CHAPTER XLII.

Tobias Bachhuber

* * * * *

_CHAPTER XXI_.

THE BUTTER MACHINE

In the large hall of the University a select audience was assembled;

state and municipal dignitaries, and men of learning, and students,

were constantly streaming backwards and forwards through the doors of

the great entrance. The wives of the Professors sat above in the

gallery: Ilse was in the place of honor, in the middle of the front

row, with Laura. This was a great day for Ilse, for the splendor of the

highest academical dignity rested upon her husband's head. Felix Werner

had been chosen Rector Magnificus, and was now about to enter upon his

office.

The instructors of the University walked in a long procession into the

hall; before them went the beadles in their antique dress of office,

carrying great maces in their hands; the gentlemen themselves walked in

the order of their several faculties. Theology began the procession,

and Philosophy closed it; the latter, both from the number and

importance of its members, was the strongest division; altogether they

formed a stately company; by the side of some nonentities went men of

the highest repute, of whom the country might well be proud; and it was

a pleasure to every one to see so much learning assembled. These great

minds, however, did not make a very dignified appearance in the

procession: they kept their ranks badly; many looked as if they were

thinking more of their books than of the impression made by their

appearance on the public; one had come behind time--it was Raschke--he

entered carelessly, running behind the tutors and nodding familiarly to

his acquaintances. The procession was received by the Academical Choir

with a Latin song, solemn, but unintelligible. The Professors ranged

themselves on their seats; the ex-Rector mounted the platform, which

was decorated with flowers; he first made a learned speech upon the

benefits which medical science had long ago derived from the wandering

tribes of Arabia, and then read a report of the academical events of

the last year. The discourse was fine; the proceedings were imposing;

the distinguished guests from the city and government sat immovable;

the Professors listened attentively, the students rattled only a little

at the door; and if at times from the high ceiling of the great hall

the spirit of weariness waved its great bat-wings before the eyes of

the audience, as is inevitable at academical ceremonies, Ilse to-day

did not remark it. When the Rector had ended his discourse, with a

graceful wave of his hand and some complimentary words, he invited his

successor to join him on the platform. Felix did so. The Rector took

off his cap and the golden chain and mantle, which looked like an old

regal mantle, and put them all upon his successor, with warm wishes and

expressions of esteem. Laura whispered to her neighbor: "If our

Professor had a sword at his side he would look like one of the

Electors in the pictures up there." Ilse assented joyfully; it was

precisely what she thought. Now Werner came forward with his scarlet

mantle and chain. The beadles crossed their maces on both sides of the

chair, and the new Rector majestically began an address to the

Professors and students, in which he begged for their good will and

promised good government. Again the Academical Choir began a Latin song

of triumph, and the procession of University instructors retired into

the neighboring room, where the Professors surrounded their Rector,

shaking hands with him, and the beadles packed the scarlet mantle and

chain in a chest, to be preserved for future occasions. Ilse, too,

received the congratulations of the ladies, who placed themselves on

the gallery steps and greeted her gaily as "Magnifica."

As soon as she got home. Ilse threw her arms round her husband's neck,

and told him how stately he looked in his grand attire. "What the gipsy

said," she exclaimed, "has been fulfilled to-day: the man whom I love

has worn a prince's dress; I greet you, my Prince and Lord."

It was on the afternoon of this great day that the visit of the

Hereditary Prince was announced. Ilse once more looked into every

corner of her bright dwelling, that she might experience no disgrace as

mistress of the house, and made her husband instruct her as to the

right form of speaking to an illustrious prince; "In order that I may

know what to say if he addresses me. I am anxious, Felix, for it is a

great thing to meet the future Sovereign of one's country."

As the clock struck, the carriage drove up. Gabriel, in his best coat,

conducted the gentlemen to the Rector's room. Meanwhile Ilse walked up

and down, burning with expectation. It was not long before her door was

opened, and two gentlemen entered, introduced by her husband. The

Prince was of a slight figure, medium height, black hair, with small

face and features; over the delicate lips there was a dark line, which

showed the beginning of a mustache; his carriage was awkward and

embarrassed, and he gave one the impression of being a delicate and

weak man. He seemed confused when he approached Ilse, and he told her,

in so low a tone that she could scarcely make out his words, how much

he rejoiced in meeting with a countrywoman.

His shy manner gave Ilse courage; she was touched by the countenance of

her young Prince, and accosted him: "We in our country cling to our

home, and as I now have the opportunity of making your Highness's

acquaintance, I venture to say that I remember your Highness. You were

quite a young gentleman, and I was only a half-grown girl when I first

saw you in your father's capital. Your Highness was sitting on a very

small horse; whilst my father and I made our obeisances, the horse

stood still and would not go on. You looked kindly at me, just as you

do now. I had a couple of roses in my hand, and, as you were our young

Prince, I offered them to you. But you shook your head and could not

take them, as you had to hold the bridle, and I believe you were a

little timid about your horse: but the horse poked its head into the

flowers. Then a tall man in uniform rode up and held the horse, and we

retreated. You see I remember it all, for it was an important thing for

a country girl to remember.--But will your Highness do me the honor to

take a seat?"

The Prince's attendant, the Chamberlain von Weidegg, addressed Ilse

courteously; he was a man of middle age, tall, of good address, and not

bad looking; he took the lead in the conversation, and spoke pleasantly

of the hills and woods of their common country; it was an agreeable

interchange of words on every day subjects. The Prince was silent,

played with his eyeglass, and looked cautiously and wonderingly at the

stately wife of the Professor, who was sitting opposite him. At last

the Chamberlain inquired at what hour Ilse received strangers, and

expressed a wish that the Prince and he might be allowed occasionally

to visit her. "On account of the few persons with whom my illustrious

Prince can associate in this city, a house in which he may expect not

to be treated as a stranger will be particularly acceptable to him."

This was very pleasant and courteous, and when the Professor had

accompanied the strangers to the entrance, he said to his wife, "They

appear to be very amiable."

"I had imagined my Prince to be quite different, Felix, bold and

haughty; but he has not even a star on his breast."

"It must have been in his pocket," said the Professor, consolingly.

"But he looks like a good youth," concluded Ilse, "and, as he is my

countryman, he shall be well treated."

"That is right," replied the Professor, laughing.

In a short time the Hereditary Prince and his Chamberlain found out

that this good treatment was very pleasant. The Chamberlain proved

himself an agreeable man; he had travelled much, had experience of all

sorts, had seen much, and read a good deal on various subjects; he

collected autographs, had no vices and no bad habits. During a long

sojourn in Rome he had been intimate with old acquaintances of the

Professor, he had wandered through the ruins of Pompeii, and showed a

warm interest in the details of old Roman houses. Besides this he

understood how to listen and how to ask questions, and could, with

decorum, tell doubtful anecdotes of people of note. His conversation

was agreeable to the Professor, he was welcome at Ilse's tea-table, and

liked by her guests. It seemed also to give him pleasure to converse

with the learned men; he visited the Doctor and examined his old

wood-cuts; he treated Professor Raschke with considerate politeness,

and, with his Prince, accompanied the Philosopher on a fine winter

evening to his distant dwelling, and during the walk Raschke imparted

to them very interesting observations upon plants.

It cannot be said that the Hereditary Prince was much at home among the

Professors; he listened with toleration to their conversation, as

became an academical student, and said the right thing at the right

time; but he showed by an impatient jerk of his lorgnette that he would

much have preferred any other kind of entertainment.

Ilse was not pleased when he fidgeted with his glass, for she wished

that he should conduct himself with dignity among other men, and she

seemed to feel as if the gentlemen would reproach her because the

Prince took no real interest in serious subjects. As mistress of the

house, therefore, she was very attentive to him; she ventured to advise

him not to drink his tea too strong, and prepared it for him herself.

The Prince was pleased with this, and enjoyed sitting next to her or

watching her perform her duties at the table as hostess. It was only

with her that he ever lost his cautious reserve; he talked to her of

the remarkable things he had seen in the town, and when he had nothing

to say, he assisted her in her duties; he placed the cream jug before

her, and always passed the sugar-bowl when he thought that Ilse wanted

it.

One evening as the Prince was sitting silently by Ilse's side, and the

gentlemen present were engaged in passing indignant judgment on the

arbitrary management of the Vatican Library, Ilse proposed to him to

look over a work that her husband had bought, containing good portraits

of famous men of learning and artists. They went to examine it by a

lamp in the next room, and the Prince looked at the portraits with

languid interest. "Of many of them I only know," began Ilse, "what my

husband has told me; I have not read their books, and of the beautiful

things they have painted and composed, I know but little."

"That is just my case," replied the Prince, honestly, "it is only about

the musicians that I know anything."

"Yet it is a pleasure to look at their portraits," continued Ilse; "one

judges from them what the character and merits of these men may have

been, and when one asks any person who knows more, one finds one's

views sometimes confirmed and sometimes erroneous. That seems to make

us like the men and become intimate with them, and we seek for

opportunities of making acquaintance with their works of art and

learning. I long to know more about them. But when one has read about a

great man, and after a time sees his picture, then his face appears

like that of a dear friend."

"Do you like to read?" asked the Prince, looking up.

"I am beginning to like it," replied Ilse; "but unlearned heads do not

take in serious things at once, especially when they excite earnest

thoughts."

"I do not like to read," replied the Prince; "at least in the way in

which it is pressed upon me. It is tedious to me, for I have never

learned anything thoroughly, and I know nothing well."

He said this with bitterness. Ilse was shocked at the confession. "Your

Highness will find that that will change now,--you will have such

excellent opportunities here."

"Yes," replied the Prince, "from morning till evening, and one thing

after another. I am always glad when the lectures are over."

Ilse regarded the young Prince sympathizingly. "That is very

unfortunate for your Highness. Is there nothing that you would care to

know or possess? no collection of minerals or butterflies, or of rare

books or engravings, like the Doctor over there has? In this way one

can find enjoyment the whole year, and while collecting these valuable

things one learns a great deal."

"If I wish to have anything of the kind I can have any quantity of them

collected," replied the Prince; "but to what end? I have already so

many things about me. If I were to express a wish to collect minerals,

everybody about me would be in a state of excitement, and it would

either be forbidden or I should have a whole collection brought into

the house."

"That indeed is of no use," said Ilse, pityingly; "the only pleasure is

in looking after each individual thing one's self; no man can know all,

but everyone should have something which he understands thoroughly. If

I may venture to compare my insignificant life with the important one

that awaits your Highness, I should like to tell you my own experience.

When my good mother was laid on her deathbed I was quite a young girl,

but I wished to take her place in the household. I found, however, that

I was quite at a loss what to do. I did not even know whether the

people were industrious or lazy; I did not understand how to do

anything, and if it was done badly I could not teach them better. One

evening I sat discouraged and angry with myself, and I believe I wept.

Then my good father said, 'You should not undertake so much at once,

you should first learn some one thing accurately.' Then he took me into

the dairy. Does your Highness know what that is."

"Not exactly," replied the Prince.

She then explained to him the whole day's work of the dairy. "This was

the result: I took it in hand myself, learned the work thoroughly, and

thus was able to judge the maids. I learned everything about the cows

accurately, and which was the best kind for us, and why; for every

species does not thrive everywhere. I soon became ambitious of making

good butter and cheese. I obtained information from those who were

skilled in it, and sometimes read a book about it. Then I conferred

with my father about improvements, and just when I came away we were

thinking of getting a new machine instead of our large wooden churn. It

is now set up; it is said to be very good, and to make good butter; but

I have not seen it. Does your Highness know anything about churning?"

"No," replied the Prince.

Ilse described the process to him as far as she could, and continued:

"When my father made up his books at midsummer, it was my pride that

the dairy produce should every year increase in amount; but I was

provoked that my father laughed at my small profits; he valued the cows

for other reasons." Ilse gave a slight explanation on this point, and

then continued: "From this time, your Highness, I felt quite at home in

the world. Now, if I go to a factory, I find myself looking upon it as

another kind of dairy, and when state revenues and government

expenditure are talked of, I compare them with our house and farming

accounts. But it is very silly in me to talk to your Highness about

butter and cheese."

The Prince looked frankly into her eyes. "Ah kind lady," he said,

"yours has been a happy life; I have never been so fortunate as to be

able to enjoy quietly what I like. From morning to evening I have been

in leading-strings, and passed on from one person to another. When, as

a child, I went into the garden, the governess or tutor was always

there, and when I ran or jumped about on the grass, I was to do it in a

becoming manner; once, when I wished to turn a somersault, like other

boys, it excited the utmost dismay, on account of its indecorum. Every

moment it was said, 'that was not befitting a Prince,' or, 'this is not

the proper time.' When I came out of my room I was stared at by

strangers, and had always to take notice of them and bow to them; I was

told with whom I was or was not to shake hands, and who I was or was

not to accost. Every day passed thus. One was always to use empty forms

of speech in three languages, and every day the uppermost thought was,

whether one had conducted one's self well. Once I and my sister wished

to lay out a little garden; immediately the head gardener was called to

dig and plant for us, thus all our pleasure was spoilt. Then we wished

to act a little play, and had thought of a nice piece; again we were

told that it was foolish trash, and that we must learn a play by heart,

with French modes of speech, in which the children always exclaimed how

dearly they loved papa and mamma, whilst we had no mother. In this

training for mere show my childhood passed. I assure you I know nothing

thoroughly, and though I remain here at study forever, I feel that it

can do me no good, and I shall enter the world a very useless being."

"Ah, that is sad," exclaimed Ilse, with deep sympathy; "but I entreat

of your Highness not to lose courage. It is impossible that the life

here, among so many men of the highest capacity and worth, should not

be beneficial to you."

The Prince shook his head.

"Think what a future lies before your Highness," continued Ilse. "Ah,

you have every reason to be brave and confident. Your office is the

highest on earth. We others work, and are happy if we can only preserve

one human being from evil; but you will have the welfare and lives of

thousands in your power. What you do for schools and learning through

the selection of good or bad teachers, and your decisions as to peace

or war, may ruin or make the whole country happy. When I think of this

exalted vocation, I feel a deep respect for you, and I would implore

you on my knees to do your utmost to make yourself a worthy prince.

Therefore, the best advice for you is, that you should be willing to

learn even what is wearisome to you. For the rest, have confidence in

the future: you will yet have pleasure in life, and a feeling of worth

and capacity."

The Prince was silent; for every allusion to his future position as

Sovereign was forbidden at Court, and even less than others was the

heir to the throne allowed to indulge in such a thought or cherish such

a hope.

"I hear lectures enough," said the Prince, at last; "but I wish that I

might have been brought up by a country gentleman, as you have been."

They returned to the gentlemen, and the Prince paid much attention to

their conversation during the rest of the evening. When he went away,

Ilse said to her husband: "There is one who has what would make

thousands happy, yet he is unhappy, for they have bound up his honest

heart in leather like an automaton. Oh, be kind to him, Felix; open

your soul to him, that he may gain some of your confidence and power."

Her husband kissed her, and said, "That will be easier for you to do

than for me. But he has himself suggested the right thing; three years

with your father would be the best training for him and his country."

At breakfast the following morning the Chamberlain took the newspapers

from the hand of the lackey; the Prince was sitting silently at table,

playing with a tea-spoon, and watching a fly which was disrespectfully

trying to make its way from the edge of the cream-jug into the princely

cream. As the written instructions imposed upon the Chamberlain the

duty of guarding the Prince from all dangerous reading--by that was

meant all discontented newspapers and improper novels--he thought it

best to give him the inoffensive "Daily Gazette," whilst he himself

took up a loyal paper, in order to examine the court news and accounts

of promotions and the bestowal of decorations. He had long finished his

reading, but the Prince was still engaged with his shellfish and

oysters. The Chamberlain observed with regret how little interest

his young Highness took in the course of the world. An acquaintance

of the Chamberlain had been promoted to be master of the horse,

another announced his betrothal, and he did not fail to draw the

attention of the Prince to this news; but the latter only smiled in

his absent-minded way.

The Chamberlain then entered upon his next duty: he reflected upon the

programme of the day. As it was incumbent upon him to make the Prince

acquainted with the novelties in art and literature in the city, he

waited impatiently till the Prince had done with the "Daily Gazette,"

in order to obtain information from it on these points. At last the

Prince interrupted his cogitations by saying to him, "Mention is made

here of a permanent exhibition of agricultural implements; what is

there to see in such exhibitions?"

The Chamberlain tried to explain, and was delighted to make a proposal

to visit this exhibition. The Prince expressed his assent by a slight

nod, looked at his watch, and went up to his room to go through his

three hours' morning course: one for the science of politics, one for

mythology and aesthetics, and one for tactics and strategy; then he

accompanied his attendant to the exhibition.

Even the Chamberlain was bored as he followed his young master through

the great rooms, in which stood countless inexplicable machines. The

agent of the manufacturers began his explanations; the Chamberlain

asked such questions as would show a fitting love of knowledge; the

Prince went patiently from one unintelligible object to another, and

heard something of plows, scarifiers and rollers. At last, at the great

threshing-machine, the expounder had to call a workman to bring a

step-ladder, by ascending which they would be enabled to admire the

internal mechanism. The Prince left this labor to the Chamberlain;

played meanwhile with his lorgnette, and asked the agent, in the low

tone in which he was wont to speak:

"Have you any butter-machines?"

"Yes," was the reply, "several different kinds."

The Prince then quietly turned his attention to the great

threshing-machine, and learnt to value the beautiful arrangement by

which it threw out the straw into an invisible hayloft. At last they

came to the row of machines on which he had set his heart--the modern

successors of the old time-honored churn. There they stood beside each

other--the little hand-chum, by which, if the assertion of the guide

was to be trusted, a housewife could make her butter in an incredibly

short time; and the great machine, which could work sufficient to

supply the needs of the largest dairy. It was described to the Prince

how the cream, when poured in, was put in quick circular motion, and

how, as a result of this, the butter was separated from the milk. He

had already heard this much more agreeably told; but it gave him

pleasure to see the advantages of the modern invention, and he became

thoroughly convinced of its superiority. To the astonishment of his

attendant he asked intelligent questions, and took hold of the crooked

handle, endeavoring to turn it a little, but withdrew his hand with an

embarrassed smile. At last he inquired about the price. The Chamberlain

had rejoiced at the laudable desire of knowledge which his young master

had shown, but was much humiliated when the Prince turned to him and

said, in French, "What do you think? I have a mind to buy this little

machine." "For the sake of turning the handle," thought the

Chamberlain, with an inward shrug of the shoulders.

"How is it that your Highness takes an especial interest in this?"

"It pleases me," replied the Prince, "and one ought to buy something of

the man."

The pretty machine was bought, carried to the Prince's apartments, and

placed in his study. Towards evening, whilst the Prince was taking his

music lessons, the machine had to appear in the report which the

Chamberlain prepared for the reigning Prince. The writer extolled the

interest which his Prince had shown in the useful implements of German

agriculture. But seldom had it been so difficult to the poor

Chamberlain to perform the duty of a true courtier, whom it behooves to

suppress his own personal feelings and to gloss over agreeably what is

annoying; for, in truth, he felt deep humiliation at the silly trifling

of his Prince. But at Court one does not thoroughly learn all the

intricacies of a princely mind, however much one may study them. Even

to the wisest chamberlain there remain certain inscrutable depths.

The Hereditary Prince covered the butter-machine with a silk cloth, and

when he was alone, approached it carefully, turned the handle, and

examined the mechanism.

Some days after, when the valet had undressed the Prince, placed his

slippers for him, and made his bow for the night, the Prince, contrary

to custom, remained sitting in his chair, and stopped the departure of

the servant by thus accosting him: "Krueger, you must do me a favor."

"What are your Highness's commands?"

"Obtain for me to-morrow morning early, without any one seeing you, a

large jug of milk; but do not put the milk in the account."

"Does your Highness wish it boiled or not boiled?"

This was a difficult question. The Prince twirled his moustache

silently and looked helplessly at Krueger.

"I hardly know," he began at last. "I should like to try churning a

little."

Krueger was sharp enough to understand that this wish was connected with

the new machine, and, long accustomed not to be astonished at anything

in people of rank, he replied: "Then the machine must first be scalded,

otherwise the butter will taste bad; and, besides, I must order the

cream; so your Highness must wait patiently for a day."

"I leave everything to you," said the Prince, well pleased; "take the

machine, and be careful that no one hears anything about it."

When Krueger, two days after, entered the Prince's room, early in the

morning, he found his young master already dressed. Proud of his

confidential position, he informed him, "The Chamberlain is still

asleep, and all is ready."

The Prince hastened on tip-toes into the room. A large can of cream was

poured into the machine; full of expectation, the Prince seated himself

by the table and said; "I will turn it myself." He began to turn while

Krueger looked on.

"But it must be done with regularity, your Highness," admonished

Krueger.

The Prince could not resist opening the cover and looking in. "It will

not come, Krueger," he said, despondingly.

"Cheer up, your Highness," said Krueger, "and graciously permit me to go

on with the turning."

After that Krueger turned while the Prince looked on.

"It comes," cried the Prince, delighted, as he looked in.

"Yes, it's made," replied Krueger. "But now comes other work. The butter

must be taken out and washed, if it please your Highness?"

"No," said the Prince, doubtfully, "that will never do. But the machine

is good; bring me a spoon and some white bread, I will fish out what I

can; one must learn to help one's self."

The Prince plunged his spoon into the mess, took out some of the

half-made butter, and spread it on his white bread with a feeling of

satisfaction that was quite new to him. "It tastes a little sour,

Krueger," he said.

"Of course," replied Krueger; "the butter-milk is still in it."

"It does not matter," said the Prince, consoling himself. "Krueger, I

did not think there was so much to be attended to in churning."

"Yes, all things are difficult in the beginning," replied Krueger,

cheerfully.

"It is all right," concluded the Prince, graciously; "take the machine

out, and clean it properly."

After that the churn stood peacefully under the silk cloth; the Prince

in his lonely hours, would sometimes stand before it, and revolve in

his mind how he could deliver it into the hands of the person for whom

he had secretly intended it.

The stars themselves appeared to favor him; for the revolving earth had

rolled into the last sign of the zodiac, which guides the souls of our

people with magic power to the most charming festival of the year.

Christmas was near, and the ladies of the street near the Park moved

about in secret activity. Intercourse with intimate acquaintances was

interrupted, books that had been begun were laid aside, theatres and

concert-rooms were empty; the tones of the piano-forte and of new

bravuras rarely sounded to the rattling of carriage-wheels in the

street; inward struggles were hushed, and bad neighbors little thought

of. From morning to evening, little fingers were occupied with beads,

wools, silk, paint-brush and palette; the day lengthened into

eight-and-forty hours; even during the minutes of unquiet morning

slumber, obliging crickets and other invisible spirits worked in the

pay of the ladies. The nearer the festival approached, the more

numerous were the secrets: in every closet were concealed things which

no one was to see; from all sides, packages were brought into the

house, that were forbidden to be touched. But whilst the other inmates

of the house secretly slipped past one another, the lady of the house

was the quiet ruler in the invisible realm of presents, and the

confidant and clever adviser of all. She was never weary; she thought

and arranged for every one; the world had become to her like a great

cupboard with numerous compartments, from which she was incessantly

fetching things, and in which she was always cautiously stowing

covered packages. When on Christmas Eve the spangled stars shine, the

wax-lights drip, and the golden balls glimmer and glisten on the

Christmas tree, it is then that the fancies of the children celebrate

their great day; but the poetic vision of the housewife and her

daughters, for months before, have filled the room with joyful

splendor.

If one may regard the judgment of Mr. Hummel as valid, it is rarely

that the enthusiasm of Christmas week is fully developed in the men who

have the honor of being the representatives of the family. "Believe me,

Gabriel," said Mr. Hummel, one December evening, as he was watching

some children who were passing by with toys, "at this time man loses

his importance; he is nothing but a money-chest, in which the key is

turning from morning till evening; the best wives become barefaced and

foolish, all family confidence vanishes, everybody avoids everybody

else, the order of the house is disturbed, one's night's rest is

unscrupulously destroyed; when it is meal time, one's wife runs to the

market, and when the lamps ought to be extinguished, one's daughter

begins a new piece of embroidery. When at last the long bother is over,

then one must be delighted at a pair of new slippers which are an inch

too short, and for which later on one has to pay a long shoemaker's

bill, and to be pleased with a cigar case of beads, which is flat and

hard, like a dried flounder. Finally, after one has shot out golden

sparks like a rocket, the ladies expect one to show one's good feeling

by making them a present. Now, I have trained mine differently."

"But I have seen you yourself," rejoined Gabriel, "With a package and

bandbox under your arm."

"That is true," replied Mr. Hummel, "a bandbox is inevitable. But,

Gabriel, I have given up all worry, for that was the most humiliating

part of the affair. I go every year to the same milliner now, and say,

'a hood for Madame Hummel;' and the person says, 'You shall be served,

Mr. Hummel;' and she places the structure ready made before me. Besides

this, I go every year to the same shop and say, 'I want a dress for my

daughter Laura, at such and such a price, more or less,' and a dress

well worth its value is placed before me. In confidence I must tell you

I have a suspicion that the women have seen through my trick, and

select the things themselves beforehand, for now they are always very

much to their taste, whilst in former years they were often objected

to. They have the trouble now of selecting the finery, and in the

evening they practice all sorts of dissembling artifices, unfold and

examine the goods, pretend to be astonished, and praise my excellent

taste. This is my only satisfaction in the whole childish amusement.

But it is a poor one, Gabriel."

Such was the discordant strain in which the master of the house

indulged; but the dwellers in Park Street cared little for it, and like

opinions will always be regarded with like indifference. So much

sweeter is it to care for others than for one's self, and so much

happier to give pleasure than to receive it.

For Ilse also the festival this year was to be a great event; she

collected like a bee, and not only for the dear ones at home; in the

city also she had nestled many great and little children in her heart,

from the five young Raschke's down to the little barefooted creatures

with the soup-pot. The sofa-corners assumed a mysterious appearance

whenever her husband, or Laura, or the Doctor entered unexpectedly.

When the Chamberlain, some time before the holidays, deemed it becoming

for his Prince to pay a visit to the new Rector, the gentlemen found

Ilse and Laura busily at work, and the parlor of the Rector's wife was

changed into a great market stall. On a long table stood little

Christmas trees, and full sacks were leaning against the legs of the

table; the ladies were working with yard-measures and scissors,

dividing great hanks of wool, and unrolling pieces of linen, like

shop-keepers. When Ilse met the gentlemen and made excuses for the

state of her room, the Chamberlain entreated her not to disturb

herself. "We will remain here only if we are allowed to make ourselves

useful." The Prince also said, "I beg permission to help, if you have

anything for me to do."

"That is very kind," replied Ilse, "there is still much to be done

before evening. Permit me, your Highness, to give you your work. Pray

take the bag of nuts; and you, my Lord Chamberlain, have the goodness

to take the apples in charge; you, Felix, will have the gingerbread. I

beg the gentlemen to make little heaps, to each twenty nuts, six

apples, and a package of gingerbread."

The gentlemen went zealously to work. The Prince counted the nuts

conscientiously, and was provoked that they would always roll together

again, but discovered that he could keep the portions apart by means of

strips of paper folded together. The gentlemen laughed, and related how

once, in a foreign country, they had introduced this German Christmas

amusement. The perfume of the apples and of the fir-trees filled the

room, and gave a festive feeling to the souls of all present.

"May we ask the kind lady who are to benefit by our exertions?" said

the Chamberlain; "I hold here an uncommonly large apple, which I hope

may fall to the lot of one of your favorites. At all events, we are

doing what will give the poor children pleasure."

"Finally it will," replied Ilse; "but that is not all; we shall give

this to their mothers, for the greatest pleasure of a mother is to give

presents herself to her children, to adorn the Christmas tree and to

work what the little ones need. This pleasure we shall not deprive them

of, and therefore we send them the stuff unmade. The Christmas trees,

too, they prefer buying themselves, each according to their tastes;

those you see here are only for children who have no mothers. These

trees will be adorned by us. Everything for the festive evening will be

carried out of the house today, so that the people may receive them in

good time, and arrange them for themselves."

The Prince looked at the Chamberlain. "Will you allow us," he began,

hesitatingly, "to contribute something towards these presents."

"Very willingly," replied Ilse, joyfully. "If your Highness wishes it,

our servant can look after it immediately. He understands it, and is

trustworthy."

"I should like to go with him myself," said the Prince. The Chamberlain

listened with astonishment to this idea of his young master; but, as it

was laudable and not against instructions, he only smiled respectfully.

Gabriel was called. The Prince, much pleased, took his hat. "What shall

we buy?" he asked eagerly.

"We want some little tapers," replied Ilse, "besides some

playthings;--for the boys, leaden soldiers; and for the girls, little

kitchen things; but all must be strong and cheap." Gabriel followed the

Prince out of the house with a large basket.

"You heard what the lady ordered," said the Prince, in the street, to

Gabriel. "First the wax-tapers; you do the selecting and I will pay. We

are to buy them cheap; see that we are not cheated."

"We need not fear that, your Highness," replied Gabriel; "and if we

should pay a few pennies too much, other children will benefit by it."

At the end of an hour the Prince returned. Gabriel had a heavily-laden

basket, while the Prince also carried under his arms bundles of toys

and large paper bags full of sweetmeats. When the young gentleman

entered thus loaded, with color in his cheeks and as happy as a child,

he looked so good and pleasing that all were delighted with him. He

unpacked his treasures before the Professor's wife, and emptied the

contents of the paper bags on the table.

His embarrassment had disappeared: he played with childish pleasure

with the pretty things, showed the others the artistic work in the

marchpane plums, begged of Laura to keep a candy knight-templar for

herself, and moved about and arranged everything so gracefully and

actively on the table that all looked at him with admiration and joined

in his childish jokes. When the ladies began to adorn the Christmas

trees, the Prince declared he would help them. He placed himself before

the saucer with white of egg, and was shown the way to lay it upon the

fruits and then roll them in gold and silver foil. Ilse arranged as a

prize for the gentleman who worked best and did most, a large

gingerbread lady with a hooped petticoat and glass eyes; and a

praiseworthy contest arose among the gentlemen to produce the best

things. The Professor and the Chamberlain knew how to employ their old

skill; but the Prince as a novice worked somewhat carelessly--there

remained some bare spots, and in others the gold foil bulged out. He

was discontented with himself, but Ilse cheered him, saying, "But your

Highness must be more sparing with the gold, otherwise we shall not

have enough." Finally, the Chamberlain obtained the lady in the hooped

dress, and the Prince, as an extra reward for his activity, a babe in

swaddling-clothes which looked on the world with two glassy bead eyes.

Out of doors in the Christmas market, little children were standing

round the fir-trees and Christmas shops, looking hopefully and

longingly at the treasures there. And in Ilse's room the great children

were sitting at the table, playful and happy. Here there were no

cautious admonitions, and the Prince painted the outlines of a face

with the white of egg on the palm of his hand, and gilded it with a

gold-foil.

When the Hereditary Prince rose to go, the Professor asked, "May I

venture to inquire where your Highness intends to pass Christmas Eve?"

"We remain here," answered the Prince.

"As some remarkable musical performances are in prospect," added the

Chamberlain, "his princely Highness has denied himself the pleasure of

having the Prince with him at this festival; we are, therefore, to pass

a quiet Christmas here."

"We do not venture to invite you," continued the Professor; "but in

case your Highness should not pass this evening in other society, it

will be a great pleasure if you would do so with us."

Ilse looked thankfully at her husband, and the Prince this time did not

leave it to the Chamberlain to answer, but eagerly accepted the

invitation. As he walked with his attendant through the crowded

streets, he began, cautiously, "But we must contribute something to the

Christmas table."

"I had just thought of that," replied the Chamberlain; "but if your

Highness honors those worthy people with your company that evening, I

am not sure how your Highness's father will approve of a contribution

to the Christmas tree from my gracious Prince."

"I do not wish it to be any of those eternal brooches and ear-rings

from the court jeweler's cases," cried the Prince, with unwonted

energy; "it should be some trifle; best of all, something as a joke."

"That is my view," assented the Chamberlain; "but it is advisable to

leave the decision to his Grace, your father."

"Then I had rather remain at home," replied the Prince, bitterly. "I

will not enter with some stupid present in my hand. Can it not be

managed that the visit be without any ceremony, just as the invitation

was?"

The Chamberlain shrugged his shoulders. "A few days afterwards the

whole city will know that your Highness has shown Professor Werner this

unusual honor. Without doubt the occurrence will be reported to the

palace by persons who have no business to do so. Your Highness knows

better than I do how your father will receive such an account, coming

to him first from a stranger."

The Prince's pleasure was spoilt. "Write, then, to my father," he

cried, angrily; "but represent the invitation just as it was given, and

express yourself as opposed to any conventional present from the court:

it would only wound this family."

The Chamberlain rejoiced in the tact of his young master, and promised

to write the letter as he desired. This appeased the Prince, and after

a time he began: "It has just occurred to me, Weidegg, what we should

give. As the Professor's wife comes from the country, I will present

her with the machine which I lately bought, as a case for pretty

_bonbons_ or something of that kind, that I will put in it."

"Now he wishes to get rid of the useless plaything," thought the

Chamberlain. "That is impossible," he replied, aloud: "Your Highness is

not quite sure whether the lady would take the joke as it is intended.

It would not do to give a present which might give rise to

misinterpretation. Your Highness should on no account venture upon such

a thing. Even if the amiable lady herself did not object, it would be

much discussed in her circle. Your Highness's joke might be easily

considered as an ironical allusion to country manners, which

undoubtedly become the lady well, but might here and there occasion a

slight smile."

The Prince's heart froze within him; he was furious with the

Chamberlain, and, on the other hand, shocked at the thought of wounding

Ilse. The poetry of the festival was entirely spoilt for him. He went

silently to his apartment.

The answer to the Chamberlain's letter was to the effect that the

Prince, in spite of the apparent unsuitability, would not object to an

incidental visit, and that, if some mark of attention was unavoidable,

it might be procured from a gardener or confectioner. The Chamberlain,

therefore, bought a quantity of flowers and sweetmeats, and laid them

before the Prince. But he looked cold and silently on the gay bright

colors. Towards evening two lackeys carried the things to the Rector

with a little note from the Chamberlain, in which, in the name of his

Most Serene Prince, he begged the accompanying gift might be applied to

the ornamenting of the Christmas tree. Meanwhile the Prince stood

gloomily before his butter-machine, and quarrelled bitterly with his

princely dignity.

When at the proper hour he entered Werner's apartment, the Christmas

gifts had been distributed and the candles extinguished. Ilse had done

it purposely. "It is not necessary to let these strangers see what

delight we take in these presents." The Prince received Ilse's thanks

for the splendid adornment of her table with reserve, and sat before

the tea-kettle silent and absent-minded. Ilse thought, "He is sorry

that he has had no glad Christmas Eve: the poorest child is merry with

his Christmas tree, and he sits as if shut out from the pleasures of

this happy time." She made a sign to Laura, and said to the Prince:

"Would your Highness like to see our Christmas tree? The lights had to

be extinguished lest they should burn down, but if your Highness likes

we will light it up again in all its splendor, and it would be very

kind of your Highness to help us."

This was a welcome proposal to the Prince, and he went with the ladies

into the festive room. There he offered to take the staff, at the end

of which a wax-taper was fastened, in order to reach the highest lights

of the mighty tree. Whilst he was thus busily working at the tree his

heart became lighter, and he looked with interest at the presents which

were lying under the tree.

"Now will your Highness have the kindness to go out of the room," said

Ilse, "and when I ring it will signify to you and Mr. von Weidegg that

your Highness is wanted."

The Prince hastened out; the bell rang. When the gentlemen entered they

found two small tables laid out; on them small lighted trees, and under

each a large dish of pastry, made after the fashion of their own

country. "This is to be a remembrance of our home," said Ilse, "and on

the trees are the apples and nuts which you have gilded: those with the

red spots are your Highness's work. Here is a respectful gift sent from

the farm of my dear father. I beg the gentlemen to eat this smoked

goose's breast with a good appetite; we are not a little proud of this

dish. But here, my gracious Prince, there is, as a keepsake from me, a

small model of our churn; for this is at what I served my

apprenticeship as a child." On the Prince's seat stood this useful

instrument, made of march-pane. "On the bottom of it, your Highness, I

have written my motto of long ago. May the gentlemen accept my good

intentions!"

She said this so joyously, and offered her hand to the Chamberlain so

kindly, that all thoughts of his dignity were forgotten, and he shook

her hand right honestly. The Prince stood before his machine, and

thought: "Now is the moment, or never." He read below the simple words,

"If a person has devoted himself with honest perseverance to some one

thing, it will be a blessing to him throughout his whole life." Then,

without any thought of the threatening consequences of his daring, he

said: "May I propose an exchange to you? I have bought a small churn;

it has a large wheel and a small one for turning, and one can churn as

much as one wants each morning. It would be a great pleasure to me if

you would accept this."

Ilse thanked him with a bow; and the Prince requested that a servant

might at once be sent to his apartment for it. Whilst the Chamberlain

was still reflecting with amazement on the strange coincidence, the

piece of mechanism was brought into the room. The Prince placed it with

his own hands upon a corner of the table, explained the internal

arrangements to the company, and was much delighted when Ilse said she

had confidence in the invention. He was again the joyous child of the

other day, gaily drank his glass of wine, and, with charming grace,

proposed the health of the master and mistress of the house, so that

the Chamberlain scarcely knew his Telemachus again. On taking leave, he

himself packed up the marchpane, and carried it home in his pocket.

_CHAPTER XXII_.

THREE COUNCILS.

The year of the Rectorate had so changed the household and the current

of Ilse's thoughts that she remarked with astonishment to her husband,

"I feel as if I had just come from school into the bustle of the

world." Her husband's days were engrossed with distracting business:

difficult transactions between the University and Government, and

vexatious occurences among the students, took up a great portion of his

time.

The evening, also, did not pass as in the first year, when Ilse watched

the quiet labors of her husband, or listened to his friends; for many

were occupied by the sessions of the Senate, and others by large

parties, which, as Rector, he could not avoid. When their friends came

to tea, the master of the house was often absent.

Ilse had taken her father's lessons to heart; she lived in the present,

and avoided distracting thoughts. Her husband took pains to keep from

her anything that could disturb her repose of mind, and the

intellectual diet which he now gave her did her good. When he again saw

her in society in all her health and strength, with color in her cheeks

and a cheerful expression in her countenance, he felt it his duty for

ever to preserve this soul from the intrusion of conflicting ideas; and

he was pleased that, by frequent intercourse with various kinds of men,

and by the light bonds of a genial society, she began to feel at home

in his circle. It delighted him, too, to find that her ingenuous nature

was appreciated; and she was not only treated with distinction by the

men, but was also a favorite with the ladies.

Ilse would not, however, allow her private conclave--as she called the

hours during which she received her husband's instruction--to be

disturbed; she adhered to it with rigid strictness; and if a day was

missed, the lost time had to be made up on the following one. But even

these lessons took a different course. The Professor now read to her

small extracts from old writers, who portrayed, in prose and verse, the

attractive beauty of the life of the ancients; her innocent mind

entered into the cheerful enjoyment of this strange world, and the

impressions which she received agreed perfectly with the way in which

she now regulated her own life. The Professor explained to her some of

the poems of the Greek anthology and of Theocritus, and a few of the

Roman lyrics; and, by way of comparison, he read to her the poems of

the great German who, in a remarkable way, had been able to unite Greek

beauty with German feeling.

At her reception, Ilse showed all the dignity of her position as the

Rector's wife; every room was opened; the apartments were decorated and

brilliantly illuminated; the heads of the University and city, with

their wives, made their appearance in numbers; and the Prince and his

Chamberlain did not fail to be present. Laura assisted gracefully in

doing the honors, and quietly gave directions to the servants; cake and

wine were passed around; the guests made themselves very agreeable, and

separated in the highest spirits. The great evening had passed off

happily; the Doctor and Laura had left; Ilse gave her last injunctions

to Gabriel, and passed through the rooms once more, with the glad

feeling that she had done honor to Felix and herself. She came into her

dressing room, and glanced into the mirror.

"You need not examine yourself critically," said the husband,

"everything was beautiful; but the most beautiful of all was the

Rector's wife."

"Damon, my shepherd," replied Ilse, "you are blinded. It is not the

first time you have said this, but I like to hear it; you may still

tell it often to me. But Felix," she continued, as she unloosened her

hair, "there is something inspiring about such a society even where

people do nothing but talk. One does not carry away much of it, but

still there is a pleasure in being among them; they are all so

courteous and endeavor to appear to the best advantage, and each tries

to please the other."

"They do not all succeed in giving a fair idea of what they are on such

occasions, least of all we book-worms," replied Felix. "But there is no

doubt these gatherings give a certain similarity of language and

manner, and, finally, also of ideas to persons who live in the same

circle. This is very necessary, for even those who live together often

differ as much in their thoughts and feelings as if they had been born

in different centuries. How did you like the Chamberlain?"

Ilse shook her head. "He is the most courteous and lively of all, and

knows how to say something civil to every one; but one cannot trust

him, for, as with an eel, one has no hold on him, and can never for a

moment look into his heart. I prefer our Prince with his stiff manner.

He talked to me about his sister to-day; she must be very clever and

charming. To which of your centuries does he belong?"

"To the middle of the last," replied, her husband, laughing; "he is a

full century earlier than we are, of the period when men were divided

into two classes--those who were fit to be received at Court, and

serfs. But if you examine those about us, you will discover even

greater disparities. There is our Gabriel, who in his prejudices and

his poetry belongs to an age three centuries earlier than the present.

His ways of thinking remind one of the time in which the great

Reformers first educated our people to think. On the other hand, the

hostile neighbors are, in many points of view, the representatives of

two opposing tendencies which ran parallel to each other towards the

end of the last century--in our house, obstinate rationalism; in the

old people over there, a weak sentimentality."

"And what time do I belong to?" asked Ilse, placing herself before her

husband.

"You are my dear wife," he exclaimed, trying to draw her towards him.

"I will tell you," continued Ilse, eluding him: "in your opinion, I

belong to a former age, and once that made me more unhappy than I

can express. But I no longer care about it. For when I can compel you

to kiss my hand as often as I desire it"--the Professor was very

willing--"when I see that it requires no persuasion to induce you to

kiss me on the lips--it is not necessary that you should try it now,--I

believe you. Further, when I observe that the learned gentleman is not

disinclined to hand my slippers to me, and perhaps even my dressing

gown--I do not wish to give you trouble now, but unhook my ear-rings

and open the jewel-box,--and when I, besides, observe that you are

anxious to please me, that at my wish you took the wife of the

Consistorial Councillor to dinner, whom you could not bear, and that

you have bought me this beautiful dress, although you understand

nothing about buying; when I, further, see that Magnificus is quite

under my sway, that I have the keys of the pantry, and even manage the

accounts; and, lastly, when I bear in mind that you, good bookworm,

think me, your wife Ilse, worthy of a little discussion together with

your Greeks and Romans, and that it is a pleasure to you when I

understand a little of your learned writings--I come to the conclusion

that you belong entirely to me, you and your century, and that it is

quite indifferent to me in what period of the world's history my spirit

originated. Then when I, the relic of a distant century, pinch your

ear, as I do now, the great master of the present and future, and his

philosophizing on the different natures of men, become simply

ludicrous. Now that I have held this discourse, can you sleep quietly?"

"That would be difficult," replied the Professor, "whilst the learned

housewife is fluttering about the bed, holding discourses in her

dressing-gown which are more lengthy than those of a Roman philosopher,

and whilst she rattles the doors of the cupboards and wanders about the

room."

"My tyrant requires his coffee early in the morning, so it must be

given out now, and I cannot sleep if I have not all the keys near me."

"I see nothing will be of any use." said the Professor, "but a serious

exorcism."

"I must see whether there are any lights burning in the rooms." But

immediately afterwards she knelt down by the bed, and threw her arms

round his neck. "Everything is so charming in the world, Felix,"

exclaimed she; "let us humbly pray that our happiness may last."

Yes, you are happy. Ilse; but, as your father said, you have to thank

your prudence for it, not your courage.

* * *

When Ilse wrote to her father, to describe how the great evening party

had passed off, she did not forget to add that her future Sovereign had

been among the guests, and that she had had much intelligent

conversation with him. Her father did not appear to attach much value

to this last communication, for he answered, rather irritated, "If you

are so influential an adviser, exert yourself to obtain a decision for

us in regard to the highway. The affair has been before the magistrates

for ten years; it is a shame that we should be so cut off from all the

world. The gray has broken his leg. Our estate would be worth ten

thousand dollars more if the Government were not so dilatory."

Ilse read the letter to her husband, and said, "We can tell the Prince

about the road; he can arrange it with his father."

Her husband laughed. "I will not undertake this commission: it does not

appear to me as if the Prince would have great influence with the

Government."

"We will see about that," replied Ilse, gaily; "at the next opportunity

I shall speak to him about it."

This opportunity soon occurred. The Consistorial Councillor, who was

now Theological Dean, had a tea-party. It was a distinguished and

dignified assembly, but not agreeable to Ilse; she had long mistrusted

the piety of the Dean, for beneath the gown of the bland gentleman she

clearly saw a fox's tail peeping out; in the speeches of the Dean's

wife there was an unpleasant mixture of honey and gall. The rooms were

small and hot, and the guests seemed bored; but the Hereditary Prince

and his Chamberlain had promised to come. As he entered, the master of

the house and some of the guests who were acquainted with the customs

of the Court endeavored to form a line for his reception; but all their

attempts were vain, from the heedlessness or obstinacy of most of the

company. The Prince, led by the Dean, had to make his way through the

groups up to the mistress of the house. His eyes turned from her sharp

features and wandered about to where Ilse stood, like a being from

another planet; she looked quite majestic; her ribbon head-dress sat

like a coronet on her wavy hair, which in great abundance almost

surrounded her head. The Prince looked shyly up to her, and could

scarcely find proper words with which to accost her. When, after a

short greeting, he again turned to the rest of the company. Ilse was

displeased; she had expected more attention from their intimacy. She

did not consider that his position in society was not that of a private

man, and that he had to fulfill his princely duties before he could go

about like others. Whilst with inward disgust he did what his position

required of him, going slowly round, he went first to Ilse's husband,

then to the other dignitaries; had some presented to him, and asked the

questions that are considered right in these cases; but he waited

impatiently for the time when fate would allow him to have a little

conversation with his countrywoman. But he did his duty bravely; the

Professor of History expressed his pleasure that some old chronicles of

his country would be published, and endeavored, half-talking and

half-teaching, to impress him with their importance. Meanwhile the

Prince thought that the Rector's wife would, at least, sit at his left

hand, the Chamberlain having pointed out to him that the Dean's wife

might be at his right.

The affair was doubtful. The Dean's wife was certainly the hostess, but

the evening had a certain official University tone about it, and Ilse

was undoubtedly entitled to precedence among the professors' wives.

Nevertheless, all question ceased to exist when the fact was considered

that the Dean, on account of numerous presentations of theological

works, and many letters of admiring homage, had been made by the

reigning sovereign, Knight Commander of his order. He had been so

exalted by this, as the Chamberlain explained, that the difference of

dignity between the Magnificus and Dean was more than compensated, and

the Dean's wife had therefore the first place. The Chamberlain

acknowledged that in reality it was a matter of no consequence how

people were seated here, for there could be no question of any right of

rank in this society. But it would be more becoming for the Prince not

to neglect all distinctions.

At his left, at all events, the Prince hoped to have Ilse. But even

this hope was frustrated by the artfulness of the Dean's wife. For

there was amongst the company a Colonel's wife; they were people of old

family, but recently come to the place. The lady of the house lost no

time in taking the Colonel's wife up to the Chamberlain, and on

meeting, it turned out that they had common relations. By this the

whole arrangement of rank at supper was disturbed. The lady claimed her

right to be presented. The Chamberlain took her to the Prince, who

cleverly anticipated the former's intention, and expressed a wish to

make the lady's acquaintance.

"She allows herself to be presented to a student!" said little Mrs.

Guenther, astonished.

"That is a breach of social rights, which touches the dignity of

woman," said Mrs. Struvelius, displeased.

"But she did it very nicely," said Ilse; "her manner with him pleases

me."

The ladies did not know that the object of their remarks was, in this

moment of apparent humiliation, enjoying the triumph of a higher

position. The Prince, the Colonel's wife, and the Chamberlain for a

short time formed a group, from which the light of the evening

radiated, all three with the proud consciousness that they were united

in a bond of fellowship among strangers.

The consequence of this presentation was that the Colonel's wife sat at

the left of the Prince, and Ilse between two Deans opposite to him. It

did not make it easier for the Prince to preserve his princely dignity

when every time he looked up, he saw the eyes and curls of his

countrywoman opposite to him. The evening passed slowly for him, and it

was not till the party was breaking up that he had an opportunity of

speaking to Ilse without restraint.

"Just wait," thought Ilse; "you shall not escape the road."

"Have you heard from your father?" inquired the Prince, a question by

which he frequently began the conversation.

"My news is not good," replied Ilse; "only think, your Highness, one of

our horses has broken his leg. It was a grey which we raised ourselves,

a good gentle creature, which I have often ridden, though my father did

not much like my doing so. Then I must tell your Highness, the road

that leads to the great market-town, to which my father every year

sends his grain, is terribly bad, and the Government does nothing to

improve it. For ten years the matter has been agitated, but nothing

comes of it. If your Highness could help to obtain a good road for us,

I beg of you to do so; it will be a benefit to the whole district."

The Prince looked at her kindly, and said, with embarrassment:

"It is an affair of the Government, I believe my father knows nothing

of it."

"I am convinced of that," replied Ilse; "the gentlemen of the

Government have always reasons for doing nothing; they understand how

to make difficulties, and pretend they have no money."

The Chamberlain approached, and as the conversation had taken an

uncomfortable political turn, the Prince quickly retreated, bowing and

smiling, with these words:

"Let us hope for the best."

Ilse, on going home, said to her husband:

"Felix, I spoke to him about the road; he is a good youth, but in

society he uses only formal speeches."

Fortune would have it that some weeks after, the State Councillor, who

held the chief administrative office at Rossau, came to the University,

visited the Chamberlain, and was introduced by him to the Prince. He

was invited to dinner, and the Prince showed uncommon interest in the

condition of the district in question; he inquired about the estates in

the neighborhood and their proprietors; and, at last, when standing

alone by the window with the Councillor, drinking his coffee, said:

"How is it that there is no good road in the district? Could not you do

something about it?"

The official duly enumerated the difficulties. At last the Prince

replied:

"Yes, I know there are plenty of reasons; but I shall be obliged to you

if you will give yourself the trouble of taking the matter in hand."

Much impressed with these words, the Rossau official returned home. He

revolved them in his troubled mind for three days, and the more he

thought of them the more important they seemed; his own future might

depend upon the result. At last he came to the conclusion that an

extraordinary exertion was necessary; he therefore went at once to the

seat of Government and laid the whole case, and a large bundle of dusty

records concerning the road, before the minister. The minister thanked

him for his communication, and was also of opinion that this was an

incident which it would be prudent to make known to his Most Serene

Highness. When he had concluded his report on state affairs, he

mentioned that in the district of Rossau complaints had been made of

the bad condition of the roads, and that a strong desire had been

expressed for a new road, and the Hereditary Prince had shown a lively

interest in the matter. The Prince rose hastily from his seat.

"The Hereditary Prince? What does that mean? It is very satisfactory to

me to find that my son takes an interest in the condition of the

country," he added. "I will take the affair into consideration."

The same day a letter was written by the Prince himself to the

Chamberlain, saying:

"How comes the Hereditary Prince to take an interest in the building of

a new road at Rossau? I desire further information."

The Chamberlain was in great perplexity, and felt his position

endangered by the secret. At last, placed in a position between father

and son, he chose the path of frank disclosure to the rising sun, and

acquainted the Prince with his father's question.

"You see what importance his Serene Highness attaches to the

communication; the details must be imparted to him."

The Prince was equally confounded.

"It was only a word thrown out casually," he rejoined, with hesitation.

"So much the better," said the Chamberlain; "all that remains to be

said is, what gave rise to your Highness's wish. It may naturally seem

strange to the Prince that his subjects or magistrates should apply to

your Highness instead of to him. This, so far as I know, does not seem

to have been the case."

"No," replied the Prince, "I heard of it at the house of the Rector. I

simply asked the Councillor about it when he was here. I wanted to be

able to give an answer," he added, shrewdly.

The Chamberlain was satisfied, and in his report extolled the Professor

and Ilse, at whose house it was very pleasant to visit, and he did not

fail to observe that the Hereditary Prince enjoyed calling there. He

was rejoiced when, a few days after, a communication was made on

business by the Cabinet Secretary, and followed by a letter from the

Sovereign himself, in which he expressed his great satisfaction in the

conduct of the Hereditary Prince and the Chamberlain.

Ilse was equally rejoiced when her father wrote to her:

"Ilse, are you a witch? An order has been given to begin building the

road immediately; the surveyor is already here to mark it out."

At dinner Ilse took the letter out of her pocket with great delight,

saying:

"Read, you incredulous man, and see what our little Prince has been

able to accomplish; after all we did him injustice. My poor gray

excited his pity, and he wrote everything to his dear father."

The next time that Ilse met the Hereditary Prince, she began, after the

first greeting, in a low voice:

"My home owes warm thanks to your Highness, who has had the kindness to

exert yourself for our road."

"Is it to be built?" asked the Prince, surprised.

"Does not your Highness know it? Your intercession has induced his

Grace, your father, to have it made."

"My intercession would have had little effect," continued the Prince.

"No, no," he added, earnestly disowning it. "I did not write to my

father. It was altogether his own decision."

Ilse remained silent: she could not understand what should prevent the

son of a Prince from openly laying before his father a request on a

matter of business, the fulfillment of which would be beneficial to

many; that he should disown all participation in what he had evidently

done, appeared to her a quite inappropriate display of modesty.

The last letter from Court had confirmed the Chamberlain in his opinion

that the intimacy of the Hereditary Prince in the Rector's house was

not distasteful to his father. He reflected sometimes on the reasons

for this interest in persons, who were so far removed from the sphere

of princely notice. He could not understand it. At all events it was

his duty not to keep the Prince away from their home, and likewise to

make himself agreeable to the Rector and his wife. This he did

willingly and honestly, and oftentimes went to the Professor's without

the Prince; he asked him to recommend books to him, showed great

deference for his judgment about men, and was guided by the Professor's

advice in the choice of the Prince's teachers. The energetic dignity

and proud frank character of the learned man attracted the courtier,

and Werner became a valuable acquaintance to him. He was also sincerely

attached to Ilse, and there were times when she too could discover

something of the worth and depth of heart of the Chamberlain.

But although the Chamberlain possessed all the pliancy of a courtier,

and knew that the visits to the Rector's house were acceptable both to

his young master and the latter's father, he showed little complaisance

for the young Prince's wishes. Indeed, he was inclined to make

difficulties if the Hereditary Prince, which seldom happened, would

propose to join Werner's at tea; he went there with him at proper

intervals, but after the road affair he avoided any greater intimacy

for the Prince. On the other hand, the Chamberlain endeavored to make

the Prince at home with the students, and in a way that accorded with

his rank. Of the different associations which were denoted by colors,

customs, and statutes, the corps of the Markomanns was then the most

distinguished. It was the aristocratic club, included many sons of old

families and some of the best fencers; its members wore their colored

caps in the haughtiest manner, were much talked of, and not very

popular. The Chamberlain found a relative of his in this corps, and the

leaders were found to possess the qualifications necessary to

appreciate properly the social position of his young master.

Thus the Prince became intimate with the association, he invited the

students to his apartments, sometimes joined in their lesser drinking

bouts, and was agreeably introduced by them into the customs of

academic life. He took fencing lessons, and, in spite of his small

delicate figure, showed some aptitude for it, and the swing of the

rapier in his room daily endangered the mirror and chandelier.

Ilse expressed her astonishment to her husband that the Prince, who had

at first so quickly and easily opened his heart to them, had held back

so cautiously since the road affair.

"Has he thought me too forward?" she asked, with vexation; "it was said

with the best intentions. But I find, Felix, it is not with these great

people as with us. If we once put confidence in people we feel at home

with them; but they are like the birds that sing a song close to your

ear, and then at once fly off and seek another resting-place far away."

"The following year they will perhaps come again," replied her husband;

"any one who tries to domesticate them will be disappointed. If their

airy path brings them near, you may take pleasure in them; but one

should not trouble oneself about these triflers."

Nevertheless, in secret Ilse was vexed with the unfaithfulness of her

little songster.

* * *

"My duty brings me to you to-day," began the Chamberlain, on entering

the Professor's room. "Among the lectures which are desired for the

Hereditary Prince is one upon Heraldry. I beg of you to recommend to me

a teacher who could give him a short course upon the subject. In the

capital, there was no suitable person, and I confess without blushing

that my knowledge is much too scanty for me to be able to impart any to

the Prince."

The Professor reflected.

"Among my colleagues I know no one whom I could recommend. It is

possible that Magister Knips may have knowledge of that kind. He is

well informed in all these by-paths of learning; but he has grown

up in a low condition of life, and his manner is highly obsequious and

old-fashioned."

This old-fashioned obsequiousness did not appear any hindrance to the

Chamberlain; and as he himself wished to make use of the opportunity to

ascertain clearly the meaning of a mysterious figure in his own coat of

arms, which looked very much like a pitchfork, but which was really a

Celtic Druid's staff, he replied:

"There need not be many lectures, and I can be present myself."

Magister Knips was called, and was, as usual, at hand, and was

presented to the Chamberlain. The grotesque figure appeared comical to

the latter, but not at all objectionable. His modesty was undeniable;

his obsequiousness could not be greater. If one could put him into a

tolerable coat, he might, for a temporary object, be allowed to sit at

the same table with the Hereditary Prince and the Chamberlain. So the

Chamberlain asked whether Master Knips could undertake to give some

lectures upon heraldry.

"If the gracious and noble gentleman might be content perchance with

German and French emblazonry, I believe I may venture to offer him my

undoubtedly unsatisfactory knowledge. But of English coats of arms and

figures my knowledge is not extensive, because of lack of opportunity.

I would, however, endeavor to give some information upon the new

investigations concerning the Honorable Ordinary."

"That will not be necessary," replied the Chamberlain; and, turning to

the Professor, he said: "Will you allow me to arrange details with

Master Knips?"

The Professor left them to transact the business, and the Chamberlain

continued, more freely:

"I will, trusting to the recommendation of the Rector, endeavor to

ascertain whether the Hereditary Prince can avail himself of your

instruction and derive the proper advantages therefrom."

Knips bowed lower and lower, until he almost disappeared into the

ground; but his head was reverently bent towards the eye of the

Chamberlain. The latter mentioned a liberal sum as the price of the

lessons. Knips smiled, and his eyes twinkled.

"I must further request, Master Knips, that you will not object to

assume a becoming appearance for the intended lectures. A black coat,

and trousers to match."

"I have them," replied Knips, raising his voice.

"White waistcoat and white cravat," continued the Chamberlain.

"I have those likewise," warbled Knips.

The Chamberlain considered it preferable to ascertain, by his own

inspection, the capabilities of the candidate in this respect.

"Then I beg of you to make your appearance at the apartments of the

Hereditary Prince in fitting guise. There we will confer upon details."

Knips appeared the following morning in his state dress, and the

Chamberlain thought that the man did not look so bad after all. He gave

him to understand that a learned discussion was not required, but

rather a rapid survey, and, on his departure, presented to him a bottle

of perfume, for his white pocket-handkerchief, in order to consecrate

Knips' atmosphere.

Knips prepared himself for his first lesson. He began by drawing forth

his paint-box, several complete letter-writers, and a book or two on

etiquette. He painted several coats of arms, and from the books he

abstracted some respectful forms of speech, such as the servile

language of our Government officials have sanctioned in intercourse

with the great, and learnt them all by heart. At the proper hour he

presented himself to the Chamberlain, polished and fragrant, like a

flower whose strength of stem had been extracted by the heat of the

midday sun. Thus he was brought into the presence of the Prince, and

almost withered into nothingness as he approached the chair in which he

was to sit; he began his lecture by drawing out of a small portfolio a

design of the Prince's ancestral coat of arms and a sketch of the

Chamberlain's armorial bearings; he laid them before the Prince with

the deepest reverence, and added his first explanations.

His lecture, to use the Chamberlain's own words, was magnificent; his

obsequious arabesques which wound themselves into his discourse were

prolix, it is true, but not disagreeable; they were comical, yet

well-suited to the scrolls he was lecturing on. He frequently brought

drawings, and books on heraldry, and engravings from the library for

inspection, and showed himself more thoroughly informed than was,

perhaps, necessary. If he chanced to fall into historical discussions,

which were more interesting to him than his hearers, the Chamberlain

would simply have to raise his finger, and Knips respectfully resumed

the proper topic. The gentlemen took more pleasure in his lectures than

in many of those given by the Magister's patrons. The lessons were

continued throughout the term, for it was discovered accidentally that

Knips had a good deal of knowledge of tournaments, tilting, and other

knightly amusements. He told the Prince about the old festivities of

his noble house, described the ceremonial accurately, and even knew the

names of those who had assisted at them. His knowledge appeared

wonderful to his hearers, though it cost him little trouble to collect

this information. At the conclusion of the course he was richly

rewarded, and his hearers regretted that this strange figure, with his

old-fashioned knowledge, was no longer to lecture before them.

"Look here, mother," cried Knips, entering his room, and taking a small

roll of money out of his pocket; "that is the largest sum I have ever

earned."

The mother rubbed her hands. "My blessing upon the gracious gentlemen

who know how to value my son!"

"To value?" replied Knips, contemptuously. "They know nothing about me

or my learning, and the less one teaches them the better they are

pleased. It is a labor for them even to look for what stands at

everybody's disposal, and what has been put in hundreds of folios is

new to them. I treated them like little boys, and they did not find it

out. No, mother, they understand how to value me even less than the

Professor world here. No one appreciates my knowledge. Yes, there is

one that does," he murmured to himself, "but he has more pride than the

Chamberlain. The Chamberlain seems to wish to inform himself about the

old tilts and masquerades; I will send him my little edition of Rohr as

a present. There is so little in it that it is good enough for him. I

bought the book for four groschens; the parchment is still tolerably

white. I will wash it with sal-ammoniac, and paste his coat of arms

into it. Who knows what may come of it?"

He cleaned it, and prepared his paints.

"The world is full of tricks, mother. Who would have thought that I

could have earned anything by this old absurd nonsense of heraldry?" He

drew and painted at the coat of arms. "I have seldom brought gold into

the house, and then it was always for underhand traffic that did me no

honor." Here he broke off. "I will once more put on my livery when I

take him the book, then put it out of sight."

* * *

In the district of Rossau the road surveyors put up their stakes, and

at the University, Magister Knips placed the white pig's-skin binding

in the hands of his illustrious patron.

Ilse rejoiced that the road to her father's estate would be useful to

every one, and the professor heard with interest that the man whom he

had recommended had succeeded well, and he smiled kindly at the

expressions of gratitude tendered by the Magister. But for the good

formation of the new road, and the approved dexterity of the little

man, the happy couple, who in both cases had hit upon the right person,

were to receive thanks that they did not desire.

_CHAPTER XXIII_.

PHILOPENA.

One evening Ilse had placed the last remaining dainties of the holiday

season on the table; Laura was rattling an uncracked almond, and asked

the Doctor whence arose the time-honored custom of Philopena. The

Doctor doubted the antiquity of the custom and could not explain its

origin at the moment, but he was evidently perplexed at his uncertainty

in the matter. Thus, he neglected to request the mutual pledge of the

double almond. Laura cracked the shell and carelessly laid two almonds

between him and herself, saying: "There they are."

"Shall we share them?" cried the Doctor, gaily.

"If you like," replied Laura, "giving and taking, as is usually done.

But it must be only in joke," she added, thinking of her father; "and

no presents."

Both ate the almonds with the laudable intention of losing the game.

The consequence was that the affair did not advance. Laura, in the

course of the following week, handed books, tea-cups, and plates of

meat to the Doctor. He was dumb as a stick, and never said, "I am

thinking of it." Had he forgotten the agreement, or was it his usual

chivalry? But Laura could not remind him of his forgetfulness,

otherwise she would win the philopena. She again became very angry with

him.

"The learned gentleman does not hand anything to me," she said, to

Ilse; "he treats me as if I were a stick."

"It must be unintentional," replied Ilse; "he has forgotten it long

ago."

"Of course," cried Laura; "he has no memory for a pretty joke with such

an insignificant person as I am."

"Make an end of it," advised Ilse; "just remind him of it."

It so happened that the Doctor, on one occasion, could not avoid

picking up a pair of scissors, and handing them to her.

"I am thinking of it," said Laura; and added, pertly, "that's more than

you do."

After that she offered the Doctor the sugar-bowl; the Doctor took a

piece of sugar out civilly, but was silent.

"Good morning, philopena," she cried, contemptuously.

The Doctor laughed, and declared himself vanquished.

"It is not very nice of you," continued Laura, eagerly, "to have cared

so little about your philopena. I will never eat one with you again;

there is no honor in winning from gentlemen who are so absentminded."

Shortly after, the Doctor handed her a small printed book in beautiful

binding. On the first page there was written, "For Miss Laura," and on

the second, "The Origin of Philopena; a Tale." It was the history of

the beautiful daughter of a king, who liked to crack and eat nuts, but

would not marry; she accordingly invented the following stratagem.

She presented to every prince who sought her hand--and they were

countless--the half of a double almond, and she ate the other half.

Then she said; "If now your Highness can compel me to take something

out of your hand without saying the words, 'I am thinking of it,' I

shall consent to marry you; but if I can induce your Highness to take

something from my hand without saying these words, your Highness shall

have your princely head shaven and forthwith leave my country." But

there was a trick in the fulfillment of this contract; for according to

the customs of the court no one could put anything into the beautiful

Princess's own hand on pain of death, but he must give it to the

lady-in-waiting and she would hand it to the Princess. But if the

Princess herself chose to take or hand something, who could prevent

her? Thus it became a bitter pleasure for the wooers. For however much

they might endeavor to induce the Princess to take something out of

their hands without the intervention of the lady-in-waiting, the latter

always interposed and spoilt their best-laid plans. But when the

Princess wished to get rid of a suitor, she was so gracious to him for

a whole day that he was quite enchanted; and when he sat next to her,

and was already intoxicated with joy, she took, as if by accident,

something that was near her,--a pomegranate, or an egg,--and said,

softly, "Keep this in remembrance of me." As soon as the Prince took

the thing in his hand, and perhaps was preparing to say the saving

words, the thing burst asunder, and a frog, a hornet, or a bat, flew

out towards his hair, so that he drew back frightened, and, in his

fear, forgot the words; whereat he was shaven on the spot, and sent

about his business.

Thus years had passed, and in all the kingdoms roundabout, the princes

wore wigs,--these have since become fashionable. Then it happened that

the son of a foreign king, while traveling upon some business of his

own, by accident saw the almond-queen. He thought her beautiful, and at

the same he took note of the artifice that had ruined the hopes of her

former suitors. Now a little grey dwarf in whose favor he stood, had

given him an apple, at which he might smell once every year, and then a

clever idea would occur to him. He had, therefore, become very famous

amongst all kings on account of his clever ideas. Now the time of the

apple had come; he smelt, and at once this bright thought came to him:

"If you would win the game of giving and taking, you must under no

conditions either give anything to her or take anything from her." And

so he had his hands firmly bound in his girdle, went with his Marshal

to court, and said he also would be glad to eat an almond. The Princess

was much pleased with him, and had the almond handed to him. His

Marshal took it and put it in his mouth. Then the Princess inquired

what that meant, and why he always carried his hands in his girdle. He

answered that his Court customs were even stricter than hers; and he

must not take or give anything with his hands, but only with his feet

or head. The Princess laughed, and said:

"In this way we can never manage our game!"

He shrugged his shoulders and answered:

"Only in case you will condescend to take things from my boots."

"That can never be," cried the Court in chorus.

"Then why did you come here?" exclaimed the Princess, vexed, "if you

have such stupid customs?"

"Because you are so beautiful," returned the Prince; "and if I cannot

win you I can yet look upon you."

"I can say nothing against that," answered the Princess.

So the Prince remained at Court, and came to please her more and more.

But as she too was of a mischievous disposition, she endeavored in

every way to mislead him and persuade him to draw his hand out of his

girdle and take something from her. She conversed much with him, and

made him presents of flowers, bonbons, and smelling-bottles, and at

last even of her bracelet. Many times his hands twitched, but he felt

the pressure of the belt and recollected himself, nodded to the Marshal

who collected the things, and said:

"We think of it."

Now the Princess became impatient, and so one day she began after this

fashion:

"My handkerchief has fallen down; could your Highness pick it up for

me?"

The Prince took the handkerchief by the ends of his toes and waved it;

the Princess bent down, took the handkerchief from his feet, and cried

out, angrily:

"I am thinking of it."

A year had passed thus, and the Princess said to herself, "It cannot

continue so; an end must be made of the affair, in one way or the

other." So she began thus to the Prince:

"I have the loveliest garden in the world, which I will show your

Highness to-morrow."

The Prince smelt at his apple again. When they came to the garden the

Prince began:

"It is wonderfully beautiful here; that we may be able to walk together

in peace, and not be disturbed by our game, I beg, my dear Princess,

that you will adopt my Court custom, if only for an hour, and allow

your hands to be bound. Then we shall be sure of each other, and

nothing vexatious can happen to us."

This did not please the Princess, but he entreated and she could not

refuse him this trifle. Thus they walked together, with their hands

bound in their girdles. The birds sang, the sun shone warm, and from

the branches the red cherries hung down almost touching their cheeks.

The Princess looked up at the cherries, and exclaimed:

"What a pity it is that your Highness cannot pluck some of them for

me."

The Prince answered, "Necessity is the mother of invention;" and

seizing a cherry with his mouth he offered it to the Princess. Nothing

remains for her but to put her mouth to his in order to take the

cherry, and when she had the fruit between her lips, and a kiss from

him in addition, she could not at the moment say, "I am thinking

of it."

Then he exclaimed, aloud, "Good morning, Philopena," drew his hands out

of his girdle and embraced her; they were of course married and if they

have not since died, they still live together in peace and happiness.

This story the Doctor had written and caused to be printed especially

for Laura, so that no one else could have the book.

Laura carried the book to her private room, looked with pride on her

name in print, and repeatedly read the foolish little story. She walked

to and fro reflecting; and when she thus considered her relations with

Fritz Hahn, she could not feel easy in her conscience. From her

childhood she had been under obligations to him; he had always been

good and kind to her; and she, and still more her father, had always

caused him vexation. She thought penitently of all the past, up to the

cat's paws; the indefinite feeling she had concerning the "_Philopena_"

was now clear to her; she could not be as unembarrassed as she ought to

be, nor as indifferent as she would wish, because she was always under

the heavy burden of obligation. "I must come to an understanding with

him. Ah! but there is a barrier between him and me,--my father's

commands." She revolved in her mind how, without acting against his

commands, she could give the Doctor some pleasure. She had ventured

something of the kind with the orange-tree; if she could devise

anything that would remain unknown to those over the way there would be

no danger; no tender relations and no friendship would arise from it,

which her father might wish to avoid. She hastened down to Ilse,

saying, "My obligations to the Doctor oppress me more than I can

express; it is insupportable to feel myself always in his debt. Now I

have bethought me of something which will bring this state of things to

a conclusion."

"Take good care," replied Ilse, "that the affair is really brought to a

conclusion that will stand in the future."

Laura went at once to the Professor, whom she found in his study, and

asked in a merry voice if he could not aid her in playing a joke upon

her kindhearted, yet unmanageable, neighbor. "He collects all sorts of

antiquities," she said, "and I should like to get him something rare

that he would like. But nobody must know that I have anything to do

with it, himself least of all."

The Professor promised to think of something.

Some time afterwards he placed in Laura's hands a small torn volume,

that looked reduced to a pitiful state. "They are single copies of old

popular songs," said he, "that at some time or other have been bound

together. I hit upon them by a lucky accident. The little book is

valuable; to the amateur its worth is beyond proportion greater than

the price. Do not be disturbed at its bad appearance. Fritz Will take

out the separate songs, and arrange them in order in his collection. I

am convinced you could not make him a present that would please him

better."

"He shall have it," said Laura, contented, "but he shall suffer for it

nevertheless."

It was a fine collection: there were some very rare pieces among them,

an entirely unknown edition of the ballad of the unfortunate Knight

Tanhaeuser, the ballad of the Robber Toss Bowl, and a great many other

charming selections. Laura carried the book upstairs, and carefully cut

the thread of the bound sheets, which held them loosely together. She

then sat down to her writing-table, and commenced an anonymous

correspondence, which was made necessary by her father's tyranny,

writing the following in a disguised hand: "Dear Doctor, an unknown

person sends you this song for your collection; he has thirty more like

these, which are intended for you, but only on certain conditions.

First, you are to preserve towards every one, whoever it may be,

inviolate secrecy in the matter. Secondly, you are to send for every

poem another written by yourself, on any subject, addressed to O. W.,

at the Post-office. Thirdly, if you are willing to agree to this

compact, walk past No. 10 Park street, with a flower in your

button-hole, about three o'clock in the afternoon on one of the next

three days. The sender will be exceedingly gratified if you will enter

into this pleasantry. Truly Yours N. N." The song of Robber Toss Bowl

was enclosed with this letter.

It was five minutes after nine by the Doctor's watch, which was

confirmed by later investigations, when this letter was brought into

his room; the barometer was rising; light, feathery clouds fleeted

across the sky, and the moon's pale crescent shone forth from among

them. The Doctor opened the letter, the green-tinted paper of which

contrasted with the old printed sheet, yellow with age, that

accompanied it. He unfolded the yellow sheet hastily, and read:

"Stortebecker und Godecke Michael,

De rowten alle beede."

"Godecke Michael and Toks Bowl, Knight,

They fought all day and they fought all night."

There was no doubt it was the original low German text of the famous

ballad, which had hitherto been lost to the world, that lay bodily

before him. He was as pleased as a child with a Christmas-box. Then he

read the letter, and when he came to the end, he read it again. He

laughed. It was clearly all a roguish jest. But from whom? His thoughts

turned first to Laura, but she had only the evening before treated him

with cold contempt. Ilse was not to be thought of, and such playful

mischief was very unlike the Professor. What did the house No. 10 mean?

The young actress who lived there was said to be a very charming and

enterprising young lady. Was it possible she could have any knowledge

of folk-songs, and, the Doctor could not help thinking, a tender

feeling for himself? The good Fritz chanced to step before the mirror

for a moment, and he at once uttered an inward protest against the

possibility of such an idea, and, laughing, he went back to his

writing-table and to his popular song. He could not enter into the

pleasantry, that was clear, but it was a pity. He laid the Robber Toss

Bowl aside, and returned to his work. After a time, however, he took it

up again. This valuable contribution had been sent to him, at all

events, without any humiliating condition; perhaps he might be allowed

to keep it. He opened a portfolio of old folk-songs, and placed it in

its order as if it had been his own. Having laid the treasure in its

proper place, he restored the portfolio to the bookshelf, and thought,

it is a matter of indifference where the sheet lies.

In this way the Doctor argued with himself till after dinner. Shortly

before three o'clock he came to a decision. If it was only the joke of

an intimate acquaintance, he would not spoil it; and if there had been

some other motive, it must soon come to light. Meanwhile, he might keep

the document, but he would not treat it as his own possession till the

right of the sender and his object was clear. He must, in the first

place, communicate this view of the case to his unknown friend. After

he had made the necessary compromise between his conscience and his

love of collecting, he fetched a flower out of his father's

conservatory, placed it in his button-hole, and walked out into the

street. He looked suspiciously at the windows of the hostile house, but

Laura was not to be seen, for she had hid behind the curtains, and

snapped her fingers at the success of her jest when she saw the flower

in his buttonhole. The Doctor was embarrassed when he came in front of

the house appointed. The situation was humiliating, and he repented of

his covetousness. He looked at the window of the lower story, and

behold! the young actress was standing close to it. He looked at her

intelligent countenance and attractive features, took off his hat

courteously, and was weak enough to blush; the young lady returned the

civility tendered by the well-known son of the neighboring house. The

Doctor continued his walk some distance beyond; there appeared to him

something strange in this adventure. The presence and greeting of the

actress at the window certainly did not appear to be accidental. He

could not get rid of his perplexity; only one thing was quite clear to

him, he was for the present in possession of the ballad of the Robber

Toss Bowl.

As his qualms of conscience did not cease, he debated with himself for

two days whether he should enter upon any further interchange of

letters; on the third he silenced his remaining scruples. Thirty

ballads, very old editions--the temptation was overpowering! He

looked up his own attempts in rhyme,--effusions of his own lyrical

period,--examined and cast them aside. At last he found an innocent

romance which in no manner exposed him; he copied it, and accompanied

it by a few lines in which he made it a condition that he should

consider himself only the guardian of the songs.

Some days afterwards he received a second packet; it was a priceless

monastery ditty, in which the virtues of roast Martinmas goose were

celebrated. It was accompanied by a note which contained the

encouraging words: "Not bad; keep on."

Again Laura's figure rose before his eyes, and he laughed right

heartily at the Martinmas goose. This also was an old edition of which

there was no record. This time he selected an ode to Spring from his

poems and addressed it, as directed, to O. W.

The Professor was astonished that the Doctor kept silence about the

book of ballads, and expressed this to Ilse, who was partly in the

secret.

"He is bound not to speak," she said; "she treats him badly. But as it

is he, there is no danger in the joke for the bold girl."

But Laura was happy in her game of chess with masked moves. She put the

Doctor's poem carefully into her private album, and she thought that

the Hahn poetry was not so bad after all; nay, it was admirable. But

even more gratifying to her sportiveness than the correspondence, was

the thought that the Doctor was to be forced into a little affair of

sentiment with the actress. When she met him again at Ilse's, and one

of those present was extolling the talent of the young lady, she spoke

without embarrassment, and without turning to the Doctor, of the

curious whims of the actress, that once, when an admirer, whom she did

not like, had proposed to serenade her, she had placed her little dog

at the window with a night-cap on, and that she had a decided

preference for the company of strolling apprentices, and could converse

with them in the most masterly way in the dialect of her province.

The unsuspecting Doctor began to reflect. Was it then really the

actress who, without his knowing it, was in correspondence with him?

This gave Fritz a certain tacit respect for the lady.

Once when Laura was sitting with her mother at the play watching the

actress, she perceived Fritz Hahn in the box opposite. She observed

that he was looking fixedly through his opera-glass at the stage, and

sometimes broke out in loud applause. She had evidently succeeded in

putting him upon the wrong track.

Meanwhile he discovered that the unknown correspondent knew more than

how to write addresses. Laura had looked through the songs and studied

the text of the old poem of the Knight Tanhaeuser, who had lingered with

Venus in the mountain, and she sent the ballad with the following

lines:--

"While reading through this song I was overcome with emotion and horror

at the meaning of the old poetry. What, in the opinion of the poet,

became of the soul of poor Tanhaeuser? He had broken away from Venus,

and had returned penitent to the Christian faith; and when the stern

Pope said to him, 'It is as little possible for you to be saved as for

the staff that I hold in my hand to turn green,' he returned to Venus

and her mountain in proud despair. But afterwards the staff in the

hands of the Pope did turn green, and it was in vain that he sent his

messengers to fetch the knight back. What was the singer's view of

Tanhaeuser's return to evil? Would the 'Eternal love and mercy' still

forgive the poor man, although he had for the second time surrendered

himself up to the temptress? Was the old poet so liberal-minded that he

considered the return to the heathen woman as pardonable? Or is

Tanhaeuser now, in his eyes, eternally lost? and was the green staff

only to show that the Pope was to bear the blame? I should be glad to

hear your explanation of this. I think the poem very beautiful and

touching, and, when one thoroughly enters into its spirit, there is

powerful poetry in the simple words. But I feel much disturbed about

the fate of Tanhaeuser. Your N. N."

The Doctor answered immediately:

"It is sometimes difficult, from the deep feeling and terse expressions

of olden poetry, to understand the fundamental idea of the poet; and

most difficult of all in a poem which has been handed down for

centuries by popular tradition, and in which changes in the words and

meaning must certainly have taken place. The first idea of the song,

that mortals dwell in the mountains with the old heathen gods rests on

a notion which originated in ancient times. The idea that the God of

Christians is more merciful than his representative on earth has been

rooted in Germany since the time of the Hohenstaufens. One may refer

the origin of the poem to that period. It probably attained the form in

which it is now handed down to us, about the middle of the fifteenth

century, when the opposition to the hierarchy in Germany was general,

both among high and low. The grand idea of this opposition was that the

priests cannot forgive sins, and that only repentance, atonement, and

elevation of the heart to God can avail. The copy which you have so

kindly sent me, is of the early period of Luther, but we know that the

song is older, and we possess various texts, in some of which it is

more prominently set forth that Tanhaeuser after his second fall might

still trust in the divine mercy. But undoubtedly in the text you have

sent me the singer considers poor Tanhaeuser as lost if he did not

liberate himself from the power of Venus, but that he might be saved if

he did. According to popular tradition he remained with her. The great

and elevating thought that man may shake off the trammels of past sin

may be discovered in this poem, the poetical value of which I place as

high as you do."

When Laura received this answer,--Gabriel was again her confidential

messenger,--she jumped up with joy from her writing-table. She had with

Ilse grieved over poor Tanhaeuser, and given her friend a copy of the

poem; now she ran down to her with the Doctor's letter, proud that, by

means of a childish joke, at which Ilse had shaken her head, she had

entered into a learned discussion. From this day the secret

correspondence attained an importance for both Laura and Fritz which

they had little thought of in the beginning; for Laura now ventured,

when she could not satisfy herself on any subject, or took a secret

interest in anything, to impart to her neighbor thoughts which hitherto

had been confined to her writing-table, and the Doctor discovered with

astonishment and pleasure a female mind of strong and original cast,

which sought to obtain clear views from him, and unfolded itself to him

with unusual confidence. These feelings might be discovered in his

poems, which were no longer taken out of the portfolio, but assumed a

more personal character. Laura's eyes moistened as she read the pages

in which he expressed in verse his anxiety and impatience to become

acquainted with his unknown correspondent. The feeling evinced in his

lines was so pure, and one saw in them the good and refined character

of the man so clearly that one could not fail to place full confidence

in him. The old popular songs, in the first instance the main object,

became gradually only the accompaniments of the secret correspondence,

and the wings of Laura's enthusiastic soul soared over golden clouds,

whilst Mr. Hummel growled below and Mr. Hahn suspiciously awaited fresh

attacks from the enemy.

But this poetical relation with the neighbor's son, which had been

established by Laura's enterprising spirit, was exposed to the same

danger that threatens all poetic moods--of being at any moment

destroyed by rude reality. The Doctor was never to know that she was

his correspondent,--the daughter of the enemy whom he daily met, the

childish girl who quarreled with him in Ilse's room about bread and

butter and almonds. When they met, he was always as before the Doctor

with the spectacles, and she the little snappish Hummel, who had more

of her father's ill manners than Gabriel would admit. The sulking and

teasing between them went on every day as formerly. Nevertheless, it

was inevitable that a warm feeling should sometimes beam in Laura's

eyes, and that the friendly disposition with which she really regarded

the Doctor should sometimes be betrayed in a passing word. Fritz,

therefore, labored under an uncertainty over which he secretly

laughed, but which, nevertheless, tormented him. When he received the

well-disguised handwriting he always saw Laura before him; but when he

met his neighbor at his friend's she succeeded, by mocking remarks and

shy reserve, in perplexing him again. Necessity compelled her to this

coquetry, but it acted upon him each time like a cold blast; and then

it struck him, it can not be Laura,--is it the actress?

There was general astonishment at the tea-table when the Doctor once

hinted that he had been invited to a masked ball, and was not averse to

attending the noisy gathering. The ball was given by a large circle of

distinguished citizens, to which Mr. Hummel belonged. The peculiarity

of this party was that the chief actors of the city were admitted as

welcome guests. As the Doctor had hitherto never shown any inclination

for this kind of social entertainment, the Professor was astonished.

Laura alone guessed the cause, but all received the announcement of

this unusual intended dissipation with silent pleasure.

Mr. Hummel was not of the opinion that a masked ball was the place

where the worth of a German citizen was shown to greatest advantage. He

had unwillingly yielded to the coaxing of the ladies in his family, and

was now seen standing among the masks in the ball-room. He had thrown

the little black domino carelessly about his back like a priest's

mantle; his hat was pressed down over his eyes; the silk fringe of the

mask overshadowed his face on all sides, which was as unmistakable as a

full moon behind thin clouds. He looked mockingly on the throng of

masks that streamed past him, somewhat less comfortable and more silent

than they would have been without masks and colored coats. Obnoxious to

him more than all were the harlequins scattered about, who, at the

beginning of the festival, affected an extravagance of conduct which

was not natural to them. Mr. Hummel had good eyes, but it happened to

him, as to others, that he was not able to recognize every one who was

masked. All the world knew him, however. Some one tugged at his

clothes.

"How is your dog Spitehahn?" asked a gentleman in rococo dress, bowing

to him.

Hummel bowed in return. "Thanks for your kind inquiry. I would have

brought him for a bite of the calves of your legs if you had been

provided with that article."

"Does this kind of a Hummel-bee sting?" asked a green domino, in a

falsetto voice.

"Spare your remarks," replied Hummel, angrily; "your voice is fast

changing into a woman's. I quite pity your family."

He moved on.

"Will you buy a pack of hareskins, brother Hummel?" asked a wandering

pedlar.

"I thank you, brother," replied Hummel, fiercely; "you may let me have

the ass's skin that your wife tore from your face in your last

quarrel."

"There's the rough felt of our city," cried, pertly, a little clown, as

he gave Mr. Hummel a blow upon the stomach with his wand.

This was too much for Mr. Hummel: he seized the diminutive clown by the

collar, took his wand away from him, and held the refractory little

fellow on his knee. "Wait, my son," he cried; "you'll wish you had a

rough felt in another place than on your head."

But a burly Turk caught him by the arm. "Sir, how can you dare to lay

hold of my son in this manner?"

"Is this chattel yours?" returned Hummel, furiously; "your

blotting-paper physiognomy is unknown to me. If you, as Turk, devote

yourself to the rearing of ill-mannered buffoons, you must expect to

see Turkish bamboo on their backs, that is a principle of international

law. If you do not understand this you may come to me to-morrow morning

at my office; I will make the thing clear to you, and hand over to you

a bill for the watch-crystal that this creature from your harem has

broken for me."

Thereupon he threw the clown into the arms of the Turk, and the wand on

the ground, and clumsily made his way through the masks who surrounded

him.

"There is not a human soul among them," he growled; "one feels like

Robinson Crusoe among the savages." He moved about the ball-room

utterly regardless of the white shoulders and bright eyes that danced

about him, and again disappeared. At last he caught sight of two grey

bats whom he thought he knew, for it appeared to him that the masks

were his wife and daughter. He went up to them, but they avoided him

and mixed in the throng. They were undoubtedly of his party, but they

intended to remain unknown, and they knew that would be impossible if

Mr. Hummel was with them. The forsaken man turned and went into the

next room, seated himself in solitude at an empty table, took his mask

off, ordered a bottle of wine, asked for the daily paper, and lighted a

cigar.

"Pardon me, Mr. Hummel," said a little waiter; "no smoking here!"

"You too," replied Mr. Hummel, gloomily. "You see there _is_ smoking

here. This is my way of masquerading. Matters are becoming wearisome.

Every vestige of humanity and all consideration for others is being

trodden under foot to-day; and that is what they call a _bal masque_."

Meanwhile Laura slipped about among the masks, looking for the Doctor.

Fritz Hahn could easily be discovered by sharp eyes, for he wore his

spectacles over his mask. He was standing in a blue domino, near an

elegant lady in a red mantle. Laura pressed up to him. Fritz was

writing something in the hand of the lady, most likely her name, for

she nodded carelessly; then he wrote again in her hand, pointing to

himself. Probably it was his own name, for the lady nodded, and Laura

thought that she could see under her veil that she was laughing. Laura

heard the Doctor speaking to the lady of a _role_ in which he had

lately seen her on the stage, and he addressed her with the familiar

"thou." That was, indeed, the privilege of a masquerade ball, but it

was entirely unnecessary. The Doctor expressed his pleasure that in the

balcony scene the lady had so well understood how to represent the

glowing feeling of passion in such difficult metre. The red mantle

became attentive, and, turning to the Doctor, began to speak of the

_role_ she had taken. The lady spoke for some time, and then Doctor

Romeo would continue still longer. The actress stepped back some steps

into the shadow of a pillar; the Doctor followed her, and Laura saw

that the red mantle curtly answered some other male masks, and again

turned to the Doctor. At last the actress seated herself quite behind

the pillar, where she was little seen by strangers, and the Doctor

stood near her, leaning against it, and continuing the conversation.

Laura, who had also placed herself near the pillar, heard how animated

it was. The subject was passion. Now it was not the passion which one

felt for the other, but that of the stage; but even that was more than

a friend of the Doctor could approve of.

Laura stepped hastily forward, placed herself near Fritz Hahn, and

raised her finger warningly. The Doctor looked astonished at the bat,

and shrugged his shoulders. Then she seized his hand, and wrote his

name in it. The Doctor made a bow, upon which she held out her hand.

How could he know her in that disfiguring disguise? He gave decided

proof of his ignorance, and turned again to the lady in the red mantle.

Laura stepped back, and colored up to her temples under the mask. It

was in anger with herself, for she was the unfortunate one who had

brought him into this danger: and moreover she had come in such a

disguise that he could not recognize her.

She returned to her mother, who had at last been fortunate enough to

find a companion in Laura's godmother, and had got into the corner of

the room in order to exchange observations on the bodily development of

the baptized little Fritz. Laura placed herself next her mother, and

looked at the dancing masks with indifference. Suddenly she sprang up,

for Fritz Hahn was dancing with the lady in the red mantle. Was it

possible? He had long abjured dancing. More than once he had ridiculed

Laura for her pleasure in it; even she herself had at times, when

sitting before her private journal, thought how childish this

monotonous whirling movement was, and how incompatible with a nobler

conception of life;--now he was turning himself round like a top.

"What do I see?" cried her mother; "is not that ----? and the red one

is ----"

"It is immaterial with whom he dances," interrupted Laura, in order to

avoid hearing the hated confirmation of it. But she knew Fritz Hahn,

and she was aware there was some signification in this waltz. Juliet

pleased him much, otherwise he would never have done it; he had never

shown her this mark of distinction. The old comedian of the city

theatre approached them as Pantaloon; he had at last found out the two

influential ladies; he tripped up to them, made grotesque obeisances,

and began to amuse her mamma with his gossip. One of his first remarks

was, "It is said that young Hahn will go upon the stage; he is studying

his _role_ as lover with our prima-donna."

Laura turned with annoyance from the flat remark. Her last hope was the

time of unmasking; she impatiently awaited the moment. At last there

was a pause, and the masks were removed. She took her mother's arm to

go through the room to greet their acquaintances. It seemed a long time

before she got into the neighborhood of Fritz Hahn, and not once did he

look at her. Laura made a movement with her hand to touch him gently;

but she pressed her fingers firmly, and passed by fixing her eyes upon

him. Now at last he recognized her, as he ought to have done long

before. She saw the look of pleasure in his countenance, and her heart

became lighter. She stopped while he exchanged some civil sentences

with her mother, and she expected that he would acknowledge that she

had already greeted him, but he did not mention a word of the

occurrence. Had so many written in his hand that he could not bear in

mind one poor little bat? When he turned to her he only praised the

ball music. This was all the notice he thought her worthy of. His

conversation with Juliet had been the free interchange of mind, but to

her he only addressed a few indifferent sentences. Her countenance

assumed the gloomy Hummel look, as she answered, "You used to have

little sympathy for the jingling instrument to which the puppets

dance."

The Doctor looked embarrassed, but laughed, and asked her for the next

dance. This was bad tact. Laura answered bitterly, "When the grey bat

was so bold as to flutter about Romeo, he had no dance free for her;

now her eyes are blinded by the bright light." She bowed her head like

a queen, took her mother's arm, and left him behind.

What followed was still more aggravating. The Doctor danced once more

with the lady in the mantle. Laura observed how fascinatingly she

smiled on him, and he danced with no one else. Of her he took no

further notice, and she was glad when soon after Mr. Hummel came up to

them and said: "It was difficult to find you. When I inquired of the

people for the two ugliest disguises, you were pointed out to me. I

shall be glad if to-morrow morning you awake without headache. We have

had enough of pleasure today."

Laura was glad when the carriage arrived at home; she rushed up to her

room, hastily took her book out of the drawer, and wrote rapidly:

"Cursed be my deed and cursed all sinful art;

My own true happiness is now at stake

A troup of enemies surrounds my heart,

Which bleeding from so deadly wounds will break."

she wiped away the tears which rolled upon her paper.

The bright light of the following morning exercised its tranquilizing

influence on her fluttering thoughts. Over there Fritz Hahn was still

lying in his bed. The good youth had tired himself yesterday. Many

drops of water might still flow into the sea before friend Fritz would

determine to unite his fate with an actress of tragedy. She brought out

her supply of old ballads and selected one; it was a very jolly one:

the May-Bug's Marriage--in which the may-bug on the hedge asks in

marriage the young maiden fly. Many little birds occupy themselves

seriously about the wedding, but at last it is put an end to by some

disreputable conduct on the part of the bridegroom.

"Good," said Laura; "my May-Bug Fritz, before you marry the frivolous

fly Juliet, other birds shall have their say about it."

She folded up the song, and added to it a little note: "You guess

wrongly. The person who sends this to you never was Juliet." As she

closed the letter she said to herself, with more composure: "If he does

not now perceive that he was mistaken, one cannot think much of his

judgment."

The Doctor was sitting a little stupefied over his books, when his eye

fell upon the above letter. He cast a look upon the Marriage of the

May-Bug; he had never yet come across an old copy of it, and in rapidly

glancing over it he saw that many verses were quite different from our

current text. Then he took the note, and endeavored to interpret the

oracle. Now it was clear that the actress was the sender, for who else

could know that he had accosted her as Juliet, and that they had

conversed long about this _role_. But what could the words mean, "You

guess wrongly?" But even on this point his eyes were blinded; he had

maintained that the representation of passion could only be to a

certain extent attained by an actor, if he had never in his life

experienced a similar feeling. This the actress denied, and they had

endeavored to come to an agreement about it; her words, therefore,

clearly meant that she had impersonated Juliet without ever having

previously felt a great passion. This was a confession that showed

great confidence--nay, perhaps still more. The Doctor sat long looking

at the note; but he now felt pretty sure who his correspondent was, and

the discovery did not give him pleasure. For when he had reasoned the

matter out upon rational grounds, it had always been Laura's eyes that

beamed upon him from the paper, though undoubtedly quite another look

from that which she had favored him with yesterday. He laid the May-Bug

Marriage with the other songs, and again asked himself whether he ought

to continue the correspondence. At last he sealed in answer one of the

worthless trifles of his portfolio, and did not write anything in

addition.

Some days after, when the Professor and Ilse were walking through the

streets, they passed by the dwelling of the actress; both saw their

friend standing at the window of the heroine, and he nodded to them

from within.

"How has he made this acquaintance?" asked the Professor; "is not the

young lady considered very fast?"

"I fear so," answered Ilse, troubled.

Now Mrs. Knips (who dwelt opposite to the actress) came running in to

Madame Hummel one day with the linen still damp, and told her that on

the previous evening a great basket of champagne had been taken to the

actress's house, and that in the night the loud singing of a dissolute

company had been heard over the whole street, and that young Doctor

Hahn had been among them!

On Sunday the comedian had been invited to dinner at Mr. Hummel's, and

one of his first anecdotes was concerning a jovial party which had

taken place at the actress's. With the malice which is often to be

found in fellow-artists towards each other, he added, "She has found a

new admirer, the son of your neighbor over the way. Well! the father's

money will at least come to the support of art." Mr. Hummel opened his

eyes and shook his head, but only said, "So Fritz Hahn too has gone

among the actors and become dissipated: he is the last one that I

should have suspected of this."

Mrs. Hummel endeavored to bring to mind her recollections of the ball,

and found in them a sorrowful confirmation of this, but Laura, who had

been sitting very pale and silent, broke forth vehemently to the actor: