Winter had come again, and the earth had to consent, with or against
her will, to receive her rude visitant. It is all very well when winter
comes in pleasantly with bright frosty weather, but when it brings a
nasty cold rain at Christmas time, it is very disagreeable. This year,
however, it came in merrily as I have often known it do, with the
cracking of whips and tinkling of sledge-bells. I remember well how
William of Siden-Bollentin drove up to my door in a sledge, his horses
smoking in the frosty air. He sprang to the ground, rubbed his cold
blue cheeks, slapped his arms once--twice--thrice, across his chest to
warm himself, and said: "Good-morning, Mr. Reuter, I've come to fetch
you. My master and mistress send their compliments, and you've nothing
to do but to get into the sledge, for the foot-bags and cloaks are
lying in a heap on the seat ready for you. To-morrow's Christmas, and
little Jack told me to drive as hard as I could."--When winter comes
like that my wife and I rejoice and welcome it with delight, so we gave
the old groom a glass of wine, seated ourselves in the sledge, and off
we went at the rate of ten miles an hour--and yet when we got to the
front-door at Bollentin, Fred Peters greeted us with: "What the devil
has made you so long in coming?"--His wife embraced my wife, took off
her hood, and said to me; "Uncle Reuting, I have a nice little dish of
cabbage and sausage ready for you."--And the two girls, Lizzie and
Annie, whom I have so often carried in my arms when they were little
babies, ran up to me, gave their old uncle a hearty kiss, and then
threw themselves into my wife's arms. Fred and Max, who were now great
school-boys, came and shook my hand in the old high-school fashion, and
while they were doing so, Jack was watching his opportunity to spring
out upon me. As soon as he caught me, I gave him a ride on my foot, and
would have liked to have been his playfellow for the rest of the
evening. Then little Ernest, the baby, was introduced to me, and we all
stood round that wonder of the world, and exclaimed at his look of
wisdom, and at his being able to take so much notice. Last of all came
the old grand-mother. After that the amusements of the evening began.
The Christmas tree was lighted up. The Julklapp knocked, and the first
thing it threw in was a poem written by my wife, the only one she ever
made, and which was as follows: "Here I sit, and am so hot; and ask
naught by day ....." There it ended, and it was no matter, for it was
perfect as a fragment. Then Christmas day came with a solemn hush into
the world, and God scattered His soft snow-flakes like down upon the
face of the earth, so that no sound was to be heard without. On the
next day parson Pieper and his wife, and the superintendent and his
wife came, and Anna too, who is a great pet of mine, for she was once
my pupil. Then came Mrs. Adam, the doctor's wife, and Mrs. Schönermark,
the sheriff's wife; they brought Lucy Dolle with them, and she had
rather an uncomfortable seat between the two ladies. After that another
sledge drove up, out of which Dr. Dolly lifted a great round bundle,
beside which he had been sitting, and handed it over to the two
parlour-maids, who were standing ready to receive it. When the bundle
was unrolled, and all the furs, cloaks, shawls and foot-bags which
composed its outer covering had been removed, Mr. Schröder, the
barrister, was disclosed to view. He was not ready even then, for he
seated himself on one of the hall-chairs, and Sophie took possession
of one leg, and Polly of the other, and then they pulled off his
fur-boots, while I held him firmly, lest his legs should be tugged off.
Then came another sledge, and out of it sprang Rudolph Kurz--he jumped
right over the reins the coachman was holding in his hand, and after
him came Hilgendorf. Do you know, Hilgendorf? Hilgendorf, our Rudolph's
teacher? No? Well, it is not necessary that you should. To describe him
in a few words: Hilgendorf is a natural curiosity, his bones are made
of ivory--"pure ivory." He is so hard that any one thumping him on the
shoulder or knee has his hand badly bruised--because of his ivory
bones.
Then coffee was drunk, and the barrister told stories, very good
stories they were too, and he told them with fire, that is to say, his
pipe was continually going out while he was talking, and he had to
light it again every now and then, so that before long he had smoked a
whole boxful of matches. Max was deputed to sit beside him, and see
that he did not catch fire during his consumption of matches. After
that there was whist with van der Heydt and Manteufel, and various
other things of the sort, for that was the barrister's usual play.
During supper, whilst he was disposing of roast goose and other good
things, the barrister made all kinds of beautiful poems out of the most
extraordinary rhymes; for instance, "Hilgendorf," "Schorf," and "Torf,"
and when given "Peters," he made the next lines end with "Köters," and
"versteht er's." When we at last separated, we all shook hands, and
parted in peace and good-will, every face saying: "Till next year!"
The day after Christmas passed very differently at Pümpelhagen. The
weather was bright and beautiful there also, but the peace and
good-fellowship that should have made the day a happy one, were
wanting. Each member of the household was busy with his or her own
private thoughts, with the exception of Fred Triddelfitz and Mary
Möller, who spent the afternoon together eating ginger-bread-nuts. Fred
said after a time: "I can eat no more, Polly, for I have to go on a
journey to-morrow. I am to take three loads of wheat to Demmin, and if
I eat more ginger-bread I may be ill. I shouldn't like that you know,
especially as I want to make up the parcel of our reading-books for the
library, that I may change them in Demmin, and so let us have something
to read in the evening." He then rose and went out to visit his
sorrel-mare, and Mary Möller felt that his heart was not entirely hers,
for he divided it between her and his mare.
Hawermann was sitting alone, buried in thought. He was very grave, for
he felt that his active work in the world had now come to an end, that
he might fold his hands on his knees, and take his rest. He was sad
when he thought of how his life at Pümpelhagen had ended, and how all
his joy in the place had turned to sorrow.
Alick and Frida were sitting in another room. They were together, and
yet they were alone, for they thought their own thoughts, and did not
confide them to each other. They were silent; Frida calm and quiet, and
Alick rather cross. Suddenly sledge-bells were heard outside, and
Pomuchelskopp drove up to the door. Frida picked up her work and left
the room, so Alick was obliged to receive his visitor alone.
The two gentlemen were soon busily engaged talking of farming matters,
such as horse-breeding, and the price of corn. The afternoon would have
passed innocently and peacefully, if Daniel Sadenwater had not brought
in the post-bag. Alick opened it, and found a letter for Hawermann. He
would at once have given it to Daniel, but he saw his own crest on the
envelope, and on looking more closely, he discovered that it was
addressed in his cousin's hand-writing. "Is that confounded plot still
going on behind my back?" he exclaimed, as he threw the letter to
Daniel, almost hitting him in the face with it: "Take that to the
bailiff."--Daniel went away looking rather dazed, and Pomuchelskopp
asked Alick sympathisingly what had put him out.--"Isn't it enough to
make any one angry to see how that idiotic cousin of mine has allowed
himself to be caught in the toils laid for him by that old rascal and
his daughter, and how obstinate he is in carrying on that foolish
love-affair?"--"Oh," said Muchel, "I thought that was over long
ago. I was told that your cousin had broken off all connection with
these people as soon as he heard what every one was saying about
them."--"What is it?" asked Alick.--"Oh, what is said about your
bailiff and the labourer, Kegel--isn't that the man's name--and the
three hundred pounds."--"Tell me, what do people say?"--"You know. I
think that was why you gave the old fellow the sack."--"I don't
understand. Tell me what you mean."--"Everyone knows it. It is said
that Hawermann and the labourer had made a compact together. That
Hawermann let the labourer escape, and that he got half of the money
for doing so. That he gave him an estate-pass, which enabled him to get
an engagement as ordinary seaman at Wismar."--Alick paced the room with
long strides: "It isn't possible! He can't have deceived me so
shamefully!"--"Ah, people even go so far as to say that he and the
labourer had arranged about the theft from the very first, but I don't
believe that."--"Why not? What was the old sinner talking secretly to
the woman for? What made him take such a prominent part then, when he
is generally so very retiring."--"If there had been anything in that,"
said Pomuchelskopp, "the mayor of Rahnstädt would surely have noticed
it"--"The mayor! I have very little confidence in his judgment. They
make out now that the wife of a poor weaver was the thief who stole the
money from the labourer on the public road. And why? Because she tried
to get change for a Danish double Louis d'or which she had found. She
declared that she had found it, nothing would make her change her
story, and so the wise mayor of Rahnstädt had to set her free."--"Yes,"
answered Muchel, "and the man who saw the Louis d'or was Kurz, the
shopkeeper, and he is a relation of Hawermann's I think."--"I'd
give another hundred pounds with pleasure," cried Alick, "if I could
only get to the bottom of this villany."--"It would be difficult
to manage," said Pomuchelskopp, "but, first of all I'd--when does he
go?"--"Hawermann? To-morrow."--"Well, you should go over his books very
carefully, you can't tell whether they're in good order or not. Be
particular to add up the columns of figures yourself, and you may
perhaps find something wrong, at any rate it's the best check. He must
have feathered his nest pretty well, for I hear he is going to live in
Rahnstädt on his savings. Certainly he has been receiving a high salary
here for a number of years, but I know that he had to pay off a good
many, and rather considerable debts, when he first became your father's
bailiff. After that he--as I hear from attorney Slus'uhr--lent out his
small savings, and perhaps some of the estate-money at usury, and has
made a good thing of it."--"Oh," cried Alick, "and when I asked him
once ....." but he stopped short in order not to betray himself, but he
felt as if he hated Hawermann for not having helped him when he could
so easily have done so, for having refused him assistance because he
had not offered him a high enough percentage on the money he had wanted
to borrow.
After this there was very little more conversation, for each of the
gentlemen had too much to think of to care to talk, and when
Pomuchelskopp at length drove home, he left young Mr. von Rambow a prey
to all kinds of suspicious fancies, which made him so restless and
uneasy that he could not go to sleep the whole night.
In an upper room in the Pümpelhagen farm-house Hawermann was sitting
over his desk, with his account-book open before him. He was going over
the last months' accounts to make sure that they were all right, and
corresponded with the quantity of money he had in his safe. Since Alick
had come into the estate, he had taken him the books every quarter to
be examined, but the young squire sometimes said he had no time to look
at them, and sometimes without looking at them, had returned them,
saying, he was sure they were all right, and that it was not necessary
to show them to him. Hawermann had not made use of this carelessness of
his master, but had been even more particular than before, and had kept
his books as he had been accustomed to do from his youth up. He had
taught Triddelfitz to keep an account of the corn used, and to bring it
to him every week; if ever the lad made a mistake in his report he
scolded him for it far more severely than for any carelessness in other
things.
While the old man was sitting at his desk Fred came in, and asked his
advice about this or that concerning his journey to Demmin. When all
was settled, and Fred was about to leave the room, the bailiff called
him back: "Triddelfitz," he said, "I hope you have your corn-account
ready."--"Yes," said Fred, "that's to say, very nearly."--"Didn't I ask
you to be particular about having it ready for me to-night, and to be
sure that you added it up properly?"--"All right," said Fred, leaving
the room. Daniel Sadenwater came in, and brought the bailiff a letter;
and as it was growing dark Hawermann took it to the window. When he saw
that it was from Frank his heart beat quicker, and as he read it, his
eyes shone with pride and joy, and his heart softened and thawed under
the influence of the young man's affection, in the same way as the snow
on the roof melts in the sunshine, and before he had finished the
letter a few tears had fallen from his eyes upon the paper.
Frank wrote that he had heard that Hawermann was going to leave
Pümpelhagen, that he was now free, and must consent to his sincere
desire to write to Louisa at once. The enclosed letter was to be given
to her, and Frank hoped that it would lead to three people being
happier than before.
The bailiff's hands trembled as he put his daughter's letter into his
pocket-book, and his knees knocked together as he thought of the future
happiness or unhappiness of his only child being thus in his hands. He
seated himself on the sofa, and considered what he ought to do. In the
morning the sea sometimes rises in wild billows, at noon it is calmer,
but still gloomy and uncertain looking, but in the evening the blue sky
is reflected in the smooth mirror of the water, and the setting sun
encloses the picture in a golden frame.
Something of this sort was going on in the old man's spirit. At first
his thoughts were tumultuous and confused, then he grew calmer, and was
able to think whether he should be failing in his duty to Mr. von
Rambow if he consented to do as Frank wished him. But what duty did he
owe to the man who had returned him evil for good, and who was even now
driving him away by his conduct? None. And he raised his head proudly,
feeling that his conscience could not reproach him for his actions or
thoughts, and then he determined that he would not sacrifice his best
and dearest for the sake of a foolish boy, that he could not make his
child suffer because of unjust social prejudices. Then he pleased
himself by thinking of the happy future before Frank and Louisa, and
lost himself in a delicious day-dream.
While he was thus engaged the door opened, and Christian Degel rushed
into the room, exclaiming: "Oh, sir, you must come at once, the
Rubens-mare has been taken very ill, and we don't know what to do." The
bailiff rose and hastened to the stable.
Scarcely was he gone than Fred Triddelfitz came in carrying a
portmanteau, club-books, shirts, and clothes of all kinds. He laid the
portmanteau on a chair by the window, and began to pack up his things
that he might be able to cut a figure in Demmin, when he caught sight
of Hawermann's farm-book; for the old man had forgotten in his
excitement to shut his desk.--"That'll, do for me," said Fred, and
seating himself in the window as it was beginning to grow dark, he set
to work to enter the corn-account.
Before he had quite finished Christian rushed into the room again: "Mr.
Triddelfitz, you must go at once--this very moment--and fetch a
rape-cloth from the granary, we are going to pack the mare in wet
sheets." When Fred heard footsteps coming he hid the book behind him on
the chair, and when Christian thrust the key of the granary into his
hand, he left the book lying on the chair and went away with the groom.
He met Mary Möller coming from the cow-house just as he got to the
granary door; "Mary," he cried, "will you be so kind as to put up my
things for me. You'll find them with the portmanteau on the chair at
the parlour window; be sure you don't forget the books."--Mary did as
she was asked. It was very dark and she was in love, so she packed
Hawermann's farm-book as well as the novels from the lending library.
When Hawermann came back from the stable he locked his desk without
noticing that anything was missing, and next morning Fred Triddelfitz
set off at cock-crow for Demmin with his wheat and portmanteau, never
thinking he had anything with him that he ought not to have had.
After the old bailiff had given the labourers their orders for the last
time, he returned to his house to collect and pack his things so that
he might leave that afternoon, but before he was quite ready, Daniel
Sadenwater came in, and desired him to come to Mr. von Rambow.
Alick had spent a very restless night; his best thoroughbred mare in
which he had placed his hopes had been taken ill; the suspicion
Pomuchelskopp had aroused, troubled him; the difficulty of farming by
himself overwhelmed him, and then he must pay Hawermann's wages at
once, to say nothing of various small sums he had got the bailiff to
pay for him to the labourers, and the total amount of which he did not
know. The bailiff had given him warning, not he the bailiff, and he
must try to think of some pretext to put off paying him at once what he
owed him. A good reason for such conduct is difficult to find, but a
subject of quarrel is always to be had, and may be made to serve as a
pretext for putting off the payment of one's debts. It is a wretched
means to gain such an end, but a very common one! And Alick determined
to make use of it, thereby showing how much his pride as a man and a
gentleman had been lowered. Nothing has so much influence on a weak
man's character as being short of money, especially when he wants to
keep up appearances. "Needy and bumptious" is a true proverb.
When Hawermann came in, he turned to the window, and asked while he
looked out into the yard: "Is the mare quite well again?"--"No," said
Hawermann, "she is still ill, and I think you should send for the
vet."--"I will see that he comes. But," he added, still staring out of
the window, "she would have been quite well if the stables had been
properly looked after, and if she had not been fed on that bad, mouldy
hay."--"Mr. von Rambow, you know that the hay got a good deal of rain
this summer, but still it's by no means mouldy. And you took the entire
charge of the thoroughbreds into your own hands, for when I made a
slight change in the stable a few weeks ago, you forbade my order being
obeyed, and undertook to manage the horses yourself."--"Of course! Of
course!" cried Alick beginning to walk up and down the room, "we know
all that. It's the old story over again." Suddenly he came to a
stand-still before Hawermann, and looking at him a little uncertainly,
went on: "You're going away to-day, ar'n't you?"--"Yes," said
Hawermann, "after our last agreement ...."--"I needn't," interrupted
the young squire, "let you go before Easter unless I choose, and I
insist upon your staying here until the second of January."--"You're
right, but ....."--"That isn't so much longer for you to stay,"
interrupted Alick, "and we must go over our accounts. Go and get your
book now."--Hawermann went.
Alick was determined to save his money a little longer if he could.
When Hawermann came back with his book, he might say that he had not
time to look at it at that moment, and if the bailiff begged him to do
it, he might get on his high horse, and say that the second of January
would be time enough. But matters were to go more easily for him than
he had thought. Hawermann did not return. He waited, and waited, but
still Hawermann did not return. At last he sent Daniel Sadenwater to
seek him, and then he came back with the butler. The old bailiff was
pale and excited, and as he entered the room, he exclaimed: "I don't
understand it. How can it have happened?"--"What's the matter?" asked
Alick.--"Mr. von Rambow, I was busy finishing my book yesterday
afternoon, and when I had done I put it in my desk, and now it is
gone."--"A nice story forsooth," cried Alick scornfully, and the seed
Pomuchelskopp had sowed in his soul began to grow, "yes, it's a nice
story. When no one wanted the book it was always ready, and now that it
is asked for, it has disappeared."--"I entreat of you," urged
Hawermann, "don't judge so quickly. It will be found; it must be
found," and he hurried away.
After a time he came back, "It isn't there," he said mournfully, "it
has been stolen from me."--"That's a good joke!" working himself into a
rage. "My three hundred pounds were not stolen, at least you said they
were not, and now you say your book is stolen, because it suits you to
say so."--"Oh God!" cried the old man, "give me time!" He clasped his
hands together: "Oh God, my book is gone."--"Yes," cried Alick, "and
the labourer Regel is also gone, and everyone knows how he escaped. My
three hundred pounds are also gone, and everyone knows where they are
to be found. Have you noted them in the book?" he asked advancing close
to Hawermann, and looking him full in the face.--The old man stared at
him, and then looking all round as if to make sure where he was, let
his clasped hands fall to his side. He shivered from head to foot as
does a giant river when about to break its icy fetters, and the blood
rushed through his limbs and tingled in his face, like the waters of
the great river, when they have freed themselves from their bonds, and
rush swiftly on their course carrying all before them. Beware of such
times, children of men! "Scoundrel!" he shouted, springing upon Alick,
who had: retreated a few steps when he saw the expression of the
other's face. "Scoundrel!" he cried, "my honest name..." Alick got into
a corner and seized the weapon that was always kept there. "Scoundrel!"
cried the old man, "your gun and my honest name!" And now began a
violent struggle for possession of the gun, which the bailiff caught by
the stock and tried to wrench out of his opponent's hand. Bang! The gun
went off.--"Oh Lord!" cried Alick, falling back upon the sofa. The old
man stood beside him with the gun in his hand.--The door opened, and
Mrs. von Rambow rushed up to her husband: "What is it? What's the
matter?" she exclaimed, and all the love she had ever felt for him came
back with a rush. "Oh, what is this? Blood!"--"Never mind," said Alick,
trying to raise himself, "it's only my arm."--The old man stood
motionless with the gun in his hand. His fury was calmed, but he felt
that he had done an evil deed that he could never wash out however long
he might live.--Daniel and the housemaid both ran into the room, and
with their help Alick's coat was taken off and he was laid upon the
sofa. His arm was much lacerated by the shot, and the blood dripped
upon the floor.--"Go for a doctor," said Mrs. von Rambow, while she
tried to stop the flow of blood by binding handkerchiefs round her
husband's arm. She had not enough to be of any use, so she rose to
fetch more. She had to pass Hawermann on her way to the door. He was
standing pale and motionless by his master's side. "Murderer!" she said
as she went out, and again when she came in she repeated: "Murderer!"
The old man made no reply, but Alick raised himself, and said: "No,
Frida, no. He is not that," for even an unrighteous man speaks the
truth when he feels that he has escaped death by a hair's breadth,
"but," he added, still harping on the old theme, "he is a cheat and a
thief. Get out of my sight as quick as you can," he said addressing the
bailiff.--The old man's face flushed, he opened his mouth as if to
speak, and then seeing how Mrs. von Rambow shrank from him, he
staggered out of the study.
He went to his own room: "A cheat and a thief," the words rang in his
ears. He went to the window and looked out into the yard. He saw
everything that went on there, but he saw it as in a dream. "A cheat
and a thief," that was the only thing he could understand, that alone
was real. He saw Christian Degel driving out of the yard; he knew that
the man had gone to fetch the doctor; he threw the window wide open and
was about to desire him to drive as hard as he could; but--"a cheat and
a thief" was what he involuntarily called out instead of the order he
had intended to give; he shut the window again. But the book! The book
must be found--the book! He pulled everything out of the boxes he had
already packed; he strewed all his possessions about the floor; he fell
upon his knees--not to pray, for he was "a cheat and a thief"; he poked
about under his desk with his stick, under his chest of drawers, and
under his bed; the book must be somewhere, the book! All in vain! "A
cheat and a thief." He once more took his stand in the window, and
looked out; he still had his walking stick in his hand, was he going
out, or what did he want with the stick? Yes, he would go out, he would
go away from here, far away! He snatched up his hat, and went out.
Where should he go? It was all the same to him, all the same, but habit
led him to Gürlitz. As he went along the familiar road, old thoughts
came back to him: "My child! My child!" he cried, "my honest name!" He
felt his breast pocket--yes, he had put his pocket-book there, he had
his daughter's happiness safe. What was the use of it now? He had
destroyed the power that letter contained of making her happy, his
honesty was doubted, and that shot had made matters even worse than
they were before. A few bitter tears were wrung from him in his agony
of spirit, and the tears brought him comfort; he knew that he had only
meant to wrest the gun from Alick, not to hurt him; his conscience
acquitted him of that crime, and he breathed more freely--but his
honest name was gone and with it the happiness of his only child. Oh,
how distinctly he remembered his joy yesterday when he had read and
thought over that letter in his own room, when he had indulged in
day-dreams of his daughter's future happiness, and now, all was changed
and lost. The brand attached to his name would sink into his daughter's
heart and bring her sorrow and shame. But what had his child to do with
it? Alas! The curses and brands that rest on the father descend to the
children even to the fourth generation, and the same hedge of thorns
which separated him from all honest men came between his daughter and
happiness. But he was innocent. Who would believe him if he were to say
so? He, whose white robe of innocence has been, however unjustly,
smirched, may go on his way through the world, no one will wash him
clean; even if God were to proclaim his innocence by signs and
wonders--the world would not believe. "Oh," he cried, "I know the
world!" Then his eyes fell on Gürlitz manor, Pomuchelskopp's home, and
out of a corner of his heart, a corner he thought he had closed and
barred for evermore, rose the dread figure of Hate, the tears he had
shed for his child dried on his cheek, and his voice which had before
uttered the words involuntarily, now repeated them, "a cheat and a
thief," and angry thoughts rose thick and fast in his mind: "he is the
cause of it all, and we must be quits some day!"
He went through Gürlitz, but saw nothing on the right hand or the left.
All he had loved there were gone from the place, he had only to do with
his hate, and had only one object to set before him in life.--Bräsig
was standing by the parsonage barn, and seeing his friend went forward
to meet him: "Good morning, Charles. Where are you going? But what's
the matter?"--"Nothing, Bräsig! But leave me, leave me alone. Come to
Rahnstädt to-morrow, come to-morrow," so saying he walked on and left
him. When he came to the hill on the other side of Gürlitz, from the
top of which Alick had first shown his young wife his beautiful estate
of Pümpelhagen, and where she had shown such unaffected pleasure in
what she saw, he stood still. It was the last point from which he could
see the place where he had been so happy, and where he had as it were
wept tears of blood when his honour and his name had been so cruelly
tarnished. His whole soul rebelled against his fate: "The miserable
liar!" he said. "And she--she called me a 'murderer' once, then she
said it again: 'murderer,' and turned from me in horror.--Your day of
sorrow is coming upon you all. I could have saved you, and I would have
saved you. I watched over your interests and served you as faithfully
as a dog, and you have thrust me from you like a dog; but ...." and he
turned to resume his walk to Rahnstädt, hatred still possessing his
soul.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: _Translator's note_. The housekeeper in a large farm in N.
Germany is a person of great consequence, and is always called
Mamselle.]
[Footnote 2: _Translator's note_. In Germany the wife has to provide,
as well as her own trouseau, all the house and table-linen, and all the
furniture even tables and chairs.]
[Footnote 3: _Translator's note_. "Fasan"--"Vasall."]
[Footnote 4: "Vinum, the father,
And c[oe]na, the mother,
And Venus, the nurse,
Make gout much worse."]
END OF VOL. II.
GERMAN AUTHORS TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
On the Heights by _B. Auerbach_. Translated by F. E. Bunnett. 3 vols.
In the Year '13 by _Fritz Reuter_. Translated from the Platt-Deutsch by
Charles Lee Lewes, 1 vol.
Faust by _Goethe_. From the German by John Anster, LL. D. 1 vol.
Undine, Sintram and other Tales by _Fouqué_. Translated by F. E.
Bunnett. 1 vol.
L'Arrabiata and other Tales by _Paul Heyse_. From the German by Mary
Wilson, 1 vol.
The Princess of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel and other Tales by _H.
Zschokke_. From the German by M. A. Faber. 1 vol.
Nathan the Wise and Emilia Galotti by _G. E. Lessing_. The former
translated by W. Taylor, the latter by Charles Lee Lewes, 1 vol.
Behind the Counter [Handel und Wandel] by _F. W. Hackländer_. From the
German by M. Howitt. 1 vol.
Three Tales by _W. Hauff_. From the German by M. A. Faber. 1 vol.
Joachim von Kamern and Diary of a poor young Lady by _Maria Nathusius_.
From the German by Miss Thompson. 1 vol.
Poems from the German of _F. Freiligrath_. 1 vol.
Gabriel, a Story of the Jews in Prague by _S. Kohn_. From the German by
Arthur Milman, M.A. 1 vol.
The Dead Lake and other Tales by _Paul Heyse_. From the German by Mary
Wilson, 1 vol.
Through Night to Light by _Karl Gutzkow_. From the German by M. A.
Faber. 1 vol.
An Egyptian Princess by _G. Ebers_, Translated by E. Grove. 2 vols.
Flower, Fruit and Thorn Pieces by _Jean Paul Friederich Richter_. From
the German by Noel. 2 vols.
Ekkehard, a Tale of the tenth Century by _J. V. Scheffel_. Transl. from
the German by S. Delffs. 2 v.
The Princess of the Moor [Das Haideprincesschen] by _E. Marlitt_. 2
vols.
Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship by _Goethe_. From the German by
Eleanor Grove. 2 vols.
Barbarossa and other Tales by _Paul Heyse_. 1 vol.
Prince Bismarck. By _W. Görlach_. From the German by Miss M. E. v.
Glehn. With Portrait. 1 vol.
The Vulture Maiden [Die Geier-Wally] by _W. v. Hillern_. From the
German by C. Bell & F. Poynter. 1 v.
Uarda. A Romance of ancient Egypt by _Georg Ebers_. 2 vols.
Homo Sum. A Novel by _G. Ebers_. From the German by C. Bell. 2 vols.
An old Story of my Farming Days [Ut Mine Stromtid] by _Fritz Reuter_.
From the German by M. W. Macdowall. 3 vols.
The Hour will come by _W. v. Hillern_. From the German by C. Bell. 2
vols.
The Sisters. A Romance by _G. Ebers_. From the German by C. Bell. 2
vols.
Brigitta. A Tale by _B. Auerbach_. From the German by C. Bell, 1 vol.
Spinoza. A Novel by _B. Auerbach_. Translated by E. Nicholson. 2 vols.
Klytia. A Story of Heidelberg Castle by _George Taylor_. From the
German by Sutton Eraser Corkran. 2 v.
Stella by _Fanny Lewald_. From the German by B. Marshall. 2 vols.
Joshua by _Georg Ebers_. From the German by C. & M. Bell. 2 vols.
Per Aspera by _Georg Ebers_. From the German by C. Bell. 2 vols.
_Any volume may be had separately, price M 1,60 stitched_.
* * * * *
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ, LEIPZIG,
AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.