"This always affected my mother unpleasantly, and my sisters listened

to these constantly repeated tales without any special pleasure. They

had very little imagination, and were completely absorbed in the petty

cares and joys of the present; but these fairy like descriptions so

filled my mind, that the wretched reality of my life became more and

more distasteful to me. I dreamed of nothing but magnificence and

splendor, a luxurious existence without any cares, and of kings and

princes paying court to me. I gave grand names to my dolls, constantly

practiced speaking French, which my father approved, and when one day

at dinner, the conversation turned upon what each of us wanted to

become. I, precocious little ten-year-older, exclaimed: 'I will be a

duchess!'

"My mother angrily reproved me: 'it was wicked pride, I must try to

become good and pious, modest and industrious'--you can probably

imagine all I heard. My father was perfectly silent. Afterwards when I

was alone with him, he drew me, still violently weeping into his arms,

kissed my wet eyes, and said only: '_Sois tranquille, ma mignonne. Tu

vas gater tes beaux yeux avec ces larmes._' From that day, at home and

at school, whenever any one wanted to tease me, I was called 'Duchess

Toinette.' But I was not at all annoyed; on the contrary I liked the

nickname far better than the simple 'Toni,' my mother usually called

me. After a time as I became more sensible and perceived that my

father's little pension would not enable us to live in ducal style, I

might have lost this sickly desire for royal luxury, and in time

learned to be satisfied with a modest income, like my sisters. But

unfortunately there was a constant temptation close at hand. For years,

our little city had been under the rule of a petty prince, and the

ancestral castle still stood in all its magnificence on a wooded

height, which could be climbed in ten minutes. The prince himself had

been suddenly killed in the prime of life, while hunting. The solemn

funeral, which all the inhabitants flocked to attend, was the first

memorable spectacle that had left a lasting impression on my childish

brain. Since that time, the princess had lived in the castle with

her children, a pretty little boy some years older than I, and

several daughters. The household was maintained in the same style as

before, and after the year of mourning had expired, new guests and

entertainments brought fresh gayety.

"To be sure, we plebeian children only witnessed these things through

the railing of the park, or if we could slip in, through the lofty

windows that looked out upon the garden. But it was more than enough to

give new food to my ducal dreams. The superb toilettes, the countless

candles, the graceful curtseys, smiles, whispers, and flirtations,

which I witnessed for hours, with my face pressed against a window

pane, fairly intoxicated me. I would gladly have spent my life in the

midst of such surroundings, and something told me I should have

harmonized with them well. At least I did not understand my sisters,

who always grew red and foolish if any of the strangers in their walks

about our little city condescended to exchange a few gracious words

with us children, who were standing curiously outside the gates. I

always had an answer ready and made my little curtsey so easily, that

more than once the ladies noticed me particularly, and exchanged with

each other in French, flattering words about my looks, not a syllable

of which escaped me.

"My father, who went to the castle, as he gave dancing lessons to the

princess' children, often repeated the compliments that had been paid

me there, and held me up as a pattern to my sisters. Of course this was

not agreeable to them or their mother, and often caused unpleasant

scenes. Often he brought home all sorts of dainties, confectionary, and

rare fruits. The butler was his god-father. This again made my mother

angry and with reason; for since I had tasted these delicacies, our

simple fare, of which there was often scarce enough, was far too coarse

for me, and I preferred to push away my plate and fast, rather than to

eat a dish that didn't suit me. At such times I satisfied myself with

the fruits and berries to be found in the garden and woods, and it was

only strange that, in spite of all this, I did not grow thin or weak,

but retained the fair complexion and red cheeks which, as I plainly

perceived, were the envy of the rouged countesses and princesses.

"And some one else there was who admired them; this was no less a

personage than His Highness, the little prince. He was an odd little

mortal then, and I think will always remain so; thin and fragile as if

made of porcelain, and equally stiff and polished, with a doll's face

that would have been very pretty if one could only have believed it

alive. And in an equally lifeless manner, as if he feared he might

break while doing it, he paid court to me. We had met him once in the

park, a horde of children dashing through the shrubbery with loud

hurrahs; catch, and hare and hounds, were our favorite games. He had

come there, Heaven knows how, without his tutor, and we suddenly grew

quiet, more on account of his uncanny stiffness and fashionable dress,

than from respect. But he was inclined to be especially gracious, to me

in particular condescension itself, and I, stupid little monkey, prided

myself upon it not a little. Dear me, I was only ten years old, but the

idea of being a duchess was firmly impressed upon my mind, and I

actually believed that he would marry me and realize all my fairy

visions. So for several years this absurd secret flirtation, which

wearied as much as it flattered me, continued, until at last the

princess discovered it. To be sure, my chivalrous little lover declared

that he had never had any intention of making me his wife, but merely

his mistress. In spite of this precocious discrimination, however, it

was thought better to break off the childish intimacy once for all; so

I again became a duchess in anticipation, and even my father was no

longer permitted to enter the castle.

"I remember, after this time, that is when I was grown up, but one

occasion when I again saw the park and even the interior of the castle.

Some cousin or nephew of my kind father came to visit us, for whom,

during the few days of his stay every effort was made to place our

usual homely mode of living in the most endurable light. As we could

give him no special entertainment at home, we were obliged to make

excursions abroad, and it fortunately happened that the princess and

her children had gone to some springs. So under the care of the butler,

we visited all the rooms, into which hitherto I had only peeped. My

father was delighted to be able to mount his hobby, and constantly

related how this, that, and the other had been handsomer, richer, or

more tasteful in Paris. I could only gaze in silent astonishment, and

yet it seemed to me as if all this were a matter of course, and I, if

only permitted to do so, could use these costly articles as carelessly

as if born in such a sphere. On the following day, the cousin stammered

out a confused proposal of marriage, and, to make his worthy person

more agreeable to me, described the charms of his own home--he had an

oil cloth manufactory in a tolerably large city. I should like now to

recall the expression with which I gave him a positive refusal. It was

certainly one of which no full blooded duchess would have had cause to

be ashamed.

"No! if I could not have my faithless porcelain prince, I would never

take the first plain workman I met. When the cousin departed, my mother

looked at me with sincere sorrow. 'Poor thing,' said she. 'You're not

to blame, because others' (she meant my father) 'have turned your head.

But tell me, for what are you really waiting'--I answered that I was

waiting for nothing and for no one, and only desired to be permitted to

live as I was doing:--this was only half true. You may well suppose

that I was waiting for no lover, for I have frankly told you that up to

this time I have been unable to discover any talent for sentiment in my

nature. But to continue to live as I was--no, I could not have endured

it forever.

"My father grew old and feeble, and many other little perquisites

ceased, besides the dancing lessons at the castle, for which he had

been handsomely paid. As the time hung heavy on his hands and he could

read to himself very little, one of us was obliged to spend half the

day in reading aloud his favorite romances, thereby neglecting her

work, which to be sure brought in a very small income. But why should I

entertain you with the details of these petty household wants? A man

can never imagine all the embarrassments, all the secret tears and

vexations of a young girl who is obliged to deny herself the

necessaries of life to save the money required for the trifles she

deems still more necessary, and especially one who has so much taste

and love for luxury, that when the hard won finery is at last finished,

she would rather tear it all off and go about in her Cinderella garb,

because the articles obtained by so many struggles are still so poor.

That is, the dress was really not so bad, for with a few yards of white

muslin and some bows of ribbon a girl can look very well, especially at

sixteen or eighteen, and with a face like the one God had bestowed upon

me. But unfortunately, I continued to remember the real elegance, the

Parisian toilettes I had seen at the castle, the beautiful fans and

flowers, real laces and rustling satin robes, which my few pennies

could never obtain. You shake your head, my wise friend. But consider,

that a trout obstinately insists upon living in clear, fresh water, and

no philosophy will induce him to be satisfied with a stagnant pond,

where other very estimable fish are perfectly comfortable.

"And then--what had I to lead me out of these weaknesses and follies

and make amends, if the fairy tale of which I dreamed, should never

come true? You, my dear friend, have your thoughts, your ambition, your

pride. But I--knew nothing thoroughly. How should I? Where could I have

learned it? What had I been taught? To speak French, to play the piano

a little--for the young chorister, who gave me lessons, tried to drown

himself in the river on account of a hopeless love for me, and then

married the pastor's daughter, who came up just at the right moment and

shrieked for help, and of course the lessons were not continued. Sewing

I had always hated, for it is absurd to suppose that embroidering,

knitting stockings, and making shirts, can really render any human

being happy, or compensate for unsatisfied desires--"

She paused a moment and gazed sadly into vacancy. A sigh heaved her

bosom and made her nostrils quiver. "How cold it is!" she said, drawing

her cloak closer around her. "Come, we will walk a little faster. Where

was I? Oh yes; I was talking about knitting and sewing and everything

connected with them. How often I've heard and read that a girl will

find her vocation, her life-long happiness in love and marriage. I saw

this confirmed in my sisters, who though younger than I, had their

little love experiences much sooner, and patiently endured the tedium

of knitting and sewing, since their minds were not idle, but wove the

fairest dreams among the meshes and cross-stitches. Then they married

utterly insignificant people, but were perfectly satisfied, and

continued to labor with hands and heads for their husbands and

children. But I--my prince had married, too, in accordance with his

rank, and quite without agitation, as beseems porcelain figures, at

least so I heard, and I still stayed with my old parents, waiting to

ascend my ducal throne.

"I ought to be there now, and after all it would be better for me, than

to wander about here in the rain with you and talk of things that are

hopeless. But these poor, dear parents, to whom I was a source of great

anxiety--even my father shook his head sadly when my birthday came

round--were both taken from me in a single week, and with them the only

visible object in life of which I was conscious.

"Fortunately the butler, whom my father's will named as my guardian,

was a sensible man. He perceived that he could not persuade me to

remain quietly in the little house from which my parents had been borne

to their graves, waiting to see if any one would come and take me away.

He suggested, as I still had an unconcealed desire to know something of

the world, that an advertisement for the situation of governess or

companion should be inserted in several of the Berlin papers. A place

soon offered that seemed very suitable. A baroness wrote to ask if I

would take charge of the education of her two little daughters and

assist her in housekeeping, as she was in delicate health. Nothing more

than I had learned was required; masters and mistresses were engaged

for all the difficult branches of study.

"This was like a deliverance to me. To live in a large, elegant house,

make tea at the evening receptions, show that in spite of my provincial

origin I could vie in elegance and manner with my lady in Berlin--now

that you know me, you can understand what a tempting prospect this

afforded.

"I persuaded my guardian to pay me my share of our little inheritance

and the net proceeds of our furniture at once. I intended to keep the

few hundred thalers for pocket money in the great city, or use it at

once if my outfit should not be presentable. During the year that I

wore mourning for my parents and was alone nearly all day, I had put my

wardrobe in order as well as I could. But who could tell what the

baroness would say to it? Well, I needn't have troubled myself about

her. I liked her very well, and also the house and children---I could

not have desired anything better. But unfortunately I pleased her too

well; for scarcely had we exchanged a few words, during which she

scanned me from head to foot, when she said with the greatest

cordiality: 'My dear Fraeulein, I regret having given you unnecessary

trouble. But you're far too pretty, to enter a house where there are

grown up sons and a great many young people going in and out. You would

turn the heads of some or perhaps all of them, and there would be

murders and homicides to pay. Don't take my frankness amiss, but I know

my circle, and moreover am ready to indemnify you for breaking the

engagement.'

"There was nothing to take amiss, and so fifteen minutes after I was

again standing in the street below, entirely alone, and without even

knowing the name of a hotel where it would be proper for me to stay;

for in my bewilderment, I had not thought of asking the baroness, who

seemed very anxious to get rid of me before the aforesaid grown up sons

came home.

"On one course, however, I was positively determined: not to go back to

my former poverty in the little nest of gossips, where on Sundays the

very flies dropped from the walls out of pure weariness, and during the

week nothing was talked about but cooking, washing and saving--I would

rather have drowned myself. And who missed me at home? Who needed me?

Who would have been particularly glad to see me again? I should only

have found malicious faces, taunts, and probably even heard evil

interpretations of my unlucky expedition.

"As for the first time in my life, I walked in perfect freedom through

the streets, and the elegant ladies rustled past me, the carriages

rolled through the Unter den Linden, and the shop windows glittered

with the most beautiful things, like a bazar in the Arabian Nights, or

the enchanted cave of Xaxa, while I moved through the throng on the

loveliest of summer days with a treasure in my pocket such as I had

never before possessed, and for which I was accountable to no one--the

thought suddenly darted through my mind: 'for once in your life see how

rich, aristocratic people feel, whose left hands do not know how much

their right hands throw out of the window. Live for once in plenty,

deny yourself nothing, show the stupid money that has accidentally

wandered into your pocket and for which you care so little, how you

despise it, though you are only a poor girl and must earn your bread!

If you were very avaricious and put your five or six hundred thalers in

a savings bank, the paltry interest you would receive would not make

you happy. When all has gone as lightly as it came, it will still be

possible to creep back into the yoke. Then you will at least have

experienced how happier mortals feel perhaps'--and I spoke as if some

of my mother's nature stirred within me--'perhaps you will fare like

the apprentices in a confectioners shop: become surfeited with luxury,

and afterwards be satisfied to return to narrow, commonplace

surroundings.' Well I had now decided that I would for once be Duchess

Toinette in earnest. But as I was a perfect stranger, and did not know

a single human being:--who knows whether I might not have lost the

courage to execute my plan. A little country girl cannot change herself

into a great lady in the twinkling of an eye, even if she has five

hundred thalers to use for the purpose. But chance came to my

assistance. I had traveled to Berlin in a first-class carriage. I had

long desired to try one, and while making our short excursions about

the neighborhood always felt secretly ashamed and irritated because we

were compelled to use a third-class conveyance. Now I could gratify my

desire, and was very comfortable in my plush armchair, until a

gentleman, who occupied the coupe with me, commenced a conversation

which threatened to become a little dangerous. He was a very elegant,

aristocratic young man, whose servant came to the carriage at every

station to ask his masters' orders.

"I made such short answers to his gallant speeches, that he probably

perceived he must adopt a different tone with me. From that moment he

was courtesy and attention itself, and treated me as a high-born dame,

though I did not conceal the object of my visit to the city. When we

stopped, he took leave expressing the hope of seeing me again in a few

days at the baroness' house, where he was a frequent visitor.

"This was a matter of perfect indifference to me then. His Excellency,

the Count, as his servant called him, did not interest me in the least.

But now suddenly, as I wandered through the streets racking my brains

to decide what I was to do next, I heard a well known voice--it was the

count's. He greeted me very courteously, asked how I had found the

baroness, and when he had been informed of my fate kindly consoled me.

I need feel no anxiety, I could not fail to obtain a similar and even

more desirable position; he would himself make inquiries among all his

acquaintances, and in the first place, as I told him my difficulty

about finding suitable lodgings, he could recommend me to very pleasant

rooms which he had once rented for a relative. She had afterwards

decided not to take possession of them, as she had changed her plans;

but they were still empty, and the landlady was a very worthy woman,

with whom I would be very comfortable.

"Of course this intelligence was very welcome to me. I only insisted

that I would not avail myself of the fact that the lodgings had already

been paid for one quarter in advance, but remain my own mistress and be

indebted to no one.

"He at last assented to this, and treated me in every respect in a

modest and almost deferential manner. Yet I half regretted having

allowed him to accompany me to the house. The landlady seemed

surprised, and then---he would know where I was to be found. Who could

tell whether he might not become annoying? And besides my incognita was

destroyed. But my fear was groundless. On the day after I was settled,

I received a note from him; he was unfortunately obliged to forego the

pleasure of inquiring about my welfare in person, as his father's

sudden illness compelled him to set out for his estates at once. I

acknowledge that I felt very much relieved. I was really entirely free

from control, and could regulate my life as I chose.

"What that would be, if directed by my taste, you have known me long

enough to be aware, although here and there various trifles were

lacking. When I opened my box of ornaments, the contents did not look

exactly like crown jewels. If I heard of a poor family, I could only

show my generosity by the gift of five thalers. And then--I was quite

too lonely. When people wish to live in ducal style, a little court

must not be lacking. After I had lived entirely by myself for two

weeks, I fortunately made your acquaintance. Then I was perfectly

satisfied, and no longer feared the return of the count, although he

wrote me letters, in which he abandoned his formal style of address and

gradually became warmer and warmer. He confessed that even anxiety

about his father's life had been unable to drive my image from his

memory, begged for one line to assure him that his attentions were not

wholly indifferent to me, described his state of mind in more and more

exaggerated colors, and the more resolutely I left these foolish

epistles unanswered, the more passionate they became. This was all that

was wanting to completely disgust me with the acquaintance. I gave my

little Jean orders to receive no more letters, and if a gentleman whose

appearance I described, ever called upon me, not to admit him under any

circumstances.

"And now this scene of yesterday! I could not sleep half the night from

pure indignation. What does he imagine? For what must he take me, if he

expects by this bold intrusion--for the servant had his orders--to

obtain any concessions! Oh! these men, and what they call love! Am I

not right when I fear this mad passion, which makes positively

dangerous, people otherwise well-bred. And you--you have become

perfectly silent and not interrupted me once. Speak at least, or I

shall be forced to believe that you think me not only a poor fool, but

a poor sinner."

She hastily withdrew her hand from his arm and stepped out from under

the umbrella. The rain had nearly ceased, a faint ray of sunlight

pierced the grey autumnal mist, she threw back her hood and revealed

her face, deeply flushed by her eager words and rapid pace.

"My dear Fraeulein," he said smiling, "confession for confession: the

fool and sinner stands before you. But he hopes for absolution. It was

beyond human power to solve unaided an enigma so simple and yet so

singular. Besides, I must now confess--that 'worthy woman,' your

landlady--"

"What! Do you know her? What do you know about her? Oh I pray do not

leave me in ignorance any longer!" she exclaimed with anxious haste.

He soothed her for she had suddenly grown very pale. "We must not talk

so loud," said he, "little Jean's great ears have approached nearer to

us--" She again took his arm and turned hurriedly into one of the side

avenues. "Well? Well?" she urged. "Oh my God, I had no suspicion of

it."

He now told her all that he had heard from the woman, the previous

destination of the rooms, the understanding between the landlady and

the count, the dangers to which in her unsuspicious ignorance, she had

exposed herself. "I myself," he concluded, "although often anxious when

I thought of the mystery that surrounded your life--believe me my dear

friend--only needed to see you enter the room, hear your voice, your

laugh, to be perfectly satisfied, fully convinced, that nothing base

could ever have dominion over you. I was much more inclined to believe

you to be in reality what you were only feigning to be: a true princess

in disguise who would again re-ascend her throne some day and then

appoint the faithful servant, who during her exile had often chatted

away her cares and _ennui_, to some position that would require no

gloves, such as court book-inspector, or private secretary, or even

chief bird feeder to Her Highness Duchess Toinette."

She did not seem to hear the jest. The sweet face was bent steadily

toward the ground, the little hands trembled. She suddenly paused

again.

"And the letter?" she asked, without looking at him, "Did you bring it

with you?"

He drew it out of his pocket. "It did not disturb my slumbers," he

answered smiling. "Shall we destroy it unread and throw it into the

pond among the withered leaves?"

"No. Read it. Read it aloud." He broke the black seal and read the

following lines:

"Honored Fraulein:

"_You persist in refusing me a reply. I see that you put no faith in my

written assurances of devotion, and if it were possible for anything to

increase the strength of my love, it would be this proof of your proud

reserve, I will henceforth spare you my letters, as I shall soon be

able to reaffirm all my professions verbally, and then I hope to remove

all your doubt of the sincerity of my passion. The event I feared has

happened, my father died to-night, That the first lines I write after

this heavy loss, are addressed to you, will prove better than any words

could do, that all my hopes in life are bound up in your image, that my

happiness or misery is in your hands. Whether, in my present condition,

you will deem me worthy of kinder treatment I must humbly wait for you

to decide._

"_Ever yours_

"Franz Count R----

"If the man is to be judged from his style, we have been hasty in

making the master responsible for his boorish servant," observed Edwin

in a jesting tone, as he folded the letter and handed it to her. "Will

you not at least condole with your faithful knight?"

Mechanically she took the black-edged sheet, but her face remained

perfectly immovable. "Come," she said after a pause. "It's beginning to

rain again. I don't feel very well. Take me back to the carriage. Oh!

it's horrible! horrible! horrible!"

He consoled her as well as he could.

"Suppose he offers you his hand and a count's coronet," he said, at the

same moment feeling a sharp pang in his heart that almost stopped his

breath.

She did not seem to hear him, but shook her curls back from her face,

so that her hair escaped from its confinement and rolled in luxuriant

masses from beneath her hood. Then she threw back her little cloak as

if suffocating. "Has it grown so hot?" she asked, "or is it only--but

let's walk faster. I can scarcely wait till I'm at rest--and alone! No,

no, you're not in my way, certainly not, I know what I owe you. But

that--that--there are things we can only conquer when we can close our

eyes and cry like little children. Do you know, my dear friend--I

should like--But why speak of it? You can't understand. To-morrow will

be your day, won't it? Yes, it was yesterday that you remained with me

and that insolent man--but we'll say no more about it. I shall expect

you to-morrow. Farewell for to-day. Forgive me for not asking you to

drive home with me. But it's better so--besides, I don't know what I'm

talking about--I--oh God!" She pressed her hand to her brow and paused

a moment, as if her head realed. Edwin ventured to draw her closer to

him, "My dear, dear child, compose yourself," said he. "What has

happened? What is lost?"

She instantly regained her composure, "Nothing," she murmured. "I thank

you very much for all your friendship. So to-morrow--and farewell!"

She held out her hand and looked at him, apparently quite calm again,

and then entered the carriage; the dwarf climbed nimbly up to the box,

and Edwin saw her bend forward and look at him with a long, earnest

gaze as she drove away. Then he remained alone in the grey day with his

gloomy thoughts.

CHAPTER VI.

Why was he so much more hopeless after her frank confession, than

before? He now knew that his feelings had not deceived him, that the

equivocal circumstances in her position had nothing to do with her real

nature. Besides, nothing seemed to stand between them, no older rights

and claims of any third person, no contrast of rank or wealth. She was

as poor as he, as dependent, of equally humble origin, and when this

artificially woven fairy dream had passed away, which must soon happen,

she would be helpless in a strange world, where a friend and protector

must be more to her than anything else. True--for the moment he had no

thought of asking any woman to share his life. But hitherto he had

neither desired nor expected such an acquisition to his existence. If

the matter now became serious, why should he not be man enough to work

himself out of the "tun" and provide more spacious quarters for three

persons? If the matter should become serious! But that was what he

could not believe after her confession, as readily as before. He had

never seen more clearly that all his fire was blazing against a rock,

that not even a suspicion of his state of mind had yet dawned upon her.

To have heard the saddest story of sin, despair, and a lost youth,

would have disheartened him less than this cool, unapproachable

innocence.

Sadly he returned home, drenched to the skin, having purposely exposed

himself to the rain to cool the fever raging within. While undressing

he told Balder everything, even his utter hopelessness. "And yet, after

all, it is best as it is," he concluded, "when I've once got over it.

Could we receive a duchess here?"

Balder did not understand all this. To him the very thought that any

one could refuse a kingdom for the sake of loving and being loved by

Edwin would have been incomprehensible to him. He eagerly began to

contradict him and to build castles in the air. "Let her once be poor

again," said he. "Then she'll feel what treasures still remain.

Besides, she's no commonplace person, and still so young; how much she

can learn. And you're a good teacher. What have I not learned from

you!"

"Yes, _you_, child," sighed Edwin smiling and stroking his hair. He was

going to add something, but Mohr came in and told his adventure of the

preceding day with that fine fellow, the mysterious Lorinser, and how

the hope of establishing a musical intercourse with Christiane had

given him so much energy, that he had written out the first bars of his

famous symphony that very morning. He was in excellent spirits and

according to his usual custom let off a shower of fireworks in the

shape of sarcasms and quaint remarks, with which, to be sure, he was

the only person amused, as the brothers only laughed from sympathy.

When they had sat together for some time, Edwin went to his pupil.

Hitherto he had always felt a sense of comfort in the little house on

the lagune. His passionate restlessness passed away, the young girl's

great calm eyes, which rested so eagerly on his lips, had driven away

all melancholy, so that he grew eloquent and cheerful, and unfolded to

her the ancient sages' world of thought until long after the hour

devoted to the lesson had expired. But to-day, for the first time, this

beneficent spell failed. He was forced to plead illness and depart

before the lesson was over, to Leah's evident regret.

The next day was "his day," but his impatience drove him to the house

in Jaegerstrasse early in the morning. He started, when he saw the

landlady's broad face look peevishly out of one of the windows in the

second story. He darted breathlessly up stairs and pulled the bell. His

suspicion was confirmed. No striped waistcoat appeared, the shining

glass eyes of the solemn boy did not welcome him. Instead, the landlady

herself, without looking at him, sulkily opened the door.

"Whom do you want?" she grumbled. "Fraeulein Toinette Marchand? I'm

sorry. She has moved. Ah! so it's _you_? That alters the case. What do

you say to it? You must know more than any of the rest of us, who were

not thought good enough for the least explanation--Or do you bring some

order? Pray walk in. I can make myself entirely at home here once

more."

She allowed Edwin to enter and then followed him into the familiar red

drawing room. Everything was unchanged: the flowers was there, the

parrot was on the perch, only the bird cage stood open and empty, and

the bronze clock on the marble mantel piece no longer ticked.

"Just think," said the woman, evidently glad to pour out her heart to

some one who was half initiated into the secret, "she came home

yesterday in a droschky--the first time she did not have her hired

carriage, and the boy Jean came directly up to me and asked me to come

down to the young lady. When I entered, I found her maid already

packing. She herself was standing in the middle of the room, staring

straight before her, as if she were troubled about something. When I

spoke, she instantly recollected herself. She was obliged to leave the

city at once, she said, and as she should not return to these rooms,

wanted to pay me the rent. 'Leave the city,' said I. 'Good gracious!

and so suddenly? And where are you going, if I may ask?' For I thought,

after all the police will make a descent upon me, the secret, the crime

she has committed is now discovered, and she wants to get away that she

may not be caught napping. But then--she looked so haughty and

composed, and did not address a single word to me more than was

absolutely necessary, and yet I'm the landlady. As she went away in the

midst of the quarter, it was fair, she said, that she should pay for

the full three months--though she'd not been here quite four weeks--and

counted out thirty-six thalers on the table. I could consider it so

much profit. For everything else--though, dear me, she'd given me no

trouble at all--she laid three louis d'ors on the table, and the maid

too had her full quarter's wages and a handsome present. Then she went

to the birds--the parrot belonged to the count--opened the door of the

cage, fed them, and said: 'You'll let them go free,' and with a

flashing glance and a nod of the head went down stairs to the droschky

Jean had been sent to fetch, and on which her trunk was already

strapped. She took the boy with her, but to what depot she ordered the

man to drive--neither I nor the maid could hear. Mercy, what will the

count say when he comes back, for I promised I would keep her for him,

and he said 'you shall not lose by it, Madame Sturgmueller.' His servant

was here yesterday, 'How had the young lady behaved?' he asked. 'Who

was that gentleman with her'--he meant you. Well, I said no more than I

knew--that you only came to dine and always seemed very quiet and

brought her books. Then he laughed. 'They're probably studying

something very beautiful, Madame, and if I tell my master, the

count--' 'Well,' said I, 'why does he leave her all alone? Such a young

thing--idleness is the beginning of all love affairs.' But he shook his

head and wanted to know nothing about it. Now, tell me, my dear sir,

what does all this mean? Merciful God, if I should be obliged to go

before a jury after all--"

Edwin, in spite of his sadness, could not help smiling. He denied all

knowledge of Toinette's movements, and his evident alarm at not finding

her, proved his sincerity. He had never inquired into her

circumstances, and where she had so suddenly vanished was as

incomprehensible to him as to the landlady. He walked, the woman

constantly talking to him, through all the pleasant rooms that suddenly

seemed so desolate and lifeless, and for the first time entered the

sleeping apartment, where the traces of a hasty departure were still

visible. On the toilette table, among various empty boxes, stood a

small bottle in which there was still a little essence of violet, a

perfume of which she had been particularly fond. He took advantage of a

moment when he was unobserved, to appropriate the useless relic. With

what strange emotions he stood beside the bed and gazed at the snow

white pillows on which her head had rested. "She was a beautiful girl,"

said the woman. "Even the most envious must admit that, and no princess

could be more stately. But mark my words, sir: one of these days her

name will appear in the papers, not on the first page where the

arrivals and departures of the aristocracy are announced, but among the

miscellaneous news, accidents and sentences of imprisonment for ten

years or for life. Why shouldn't she have waited for the count, who's

such a charming gentleman? If a girl has a good conscience, she doesn't

try to be peculiar, but is neither better nor worse than other mortals.

Believe me, I know the world, and haven't rented rooms for ten years to

the very best class of lodgers for nothing."

A feeling of inexpressible loathing overpowered Edwin. He hastily

turned away, promising to call again some other time, and left the

house, in the deepest melancholy.

CHAPTER VII.

She had not left a line for him, not even a note to say farewell; it

was too much kindness to say: 'I'm going for such and such reasons, to

such and such a place.' He was of so little importance to her, she was

so utterly indifferent to what he must feel at her sudden

disappearance. No nomad who strikes his tent, leaves his camping ground

without casting a glance toward the fire where he prepared his meals,

the spring that refreshed him, although he knows he shall find

the same friendly elements everywhere. And he, whom she had called

"friend";--what a horribly cold heart, that can prize the best

treasures so lightly, leave the most unselfish devotion in the lurch so

carelessly, like a bottle of perfume, which was pleasant to the senses,

but which can be bought in any shop.

And on a creature of such a shallow mind, such an icy heart, he had for

weeks lavished his thoughts and opinions; nay his very anguish when he

had determined to break loose from her bonds, told him only too

distinctly that it would be long ere the task could be accomplished.

The more violently he strove to accuse her, the more victoriously the

image of his upbraided friend, with her artless expression and the last

earnest gaze the dark eyes had fixed upon him, rose before his fancy,

and he at last perceived that he only reproached her in order to have a

pretext for constantly occupying himself with her. He at last concluded

a sort of truce with his passionate grief. It was still possible that

she might write as soon as she was settled again. Had she not one of

his books, Hafiz, from which he had last read aloud to her at table? To

be sure, she might think he had given it to her, like the little copy

of Hermann and Dorothea. And if not, why should the possession of a

borrowed book disturb her, when she was in the habit of not even

returning hearts into which she had glanced once or twice?

For the first time, he failed to tell Balder all that was occupying his

thoughts, and merely said that she had given up her rooms, but would

probably send him her new address.

This intelligence did not seem to trouble Balder much. He avoided

saying so, but in his heart he almost wished that this might be the end

of the adventure, for from what Edwin had said of the lady, it seemed

more and more doubtful whether this passion, which made the grave,

self-contained man so helpless, would ever compensate for the sacrifice

of his repose. Much as he desired to do so, he could feel no affection

for this singular being. His beau ideal of loveliness was in every

respect the exact opposite of this dazzling vision. But he said

nothing, for he was well aware that words would be spoken in vain.

"A little note from the Frau Professorin Valentin came while you were

away. The zaunkoenig left it in the shop himself."

Edwin absently opened and read it. It contained a request to visit the

writer in the course of the day if possible, as she wished to speak to

him about a very important matter.

He threw down the sheet, took up a volume of some work on physical

science, and began to read. Balder, who was working industriously at

his turning lathe--he had reason to be industrious, since of late,

unnoticed by Edwin, the state of their strong box had become very

critical--saw plainly that he did not turn the page, but did not

venture to rouse him from his reverie. What could he have said to

console him?

Evening came. The Frau Professorin's note seemed forgotten. But when

Balder reminded him of it, Edwin started up and said he would attend to

the matter at once; he was curious to know what important news could

come to him from that quarter. So he left the room, with a dry "Adieu!"

Seldom, as we know, did he part from Balder without a jest or a

brotherly caress, but the spell of melancholy was too strong for him.

Since his first visit, he had only seen the estimable lady a few times

in the zaunkoenig's studio, from which she instantly retreated when he

came to give his lesson. She seemed very kindly disposed toward him,

with a motherly cheerfulness, which often, on her brightest days,

reminded him of his own mother; so he noticed it the more plainly, when

she now met him with anxious seriousness and a certain degree of

formality.

"Dear Herr Doctor," said she, "I begged you to come to see me because I

wished to discuss a matter which has caused me grave anxiety. Do you

know that you've cost me a sleepless night?"

"You're too kind," he answered smiling.

"I'm entirely in earnest. I should have to like you much less than I do

if my opinion of you could be a matter of indifference to me. Tell me,

is it true? Are you really the author of this essay, or have you a

namesake, for whose opinions you are not responsible?"

She took out a green volume, which she had carefully locked up in her

writing desk. It was a number of a philosophical magazine, to which for

several years Edwin had been a contributor.

"So far as I'm aware," he answered in a jesting tone, "my parents have

had but one son Edwin, who devotes himself to philosophy. Let me see.

'Examination of the proofs of the existence of God.' Certainly that's

mine. It's to be continued. It was left unfinished on account of my

foolish prize essay."

He laid the book on the table, and now looked at his companion, who was

sitting opposite to him with the most heartfelt expression of pitying

surprise.

"So it's really yours!" said she. "And these views, these

principles--you've not yet renounced them?"

"I don't know of what principles you speak, Madame. So far as I can

remember, I refrain from making any hypothesis of my own, and limit

myself entirely to a critical investigation of the opinions that have

been advanced by others."

"Yes. So it appears! But can he who so coolly, in his own opinion,

annihilates the logical proofs of an eternal truth, be expected to

cherish the desire, to say nothing of the conviction, that this truth

will endure, difficult as it might be to find reasons for it, or proofs

which would incontestably establish to the reason its indisputable

existence?"

"I might take that as a compliment to my essay," he answered, "although

coming from a woman's mouth, it cannot of course be understood in that

sense. Among scientific men, an investigation is thought the more

worthy of credence, the fewer traces it bears that its author set about

the task with a desire to find a certain result, or with even a

previously formed conviction. In my department, especially, much

greater progress would have been made, if even in the minds of its

masters passion and prejudice had not dimmed the pure mirror of

experience and clearness of thought."

"Greater progress!" cried the excited lady, letting both hands fall

into her lap in sudden horror. "But for Heaven's sake, what progress

can be made, to what can you wish to turn your attention after you have

so successfully reached absolute nothingness?"

"And suppose I expected to prove," he answered smiling, "that this

nothingness is just as fruitful as the other nothingness, from which,

as pious men tell us, God created the world? But I'll not begin to

philosophize here. Even if I could hope, in a short conversation, to

make you understand that to which I have devoted the labor of a

life, I should still prefer to keep silence. You're in harmony with

yourself--what more can you desire? I, whose wants are so different, am

also at peace with myself. Is it not better to rest satisfied with

that, each respecting the other's mode of thought and feeling?

Wherefore drag to light the differences about which we can never agree,

instead of rejoicing over what we possess in common? It's so easy to

dispute, and so difficult to become reconciled again."

"You think me intolerant," she replied eagerly, while a faint color

tinged her pretty, delicate face. "But my Creator knows I am not. I

confidentially believe that in our heavenly father's house there are

many mansions. I honor every true, genuine conviction, even if ever so

widely different from mine. My best friend, Leah's mother, was a

jewess. My daily visitor, the Herr Candidat--"

"Herr Lorinser?" Edwin dryly interrupted. "Ah! yes, now I understand."

"What?"

"It's a matter of very little consequence; I know the people with whom

I'm dealing. There are persons who take special delight in denouncing

others, of course for the greater honor of God, of Christian love, and

of eternal truth."

"You wrong him; to be sure he brought me your essay, but it was in

consequence of a conversation in which I was compelled to admit that I

was wholly in the dark about your opinions, and had not become much

wiser from Leah's very guarded remarks. Do not suppose I'm blind to the

faults and weaknesses of this singular man. I do not share his

exaggerated mystical views. But even his errors, which arise from an

ardent heart, seem more honorable, or to express myself more plainly,

are more in sympathy with my nature, than--"

"Than a man's honest confession that he knows nothing at all about

certain things."

"If it were only that! But must he, who knows nothing, or desires to

know nothing about that which is revealed to all who thirst for

information, makes a business of shaking the faith, rendering the

ground unsteady beneath the feet of those who do have the knowledge, or

think they have?"

"If he really believes he is serving humanity, why should he not do

what he thinks productive of good? To be sure, I should not undertake

this business. I've not the temperament for it, the friendly

importunity, nor any of the other qualities that are necessary to make

proselytes."

"You have not? And this treatise--"

"Is not written for those who know or think they know, but for persons,

who like me, are still seeking truth, perhaps doubting whether it will

ever be possible certainly to know, and meantime think themselves

justified in using the boundaries between knowledge and faith for a

work which must tend to the advantages of both provinces."

"No," she said, as she suddenly rose, "we shall make no progress in

that way. You're my superior in dialectics, and I see it's only

chivalrous in you to avoid the contest. But answer one question

plainly: is it really true that you not only have no God, but do not

even feel any sorrow for it, any sense of something wanting, of

cheerless desolation and loneliness, when you survey a world, from

which to you the breath of a personal Creator has vanished?"

"And suppose I really did feel neither sorrow nor want, and yet did not

find the world utterly cheerless?"

She gazed at him with a steady look, as if she were obliged to weigh

such an answer before she could fully understand it. Her eyes grew dim,

she retreated a step and sank down on the chair which stood beside the

sofa.

"You poor, poor mortal!"

"We agreed not to philosophize, Madame," he answered smiling. "But,

even in ordinary conversation, I suppose one may be permitted to remind

the other of contradictions in which he has involved himself. Does he

who has just told you that he feels no want, needs no consolation, seem

poor in your eyes? Then see how ill it fares with the toleration of

which you boasted. You allow every form of faith to exist, except that

which acknowledges it has nothing that resembles a creed. The jew, the

mussulman, the fire-worshipper, the idolater, who sees his God in a

stock or stone--all seem respectable to you, and none so poor as an

honest seeker after truth, who studies nature and his own heart, and

cannot think all the signs and wonders he there beholds explained, when

he uses for them a formula which means anything or nothing. Can you

really consider it of any importance, that I should use the same word,

if to me it expresses something totally different? Do you feel allied

to an idolater, because in his language he gives a block of wood the

same name that to you in yours, means the creator of heaven and earth?

Would you not, though you might respect his conviction, have greater

reason to say to him: 'Poor, poor mortal!'--?"

"'Blessed are the poor in spirit!'" she replied. "You certainly will

not question those words, neither will you deny that every religious

feeling springs from the consciousness of our own incompleteness, that

he who lacks nothing, who is sufficient unto himself, cannot know the

loftiest emotion: devotion to something loftier, richer, stronger--the

ideal of what is highest and noblest, which we call God. And therefore

the idolater stands nearer to me than the atheist. He shares with me

the human need of worshipping, of bowing before some powerful,

inscrutable being. Is he to blame if his ideas of this dim power are so

narrow and gloomy, that in order to be able to reverence something, he

forgets that he carved these gods himself?"

"Certainly not," replied Edwin gravely. "As little as you are to blame,

for adoring a God you have carved yourself or rather suffered others to

fashion. Oh! my honored friend, do not be angry with me, but the

difference between the poor doll that the south sea islander believes

to be the creator of the world, and the God of our ordinary

christianity, does not seem to me great enough to create such a stir.

Are not both carved after _our_ pattern, one more rudely, the other

more delicately, the former bedecked with barbaric finery and painted

in gaudy hues, the latter, according to the taste of our times, adorned

with more or less art and fantastic splendor, but always a work of our

own minds? I will not speak of those really poor mortals, whom you also

will hardly call blessed or think specially well fitted for their

heavenly kingdom: of those who, under the forms of the Christian faith,

practise the grossest idolatry, the merest image worship. But how do

even the most enlightened, the most intellectual, who take the

scriptural words 'God is a spirit' in the most solemn sense, imagine

this spirit? In their holy zeal, they ascribe to it every quality that

seems worthy of honor and love in themselves or others. And this ideal

being, which they have created in their own image, and only endowed

with the thoughtlessly collected attributes of omnipotence,

omniscience, and omnipresence, this God-man or man-God, they set on a

throne somewhere in space, give him the world for a globe, and the

lightning for a sceptre, and are perfectly convinced that in the

fullest power and majesty, he will guide the stars on their courses,

and decide the destinies of mortals with mercy and justice. And

meantime the sorrows of the world take their course, evil reigns, the

unequal distribution of blessings still exists, and the all-merciful,

omniscient, all-righteous, and omnipotent God, does not move his little

finger to effect a change; his most eager devotees must seize upon very

common place, earthly means to keep the world in its grooves; but where

these are not enough, where the whole cannot sufficiently protect the

individual, then arises the old sardonic consolation: 'Help yourself,

and God will help you.' So we're again thrown back on ourselves. It is

still our strength, our intellect, our good purposes! And yet earnest

men, who have their doubts about the contradictory stories concerning

the government of the world by a God who is just and good according to

human ideas, are blamed if they seek to help themselves through life by

their own efforts, and at the same time try whether they cannot make

things harmonize without nursery tales." He had risen and was pacing up

and down the room in increasing excitement.

"You reject the good with the bad," she replied shaking her head. "Who

denies the imperfection of our ideas of the supreme being? Who asserts

that our human images and comparisons describe his real nature? They

are all mere make-shifts, a species of flying machine to enable us, who

are denied wings on earth, to approach as near him as possible? Do you

wish to deprive the poor mortals who languish in the dust, of this

solace?"

"I? You're again forgetting that I wish to deprive no one of his

religion, nor arouse in any one who is satisfied higher desires; nor to

seek to guide him to what affords me happiness. Let them soar as high

as they wish and can; but they, too, ought to permit the plain

pedestrian, who climbs the rough path to the summit step by step, to

move quietly on his way, and not throw stones at him from their

balloons."

"Who does so? Who, that has understood the law of love, the most sacred

tenet of our religion?"

He approached her and took her hand, exclaiming eagerly: "Not you, my

honored friend. You will not cease to include in your prayers, the man

who acknowledges that he does not join in the words, 'we all believe in

one God.' Perhaps you will prefer not to associate with him, as with

all our love for our neighbor, we do not choose an outcast for a

companion. But ask yourself, how many of your brothers and sisters in

faith have advanced so far in toleration that they will not only permit

every one to be happy in his own way, but even endure those who feel no

desire for what is called heavenly bliss, who see the circle of their

duties and privileges, toils and joys, coupled here on earth, and do

not wish to be more perfect, wiser, or more immortal than one can

become with human intellect and powers? Yet the word 'godless' is still

the harshest that can be said of a fellow man, and people speak of

envy, hatred, revenge, and malice, as traits natural to humanity. But

all neighborly love is refused the poor fellow creature, who confesses

that he can form no idea of a personal ruler of the world, according to

the human pattern, and the one word 'atheist' is sufficient to forever

brand the most peaceful citizen, the noblest philanthropist, the most

earnest seeker after truth. Yet we talk of an age of enlightenment! We

boast of our freedom of thought, our scientific triumphs, and even men

of science fear to express their deepest thoughts in their works, even

those which are not even intended for the masses, in order to be sure

of their peace, if not of their lives! Their real, inmost conviction,

they whisper like some guilty secret into the ears of those whom they

have recognized as kindred spirits, while childish folly, criminal

stupidity, are permitted to display themselves in every street, and the

holiest things are used by cunning speculators for very worldly

purposes."

"What am I to answer?" said the Frau Professorin, with an expression of

the deepest anxiety. "You yourself are noble and pure enough in your

intentions, to be permitted without danger to your social duties, to

disclaim what we call duties toward God. But what would be the

consequence with the great majority, whose 'sensibilities are not so

delicate, to whom piety, unconscious devotion to an inscrutable being,

nay if you will, the _fear_ of God, is a necessary check to their

sensual natures, if you suddenly left them to themselves, and relieved

them of all responsibility? Or what compensation can you offer nobler

souls, of deeper feelings, that feel a need of sanctification, to make

amends for a destroyed or diminished confidence in the love of God? My

dear friend, if you had ever enjoyed the deep bliss of knowing yourself

a child of God, you would willingly overlook the vagueness, the

childish narrowness, that to pure reason this idea may seem to contain,

and understand that it is natural to consider innovators dangerous, or

even to strive to crush as enemies of mankind, those who threaten to

deprive their brothers of this consolation."

"I understand, I excuse it--and yet I ask that it may cease," replied

Edwin, "for really the danger with which the children of the world

threaten the children of God, is a purely imaginary one. The offence we

give is very harmless. No mind which, in your sense of the word, is

religiously disposed, will endure to think of the world without a

personal Creator. No seduction can take place where the germ of the

fall did not previously exist. And the vacillating or utterly frivolous

cannot be of so much importance to you as peace and tolerance. I cannot

forsee the future, but I have a conviction that the time will never

come, when all men will declare that they are of age and have outgrown

the childhood that renders them happy, any more than that political

freedom will ever become a necessity to all. Only let people cease to

measure differences in viewing the world by moral standards, to

regulate for the individual his capacities and wants, God and the

world, to call him to account for mere opinions which have a very

slight influence upon his actions. To be sure, those ideas of God,

freedom, immortality, which even the free thinkers of the last century

recognized as an inalienable possession of mankind, have at last, in

popular opinion, been called in question by our intrusive, persistent

investigation. But I'm as sure as of my own existence, that a time will

come when honest children of the world will be permitted, without

suspicion, to renounce that trinity also, and is not the hope of

contributing to such a future worth the toil of the noblest? Then for

the first time the word tolerance will have attained its full sense;

then conversations like ours will be conducted without the slightest

tinge of vehemence or bitterness, which have blended here and there

with our words to-day, and for which I in particular, as a philosopher,

who ought to have learned to be patient and trust to time, sincerely

beg my honored friend's pardon."

He bent toward her, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. She

absently permitted him to do so, absorbed in thoughts which she

apparently could not express in words. He had already reached the door,

when she said sudden:

"Does Leah know these opinions of yours?"

He paused. A dull pain, a feeling of regret, overpowered him, which he

did not know how to explain. "We have never discussed these questions,"

he replied, "or as school children say, we've not yet _come_ to them.

We're still at the Greek philosophers."

"But when you progress so far, shall you tell her openly what you

think?"

"Certainly, as openly as I have told you. Surely if I showed no reserve

toward you by your personal request and as a matter of friendship, to

my pupil, I should believe myself to be fulfilling a sacred duty in

speaking plainly. For this knowledge her nature yearns; she will digest

it, it will be transmuted into a part of her blood. Could you be so

intolerant, so envious, as to seek to deprive this excellent girl of

what will be a positive benefit to her?"

For a moment she was silent. "I must be perfectly frank with you," she

said, and the embarrassment which flushed her cheeks gave her a winning

expression. "My old friend, Leah's father, asked me to question you

about your belief. He found one of his daughter's exercise books, in

which were certain expressions and sentences that startled him. He

himself is entirely destitute of dogmatic fanaticism, as I've already

told you, but he is a true child of God, and is now alarmed and grieved

to discover that his only daughter aims to be no different from her

teacher: an upright child of the world. Therefore--"

"I understand," Edwin interrupted with a bitter smile. "You need

proceed no farther with his apology. Give my compliments to the worthy

gentleman, who will not permit his child to eat from the broad dish,

because his own mouth is formed to take nourishment from the narrow

bottle. But from what I know of the girl, she will find proper

sustenance in spite of this guardianship, though with rather more

difficulty. The only loser will be myself. Those grave thoughtful eyes

always had a good influence over me. But I might have known it would

come to this some day, so--without ill-feeling--farewell."

She called to him to detain him. But he had already passed through the

ante-room, without ill-feeling, as he had himself said, but not without

a sense of bitter sorrow. "And these are the best of them!" he

murmured. "If such things happen when the wood is green, what marvel is

it that the dry, dead branches and knots, which can nevermore put forth

leaf or blossom, crackle so merrily when a heretic is to be burned!"

He returned home and spent the remainder of the evening in quiet

conversation with Balder, with whom he soon regained his lost

cheerfulness, though the shadows would not wholly vanish from his

sorely wounded soul. Both slept very little that night. When the pump

handle creaked the next morning, they had been up a long time. Balder

at his turning lathe, and Edwin wandering about the room, now and then

turning the leaves of a book, both silent, as they usually were during

the first part of the day.

Reginchen brought up with the breakfast tray a carefully folded package

and a letter. They had just been left for Edwin.

When he had unfastened the strings and broken the seal, a beautiful

porcelain plate appeared, on which was painted a bouquet of corn

flowers, poppies, and wheat; on the edge, in gold letters, was the

inscription: "A memento from a grateful pupil." There was also a sealed

book, without any address, but the letter was from the old gentleman,

and ran as follows:

"My Deeply Honored Friend:

"_You already know what I have to communicate in these lines, which in

consequence of the great esteem, and love I have always felt for you, I

can hardly force my pen to write, I have never presumed to suppose that

I alone possess the truth; but to secure to my child the happiness that

I have enjoyed in my own life, is a matter that lies very near my

heart. If peace does not come to her when sought in my way, I shall not

forbid her to seek it in another; but I think she's still too young to

clearly perceive the right path, and therefore I would rather leave her

for a time without a guide, than see her moving along a road I think

dangerous. Nevertheless, I shall always be grateful to you for having

so kindly devoted your time to her. My daughter, who desires to be

respectfully remembered to you, begs you to accept the accompanying

specimen of her work--the forfeit of the wager you perhaps still

remember. A book, in which she was in the habit of keeping an account

of her progress with you, I will beg you to take charge of for a time,

as I do not wish her to return to these studies at present, and cannot

expect her to entirely give up the pages which are precious in her

eyes. And now farewell, dear Herr Doctor. May you ever be prosperous

and remember with the old affection,_

"_Your sincerely grateful_

"Philipp Koenig."

Enclosed in another envelope was a sum of money, not very large in

itself, but munificent considering the circumstances of the man who

lived in the little house on the lagune. Edwin instantly sat down at

the table, sealed up the money again and wrote the following lines:

"Honored Friend and Patron:

"_Deeply as I regret that my visits to your house which had become so

pleasant must be so suddenly discontinued, I cannot help respecting the

motive which prompted your letter, and in all friendship bid you and my

dear pupil farewell--until we meet again! Thank your daughter most

warmly for her beautiful work of art, which affords me the greatest

delight. But I do not understand how you imagine yourself to be in my

debt. You cannot expect me to accept a fee for my small beginning at

teaching, any more than you would call upon a customer to pay for a

half finished picture._

"_With kindest regards, yours_,

"E."

"There," said he to Balder, "we've done with that too! I can put the

little bottle of violet perfume on this painted plate--two frail

mementoes of a life and memories quite out of place in our tun. Come,

child! We'll get to work again. Everything flows steadily on; ought not

certain memories to find their way also to the great ocean?"

BOOK III.

CHAPTER I.

A fortnight had elapsed. The autumnal storms, which had burst over the

country, had stripped the last withered leaf from the top of the acacia

tree, and the little garden with its shade loving plants, as well as

the dry tendrils of the bean vines, were destroyed by the ceaseless

rain.

Even in the "tun," whose inmates usually possessed the art of making

the sunlight within shine all the more brightly in the stormiest

weather, a strangely dull, sorrowful mood had prevailed, like the

autumn mists which float over forest and meadow, and are only now and

then lighted by a noontide sunbeam. A dull oppression weighed upon

Edwin's mind, and with all his manliness he was unable to shake it off.

This mysterious silence and disappearance caused him more pain than the

sharpest break in his life, the most open renunciation on the part of

the beloved being. He hourly felt that all must be past, but he could

not yet realize it to be at an end. It was as if he carried a bullet in

his body very near the vital organs, and until it was extracted, no one

could tell whether he would survive or bleed to death.

Besides, now that he again spent more time in the house, he became very

anxious about Balder. During the time of his futile love-making, when

he had often only seen his brother at dinner or late in the evening,

the latter had succeeded in concealing the fact that his time was

divided between arduous toil and complete exhaustion. Now it could no

longer be hidden. Marquard, whom Edwin instantly called in to prescribe

for a first severe attack of pain in the chest, shook his head very

angrily over the unpardonable carelessness which had permitted matters

to go so far. He forbade Balder to make the slightest exertion, and

during some of the stormiest days kept him in bed. Balder smilingly

protested against his tyranny, and declared that he did not suffer at

all; nay that he could breathe more freely and easily when in his

stooping posture at the turning lathe. He would doubtless have

carefully avoided acknowledging that, when at work, he could more

easily forget the anxiety about his health which daily became more

pressing. But it was useless. Edwin saw through the ambiguous words,

especially as, roused from his long dream, he had now discovered for

the first time that during the last few weeks Balder must have done

double work to defray the current expenses. This was all that was

needed to make the recollection of the time so hopelessly lost, still

more painful and bitter. "Careless children ought never to be left

alone," he said reproachfully, crushing back tears of sorrow for his

brother and rage against himself. "Now you have accomplished a fine

piece of business, worked shamefully hard that I might not only play

the fool the more undisturbed, but become your murderer into the

bargain. Oh! child, all the duchesses in the world, who might want to

make me their court-fool, would not outweigh a single hair from your

thick locks, though they really might lose a few handfuls without

injury. Instead of taking up my station on the nearest street corner,

as was my duty, and waiting to see if some one would give me work, I've

wasted my days in the most worthless way, playing the courtier, while

you--fie! A fine brotherly love on both sides! One idles enough for

two, and thoughtlessly allows himself to be fed at the expense of the

other, who meanwhile works for two so recklessly that he almost

deprives himself of life, and the idler of his only brother."

He would not allow himself to be quieted, until he had carried the

dearest things he possessed, a few dozen of his most valuable books, to

an antiquary, and thus defrayed the most pressing necessities for

several weeks. Besides this, as the lectures had not yet commenced, he

plunged headlong into all kinds of remunerative work, criticisms upon

new books and contributions to scientific journals, and remained

persistently at home all day long, with the exception of a short

afternoon walk, never losing thought of Balder amid all his work. No

one interrupted this strict seclusion except the faithful doctor, Mohr,

who came daily for several hours to play chess, and Reginchen, who

brought up the meals.

Some change seemed to have taken place in the child, which transformed

her whole nature in a mysterious, but very charming manner. She no

longer sang and glided about like a young bird, or even prattled in her

half childish, half motherly way to Balder, whom she now had to nurse;

but the thoughtful, somewhat absent and sorrowful expression her

countenance now wore, undoubtedly suited it better than her former

wholly unshadowed mood. She seemed to have grown an inch taller, her

face was perceptibly narrower, her cheeks less blooming, but suffused

with a delicate glow from within. Moreover she was often found, as if

spell-bound, standing still in the midst of a task gazing steadily into

vacancy. When Balder asked what she was thinking about, she blushed

crimson and laughed in an embarrassed way, but the next instant her

face again wore a strangely quiet expression, such as no one had ever

seen before.

Even Edwin, who usually noticed her but little, remarked her altered

manner. "Our little house swallow is thinking of building a nest," said

he. "You'll see, Balder, before next spring she'll leave us to become

her own mistress. It's a pity! I can't imagine the tun without this

wandering ray of sunlight."

Balder was silent. He had long been uneasy about the matter. Little as

he was in the habit of thinking of himself, this time, with a joyous

terror that for some moments threatened to burst his heart, he could

not help believing that he was the author of this change. On the very

day Franzelius bade them farewell, the young girl had asked him to lend

her Schiller's poems. She had heard so much about them, she wanted to

see if they would please her as well as her cousins and the head

journeyman. The book was in Balder's locked drawer; he had pressed in

it a flower from a small bouquet she had once brought him when she came

home from a walk. The verses he had written on her birthday were also

there, but he did not think of them when he took out the volume.

Afterwards, when it was too late, he had recollected them, and as the

verses expressed somewhat plainly what for years he had carefully

hidden in his heart, he could scarcely doubt that they would now do

their duty and reveal all. Probably it might have been so, but for that

twilight hour in the shop, when the state of another equally reserved

soul had suddenly become clear to her. There was only room for one

thought at a time in her head and heart, and therefore, as her love for

literature was not very great, she had not taken out the borrowed book

she had placed in her work table, and had no suspicion what a secret

she would have learned. Even in her leisure hours, she did not have

much time for reading. Whenever she was left to herself, she eagerly

knitted the before-mentioned stockings, whose unusual size could not

fail to remind her for many days of the lucky fellow destined to own

them.

Balder, however, who knew nothing of all this, could not help

interpreting in his own favor the altered manner of the child he

secretly loved, especially as since he required her care, she had

become at once more devoted and more reserved. His first emotion at

this supposed discovery was, as has been stated, one of joyful alarm.

Having renounced all the happiness of healthy men, he had never thought

such an event possible, nay scarcely desirable. He looked upon himself

as a passing guest at the table of this world, who could only taste the

various dainties, and who after a short enjoyment of the pleasures of

the feast, a modest sip from the beaker of earthly joys, must silently

slip away. That he might take his place there with the others, join in

the festivities till midnight, and drain the last dregs of the wine

cup, was something of which he had not dared to think. He had yielded

the more freely to a feeling of happy hopelessness, because he thought

himself sure, of standing in no one's way by so doing. This fair,

innocent child, in the exuberance of perfect health, possessed exactly

what he lacked; that she had grown up in the insensibility of pure

nature, without intellectual wants, culture, or training, while every

expression, every gesture revealed strength, freshness, and the most

joyous good nature, attracted him to her as one is attracted toward an

object always longed for and always withheld. When she entered his

room, he forgot his sufferings and banished the thought of the future,

since she herself seemed to be satisfied with the present and the

pleasures it contained; therefore the thought that any change could

take place in this familiar, unconstrained intercourse had hitherto

never occurred to him.

Now he was suddenly thrown into a state of bewilderment in which he was

no longer in harmony with his own heart, since that which had hitherto

filled it with such pure and calm emotions, now appeared sinful, and

certainly was the source of many sorrows.

But he had reached his twentieth year and the feeling of delight must

needs outweigh all sadness. Almost insensibly, the hopes he believed

long since buried, again appeared before his eyes. Why should not a

miracle be performed in his case as well as in so many others, and

nature summon her wondrous powers of healing, especially as the soul

was now ready to assist? And if it should really prove that the

strength of manhood was to make amends for the sufferings of his youth,

how beneficent was the star which had enabled him to find in this

little spot, the treasure that would make him rich for all time.

This belief became more and more fixed in his mind, so that he

submitted to all the remedies prescribed without opposition and with

far more patience than usual, and he even, often as a loving word to

Edwin or Reginchen hovered on his lips, strictly observed the

prohibition against speaking. He would lie half the day in a reverie,

his eyes fixed upon the sorrowful plaster mask of the prisoner opposite

him, composing verses which he hastily wrote down as soon as Edwin's

back was turned. Even his old regret that he could not make up his mind

to confess his secret to his brother, who never had one from him, no

longer troubled him. When he had grown strong again and could at last

go out into the world and cast aside all his premature renunciation of

self, he would pour out his happiness, and compensate Edwin tenfold for

what he had lost.

All these thoughts had passed through his mind, while the leaves of the

acacia were falling off, and Edwin wandered about with a wound that

would not heal. The oppressive stillness that pervaded the tun, seemed

to have affected the other lodgers in the house as well; they appeared

to be in that uncomfortable, chilly autumn mood, in which man, like

nature, gradually becomes silent, until the crackling flames in the

stove beget encouragement and the lips of human beings once more

unclose. Christiane's piano emitted no sound. The head journeyman,

whose grumbling and scolding often echoed in the air as long as the

windows of the work shop remained open, was no longer heard. In the

rooms occupied by the old couple no one opened a window to look at the

thermometer, which hung on the shady side of the house. They well knew

it was no weather for a once famous tenor to expose his throat to the

air. Even Herr Feyertag was in a bad humor, although an unusual number

of jack-boots were ordered and business was very prosperous. His son,

who had imbibed from Franzelius all sorts of wild communistic ideas,

caused him a great deal of anxiety, and out ran with seven league boots

that worthy citizen and man of progress, his father. All such cares

seem doubly threatening in the autumn rain, and we are the more

inclined to believe the end of the world is coming, when the summer

sunlight has long lulled us into forgetfulness of all anxiety.

But suddenly this consoler seemed inclined to return for a time to

celebrate another festival. When Edwin opened his eyes one morning, the

brightest blue sky was smiling into the tun, and the atmosphere was as

still and soft as if ashamed of all the stormy misdemeanors of the last

few weeks. As good things, like evil ones, rarely come singly, this

morning also brought all sorts of unexpected pleasures. First came a

letter containing money to discharge a debt long since given up as

hopeless, the fee for a private lecture on Hegel's philosophy, which

Edwin had given a sceptical Russian. The auditor had suddenly

disappeared, and Edwin supposed him to be either in Paris or Siberia.

But he had preferred to make his peace with the Lord, and had now

obtained a position in St. Petersburg, from whence he sent double the

fee. Edwin was just forbidding Balder (who in his delight suddenly

broke his vow of silence and insisted that the money must be devoted to

buying back the books that had been sold) to meddle with the financial

department of the tun, which now, since Balder by his secret earnings

had basely betrayed the confidence reposed in him, was to be

exclusively in Edwin's hands, when Marquard came in, and after

carefully examining the patient, declared him out of danger for this

time. He cautioned him however, against any excitement or bodily

exertion, which would again open the scarcely healed wounds Then he

turned to Edwin: "I wish I could be as well satisfied with you," he

said, looking sharply into his face, "but I must confess that your

appearance, your pulse, your whole condition, don't suit me at all. A

few more days of this stooping, drudging, and brooding, and we shall be

just where we were the evening of the ballet. Deuce take it! I'd rather

prescribe for a whole cholera hospital, than a single thinking patient,

who's always opposing Mother Nature, and by his pondering and

cogitations during the day, tears into lint the repairs she makes in

his nerves at night. Or is--you have no secrets from Balder--your crazy

abstract love affair at the bottom of it? That was all that was

wanting! How far have you progressed with the little princess in

Jaegerstrasse? Still the 'fir and the palm' longing and yearning in

anxious pain?"

"If the matter is of scientific interest to you," replied Edwin with a

totally unembarrassed face, "you may as well know that the story ended

before it had fairly begun. I should be strongly inclined to put the

apparition in the category of delusions of the senses, if it were not

for the perplexing circumstance that the phantom which so mysteriously

appeared and vanished, was visible to you also."

Marquard looked at him with a sly twinkle in his bright blue eyes. "May

I feel your pulse again?" he said dryly.

"Why?"

"Because it's a matter of scientific interest to me, to see whether a

philosopher, who makes truth his trade, can tell a lie without any

quickening of his pulse. Besides, I can if you desire, go my way and

pronounce you incurable. I should then come here only as court

physician to the younger branch." He seized his hat and cane as if to

go.

"I really don't understand," replied Edwin, as he quietly continued to

cut the leaves of a book, "why I should take the trouble to lie to such

an infallible diagnostician! In all seriousness, I've not seen the fair

mystery in Jaegerstrasse for a fortnight or more."

"For a very natural reason," retorted Marquard laughing: "because for a

fortnight or more the beauty has lived in _Rosenstrasse_. Oh! you

sophist! You strangle the truth and salve your conscience with the

snares of your formal logic."

Balder looked at Edwin, who had turned deadly pale. The book fell from

his hand, his lips moved but no sound came from them.

"There sits the detected sinner," cried the doctor in a jeering tone.

"Ah, my son, lying and deceit are all very well if one is careful not to

be caught in them. Besides, I am the last person to attempt to force a

confidence, which is not voluntarily bestowed. Good morning!" Nodding

to Balder, he left the room and stumbled grumbling down the steep dark

staircase. When he had almost reached the bottom, he heard some one

call him and Edwin came leaping down.

"Marquard, one word more!"

"What is it?"

"I only wanted to tell you--you may think what you please, but it's the

plain truth--I thought she had left the city. What do you know about

her? Is it anything more than a freak of the imagination, that she is

living in Rosenstrasse--"

"In the third house from the corner, on the right hand side as you come

from the long bridge. Of course on the second story. I was driving past

the house yesterday afternoon, when it was still quite light, and

instantly recognized her, as in spite of the infernal weather, she was

standing at an open window. There are not two such faces. So, with a

half sad, half wearied expression--thinking partly of Edwin, and partly

of a velvet cloak--she leaned against the casement, and absently

scattered bread-crumbs to the sparrows in the street. Suddenly she

started back and shut the window. She might have seen me looking up,

perhaps she even recognized me. However, as I had resigned her to you

once for all--"

"Thank you, Marquard. Adieu!"

So saying, Edwin left the doctor standing on the dark stairs and

hastily ran up again, without hearing the expression of astonishment

which the latter sent after him.

When he returned to the tun, he endeavored to assume a cheerful

expression, and even laughed heartily, as if Marquard had told him some

comical story.

"It's all right," he said to Balder. "The tragi-comedy is to have an

after piece. What do you say to that, child? We'll recommend the

subject to Mohr for a fantastic story, the title will be promising:

'The Ghost in Rosenstrasse.'"

"All will yet be well," replied Balder gently, repressing a sigh. "Such

a parting was unnatural, and who knows whether you both would not have

suffered too severely in the trial. Now no harm is done except that she

too must have suffered in having been deprived of you a week."

"Oh! you flatterer!" exclaimed Edwin, who was pacing up and down the

room with his hands in his pockets. "Deprived of me? And what compelled

hex to be deprived of me, except her own free ducal will? Oh! child,

child, don't let us call X, U to each other! The matter stands simply

thus: I knew nothing of her, and she neither wished nor wishes to know

anything of me. And now see, my dear child, what a pitiful weakling

man, and especially your wise brother is! Instead of being satisfied

that this fortnight's silence is meant as a discharge, he will not be

content to rest until he has received his dismissal in due form, if in

any way he can obtain another audience.

"You see," he continued, while Balder was silently trying to calm his

fears at this new turn in the state of affairs, "we have our boasted

free will and the admirable categorical imperative mood, the standard

specifics for all attacks of moral fevers. I can solemnly assure you,

Balder, I'm no coward, no such pitiful weakling, that I would not

swallow the bitterest medicine, if I knew it would cure me. 'You can,

because you ought!' Certainly, I can force myself not to steal, murder,

commit adultery, or break any other of the ten commandments, because I

know they are in themselves half holy, half salutary, and the world

would be out of joint if we did not hold in check certain desires for

our neighbor's purse, life, wife, or anything else that is his. But

_here_, in my case--what do you command, Herr Imperative Mood? What do

you desire, Herr Free Will? That it looks ill for _meum esse

conservare_, if I simply baffle this longing and stay away, I have

sufficiently experienced during the last fortnight. Whether matters

will be worse if I see her again, who can tell? So I think I'll go

there and ask her whether she thinks me a fool or a man over wise, for

again playing with heat and cold which have given me chilblains

already?"

"Fortunately we're rich young men again," he added smiling. "For

although she esteems me very highly because I visit her without gloves,

it might seem quite too magnificent if I should call in a straw hat at

the end of October. I will spend something on myself, child, and even

look around for a respectable winter overcoat. My old one has gone

Heaven knows where with Franzelius, who wore it for a Sunday coat."

He could devote no more attention to his books, but while talking to

Balder in a half earnest, half satirical tone, made as careful a

toilette as is possible when a man possesses but one suit of clothes,

and finally, with his huge paper shears clipped his beard before the

tiny mirror. "I should really like to know," he said, while engaged in

this operation, without looking at Balder, "whether I should be less

indifferent to her, if I were a handsome young fellow like you, so that

she could be vain of me, or rather see her natural love of beauty

satisfied by my insignificant self. That I shall ever be necessary to

her, is not to be hoped. But to be an elegant superfluity, like a

parrot, or a piano on which she doesn't even know how to play--the

prospect wouldn't be very glorious, but for lack of a better. There,

the bushes have been pruned till they're fit to appear at court. I look

quite ghostly; this fortnight has been hard upon me. But perhaps it

will touch her: 'heart-sick, pallid, and true.' Good bye, my boy. I'll

bring back all sorts of things for dinner."

He was so strangely agitated that he embraced Balder, kissed him on the

forehead, and then rushed out of the room, humming in his powerful

"transcendental" voice--as Mohr called it--"_la donna e mobile_."

CHAPTER II.

His first errand was to a hatter, his second to a ready made clothing

store. When, though the October sun was shining warmly, he took his way

toward the Rurfuersten Bridge in his new winter overcoat, he could not

help laughing at his shadow, which he could scarcely recognize in its

present stately contour. He crammed the large pockets with oranges, of

which Balder was very fond, bought all sorts of trifles for him, and

seemed to himself very brave and resolute, in using so much self

constraint as to lengthen the long distance to Rosenstrasse by his

numerous delays. He even felt capable of maintaining perfectly his self

control, if it should chance that he never saw her again. When he at

last knocked at her door, he considered it a great proof of his

courage, that he went to meet danger so boldly.

The third house from the corner on the right hand side--now he was

standing before it. The early hour, which was by no means suitable for

visiting, did not trouble him in the least. Yet he willingly allowed

Mohr, who happened to meet him just in front of the house, to drag him

away for some distance, and listened patiently to his contemptuous

criticism of a new tragedy which had created a great _furore_ the

evening before, and which was a wretched abortion, badly pieced out

with stolen fragments. What was at this moment, the "degeneration of

the German stage" to him! what even his friend's hopes that his

"_sinfonia ironica_" would at last obtain recognition, since a very

able musician--he did not say it was no other than Christiane--was

sincerely interested in it. They saw Franzelius on the other side of

the street, engaged in an eager conversation with a dirty fellow in a

blue blouse. He recognized them, but pulled his cap farther over his

face and looked away. Mohr was just beginning to criticize the first

number of the "Tribune of the People," which he had with him and which

he declared to be an infallible remedy for melancholy. But Edwin

suddenly turned away, and under the pretence that he had a lesson to

give in that house, hastily retraced his steps as if to make up for

lost time, and went up the steps without delay.

His heart beat even more violently than at his first visit to her. On

reaching the landing, he tried several times in an undertone, to see if

he had breath enough to say good morning. But not until he had gazed at

the bell handle for at least ten minutes, did he feel sufficiently

composed to ring and ask the old woman who opened the door, if Fraeulein

Toinette Marchand was in.

"She lives here," was the reply, "but it is so early that she isn't

dressed yet."

"She will probably see an old friend," replied Edwin quickly, and

without heeding the woman's gesture of denial he crossed the threshold.

At the same moment, one of the doors leading into the corridor opened,

and the beautiful face, looking twice as charming in a lace morning cap

as it had ever seemed before, suddenly appeared.

She recognized him instantly; an involuntary movement of the head told

him that her first thought was to refuse to see him, but the next

instant she changed her mind.

"Is it _you_!" she exclaimed, but without betraying any surprise in the

tone. "I half expected you; I know no one can escape destiny. Come in.

You will doubtless excuse my cap."

He silently followed her into a neatly furnished room. His emotion was

so great, that he vainly strove to utter a few indifferent words, and

as if exhausted by a long walk, he sank down into one of the chairs

beside her sofa. Neither did she seem to know what tone to adopt.

Standing beside a flower stand, which however contained no exotics like

the one in Jaegerstrasse, she busied herself in pulling off the yellow

leaves, and in binding up a drooping tendril.

He had time to look at her. She was attired, in a simple morning dress,

which displayed her supple figure to even more advantage than her usual

costume, and the little cap on her wavy brown hair gave her a somewhat

matronly air, which contrasted most charmingly with the pale, childish

face.

"My change is very much for the worse, don't you think so?" she asked,

still busied with the flowers. "This plush furniture--it's said to be

an elegant apartment, but in comparison to the really stylish

appearance of the old rooms, looks like a mere lumber shop. However, I

can pay this quarter's rent and live among respectable people. But tell

me, how did you discover me? I thought, as I had discharged the

carriage, and no longer allowed the dwarf, who begged most pitifully to

be kept, to wear livery, I could live here in the most complete

incognita--so long as my money lasted. You were angry with me because I

vanished so suddenly, were you not? Look into my face and tell me

frankly, whether you were really angry or not?"

She had turned hastily toward him and was now gazing at him with

beseeching, mischievous eyes, as if she no more doubted the falsity of

her words, than that he would be weak enough to show mercy before

justice.

"My dear Fraeulein," said he, trying to smile, "as you have,

unfortunately, never permitted me to show you any kindness, I've not

ventured to take the liberty of being angry with you. I had forced

myself upon you, you took the first opportunity to get rid of

me--that's so natural, that a man needn't be your 'wise friend' to

understand it."

"Oh! no," she answered thoughtfully, "that's not exactly it. Do you

know that I've more than once commenced a note to you, to tell you

where I was to be found. Then I tore it up again. Silence seemed to me

wiser for us both; wiser for me, that I might wean myself in time from

that most dangerous luxury: a friend; and wiser for you, because some

day you might get tired of being my '_wise friend_,' and then the

affair would end in a way I would fain spare you. You smile. So much

the better, if you find no danger in it. Besides, it would now be too

late; you've found me again, probably your friend the doctor, who saw

me at the window yesterday, tattled. I'm very glad you're here. You

can't imagine what tiresome hours I've spent, almost always sad or

listless."

"Where did you wish to go?"

"Yes, where? That was just the question. Back to my commonplace

poverty--ah! at the thought a cold shudder ran over me, as if I were

about to jump into a marsh and sink up to my neck. To stoop to the yoke

of a governess, here in the city, where I've lived as a great lady,

seemed terrible too. So I shall live on in this way a few weeks longer,

and then when the last louis d'or is exhausted, close my eyes, and dare

a plunge--into the great nothing. Or do you believe that there is a

something?"

"No," he answered quietly. "And for that very reason, it seems to me

folly to hastily throw away the something we possess here."

"Hastily? How long is one to wait? When would you permit a person, who

did not find this something worth the trouble it costs, to take refuge

in nothing?"

"When he quite despairs of being anything in the world, of making

himself useful or giving pleasure to himself or anybody else."

"Well then--in that case, you might without hesitation sign my passport

for departure. For that _I_ am an utterly useless creature, and at the

utmost can only afford Jean Jacques a little pleasure when I give him

five groschen to feast at a cake shop--"

The tears that she had vainly endeavored to repress, burst forth, yet

she did not turn away from him, but stood at the little table before

the sofa, resting both slender hands on its polished surface as if to

support herself, while large drops fell from her black lashes.

Edwin watched her with the deepest sympathy. He was obliged to use the

greatest self control, to refrain from standing up and clasping her in

his arms, to console her as one would a child.

"If you did not endure my presence simply for the sake of my wisdom,"

he said as calmly as possible, "I would give you the most absurd

proofs, that your existence was a necessity of life to some one besides

Friend Jean, a blessing, a source of joy, though to be sure not wholly

unclouded. But aside from all nonsense: you must not go on so,

Toinette. You're quite right: one who lives so during the day, at last

passes out of the day into the night that has no morning. I see that

I've come just at the right time. Courage, child, courage! Permit me to

tell you that you don't yet understand the life you wish to cast

away. No indeed," he continued, as she gazed at him through her tears

with a look of surprise, which seemed to say: 'yet I've experienced

enough'--"you know only want and affluence; but there are a thousand

steps between, on which a sensible person can sit down very comfortably

and accommodate himself to the world. To be sure, he must possess one

thing to make life endurable anywhere."

"You mean a contented heart?"

"Heaven forbid, my dear friend! It should be a very much spoiled,

exacting heart; do you suppose, for instance, mine would take a

predilection so easily? But it will not matter if the heart is needy

and rich at the same time--that wonderfully contradictory condition

called love, when we know not which is most blessed, to give or to

receive, where we are never satisfied with giving and receiving, and in

this absurdly delightful and nonsensically clever occupation, have no

time to consider the rest of earthly things, plush furniture or wooden

chairs, because the whole question of wealth or poverty has been

transferred to another province."

He relapsed into silence, and eagerly watched the effect of his words.

Her tears had ceased to flow, and she was gazing absently and dreamily

into vacancy.

"I don't understand you, and you can't understand me," she answered

with a scornful shake of the head. "How often must I tell you, that

I've no talent for what you call 'love!' As in this present world, both

in reality and romance, everything seems to turn upon it as a pivot,

you must easily understand, that I do not suit such a world. No, things

can't go on so, long. And really, if I were not so cowardly, and did

not fear _pain_--but that will, always restrain me until life becomes

still more unendurable, and the feeling of loneliness and desolation at

last increases to a physical anguish keener than all other."

He rose and took her hand. "Dear Toinette, you're in a morbid,

over-excited state, and must allow your friend to cure you. Will you

trust yourself to me? You shall not swallow any bitter draught, or have

your heart cut out, that we may see what this obstinate little muscle

wants ere it can do its duty like a thousand others. I'll show you a

little of the world, teach you how it is constituted on an average and

how men bear with each other and till the void of which you complain,

on week-days and holidays. To-morrow will be Sunday. I should think we

might do like nine-tenths of our fellow citizens, and take advantage of

the fine weather for a little excursion into the country.

"Willingly. But where shall we go?"

"That's my affair. I must beg you to leave the whole arrangement to me.

Fortunately you have dismissed your carriage, so you will leave the

striped waistcoat at home."

"Poor boy! Why don't you give him a share in the pleasure?"

"Because private tutors are not able to go out to amuse themselves with

a train of attendants. I'll persuade my brother to accompany us

instead. I hope you don't object."

"I! Didn't I tell you long ago, how curious I've always been to see

what kind of a brother you have."

"You'll make the acquaintance of a very charming young fellow, and I

warn you in advance, do not allow it to be too evident that you like

him much better than your pedantic friend. With all my brotherly love,

I won't answer for it that I should not feel a certain degree of

jealousy. But many things which you think 'wise' and don't understand

in me, will perhaps become clearer when you've seen a man like Balder.

By the bye, you'll not wear a very magnificent dress? I hope to show

you that the fewer ducal pretensions people make, the more royally they

can amuse themselves."

She smiled. "You're a good man, to take so much trouble about a poor,

incurable creature. Do whatever you choose, you shall have unlimited

authority to improve me as much as you can."

"To-morrow morning at ten, then! Farewell, most august friend."

"You're graciously dismissed, worthy friend and marshal of the royal

household." With a bow of mock condescension, she gave him her hand,

which he raised to his lips with smiling reverence.

"And until to-morrow morning, neither poison nor dagger!" he cried on

reaching the doorway, shaking his finger.

"I'll hold out until then," she answered gaily. "Out of curiosity to

see your brother."

CHAPTER III.

"It's true! Rinaldo is in the old chains again!" exclaimed Edwin, as he

entered the room where Balder sat alone, sunning himself in the window.

He was apparently unoccupied, for he had hastily locked up the volume

in which he had been writing verses, when he heard Edwin's step in the

courtyard below, nevertheless the reflection of his poetic dreams still

lingered in his eyes.

"Have you found her?" he asked. "How did she appear?"

"Exactly as usual, neither cordial nor repellant. Oh! child, if you

could but solve this problem! How can one long for grapes, which not

only hang too high, but are after all merely painted. If, in the moon,

there live creatures resembling men, who breath a special atmosphere,

and have in their veins some vital ichor different from our blood, they

may appear like this girl. Something of the true woman is lacking, and

yet she possesses everything that hundreds of others need to attain the

full meaning of womanhood. My brain aches with trying to understand the

mystery."

He threw himself into a chair before the table, now set for dinner, and

drank a glass of water.

"And shall you go to her every day as before?" asked Balder sadly.

"As long as I can hold out. As long as it lasts. For I fear she will

ultimately become such a mystery to herself, that she will commit some

mad act. I proposed to cure her, to make life dear to her, to transform

Mephistopheles, 'first of all I must bring her into better company.'

But I don't imagine I shall succeed in finding a life purpose for her,

a task which will really warm her heart, fill her days, and of which

she can dream at night. Ah! if she only had a brain like that of my

little hedge princess Leah! But that's the strangest thing of all:

she's clever and yet entirely without any craving for knowledge;

without prejudices and perfectly indifferent to the opinions of others,

kind hearted without any interest in mankind; gay without being

contented, bright without being warm--and I, as a punishment for my

sins, am condemned to lavish as much heart's blood upon this strange

specimen of her sex, as if I were attempting a moral transfusion,

instead of the physical one that has long been tried. You'll see,

child: when I've once succeeded in replacing the moon-lymph in her

veins with warm, earthly human blood, the first dandy that comes along

will reap the advantage, and I shall have to pocket the disappointment.

However, perhaps your clairvoyant eyes will solve the enigma more

easily than I."

"I--how should I--?"

"I promised to take her into the country to-morrow and to bring you

with me. She's very anxious to make your acquaintance."

"You're joking, Edwin."

"Not at all. I should like to know what impression she makes upon

perfectly unprejudiced persons. In spite of my own folly, I'm sure that

you're not in love with her. If you become really dangerous to her

peace of mind, so much the better, let her experience for once what the

feeling is and I'll endure the inevitable disappointment with dignity.

Seriously, child, I should like to see what she's worth 'between

brothers.' Besides, you ought not to decline, for Marquard thinks a

drive in this air would do you a great deal of good."

A pause ensued. Balder gazed silently into vacancy and did not seem

disposed to give an immediate answer. At last he said: "You must not

take it amiss, Edwin, but I can't go with you; surely you know it will

be better for me to stay at home."

"Better? For whom?"

"For all. I should only be a burden if I were obliged to limp about

everywhere with you--and then--I've been in ladies' society so little.

I should be either very stupid, or say something awkward which would

embarrass you."

Edwin had risen and now stood directly before him. "Can you look me in

the eyes, you cunning hypocrite?" he exclaimed. "As if you could ever

do or say anything awkward! I know exactly why you don't want to go:

you think I'm only taking you out of brotherly love and courtesy, and

would really much prefer being alone with my cold sweet heart. But this

time, dear searcher of the heart, you're entirely wrong. I assure you,

by all that a private tutor holds sacred: you'll do me a favor by

making one of this party. Besides, I've exhausted my Latin, and fear if

we're alone she'll discover it and give her tutor lover his discharge

in good earnest."

He knew what a trump he was playing, in representing the affair as a

sacrifice Balder was to make for him. But the latter, contrary to his

expectation, remained firm in his refusal, and as he pleaded the

sensitiveness of his chest, Edwin was compelled to desist from urging

him. The real reason: that he was longing for a day when he could give

himself up to his love dream undisturbed and also see Reginchen alone,

he certainly did not confess to Edwin, perhaps not even to himself.

The next morning dawned as clear and bright as could be desired for a

Sunday excursion. Punctually at ten o'clock Edwin entered Toinette's

room. She came toward him with unfeigned cordiality, attired in a more

simple dress than any he had yet seen, and laughed when she noticed his

astonished face. "Is this right?" she asked. "This is the costume in

which Duchess Toinette walked about her native city, when she had no

court philosopher, court dwarf, or court splendor. I hope you're not

courtier enough or tasteless enough to think this countrified garb

pretty. Even my landlady, who has usually been very well satisfied with

me, was horrified at the idea of my going into the country with my

cousin--that's what you are now--in such a dress. But I've undertaken

to cure you, as well as to be cured by you. You shall confess that

beautiful things are beautiful and ugly ones ugly, and that we may make

necessity a virtue or even a jest, but never a happiness or a

pleasure."

"I'm afraid your cure will fail," he answered laughing. "You might

crawl into a turtle's shell and still please me, if only your head and

hands peeped out."

"So you're an incorrigible courtier!" she replied, shaking her white

finger at him. "But where did you leave your brother?"

He told her that he had vainly endeavored to induce him to come with

them.

"You've probably described me to him as something very horrible," she

answered thoughtfully, "to the life, as I seem to _you_, a heartless,

brainless, finery-loving creature. Well, perhaps he'll form a better

opinion of me when he sees me with his own eyes; for I must make his

acquaintance, that's settled. But now come. I feel a childish delight

in the anticipation of this drive. We won't keep the carriage waiting."

"The carriage? Plebeian country parties set off from the city gate in a

wagon. But you must be contented to walk there on your august little

feet."

"Very well. You shall have no cause to complain of me."

She tied under her chin the strings of an old and somewhat shabby

velvet hat, which however was very becoming to her young face, and

called to Jean to bring her cloak. The boy came and saluted Edwin with

the same solemn stiffness as usual. He was dressed in a common black

suit, and only the high shirt collar recalled the livery. When the

young lady told him that he might have his time until six o'clock in

the evening and go to visit his parents, his thick lips curled for a

moment in a joyful grin, but instantly resumed an expression of solemn

respect. Then they left the house, and Toinette leaned lightly on

Edwin's arm. The streets were full of people in their Sunday attire,

elegant equipages rolled past them, the air was still, and when they

crossed the bridge, all the windows of the old castle glittered in the

autumn sunlight. Toinette paused before a huckster who was selling

fruit.

"It's improper to eat in the street," she whispered to Edwin. "But just

for that very reason you must buy me one of those beautiful apples. I

feel as if I were masquerading. Why shouldn't we take advantage of our

disguise? Or must people stare at plebeian picnics?"

"Heaven forbid!" he answered. "Eating is the main object. And as for

the propriety--you see I wear no gloves today."

"But unfortunately, a terribly respectable hat. If the shops were not

closed, I should make you oblige me by buying a new one at once. I

liked your looks much better before; but it's no use now. We must both

appear like scarecrows among the pretty Sunday toilettes."

"Then the birds will at least keep away from these grapes," he answered

laughing, as he handed her a paper horn full of the fruit. "I'll put

the apples in my pocket. Good Heavens! Here are the oranges I bought

for Balder yesterday. What shall we do with all these blessings? Ah!

here comes a droschky. Now we can eat our breakfast more comfortably."

He signed to the driver and helped his companion in. Just as he was in

the act of entering the vehicle, he saw Leah approaching with her

father. The old gentleman's face was as bright as ever, but his

daughter looked somewhat paler, and for the first time Edwin noticed

with surprise the dark brilliancy of her eyes and the grace of her

walk. They also recognized him, the young girl with a sudden blush, the

father, after a hasty movement as if to rush up to him, restraining

himself. Then they went on in the stream of pedestrians, while Edwin

entered the droschky and called to the driver: "To Charlottenburg!"

"Who was the beautiful girl to whom you just bowed?" said Toinette,

turning to look after her.

"A former pupil. Do you think her beautiful? I confess I was somewhat

struck by her appearance to-day. During the time I taught her, till

within a few weeks ago, I noticed nothing remarkable in her face,

except that she has very wise, earnest eyes."

Toinette made no reply and seemed lost in thought. After a time she

said. "And what did you teach her?"

"If you'll not repeat it, to injure the child's character: in

philosophy. To be sure it didn't last long."

"In philosophy? Is that a suitable study for us women? I thought it was

only fit for men."

"So most men think, and that's why my little philosopher would find it

hard to get a husband, if it should be noised abroad that she had taken

lessons from me."

"That danger, as you know, would not frighten me, if you would take me

for a pupil. But I fear I should disgrace you. I've learned too little

and read too many novels."

"Novels are not the worst introduction to philosophy. Don't you think

that Pere Goriot affords more food for the thought, than many a text

book placed in the higher schools for girls and which does not contain

a syllable about what is called life?"

"It depends upon who reads it. I've had a great many thoughts. But they

were so sad that they cannot have been the right philosophy, at least

not yours; for you're always cheerful, so the world must wear quite a

different aspect to you in your wisdom, from what it does to me in my

stupidity."

"Very possibly," he said smiling. "But we must first prove it. You must

tell me your thoughts, and I will tell you mine. Afterwards we'll see

against which there are the fewest objections."

"And is there nothing more in philosophy? Did you make no farther

progress in your lessons to that young lady?"

"Oh! no. I began with her at the A. B. C, told her how, from the most

ancient times, thoughtful men had demonstrated the relations of things

in the world and what singular dreams about origin and decay, soul and

body, gods and spirits they had had. I'll wager that if you had

listened, you would not have been bored; for you have a tendency toward

melancholy, and philosophy is like a magic lantern; the clear outlines

of the pictures of the world it conjures up can only appear on a dark

background, but on that dark background is thrown the real brightness,

the light that brings cheerfulness and peace, while the common every

day sunlight, like ordinary human reason, is only sufficient for the

every day restless flickering dawn."

She made no reply and gazed steadily into vacancy with a charmingly

thoughtful expression.

After a pause she said: "And is any real goal reached? After pondering

over everything, do we know something definite, something that cannot

be called in question?"

"Yes and no. We arrive at what we have longed to know, the fact that

there are secrets of which our narrow minds can never have anything

more than a dim idea, although certain philosophers, who take the

chimeras of their own brains for the revelations of omniscient truth,

venture to give information even in regard to them. But is it not a

gain to learn how much we are capable of knowing, and where the ever

shrouded abysses lie? And the way along these--can you not imagine that

it would be as refreshing and full of enjoyment, as to wander amid

lofty mountains, among glaciers and ice fields, past ravines and

waterfalls that seem completely inaccessible?"

"Yes indeed," she replied, "if one is sure footed and not predisposed

to giddiness."

"The strength will increase on the way, if one is not a cripple when he

leaves home. And then in addition to the pleasure of looking around,

seeing the world, and drawing one's breath freely, do you know what

other benefit will be received?" She looked at him inquiringly.

"In order to climb up, we throw away much of the useless and

troublesome lumber we've dragged about in our shallow, thoughtless

existence, and when we have reached the heights and arrived so much

nearer to heaven and its stars, we learn to dispense with all this

trash and despise it. The atmosphere is rarefied, and earthly things,

viewed from the mountain tops, shrivel so incredibly that on coming

down, we see the dearest objects and most beloved friends with very

different eyes."

"By which they would hardly be the gainers. And then we should be more

unhappy than before."

"No," he answered with an expression of quiet joy, as he thought of

Balder, their boyhood, and all their struggling life in the bare tun.

"What is really good and true, little as it may be prized by fools,

appears for the first time in all its beauty, as allied to all the

noble things we have experienced and learned far above the plane of

every day life. You ought to make the attempt; I don't believe you

would regret it. Besides," he added smiling, "my alpenstock and

mountain shoes will always be at your service."

She looked earnestly into his face. "You think I don't see your aim.

You want to destroy or disgust me with what you call my vanity, but

which is really just as much a part of myself, as my brown hair, my

white teeth, and my dark eyes. Very well, we'll make the trial. Begin

the lesson at once; of course you must first tell me your thoughts,

then you shall hear mine. So: 'in the beginning God created Heaven and

earth'--"

He laughed and took a bunch of grapes from the paper horn that lay on

the opposite seat of the carriage. "What are you thinking of?" he

answered in a jesting tone. "This is Sunday, and we're going on an

excursion into the country. What would you say of a banker who

accompanied a lady to Charlottenburg and talked to her on the way about

stocks and bonds? To-morrow, if you feel inclined to listen, I'll read

you as many lectures as you desire. With you, I shall at least run no

risk, as in the case of my other pupil, of being discharged by an

orthodox father and a theological aunt, on account of dangerous

theories. And I'm not afraid of wearying you! For in the first place I

can't imagine any novel so interesting as the history of truth, and

secondly you know my weakness in being unable to look at you long

without talking stupid nonsense."

She shook her finger at him again. "Don't let me repent that I didn't

take little Jean with me for a chaperon, because I thought you a knight

without fear and without reproach. And now we'll eat our breakfast."

Meantime the droschky was moving on in that contemplative trot which

distinguishes the Berlin droschky horses above all others of their race

and calling, over the broad road on which, during the last few weeks,

the trees in the Thiergarten had strewed all their autumnal foliage. In

spite of the beautiful weather, the foot paths on each side were

entirely deserted, for the real stream of pleasure-seekers does not

pour out of the city gates until the afternoon. They passed only

solitary couples, so absorbed in themselves that they did not notice

the two who drove by them eating grapes. Now and then, a carriage

dashed past their phlegmatic horse. Whenever this occurred, Edwin saw

that Toinette made an impatient movement and wrapped herself more

closely in her cloak. The air was soft, almost still, but her ducal

blood seemed chilled by the slow pace at which they moved. He laughed.

"I see clearly that your habit of being drawn by four horses makes you

impatient of this half way style. Shall we dismiss our carriage and

continue our way on foot?"

She instantly assented, called to the coachman to stop, and without

waiting for Edwin's assistance sprang out as lightly as a feather. She

did not even take his arm, but walked swiftly beside him, still holding

in her hand the horn from which she was eating the last grapes.

"Why mayn't I give you my arm?" he asked.

"Look at those other couples," she answered petulantly. "Is there

anything more out of taste than the sentimental custom of keeping step?

Either the gentleman must take little mincing steps like the lady, or

she must accommodate herself to his pace by making long strides, which

is still more ugly. And all this because they love each other! We have

not even that excuse, so let each walk as is most comfortable. You

can't lose me, for I haven't a groschen in my pocket. If I ran away

from you, I should be obliged to starve."

He laughed and said that was not the mode of death usual among

duchesses, especially when they had such black eyes; to which she

retorted that her duchy was hanging up in the closet at home; if she

sold it she could scarcely live on the proceeds a fortnight, and even

for that length of time not in a style suitable to her rank. Such were

the harmless jests with which they amused each other as they walked on;

he had never seen her in such gay spirits, and it was happiness enough

for him, after his long separation from her, to be permitted to walk

beside her and look at her every movement. It was so charming to see

her eat the grapes, and when the paper was empty bite an apple with her

little white teeth. She had removed her gloves and untied the strings

of her hat and the sunlight falling through the bare branches flickered

over her lovely face.

On reaching the first of the long row of villas, she stopped to

rearrange her dress. It was even more lonely here. Most of the houses,

on account of the early commencement of autumn, had already been

deserted; in the gardens of the pleasure resorts, the Pagoda and

others, tables and benches still stood awry, as they had remained

during the long rains, and the yellow leaves were not even brushed

away. But all this dreariness and inhospitality could not damp the

spirits of our young pair. Toinette--and especially Edwin--were

delighted to have the beautiful castle garden all to themselves.

"It's strange," said the young girl as they walked through the silent

avenues and at last paused beside the famous carp pond, where to-day

the broad heads of the fishes were scarcely visible beneath the thick

covering of yellow leaves--"I always feel happiest and gayest when

everything around is very grey and dreary. When anything was going on

in my little native city, a ball or a shooting match, or any kind of

festivity, I always felt very melancholy among the happy cake-eating

crowd. And in our castle park, which is almost as ancient and venerable

as this, and has a great many places where it's not safe to go, I've

wandered about half a day like a little deer, and been perfectly at

home. Do you see now that I'm nothing out of my fine clothes, that it's

from no coquetry that I prefer to wear velvet rather than calico? Here,

for instance, even beside you, I feel too poor and shabby for these

royal avenues. You smile. Say what you please, it may be vain and

foolish and brainless, but it's natural to me, and I can't help it, I

shall carry it with me to the grave."

Meantime they had reached the mausoleum of Frederick William III. and

his beautiful queen. The invalid soldier who guarded it was asleep on a

bench, and when wakened seemed greatly surprised to see visitors so

early, but Edwin gave him a large fee, and he opened the silent hall of

death without objecting. Edwin did not enter it for the first time; but

the magical solemnity of the dusky room had never moved him so deeply,

as on previous visits he had been admitted with a crowd of strangers.

Now the light fell through the blue dome upon the silent marble figures

and the young fresh girl at his side, who could not resist the spell of

the place, and mutely, with a strangely eager expression, as if

expecting some solemn event to happen, gazed for a long time at the

glorified image of the royal lady. Edwin at last approached her, and in

a whisper asked if she were ready to go. She did not hear him and

remained spell bound by the fascination of the place, until the door

keeper rattled his keys and reminded them it was time to leave. Then,

as if longing for some hand to lead her back to life out of the regions

of the dead, she took Edwin's arm and even in the sunlight that shone

upon the park walked beside him a longtime in silence, absorbed in her

own thoughts. He too kept silence, though his heart was burning. Never

had she seemed so lovable, so far above all other women whom he had

even known, as during her quiet reverie in the blue soft twilight. He

had to use the utmost self control to speak of any thing but his

passion.

"I'm really grateful to you," he began, "for being so deeply affected

by that solemn spot. Scarcely any other place hallowed by art and

association, has ever so moved me. Surely the fate of those two human

beings has its influence too in the silence, the thought of so much

dignity in misfortune, so much unassuming goodness on the throne, so

much affection in the simplest form. Neither was intellectual or highly

cultured. But in the decisive moment their innate nobility put the

right words in their mouths, the right resolution in their hearts, and

their thoroughly plebeian sense of duty always made them appear truly

royal in the high position in which they were placed. And then--isn't

it touching to think how this prosaic, sober, almost awkward monarch,

devoted himself to his beautiful wife with an ideal love which

outlasted death, and while building barracks and living simply and

frugally in the plainest palace in his capital, was constantly thinking

how he could have this house of death still more magnificently adorned

by the greatest masters, because it contained his wife's heart and with

it all the poetry of his life. Then at last he ordered his own effigy

to be placed beside hers, wrapped in the simple soldier's cloak he had

preferred to the purple mantle, that even in death, he might remain

faithful to himself and to her. Isn't there greatness in so much

humility, and more true royalty in this unassuming figure than in all

the boastful imperial pomp of this great conqueror?"