ever needy, ever

unconfiding, they seem as if their greatest fear were reason and good

taste; their highest care, to secure the majesty of their self-will."

Wilhelm drew breath, intending to proceed with his eulogium, when an

immoderate laugh from Jarno interrupted him. "Poor actors!" cried he;

threw himself into a chair, and laughed away. "Poor, dear actors! Do you

know, my friend," continued he, recovering from his fit, "that you have

been describing, not the playhouse, but the world; that, out of all

ranks, I could find you characters and doings in abundance to suit your

cruel pencil? Pardon me: it makes me laugh again, that you should think

these amiable qualities existed on the boards alone."

Wilhelm checked his feelings. Jarno's extravagant, untimely laughter had

in truth offended him. "It is scarcely hiding your misanthropy," said

he, "when you maintain that faults like these are universal."

"And it shows your unacquaintance with the world, when you impute them

to the theatre in such a heinous light. I pardon, in the player, every

fault that springs from self-deception and the desire to please. If he

seem not something to himself and others, he is nothing. To seem is his

vocation; he must prize his moment of applause, for he gets no other

recompense; he must try to glitter,--he is there to do so."

"You will give me leave at least to smile, in my turn," answered

Wilhelm. "I should never have believed that you could be so merciful, so

tolerant."

"I swear to you I am serious, fully and deliberately serious. All faults

of the man I can pardon in the player: no fault of the player can I

pardon in the man. Do not set me upon chanting my lament about the

latter: it might have a sharper sound than yours."

The surgeon entered from the cabinet; and, to the question how his

patient was, he answered, with a lively air of complaisance, "Extremely

well, indeed: I hope soon to see him quite recovered." He hastened

through the hall, not waiting Wilhelm's speech, who was preparing to

inquire again with greater importunity about the leathern case. His

anxiety to gain some tidings of his Amazon inspired him with confidence

in Jarno: he disclosed his case to him, and begged his help. "You that

know so many things," said he, "can you not discover this?"

Jarno reflected for a moment; then, turning to his friend, "Be calm,"

said he, "give no one any hint of it: we shall come upon the fair one's

footsteps, never fear. At present I am anxious only for Lothario: the

case is dangerous; the kindliness and comfortable talking of the doctor

tells me so. We should be quit of Lydia, for here she does no good; but

how to set about the task I know not. To-night I am looking for our old

physician: we shall then take further counsel."

CHAPTER IV.

The physician came: it was the good, old, little doctor whom we know

already, and to whom we were obliged for the communication of the pious

manuscript. First of all, he visited the wounded man, with whose

condition he appeared to be by no means satisfied. He had next a long

interview with Jarno, but they made no allusion to the subject of it

when they came to supper.

Wilhelm saluted him in the kindest manner, and inquired about the

harper. "We have still hopes of bringing round the hapless creature,"

answered the physician. "He formed a dreary item in your limited and

singular way of life," said Jarno. "How has it fared with him? Tell me."

Having satisfied Jarno's curiosity, the physician thus proceeded: "I

have never seen another man so strangely circumstanced. For many years

he has not felt the smallest interest in any thing without him, scarcely

paid the smallest notice to it: wrapped up in himself, he has looked at

nothing but his own hollow, empty Me, which seemed to him like an

immeasurable abyss. It was really touching when he spoke to us of this

mournful state. 'Before me,' cried he, 'I see nothing; behind me nothing

but an endless night, in which I live in the most horrid solitude. There

is no feeling in me but the feeling of my guilt; and this appears but

like a dim, formless spirit, far before me. Yet here there is no height,

no depth, no forwards, no backwards: no words can express this

never-changing state. Often in the agony of this sameness I exclaim with

violence, Forever! Forever! and this dark, incomprehensible word is

clear and plain to the gloom of my condition. No ray of Divinity

illuminates this night: I shed all my tears by myself and for myself.

Nothing is more horrible to me than friendship and love, for they alone

excite in me the wish that the apparitions which surround me might be

real. But these two spectres also have arisen from the abyss to plague

me, and at length to tear from me the precious consciousness of my

existence, unearthly though it be.'

"You should hear him speak," continued the physician, "when in hours of

confidence he thus alleviates his heart. I have listened to him often

with the deepest feelings. When pressed by any thing, and, as it were,

compelled for an instant to confess that a space of time has passed, he

looks astounded, then again refers the alteration to the things about

him, considering it as an appearance of appearances, and so rejecting

the idea of progress in duration. One night he sung a song about his

gray hairs: we all sat round him weeping."

"Oh, get it for me!" cried Wilhelm.

"But have you not discovered any trace of what he calls his crime?"

inquired Jarno: "nor found out the reason of his wearing such a singular

garb; of his conduct at the burning of the house; of his rage against

the child?"

"It is only by conjectures that we can approximate to any knowledge of

his fate: to question him directly contradicts our principle. Observing

easily that he was of the Catholic religion, we thought perhaps

confession might afford him some assuagement; but he shrinks away with

the strangest gestures every time we try to introduce the priest to him.

However, not to leave your curiosity respecting him entirely

unsatisfied, I may communicate our suppositions on the subject. In his

youth, we think, he must have been a clergyman: hence probably his wish

to keep his beard and long cloak. The joys of love appear to have

remained for many years unknown to him. Late in life, as we conceive,

some aberration with a lady very nearly related to him; then her death,

the consequence of an unlucky creature's birth,--have altogether crazed

his brain.

"His chief delusion is a fancy that he brings misfortune everywhere

along with him; and that death, to be unwittingly occasioned by a boy,

is constantly impending over him. At first he was afraid of Mignon, not

knowing that she was a girl; then Felix frightened him; and as, with all

his misery, he has a boundless love of life, this may, perhaps, have

been the origin of his aversion to the child."

"What hopes have you of his recovery?" inquired our friend.

"It advances slowly," answered the physician, "yet it does advance. He

continues his appointed occupations: we have now accustomed him to read

the newspapers; he always looks for them with eagerness."

"I am curious about his songs," said Jarno.

"Of these I can engage to get you several," replied the doctor. "Our

parson's eldest son, who frequently writes down his father's sermons,

has, unnoticed by the harper, marked on paper many stanzas of his

singing; out of which some songs have gradually been pieced together."

Next morning Jarno met our friend, and said to him, "We have to ask a

kindness of you. Lydia must, for some time, be removed: her violent,

unreasonable love and passionateness hinder the baron's recovery. His

wound requires rest and calmness, though with his healthy temperament it

is not dangerous. You see how Lydia tortures him with her tempestuous

anxieties, her ungovernable terrors, her never-drying tears;

and--Enough!" he added with a smile, after pausing for a moment, "our

doctor expressly requires that she must quit us for a while. We have got

her to believe that a lady, one of her most intimate friends, is at

present in the neighborhood, wishing and expecting instantly to see her.

She has been prevailed upon to undertake a journey to our lawyer's,

which is but two leagues off. This man is in the secret: he will wofully

lament that Fräulein Theresa should just have left him again; he will

seem to think she may still be overtaken. Lydia will hasten after her,

and, if you prosper, will be led from place to place. At last, if she

insist on turning back, you must not contradict her; but the night will

help you: the coachman is a cunning knave, and we shall speak with him

before he goes. You are to travel with her in the coach, to talk to her,

and manage the adventure."

"It is a strange and dubious commission that you give me," answered

Wilhelm. "How painful is the sight of true love injured! And am I to be

the instrument of injuring it? I have never cheated any person so; for

it has always seemed to me, that if we once begin deceiving, with a view

to good and useful purposes, we run the risk of carrying it to excess."

"Yet you cannot manage children otherwise," said Jarno.

"With children it may do," said Wilhelm; "for we love them tenderly, and

take an open charge of them. But with our equals, in behalf of whom our

heart is not so sure to call upon us for forbearance, it might

frequently be dangerous. Yet do not think," he added, after pausing for

a moment, "that I purpose to decline the task on this account. Honoring

your judgment as I do, feeling such attachment to your noble friend,

such eagerness to forward his recovery by whatever means, I willingly

forget myself and my opinions. It is not enough that we can risk our

life to serve a friend: in the hour of need, we should also yield him

our convictions. Our dearest passions, our best wishes, we are bound to

sacrifice in helping him. I undertake the charge; though it is easy to

foresee the pain I shall have to suffer, from the tears, from the

despair, of Lydia."

"And, for this, no small reward awaits you," answered Jarno: "Fräulein

Theresa, whom you get acquainted with, is a lady such as you will rarely

see. She puts many a man to shame; I may say, she is a genuine Amazon:

while others are but pretty counterfeits, that wander up and down the

world in that ambiguous dress."

Wilhelm was struck: he almost fancied that in Theresa he would find his

Amazon again; especially as Jarno, whom he importuned to tell him more,

broke off abruptly, and went away.

The new, near hope of once more seeing that beloved and honored being

awoke a thousand feelings in his heart. He now looked upon the task

which had been given him as the intervention of a special Providence:

the thought that he was minded treacherously to carry off a helpless

girl from the object of her sincerest, warmest love dwelt but a moment

in his mind, as the shadow of a bird flits over the sunshiny earth.

The coach was at the door: Lydia lingered for a moment, as she was about

to mount. "Salute your lord again for me," said she to the old servant:

"tell him that I shall be home before night." Tears were standing in her

eyes as she again looked back when the carriage started. She then turned

round to Wilhelm, made an effort to compose herself, and said, "In

Fräulein Theresa you will find a very interesting person. I wonder what

it is that brings her hither; for, you must know, Lothario and she once

passionately loved each other. In spite of the distance, he often used

to visit her: I was staying with her then; I thought they would have

lived and died for one another. But all at once it went to wreck, no

creature could discover why. He had seen me, and I must confess that I

was envious of Theresa's fortune; that I scarcely hid my love from him;

that, when he suddenly appeared to choose me in her stead, I could not

but accept of him. She behaved to me beyond my wishes, though it almost

seemed as if I had robbed her of this precious lover. But, ah! how many

thousand tears and pains that love of his has cost me! At first we met

only now and then, and by stealth, at some appointed place: but I could

not long endure that kind of life; in his presence only was I happy,

wholly happy! Far from him, my eyes were never dry, my pulse was never

calm. Once he staid away for several days: I was altogether in despair;

I ordered out my carriage, and surprised him here. He received me

tenderly; and, had not this unlucky quarrel happened, I should have led

a heavenly life with him. But, since the time he began to be in danger

and in pain, I shall not say what I have suffered: at this moment I am

bitterly reproaching myself that I could leave him for a single day."

Wilhelm was proceeding to inquire about Theresa, when they reached the

lawyer's house. This gentleman came forward to the coach, lamenting

wofully that Fräulein Theresa was already gone. He invited them to

breakfast; signifying, however, that the lady might be overtaken in the

nearest village. They determined upon following her: the coachman did

not loiter; they had soon passed several villages, and yet come up with

nobody. Lydia now gave orders for returning: the coachman drove along,

as if he did not understand her. As she insisted with redoubled

vehemence, Wilhelm called to him, and gave the promised token. The

coachman answered that it was not necessary to go back by the same road:

he knew a shorter, and, at the same time, greatly easier one. He turned

aside across a wood, and over large commons. At last, no object they

could recognize appearing, he confessed that unfortunately he had lost

his way; declaring, at the same time, that he would soon get right

again, as he saw a little town before him. Night came on: the coachman

managed so discreetly, that he asked everywhere, and nowhere waited for

an answer. He drove along all night: Lydia never closed an eye; in the

moonshine she was constantly detecting similarities, which as constantly

turned out to be dissimilar. In the morning things around seemed known

to her, and but more strange on that account. The coach drew up before a

neat little country-house: a young lady stepped out, and opened the

carriage-door. Lydia looked at her with a stare of wonder, looked round,

looked at her again, and fainted in the arms of Wilhelm.

CHAPTER V.

Wilhelm was conducted to a little upper room: the house was new, as

small nearly as it could be, and extremely orderly and clean. In

Theresa, who had welcomed him and Lydia at the coach, he had not found

his Amazon: she was another and an altogether different woman. Handsome,

and but of middle stature, she moved about with great alertness; and it

seemed as if her clear, blue, open eyes let nothing that occurred escape

them.

She entered Wilhelm's room, inquiring if he wanted any thing. "Pardon

me," said she, "for having lodged you in a chamber which the smell of

paint still renders disagreeable: my little dwelling is but just made

ready; you are handselling this room, which is appointed for my guests.

Would that you had come on some more pleasant errand! Poor Lydia is like

to be a dull companion: in other points, also, you will have much to

pardon. My cook has run away from me, at this unseasonable time; and a

serving-man has bruised his hand. The case might happen I had to manage

every thing myself; and if it were so, why, then we should just put up

with it. One is plagued so with nobody as with one's servants: none of

them will serve you, scarcely even serve himself."

She said a good deal more on different matters: in general she seemed to

like speaking. Wilhelm inquired for Lydia,--if he might not see her, and

endeavor to excuse himself.

"It will have no effect at present," said Theresa: "time excuses, as it

comforts. Words, in both cases, are of little effect. Lydia will not see

you. 'Keep him from my sight,' she cried, when I was leaving her: 'I

could almost despair of human nature. Such an honorable countenance, so

frank a manner, and this secret guile!' Lothario she has quite forgiven:

in a letter to the poor girl, he declares, 'My friends persuaded me, my

friends compelled me!' Among these she reckons you, and she condemns you

with the rest."

"She does me too much honor in so blaming me," said Wilhelm: "I have no

pretension to the friendship of that noble gentleman; on this occasion,

I am but a guiltless instrument. I will not praise what I have done: it

is enough that I could do it. It concerned the health, it concerned the

life, of a man whom I value more than any one I ever knew before. Oh,

what a man is he, Fräulein! and what men are they that live about him!

In their society, I for the first time, I may well say, carried on a

conversation; for the first time, was the inmost sense of my words

returned to me, more rich, more full, more comprehensive, from another's

mouth; what I had been groping for was rendered clear to me; what I had

been thinking I was taught to see. Unfortunately this enjoyment was

disturbed, at first by numerous anxieties and whims, and then by this

unpleasant task. I undertook it with submission; for I reckoned it my

duty, even though I sacrificed my feelings, to comply with the request

of this gifted company of men."

While he spoke, Theresa had been looking at him with a very friendly

air. "Oh, how sweet is it to hear one's own opinion uttered by a

stranger tongue! We are never properly ourselves until another thinks

entirely as we do. My own opinion of Lothario is perfectly the same as

yours: it is not every one that does him justice, and therefore all that

know him better are enthusiastic in esteem of him. The painful sentiment

that mingles with the memory of him in my heart cannot hinder me from

thinking of him daily." A sigh heaved her bosom as she spoke thus, and a

lovely tear glittered in her right eye. "Think not," continued she,

"that I am so weak, so easy to be moved. It is but the eye that weeps.

There was a little wart upon the under eyelid; they have happily removed

it, but the eye has been weak ever since; the smallest cause brings a

tear into it. Here sat the little wart: you cannot see a vestige of it

now."

He saw no vestige, but he saw into her eye; it was clear as crystal: he

almost imagined he could see to the very bottom of her soul.

"We have now," said she, "pronounced the watchword of our friendship:

let us get entirely acquainted as fast as possible. The history of every

person paints his character. I will tell you what my life has been: do

you, too, place a little trust in me, and let us be united even when

distance parts us. The world is so waste and empty, when we figure only

towns and hills and rivers in it; but to know of some one here and there

whom we accord with, who is living on with us, even in silence,--this

makes our earthly ball a peopled garden."

She hastened off, engaging soon to take him out to walk. Her presence

had affected him agreeably: he wished to be informed of her relation to

Lothario. He was called: she came to meet him from her room. While they

descended, necessarily one by one, the straight and even steepish

stairs, she said, "All this might have been larger and grander, had I

chosen to accept the offers of your generous friend; but, to continue

worthy of him, I must study to retain the qualities which gave me merit

in his eyes. Where is the steward?" asked she, stepping from the bottom

of the stairs. "You must not think," continued she, "that I am rich

enough to need a steward: the few acres of my own little property I

myself can manage well enough. The steward is my new neighbor's, who has

bought a fine estate beside us, every point of which I am acquainted

with. The good old gentleman is lying ill of gout: his men are strangers

here; I willingly assist in settling them."

They took a walk through fields, meadows, and some orchards. Everywhere

Theresa kept instructing the steward; nothing so minute but she could

give account of it: and Wilhelm had reason to wonder at her knowledge,

her precision, the prompt dexterity with which she suggested means for

ends. She loitered nowhere, always hastened to the leading-points; and

thus her task was quickly over. "Salute your master," said she, as she

sent away the man: "I mean to visit him as soon as possible, and wish

him a complete recovery. There, now," she added with a smile, as soon as

he was gone, "I might soon be rich: my good neighbor, I believe, would

not be disinclined to offer me his hand."

"The old man with the gout?" cried Wilhelm: "I know not how,

at your years, you could bring yourself to make so desperate a

determination."--"Nor am I tempted to it!" said Theresa. "Whoever can

administer what he possesses has enough; and to be wealthy is a

burdensome affair, unless you understand it."

Wilhelm testified his admiration at her skill in husbandry concerns.

"Decided inclination, early opportunity, external impulse, and continued

occupation in a useful business," said she, "make many things, which

were at first far harder, possible in life. When you have learned what

causes stimulated me in this pursuit, you will cease to wonder at the

talent you now think strange."

On returning home, she sent him to her little garden. Here he could

scarcely turn himself, so narrow were the walks, so thickly was it sown

and planted. On looking over to the court, he could not help smiling:

the fire-wood was lying there, as accurately sawed, split, and piled, as

if it had been part of the building, and had been intended to continue

permanently there. The tubs and implements, all clean, were standing in

their places: the house was painted white and red; it was really

pleasant to behold. Whatever can be done by handicraft, which knows not

beautiful proportions, but labors for convenience, cheerfulness, and

durability, appeared united in this spot. They served him up dinner in

his own room: he had time enough for meditating. Especially it struck

him, that he should have got acquainted with another person of so

interesting a character, who had been so closely related to Lothario.

"It is just," said he to himself, "that a man so gifted should attract

round him gifted women. How far the influence of manliness and dignity

extends! Would that others did not come so wofully short, compared with

him! Yes, confess thy fear. When thou meetest with thy Amazon, this

woman of women, in spite of all thy hopes and dreaming, thou wilt find

her, in the end, to thy humiliation and thy shame,--his bride."

CHAPTER VI.

Wilhelm had passed a restless afternoon, not altogether without tedium,

when towards evening his door opened, and a handsome hunter-boy stepped

forward with a bow. "Shall we have a walk?" said the youth; and in the

instant Wilhelm recognized Theresa by her lovely eyes.

"Pardon me this masquerade," said she; "for now, alas! it is nothing

more. But, as I am going to tell you of the time when I so enjoyed the

world, I will recall those days by every method to my fancy. Come along!

Even the place where we have rested so often from our hunts and

promenades shall help me."

They went accordingly. On their way Theresa said to her attendant, "It

is not fair that I alone should speak: you already know enough of me, I

nothing about you. Tell me, in the mean while, something of yourself,

that I may gather courage to submit to you my history and

situation."--"Alas!" said Wilhelm, "I have nothing to relate but error

on the back of error, deviation following deviation; and I know none

from whom I would more gladly hide my present and my past embarrassments

than from yourself. Your look, the scene you move in, your whole

temperament and manner, prove to me that you have reason to rejoice in

your by-gone life; that you have travelled by a fair, clear path in

constant progress; that you have lost no time; that you have nothing to

reproach yourself withal."

Theresa answered with a smile, "Let us see if you will think so after

you have heard my history." They walked along: among some general

remarks, Theresa asked him, "Are you free?"--"I think I am," said he,

"and yet I do not wish it."--"Good!" said she: "that indicates a

complicated story: you also will have something to relate."

Conversing thus, they ascended the hill, and placed themselves beside a

lofty oak, which spread its shade far out on every side. "Here," said

she, "beneath this German tree, will I disclose to you the history of a

German maiden: listen to me patiently.

"My father was a wealthy nobleman of this province,--a cheerful,

clear-sighted, active, able man; a tender father, an upright friend, an

excellent economist. I knew but one fault in him: he was too compliant

to a wife who did not know his worth. Alas that I should have to say so

of my mother! Her nature was the opposite of his. She was quick and

changeful; without affection either for her home or for me, her only

child; extravagant, but beautiful, sprightly, full of talent, the

delight of a circle she had gathered round her. Her society, in truth,

was never large; nor did it long continue the same. It consisted

principally of men, for no woman could like to be near her; still less

could _she_ endure the merit or the praise of any woman. I resembled my

father, both in form and disposition. As the duckling, with its first

footsteps, seeks the water; so, from my earliest youth, the kitchen, the

storeroom, the granaries, the fields, were my selected element.

Cleanliness and order in the house seemed, even while I was playing in

it, to be my peculiar instinct, my peculiar object. This tendency gave

my father pleasure; and he directed, step by step, my childish endeavor

into the suitablest employments. On the contrary, my mother did not like

me; and she never for a moment hid it.

"I waxed in stature: with my years increased my turn for occupation, and

my father's love to me. When we were by ourselves, when walking through

the fields, when I was helping to examine his accounts, it was then I

could see how glad he was. While gazing on his eyes, I felt as if I had

been looking in upon myself; for it was in the eyes that I completely

resembled him. But, in the presence of my mother, he lost this energy,

this aspect: he excused me mildly when she blamed me unjustly and

violently; he took my part, not as if he would protect me, but as if he

would extenuate the demerit of my good qualities. To none of her

caprices did he set himself in opposition. She began to be immensely

taken with a passion for the stage: a theatre was soon got up; of men of

all shapes and ages, crowding to display themselves along with her upon

her boards, she had abundance; of women, on the other hand, there was

often a scarcity. Lydia, a pretty girl who had been brought up with me,

and who promised from the first to be extremely beautiful, had to

undertake the secondary parts; the mothers and the aunts were

represented by an ancient chamber-maid; while the leading heroines,

lovers, and shepherdesses of every kind were seized on by my mother. I

cannot tell you how ridiculous it seemed to me to see the people, every

one of whom I knew full well, standing on their scaffold, and

pretending, after they had dressed themselves in other clothes, to pass

for something else than what they were. In my eyes they were never any

thing but Lydia and my mother, this baron and that secretary, whether

they appeared as counts and princes, or as peasants; and I could not

understand how they meant to make me think that they were sad or happy,

that they were indifferent or in love, liberal or avaricious, when I

well knew the contrary to be the case. Accordingly I very seldom staid

among the audience: I always snuffed their candles, that I might not be

entirely without employment; I prepared the supper; and next morning,

before they rose, I used to have their wardrobe all sorted, which

commonly, the night before, they had left in a chaotic state.

"To my mother this activity appeared quite proper, but her love I could

not gain. She despised me; and I know for certain that she more than

once exclaimed with bitterness, 'If the mother could be as uncertain as

the father, you would scarcely take this housemaid for my daughter!'

Such treatment, I confess, at length entirely estranged me from her: I

viewed her conduct as the conduct of a person unconnected with me; and,

being used to watch our servants like a falcon (for this, be it said in

passing, is the ground of all true housekeeping), the proceedings of my

mother and her friends at the same time naturally forced themselves upon

my observation. It was easy to perceive that she did not look on all men

alike: I gave sharper heed, and soon found out that Lydia was her

confidant, and had herself, by this opportunity, become acquainted with

a passion, which, from her earliest youth, she had so often represented.

I was aware of all their meetings; but I held my tongue, hinting nothing

to my father, whom I was afraid of troubling. At last, however, I was

obliged to speak. Many of their enterprises could not be accomplished

without corrupting the servants. These now began to grow refractory:

they despised my father's regulations, disregarded my commands. The

disorders which arose from this I could not tolerate: I discovered all,

complained of all to my father.

"He listened to me calmly. 'Good girl!' replied he with a smile; 'I know

it all: be quiet, bear it patiently; for it is on thy account alone that

I endure it.'

"I was not quiet: I had not patience. I in secret blamed my father, for

I did not think that any reason should induce him to endure such things.

I called for regularity from all the servants: I was bent on driving

matters to extremity.

"My mother had been rich before her marriage, yet she squandered more

than she had a right to; and this, as I observed, occasioned many

conferences between my parents. For a long time the evil was not helped,

till at last the passions of my mother brought it to a head.

"Her first gallant became unfaithful in a glaring manner: the house, the

neighborhood, her whole condition, grew offensive to her. She insisted

on removing to a different estate; there she was too solitary: she

insisted on removing to the town; there she felt herself eclipsed among

the crowd. Of much that passed between my father and her I know nothing:

however, he at last determined, under stipulations which I did not

learn, to consent that she should take a journey, which she had been

meditating, to the south of France.

"We were now free; we lived as if in heaven: I do believe my father

could not be a loser, had he purchased her absence by a considerable

sum. All our useless domestics were dismissed, and fortune seemed to

smile on our undertakings: we had some extremely prosperous years; all

things succeeded to our wish. But, alas! this pleasing state was not of

long continuance: altogether unexpectedly my father had a shock of

palsy; it lamed his right side, and deprived him of the proper use of

speech. We had to guess at every thing that he required, for he never

could pronounce the word that he intended. There were times when this

was dreadfully afflicting to us: he would require expressly to be left

alone with me; with earnest gestures, he would signify that every one

should go away; and, when we saw ourselves alone, he could not speak the

word he meant. His impatience mounted to the highest pitch: his

situation touched me to the inmost heart. Thus much seemed certain: he

had something which he wished to tell me, which especially concerned my

interest. What longing did I feel to know it! At other times I could

discover all things in his eyes, but now it was in vain. Even his eyes

no longer spoke. Only this was clear: he wanted nothing, he desired

nothing; he was striving to discover something to me, which unhappily I

did not learn. His malady revisited him: he grew entirely inactive,

incapable of motion; and a short time afterwards he died.

"I know not how it had got rooted in my thoughts, that somewhere he had

hid a treasure which he wished at death to leave me rather than my

mother; I searched about for traces of it while he lived, but I could

meet with none: at his death a seal was put on every thing. I wrote to

my mother, offering to continue in the house, and manage for her: she

refused, and I was obliged to leave the place. A mutual testament was

now produced: it gave my mother the possession and the use of all; and I

was left, at least throughout her life, dependent on her. It was now

that I conceived I rightly understood my father's beckonings: I pitied

him for having been so weak; he had let himself be forced to do unjustly

to me even after he was dead. Certain of my friends maintained that it

was little better than if he had disinherited me: they called upon me to

attack the will by law, but this I never could resolve on doing. I

reverenced my father's memory too much: I trusted in destiny; I trusted

in myself.

"There was a lady in the neighborhood possessed of large property, with

whom I had always been on good terms: she gladly received me; I engaged

to superintend her household, and erelong the task grew very easy to me.

She lived regularly, she loved order in every thing; and I faithfully

assisted her in struggling with her steward and domestics. I am neither

of a niggardly nor grudging temper; but we women are disposed to insist,

more earnestly than men, that nothing shall be wasted. Embezzlement of

all sorts is intolerable to us: we require that each enjoy exactly in so

far as right entitles him.

"Here I was in my element once more: I mourned my father's death in

silence. My protectress was content with me: one small circumstance

alone disturbed my peace. Lydia returned: my mother had been harsh

enough to cast the poor girl off, after having altogether spoiled her.

Lydia had learned with her mistress to consider passions as her

occupation: she was wont to curb herself in nothing. On her unexpected

re-appearance, the lady whom I lived with took her in: she wished to

help me, but could train herself to nothing.

"About this time the relatives and future heirs of my protectress often

visited the house, to recreate themselves with hunting. Lothario was

frequently among them: it was not long till I had noticed, though

without the smallest reference to myself, how far he was superior to the

rest. He was courteous towards all, and Lydia seemed erelong to have

attracted his attention to her. Constantly engaged in something, I was

seldom with the company: while he was there I did not talk so much as

usual; for, I will confess it, lively conversation, from of old, had

been to me the finest seasoning of existence. With my father I was wont

to talk of every thing that happened. What you do not speak of, you

will seldom accurately think of. No man had I ever heard with greater

pleasure than I did Lothario, when he told us of his travels and

campaigns. The world appeared to lie before him clear and open, as to me

the district was in which I lived and managed. We were not entertained

with marvellous personal adventures, the extravagant half-truths of a

shallow traveller, who is always painting out himself, and not the

country he has undertaken to describe. Lothario did not tell us his

adventures: he led us to the place itself. I have seldom felt so pure a

satisfaction.

"But still higher was my pleasure when I heard him talk, one evening,

about women. The subject happened to be introduced: some ladies of the

neighborhood had come to see us, and were speaking, in the common style,

about the cultivation of the female mind. Our sex, they said, was

treated unjustly: every sort of higher education men insisted on

retaining for themselves; they admitted us to no science, they required

us either to be dolls or family drudges. To all this Lothario said not

much; but, when the party was a little thinned, he gave us his opinion

more explicitly. 'It is very strange,' cried he, 'that men are blamed

for their proceeding here: they have placed woman on the highest station

she is capable of occupying. And where is there any station higher than

the ordering of the house? While the husband has to vex himself with

outward matters, while he has wealth to gather and secure, while perhaps

he takes part in the administration of the state, and everywhere depends

on circumstances; ruling nothing, I may say, while he conceives that he

is ruling much; compelled to be but politic where he would willingly be

reasonable, to dissemble where he would be open, to be false where he

would be upright; while thus, for the sake of an object which he never

reaches, he must every moment sacrifice the first of objects, harmony

with himself,--a reasonable housewife is actually governing in the

interior of her family; has the comfort and activity of every person in

it to provide for, and make possible. What is the highest happiness of

mortals, if not to execute what we consider right and good,--to be

really masters of the means conducive to our aims? And where should or

can our nearest aims be, but in the interior of our home? All those

indispensable and still to be renewed supplies, where do we expect, do

we require, to find them, if not in the place where we rise and where we

go to sleep, where kitchen and cellar, and every species of

accommodation for ourselves and ours, is to be always ready? What

unvarying activity is needed to conduct this constantly recurring series

in unbroken living order! How few are the men to whom it is given to

return regularly like a star, to command their day as they command their

night; to form for themselves their household instruments, to sow and to

reap, to gain and to expand, and to travel round their circle with

perpetual success and peace and love! It is when a woman has attained

this inward mastery, that she truly makes the husband whom she loves, a

master: her attention will acquire all sorts of knowledge; her activity

will turn them all to profit. Thus is she dependent upon no one; and she

procures her husband genuine independence, that which is interior and

domestic: whatever he possesses, he beholds secured; what he earns, well

employed: and thus he can direct his mind to lofty objects; and, if

fortune favors, he may act in the state the same character which so well

becomes his wife at home.'

"He then described to us the kind of wife he wished. I reddened; for he

was describing me, as I looked and lived. I silently enjoyed my triumph;

and the more, as I perceived, from all the circumstances, that he had

not meant me individually, that, indeed, he did not know me. I cannot

recollect a more delightful feeling in my life than this, when a man

whom I so highly valued gave the preference, not to my person, but to my

inmost nature. What a recompense did I consider it! What encouragement

did it afford me!

"So soon as they were gone, my worthy benefactress with a smile observed

to me, 'Pity that men often think and speak of what they will never

execute, else here were a special match, the exact thing for my dear

Theresa!' I made sport of her remark, and added, that indeed men's

understanding gave its vote for household wives, but that their heart

and imagination longed for other qualities; and that we household people

could not stand a rivalry with beautiful and lovely women. This was

spoken for the ear of Lydia; she did not hide from us that Lothario had

made a deep impression on her heart: and, in reality, he seemed at each

new visit to grow more and more attentive to her. She was poor, and not

of rank; she could not think of marriage; but she was unable to resist

the dear delight of charming and of being charmed. I had never loved,

nor did I love at present; but though it was unspeakably agreeable to

see in what light my turn of mind was viewed, how high it was ranked by

such a man, I will confess I still was not altogether satisfied. I now

wished that he should be acquainted with me, and should take a personal

interest in me. This wish arose, without the smallest settled thought of

any thing that could result from it.

"The greatest service I did my benefactress was in bringing into order

the extensive forests which belonged to her. In this precious property,

whose value time and circumstances were continually increasing, matters

still went on according to the old routine,--without regularity, without

plan, no end to theft and fraud. Many hills were standing bare: an equal

growth was nowhere to be found but in the oldest cuttings. I personally

visited the whole of them, with an experienced forester. I got the woods

correctly measured: I set men to hew, to sow, to plant; in a short time,

all things were in progress. That I might mount more readily on

horseback, and also walk on foot with less obstruction, I had a suit of

men's clothes made for me: I was present in many places, I was feared in

all.

"Hearing that our young friends, with Lothario, were purposing to have

another hunt, it came into my head, for the first time in my life, to

make a figure, or, that I may not do myself injustice, to pass in the

eyes of this noble gentleman for what I was. I put on my men's clothes,

took my gun upon my shoulder, and went forward with our hunters, to

await the party on our marches. They came: Lothario did not know me; a

nephew of the lady introduced me to him as a clever forester, joked

about my youth, and carried on his jesting in my praise, till at last

Lothario recognized me. The nephew seconded my project, as if we had

concocted it together. He circumstantially and gratefully described what

I had done for the estates of his aunt, and consequently for himself.

"Lothario listened with attention: he talked with me, inquired

concerning all particulars of the estates and district. I, of course,

was glad to have such an opportunity of showing him my knowledge: I

stood my ordeal very well; I submitted certain projects of improvement

to him, which he sanctioned, telling me of similar examples, and

strengthening my arguments by the connection which he gave them. My

satisfaction grew more perfect every moment. Happily, however, I merely

wished that he should be acquainted with me, not that he should love me.

We came home; and I observed, more clearly than before, that the

attention he showed Lydia seemed expressive of a secret attachment. I

had reached my object, yet I was not at rest: from that day he showed a

true respect for me, a fine trust in me; in company he usually spoke to

me, asked my opinion, and appeared to be persuaded, that, in household

matters, nothing was unknown to me. His sympathy excited me extremely:

even when the conversation was of general finance and political economy,

he used to lead me to take part in it; and, in his absence, I endeavored

to acquire more knowledge of our province, nay, of all the empire. The

task was easy for me: it was but repeating on the great scale what I

knew so accurately on the small.

"From this period he visited our house oftener. We talked, I may say, of

every thing; yet in some degree our conversation always in the end grew

economical, if even but in a secondary sense. What immense effects a

man, by the continuous application of his powers, his time, his money,

even by means which seem but small, may bring about, was frequently and

largely spoken of.

"I did not withstand the tendency which drew me towards him; and, alas!

I felt too soon how deep, how cordial, how pure and genuine, was my

love, as I believed it more and more apparent that Lydia, and not

myself, was the occasion of these visits. She, at least, was most

vividly persuaded so: she made me her confidant; and this, again, in

some degree, consoled me. For, in truth, what she explained so much to

her advantage, I reckoned nowise of importance: there was not a trace of

any serious lasting union being meditated, but the more distinctly did I

see the wish of the impassioned girl to be his at any price.

"Thus did matters stand, when the lady of the house surprised me with an

unexpected message. 'Lothario,' said she, 'offers you his hand, and

desires through life to have you ever at his side.' She enlarged upon my

qualities, and told me, what I liked sufficiently to hear, that in me

Lothario was persuaded he had found the person whom he had so long been

seeking for.

"The height of happiness was now attained for me: my hand was asked by a

man for whom I had the greatest value, beside whom, and along with whom,

I might expect a full, expanded, free, and profitable employment of my

inborn tendency, of my talent perfected by practice. The sum of my

existence seemed to have enlarged itself into infinitude. I gave my

consent: he himself came, and spoke with me in private; he held out his

hand to me; he looked into my eyes, he clasped me in his arms, and

pressed a kiss upon my lips. It was the first and the last. He confided

to me all his circumstances; told me how much his American campaign had

cost him, what debts he had accumulated on his property: that, on this

score, he had in some measure quarrelled with his grand-uncle; that the

worthy gentleman intended to relieve him, though truly in his own

peculiar way, being minded to provide him with a rich wife, whereas, a

man of sense would choose a household wife, at all events; that,

however, by his sister's influence, he hoped his noble relative would be

persuaded. He set before me the condition of his fortune, his plans, his

prospects, and requested my co-operation. Till his uncle should consent,

our promise was to be a secret.

"Scarcely was he gone when Lydia asked me whether he had spoken of her.

I answered no, and tired her with a long detail of economical affairs.

She was restless, out of humor; and his conduct, when he came again, did

not improve her situation.

"But the sun, I see, is bending to the place of rest. Well for you, my

friend! You would otherwise have had to hear this story, which I often

enough go over by myself, in all its most minute particulars. Let me

hasten: we are coming to an epoch on which it is not good to linger.

"By Lothario I was made acquainted with his noble sister; and she, at a

convenient time, contrived to introduce me to the uncle. I gained the

old man: he consented to our wishes, and I returned with happy tidings

to my benefactress. The affair was now no secret in the house: Lydia

heard of it; she thought the thing impossible. When she could no longer

doubt of it, she vanished all at once: we knew not whither she had gone.

"Our marriage-day was coming near: I had often asked him for his

portrait; just as he was going off, I reminded him that he had promised

it. He said, 'You have never given me the case you want to have it

fitted into.' This was true: I had got a present from a female friend,

on which I set no ordinary value. Her name, worked from her own hair,

was fastened on the outer glass: within, there was a vacant piece of

ivory, on which her portrait was to have been painted, when a sudden

death snatched her from me. Lothario's love had cheered me at the time

her death lay heavy on my spirits, and I wished to have the void which

she had left me in her present filled by the picture of my friend.

"I ran to my chamber, fetched my jewel-box, and opened it in his

presence. Scarcely had he looked into it, when he noticed a medallion

with the portrait of a lady. He took it in his hand, considered it

attentively, and asked me hastily whose face it was. 'My mother's,'

answered I. 'I could have sworn,' said he, 'that it was the portrait of

a Madame Saint Alban, whom I met some years ago in Switzerland.'--'It is

the same,' replied I, smiling, 'and so you have unwittingly become

acquainted with your step-mother. Saint Alban is the name my mother has

assumed for travelling with: she passes under it in France at present.'

"'I am the miserablest man alive!' exclaimed he, as he threw the

portrait back into the box, covered his eyes with his hand, and hurried

from the room. He sprang on horseback: I ran to the balcony, and called

out after him; he turned, waved his hand to me, went speedily away,--and

I have never seen him more."

The sun went down: Theresa gazed with unaverted looks upon the splendor,

and both her fine eyes filled with tears.

Theresa spoke not: she laid her hand upon her new friend's hands; he

kissed it with emotion: she dried her tears, and rose. "Let us return,

and see that all is right," said she.

The conversation was not lively by the way. They entered the

garden-door, and noticed Lydia sitting on a bench: she rose, withdrew

before them, and walked in. She had a paper in her hand: two little

girls were by her. "I see," observed Theresa, "she is still carrying her

only comfort, Lothario's letter, with her. He promises that she shall

live with him again so soon as he is well: he begs of her till then to

stay in peace with me. On these words she hangs, with these lines she

solaces herself; but with his friends she is extremely angry."

Meanwhile the two children had approached. They courtesied to Theresa,

and gave her an account of all that had occurred while she was absent.

"You see here another part of my employment," said Theresa. "Lothario's

sister and I have made a league: we educate some little ones in common;

such as promise to be lively, serviceable housewives I take charge of,

she of such as show a finer and more quiet talent: it is right to

provide for the happiness of future husbands, both in household and in

intellectual matters. When you become acquainted with my noble friend, a

new era in your life will open. Her beauty, her goodness, make her

worthy of the reverence of the world." Wilhelm did not venture to

confess, that unhappily the lovely countess was already known to him;

that his transient connection with her would occasion him perpetual

sorrow. He was well pleased that Theresa let the conversation drop, that

some business called for her within. He was now alone: the intelligence

which he had just received of the young and lovely countess being driven

to replace, by deeds of benevolence, her own lost comfort, made him very

sad; he felt, that, with her, it was but a need of self-oblivion, an

attempt to supply, by the hopes of happiness to others, the want of a

cheerful enjoyment of existence in herself. He thought Theresa happy,

since, even in that unexpected melancholy alteration which had taken

place in her prospects, there was no alteration needed in herself. "How

fortunate beyond all others," cried he, "is the man, who, in order to

adjust himself to fate, is not required to cast away his whole preceding

life!"

Theresa came into his room, and begged pardon for disturbing him. "My

whole library," said she, "is in the wall-press here: they are rather

books which I do not throw aside, than which I have taken up. Lydia

wants a pious book: there are one or two of that sort among them.

Persons who throughout the whole twelve months are worldly, think it

necessary to be godly at a time of straits: all moral and religious

matters they regard as physic, which is to be taken with aversion when

they are unwell; in a clergyman, a moralist, they see nothing but a

doctor, whom they cannot soon enough get rid of. Now, I confess, I look

upon religion as a kind of diet, which can only be so when I make a

constant practice of it, when throughout the whole twelve months I never

lose it out of sight."

She searched among the books: she found some edifying works, as they are

called. "It was of my mother," said Theresa, "that poor Lydia learned to

have recourse to books like these. While her gallant continued faithful,

plays and novels were her life: his departure brought religious writings

once more into credit. I, for my share, cannot understand," continued

she, "how men have made themselves believe that God speaks to us through

books and histories. The man to whom the universe does not reveal

directly what relation it has to him, whose heart does not tell him what

he owes to himself and others, that man will scarcely learn it out of

books, which generally do little more than give our errors names."

She left our friend alone: he passed his evening in examining the little

library; it had, in truth, been gathered quite at random.

Theresa, for the few days Wilhelm spent with her, continued still the

same: she related to him at different times the consequences of that

singular incident with great minuteness. Day and hour, place and name,

were present to her memory: we shall here compress into a word or two so

much of it as will be necessary for the information of our readers.

The reason of Lothario's quick departure was, unhappily, too easy to

explain. He had met Theresa's mother on her journey: her charms

attracted him; she was no niggard of them; and this luckless transitory

aberration came at length to shut him out from being united to a lady

whom nature seemed to have expressly made for him. As for Theresa, she

continued in the pure circle of her duties. They learned that Lydia had

been living in the neighborhood in secret. She was happy that the

marriage, though for unknown causes, had not been completed. She

endeavored to renew her intimacy with Lothario; and more, as it seemed,

out of desperation than affection, by surprise than with consideration,

from tedium than of purpose, he had met her wishes.

Theresa was not uneasy on this account; she waived all further claims;

and, if he had even been her husband, she would probably have had

sufficient spirit to endure a matter of this kind, if it had not

troubled her domestic order: at least, she often used to say, that a

wife who properly conducted her economy should take no umbrage at such

little fancies of her husband, but be always certain that he would

return.

Erelong Theresa's mother had deranged her fortune: the losses fell upon

the daughter, whose share of the effects, in consequence, was small. The

old lady, who had been Theresa's benefactress, died, leaving her a

little property in land, and a handsome sum by way of legacy. Theresa

soon contrived to make herself at home in this new, narrow circle.

Lothario offered her a better property, Jarno endeavoring to negotiate

the business; but she refused it. "I will show," said she, "in this

little, that I deserved to share the great with him; but I keep this

before me, that, should accident embarrass me, on my own account or that

of others, I will betake myself without the smallest hesitation to my

generous friend."

There is nothing less liable to be concealed and unemployed than

well-directed practical activity. Scarcely had she settled in her little

property, when her acquaintance and advice began to be desired by many

of her neighbors; and the proprietor of the adjacent lands gave her

plainly enough to understand that it depended on herself alone whether

she would take his hand, and be heiress of the greater part of his

estates. She had already mentioned the matter to our friend: she often

jested with him about marriages, suitable and unsuitable.

"Nothing," said she once, "gives a greater loose to people's tongues

than when a marriage happens which they can denominate unsuitable: and

yet the unsuitable are far more common than the suitable; for, alas!

with most marriages, it is not long till things assume a very piteous

look. The confusion of ranks by marriage can be called unsuitable only

when the one party is unable to participate in the manner of existence

which is native, habitual, and which at length grows absolutely

necessary, to the other. The different classes have different ways of

living, which they cannot change or communicate to one another; and this

is the reason why connections such as these, in general, were better not

be formed. Yet exceptions, and exceptions of the happiest kind, are

possible. Thus, too, the marriage of a young woman with a man advanced

in life is generally unsuitable; yet I have seen some such turn out

extremely well. For me, I know but of one kind of marriage that would be

entirely unsuitable,--that in which I should be called upon to make a

show, and manage ceremonies: I would rather give my hand to the son of

any honest farmer in the neighborhood."

Wilhelm at length made ready for returning. He requested of Theresa to

obtain for him a parting word with Lydia. The impassioned girl at last

consented: he said some kindly things to her, to which she answered,

"The first burst of anguish I have conquered. Lothario will be ever dear

to me: but for those friends of his, I know them; and it grieves me that

they are about him. The abbé, for a whim's sake, could leave a person in

extreme need, or even plunge one into it; the doctor would have all

things go on like clock-work; Jarno has no heart; and you--at least no

force of character! Just go on: let these three people use you as their

tool; they will have many an execution to commit to you. For a long

time, as I know well, my presence has been hateful to them. I had not

found out their secret, but I had observed that they had one. Why these

bolted rooms, these strange passages? Why can no one ever reach the

central tower? Why did they banish me, whenever they could, to my own

chamber? I will confess, jealousy at first incited me to these

discoveries: I feared some lucky rival might be hid there. I have now

laid aside that suspicion: I am well convinced that Lothario loves me,

that he means honorably by me; but I am quite as well convinced that his

false and artful friends betray him. If you would really do him service,

if you would ever be forgiven for the injury which I have suffered from

you, free him from the hands of these men. But what am I expecting! Give

this letter to him; repeat what it contains,--that I will love him

forever, that I depend upon his word. Ah!" cried she, rising, and

throwing herself with tears upon Theresa's neck: "he is surrounded by my

foes; they will endeavor to persuade him that I have sacrificed nothing

for his sake. Oh! Lothario may well believe that he is worthy of any

sacrifice, without needing to be grateful for it."

Wilhelm's parting with Theresa was more cheerful: she wished they might

soon meet again. "Me you wholly know," said she: "I alone have talked

while we have been together. It will be your duty, next time, to repay

my candor."

During his return he kept contemplating this new and bright phenomenon

with the liveliest recollection. What confidence had she inspired him

with. He thought of Mignon and Felix, and how happy they might be if

under her direction; then he thought of himself, and felt what pleasure

it would be to live beside a being so entirely serene and clear. As he

approached Lothario's castle, he observed, with more than usual

interest, the central tower and the many passages and side-buildings: he

resolved to question Jarno or the abbé on the subject, by the earliest

opportunity.

CHAPTER VII.

On arriving at the castle, Wilhelm found its noble owner in the way of

full recovery: the doctor and the abbé had gone off; Jarno alone was

there. It was not long till the patient now and then could ride,

sometimes by himself, sometimes with his friends. His conversation was

at once courteous and earnest, instructive and enlivening: you could

often notice in it traces of a tender sensibility; although he strove to

hide it, and almost seemed to blame it, when, in spite of him, it came

to view.