"Another sign of your sharp-sighted wisdom, dear lady!" laughed the

artist, rubbing his hands in delight, for he had already told the most

difficult part. "I really have emptied half a bottle or perhaps three

quarters, as my son-in-law, he who is to be I mean--these people who

are in love don't know how to value good wine--"

"Better and better! Have matters already gone so far? A formal

betrothal dinner, and Leah's second mother would have heard nothing

about the matter, if the wine had not betrayed it. Well, Herr Koenig,

I've had to forgive many things in the course of our long acquaintance;

but this--this--"

The artist started up from his chair, as if he had been touched by a

spring and approached his offended friend, who had seated herself on a

sofa and tried to look resolutely away.

"Dear lady," said he, "first hear how it all happened. It was precisely

because we all have so much respect for you, that we wanted to reflect

a little and discuss the matter among ourselves, before we asked your

consent. It came upon me like a thunder clap. And amid all the

happiness--you may believe me--the thought of what you would say to it

never left my mind a moment. You best know how I submit to your

authority, and how willingly I yield to the gentle yoke, though you

often treat me worse than my long years of love and loyalty deserve.

But this time--no! I could not ask you first. Tell me yourself: if your

child had fallen into the river and a man was ready to pull her out,

would you first ask what faith he had? Now you see, although I know you

don't like the doctor--"

"Doctor Marquard? That marriage-hater and Don Juan? That child of the

world in the worst meaning of the word--and our Leah?--"

"God forbid, my dear friend, this time your prophetic soul leaves you

in the lurch. But I scarcely know whether the right man will not seem

still more frightful to you. You see, I'm perhaps a weak Christian, at

any rate weaker than you, and as for the higher branches of theology,

you've more in your little finger than I in my whole artist skull. And

yet--I too felt a little alarmed when the children came to me and

confessed what had never entered my mind, that dear godless fellow of a

philosopher--"

"Edwin? Doctor Edwin? Oh! my presentiments!"

"Yes, indeed," said the little artist, "no other than the dismissed

teacher, who now wishes to continue the interrupted lessons all his

life. Do you think my poor daughter's rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes

consoled me at once for the destruction of my hopes in regard to her

religious life? But, as I said before, only a monster of a father would

have had the heart to say no, when the life of his only child was at

stake. Or if that word is too harsh--it would have inquired a martyr of

the dark ages, to prefer to see his child pine away and die, rather

than live and be happy with an unbeliever. And that her sickness was

only concealed love and that she would have wasted away without Edwin,

I saw plainly enough at dinner, when simply because he sat beside her

and looked tenderly into her face, she suddenly, in spite of her

happiness, felt an appetite she has not had for months, and afterwards

when he had gone away, lay on the sofa sleeping more soundly than if

she had taken all the opiates in the world. Then I slipped away to come

to you, my dearest friend. And now say a kind word to me--or if it

can't be kind, an angry one, anything is better than to have you sit on

the sofa so still and silent, with your handkerchief pressed to your

face, so that I can't even see what sort of expression my best friend

wears when she hears of my poor child's happiness."

The widow withdrew her handkerchief and revealed eyes streaming with

tears, which looked at him with a singular expression of mingled

indignation and kindness. "You're an old hypocrite," she said, drying

her lashes. "I'm not what you call me, your best friend, or you would

not have misunderstood and slandered me to my face, and to those too

lovers, as if I sat here with the air of the judge of a supreme

spiritual court, to whom it would be dangerous to bring news of such an

engagement. Fie! shame on you for a faint-hearted fellow. You're a weak

Christian indeed, if you expect to find in your fellow mortal a heart

full of bigotry and intolerance, instead of one submissive to God's

decree and accepting with gratitude and hope whatever he sends--If I

can't help crying, not only from joy and thankfulness that our Leah is

saved, but also with anger toward you, you reprobate, make amends for

your sin by taking the godless doctor my congratulations this very day,

and inviting him to dine here tomorrow; one of a party of four; do you

understand? And moreover give me your word of honor, that I'm better

than my reputation, and no ossified theologian. Don't you know my dear

friend, that God's ways are wonderful? Suppose he intends to draw to

himself these two hearts, that neither know nor desire to know him, by

this circuitous way: first leading them to each other, and causing them

to experience all the joys and sorrows of married life, in order, hand

in hand and heart to heart, to guide them back to their heavenly

father? There's no more influential home mission than matrimony, for

two honest people, of course, and that the doctor, with all his

blindness, has an honest soul, we've never doubted. So yes and amen,

dear friend, and because it's such a day of joy, all sins must be

forgiven. As a token that I bear no malice--come, dear father of the

future bride, and let her mother embrace you."

"You're a blessed angel right out of heaven!" exclaimed the artist,

making such an enthusiastic use of the permission, that the blushing

lady was at last obliged to defend herself by force. "Yes indeed," he

continued, when he recovered his breath, "this marriage has really been

made in heaven, all the signs prove it. Think, dear Frau Valentin, how

wonderful it is, that this very morning I was sitting thinking whether

it would not be better to resign my position and salary as court

painter to His Russian Highness, rather than continue to live on the

money so indolently and dreamily. For I said: who knows whether the

prince has not already forgotten me, and that I may not sit year after

year, like a fool, waiting for orders which will never come?' But now I

see that the dear God has so arranged this, that I need not portion my

Leah quite so shabbily. Dear Frau Valentin, I know what you've always

said--that that was your affair. But after all a father would also--"

He was just in the mood to tell everything he had planned for the

immediate future, when Frau Valentin's maid-servant entered and

announced a visitor. The gentleman only wanted to ask a question, and

would not give his name. Before her mistress had time to answer, a

hasty step was heard in the ante-room, and to the zaunkoenig's no small

surprise, the gigantic figure of Heinrich Mohr crossed the threshold.

"I beg ten thousand pardons," he exclaimed in his hoarse voice.

"Although I've the reputation of being unceremonious, I'm not usually

so bold and uncivil as to enter a lady's room without ceremony. But

circumstances which will be explained at some future day--the

conviction, that there's danger in delay--perhaps several lives

may depend upon whether this lady will grant me five minutes

conversation--"

He had poured forth these words with such strange agitation, his whole

appearance was so singular, that Frau Valentin really did not know

whether she ought to grant his request. But the little artist relieved

her of all hesitation.

"My dear friend," he exclaimed, "don't have the slightest scruple. My

mission here is fulfilled, and I must hurry home to illuminate the

Venetian palace; our lagune must flash and sparkle like the Grand Canal

at the weddings of the doges, and you're invited too, my dear Herr

Mohr. No refusals. You owe it to your friend."

"To whom?"

"Why our doctor, your friend Edwin, my little Leah's betrothed husband.

Haven't you heard of it yet?"

"Not a syllable. So he's engaged! I congratulate him. But don't depend

upon me for this evening."

The artist started and looked at him in astonishment. This indifferent

manner of receiving such wonderful news surprised and vexed him. But

his joy was too great to be long clouded. "As you choose," said he, "we

won't quarrel about it. Besides the young couple won't miss you, and to

sit with an old fellow like me--you're right, it would not be much

pleasure. So another time and farewell!"

He seized his hat in the exuberance of his delight waved an adieu to

Frau Valentin. While so doing, the pins which had fastened the somewhat

rusty piece of crape came out, and the sign of seven years mourning

fell on the floor. He was about to pick it up, but changed his mind.

"No," said he, "we'll let it lie. If the mother can look down upon her

child, she will think it natural if no crape is worn after this day.

Farewell, my best friend! I still insist that you're an angel."

CHAPTER XI.

As soon as the artist had left the room, Mohr, who had remained

gloomily standing at the door, approached the astonished Frau Valentin

and said in the tone of a foot-pad, who demands the traveler's purse at

the pistol's point: "you know a certain Lorinser, Madame. As I have

reason to think this man of honor a scoundrel, who with persistent

cunning escapes the punishment he deserves, I take the liberty of

asking whether you've heard anything of him since he left Berlin."

"Lorinser!" exclaimed the good lady. "Oh! dear Herr Mohr, say nothing

about that unhappy man; he has already caused me sorrow enough. No, no,

I don't know where he is, nor do I desire to do so, I will never see

him again, and I think I'm tolerably sure he will never approach my

threshold as he has every reason to remain away from Berlin."

"In so believing, Madame," Mohr replied with a short fierce laugh, "you

have probably misjudged this Protestant Jesuit. True, when a few months

ago and again very recently I made inquiries about him at his former

lodgings and the police headquarters, I learned that he had gone away.

But people like him, who live on such intimate terms with angels and

archangels, ascertain before death, how one must manage to move about

as a glorified body. One saves rent thereby and passes through every

key hole. That this mysterious man should have forever abandoned the

great city, where people can take advantage of others so much more

comfortably and profitably, always seemed to me improbable. And this

very morning, just as I was doing him the honor to think of him, he

drove past me in a droschky--to be sure I only saw him through the

window, and he has let his beard grow; but I hope to be condemned to go

to the same heaven into which this fellow hopes to smuggle himself, if

I was mistaken. Pardon my somewhat strong expressions. Since scoundrels

like this, our beloved in the Lord, adopt a sweet pastoral style, an

honest man must wrap himself in his natural bluntness."

"You've seen him? Lorinser? No, no!"

"I'm sure, Madame, that no other man has those mother of pearl,

Lucifer-like eyes in his head. And besides, he seemed to recognize me,

for he hastily cowered back into the corner of the droschky, but it was

too late. Unfortunately I lost sight of him again. Perhaps, I thought,

he's gone to his old customers once more; it's a Christian duty to

forgive even such an imp of Satan, seventy times seven times. And after

all, I said to myself, he's doubtless always behaved properly to the

good Frau Valentin and not let the mask fall. I confess I half expected

to find him here, when the servant said you had a visitor, that's why I

rushed in so hastily."

Frau Valentin had sunk down upon the sofa and was gazing into vacancy

with unconcealed horror. "No," said she, "we've done with each other.

I'll take care, that even if he should have the effrontery to knock, my

door will not be opened to him again. No man has ever more shamefully

misused the holiest words and trampled the purest confidence underfoot.

I'll not mention the sums of money, amounting to hundreds of thalers,

he has talked out of me for charitable and religious objects, in order

as I afterwards learned, to use them for himself and his dissolute

life. But that he could do me the injury to corrupt an excellent young

girl, to whom I gave employment in my own house--let's say no more

about it, my dear sir. It always makes me so angry when I think of it,

that I forget all the commands of charity and wish this fiend in the

lowest depths of hell."

"Hm!" muttered Mohr between his teeth; "money embezzled--an innocent

young girl--very valuable material. Pardon me, Madame," he continued

aloud, "if I'm not yet inclined to cut short this interesting

conversation. Perhaps you would have the kindness to tell me the name

and residence of this unfortunate girl?"

"What interest can you have in it?"

"A very Christian, or at least an honest one, honored lady. For when

the arch-angel Gabriel--or was it Michael--drove the arch-fiend to the

spot where he belonged, the lesson of forgiving seventy times seven

times had not yet been invented. Suppose I had a fancy for playing

arch-angel? Trust me without fear. I'll wager your poor protege knows

where this wolf in sheep's clothing has his den, and as I've all sorts

of things to settle with him--"

"Do what you believe to be your duty. I'll not prevent you; that is,

forestall God, who has perhaps chosen you for an instrument to

execute his decrees. Here"--and she tore a leaf out of her pocket

book--"here's the list of my seamstresses. The name through which a

line is drawn is that of the unfortunate girl."

"Like the black tablet in the doge's palace: _Marino Falier,

decapitatus pro crimine_. Permit me to write down the number of the

house. There--and now forgive this disagreeable visit, Madame. The

messengers of the Council of Ten in Venice were notorious for their

obligatory intrusiveness."

She took leave of him with a silent bend of the head; but as he was

passing through the ante-room, she called him back to entreat him for

God's sake to deal considerately with the poor girl, who had deserved a

better fate. "Have no fear," he replied. "We children of the world are

all sinners ourselves, and know how poor sinners feel."

Half an hour after, he knocked at the door of a garret in one of the

most out of the way streets in Friedrichstadt. A man's voice called

"come in!" Seated on a table in the deep recess of a window, to catch

the last rays of light, was an odd little figure with his legs crossed

under him, sewing busily on a woman's dress. At the mention of Fraeulein

Johanne's name the busy little man let his work fall, shook his head

angrily, and exclaimed in his hoarse falsetto tone:

"Can you read, sir, or not? Pray look at the sign on the door, and see

if there's not an inscription on it in large letters: 'Wachtel, Ladies'

dressmaker.' The person whom you seek did live here, but is now

entirely to set up for four flights of stairs. Of course the fall is

first down stairs from the garret to the ground floor; after a time

they go still farther down: into the cellar, and then five feet under

ground. Besides, it isn't my affair; ladies' tailors are not

responsible for the first fall of man. Why! Well of course you know

that yourself. Ha! ha!" He laughed and took up his needle again.

"Does the young lady live alone?"

"Yes and no, according to the way you understand it. 'I'm lonely but

not alone'--as Schiller says. But try yourself, sir; I believe she's no

longer as timid about having evening visitors, as she used to be when

she worked for me; I work for her now, but I'm better paid at any rate.

This sort, you must know--"

"Does a certain Herr Lorinser happen to be with her, a

clerical-looking, pale man, with a black beard?"

"Can't say, sir. It's not my business to keep the register. Mam'selle

Johanne will be glad to tell you what you want to know--her present

admirer is a clerk, in a banking house, and can't get away till the

counting house is closed. So if you want a private conversation--ha!

ha!"

Mohr silently nodded a farewell and left the grinning little man. A

feeling of repugnance overpowered him, which only increased, when on

reaching the entry outside of the first floor rooms he heard a girl's

voice singing one of Offenbach's favorite airs.

His ring interrupted the song. Directly after, a slender young girl

with singularly large sparkling eyes in her pale little face opened the

door. "Is it you, Edward?" she exclaimed. Then perceiving her mistake,

said without any special sign of embarrassment: "What do you want,

sir?"

Mohr looked at her a moment with an expression of sincere sympathy,

which however formed so singular a contrast to his stern face, that the

beautiful girl was alarmed and began to consider how to get rid of this

mysterious man.

"Don't be anxious, Fraeulein," said he suspecting her thoughts, "true,

I'm not 'Edward,' but I come with the best intentions. If you would

give me two minutes--"

"Please, sir, if it can be settled out here--"

"As you choose. Be kind enough to answer but one question, whether you

know the present residence of a certain Herr Lorinser--"

A deep flush suddenly crimsoned her face, her eyes which had hitherto

flickered with a strange restless light, now glowed with a sullen angry

fire, and her hand trembled on the door. She was evidently obliged to

reflect before she could reply.

"Why do you ask this question?" she said in a low, hurried tone. "But

come in. Here in the public entry--"

He followed her into the ante-room, and she closed the door behind

them, but remained on the threshold and did not invite him to sit down.

"Fraeulein," he began, "I have a personal matter to settle with this

man. He vanished for some months and has now appeared again, and as no

one can help me on the track--for I suppose he has not used his real

name again in the city--"

"But why do you come to me? Who told you--?"

"Some one who means well toward you and deeply regrets all that has

occurred."

"I know whom you mean: Frau Valentin. Ha! ha!" she exclaimed, with a

sudden change of tone, "so it is she! And she means well toward me! Why

yes, as she understands it, so she does! When I went to her again and

wanted to work--for I thought she would surely receive me, though old

acquaintances would have nothing more to do with me--I was met with

only a shrug of the shoulders and a stern face; she was very sorry, but

she couldn't give her other seamstresses such an example--then a few

thalers were pressed into my hand and a recommendation to some house of

correction. First I wept--then laughed, as I always laugh now when I

hear that these religious people mean well toward us. Go back again and

tell her--"

"Pray, Fraeulein," he interrupted, "let's keep to the point. That wolf

in the sheep's clothing of humility, that vender of souls, who treated

you so shamefully--"

"I'll neither see nor hear anything of him!" she exclaimed violently.

"I'd rather die, than be compelled to meet this man but for whom I--but

pshaw, it's not worth while to get angry about it. I was a simple

child, I believed everything I was told, now I no longer believe in

anything, neither in heaven nor in hell, only in the little space here

on earth, where I'll not allow my peace to be destroyed. Excuse me,

sir, for receiving you so uncourteously but I'm not yet dressed and am

going to Elysium--a concert and ball--we can't be young but once. If

you want to know where the Herr Candidat lives--he no longer calls

himself Lorinser, but has taken the name of Moser--there's his card, on

which he wrote his address. He said his first visit was to me, that he

still loved me and would prove it and provide for me. But as I said

before, I'd rather jump out of the window than have anything more to do

with the abominable scoundrel. Perhaps"--and she lowered her voice a

moment--"perhaps there's some truth in the tales about the other world

and the last judgment. But if I'm condemned, then I'll open my mouth

and tell what I know; what I was, and what I have become, and through

whom. Here, sir, here's the card, and now--"

She opened the door, bowed with an easy grace, and took leave of Mohr,

who fluent of speech as he usually was, remained silent from deep

compassion for the poor lost girl.

CHAPTER XIII.

The clock struck seven as he left the dwelling, and night had closed

in. The house whose number was written on the card, stood at the

eastern end of the city, and he felt somewhat exhausted by the many

excitements of the day. Yet he could not make up his mind to defer his

visit until the morrow, and therefore threw himself into a droschky,

and drove through the dark streets absorbed in thought.

At last he paused before a neat two story dwelling, and by the light of

a lantern read the name of the owner under the night-bell, and above

the word "Rentier." In reply to his ring, a maid-servant appeared, and

positively refused to admit him. Her master and mistress were just at

prayers with the gentleman who rented the upper room, and she was not

allowed to announce any one.

"And you must not announce me either, my pet," Mohr calmly replied,

pressing a thaler into her hand. "I want to surprise them. I'm a very

intimate friend of the Herr Candidat, and he'll be wonderfully

delighted when he sees me enter so unexpectedly. When I've once found

him, I'll let him continue his prayer without interruption."

The girl did not mark the tone of savage sarcasm, in which these words

were uttered, but took it all for coin as good as the thaler she held

in her hand. She lighted the generous visitor up to the second story

and with a smile of secret understanding pointed to the door, through

which a strange dull buzzing sound was heard.

Mohr distinctly recognized the voice of the man whom he had pursued for

months with unquenchable hate. The blood rushed to his head, and he

needed several minutes delay to regain even the appearance of calmness.

"Go, my good child," said he. "I need no farther help to find my way."

After she had gone, he listened a few moments longer. Lorinser seemed

to be reading aloud from some book of devotion, and at intervals came

long drawn regular tones, like a person snoring. Mohr softly grasped

the handle of the door and opened it so noiselessly, that he stood in

the room for some time before those present perceived him. Lorinser sat

on a wide sofa, the lower half of his face was shaded by a heavy black

beard which made him almost unrecognizable, and his closely cropped

hair was covered with a three cornered black velvet cap, which worn as

it was far back upon the head exposed the high polished brow. Nestling

beside him in very unequivocal proximity, sat a pretty young woman who

seemed to be looking at the book also and eagerly following the words,

while she held his hand firmly clasped in hers. An elderly man with a

simple narrow-minded face was leaning back in a large arm-chair, and

accompanied the reading with his peaceful snores. Mohr needed but one

glance to understand the condition of affairs.

"Don't let me disturb you," he said suddenly in the most courteous

tone. "I merely wish to say a few words in private to Herr Candidat

Moser."

Lorinser started up, the young wife uttered a cry and let fall his

hand, the sleeper rubbed his eyes in astonishment. For a moment it

seemed as if all three had been petrified by the sudden appearance of

the stranger. Mohr did not grudge himself the mischievous pleasure

afforded by the scene, but quietly approached a step nearer and bowed

to the mistress of the house.

"Whom do you want here, sir?" asked Lorinser, who had hastily

regained: his composure. "I've not the honor of your acquaintance."

"So Peter said," replied Mohr dryly. "But you, I hope, will remember me

before the cock crows. Permit me to take a seat. Will you have the

kindness to introduce me to the company, or shall I do it myself?"

"This insolence goes too far," muttered Lorinser, who had grown deadly

pale. "Do you presume, sir, to force your way into a stranger's house

and disturb the devotions of the family without apology?"

"I do, my worthy sir. The night will be long enough to continue that

which, to my great regret, I've interrupted. I desire only a quarter of

an hour of your precious time--and will not disturb you longer."

The young wife had turned away to conceal her embarrassment, and now

glided out of the room. Her husband prepared to follow her.

"Stay," exclaimed Lorinser, still clinging to the mask of indignation.

"You must bear witness, my dear friend--"

"As you choose, my good fellow," said Mohr with icy composure. "It will

be a favor to me if the gentleman will make a record of our treaty. To

begin: in the first place--I've just come from Fraeulein Johanne--"

He looked Lorinser steadily in the eye, and the effect produced by this

name was fully equal to his expectations. A short pause ensued, then

Lorinser whispered something in the ear of his host, and the latter

with a submissive bend of the head, left the room.

They were scarcely alone, when Mohr drew his box of Latakia out of his

pocket and began to make a cigarette. "You'll permit me to smoke I

hope," he said affably to his silent companion. "The air here is

abominably bad, the breath of heaven and hell mixed; I am afraid of the

contagion and should like to disenfect myself."

Lorinser's eyes were fixed upon the floor. Not a muscle of his rigid

face betrayed the feelings that were aroused by this visit. But when

Mohr had lighted his cigarette, he said with a slight cough: "I must

beg you to be brief, I don't like this odor."

"As brief as possible, my dear fellow," answered Mohr phlegmatically.

"You'll give me credit for having troubled myself about you only for

very serious motives, not merely from a desire to continue an

acquaintance which is utterly uninteresting to me. The class of human

beings to which you belong is, thank God, by no means numerous, but

sufficiently well known for it to be a mere waste of time to study it.

Goethe has described it admirably in Faust; you remember the passage

where he speaks of a certain abortion. Even the manner of playing you

represent, is not new. Zacharias Werner and others are your

predecessors, so you've not even the merit of originality, but are

simply a second-hand scoundrel."

"I only wish to observe," began Lorinser without losing his composure,

"that we will suppose you to have poured forth all your invectives and

come to the point at once. I'm accustomed to insults, and console

myself by thinking, that far more holy men, nay our Saviour himself--"

"Beautiful!" interrupted Mohr. "But one good turn deserves another.

I'll avoid every incivility except those which the mere business in

hand may entail, and you'll promise me not to again desecrate in my

presence a name so venerated as that of the founder of the Christian

religion by uttering it with your lips. I confess my weakness; it makes

me fairly sick, when I hear that a--how shall I express it--a poor

sinner--that's not insulting--is playing a blasphemous farce in the

name of that sublime sufferer and champion of humanity. So we're

agreed? Very well. And now we'll proceed at once to business. Do you

know this?" He put his hand into his breast pocket; Lorinser

involuntarily shrank back.

"Calm yourself," said Mohr with a scornful laugh. "I've no pistol in my

pocket, to aim at your breast and force you to a full confession. I

despise such melodramatic means, which moreover would undoubtedly fail

if directed toward such a holy man, to whom a martyr's crown would be a

fitting reward. What I've brought here, is only a little book, a neat

pocket edition of Thomas a Kempis. Your name is written on the first

page, I mean your real name, before you believed in a second baptism

and exchanged the somewhat foul old Adam of your 'Lorinser' for a speck

and span 'Moser.' Do you recognize the little book?"

He held it out, and when the other had assented to the question with a

silent bend of the head, laid it on the table. "Thank you," he

continued; "you'll make this business easier for both of us, if you'll

drop all unavailing and useless lies. I found this little book in a

room in Dorotheenstrasse, from which on the day of your nocturnal

visit, a lady in whom I'm interested, disappeared. I was fortunate

enough to find her two nights after, and, as you're perhaps unaware,

with dripping garments and in a very silent mood. We worked for five

hours to obtain the smallest word. When she at last decided to open her

eyes and lips, of course there was no mention of you. But the little

Thomas a Kempis, probably in revenge for having been taken in paths

where there can be no question of the 'Imitation of Christ,' committed

the indiscretion of gossiping; the old maid-servant, who unlocked the

room for you in the evening and saw you creep out again at a much later

hour--you probably supposed you'd be seen only by God, who is already

accustomed to close his eyes to your doings--this worthy person, I say,

in reply to my questions, told me all and then suffered her mouth to be

sealed forever. So there are only four persons who know this secret of

that night. Three of them have good reasons to keep silence; but the

fourth might in some devilish mood, against which we must be on our

guard, or for some 'benevolent' or profligate object, tell the tale. To

prevent this, my dear fellow, you'll say to that fourth person, that I

am determined in such a case to stop his mouth forever, by shooting him

down like a mad dog or finding some other way to silence him. You've

understood me? A syllable, a wink, a shrug of the shoulders, which

would impugn that lady's honor, and you'll receive a passport into the

better world." He was silent, as if he expected some explicit answer.

Lorinser had leaned his head back and was gazing at the ceiling. He

coughed several times and passed his long, pliant fingers through his

beard.

"And is this all that has brought you to me?" he asked after a pause.

"I hope you admire the patience, with which I listen to your

disconnected fancies; but I beg you not to abuse it." Mohr looked at

him with icy contempt.

"You are a precious rascal," said he. "Under other circumstances I

should wonder at the iron mask Mother Nature has put in the place where

other men wear their faces. But, as I said before, the atmosphere here

is so unpleasant that I'll limit myself to the most necessary words. So

in brief: do you know the present abode of the lady who is the subject

of our conversation?"

"No."

"Have you determined never to inquire for her?"

"Why should I, since I no longer have any relations with this lady?"

"No longer have any relations? You express yourself admirably. But are

you also disposed to bind yourself, if by accident you ever meet her

again, to leave the place and the city at once and avoid her for all

future time?"

"A singular obligation. You expect me to subject myself to all the

inconveniences--"

"I regret that I'm compelled to still further increase these

obligations. You must also forever renounce the pleasure of seeing me

with a solemn oath--although the peculiar relation in which you stand

toward your God, considerably weakens the value such vows usually have

between men of honor. However, I've means to compel you to keep your

promise."

"I should be glad to learn what they are."

"With pleasure, honored sir. Unfortunately, I'm unable to give you

without ceremony the chastisement you deserve, as we crush a venomous

reptile under foot. It would expose me to all sorts of unpleasantnesses,

and as I still have duties toward my fellow men, I must avoid as long

as possible the extreme measures which would bring me in conflict with

the criminal courts. However, although vengeance is mine, saith the

Lord,' I feel a repugnance to seeing a good for nothing fellow, like

you, roaming about at large, and as the arm of civil justice is either

too short or too clumsy to seize such clever criminals, I've resolved

to set in motion against you a noiseless and silent _vehm-gericht_.

Whenever I meet you in the future, I shall brand you without mercy--in

what manner will depend upon the inspiration of the moment. But out

of the world in which I live you must go!" he exclaimed, suddenly

raising his voice almost to a shout, as he rose and threw his cigarette

away. "Do you clearly understand me? I will not tolerate your presence,

will persecute you until you no longer poison the air I breathe; perhaps

the simplest way therefore, would be for you to decide without much

hesitation to emigrate to America, and join the Mormons, a vocation for

which you've all sorts of valuable qualifications, in case you don't

prefer Cayenne, a region in which home missions still have a fine field."

A pause ensued. The two mortal enemies looked each other steadily in

the face.

"And if," said Lorinser at last, "instead of taking advantage of all

these benevolent counsels, I prefer to inform the police to-morrow

morning, that a madman broke into my house with threats and attempts at

intimidation, and request protection against this violence? Certain

private affairs, over which you seem to have excellent reasons for

drawing a veil, would probably not withhold me from procuring myself

peace at any price."

"At _any_ price? That might perhaps be somewhat costly for you. Or

would you like, in answer to this notice, a complaint to be entered by

an honored patroness--on account of the embezzlement of money entrusted

to you for the poor?"

"Embezzlement!" exclaimed Lorinser, starting up. For the first time

during the whole conversation the iron mask fell, and his real face

appeared, disfigured by the most violent distortions.

"Embezzlement?" he repeated. "What ridiculous words you use; they serve

to show how far you are from understanding a nature like mine! Or no:

you're probably well aware whom you have before you, one of the elect,

who pass through life enwrapped by the atmosphere of the supernatural,

and do not think themselves compelled to keep always in the straight

roads made for sober children of the world. What is money to us? A

wretched, despicable necessity, as worthless as the other conditions of

this poor clay! He who never rises from the dust, may allow himself to

be a slave, watch pennies and reckon shillings. But should he who

offers the poor treasures with full hands, those treasures which

neither morth nor rust corrupt, opens heaven to them, and raises them

out of all anxiety and trouble into the fulness of eternal life,

scruple to receive from them what the lowest and basest human beings

can give each other, coined metal or stamped paper, and haggle over his

daily bread by mouthfuls with those who must forever remain his

debtors? Would you come to such a man with accusations about careless

bookkeeping, which to be sure to the petty souls in this world of trade

seems to be the only sin against _their_ holy spirit?"

"Bravo!" replied Mohr dryly. "You've memorized your part well and

delivered your little speech bravely. But it can't produce an effect on

every audience. These magnificent views of the work and money, which

you share with all interpreters of dreams, alchymists, and false

profits, from Mohammed down to our own times; this artless pilfering of

enthusiastic innocence, which in its blindness so eagerly seizes the

most glittering baits, may suit those who cling to you and find their

interest in being preyed upon by you. _Volenti non fit injuria_--you've

probably learned so much _Jus_. But the good Frau Valentin, who is not

in love with you, does not stand on the same theological soil, or

desire to purchase any religious enlightenment for hard cash, looks at

the matter from the standpoint of common plebeian honesty. I think

you've some idea of what people call honesty and good faith. The

excellent soul, in her narrow mindedness, holds fast to these and

thinks that he to whom she has given money for her poor, is a miserable

cheat, when he uses these funds to defray his own expenses and pays for

oysters and Rhine wine to the honor of God."

"You're a devil!" muttered Lorinser grinding his teeth.

"I never considered myself an angel," replied Mohr, still in the

calmest possible tone. "But at least I hope to be no stupid devil.

You've seen," he continued, as he again opened his tobacco box, "I'm

tolerably skillful in the art of rolling cigarettes. If the one now in

process of being made, is completed before you've given your consent to

my very reasonable compromise, I shall go straight from this sacred

place to the profane dwelling of a magistrate with whom I'm very well

acquainted. You don't smoke yourself? A pity! It's often very useful to

aid one in keeping cool. Bluecher smoked in every battle."

A suppressed snort of fury came from the dark end of the apartment,

whither the other had retired. Suddenly he rushed to the door and flung

it wide open. "Leave this room!" he shouted in so loud a tone, that

any listeners outside could not fail to hear it. "That we never meet

again shall be my care."

"Thank you," replied Mohr, putting on his hat. "The cigarette is just

finished. I knew we should come to an understanding. _Intelligenti

panca._ You're too polite; you need not so courteously open the door

for me. I know the rule of all ghosts and spirits, that they must go

out the same way they came in. There! And now success to you

devoutness."

Without vouchsafing another glance to his conquered foe, he walked

passed him with the calmest possible expression of countenance, while

Lorinser, trembling from head to foot with passion, stood beside the

door with clenched lists and slammed it violently behind his enemy.

When Mohr was going down stairs, he fancied he heard a low groan of

fury, such as might be uttered by a wild beast that has fallen into a

pit. An expression of bitter loathing passed over his stern face, and

his underlip curled with scorn. When he again stood in the cold dark

street, he paused, drew a long breath, extended his muscular arms as if

to throw off an unendurable burden, and for a moment closed his eyes.

"Where shall I go now?" escaped his lips. "Wither turn to regain what

is lost? No, not lost forever! If I'm forced to search the earth to its

remotest confines I shall find her, I must, I _will_ find her. Poor,

poor woman! I will give you peace, so far as is possible for men to

know peace against devils!"

He walked on a few steps, absorbed in deep thought, then paused

suddenly and passed his hand across his brow. "Good Heavens! I had

nearly forgotten it while occupied with all this baseness; Edwin and

Leah receive their friends to-night! I'll go there. I must see some

good people, to restore my faith in humanity."

And whistling the adagio from the symphony in C. minor--his invariable

remedy when he wanted to drive a bitter taste from his tongue--he

turned toward the zaunkoenig's little house.

BOOK V.

CHAPTER I.

At the moment when after a lapse of four years we resume the thread of

our story, we find Edwin sitting at the open window of a hotel, attired

in a costume very similar to the one which he wore when we made his

acquaintance on a certain moonlight night. Again he wears an

unpretending grey summer suit, with a black tie fastened loosely around

his neck, and a straw hat, which, despite the changing fashions, is in

shape nearly identical to one worn long before, lies on the table,

adorned with a fresh bouquet of heather blossoms. Even his features

show no trace of the four years that have passed; indeed he might now

be taken for a younger man, his cheeks are slightly bronzed by the air

and sun, the line between the brows has disappeared, the restless

glance has vanished. He has just completed a long letter, and now lays

down the pen to feast his eyes a moment on the forest clad heights,

which, rise behind the trim little city. The time is twilight of a warm

summer evening; the air, as usual after the crimson light of sunset has

faded, is full of tremulous, translucent brightness; a silver grey sky

which merges into white, and relieves the eyes by forming a background

to the masses of tree tops and the mountain ridges upon whose crest is

uplifted the lofty tower of the old church, like a black silhouette

against a sheet of silver paper. In the foreground a few faint local

colors and hundreds of individual details fill out the picture. The

railway station only separated from the hotel by the wide street,

swarms with people; but it is Sunday and as if in deference to the day

there is no noisy bustle, no goods loaded and unloaded, and only

persons traveling for pleasure seem to be waiting for the next train,

which is to leave in an hour.

Meantime it rapidly grew dark. Edwin is compelled to move nearer the

window, in order to read, and we, as old friends, may be permitted to

look over his shoulder and see what he has written to his Leah.

"My Beloved Wife:

"_I have been here just two hours, during which time I have slept as

soundly as I ever did at midnight. It was a foolish whim of mine, the

desire to reach this place to-day; for to do so I was compelled to walk

in the heat of the noonday sun. I might have known Mohr would not tear

himself away from his home one instant before the term began, and of

course I have not found him here and may be obliged to wait several

days. However, his dilatoriness has procured me the pleasure of

strolling through this mountain region by moonlight, which I have done

for the last four stages of my journey. Dearest, it was unspeakably

delightful, to leave at moon-rise the hot rooms where I had spent the

day and then walk through the silent woods, which grew cooler and

cooler, until when the moon was about to set I reached some cosy nest

which was ready to receive me. To be sure he who wants to write a

hand-book of travel, must manage differently; the moon is the poet that

transfigures all things, but it is after the style of Eichendorff, who

with his rustling tree tops, flashing streams, and distant baying of

dogs always conjures up the same dreamy mood; so that at last it makes

no difference where we wander, whether in Italy or the Thuringian

forest. For me, who only wanted to thoroughly shake off the school dust

and forget everything that could remind me of the agreement of

triangles and the theory of parallelograms, this twilight mood was

exactly the right one, in which all forms blend together and I as it

were returned with a living body into the Infinite. 'Give my soul full

freedom'--how often I've repeated the words! How often I've thought of

and pitied you, because, as a woman, you can never enjoy the strange,

sweet wondrous delight, which I inhaled in full draughts with the night

breeze. The spell can only work in perfect solitude. The ear must hear

but one footstep, when the night reveals its secrets and there rises

that wierd vibrating hum, a noise like that our earth might make,

moving through the grooves of space. It is like a fairy dream, dearest,

to look up to the stars and become absorbed in the measureless silent

enigmas; the countless 'burning questions,' which nevertheless burn

only the souls of dreamers and night wanderers. And amid the depression

caused by the loneliness of the world it was a grand feeling of triumph

the consciousness of loving and being loved, that though fallen in the

deepest abysses we are never really given over solitary and hopeless,

to the spectres of night, since we can raise above us a shield our

pure, honest purpose, our strength and love of good, and feel ourselves

allied to all our struggling brothers, and throughout all this journey

you were always by my side, beloved, and on the other walked our

Balder, often in such bodily presence, that I actually saw your eyes

sparkle, and thought I distinctly heard your voice as it sounds when

you steal behind me and whisper in my ear: 'do I disturb you?'_

"_As I said before, I deprived myself of all this, when the fancy

seized me to come hither in the day time. Now in order to assure myself

of your presence, I must take up my pen which will not lend wings to my

thoughts, after my hot walk in the dog days. But if I keep silence

longer, I fear you may take some jealous fancy and imagine Frau

Christiane to be the cause, and that, instead of the moonlight, in

which I stagger intoxicated with the beauty of nature, perhaps the

moonlight sonata, which to be sure I have recently heard with fresh

delight, has gone to my head. No, dear Wisdom, on this point you can be

as much at ease as you were four years ago; nay, more so, for even your

old and at that time not wholly to be rejected hypothesis, that your

dear husband's extreme loneliness had made a fatal impression upon the

unoccupied mind of our artist, has proved, on a nearer inspection of

the facts and circumstances, entirely untenable. You must erase this

conquest from the list of my victories, which thereby is considerably

diminished. That we heard nothing of our friends for years, that

they did not even inform us of their marriage and only remembered

the old friendship a short time ago, arose from entirely different

reasons--concerning which I have promised to keep silence, even to you,

although to do so will be difficult enough. I have so accustomed myself

to sharing everything with you, not keeping in my mind and heart even

the smallest 'arriere-boutique,' as Montaigne calls it, closed to you,

that I should have preferred not to learn, the strange circumstances

through which these two people have found each other, at the cost of

being compelled to conceal them from you, my beloved keeper of the

Great Seal, especially as I know that this time, too, we should have

agreed in our judgment and feelings._

"_Oh! dearest! the hour in which our old friend broke at last the seal

of the dark secret he had kept so long, because he could not endure

that there should be a mystery between us, the way in which he told the

unspeakable secret, how he conquered hopeless despair by his deep,

earnest love--never, never will the smallest syllable of this

confession vanish from my memory. How these two mortals have battled

for their happiness, nay how bravely they must still daily defend

themselves against the ghosts of the past! Never have I heard a more

touching story than the account of his ceaseless quest of the lost one,

after he had at last found her in the most sequestered corner of the

world, his unwearied persistency, which nothing could rebuff, to make

her again accustomed to the light of day, the vital warmth of her

profession and his faithful love. For the first time I have learned to

thoroughly know this strange man, and understand how he was able to

accomplish the tremendous task of saving for the second time, this

apparently lost life. How much I should like to show you my old friend,

as I know him, one of the best, noblest, and most unselfish heroes, I

have ever met. For do not suppose that, blinded by his passion, without

a struggle and only keeping the object of possessing her before his

eyes--but enough, I'm on the way to say more than I am permitted to

utter. Let this hint be sufficient for you, dear heart, and promise me

never to allude to it again, nor even, if it's possible, to strive to

discover what is concealed behind it. Have I not myself given you a

beautiful example of how we can stifle even the most lawful curiosity,

by not even inquiring what motives you could have for not accompanying

me on this vacation's journey, and refraining at your request from all

meditations upon whether the point in question was a grand cleaning

festival, a new carpet in our study, or some other unsuspected and

thoughtful expenditure of the traveling expenses you have saved?_

"_But to return to Mohr and his young happiness, I would never have

believed it possible that he could have changed so much for the better,

as during the last few years._

"_He was waiting for me at the railway station, holding in his arms a

little boy about three years old, who smiled brightly at me with his

wise black eyes. Not until we were out of the crowd and the child could

be placed without danger on his own feet, did his father have his arms

at liberty to embrace me. Then we walked slowly and silently along the

road that led toward the little city, Mohr kept his eyes steadily fixed

upon his boy, and only now and then cast a side glance at me, as if he

wanted to ask if I had ever seen such a child. 'You must know,' he said

at last, 'he has no other nurse than I, and he will not feel the lack.

At first Christiane did not believe I had the necessary qualifications

for his attendant, and also thought I should probably have something

better to do. But now she has discovered that this is my real vocation.

We must take ourselves as we are. Your old friend, Heinrich Mohr, who

used to imagine that he was something in himself, something out of the

common order, a poet, a musician--the devil knows what--has now come to

the knowledge, that he's only a transition point, an intermediate step

between the Mohrs who were still more insignificant and commonplace,

and this little Mohr, who will be greater than all of us, the head and

flower of the whole stock. What in me was only impulse, desire,

presentiment and desperation, will in him become fulfillment. You

laugh, my dear fellow_, '(_I was not laughing at all_)' _but first you

must learn to know him. To be sure he doesn't inherit from his papa

alone; his best qualities may have descended to him from his mother:

her strong will, to risk all for all. The elements of a great artist

perhaps exist in me too; but criticism, conceit and suspicion kept them

forever apart. Well, it is no disgrace to bow to a law of nature.

Raphael's father was a miserable dauber, the elder Mozart played his

part in the orchestra very badly, and Beethoven's papa too, was by no

means a shining light. It's very possible that it was uncomfortable

enough for these worthy men to produce nothing remarkable, till they

perceived that they had the honor of being transition points, only the

retorts as it were, in which nature brewed the elixir of life, which

under the name of their sons were to rejuvenate and bless the world?_

"_While saying these words, he gazed at the little boy who was trotting

along very quietly beside the gutter, eating a cake, with a look

through whose tenderness gleamed a shade of respect, which would have

been laughable, if it were not so touching to see it in our old

friend._

"'_What's his talent?' I asked at last._

"_'We're not yet clear about it,' he answered gravely. 'Like every

unusually gifted person he has more than one eminent talent, and we

allow them all to develop together. His memory and his musical ear are

wonderful. Besides, he has a power of language of which many a boy of

six need not be ashamed, and his perception of form and color is beyond

all belief. You think me one of those fathers who are crazed by blind

partiality; I can't blame you for it, nor will I attack your unbelief

with a succession of tricks to display his genius; we take care not to

spoil so delicate and rich a nature by training it for a prodigy. As

you see him there, eating his cake and bounding merrily about in the

sunlight, we leave him entirely to himself, and my whole method of

education consists in not telling or teaching him anything, until he

asks for information. In ten years, we'll talk about him again.'_

"_'And Christiane?' I asked._

"_'You'll not recognize her,' he said laughing softly, like a person

already rejoicing in another's anticipated astonishment. 'I know you've

never understood why, from our first meeting, I didn't think her

homely; you laughed at me when I said her face was only clouded by

sorrow and calamity, and that when this dark varnish was removed a

pleasing picture would appear. Well, "who laughs last laughs best."

You'll see her and judge for yourself, whether the process of

regeneration has not been thoroughly completed in her. It's no wonder

either; for how she is appreciated, loved, honored! I may say the whole

musical life of our city revolves around her. You've come just at the

right time; the Cecilia Society she organized, gives an open air

concert to-night; first "Winter and Spring" from the "Seasons" then a

time for chat followed by some of Mendelssohn's quartettes. I make

myself useful in my way, by playing accompaniments, distributing the

parts, and often growling a little in baritone. With us, the women's

voices are the best, Christiane's method of instruction has already

produced its effect upon them. But we need tenors and basses.

Addressing the participants at athletic sports, shooting matches, and

workmen's picnics, ruins the voice; everybody thinks he shows his

patriotism by shouting, and then can't control his tones when they are

required for more delicate use. Well, we must put up with the shadows

too. We're living in a provincial town.'_

"_All this was said with such a radiant face that I saw he would not

have exchanged places with any band leader in Vienna or Berlin. I now

noticed that the trick which was so peculiar to him, drawing his under

lip awry and showing his white upper teeth, had entirely disappeared.

He could laugh with his mouth wide open like a child._

"_But the author of the comedy 'I am, I, and rely on myself' was still

so much like himself, that he didn't ask a question about how I had

fared, how my wife looks, and how our little city suits us. But this

omission was most amply compensated for by Frau Christiane, who met us

just outside the city, a few paces from her charming little house,

which is situated among gardens and meadows just beyond the gate. After

the first embarrassment always engendered by seeing old faces again,

she seemed perfectly at ease, her first question was about you, then I

was obliged to tell her about father and his marriage with Frau

Valentin, and next of our neighbor Franzelius and his little wife, and

so we were soon perfectly comfortable. My attention was attracted by

her quiet, gentle manner, which had a shade of suppressed humility,

especially when she turned toward her husband, for whose slightest

gesture she seemed to be on the alert. Only when the conversation

turned upon art, especially in the domain of music, the old harsh

strength of our strange friend flashed out like fire beneath ashes.

Meantime Mohr had brought a bottle of wine into the pretty honeysuckle

covered arbor of their little garden, and now smoking a cigar, sat at

the table, while his eyes constantly wandered from his wife to the

little boy playing near. 'Did I say too much?' he asked triumphantly,

when she was at last called away to give a singing lesson to the

Burgermaster's daughter; I was not obliged to use any special

self-constraint, not to disturb my old friend in his happy illusions;

for the sunlight of happiness although it could not transform our shade

loving plant into a blooming rose, has brightened the stern, gloomy

face so much, that no one will ever fear it; often at one of her

husband's droll ideas, or when the child came bounding up to her with a

question, so sweet a smile flitted over her mouth, that one almost

forgot her mustache. Her eyes were noticeable enough in old times and

happiness has given them a soft, soul-full light. She dresses, so far

as I understand such matters, by no means in a rustic fashion, but in

extremely modest colors, and without any ornaments. That the people

value her highly and know how to prize her talents, I had ample

opportunity to notice in the evening at the concert, which all the city

attended._

"_Much might be told of this concert, but I was most glad to see how

Mohr had altered; his satirical vein was entirely lacking, I'm still

too weary from to-day's walk for a minute description, so I must

reserve this genre picture for a verbal report, I'll only mention one

episode, which shows the tender relations in which our friends stand

toward each other. While Father Hayden was being played, in which

Christiane did herself great credit, Mohr sat on a bench in the garden,

with the boy beside him, who, after a liberal supply of fruit and bread

and butter listened very quietly. It had grown tolerably late, and in

the pause before the quartette began, the 'sand man' appeared. As the

maid-servant was no where to be seen, Papa Mohr took the child in his

arms and carried it home, where he stayed until he had put it to bed

and given it into the charge of the negligent servant. When he again

entered the garden, to enjoy the remainder of the programme, he stood

still in astonishment and could scarcely believe his ears. Was that

Mendelssohn? No. But what was it? It seemed so familiar--and yet--it

could not be what he thought. Yet what else could it be? Yes, it was a

quartette which he had himself composed years ago and locked up in a

large box with other unsuccessful attempts, including the 'Sinfonia

Ironica.' And now he heard it sung before the whole audience, and sung

so well, that its conclusion was hailed with frantic applause and

shouts of 'Da Capo,' although it had only appeared as a modest

supplement to Hayden and Mendelssohn. Who would have suspected Frau

Christiane to be capable of such a trick? And especially that, in reply

to the numerous questions about the composer, she would be bold enough

to name her own husband! But the applause now burst forth like a storm,

and I could see how popular our old ci-devant mocker and man-hater was,

among his fellow citizens. It was most charming of all, to see him

approaching his wife, publicly embrace her and then scold her for

having betrayed his youthful errors, while she took advantage of the

successful stratagem to tell him what talents he really possessed, and

what she had always admired and valued in him._

"_This last however occurred when I was alone with them, for when the

concert was over we had an after piece in the honey-suckle arbor. How

we wished you were with us, my dear little wife! The surprise that

awaits me at home, must be something very charming, if it's to

compensate for your absence that evening--_

"_I remained with them all the next day, and during this long time

never once heard our friend utter the word 'envy,' in which he once so

luxuriated. Balder was right, when, he said Mohr's envy was only a

mutilated love. Since he has known the beautiful, healthful feeling in

its full development, he has dropped his philosophy of envy, for the

foreign element which still remained in his ennobled envy--that he did

not feel the goodness, beauty, and lovableness in others to be

his--disappeared as a matter of course, when he would have had to envy

flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone, in a dear child._

"_They did not want to let me go so soon. But as the room they gave me

faced the south, it was so unendurably hot at night that I woke in the

morning with a dull headache, so I honestly and obstinately insisted

that they should put themselves to no farther trouble, but let me go to

the hotel. To this they objected, because such a change of quarters

would excite so much comment in the little city, so we at last adopted

the middle course, that I should walk through the mountains a few days

alone and meet Heinrich here. He, too, has been ordered by his

physician to take more exercise, but could never make up his mind to

part from his boy, and even now I'm not quite sure of his keeping his

promise. I shall wait for him until to-morrow evening; but I almost

fear a letter will come instead, in which he will declare nocturnal

pedestrian excursions with an old friend to be incompatible with the

duties of a nurse._

"_I'll now close this letter, dearest. It's just the hour when I like

best to wander alone through a strange town. Evening has closed in, but

the inhabitants, to save oil and candles, prefer to sit outside the

doors a little longer and watch the last rays of light as they fade

away. The school children, too, their tasks all completed, play merrily

in the open air, while the mother brings the youngest, clad in its

night gown, out to the father who is sitting on a bench; taking the

little thing in his lap he shows it the moon, the high church tower,

and the stork's nest on the town hall, delighted to see it listen and

open its eyes. Some day this gazing wondering child will become a

stern, practical man, eager in the race for gold, thinking little of

fairy tales, except on Sunday mornings, when they will perhaps

sometimes recur to his memory. But I believe that many will carry a

breath of childhood into old age, and this is far more likely to be the

case in villages than in large towns away from the accustomed

surroundings and amid strange scenes. I've often noticed how, as one's

memory of home grows fainter, we become more contented in strange

places and in a frequent change of abode. For one is oftentimes

completely overwhelmed by the mystery of existence, as, on a summer

evening we look with earnestness into the blue ether and find our gaze

rivited by the first twinkle of a star; in our absorption we may become

almost incredulous as to the existence of our own homes. And sometimes

when far away from those who are dear to us, though still surrounded by

a human crowd, one feels that there is no tie to bind him to any place

but that where at evening the fire is kindled upon his own hearthstone,

and where, after the labors and toils of the day, he can rest in the

sacred atmosphere of peace and perfect love. I'm often obliged to pause

and draw back when I pass a bright window, behind which a group of

people are sitting around a smoking dish, lest I should enter unbidden,

and say: 'Good evening! Don't you know me? I'm your brother!'--Oh!

dearest, those are poor fools, who say to themselves and others, 'we

are strangers in the world.' Have we sprung from the lap of our mother

earth and been nourished with her milk, and has our father, the sun,

given light to our eyes and awakened our senses, only that we may

wander about all our lives homeless waifs, with our heart-hunger

unappeased? Only an idle, selfish, and perverse soul can turn

reluctantly or arrogantly away from the pleasant place where it should

live and labor, and which helpful toil should make so dear. And such

hopeless people think, when the piece they perform becomes stupid and

tiresome, and is hissed, that it is the fault of the scenes! To such

should be said: 'Do your duty, play your part well, and these boards,

which are your world, will not burn so quickly beneath your feet that

when the need comes you cannot escape.'_

"_But whither am I wandering? Good night, my wife, dearest of human

souls. When Mohr comes, I'll you where we decide to go. I hope to be

able to persuade him that he owes you a visit. Believe me, if I were

not ashamed to turn back so soon, I should be with you again to-morrow,

or rather, as I do not see why I need be ashamed to find life dull and

unprofitable without you--if to-morrow a letter arrives, instead of my

friend, our doctor will shake his head in vain; for nothing shall

prevent me from clasping you in my arms the following day._

"Edwin."

"_Remember me to our neighbors, Frau Reginchen's ears must have burned

of late; I have been obliged to answer so many questions about her and

her little ones._"

CHAPTER II.

Edwin had just finished the letter and risen from his seat, to take it

himself to the post office, when there was a knock at his door; a

familiar knock, but one which he had not heard for years.

Before he had time to say "come in," the door opened, and in the dark

passage appeared a round head with thin fair hair and a pair of gold

spectacles. A portly, but active figure hastily entered. "It's he!"

exclaimed the friends in a breath, and the next instant Marquard and

Edwin were clasped in each others arms.

"Wonder of wonders!" cried Edwin, as he drew his friend nearer the

window. "Have you taken up the study of animal magnetism, that you

discover me here? True, you were always a sort of repertory for all

valuable knowledge, but as I don't know a soul in this place, haven't

been outside these four walls, or even written my name in the visitors'

book--"

"The mystery will be solved in due time," interrupted Marquard with a

grave face. "Come, let's sit down on this very thin couch and permit me

to light one of my own cigars. I'm afraid I am not idealist enough, to

find yours endurable. And now let's see and hear what these four years

have made of you. You've not gained in flesh. Such a teacher of

mathematics ought occasionally to pass beyond the rudiments of straight

lines and angles. I, as you see, am approaching aldermanic proportions,

and as Adeline is like-wise comfortably enlarging her natural

boundaries, a consequence of our happy domestic life and the

undisturbed harmony of souls--"

"Have you married her at last?"

"Not exactly according to form, but in point of fact it amounts to

nearly the same thing. We've resolved never to part, unless it should

seem advisable. Isn't the legitimate civil marriage merely a contract

so long as the parties are suited, and doesn't Schiller say, 'beauty is

freedom in necessity?' Well, that beauty exists in our alliance. We're

both free but each finds it necessary to be with the other. The good

creature has retired from the stage and adorns my loneliness with her

housekeeping talents, besides secretly helping me in a scientific

work."

"So the nightingale has also a talent for medicine?"

"Only the practical part of it. We're writing a cook book together, or

rather a book on the art of eating. Brillat-Savarin is classical, it is

true, but only a child of his time."

"And will yours allow you to devote yourself to such grave studies in

another department? Certainly the words: 'How difficult it is even to

attain the means by which we ascend to the source of things!' do not

apply to you."

"Of course not; but just because, as a favorite women's doctor and

happening to be first in this specialty, my time is very much occupied;

I should not be able to finish the difficult task without the

assistance of a co-worker so tasteful as Adeline. Well, you'll come and

see us, it's high time. We'll take you into our laboratory, and you

must bear witness--but first of all, what brought you here without your

dear better-half?"

"Happy fellow," laughed Edwin, "who doesn't suspect what summer

vacations mean to a poor pedagogue! Hitherto, I've always spent them in

traveling with Leah, but this time mysterious and higher considerations

forced me--"

"Must I congratulate you, my old friend? No shame-faced evasions with

your physician! You'll make an excellent papa. It's a pity," he added

in an undertone, "that uncle Balder is no longer here to see it."

Edwin shook his head. "I fear the point in question does not concern

such important matters," said he, "or I should probably be admitted

into the secret. To be sure, it might be possible; for who can

thoroughly understand a woman! For instance, would you believe that

this affectionate daughter, who when she left the hut on the lagune

shed bitter tears because her father would be there alone, can't yet

make up her mind to visit him, simply because he did the wisest thing

he could, under the circumstances, and married his old friend, Frau

Valentin?"

"So that's true!" exclaimed Marquard. "Adeline thought she had read it

in the newspaper, but afterwards we could not find the sheet to make

sure of the names, and of course they didn't send cards to us. Well, I

believe they'll live as happily as two doves, content with their God,

and good works will now flourish in partnership. But what does our Leah

see to condemn in such a match, which was certainly made in heaven and

which moreover is such a sensible arrangement; for where could the

lonely old man find a better refuge, now that a huge tenement house has

been built on the site of his Venetian palace, than under the

protecting wings of his excellent old sweetheart?"

"That's just it," replied Edwin, "that touched a spot in his daughter's

heart and she will hear no reasoning upon it. If the point in question

had simply concerned a new mode of life, in which other considerations

than her father's comfort had turned the scale, no one would have been

more glad, than my good wife. But papa zaunkoenig informed her of his

decision in a letter which was certainly strange enough. The parts were

exactly exchanged; the father addressed the daughter in the tone a good

son or younger brother would use in informing a highly respected mother

or sister of a marriage of which she would probably disapprove, but

which, as an accomplished fact, must be accepted with the best

grace possible. He knew his child; he knew that she watched with a

deep-rooted jealousy, to see that her dead mother's image was not

supplanted. Her passionate love would not have rebelled against what is

termed a sensible marriage with anyone except his old love; but

throughout the letter, it was perfectly evident that a late blossom of

their youthful love had unfolded, a joyous midsummer warmth had

awakened in these two by no means aged souls, and that both the

worthy people felt all the timidity and embarrassment of a real love.

Frau Valentin's letter was also constrained, and in spite of their

excuse--they had perceived it was God's will, and had yielded to his

decree--it was easy to see that they had submitted with heartfelt joy

to this same higher will. This did not escape the penetration of my

little philosopher, and never was any letter of hers so tart as the

reply to this news. Nay, although during the two years which have since

elapsed, thanks to the truly Christian feeling that pervades the

marriage, the daughter's feelings toward her new mother have softened

and she has become almost reconciled--she still refuses to see her

father in his new relations--! And yet there are people, who attempt to

deny that women have their peculiar ethics!"

Both were silent for a time. It had grown perfectly dark, only the gold

frames of the spectacles sometimes glittered, when the lighted cigar

came near them. Suddenly Marquard said:

"Will you answer me a question, my lad. An indiscreet one, but I have

my reasons for it--are you happy?"

"I don't think that question at all indiscreet when propounded by a

friend," replied Edwin quietly. "But to answer it conscientiously, we

must first understand what you mean by happiness. In the ordinary

sense, of no wish remaining unfulfilled, and the absence of all

oppressing care, I know only one happy couple amongst our acquaintance:

our worthy tribune of the people and his little wife. Papa Feyertag

has, as you know, opened his pocket so generously, that Franzel, who

insisted upon moving to L. with me, was able to establish a very fine

printing office. We have only to turn the corner to reach their house,

and I needn't assure you that we're very neighborly. One can't find

anything prettier than this little rosy, fair-haired mother, with her

three red cheeked children--"

"Three? The marriage was only--"

"There's a pair of twins, now just two years old, exactly like their

papa and already recognizable at a long distance as young tribunes of

the people by their powerful voices. You ought to see our Franzel carry

the little mob about, one on each arm and the third pick-a-pack, his

bronzed face and the white teeth under his bushy beard fairly radiant

with fatherly pride; and Frau Reginchen, when he's romped enough,

pushes his shaggy hair back from his forehead and scolds him for making

the boys still wilder than they are by nature, her eyes meantime

sparkling with delight, I'm sure they never held conflicting opinions

for half an hour; she can twist him around her little finger now as

well as during their betrothal, in everything concerning household

affairs, and too, she's clever enough not to meddle with things she

does not understand--his business and theories for reforming the world.

He's still strong in them, but we've silently agreed not to argue

social questions, and what he does practically is very thorough. His

care for his workmen is really exemplary, they all have a certain share

of the profits--it's a sort of joint stock company, in which the

individual stockholders give labor instead of money, a system, which

depends solely upon the good will of the capitalist, and will be

imitated only when all manufacturers become philanthropists like our

Franzel. But here all have their share of the profits, and it's

pleasant to see how they all cling to him from the foreman down to the

youngest errand boy, idolize Frau Reginchen, and spoil the black-haired

boys and little girl. And moreover the cobbler's daughter, whose father

didn't trouble her with two many arts and sciences, has become a very

clever little woman, who plays no bad part in the discussion of every

day authors, provided the conversation doesn't go above Schiller. At

least so Leah says; she still stands in as much awe of me as if I were

the Holy Ghost incarnate, and avoids all literary topics in my

presence. Nevertheless we're on very pleasant terms with each other;

she calls me her God-father and I call her Frau God-mother; you ought

to come and see our quiet life--although you could gather no new ideas

for your gastronomical work."

"I am coming," said Marquard, "I certainly will! You've roused my

appetite, I can tell you. But we've wandered a long distance from the

main topic."

"Whether or not I am happy? You know it doesn't take much to satisfy an

idealist. The world is what we make it, and I've good reasons to be

very well satisfied with it. I've no occasion to be anxious about the

ordinary wants of life, and have never regretted for a single hour,

that I gave up the professorship to take a quiet subordinate position

as teacher in a school. While imparting the precepts of Pythagoras, my

metaphysical system has time to mature, and I needn't teach anything

for which I can't be fully responsible. Ambition I never possessed.

What I have not in myself, no one can give me; I never cared to have my

own opinion of myself corroborated by a crowd of people whom I don't

know and therefore can't respect. But I'm indebted to the little city

for one thing which I thought superfluous in the capital, but have now

learned to prize because it enriches and strengthens my existence: I've

entered into the midst of a motley throng of human beings, and the

hundred-fold contact with an apparently thoughtless reality has

benefited not only the man, but the philosopher. You smile, you

arrogant metropolitan! You can't imagine, that one's view of the world

may become more comprehensive in the atmosphere of a little town. And

yet man is everywhere the same, and such a little town is a retort in

which I can most easily insulate the experiment that slipped through my

fingers in the great busy city. You would be surprised if I should give

you examples of the psychological results I've obtained from my active

and daily share in the interests of my worthy fellow citizens. What did

I know of the genius _homo sapiens_, when I lived in our tun and only

allowed a few chosen specimens to approach me? Only from the average

can pervading laws be discovered. But you'll find all this some day in

my book, if I ever write it. But I'll say this--that nothing external

more richly rewards the trouble, than, wherever we maybe or whatever

people we may be associated with, to honestly devote ourselves to them

and share with them the best we have. These worthy people who at first

eyed me curiously, because I was wanting in those things which usually

help to win popularity and neither visited their usual places of resort

nor joined in their games of skittles, any more than Leah attended

their coffee parties, now know, that despite all this, they have a very

good friend in me. Now and then, on public occasions, I have asked

permission to address them and found fresh confirmation of my old

opinion, that no one can guide a crowd so easily as one who stands on a

higher plane, if he has but the power of awakening the true manly

spirit which sleeps in the breast of the lowest boor. Afterwards they

have not unfrequently come to me as this spirit moved within them, but

failed to find courage in its own strength. They would have elected me

to the Chamber of Deputies, if I'd not positively forbidden it.

_Basta!_ You may think I imagine it a wonder to be Caesar in a village.

No, indeed, my dear fellow! Nay, I confess that it always costs me a

special effort to do my fellow citizens these trifling services; for at

the bottom of my heart I'm still the aristocrat whom only the old

saying _noblesse oblige_ can lure from his seclusion. I'm bound to few

by the tie of affection, and whether that wouldn't break up too, if I

should strike my tent and continue my journey--"

"Do you intend to resign your position?"

"No; but certain people, who can't bear to have a simple teacher of

mathematics take the liberty of thinking and saying what doesn't suit

their turn, may drive me to it. It's a very simple story; I delivered,

before a sort of society for the education of workmen, which Franzelius

of course instituted immediately upon coming to the city, and at which

every week honorary as well as working members assemble, a lecture on

Darwinism, relating purely to natural history; I was quite thoughtless

of the consequences, which were nevertheless very striking. Our city

pastor, my worthy colleague in the school, where he gives religious

instruction, took it so much amiss, that he instigated the principal to

suggest to me to send in my resignation. As I felt neither desire nor

obligation to do so, a report has been sent to the authorities, the

answer to which is still delayed. I'm awaiting it very calmly. I'm not

in the way of my other colleagues, the principal is well disposed

toward me and only yielded reluctantly to the authority of our

spiritual shepherd; if any change should occur in my position, my

opponent's victory is not to be envied, as the favor of young and old

will accompany me in my exile. So you see I'm beginning to make a

career, though at first in the sense of the rolling stone that gathers

no moss. But motion refreshes the blood, and a child of the world finds

his home everywhere."

"But your wife?"

"She'd undoubtedly find it much harder to part from our friends, than

I. Reginchen is as dear to her heart as a sister. For the rest, we two

are so well satisfied with each other's society, that we could not long

lack anything if we kept each other.

"True," he continued after a pause, as Marquard thoughtfully brushed

the ashes from his cigar, "one thing I do lack, or rather my dear wife.

It's strange, I was very fond of children, and a marriage without the

fulfillment of this purpose of life always seemed to me a very

sorrowful thing. Now that I experience the sorrow, I see that the

deficiency brings its own compensation. There's no third person between

husband and wife to divert their love; they're always alone, everything

remains as it was during the honeymoon, which extends to years. I only

wish it for Leah's sake, since she knows my old fondness for children

and can't look upon Reginchen's blessings without a sigh. For my part,

I could spend my life with what I have, and the natural desire for

offspring would gradually die out entirely. How few can boast of having

a wife who is a constant novelty, and yet as indispensable as the

oldest, most cherished habit! We are not always of one mind, like our

neighbors; Leah's blood is not so light and her thoughts stir it, and

then she has hours of hard secret struggle, and the conclusions at

which she arrives her honesty forces her to defend. But it's all the

prettier and more touching, when she regains her bright cheerful moods.

I can't help laughing when she doubts whether she's the right wife for

me, whether I should not have been happier with a fair haired child

like my little Frau God-mother." Marquard had risen and was pacing up

and down the room puffing violently at his cigar. "And the old love?"

he said after a pause.

"Rusted out, in defiance of the proverb! It becomes more and more clear

to me that the whole affair, the sudden mad passion, was only a symptom

of my general condition at the time and was melted out of my blood with

other useless stuff by the nervous fever. Since that time I've never

uttered her name, and have heard and seen no more of her than if her

husband's estates were in Sirius."

"I wish they were," muttered the physician between his teeth, stamping

indignantly on the floor. "I meant to keep it from you," he continued,

as he again threw himself on the sofa beside Edwin. "But since there'll

be no danger to you if she comes to a bad end some day--"

"She? Do you know anything about her? Have you seen her again?"

"I had the honor of kissing the countess' hand a few hours ago. Nay, I

can even tell you, we should have blindly passed each other here, if

your old friend and patron, the striped waistcoat, who was idling

around before the house, had not seen you at the upper window and

instantly recognized you."

"Little Jean? But how in the world--"

"You shall hear all. As I said before, I wished to keep it from you, as

I didn't know what impression it might make upon you, to suddenly find

yourself so near your old love. You know I've always had a great regard

for your wife, and have thought that no one could suit you better. I

hoped you'd be drawn toward each other by degrees and so regain your

full health. But when you began in such a heels-overhead fashion and

were so suddenly betrothed, I, as an experienced psychologist, couldn't

help shaking my head. Such speedy cures are rarely permanent; they

denote injury to some other organ. But the way in which you speak of

your domestic happiness, reassures me! I don't think I risk anything,

when I say, your old friend, in spite of her countess' coronet, has

made a worse match, than if she had taken the head master, Edwin."

"Unhappy? Poor thing! Does he ill treat her?"

"There!" said Marquard, "after all it will be better for me to keep

what I know to myself. It seems to me you can't yet, with the necessary

objectivity--"

"Don't torture me with delays and evasions!" exclaimed Edwin. "How

could I remain perfectly unmoved, when I heard that a creature once so

dear to me has such a hard fate to endure? But I assure you, even if I

heard it from her own lips, no other thought would enter my mind than

that an unhappy woman was lamenting her sufferings and had claims upon

my brotherly sympathy. The time when she could have bound me with a

hair of her head and forced me to do her will, is gone forever."

"Well then, listen," replied the physician. "Perhaps, as pious people

say, it's a dispensation of Providence, that I've found you here, since

I've been able to do nothing myself.

"A fortnight ago, I received a letter from a Count ----, who invited me

to his castle for a consultation. An address was enclosed, which left

me in no doubt that he was the richest of the counts of the name, and

the lady in question no other than our old friend. You'll understand

that I was curious to see her again. Adeline, who is far too generous

to be jealous, eagerly urged me to go. I had sent most of my patients

to various springs, so I set off at once and reached the place on the

third day.

"The count had sent a carriage to meet me at the station, as it was a

two hour's ride to the castle which was situated in the heart of the

mountains. But the drive didn't seem long; on the way I renewed another

old acquaintance, that of our little Jean, who's grown taller since his

unlucky drinking bout, but is not much more mature. The lad still

stares at the world with the same zealous boyish eyes he had in

Jaegerstrasse. I tried to pump him, but his information never went

beyond the external magnificence that surrounded his master and

mistress. To judge from his story, there was no happier, more enviable

or charitable creature on the face of the earth, than his lady, the

countess, and as she, according to his account drove out daily, rode

horseback, or took long walks, never sparing herself or uttering any

complaint, there didn't seem to be the least occasion for having

summoned so distinguished a physician as your old friend, from so great

a distance to feel her pulse.

"The first conversation I held with her husband certainly made a great

change in my opinion. I found your successful rival an entirely

different man from what I had imagined, a person really needing pity,

who finds no enjoyment in all he possesses, money, lands, a noble name,

and a long line of ancestors, and who is not happy though in the prime

of life and surrounded by the utmost splendor.

"The style of the house I can only term ducal! A magnificent castle,

forests such as I've seen only in Russia, a four-in-hand of which no

prince need be ashamed, a kitchen and cellar that considerably enlarged

the horizon even of the author of the 'Art of Eating.' The ten days I

spent in the castle gave me an idea of the enviableness of the genuine

old nobility, living regardless of expense and not yet infected by the

industrial spirit of our times.

"The count himself, who has grown up amid these surroundings, is a

gentleman from head to foot, every inch a cavalier, a man who can talk

admirably about hunting and the ballet, and from whom, without the

smallest conscientious scruple, one can win a few hundred louis d'ors

at whist. That's however probably the best thing to be had of him; for

in other respects--but perhaps I'm unjust, I could not help continually

comparing him with you and asking myself--without wishing to flatter

you--in what way he'd have got the start of you, if you had both

appeared before our princess on equal terms. He seemed to me like a

beautifully carved, richly gilded old picture frame, containing a

cheap, poorly colored lithograph. But, as I said before, my old

prejudice in your favor may have played me a trick.

"'If it's only not something of the same kind, a comparison which must

result to the disadvantage of the man she has chosen, that is affecting

our countess', I instantly said to myself. But I soon perceived that

your old relations had not the slightest connection with the matter.

"In the first place, the count who made various confessions, such as

are heard only by a physician or priest, did not give the slightest

intimation that an older affection might be at the bottom of her

mysterious conduct. He took me directly to his study and there gave me

a detailed account of the four years of his married life. He knew that

she became his wife without love. She had not attempted to conceal the

fact from him for a moment, and, madly in love with her, as he was and

unfortunately is to this hour, contented himself with the thought that

he was no more repulsive to her than other men, toward whom she usually

showed a coldness of which he cheerfully bore his share. The old, oft

verified consolation that 'love will come after marriage,' and 'there's

no ice which a real fire can't ultimately melt,' helped him through the

short period of betrothal. Then came the strangeness of her new

surroundings, her struggle with all sorts of hostile elements in his

family, which to be sure resulted in a brilliant victory for the young

plebeian, but which did not exactly win her to greater tenderness. But

to his astonishment, even after marriage, the statue did not grow warm

in his arms. Probably the worthy nobleman lacked many qualities

essential to a Pygmalion. Yet he assured me that, despite her

inflexible coldness and reserve, he had treated her with the utmost

affection and spared her in every way.

"But now comes the strangest part of the tale. A child was born, a

bright boy, yet even this most powerful of all mediators did not

succeed in breaking the ice. Nay, it actually seemed as if the much

desired happy event only estranged the young wife still more. After the

child's birth, the countess, although she continued to live under the

same roof, effected an entire separation from her husband, locked

herself up in her own rooms, which he was never permitted to enter, and

only spoke to him at table, at large entertainments, and at hunting

parties, in which she took the most enthusiastic delight.

"All his efforts to break through this unnatural seclusion were in

vain. Nay, she even extended her aversion to the child, and usually

left it entirely to the nurse. But when, at seven months it suddenly

fell sick with any apparent cause, she didn't leave its bed day or

night and was evidently deeply affected by its death.

"But the expectations of her husband and the old countess that she

would now be softened and feel disposed to resume the old relations

again, were not verified. Nay, she began to seclude herself still more

and to adopt an even more capricious mode of life. This went so far

that she turned day into night and night into day, and only very

seldom, on some unusual occasion, though always present at the hunting

parties, did she appear among the guests in the castle. At such times

there was nothing noticeable in her manner, she was cordial and even

gay, and a stranger would have had no suspicion that anything unusual

was taking place. When the count's mother died, she attended the

funeral with every sign of sincere sorrow and held out her hand to her

husband for the first time in a year. But directly after the body was

interred, she again disappeared in her own rooms and continued the old

hermit life.

"I asked the count whether he had not himself questioned her concerning

the cause of this singular seclusion. He replied that he had done so

more than once, but she would not speak frankly, and only said she

perceived that she had been very foolish to marry him. She could not

and would not reproach him, but it would be better for both if he would

consent to a separation. She would never change her mind, never submit

to live with him as his wife again. She was sorry for him, but she

couldn't help it.

"In this resolution she remained firm, and neither kind measures nor

harsh produced any effect. After lavishing prayers and endearments,

anger overpowered him. The thought of being made a fool of by a woman,

to whose obedience he had the best claim, made his brain whirl. In the

madness of his pain and anger he burst into savage threats and cursed

the hour when he first saw her. She looked at him with a perfect

calmness and only replied: 'you're right to curse my existence; I curse

it, too. Put an end to this sad story and set me free.'

"But this he could not resolve to do. He could not banish the thought

that time must aid him. To give her a chance for reflection and perhaps

to accustom himself to do without her, he spent six months in traveling

and led a tolerably gay life in Paris and Berlin, but his love was not

weakened nor did he find the smallest change in her on his return; If

there was any alteration, it was for the worse; she was even colder,

sterner, and more reserved toward him and more dissatisfied with life.

Yet her bodily health had never been better, her sleep, her looks, her

pleasure in hunting and even in dancing, when, during the winter, she

was sometimes invited to neighboring castles. Now, however, even

strangers couldn't fail to notice, that in the midst of the gayest mood

her features would become terribly rigid and stony, and she either

turned her horse and dashed off home, or left her partner standing on

the ball room floor, and without the slightest reason or excuse ordered

her horses to be harnessed. There were a great many discussions and

consultations about the matter; the family physician, an old and

tolerably skillful man, with whom I speedily came to an understanding,

shrugged his shoulders; one medical notability after another, upon

being consulted, could not even obtain an interview, or, like the

christian physician in the harem, be permitted to feel the beautiful

patient's pulse through a hole in the wall; so matters were as hopeless

as they well could be, and the fear that monomania or some serious

derangement of the mind was imminent, was unfortunately only too well

justified.

"A lady who had known the count in Berlin, and in whose family I had

once been successful in curing a patient, mentioned my name to him. So

I came to the castle, and when on the following day I sent in my name

to the countess, simply as an old acquaintance, who had accidentally

wandered here while on a journey and merely wished to present himself

to her, I cherished the brightest hopes of penetrating the secret,

since I was at least admitted, a favor which had been obstinately

refused to all the other physicians who had been summoned.

"But I was very much mistaken. She received me as frankly and cordially

as in Jaegerstrasse, seemed to remember every incident of those days,

down to the magical feast in the Pagoda, which was the last time I saw

her. She even inquired about you; you were doubtless married and no

longer lived in Berlin; then she wished to know what had happened to

the other guests at our bacchanalian revel at Charlottenburg. I clearly

perceived that she listened to my answers absently, not as if she were

giving herself airs, like a great lady who wishes to awe a plebeian,

but with an expression of profound weariness, numbness, and

joylessness, such as I have seen in the first stages of mental

disorder, or in the half lucid intervals of incurable lunatics. I can

truly say, that rarely have I so earnestly desired to be a medical

genius, which--between ourselves--I'm not. She's a beautiful creature,

you've no idea what she has become; I can easily understand, that a man

who has once possessed her, would rather die than consent to a

separation. If _I_ say this, who knows tolerably well what beautiful

women are, and that in the end one gets tired of even the fairest, it

means something. She probably perceived what an impression she made

upon me, and that I asked how _she_ had fared with real friendly

solicitude. 'Dear Herr Doctor,' said she, suddenly rising as if to

close the interview, 'I know why you're here. The count wishes to learn

from you whether I'm still in possession of my five senses, or if I run

any risk of losing one or more of them. Give yourself no anxiety about

me, I'm as well as a fish in water, and what I lack to be able to enjoy

my life as thoughtlessly as most other women, is not to be had from an

apothecary or discovered anywhere between heaven and earth. The count

has doubtless told you that I should like to go away from here, and be

free again. If you could persuade him to consent to this, it would be

the best thing you could do and I should be sincerely grateful to you.

Besides, it's more for his sake than my own, that I should like to be

separated from him. I pity him, as I should pity a living man bound to

a corpse. Just feel how cold! She held out her hand to me; it was

really cold enough to startle one. 'Yes, yes,' said she, 'it's always

so; I wish all was over. But what's done can't be undone.'

"Then she talked of indifferent subjects until I took leave, and the

two or three times that I afterwards saw her at dinner, she always wore

the same expression, of immovable cold insensibility to every joy.

During my stay at the castle, I fished for news like a member of the

secret police, questioned all her servants, and even thrust my nose

into things of a tolerably disagreeable nature. In vain. The only

person who perhaps might tell me something, her waiting maid, is as

silent as the grave. I'm just as wise as before, and when this

afternoon I raised the beautiful hand to my lips in farewell, it was no

whit warmer than at my first visit.

"The count, who has some business to do here, wanted to drive me to the

railway station himself. I could not conceal from him that he would be

merely throwing away his money, if he consulted any more of my

colleagues. A slight hint I gave, that he might perhaps regret it if he

insisted upon living under the same roof with her, that the sickness

which was impending might be averted by leaving her entirely to

herself, by a real separation, threw him into such a rage that I had

great difficulty in even partially soothing him.

"He had confidence in me, and I was forced to promise to invent some

pretext for commencing a correspondence with the countess, in order to

keep myself in some degree conversant with her condition. But these are

all useless expedients. I see clearly that there's but one hope of

solving this strange enigma, and--in some way--discovering where we

are. There's but one person who has any influence over her; it dawned

upon me like an inspiration, as soon as I saw him again. This one

person is--yourself! And now make up your mind, first, whether it's

your duty to set this poor woman's head straight, which some crotchet

has disturbed and bids fair to completely derange; secondly, whether

you can trust yourself to undertake it without danger to yourself or a

relapse into your old infatuation."

He had approached Edwin, and in spite of the gathering darkness, was

trying to read his face. After a time, as no answer came, he continued.

"But whatever you decide to do, you must do quickly. I've seen cases

where a state of mind that apparently gave no cause for uneasiness, and

resembled intellectual palsy rather than approaching insanity, would

suddenly at some trifle, change to most violent frenzy. I think that

you might then be unable to shake off the sense of a certain

responsibility, if you should now say: 'she's dead to me, it's not my

business to bring stranger's wives to their senses.' You see, Edwin,

I'm as sure as I am of my own existence, that neither he nor she would

tell any third person--no matter if the dignity and wisdom of a whole

faculty were united in him--what the poor wife would probably confide

to her old friend. The story about the child doesn't seem to me exactly

straight, but no one except herself can give any explanation of it.

Courage, Edwin! If she were in a burning house, you would not hesitate

to carry her out, even at the of being a little singed. Well, it wont

be so bad as that. What torments these poor, good, foolish creatures,

whether Catholics or Protestants, invent! what secret vows,

castigations, penances, and imaginary duties they impose upon themselves

dragging their poor bodies painfully about, and torturing their fellow

mortals! I could tell stories, of how I've now and then cured such a

distorted mind by a few sound remarks, though I can't vie with you in

logic. But here there's danger in delay. I shall set out for home

to-night, but the count will return to the castle in time for supper;

he has guests, some cousins and neighbors, with whom he's going to hunt

to-morrow. If you decide to go, I'll tell him I've accidentally met a

colleague here, who has fortunately appeared in the very nick of time,

and who is an authority in psychiatry, and that he can't do better than

to place the case in his hands. I know you've never seen each other,

and little Jean respects you too much not to keep his mouth shut if I

whisper a word in his ear, I hear the count's voice below. Shall I call

him or not?"

Edwin rose. "I know it will be useless, perhaps even harmful," he said

in a hollow tone. "_I_ have power over her? She must then have changed

very much. But no matter. As the case now stands, you're right; I

should reproach myself bitterly if I should keep on my way and

afterwards hear that some misfortune had happened. I'll only make one

request, that you'll tell the count who I am, the same man who once

loved his wife and whose brother--oh! Marquard, that's hardest of all!

To be under the same roof with the man who was the cause of Balder's

death!"

"For all that he's done to you or anybody else, he's now atoning in a

purgatory as terrible as one could wish for his worst enemy," replied

the physician. "I'm no hero of virtue, my lad, but I should like to

singe the thin locks on the count's brow with my coals of fire. But

you're right, we needn't be afraid to play with our cards on the table.

If he refuses, we must try some other way. But from what I know of him,

he's above the common fear of ghosts and will welcome with open arms

any spectre that will aid him in regaining his wife."

He rushed out of the room, and Edwin remained alone, a prey to the most

contradictory emotions.

CHAPTER III.

He hastily lighted a candle, took a small portfolio out of his

traveling satchel and wrote a few lines to inform Mohr where he was to

be found, in case his friend did not prefer to await his return, which

he hoped would be speedy, at the hotel. "It would be best," he

concluded, "for you to follow me at once, and take me away from the

castle, where the duties of friendship and a vain hope of being useful,

may perhaps detain me longer than I desire." He had just folded this

note, to leave it in the hotel, and was looking at his letter to Leah,

irresolute whether or not to open it and add a postscript, when he

heard steps on the stairs and directly after Marquard entered with the

count.

His first emotion was that of surprise, at seeing the very face he had

imagined whenever he thought of his rival--the insipid regularity of

the features, the haughty pose of the head, the hair already thin and

streaked with grey, while a thick, carefully trimmed beard covered the

cheeks and chin, the whole appearance indicating the scion of a noble

house and the heir of large estates. But the bright light that fell

upon his countenance revealed also traces of secret suffering, which

weighed down the eyelids and compressed the lips. The painful suspense

with which Edwin had awaited the man he had so long avoided, instantly

disappeared. It cost him no effort to take the hand which his old

antagonist frankly extended, and he returned its pressure without any

feeling of bitterness.

"We both know enough of each other to meet, even at the first

interview, as old acquaintances," said the count. "Our friend Doctor

Marquard, has told you the sad circumstances which induced me to ask

his advice. Unfortunately, he has been forced to confirm my fear that

his science has no means of reaching this obstinate disease. In such

cases we usually take refuge in all sorts of miraculous remedies, and I

confess I'm not sufficiently free from superstition, to refuse to

consult, if necessary, some old astrologist, or some woman who deals in

herbs. But before proceeding to such extreme measures, I should like to

try a better remedy. I know you were on very intimate terms with the

countess before she became my wife. She told me at the time, that there

was no man for whom she felt more esteem, nay reverence, than for

yourself; perhaps for that very reason another man would inform anyone,

rather than you, of his domestic unhappiness. But I believe you to be a

man of honor, Herr Doctor, and therefore incapable of entering my house

with selfish and malevolent joy to meet the woman who has not made your

rival happy. Besides, my state of mind is such that I no longer care

for myself, that I would risk everything to avert, if possible, the

terrible misfortune that threatens my wife. I shall consider it a great

proof of friendship, if you will go with me and after watching the

patient for a time, give me your opinion of her. If you should

succeed--" He paused and turned away. "However," he continued in a much

more formal tone, "I've no excuse whatever for asking such a favor, and

in case your time should not permit--"

"I'm entirely ready to go with you, Herr Count," replied Edwin. "But I

repeat what I've already told my friend--I go without any delusion that

I can exert any influence over the countess' mind. As in the old days,

in spite of her great confidence, she remained a mystery to me, I fear

that now, too, all my psychology will be baffled by the same problem.

But precisely because I stand in such a peculiar relation toward you,

you shall at least not be permitted to doubt my good will."

He took his hat and cane, passed the strap of his traveling satchel

over his shoulder, and opened the door. The three men walked down

stairs in silence side by side.

An elegant two seated hunting carriage was standing before the door of

the hotel; the long limbed young man in a green livery embroidered with

silver, who held the reins of the fiery horses which impatiently pawed

the ground, fixed his round blue eyes with embarrassed delight on his

old acquaintance, who nodded kindly to him as he came out of the house.

Marquard was right, little Jean's body had grown, but the rosy

beardless face remained unchanged. Edwin handed to the landlord for

mailing, the letter he had written Leah, gave him the necessary

information about Mohr's note, pressed Marquard's hand again and sprang

into the carriage. The count followed, took the reins from Jean who sat

behind, and waving his whip to the physician, spoke to the horses,

which impatiently dashed forward with the light vehicle.

"You'll make allowance for me, and pardon me if I seem silent or

abstracted," said the count, as soon as they had turned from the paved

streets into the softer forest road. "I've two new horses, which I'm

trying for the first time, and I must keep them well in hand. They're

full blooded Trakehners, but still somewhat young and untrained. Do you

take any interest in horses?"

"Yes, an interest, but I'm so ignorant that I should be laughed at by

all connoisseurs. The Great Elector's steed on the long bridge is to me

the crown of his race, and only now and then I find among brewer's

horses a specimen, that distantly reminds me of this ideal."

"That breed is scarcely used now, except for certain purposes," replied

the count gravely. "There's even a prejudice that muscular strength

bears a necessary relation to coarseness. The capacity to use strength

is the principal thing, and for that, thick fetlocks and broad chests

are not always requisite. Ho! ho!"--he shouted, as the horse on the

right did not know what to do with himself in his wanton caracoles. He

made the beautiful animals walk for some distance, standing erect as he

watched their pace with the eye of a connoisseur. When they had grown

more quiet and yielded to his firm hand, he resumed his seat beside

Edwin, and allowed them to trot.

Field after field, and forest after forest, tiny villages and lonely

huts flitted past them; the air grew no cooler, but the earth grew

darker, and the sky lighter. The horses dashed onward with their silent

load; the deep stillness of the summer night enwrapped them; over the

black tree tops hung the tender crescent of the moon, and now and then

a flash of light lit up the firmament, as if from a distant thunder

cloud; a dreamy, quiet mood stole over our friend, the subdued

happiness of a half dormant soul; in such a state we do not take either

joys or sorrows seriously and are scarcely surprised at the occurrence

of the most fabulous things. For years he had not uttered Toinette's

name; her image had become as dim in his memory as if she were no more

real than a character in some book of fiction; and now he was driving

toward her, who doubtless had as little expectation of such a meeting

as he himself had entertained an hour ago. He wondered if he should

find her so changed and why they fancied he would perform a miracle by

acting upon her strange moods, he who felt that all the ties that had

once bound him to her, were so utterly sundered.

He was surprised at the entire absence of anxiety with which he looked

forward to the moment when he was to see her again. He rejoiced in this

calmness. "If it had been an elementary power, to which I submitted in

those days," he thought, "the poison would now seethe in my blood again.

Though the iron be separated from the magnet a hundred years, it

quickly becomes conscious of its approach. True, happiness has changed

me much since then, so far as a man's nature can be changed and I am

calmed and strengthened. What will Leah say, when I tell her about it!"

He could not forbare to wonder at the singular circumstances, which had

decreed that the most unprejudiced witness of those past events, should

be the very one to recognize him and thereby restore to his mistress

her old friend. The old question of the connection between earthly

destinies once more rose before his mind. "Is this an intentional

exercise of some will that rules and guides our souls, or do we

separate and meet again like the waves of the sea, which obey only the

ebb and flow of the tide?"

Again he left these questions unsolved and became wholly absorbed in

the enjoyment of the moment. His companion did not disturb him. The

duties of a driver claimed his attention more and more, for the moon

grew brighter and the fiery young animals often shied and reared at the

sight of some, to them, mysterious object. For a time Edwin closed his

eyes and enjoyed the cool night air which refreshed him like a bath,

after the toilsome walk he had taken during the day. When, roused by a

sudden jolt of the carriage, he again opened his eyes, he was amazed at

the wondrous beauty of the scene. Before him, probably at the distance

of a fifteen minutes drive, on a bold height appeared the battlements

and pinnacles of a castle, to which a broad wide avenue led through the

dark forests. The roofs glittered in the moonlight as if coated with

silver, and when the wind moved the vanes, lines of light darted from

their sharp edges like falling stars. All the windows seemed to be

dark, no living thing seemed to be moving within; it was like some

enchanted palace. But when the light carriage, despite the rising

ground, had traversed the avenue through the forest at full speed, and

entered the courtyard through a lofty portal, flanked by two griffens

bearing coats of arms, there was a confusion of voices, mingled with

the barking of dogs, lackeys bearing torches rushed out of the lofty

and brilliantly lighted hall to meet the two gentlemen, a portly butler

in a black coat and white cravat appeared at the carriage door and

helped the stranger to descend, while the count threw the reins to a

stable boy and said to the head groom, in excellent English, a few

words about the first trial of the new horses. Then he too sprang out

of the carriage and overtook his guest on the upper step.

"My dear Herr Doctor," said he, putting his arm through Edwin's with

condescending familiarity, "I welcome you on the threshold of my home.

I hope you may remain here some time, and only regret"--here he lowered

his voice--"that I cannot present you to the countess to-day. She has

entirely withdrawn from all our evening assemblies, and only

occasionally appears at dinner. I hope the visit of an old friend may

induce her to make an exception in his favor to-morrow. For to-day, you

must be satisfied with masculine society. Have the gentlemen come

down?" he asked, turning to the butler who, holding a silver

candlestick, was preceding the gentlemen up the already brilliantly

lighted marble staircase.

"Five minutes ago. Your Excellency."

"Then we'll not keep them waiting. But perhaps, Herr Doctor, before we

sit down to supper, you'll wish to retire to your room a moment."

Edwin smiled. "I'm not able to make an elaborate toilette," he said

glancing at his traveling satchel, which a servant was carrying after

him. "You must apologize to your guests, Herr Count, for picking up a

simple wayfarer and bringing him under your stately roof."

"No ceremony among friends," replied the count, still with the same

immovably courteous face. "You'll find us too entirely _sans gene_;

some of my neighbors have ridden over in their hunting suits, as we

have a deer hunt early to-morrow morning and I hope you'll give us the

pleasure of your company on the occasion."

He did not wait for a reply, but approached the large folding doors,

which were hastily thrown open by two footmen, and which admitted them

to the broad, carpeted ante-room of the first story. With an easy,

friendly gesture, the count invited Edwin to precede him, and they

entered the lofty dining hall.

CHAPTER IV.

Several slender tawny greyhounds came bounding toward them and

completed the illusion that they were entering a banqueting hall of the

_rococo_ times. The room was spacious and lofty, of an oblong shape,

with rounded corners adorned in the richest style of the last century

with gilded stucco-work and huge pier glasses which reflected the light

of the candles in the large glass chandelier and the glittering silver

on the table. At the other end of the apartment a glass door opened

upon a balcony, and this, like the two windows on each side, afforded a

view of the park, whose majestic trees towered above the long clipped

hedges and arbors. Nothing recalled the present century except an

elegant piano, at which a young man sat who failed to hear the entrance

of the master of the house and his guest, amid the noise made by his

dashing passages.

The others, who appeared to have been waiting some time, instantly

turned toward the door, and one after another was greeted by the count

and introduced to Edwin. Suddenly the musician paused, started up and

with great cordiality, hurried toward the count. He was a handsome

young man, in whom, despite his civilian's dress, the cavalry officer

was recognizable at the first glance, and whom the count introduced as

his cousin, Count Gaston. He seemed to feel perfectly at home, and even

at the table, where with amicable familiarity he drew Edwin down by his

side, almost wholly supported the conversation, which as usual turned

upon women, horses, and hunting.

When the champagne, which was not spared, began to heat the brains and

loosen the tongues of even the quieter members of the company, the

young gentleman turned to his neighbor, who had hitherto been a silent

listener, and said in a low tone:

"There! I've done my share by dint of friction, in putting some

enthusiasm into these wooden images and now the champagne must keep it

up. I hope, my dear sir, you don't suppose I enjoy this insipid gabble.

But what would you have? See how my cousin, the count, sits at his own

table with a face like the statue of the Commandant. If I don't

victimize myself and talk nonsense, the supper will be as tiresome and

silent as a funeral feast. So I must introduce subjects that amuse the

gentlemen, even though they may be terribly out of taste. But now let's

renew our acquaintance. Of course you don't remember our meeting a few

years ago in Berlin, at the rooms of one of my intimate friends, young

Baron L., to whom you were acting as private tutor, while he was

preparing to pass his examination for one of the higher government

offices. He's now Secretary of Legation at Constantinople, and I hope

does honor to your teaching. I am still what I was then, a man who

learns nothing in any school, except that of life. There must be such

odd sticks! But I can tell you, I no longer sit quite at the bottom of

the class in my school; for instance, I have long since left behind the

tasks at which our worthy companions are perspiring. You've been

introduced to them all after the ridiculous fashion of murmuring a

name. Allow me to make, you better acquainted with individuals. My left

hand neighbor, who is addressed as Herr Colonel, is, as you've

doubtless already supposed from his prominent cheek bones and peculiar

accent, of Slavonian descent; a Pole of the good old race of Oginsky,

who, _as he says_, having been compelled through a disagreement with

the Russian authorities, to enter the Austrian service, was promoted in

the Italian war to the rank of colonel; then, _as he says_, honorably

discharged in consequence of a wound in the foot. He has already stayed

several months with my cousin, as, _so he says_, a civil office has

been offered him in France, and he's only obliged to wait for his

Polish papers before becoming a naturalized citizen of that country. As

he's an excellent judge of horses, a tolerably good huntsman, and an

adept in all games of chance, my cousin has no reason to doubt the

existence of these papers, and I of course still less. His next

neighbor, the elegant gentleman of uncertain age, uncertain glance, and

very certain doubtful movements of the fingers, which suggest great

skill in tricks with cards, is, to speak frankly, what we call in plain

prose, a blackleg, a Parisian acquaintance of my cousin, whom he

invited here and can't shake off again, much as I've urged him

to do so. But he seems to have his reasons for handling this

Chevalier de Marsan--the only person here with whom I never exchange a

syllable--with gloved hands, while I would show him the door without

ceremony. My dear doctor, there are more doubtful personages between

heaven and earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy. A real

antidote to this corrosive sublimate pill, which I am daily compelled

to swallow, is the stout gentleman on the other side of my cousin, a

plebeian owner of an ancient estate, who married the daughter of an

immensely rich banker; his wife never appears among us, probably

because he's ashamed of her manners, which are not exactly suited to a

drawing room; but nevertheless, as you see, he's an excellent man, an

admirable landlord, a great huntsman, and a lover of old wine and old

stories, in short, the most appreciative of auditors for my witticisms.

You've heard how he can laugh. I once made a bet that I could make him

laugh till he rolled under the table, merely by telling stories of

great eaters, and to be sure, at the end of an hour, he lay gasping on

the floor; we were actually afraid of a fit of apoplexy. Beside this

harmless mortal and directly opposite you, sit two no less worthy

specimens of the creatures of God, who, however, can hardly be very

proud of these, his images. Did you ever see two people so exactly

alike? They look as if they'd just stepped out of Pletsch, don't they?

The same short, fair hair, the same low brows, small noses, close

cropped brushes on the upper lip, and solemn faces when everyone else

is roaring with laughter, which proves them very dull of comprehension.

When they stand up, you'll see that both are very tall men. Moreover,

these same brothers, Thaddaeus and Matthaeus von der Wende are noblemen

of a most ancient family. It's seldom that twins have so much fraternel

affection. Each is perfectly satisfied with half the usual portion of

common sense, and carefully guards against becoming wiser than the

other. We call them the Siamese twins, although they're not united by

means of any corporal bond, and of course there can be no question of

an intellectual one. However, they're rich and well bred and never

annoy anyone. Next comes a short, rather high shouldered gentleman

about fifty, with a white tie and crafty, humble smile, who says

little, eats a great deal, and hears everything. Don't get his ill

will, he's a piece of old family furniture, and was the physician,

confidant, etc., of the late countess; he is called Dr. Basler, and I'd

as readily trust my person to his physic, as my reputation to his

tongue. Beside him sits the steward, who'll join the hunting party

to-morrow and always drinks with us the night before, and the silent

gentleman on your other side is my cousin's private secretary, an

honest, clever soul, but afflicted with an unfortunate hobby. He's

trying to find the secret of perpetual motion. There, now! you know the

people assembled within this ancient house--even to the crown jewel,"

he added with a sigh, "which unfortunately disdains to shine except on

gala days."

"Are you speaking of the countess? I knew her several years ago, before

her marriage."

"And have not seen her since? Then you'll not recognize her. I confess

that upon first sight she made a great impression upon me. I was

prejudiced against the marriage, which I thought was a rash step on the

part of my dear cousin, after the style of his former _liaisons_.

Unequal marriages always have their difficulties, although of course

I'm sufficiently enlightened not to believe in 'blue blood.' But we see

every day, how uncomfortable it is for people of position to receive

into their circle a worthy little goose who feels 'honored' to live

under the shadow of a pedigree centuries old, or a pretentious heiress,

or any of the ordinary people whom it's all very well to love, but who

are too good or too bad to marry. It's easiest to get along with

actresses, opera singers--or for aught I care, ballet dancers. They at

least possess style, _savoir faire_, self-possession, and know us well

enough not to think us wholly unlike other human beings. But a ballet

master's daughter from a little provincial town--I didn't hear of the

princely paternity until afterwards--I confess I was furious. I love

this family seat, and have enjoyed spending a few months of every year

here, away from the gayety of the capital. Now, I thought, I should be

compelled to see a _roturiere_ do the honors. But after the first

interview my feelings were entirely changed. Whoever her mother may

have been, she at least didn't belie the father's blood. And yet--at

that time she was but in the bud compared to the centifolia into which

she has since expanded. Pardon me if I threaten to become poetical.

Between ourselves--or even not between ourselves, since it's public

talk--my unfortunate passion for my beautiful cousin, which is as

hopeless as if I were in love with the Venus of Milo, has had so great

an influence upon the development of my character, that I can truly say

I'm no more like the man you met at little Baron L's., than an Ionic

column is like a hedge pole."

"Your poetic fervor, Herr Count, has at least the merit of a certain

impressiveness of style. But in what consists, if I may ask--"

"You're making sport of me, my honored sir. I still seem to you a

frivolous nobleman, a child of the world, with whom a grave man of your

stamp can at the utmost only chat away an hour at table. But learn to

know me better. This lady first opened my eyes to the fact that the

real charm of life consists in something forever unattainable, a

yearning that is ever unfulfilled. Are you familiar with Richard

Wagner's music? What I've just said of life he has striven to suggest

in art. For in what does the secret of melody consist? Take Mozart,

Glueck, the Italian composers--there everything is complete, every piece

has its beginning, its middle and its end, exactly like ordinary love

affairs. We are allured, we enjoy, and we grow weary--_voila tout_, and

if the music or the girl is beautiful, after a time we're again

allured--a new aria, a new ecstacy--and so on indefinitely till the

world tires us and our hair grows grey. This is the usual course of

life and art. But now think of a hopeless passion, such as I've felt

for years. I feel the same that I hear when I listen to Tristram and

Yseult--eternal longing, yearning and sighing, never repose and

satisfaction, a mere analysis of dissonances, and withal a tumult of

ecstacy in all the instruments, in which at last, as in a dream of

love, sight and hearing disappear and we're fairly beside ourselves

with restless longing, infinite melody, and voluptuous exhaustion. This

is the secret of the success this great man has obtained--emotion

increased to the utter exhaustion of all strength and constantly

subduing the poor, coarse senses--appetite continually excited without

being satisfied in the usual way--a sort of pathetic cancan, a musical

hasheesh intoxication. And even in the choice of the text, the moral

qualities of the characters, what consummate art is shown in the

avoidance of everything palpable, simple, and true to nature;

everything of which the ordinary human mind can form some distinct

conception! Take Don Giovanni--there you know exactly where you are.

From the peasant to the nobleman, from the light minded peasant girl to

the noble lady--the characters are perfectly natural, people with flesh

and bones, and red blood in their veins. I know them as well as if I'd

lived in the same house with them. The characters of Wagner's music, on

the contrary--why you might see the same opera ten times and be no whit

wiser about these swan knights, gods, and flying Dutchmen, than at the

first representation. I call this boundless characterization, and it

supplements the boundless melody. And to enjoy such an endless

master-piece, and in the meantime to brood over an endless passion, the

one as hopeless and alluring as the other--"

The conversation, which also threatened to become "boundless," was here

interrupted by the master of the house, who rose, bowed to his guests,

and with a courteous wave of the hand invited them to follow him into

the little drawing room adjoining the dining hall. Here there were

several card tables, a magnificent silver bowl containing punch,

several open boxes of cigars, and other paraphernalia for smoking.

While the count, with the Polish colonel and French chevalier, were

preparing to begin a game of hazard, in which no one else seemed

disposed to join, the fat landed proprietor became absorbed in a

conversation on agriculture with the steward, now and then asking the

silent secretary for his opinion, which the latter always gave with the

same grave bend of the head, often refilling his glass from the silver

bowl. The inseparable brothers Thaddaeus and Matthaeus had stationed

themselves behind the card players and gravely watched the alternations

of luck. Count Gaston had returned to the dining hall and seated

himself at the piano, evidently in the hope that his neighbor at table

would follow and allow him to give a musical commentary on his

knowledge of art and life. But Edwin was compelled to forego this

instructive pleasure; for the little man with the high shoulders and

clever old face, whom Gaston had introduced as the family physician,

approached him and asked in his low courteous voice, if he was not the

son of one of his college classmates who had suddenly abandoned the

profession of law to marry a very beautiful wife. He had been struck by

the resemblance before he heard the name. When Edwin answered in the

affirmative, the little man became very confidential, and after

inquiring very particularly about his old friend, acquainted the son

with his own circumstances.