The circumstances of the matter were these: Ottilie's exclusion from the

picture-exhibition by Luciana's jealousy had irritated him in the

highest degree; and at the same time he had observed with regret, that

at this, the most brilliant part of all the amusements at the castle,

ill health had prevented Charlotte from being more than rarely present;

and now he did not wish to go away without some additional proof of his

gratitude, which, for the honor of one and the entertainment of the

other, should take the thoughtful and attractive form of preparing a far

more beautiful exhibition than any of those which had preceded it.

Perhaps, too, unknown to himself, another secret motive was working on

him. It was so hard for him to leave the house, and to leave the family.

It seemed impossible to him to go away from Ottilie's eyes, under the

calm, sweet, gentle glance of which the latter part of the time he had

been living almost entirely alone.

The Christmas holidays were approaching; and it became at once clear to

him that the very thing which he wanted was a representation with real

figures of one of those pictures of the scene in the stable--a sacred

exhibition such as at this holy season good Christians delight to offer

to the divine Mother and her Child, of the manner in which she, in her

seeming lowliness, was honored first by the shepherds and afterward by

kings.

He had thoroughly brought before himself how such a picture should be

contrived. A fair, lovely child was found, and there would be no lack of

shepherds and shepherdesses. But without Ottilie the thing could not be

done. The young man had exalted her in his design to be the mother of

God, and if she refused, there was no question but the undertaking must

fall to the ground. Ottilie, half embarrassed at the proposal, referred

him and his request to Charlotte. The latter gladly gave her permission,

and lent her assistance in overcoming and overpersuading Ottilie's

hesitation in assuming so sacred a personality. The Architect worked day

and night, that by Christmas-eve everything might be ready.

Day and night, indeed, in the literal sense. At all times he was a man

who had but few necessities; and Ottilie's presence seemed to be to him

in the place of all delicacies. When he was working for her, it was as

if he required no sleep; when he was busy about her, as if he could do

without food. Accordingly, by the hour of the evening solemnity, all was

completed. He had found the means of collecting some well-toned wind

instruments to form an introduction, and produce the desired temper of

thought and feeling. But when the curtain rose, Charlotte was taken

completely by surprise. The picture which presented itself to her had

been repeated so often in the world, that one could scarcely have

expected any new impression to be produced. But here, the reality as

representing the picture had its especial advantages. The whole space

was the color rather of night than of twilight, and there was nothing

even of the details of the scene which was obscure. The inimitable idea

that all the light should proceed from the child, the artist had

contrived to carry out by an ingenious method of illumination which was

concealed by the figures in the foreground, who were all in shadow.

Bright looking boys and girls were standing around, their fresh faces

sharply lighted from below; and there were angels too, whose own

brilliancy grew pale before the divine, whose ethereal bodies showed dim

and dense, and needing other light in the presence of the body of the

divine humanity. By good fortune the infant had fallen asleep in the

loveliest attitude, so that nothing disturbed the contemplation when

the eye rested on the seeming mother, who with infinite grace had

lifted off a veil to reveal her hidden treasure. At this moment the

picture seemed to have been caught, and there to have remained fixed.

Physically dazzled, mentally surprised, the people round appeared to

have just moved to turn away their half-blinded eyes, to be glancing

again toward the child with curious delight, and to be showing more

wonder and pleasure than awe and reverence--although these emotions were

not forgotten, and were to be traced upon the features of some of the

older spectators.

But Ottilie's figure, expression, attitude, glance, excelled all which

any painter has ever represented. A man who had true knowledge of art,

and had seen this spectacle, would have been in fear lest any portion of

it should move; he would have doubted whether anything could ever so

much please him again. Unluckily, there was no one present who could

comprehend the whole of this effect. The Architect alone, who, as a

tall, slender shepherd, was looking in from the side over those who were

kneeling, enjoyed, although he was not in the best position for seeing,

the fullest pleasure. And who can describe the mien of the new-made

queen of heaven? The purest humility, the most exquisite feeling of

modesty, at the great honor which had undeservedly been bestowed upon

her, with indescribable and immeasurable happiness, was displayed upon

her features, expressing as much her own personal emotion as that of the

character which she was endeavoring to represent.

Charlotte was delighted with the beautiful figures; but what had most

effect on her was the child. Her eyes filled with tears, and her

imagination presented to her in the liveliest colors the hope that she

might soon have such another darling creature on her own lap.

They had let down the curtain, partly to give the exhibitors some little

rest, partly to make an alteration in the exhibition. The artist had

proposed to himself to transmute the first scene of night and lowliness

into a picture of splendor and glory; and for this purpose had prepared

a blaze of light to fall in from every side, which this interval was

required to kindle.

Ottilie, in the semi-theatrical position in which she found herself, had

hitherto felt perfectly at her ease, because, with the exception of

Charlotte and a few members of the household, no one had witnessed this

devout piece of artistic display. She was, therefore, in some degree

annoyed when in the interval she learnt that a stranger had come into

the saloon, and had been warmly received by Charlotte. Who it was no one

was able to tell her. She therefore made up her mind not to produce a

disturbance, and to go on with her character. Candles and lamps blazed

out, and she was surrounded by splendor perfectly infinite. The curtain

rose. It was a sight to startle the spectators. The whole picture was

one blaze of light; and instead of the full depth of shadow, there now

were only the colors left remaining, which, from the skill with which

they had been selected, produced a gentle softening of tone. Looking out

under her long eyelashes, Ottilie perceived the figure of a man sitting

by Charlotte. She did not recognize him; but the voice she fancied was

that of the Assistant at the school. A singular emotion came over her.

How many things had happened since she last heard the voice of him, her

kind instructor. Like a flash of forked lightning the stream of her joys

and her sorrow rushed swiftly before her soul, and the question rose in

her heart: Dare you confess, dare you acknowledge it all to him? If not,

how little can you deserve to appear before him under this sainted form;

and how strange must it not seem to him who has only known you as your

natural self to see you now under this disguise? In an instant, swift as

thought, feeling and reflection began to clash and gain within her. Her

eyes filled with tears, while she forced herself to continue to appear

as a motionless figure, and it was a relief, indeed, to her when the

child began to stir--and the artist saw himself compelled to give the

sign that the curtain should fall again.

If the painful feeling of being unable to meet a valued friend had,

during the last few moments, been distressing Ottilie in addition to her

other emotions, she was now in still greater embarrassment. Was she to

present herself to him in this strange disguise? or had she better

change her dress? She did not hesitate--she did the last; and in the

interval she endeavored to collect and to compose herself; nor did she

properly recover her self-possession until at last, in her ordinary

costume, she had welcomed the new visitor.

CHAPTER VII

In so far as the Architect desired the happiness of his kind

patronesses, it was a pleasure to him, now that at last he was obliged

to go, to know that he was leaving them in good society with the

estimable Assistant. At the same time, however, when he thought of their

goodness in its relation to himself, he could not help feeling it a

little painful to see his place so soon, and as it seemed to his

modesty, so well, so completely supplied. He had lingered and lingered,

but now he forced himself away; what, after he was gone, he must endure

as he could, at least he could not stay to witness with his own eyes.

To the great relief of this half-melancholy feeling, the ladies at his

departure made him a present of a waistcoat, upon which he had watched

them both for some time past at work, with a silent envy of the

fortunate unknown, to whom it was by-and-by to belong. Such a present is

the most agreeable which a true-hearted man can receive; for while he

thinks of the unwearied play of the beautiful fingers at the making of

it, he cannot help flattering himself that in so long-sustained a labor

the feeling could not have remained utterly without an interest in its

accomplishment.

The ladies had now a new visitor to entertain, for whom they felt a real

regard, and whose stay with them it would be their endeavor to make as

agreeable as they could. There is in all women a peculiar circle of

inward interests, which remain always the same, and from which nothing

in the world can divorce them. In outward social intercourse, on the

other hand, they will gladly and easily allow themselves to take their

tone from the person with whom at the moment they are occupied; and thus

by a mixture of impassiveness and susceptibility, by persisting and by

yielding, they continue to keep the government to themselves, and no man

in the cultivated world can ever take it from them.

The Architect, following at the same time his own fancy and his own

inclination, had been exerting himself and putting out his talents for

their gratification and for the purposes of his friends; and business

and amusement, while he was with them, had been conducted in this

spirit, and directed to the ends which most suited his taste. But now in

a short time, through the presence of the Assistant, quite another sort

of life was commenced. His great gift was to talk well, and to treat in

his conversation of men and human relations, particularly in reference

to the cultivation of young people. Thus arose a very perceptible

contrast to the life which had been going on hitherto, all the more as

the Assistant could not entirely approve of their having interested

themselves in such subjects so exclusively.

Of the impersonated picture which received him on his arrival, he never

said a single word. On the other hand, when they took him to see the

church and the chapel with their new decorations, expecting to please

him as much as they were pleased themselves, he did not hesitate to

express a very contrary opinion about it.

"This mixing up of the holy with the sensuous," he said, "is anything

but pleasing to my taste; I cannot like men to set apart certain special

places, consecrate them, and deck them out, that by so doing they may

nourish in themselves a temper of piety. No ornaments, not even the very

simplest, should disturb in us that sense of the Divine Being which

accompanies us wherever we are, and can consecrate every spot into a

temple. What pleases me is to see a home-service of God held in the

saloon where people come together to eat, where they have their

parties, and amuse themselves with games and dances. The highest, the

most excellent in men, has no form; and one should be cautious how one

gives it any form except noble action."

Charlotte, who was already generally acquainted with his mode of

thinking, and, in the short time he had been at the castle, had already

probed it more deeply, found something also which he might do for her in

his own department; and she had her garden-children, whom the Architect

had reviewed shortly before his departure, marshalled up into the great

saloon. In their bright, clean uniforms, with their regular orderly

movement, and their own natural vivacity, they looked exceedingly well.

The Assistant examined them in his own way, and by a variety of

questions, and by the turns which he gave them, soon brought to light

the capacities and dispositions of the children; and without its seeming

so, in the space of less than one hour he had really given them

important instruction and assistance.

"How did you manage that?" asked Charlotte, as the children marched

away. "I listened with all my attention. Nothing was brought forward

except things which were quite familiar, and yet I cannot tell the least

how I should begin to bring them to be discussed in so short a time so

methodically, with all this questioning and answering."

"Perhaps," replied the Assistant, "we ought to make a secret of the

tricks of our own handicraft. However, I will not hide from you one very

simple maxim, with the help of which you may do this, and a great deal

more than this. Take any subject, a substance, an idea, whatever you

like; keep fast hold of it; make yourself thoroughly acquainted with it

in all its parts, and then it will be easy for you, in conversation, to

find out, with a mass of children, how much about it has already

developed itself in them; what requires to be stimulated, what to be

directly communicated. The answers to your questions may be as

unsatisfactory as they will, they may wander wide of the mark; if you

only take care that your counter-question shall draw their thoughts and

senses inwards again; if you do not allow yourself to be driven from

your own position--the children will at last reflect, comprehend, learn

only what the teacher desires them to learn, and the subject will be

presented to them in the light in which he wishes them to see it. The

greatest mistake which he can make is to allow himself to be run away

with from the subject; not to know how to keep fast to the point with

which he is engaged. Do you try this on your own account the next time

the children come; you will find you will be greatly entertained by it

yourself."

"That is very good," said Charlotte. "The right method of teaching is

the reverse, I see, of what we must do in life. In society we must keep

the attention long upon nothing, and in instruction the first

commandment is to permit no dissipation of it."

"Variety, without dissipation, were the best motto for both teaching and

life, if this desirable equipoise were easy to be preserved," said the

Assistant; and he was going on further with the subject, when Charlotte

called out to him to look again at the children, whose merry troop were

at the moment moving across the court. He expressed his satisfaction at

seeing them wearing a uniform. "Men," he said, "should wear a uniform

from their childhood upwards. They have to accustom themselves to work

together; to lose themselves among their equals; to obey in masses, and

to work on a large scale. Every kind of uniform, moreover, generates a

military habit of thought, and a smart, straight-forward carriage. All

boys are born soldiers, whatever you do with them. You have only to

watch them at their mock fights and games, their storming parties and

scaling parties."

"On the other hand, you will not blame me," replied Ottilie, "if I do

not insist with my girls on such unity of costume. When I introduce them

to you, I hope to gratify you by a parti-colored mixture."

"I approve of that, entirely," replied the other. "Women should go about

in every sort of variety of dress; each following her own style and her

own likings, that each may learn to feel what sits well upon her and

becomes her. And for a more weighty reason as well--because it is

appointed for them to stand alone all their lives, and work alone."

"That seems to me to be a paradox," answered Charlotte. "Are we then to

be never anything for ourselves?"

"O, yes!" replied the Assistant. "In respect of other women assuredly.

But observe a young lady as a lover, as a bride, as a housewife, as a

mother. She always stands isolated. She is always alone, and will be

alone. Even the most empty-headed woman is in the same case. Each one of

them excludes all others. It is her nature to do so; because of each one

of them is required everything which the entire sex have to do. With a

man it is altogether different. He would make a second man if there were

none. But a woman might live to an eternity, without even so much as

thinking of producing a duplicate of herself."

"One has only to say the truth in a strange way," said Charlotte, "and

at last the strangest thing will seem to be true. We will accept what is

good for us out of your observations, and yet as women we will hold

together with women, and do common work with them too; not to give the

other sex too great an advantage over us. Indeed, you must not take it

ill of us, if in future we come to feel a little malicious satisfaction

when our lords and masters do not get on in the very best way together."

With much care, this wise, sensible person went on to examine more

closely how Ottilie proceeded with her little pupils, and expressed his

marked approbation of it. "You are entirely right," he said, "in

directing these children only to what they can immediately and usefully

put in practice. Cleanliness, for instance, will accustom them to wear

their clothes with pleasure to themselves; and everything is gained if

they can be induced to enter into what they do with cheerfulness and

self-reflection."

In other ways he found, to his great satisfaction, that nothing had been

done for outward display; but all was inward, and designed to supply

what was indispensably necessary. "In how few words," he cried, "might

the whole business of education be summed up, if people had but ears to

hear!"

"Will you try whether I have any ears?" said Ottilie, smiling.

"Indeed I will," answered he, "only you must not betray me. Educate the

boys to be servants, and the girls to be mothers, and everything is as

it should be."

"To be mothers?" replied Ottilie. "Women would scarcely think that

sufficient. They have to look forward, without being mothers, to going

out into service. And, indeed, our young men think themselves a great

deal too good for servants. One can see easily, in every one of them,

that he holds himself far fitter to be a master."

"And for that reason we should say nothing about it to them," said the

Assistant. "We flatter ourselves on into life; but life flatters not us.

How many men would like to acknowledge at the outset, what at the end

they must acknowledge whether they like it or not? But let us leave

these considerations, which do not concern us here.

"I consider you very fortunate in having been able to go so methodically

to work with your pupils. If your very little ones run about with their

dolls, and stitch together a few petticoats for them; if the elder

sisters will then take care of the younger, and the whole household know

how to supply its own wants, and one member of it help the others, the

further step into life will not then be great, and such a girl will find

in her husband what she has lost in her parents.

"But among the higher ranks the problem is a sorely intricate one. We

have to provide for higher, finer, more delicate relations; especially

for such as arise out of society. We are, therefore, obliged to give our

pupils an outward cultivation. It is indispensable, it is necessary, and

it may be really valuable, if we do not overstep the proper measure in

it. Only it is so easy, while one is proposing to cultivate the

children for a wider circle, to drive them out into the indefinite,

without keeping before our eyes the real requisites of the inner nature.

Here lies the problem which more or less must be either solved or

blundered over by all educators.

"Many things, with which we furnish our scholars at the school, do not

please me; because experience tells me of how little service they are

likely to be in after-life. How much is in a little while stripped off;

how much at once committed to oblivion, as soon as the young lady finds

herself in the position of a housewife or a mother!

"In the meantime, since I have devoted myself to this occupation, I

cannot but entertain a devout hope that one day, with the companionship

of some faithful helpmate, I may succeed in cultivating purely in my

pupils that, and that only, which they will require when they pass out

into the field of independent activity and self-reliance; that I may be

able to say to myself, in this sense is their education completed.

Another education there is indeed which will again speedily recommence,

and work on well nigh through all the years of our life--the education

which circumstances will give us, if we do not give it to ourselves."

How true Ottilie felt were these words! What had not a passion, little

dreamed of before, done to educate her in the past year! What trials did

she not see hovering before her if she looked forward only to the

next--to the very next, which was now so near!

It was not without a purpose that the young man had spoken of a

helpmate--of a wife; for with all his diffidence, he could not refrain

from thus remotely hinting at his own wishes. A number of circumstances

and accidents, indeed, combined to induce him on this visit to approach

a few steps toward his aim.

The Lady Superior of the school was advanced in years. She had been

already for some time looking about among her fellow-laborers, male and

female, for some person whom she could take into partnership with

herself, and at last had made proposals to the Assistant, in whom she

had the highest ground for feeling confidence. He was to conduct the

business of the school with herself. He was to work with her in it, as

if it was his own; and after her death, as her heir, to enter upon it as

sole proprietor.

The principal thing now seemed to be, that he should find a wife who

would cooperate with him. Ottilie was secretly before his eyes and

before his heart. A number of difficulties suggested themselves, and yet

again there were favorable circumstances on the other side to

counterbalance them. Luciana had left the school; Ottilie could

therefore return with the less difficulty. Of the affair with Edward,

some little had transpired. It passed, however, as many such things do,

as a matter of indifference, and this very circumstance might make it

desirable that she should leave the castle. And yet, perhaps, no

decision would have been arrived at, no step would have been taken, had

not an unexpected visit given a special impulse to his hesitation. The

appearance of remarkable people, in any and every circle, can never be

without its effects.

The Count and the Baroness, who often found themselves asked for their

opinion, almost every one being in difficulty about the education of

their children, as to the value of the various schools, had found it

desirable to make themselves particularly acquainted with this one,

which was generally so well spoken of; and under their present

circumstances, they were more easily able to carry on these inquiries in

company.

The Baroness, however, had something else in view as well. While she was

last at the castle, she had talked over with Charlotte the whole affair

of Edward and Ottilie. She had insisted again and again that Ottilie

must be sent away. She tried every means to encourage Charlotte to do

it, and to keep her from being frightened by Edward's threats. Several

modes of escape from the difficulty were suggested. Accidentally the

school was mentioned, and the Assistant and his incipient passion,

which made the Baroness more resolved than ever to pay her intended

visit there.

She went; she made acquaintance with the Assistant; looked over the

establishment, and spoke of Ottilie. The Count also spoke with much

interest of her, having in his recent visit learnt to know her better.

She had been drawn toward him; indeed, she had felt attracted by him;

believing that she could see, that she could perceive in his solid,

substantial conversation, something to which hitherto she had been an

entire stranger. In her intercourse with Edward, the world had been

utterly forgotten; in the presence of the Count, the world appeared

first worth regarding. The attraction was mutual. The Count conceived a

liking for Ottilie; he would have been glad to have had her for a

daughter. Thus a second time, and worse than the first time, she was in

the way of the Baroness. Who knows what, in times when passions ran

hotter than they do now-a-days, this lady might not have devised against

her? As things were, it was enough if she could get her married, and

render her more innocuous for the future to the peace of mind of married

women. She therefore artfully urged the Assistant, in a delicate, but

effective manner, to set out on a little excursion to the castle; where

his plans and his wishes, of which he made no secret to the lady, he

might forthwith take steps to realize.

With the fullest consent of the Superior he started off on his

expedition, and in his heart he nourished good hopes of success. He knew

that Ottilie was not ill-disposed toward him; and although it was true

there was some disproportion of rank between them, yet distinctions of

this kind were fast disappearing in the temper of the time. Moreover,

the Baroness had made him perceive clearly that Ottilie must always

remain a poor, portionless maiden. To be related to a wealthy family, it

was said, could be of service to nobody. For even with the largest

property, men have a feeling that it is not right to deprive of any

considerable sum, those who, as standing in a nearer degree of

relationship, appear to have a fuller right to possession; and really

it is a strange thing, that the immense privilege which a man has of

disposing of his property after his death, he so very seldom uses for

the benefit of those whom he loves, only out of regard to established

usage appearing to consider those who would inherit his estate from him,

supposing he made no will at all.

Thus, while on his journey, he grew to feel himself entirely on a level

with Ottilie. A favorable reception raised his hopes. He found Ottilie

indeed not altogether so open with him as usual, but she was

considerably matured, more developed, and, if you please, generally more

conversible than he had known her. She was ready to give him the fullest

insight into many things which were in any way connected with his

profession; but when he attempted to approach his proper object, a

certain inward shyness always held him back.

Once, however, Charlotte gave him an opportunity for saying something.

In Ottilie's presence she said to him, "Well now, you have looked

closely enough into everything which is going forward in my circle. How

do you find Ottilie? You had better say while she is here."

Hereupon the Assistant signified, with a clear perception and composed

expression, how that, in respect of a freer carriage, of an easier

manner in speaking, of a higher insight into the things of the world,

which showed itself more in actions than in words, he found Ottilie

altered much for the better; but that he still believed it might be of

serious advantage to her if she would go back for some little time to

the school, in order methodically and thoroughly to make her own forever

what the world was only imparting to her in fragments and pieces, rather

perplexing her than satisfying her, and often too late to be of service.

He did not wish to be prolix about it. Ottilie herself knew best how

much method and connection there was in the style of instruction out of

which, in that case, she would be taken.

Ottilie had nothing to say against this; she could not acknowledge what

it was which these words made her feel, because she was hardly able to

explain it to herself. It seemed to her as if nothing in the world was

disconnected so long as she thought of the one person whom she loved;

and she could not conceive how, without him, anything could be connected

at all.

Charlotte replied to the proposal with a wise kindness. She said that

she herself, as well as Ottilie, had long desired her return to the

school. At that time, however, the presence of so dear a companion and

helper had become indispensable to herself; still she would offer no

obstacle at some future period, if Ottilie continued to wish it, to her

going back there for such a time as would enable her to complete what

she had begun, and to make entirely her own what had been interrupted.

The Assistant listened with delight to this qualified assent. Ottilie

did not venture to say anything against it, although the very thought

made her shudder. Charlotte, on her side, thought only how to gain time.

She hoped that Edward would soon come back and find himself a happy

father; then she was convinced all would go right; and one way or

another they would be able to settle something for Ottilie.

After an important conversation which has furnished matter for

after-reflection to all who have taken part in it, there commonly

follows a sort of pause, which in appearance is like a general

embarrassment. They walked up and down the saloon. The Assistant turned

over the leaves of various books, and came at last on the folio of

engravings which had remained lying there since Luciana's time. As soon

as he saw that it contained nothing but apes, he shut it up again.

It may have been this, however, which gave occasion to a conversation of

which we find traces in Ottilie's diary.

FROM OTTILIE'S DIARY

"It is strange how men can have the heart to take such pains with the

pictures of those hideous monkeys. One lowers one's-self sufficiently

when one looks at them merely as animals, but it is really wicked to

give way to the inclination to look for people whom we know behind such

masks."

"It is a sure mark of a certain obliquity, to take pleasure in

caricatures and monstrous faces, and pigmies. I have to thank our kind

Assistant that I have never been vexed with natural history; I could

never make myself at home with worms and beetles."

"Just now he acknowledged to me, that it was the same with him. 'Of

nature,' he said, 'we ought to know nothing except what is actually

alive immediately around us. With the trees which blossom and put out

leaves and bear fruit in our own neighborhood, with every shrub which we

pass by, with every blade of grass on which we tread, we stand in a real

relation. They are our genuine compatriots. The birds which hop up and

down among our branches, which sing among our leaves, belong to us; they

speak to us from our childhood upward, and we learn to understand their

language. But let a man ask himself whether or not every strange

creature, torn out of its natural environment, does not at first sight

make a sort of painful impression upon him, which is only deadened by

custom. It is a mark of a motley, dissipated sort of life, to be able to

endure monkeys, and parrots, and black people, about one's self."

"Many times when a certain longing curiosity about these strange objects

has come over me, I have envied the traveler who sees such marvels in

living, everyday connection with other marvels. But he, too, must have

become another man. Palm-trees will not allow a man to wander among them

with impunity; and doubtless his tone of thinking becomes very different

in a land where elephants and tigers are at home."

"The only inquirers into nature whom we care to respect, are such as

know how to describe and to represent to us the strange wonderful things

which they have seen in their proper locality, each in its own especial

element. How I should enjoy once hearing Humboldt talk!"

"A cabinet of natural curiosities we may regard like an Egyptian

burying-place, where the various plant gods and animal gods stand about

embalmed. It may be well enough for a priest-caste to busy itself with

such things in a twilight of mystery. But in general instruction, they

have no place or business; and we must beware of them all the more,

because what is nearer to us, and more valuable, may be so easily thrust

aside by them."

"A teacher who can arouse a feeling for one single good action, for one

single good poem, accomplishes more than he who fills our memory with

rows on rows of natural objects, classified with name and form. For what

is the result of all these, except what we know as well without them,

that the human figure preëminently and peculiarly is made in the image

and likeness of God?"

"Individuals may be left to occupy themselves with whatever amuses them,

with whatever gives them pleasure, whatever they think useful; but 'the

proper study of mankind is man.'"

CHAPTER VIII

There are but few men who care to occupy themselves with the immediate

past. Either we are forcibly bound up in the present, or we lose

ourselves in the long gone-by, and seek back for what is utterly lost,

as if it were possible to summon it up again, and rehabilitate it. Even

in great and wealthy families who are under large obligations to their

ancestors, we commonly find men thinking more of their grandfathers than

their fathers.

Such reflections as these suggested themselves to our Assistant, as, on

one of those beautiful days in which the departing winter is accustomed

to imitate the spring, he had been walking up and down the great old

castle garden, and admiring the tall avenues of the lindens, and the

formal walks and flower-beds which had been laid out by Edward's father.

The trees had thriven admirably, according to the design of him who had

planted them, and now when they ought to have begun to be valued and

enjoyed, no one ever spoke of them. Hardly any one even went near them,

and the interest and the outlay was now directed to the other side, out

into the free and the open.

He remarked upon it to Charlotte on his return; she did not take it

unkindly. "While life is sweeping us forward," she replied, "we fancy

that we are acting out our own impulses; we believe that we choose

ourselves what we will do, and what we will enjoy. But in fact, if we

look at it closely, our actions are no more than the plans and the

desires of the time which we are compelled to carry out."

"No doubt," said the Assistant. "And who is strong enough to withstand

the stream of what is around him? Time passes on, and in it, opinions,

thoughts, prejudices, and interests. If the youth of the son falls in

the era of revolution, we may feel assured that he will have nothing in

common with his father. If the father lived at a time when the desire

was to accumulate property, to secure the possession of it, to narrow

and to gather one's-self in, and to base one's enjoyment in separation

from the world, the son will at once seek to extend himself, to

communicate himself to others, to spread himself over a wide surface,

and open out his closed stores."

"Entire periods," replied Charlotte, "resemble this father and son whom

you have been describing. Of the state of things when every little town

was obliged to have its walls and moats, when the castle of the nobleman

was built in a swamp, and the smallest manor-houses were only accessible

by a draw-bridge, we are scarcely able to form a conception. In our

days, the largest cities take down their walls, the moats of the

princes' castles are filled in; cities are no more than great _places_,

and when one travels and sees all this, one might fancy that universal

peace was just established, and the golden age was before the door. No

one feels himself easy in a garden which does not look like the open

country. There must be nothing to remind him of form and constraint, we

choose to be entirely free, and to draw our breath without sense of

confinement. Do you conceive it possible, my friend, that we can ever

return again out of this into another, into our former condition?"

"Why should we not?" replied the Assistant. "Every condition has its own

burden along with it, the most relaxed as well as the most constrained.

The first presupposes abundance, and leads to extravagance. Let want

reappear, and the spirit of moderation is at once with us again. Men who

are obliged to make use of their space and their soil, will speedily

enough raise walls up round their gardens to be sure of their crops and

plants. Out of this will arise by degrees a new phase of things: the

useful will again gain the upper hand; and even the man of large

possessions will feel at last that he must make the most of all which

belongs to him. Believe me, it is quite possible that your son may

become indifferent to all which you have been doing in the park, and

draw in again behind the solemn walls and the tall lindens of his

grandfather."

The secret pleasure which it gave Charlotte to have a son foretold to

her, made her forgive the Assistant his somewhat unfriendly prophecy of

how it might one day fare with her lovely, beautiful park. She therefore

answered without any discomposure: "You and I are not old enough yet to

have lived through very much of these contradictions; and yet when I

look back into my own early youth, when I remember the style of

complaints which I used then to hear from older people, and when I think

at the same time of what the country and the town then were, I have

nothing to advance against what you say. But is there nothing which one

can do to remedy this natural course of things? Are father and son,

parents and children, to be always thus unable to understand each

other? You have been so kind as to prophesy a boy to me. Is it necessary

that he must stand in contradiction to his father? Must he destroy what

his parents have erected, instead of completing it, instead of following

on upon the same idea, and elevating it?"

"There is a rational remedy for it," replied the Assistant. "But it is

one which will be but seldom put in practice by men. The father should

raise his son to a joint ownership with himself. He should permit him to

plant and to build; and allow him the same innocent liberty which he

allows to himself. One form of activity may be woven into another, but

it cannot be pieced on to it. A young shoot may be readily and easily

grafted with an old stem, to which no grown branch admits of being

fastened."

The Assistant was glad to have had the opportunity, at the moment when

he saw himself obliged to take his leave, of saying something agreeable

to Charlotte, and thus making himself a new link to secure her favor. He

had been already too long absent from home, and yet he could not make up

his mind to return there until after a full conviction that he must

allow the approaching epoch of Charlotte's confinement first to pass by

before he could look for any decision from her in respect to Ottilie. He

therefore accommodated himself to the circumstances, and returned with

these prospects and hopes to the Superior.

Charlotte's confinement was now approaching; she kept more in her own

room. The ladies who had gathered about her were her closest companions.

Ottilie managed all domestic matters, hardly able, however, the while,

to think what she was doing. She had indeed utterly resigned herself;

she desired to continue to exert herself to the extent of her power for

Charlotte, for the child, for Edward. But she could not see how it would

be possible for her. Nothing could save her from utter distraction,

except patiently to do the duty which each day brought with it.

A son was brought happily into the world, and the ladies declared, with

one voice, it was the very image of its father. Only Ottilie, as she

wished the new mother joy, and kissed the child with all her heart, was

unable to see the likeness. Once already Charlotte had felt most

painfully the absence of her husband, when she had to make preparations

for her daughter's marriage. And now the father could not be present at

the birth of his son. He could not have the choosing of the name by

which the child was hereafter to be called.

The first among all Charlotte's friends who came to wish her joy was

Mittler. He had placed expresses ready to bring him news the instant the

event took place. He was admitted to see her, and, scarcely able to

conceal his triumph even before Ottilie, when alone with Charlotte he

broke fairly out with it; and was at once ready with means to remove all

anxieties, and set aside all immediate difficulties. The baptism should

not be delayed a day longer than necessary. The old clergyman, who had

one foot already in the grave, should leave his blessing, to bind

together the past and the future. The child should be called Otto; what

name would he bear so fitly as that of his father and of his father's

friend?

It required the peremptory resolution of this man to set aside the

innumerable considerations, arguments, hesitations, difficulties; what

this person knew, and that person knew better; the opinions, up and

down, and backward and forward, which every friend volunteered. It

always happens on such occasions that when one inconvenience is removed,

a fresh inconvenience seems to arise; and in wishing to spare all sides,

we inevitably go wrong on one side or the other.

The letters to friends and relations were all undertaken by Mittler, and

they were to be written and sent off at once. It was highly necessary,

he thought, that the good fortune which he considered so important for

the family, should be known as widely as possible through the

ill-natured and misinterpreting world. For indeed these late

entanglements and perplexities had got abroad among the public, which at

all times has a conviction that, whatever happens, happens only in order

that it may have something to talk about.

The ceremony of the baptism was to be observed with all due honor, but

it was to be as brief and as private as possible. The people came

together; Ottilie and Mittler were to hold the child as sponsors. The

old pastor, supported by the servants of the church, came in with slow

steps; the prayers were offered. The child lay in Ottilie's arms, and as

she was looking affectionately down at it, it opened its eyes and she

was not a little startled when she seemed to see her own eyes looking at

her. The likeness would have surprised any one. Mittler, who next had to

receive the child, started as well; he fancying he saw in the little

features a most striking likeness to the Captain. He had never seen a

resemblance so marked.

The infirmity of the good old clergyman had not permitted him to

accompany the ceremony with more than the usual liturgy.

Mittler, however, who was full of his subject, recollected his old

performances when he had been in the ministry, and indeed it was one of

his peculiarities that, on every sort of occasion, he always thought

what he would like to say, and how he would express himself about it.

At this time he was the less able to contain himself, as he was now in

the midst of a circle consisting entirely of well-known friends. He

began, therefore, toward the conclusion of the service, to put himself

quietly into the place of the clergyman; to make cheerful speeches

aloud, expressive of his duty and his hopes as godfather, and to dwell

all the longer on the subject, as he thought he saw in Charlotte's

gratified manner that she was pleased with his doing so.

It altogether escaped the eagerness of the orator, that the good old man

would gladly have sat down; still less did he think that he was on the

way to occasion a more serious evil. After he had described with all his

power of impressiveness the relation in which every person present stood

toward the child, thereby putting Ottilie's composure sorely to the

proof, he turned at last to the old man with the words, "And you, my

worthy father, you may now well say with Simeon, 'Lord, now lettest thou

thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen the savior of this

house.'"

He was now in full swing toward a brilliant peroration, when he

perceived the old man to whom he held out the child, first appear a

little to incline toward it, and immediately after to totter and sink

backward. Hardly prevented from falling, he was lifted to a seat; but,

notwithstanding the instant assistance which was rendered, he was found

to be dead.

To see thus side by side birth and death, the coffin and the cradle, to

see them and to realize them, to comprehend not with the eye of

imagination, but with the bodily eye, at one moment these fearful

opposites, was a hard trial to the spectators; the harder, the more

utterly it had taken them by surprise. Ottilie alone stood contemplating

the slumberer, whose features still retained their gentle sweet

expression, with a kind of envy. The life of her soul was killed; why

should the bodily life any longer drag on in weariness?

But though Ottilie was frequently led by melancholy incidents which

occurred in the day to thoughts of the past, of separation and of loss,

at night she had strange visions given her to comfort her, which assured

her of the existence of her beloved, and thus strengthened her, and gave

her life for her own. When she laid herself down at night to rest, and

was floating among sweet sensations between sleep and waking, she seemed

to be looking into a clear but softly illuminated space. In this she

would see Edward with the greatest distinctness, and not in the dress in

which she had been accustomed to see him, but in military uniform;

never in the same position, but always in a natural one, and not the

least with anything fantastic about him, either standing or walking, or

lying down or riding. The figure, which was painted with the utmost

minuteness, moved readily before her without any effort of hers, without

her willing it or exerting her imagination to produce it. Frequently she

saw him surrounded with something in motion, which was darker than the

bright ground; but the figures were shadowy, and she could scarcely

distinguish them--sometimes they were like men, sometimes they were like

horses, or like trees, or like mountains. She usually went to sleep in

the midst of the apparition, and when, after a quiet night, she woke

again in the morning, she felt refreshed and comforted; she could say to

herself, Edward still lives, and she herself was still remaining in the

closest relation toward him.

CHAPTER IX

The spring was come; it was late, but it therefore burst out more

rapidly and more exhilaratingly than usual. Ottilie now found in the

garden the fruits of her carefulness. Everything shot up and came out in

leaf and flower at its proper time. A number of plants which she had

been training up under glass frames and in hotbeds, now burst forward at

once to meet, at last, the advances of nature; and whatever there was to

do, and to take care of, it did not remain the mere labor of hope which

it had been, but brought its reward in immediate and substantial

enjoyment.

There was many a chasm, however, among the finest shoots produced by

Luciana's wild ways, for which she had to console the gardener, and the

symmetry of many a leafy coronet was destroyed. She tried to encourage

him to hope that it would all be soon restored again, but he had too

deep a feeling, and too pure an idea of the nature of his business, for

such grounds of comfort to be of much service to him. Little as the

gardener allowed himself to have his attention dissipated by other

tastes and inclinations, he could the less bear to have the peaceful

course interrupted which the plant follows toward its enduring or its

transient perfection. A plant is like a self-willed man, out of whom we

can obtain all which we desire, if we will only treat him his own way. A

calm eye, a silent method, in all seasons of the year, and at every

hour, to do exactly what has then to be done, is required of no one

perhaps more than of a gardener. These qualities the good man possessed

in an eminent degree, and it was on that account that Ottilie liked so

well to work with him; but for some time past he had not found himself

able to exercise his peculiar talent with any pleasure to himself.

Whatever concerned the fruit-gardening or kitchen-gardening, as well as

whatever had in time past been required in the ornamental gardens, he

understood perfectly. One man succeeds in one thing, another in another;

he succeeded in these. In his management of the orangery, of the bulbous

flowers, in budding shoots and growing cuttings from the carnations and

auriculas, he might challenge nature herself. But the new ornamental

shrubs and fashionable flowers remained in a measure strange to him. He

had a kind of shyness of the endless field of botany, which had been

lately opening itself, and the strange names humming about his ears made

him cross and ill-tempered. The orders for flowers which had been made

by his lord and lady in the course of the past year, he considered so

much useless waste and extravagance--all the more, as he saw many

valuable plants disappear, and as he had ceased to stand on the best

possible terms with the nursery gardeners, who, he fancied, had not been

serving him honestly.

Consequently, after a number of attempts, he had formed a sort of a

plan, in which Ottilie encouraged him the more readily because its first

essential condition was the return of Edward, whose absence in this, as

in many other matters, every day had to be felt more and more seriously.

Now that the plants were ever striking new roots, and putting out their

shoots, Ottilie felt herself even more fettered to this spot. It was

just a year since she had come there as a stranger, as a mere

insignificant creature. How much had she not gained for herself since

that time! but, alas! how much had she not also since that time lost

again! Never had she been so rich, and never so poor. The feelings of

her loss and of her gain alternated momentarily one with another,

chasing each other through her heart; and she could find no other means

to help herself, except always to set to work again at what lay nearest

to her, with such interest and eagerness as she could command.

That everything which she knew to be dear to Edward received especial

care from her may be supposed. And why should she not hope that he

himself would now soon come back again; and that, when present, he would

show himself grateful for all the care and pains which she had taken for

him in his absence?

But there was also a far different employment which she took upon

herself in his service; she had undertaken the principal charge of the

child, whose immediate attendant it was all the easier for her to be, as

they had determined not to put it into the hands of a nurse, but to

bring it up themselves by hand with milk and water. In the beautiful

season it was much out of doors, enjoying the free air, and Ottilie

liked best to take it out herself, to carry the unconscious sleeping

infant among the flowers and blossoms which should one day smile so

brightly on its childhood--among the young shrubs and plants, which, by

their youth, seemed designed to grow up with the young lord to their

after-stature. When she looked about her, she did not hide from herself

to what a high position that child was born: far and wide, wherever the

eye could see, all would one day belong to him. How desirable, how

necessary it must therefore be, that it should grow up under the eyes of

its father and its mother, and renew and strengthen the union between

them!

Ottilie saw all this so clearly that she represented it to herself as

conclusively decided, and for herself, as concerned with it, she never

felt at all. Under this fair heaven, by this bright sunshine, at once it

became clear to her, that her love if it would perfect itself, must

become altogether unselfish; and there were many moments in which she

believed it was an elevation which she had already attained. She only

desired the well-being of her friend. She fancied herself able to resign

him, and never to see him any more, if she could only know that he was

happy. The one only determination which she formed for herself was never

to belong to another.

They had taken care that the autumn should be no less brilliant than the

spring. Sun-flowers were there, and all the other plants which are never

tired of blossoming in autumn, and continue boldly on into the cold;

asters especially were sown in the greatest abundance, and scattered

about in all directions to form a starry heaven upon the earth.

FROM OTTILIE'S DIARY

"Any good thought which we have read, anything striking which we have

heard, we commonly enter in our diary; but if we would take the trouble,

at the same time, to copy out of our friends' letters the remarkable

observations, the original ideas, the hasty words so pregnant in

meaning, which we might find in them, we should then be rich indeed. We

lay aside letters never to read them again, and at last we destroy them

out of discretion, and so disappears the most beautiful, the most

immediate breath of life, irrecoverably for ourselves and for others. I

intend to make amends in future for such neglect."

"So, then, once more the old story of the year is being repeated over

again. We are come now, thank God, again to its most charming chapter.

The violets and the may-flowers are as its superscriptions and its

vignettes. It always makes a pleasant impression on us when we open

again at these pages in the book of life."

"We find fault with the poor, particularly with the little ones among

them, when they loiter about the streets and beg. Do we not observe that

they begin to work again, as soon as ever there is anything for them to

do? Hardly has nature unfolded her smiling treasures, than the children

are at once upon her track to open out a calling for themselves. None of

them begs any more; they have each a nosegay to offer you; they were out

and gathering it before you had awakened out of your sleep, and the

supplicating face looks as sweetly at you as the present which the hand

is holding out. No person ever looks miserable who feels that he has a

right to make a demand upon you."

"How is it that the year sometimes seems so short, and sometimes is so

long? How is it that it is so short when it is passing, and so long as

we look back over it? When I think of the past (and it never comes so

powerfully over me as in the garden), I feel how the perishing and the

enduring work one upon the other, and there is nothing whose endurance

is so brief as not to leave behind it some trace of itself, something in

its own likeness."

"We are able to tolerate the winter. We fancy that we can extend

ourselves more freely when the trees are so spectral, so transparent.

They are nothing, but they conceal nothing; but when once the germs and

buds begin to show, then we become impatient for the full foliage to

come out, for the landscape to put on its body, and the tree to stand

before us as a form."

"Everything which is perfect in its kind must pass out beyond and

transcend its kind. It must be an inimitable something of another and a

higher nature. In many of its tones the nightingale is only a bird; then

it rises up above its class, and seems as if it would teach every

feathered creature what singing really is."

"A life without love, without the presence of the beloved, is but poor

_comédie à tiroir_. We draw out slide after slide, swiftly tiring of

each, and pushing it back to make haste to the next. Even what we know

to be good and important hangs but wearily together; every step is an

end, and every step is a fresh beginning."

CHAPTER X.

Charlotte meanwhile was well and in good spirits. She was happy in her

beautiful boy, whose fair promising little form every hour was a delight

to both her eyes and heart. In him she found a new link to connect her

with the world and with her property. Her old activity began anew to

stir in her again.

Look which way she would, she saw how much had been done in the year

that was past, and it was a pleasure to her to contemplate it. Enlivened

by the strength of these feelings, she climbed up to the summer-house

with Ottilie and the child, and as she laid the latter down on the

little table, as on the altar of her house, and saw the two seats still

vacant, she thought of gone-by times, and fresh hopes rose out before

her for herself and for Ottilie.

Young ladies, perhaps, look timidly round them at this or that young

man, carrying on a silent examination, whether they would like to have

him for a husband; but whoever has a daughter or a female ward to care

for, takes a wider circle in her survey. And so it fared at this moment

with Charlotte, to whom, as she thought of how they had once sat side by

side in that summer-house, a union did not seem impossible between the

Captain and Ottilie. It had not remained unknown to her, that the plans

for the advantageous marriage, which had been proposed to the Captain,

had come to nothing.

Charlotte went on up the cliff, and Ottilie carried the child. A number

of reflections crowded upon the former. Even on the firm land there are

frequent enough ship-wrecks, and the true, wise conduct is to recover

ourselves, and refit our vessel at fast as possible. Is life to be

calculated only by its gains and losses? Who has not made arrangement

on arrangement, and has not seen them broken in pieces? How often does

not a man strike into a road and lose it again! How often are we not

turned aside from one point which we had sharply before our eye, but

only to reach some higher stage. The traveler, to his greatest

annoyance, breaks a wheel upon his journey, and through this unpleasant

accident makes some charming acquaintance, and forms some new

connection, which has an influence on all his life. Destiny grants us

our wishes, but in its own way, in order to give us something beyond our

wishes.

Among these and similar reflections they reached the new building on the

hill, where they intended to establish themselves for the summer. The

view all round them was far more beautiful than could have been

supposed; every little obstruction had been removed; all the loveliness

of the landscape, whatever nature, whatever the season of the year had

done for it, came out in its beauty before the eye; and already the

young plantations, which had been made to fill up a few openings, were

beginning to look green, and to form an agreeable connecting link

between parts which before stood separate.

The house itself was nearly habitable; the views, particularly from the

upper rooms, were of the richest variety. The longer you looked round

you, the more beauties you discovered. What magnificent effects would

not be produced here at the different hours of day--by sunlight and by

moonlight? Nothing could be more delightful than to come and live there,

and now that she found all the rough work finished, Charlotte longed to

be busy again. An upholsterer, a tapestry-hanger, a painter, who could

lay on the colors with patterns, and a little gilding, were all which

were required, and these were soon found, and in a short time the

building was completed. Kitchen and cellar stores were quickly laid in;

being so far from the castle, it was necessary to have all essentials

provided; and the two ladies with the child went up and settled there.

From this residence, as from a new centre point, unknown walks opened

out to them, and in these high regions the free, fresh air and the

beautiful weather were thoroughly delightful.

Ottilie's favorite walk, sometimes alone, sometimes with the child, was

down below, toward the plane-trees, along a pleasant footpath leading

directly to the point where one of the boats was kept chained in which

people used to go across the water. She often indulged herself in an

expedition on the water, only without the child, as Charlotte was a

little uneasy about it. She never missed, however, paying a daily visit

to the castle garden and the gardener, and going to look with him at his

show of greenhouse plants, which were all out now, enjoying the free

air.

At this beautiful season, Charlotte was much pleased to receive a visit

from an English nobleman, who had made acquaintance with Edward abroad,

having met him more than once, and who was now curious to see the laying

out of his park, which he had heard so much admired. He brought with him

a letter of introduction from the Count, and introduced at the same time

a quiet but most agreeable man as his traveling companion. He went about

seeing everything, sometimes with Charlotte and Ottilie, sometimes with

the gardeners and the foresters, often with his friend, and now and then

alone; and they could perceive clearly from his observations that he

took an interest in such matters, and understood them well; indeed, that

he had himself probably executed many such.

Although he was now advanced in life, he entered warmly into everything

which could serve for an ornament to life, or contribute anything to its

importance.

In his presence, the ladies came first properly to enjoy what was around

them. His practised eye received every effect in its freshness, and he

found all the more pleasure in what was before him, as he had not

previously known the place, and was scarcely able to distinguish what

man had done there from what nature had presented to him ready made.

We may even say that through his remarks the park grew and enriched

itself; he was able to anticipate in their fulfilment the promises of

the growing plantations. There was not a spot where there was any effect

which could be either heightened or produced, but what he observed it.

In one place he pointed to a fountain which, if it was cleaned out,

promised to be the most beautiful spot for a picnic party; in another,

to a cave which had only to be enlarged and swept clear of rubbish to

form a desirable seat. A few trees might be cut down, and a view would

be opened from it of some grand masses of rock, towering magnificently

against the sky. He wished the owners joy that so much was still

remaining for them to do, and he besought them not to be in a hurry

about it, but to keep for themselves for years to come the pleasures of

shaping and improving.

At the hours which the ladies usually spent alone he was never in the

way, for he was occupied the greatest part of the day in catching such

views in the park as would make good paintings, in a portable camera

obscura, and drawing from them, in order to secure some desirable fruits

from his travels for himself and others. For many years past he had been

in the habit of doing this in all remarkable places which he visited,

and had provided himself by it with a most charming and interesting

collection. He showed the ladies a large portfolio which he had brought

with him, and entertained them with the pictures and with descriptions.

And it was a real delight to them, here in their solitude, to travel so

pleasantly over the world, and see sweep past them, shores and havens,

mountains, lakes, and rivers, cities, castles, and a hundred other

localities which have a name in history.

Each of the two ladies had an especial interest in it--Charlotte the

more general interest in whatever was historically remarkable; Ottilie

dwelling in preference on the scenes of which Edward used most to

talk--where he liked best to stay, and which he would most often

revisit. Every man has somewhere, far or near, his peculiar localities

which attract him; scenes which, according to his character, either from

first impressions, or from particular associations, or from habit, have

a charm for him beyond all others.

She, therefore, asked the Earl which, of all these places, pleased him

best, where he would like to settle, and live for himself, if he might

choose. There was more than one lovely spot which he pointed out, with

what had happened to him there to make him love and value it; and the

peculiar accentuated French in which he spoke made it most pleasant to

listen to him.

To the further question, which was his ordinary residence that he

properly considered his home, he replied, without any hesitation, in a

manner quite unexpected by the ladies:

"I have accustomed myself by this time to be at home everywhere, and I

find, after all, that it is much more agreeable to allow others to

plant, and build, and keep house for me. I have no desire to return to

my own possessions, partly on political grounds, but principally because

my son, for whose sake alone it was any pleasure to me to remain and

work there--who will, by-and-by, inherit it, and with whom I hoped to

enjoy it--took no interest in the place at all, but has gone out to

India, where, like many other foolish fellows, he fancies he can make a

higher use of his life. He is more likely to squander it.

"Assuredly we spend far too much labor and outlay in preparation for

life. Instead of beginning at once to make ourselves happy in a moderate

condition, we spread ourselves out wider and wider, only to make

ourselves more and more uncomfortable. Who is there now to enjoy my

mansion, my park, my gardens? Not I, nor any of mine--strangers,

visitors, or curious, restless travelers.

"Even with large means, we are ever but half and half at home,

especially in the country, where we miss many things to which we have

become accustomed in town. The book for which we are most anxious is

not to be had, and just the thing which we most wanted is forgotten. We

take to being domestic, only again to go out of ourselves; if we do not

go astray of our own will and caprice, circumstances, passions,

accidents, necessity, and one does not know what besides, manage it for

us."

Little did the Earl imagine how deeply his friend would be touched by

these random observations. It is a danger to which we are all of us

exposed when we venture on general remarks in a society the

circumstances of which we might have supposed were well enough known to

us. Such casual wounds, even from well-meaning, kindly-disposed people,

were nothing new to Charlotte. She so clearly, so thoroughly knew and

understood the world, that it gave her no particular pain if it did

happen that through somebody's thoughtlessness or imprudence she had her

attention forced into this or that unpleasant direction. But it was very

different with Ottilie. At her half-conscious age, at which she rather

felt than saw, and at which she was disposed, indeed was obliged, to

turn her eyes away from what she should not or would not see, Ottilie

was thrown by this melancholy conversation into the most pitiable state.

It rudely tore away the pleasant veil from before her eyes, and it

seemed to her as if everything which had been done all this time for

house and court, for park and garden, for all their wide environs, were

utterly in vain, because he to whom it all belonged could not enjoy it;

because he, like their present visitor, had been driven out to wander up

and down in the world--and, indeed, in the most perilous paths of it--by

those who were nearest and dearest to him. She was accustomed to listen

in silence, but on this occasion she sat on in the most painful

condition; which, indeed, was made rather worse than better by what the

stranger went on to say, as he continued with his peculiar, humorous

gravity:

"I think I am now on the right way. I look upon myself steadily as a

traveler, who renounces many things in order to enjoy more. I am

accustomed to change; it has become, indeed, a necessity to me; just as

in the opera, people are always looking out for new and newer

decorations, because there have already been so many. I know very well

what I am to expect from the best hotels, and what from the worst. It

may be as good or it may be as bad as it will, but I nowhere find

anything to which I am accustomed, and in the end it comes to much the

same thing whether we depend for our enjoyment entirely on the regular

order of custom, or entirely on the caprices of accident. I have never

had to vex myself now, because this thing is mislaid, or that thing is

lost; because the room in which I live is uninhabitable, and I must have

it repaired; because somebody has broken my favorite cup, and for a long

time nothing tastes well out of any other. All this I am happily raised

above. If the house catches fire about my ears, my people quietly pack

my things up, and we pass away out of the town in search of other

quarters. And considering all these advantages, when I reckon carefully,

I calculate that, by the end of the year, I have not sacrificed more

than it would have cost me to be at home."

In this description Ottilie saw nothing but Edward before her; how he

too was now amidst discomfort and hardship, marching along untrodden

roads, lying out in the fields in danger and want, and in all this

insecurity and hazard growing accustomed to be homeless and friendless,

learning to fling away everything that he might have nothing to lose.

Fortunately, the party separated for a short time. Ottilie escaped to

her room, where she could give way to her tears. No weight of sorrow had

ever pressed so heavily upon her as this clear perception (which she

tried, as people usually do, to make still clearer to herself), that men

love to dally with and exaggerate the evils which circumstances have

once begun to inflict upon them.

The state in which Edward was came before her in a light so piteous, so

miserable, that she made up her mind, let it cost her what it would,

that she would do everything in her power to unite him again with

Charlotte, and she herself would go and hide her sorrow and her love in

some silent scene, and beguile the time with such employment as she

could find.

Meanwhile the Earl's companion, a quiet, sensible man and a keen

observer, had remarked the new trend in the conversation, and spoke to

his friend about it. The latter knew nothing of the circumstances of the

family; but the other being one of those persons whose principal

interest in traveling lay in gathering up the strange occurrences which

arose out of the natural or artificial relations of society, which were

produced by the conflict of the restraint of law with the violence of

the will, of the understanding with the reason, of passion with

prejudice--had some time before made himself acquainted with the outline

of the story, and since he had been in the family had learnt exactly all

that had taken place, and the present position in which things were

standing.

The Earl, of course, was very sorry, but it was not a thing to make him

uneasy. A man must hold his tongue altogether in society if he is never

to find himself in such a position; for not only remarks with meaning in

them, but the most trivial expressions, may happen to clash in an

inharmonious key with the interest of somebody present.

"We will set things right this evening," said he, "and escape from any

general conversation; you shall let them hear one of the many charming

anecdotes with which your portfolio and your memory have enriched

themselves while we have been abroad."

However, with the best intentions, the strangers did not, on this next

occasion, succeed any better in gratifying their friends with unalloyed

entertainment. The Earl's friend told a number of singular stories--some

serious, some amusing, some touching, some terrible--with which he had

roused their attention and strained their interest to the highest

tension, and he thought to conclude with a strange but softer incident,

little dreaming how nearly it would touch his listeners.

THE TWO STRANGE CHILDREN

"Two children of neighboring families, a boy and a girl, of an age which

would suit well for them at some future time to marry, were brought up

together with this agreeable prospect, and the parents on both sides,

who were people of some position in the world, looked forward with

pleasure to their future union.

"It was too soon observed, however, that the purpose seemed likely to

fail; the dispositions of both children promised everything which was

good, but there was an unaccountable antipathy between them. Perhaps

they were too much like each other. Both were thoughtful, clear in their

wills, and firm in their purposes. Each separately was beloved and

respected by his or her companions, but whenever they were together they

were always antagonists. Forming separate plans for themselves, they

only met mutually to cross and thwart each other; never emulating each

other in pursuit of one aim, but always fighting for a single object.

Good-natured and amiable everywhere else, they were spiteful and even

malicious whenever they came in contact.

"This singular relation first showed itself in their childish games, and

it continued with their advancing years. The boys used to play at

soldiers, divide into parties, and give each other battle, and the

fierce haughty young lady set herself at once at the head of one of the

armies, and fought against the other with such animosity and bitterness

that the latter would have been put to a shameful flight, except for the

desperate bravery of her own particular rival, who at last disarmed his

antagonist and took her prisoner; and even then she defended herself

with so much fury that to save his eyes from being torn out, and at the

same time not to injure his enemy, he had been obliged to take off his

silk handkerchief and tie her hands with it behind her back.

"This she never forgave him: she made so many attempts, she laid so many

plans to injure him, that the parents, who had been long watching these

singular passions, came to a mutual understanding and resolved to

separate these two hostile creatures, and sacrifice their favorite

hopes.

"The boy shot rapidly forward in the new situation in which he was

placed. He mastered every subject which he was taught. His friends and

his own inclination chose the army for his profession, and everywhere,

let him be where he would, he was looked up to and beloved. His

disposition seemed formed to labor for the well-being and the pleasure

of others; and he himself, without being clearly conscious of it, was in

himself happy at having got rid of the only antagonist which nature had

assigned to him.

"The girl, on the other hand, became at once an altered creature. Her

growing age, the progress of her education, above all, her own inward

feelings, drew her away from the boisterous games with boys in which she

had hitherto delighted. Altogether she seemed to want something; there

was nothing anywhere about her which could deserve to excite her hatred,

and she had never found any one whom she could think worthy of her love.

"A young man, somewhat older than her previous neighbor-antagonist, of

rank, property, and consequence, beloved in society, and much sought

after by women, bestowed his affections upon her. It was the first time

that friend, lover, or servant had displayed any interest in her. The

preference which he showed for her above others who were older, more

cultivated, and of more brilliant pretensions than herself, was

naturally gratifying; the constancy of his attention, which was never

obtrusive, his standing by her faithfully through a number of unpleasant

incidents, his quiet suit, which was declared indeed to her parents, but

which, as she was still very young, he did not press, only asking to be

allowed to hope--all this engaged him to her, and custom and the

assumption in the world that the thing was already settled carried her

along with it. She had so often been called his bride that at last she

began to consider herself so, and neither she nor any one else ever

thought any further trial could be necessary before she exchanged rings

with the person who for so long a time had passed for her bridegroom.

"The peaceful course which the affair had all along followed was not at

all precipitated by the betrothal. Things were allowed to go on both

sides just as they were; they were happy in being together, and they

could enjoy to the end the fair season of the year as the spring of

their future more serious life.

"The absent youth had meanwhile grown up into everything which was most

admirable. He had obtained a well-deserved rank in his profession, and

came home on leave to visit his family. Toward his fair neighbor he

found himself again in a natural but singular position. For some time

past she had been nourishing in herself such affectionate family

feelings as suited her position as a bride; she was in harmony with

everything about her; she believed that she was happy, and in a certain

sense she was so. Now first for a long time something again stood in her

way. It was not to be hated--she had become incapable of hatred. Indeed

the childish hatred, which had in fact been nothing more than an obscure

recognition of inward worth, expressed itself now in a happy

astonishment, in pleasure at meeting, in ready acknowledgments, in a

half willing, half unwilling, and yet irresistible attraction; and all

this was mutual. Their long separation gave occasion for longer

conversations; even their old childish foolishness served, now that they

had grown wiser, to amuse them as they looked back; and they felt as if

at least they were bound to make good their petulant hatred by

friendliness and attention to each other--as if their first violent

injustice to each other ought not to be left without open

acknowledgment.

"On his side it all remained in a sensible, desirable moderation. His

position, his circumstances, his efforts, his ambition, found him so

abundant an occupation, that the friendliness of this pretty bride he

received as a very thank-worthy present; but without, therefore, even so

much as thinking of her in connection with himself, or entertaining the

slightest jealousy of the bridegroom, with whom he stood on the best

possible terms.

"With her, however, it was altogether different. She seemed to herself

as if she had awakened out of a dream. Her fightings with her young

neighbor had been the beginnings of an affection; and this violent

antagonism was no more than an equally violent innate passion for him,

first showing under the form of opposition. She could remember nothing

else than that she had always loved him. She laughed over her martial

encounter with him with weapons in her hand; she dwelt upon the delight

of her feelings when he disarmed her. She imagined that it had given her

the greatest happiness when he bound her: and whatever she had done

afterward to injure him, or to vex him, presented itself to her as only

an innocent means of attracting his attention. She cursed their

separation. She bewailed the sleepy state into which she had fallen. She

execrated the insidious lazy routine which had betrayed her into

accepting so insignificant a bridegroom. She was transformed--doubly

transformed, forward or backward, whichever way we like to take it.

"She kept her feelings entirely to herself; but if any one could have

divined them and shared them with her, he could not have blamed her: for

indeed the bridegroom could not sustain a comparison with the other as

soon as they were seen together. If a sort of regard to the one could

not be refused, the other excited the fullest trust and confidence. If

one made an agreeable acquaintance, the other we should desire for a

companion; and in extraordinary cases, where higher demands might have

to be made on them, the bridegroom was a person to be utterly despaired

of, while the other would give the feeling of perfect security.

"There is a peculiar innate tact in women which discovers to them

differences of this kind; and they have cause as well as occasion to

cultivate it.

"The more the fair bride was nourishing all these feelings in secret,

the less opportunity there was for any one to speak a word which could

tell in favor of her bridegroom, to remind her of what her duty and

their relative position advised and commanded--indeed, what an

unalterable necessity seemed now irrevocably to require; the poor heart

gave itself up entirely to its passion.

"On one side she was bound inextricably to the bridegroom by the world,

by her family, and by her own promise; on the other, the ambitious young

man made no secret of what he was thinking and planning for himself,

conducting himself toward her no more than a kind but not at all a

tender brother, and speaking of his departure as immediately impending;

and now it seemed as if her early childish spirit woke up again in her

with all its spleen and violence, and was preparing itself in its

distemper, on this higher stage of life, to work more effectively and

destructively. She determined that she would die to punish the once

hated; and now so passionately loved, youth for his want of interest in

her; and as she could not possess himself, at least she would wed

herself for ever to his imagination and to his repentance. Her dead

image should cling to him, and he should never be free from it. He

should never cease to reproach himself for not having understood, not

examined, not valued her feelings toward him.

"This singular insanity accompanied her wherever she went. She kept it

concealed under all sorts of forms; and although people thought her very

odd, no one was observant enough or clever enough to discover the real

inward reason.

"In the meantime, friends, relations, acquaintances had exhausted

themselves in contrivances for pleasure parties. Scarcely a day passed

but something new and unexpected was set on foot. There was hardly a

pretty spot in the country round which had not been decked out and

prepared for the reception of some merry party. And now our young

visitor, before departing, wished to do his part as well, and invited

the young couple, with a small family circle, to an expedition on the

water. They went on board a large beautiful vessel dressed out in all

its colors--one of the yachts which had a small saloon and a cabin or

two besides, and are intended to carry with them upon the water the

comfort and conveniences of land.

"They set out upon the broad river with music playing. The party had

collected in the cabin, below deck, during the heat of the day, and were

amusing themselves with games. Their young host, who could never remain

without doing something, had taken charge of the helm to relieve the old

master of the vessel, and the latter had lain down and was fast asleep.

It was a moment when the steerer required all his circumspectness, as

the vessel was nearing a spot where two islands narrowed the channel of

the river, while shallow banks of shingle stretching off, first on one

side and then on the other, made the navigation difficult and dangerous.

Prudent and sharp-sighted as he was, he thought for a moment that it

would be better to wake the master; but he felt confident in himself,

and he thought he would venture and make straight for the narrows. At

this moment his fair enemy appeared upon deck with a wreath of flowers

in her hair. 'Take this to remember me by,' she cried out. She took it

off and threw it at the steerer. 'Don't disturb me,' he answered

quickly, as he caught the wreath; 'I require all my powers and all my

attention now.' 'You will never be disturbed by me any more,' she cried;

'you will never see me again.' As she spoke, she rushed to the forward

part of the vessel, and from thence she sprang into the water. Voice

upon voice called out, 'Save her, save her, she is sinking!' He was in

the most terrible difficulty. In the confusion the old shipmaster woke,

and tried to catch the rudder, which the young man bade him take. But

there was no time to change hands. The vessel stranded; and at the same

moment, flinging off the heaviest of his upper garments, he sprang into

the water and swam toward his beautiful enemy. The water is a friendly

element to a man who is at home in it, and who knows how to deal with

it; it buoyed him up, and acknowledged the strong swimmer as its master.

He soon overtook the beautiful girl, who had been swept away before him;

he caught hold of her, raised her and supported her, and both of them

were carried violently down by the current, till the shoals and islands

were left far behind, and the river was again open and running smoothly.

He now began to collect himself; they had passed the first immediate

danger, in which he had been obliged to act mechanically without time to

think; he raised his head as high as he could to look about him and then

swam with all his might to a low bushy point which ran out conveniently

into the stream. There he brought his fair burden to dry land, but he

could find no signs of life in her; he was in despair, when he caught

sight of a trodden path leading among the bushes. Again he caught her up

in his arms, hurried forward, and presently reached a solitary cottage.

There he found kind, good people--a young married couple; the

misfortunes and the dangers explained themselves instantly; every remedy

he could think of was instantly applied; a bright fire blazed up; woolen

blankets were spread on a bed, counterpane, cloaks, skins, whatever

there was at hand which would serve for warmth, were heaped over her as

fast as possible. The desire to save life overpowered, for the present,

every other consideration. Nothing was left undone to bring back to life

the beautiful, half-torpid, naked body. It succeeded; she opened her

eyes! her friend was before her; she threw her heavenly arms about his

neck. In this position she remained for a time; and then a stream of

tears burst out and completed her recovery. 'Will you forsake me,' she

cried, 'now when I find you again thus?' 'Never,' he answered, 'never,'

hardly knowing what he said or did. 'Only consider yourself,' she added;

'take care of yourself, for your sake and for mine.'

"She now began to collect herself, and for the first time recollected

the state in which she was; she could not be ashamed before her darling,

before her preserver; but she gladly allowed him to go, that he might

take care of himself; for the clothes which he still wore were wet and

dripping.

"Their young hosts considered what could be done. The husband offered

the young man, and the wife offered the fair lady, the dresses in which

they had been married, which were hanging up in full perfection, and

sufficient for a complete suit, inside and out, for two people. In a

short time our pair of adventurers were not only equipped, but in full

costume. They looked most charming, gazed at each other, when they met,

with admiration, and then with infinite affection, half laughing at the

same time at the quaintness of their appearance, they fell into each

other's arms.

"The power of youth and the quickening spirit of love in a few moments

completely restored them; and there was nothing wanting but music to

have set them both off dancing.

"To have found themselves brought from the water on dry land, from death

into life, from the circle of their families into a wilderness, from

despair into rapture, from indifference to affection and to love, all in

a moment: the head was not strong enough to bear it; it must either

burst, or go distracted; or if so distressing an alternative were to be

escaped, the heart must put out all its efforts.

"Lost wholly in each other, it was long before they recollected the

alarm and anxiety of those who had been left behind; and they

themselves, indeed, could not well think, without alarm and anxiety, how

they were again to encounter them. 'Shall we run away? shall we hide

ourselves?' asked the young man. 'We will remain together,' she said,

as she clung about his neck.

"The peasant having heard them say that a party was aground on the

shoal, had hurried down, without stopping to ask another question, to

the shore. When he arrived there, he saw the vessel coming safely down

the stream. After much labor it had been got off; and they were now

going on in uncertainty, hoping to find their lost ones again somewhere.

The peasant shouted and made signs to them, and at last caught the

attention of those on board; then he ran to a spot where there was a

convenient place for landing, and went on signalling and shouting till

the vessel's head was turned toward the shore; and what a scene there

was for them when they landed. The parents of the two betrothed first

pressed on the banks; the poor loving bridegroom had almost lost his

senses. They had scarcely learnt that their dear children had been

saved, when in their strange disguise the latter came forward out of the

bushes to meet them. No one recognized them till they were come quite

close. 'Whom do I see?' cried the mothers. 'What do I see?' cried the

fathers. The preserved ones flung themselves on the ground before them.

'Your children,' they called out; 'a pair.' 'Forgive us!' cried the

maiden. 'Give us your blessing!' cried the young man. 'Give us your

blessing!' they cried both, as all the world stood still in wonder.

'Your blessing!' was repeated the third time; and who would have been

able to refuse it?"

CHAPTER XI

The narrator made a pause, or rather he had already finished his story,

before he observed the emotion into which Charlotte had been thrown by

it. She got up, uttered some sort of an apology, and left the room. To

her it was a well-known history. The principal incident in it had really

taken place with the Captain and a neighbor of her own; not exactly,

indeed, as the Englishman had related it. But the main features of it

were the same. It had only been more finished off and elaborated in its

details, as stories of that kind always are when they have passed first

through the lips of the multitude, and then through the fancy of a

clever and imaginative narrator; the result of the process being usually

to leave everything and nothing as it was.

Ottilie followed Charlotte, as the two friends begged her to do; and

then it was the Earl's turn to remark, that perhaps they had made a

second mistake, and that the subject of the story had been well known

to, or was in some way connected with, the family. "We must take care,"

he added, "that we do no more mischief here; we seem to bring little

good to our entertainers for all the kindness and hospitality which they

have shown us; we will make some excuse for ourselves, and then take our

leave."

"I must confess," answered his companion, "that there is something else

which still holds me here, which I should be very sorry to leave the

house without seeing cleared up or in some way explained. You were too

busy yourself yesterday when we were in the park with the camera, in

looking for spots where you could make your sketches, to have observed

anything else which was passing. You left the broad walk, you remember,

and went to a sequestered place on the side of the lake. There was a

fine view of the opposite shore which you wished to take. Well, Ottilie,

who was with us, got up to follow; and then proposed that she and I

should find our way to you in the boat. I got in with her, and was

delighted with the skill of my fair conductress. I assured her that

never since I had been in Switzerland, where the young ladies so often

fill the place of the boatmen, had I been so pleasantly ferried over the

water. At the same time I could not help asking her why she had shown

such an objection to going the way which you had gone, along the little

by-path. I had observed her shrink from it with a sort of painful

uneasiness. She was not at all offended. 'If you will promise not to

laugh at me,' she answered, 'I will tell you as much as I know about

it; but to myself it is a mystery which I cannot explain. There is a

particular spot in that path which I never pass without a strange shiver

passing over me, which I do not remember ever feeling anywhere else, and

which I cannot the least understand. But I shrink from exposing myself

to the sensation, because it is followed immediately after by a pain on

the left side of my head, from which at other times I suffer severely.'

We landed. Ottilie was engaged with you, and I took the opportunity of

examining the spot, which she pointed out to me as we went by on the

water. I was not a little surprised to find there distinct traces of

coal in sufficient quantities to convince me that at a short distance

below the surface there must be a considerable bed of it.

"Pardon me, my Lord; I see you smile; and I know very well that you have

no faith in these things about which I am so eager, and that it is only

your sense and your kindness which enable you to tolerate me. However,

it is impossible for me to leave this place without trying on that

beautiful creature an experiment with the pendulum."

The Earl, whenever these matters came to be spoken of, never failed to

repeat the same objections to them over and over again; and his friend

endured them all quietly and patiently, remaining firm, nevertheless, to

his own opinion, and holding to his own wishes. He, too, again repeated

that there was no reason, because the experiment did not succeed with

every one, that they should give them up, as if there was nothing in

them but fancy. They should be examined into all the more earnestly and

scrupulously; and there was no doubt that the result would be the

discovery of a number of affinities of inorganic creatures for one

another, and of organic creatures for them, and again for each other,

which at present were unknown to us.

He had already spread out his apparatus of gold rings, marcasites, and

other metallic substances, a pretty little box of which he always

carried about with himself; and he suspended a piece of metal by a

string over another piece, which he placed upon the table. "Now, my

Lord," he said, "you may take what pleasure you please (I can see in

your face what you are feeling), at perceiving that nothing will set

itself in motion with me, or for me. But my operation is no more than a

pretense; when the ladies come back, they will be curious to know what

strange work we are about."

The ladies returned. Charlotte understood at once what was going on. "I

have heard much of these things," she said; "but I never saw the effect

myself. You have everything ready there. Let me try whether I can

succeed in producing anything."

She took the thread in her hand, and as she was perfectly serious, she

held it steady, and without any agitation. Not the slightest motion,

however, could be detected. Ottilie was then called upon to try. She

held the pendulum still more quietly and unconsciously over the plate on

the table. But in a moment the swinging piece of metal began to stir

with a distinct rotary action, and turned as they moved the position of

the plate, first to one side and then to the other; now in circles, now

in ellipses; or else describing a series of straight lines; doing all

the Earl's friend could expect, and far exceeding, indeed, all his

expectations.

The Earl himself was a little staggered; but the other could never be

satisfied, from delight and curiosity, and begged for the experiment

again and again with all sorts of variations. Ottilie was good-natured

enough to gratify him; till at last she was obliged to desire to be

allowed to go, as her headache had come on again. In further admiration

and even rapture, he assured her with enthusiasm that he would cure her

forever of her disorder, if she would only trust herself to his

remedies. For a moment they did not know what he meant; but Charlotte,

who comprehended immediately after, declined his well-meant offer, not

liking to have introduced and practised about her a thing of which she

had always had the strongest apprehensions.

The strangers were gone, and notwithstanding their having been the

inadvertent cause of strange and painful emotions, left the wish behind

them, that this meeting might not be the last. Charlotte now made use of

the beautiful weather to return visits in the neighborhood, which,

indeed, gave her work enough to do, seeing that the whole country round,

some from a real interest, some merely from custom, had been most

attentive in calling to inquire after her. At home her delight was the

sight of the child, and really it well deserved all love and interest.

People, saw in it a wonderful, indeed a miraculous child; the brightest,

sunniest little face; a fine, well-proportioned body, strong and

healthy; and what surprised them more, the double resemblance, which

became more and more conspicuous. In figure and in the features of the

face, it was like the Captain; the eyes every day it was less easy to

distinguish from the eyes of Ottilie.

Ottilie herself, partly from this remarkable affinity, perhaps still

more under the influence of that sweet woman's feeling which makes them

regard with the most tender affection the offspring, even by another, of

the man they love, was as good as a mother to the little creature as it

grew, or rather, she was a second mother of another kind. If Charlotte

was absent, Ottilie remained alone with the child and the nurse. Nanny

had for some time past been jealous of the boy for monopolizing the

entire affections of her mistress; she had left her in a fit of

crossness, and gone back to her mother. Ottilie would carry the child

about in the open air, and by degrees took longer and longer walks with

it, carrying a bottle of milk to give the child its food when it wanted

any. Generally, too, she took a book with her; and so with the child in

her arms, reading and wandering, she made a very pretty Penserosa.

CHAPTER XII

The object of the campaign was attained, and Edward, with crosses and

decorations, was honorably dismissed. He betook himself at once to the

same little estate, where he found exact accounts of his family waiting

for him, on whom all this time, without their having observed it or

known of it, a sharp watch had been kept under his orders. His quiet

residence looked most sweet and pleasant when he reached it. In

accordance with his orders, various improvements had been made in his

absence, and what was wanting to the establishment in extent, was

compensated by its internal comforts and conveniences. Edward,

accustomed by his more active habits of life to take decided steps,

determined to execute a project which he had had sufficient time to

think over. First of all, he invited the Major to come to him. This

pleasure in meeting again was very great to both of them. The

friendships of boyhood, like relationship of blood, possess this

important advantage, that mistakes and misunderstandings never produce

irreparable injury; and the old regard after a time will always

reestablish itself.

Edward began with inquiring about the situation of his friend, and

learnt that fortune had favored him exactly as he most could have

wished. He then half-seriously asked whether there was not something

going forward about a marriage; to which he received a most decided and

positive denial.

"I cannot and will not have any reserve with you," he proceeded. "I will

tell you at once what my own feelings are, and what I intend to do. You

know my passion for Ottilie; you must long have comprehended that it was

this which drove me into the campaign. I do not deny that I desire to be

rid of a life which, without her, would be of no further value to me. At

the same time, however, I acknowledge that I could never bring myself

utterly to despair. The prospect of happiness with her was so beautiful,

so infinitely charming, that it was not possible for me entirely to

renounce it. Feelings, too, which I cannot explain, and a number of

happy omens, have combined to strengthen me in the belief, in the

assurance, that Ottilie will one day be mine. The glass with our

initials cut upon it, which was thrown into the air when the

foundation-stone was laid, did not go to pieces; it was caught, and I

have it again in my possession. After many miserable hours of

uncertainty, spent in this place, I said to myself, 'I will put myself

in the place of this glass, and it shall be an omen whether our union be

possible or not. I will go; I will seek for death; not like a madman,

but like a man who still hopes that he may live. Ottilie shall be the

prize for which I fight. Ottilie shall be behind the ranks of the enemy;

in every intrenchment, in every beleaguered fortress, I shall hope to

find her, and to win her. I will do wonders, with the wish to survive

them; with the hope to gain Ottilie, not to lose her.' These feelings

have led me on; they have stood by me through all dangers; and now I

find myself like one who has arrived at his goal, who has overcome

every difficulty and who has nothing more left in his way. Ottilie is

mine, and whatever lies between the thought and the execution of it, I

can only regard as unimportant."

"With a few strokes you blot out," replied the Major, "all the

objections that we can or ought to urge upon you, and yet they must be

repeated. I must leave it to yourself to recall the full value of your

relation with your wife; but you owe it to her, and you owe it to

yourself, not to close your eyes to it. How can I so much as recollect

that you have had a son given to you, without acknowledging at once that

you two belong to each other forever; that you are bound, for this

little creature's sake, to live united, that united you may educate it

and provide for its future welfare?"

"It is no more than the blindness of parents," answered Edward, "when

they imagine their existence to be of so much importance to their

children. Whatever lives, finds nourishment and finds assistance; and if

the son who has early lost his father does not spend so easy, so favored

a youth, he profits, perhaps, for that very reason, in being trained

sooner for the world, and comes to a timely knowledge that he must

accommodate himself to others, a thing sooner or later we are all forced

to learn. Here, however even these considerations are irrelevant; we

are sufficiently well off to be able to provide for more children than

one, and it is neither right nor kind to accumulate so large a property

on a single head."

The Major attempted to say something of Charlotte's worth, and Edward's

long-standing attachment to her; but the latter hastily interrupted him.

"We committed ourselves to a foolish thing, that I see all too clearly.

Whoever, in middle age, attempts to realize the wishes and hopes of his

early youth, invariably deceives himself. Each ten years of a man's life

has its own fortunes, its own hopes, its own desires. Woe to him who,

either by circumstances or by his own infatuation, is induced to grasp

at anything before him or behind him. We have done a foolish thing. Are

we to abide by it all our lives? Are we, from some respect of prudence,

to refuse to ourselves what the customs of the age do not forbid? In how

many matters do men recall their intentions and their actions; and shall

it not be allowed to them here, here, where the question is not of this

thing or of that, but of everything; not of our single condition of

life, but of the whole complex life itself?"

Again the Major powerfully and impressively urged on Edward to consider

what he owed to his wife, what was due to his family, to the world, and

to his own position; but he could not succeed in producing the slightest

impression.

"All these questions, my friend," he returned, "I have considered

already again and again. They have passed before me in the storm of

battle, when the earth was shaking with the thunder of the cannon, with

the balls singing and whistling around me, with my comrades falling

right and left, my horse shot under me, my hat pierced with bullets.

They have floated before me by the still watch-fire under the starry

vault of the sky. I have thought them all through, felt them all

through. I have weighed them, and I have satisfied myself about them

again and again, and now forever. At such moments why should I not

acknowledge it to you? You too were in my thoughts, you too belonged to

my circle; as, indeed, you and I have long belonged to each other. If I

have ever been in your debt I am now in a position to repay it with

interest; if you have been in mine you have now the means to make it

good to me. I know that you love Charlotte, and she deserves it. I know

that you are not indifferent to her, and why should she not feel your

worth? Take her at my hand and give Ottilie to me, and we shall be the

happiest beings upon the earth."

"If you choose to assign me so high a character," replied the Major, "it

is the more reason for me to be firm and prudent. Whatever there may be

in this proposal to make it attractive to me, instead of simplifying the

problem, it only increases the difficulty of it. The question is now of

me as well as of you. The fortunes, the good name, the honor of two men,

hitherto unsullied with a breath, will be exposed to hazard by so

strange a proceeding, to call it by no harsher name, and we shall appear

before the world in a highly questionable light."

"Our very characters being what they are," replied Edward, "give us a

right to take this single liberty. A man who has borne himself honorably

through a whole life, makes an action honorable which might appear

ambiguous in others. As concerns myself, after these last trials which I

have taken upon myself, after the difficult and dangerous actions which

I have accomplished for others, I feel entitled now to do something for

myself. For you and Charlotte, that part of the business may, if you

like it, be given up; but neither you nor any one shall keep me from

doing what I have determined. If I may look for help and furtherance, I

shall be ready to do everything which can be wished; but if I am to be

left to myself, or if obstacles are to be thrown in my way, some

extremity or other is sure to follow."

The Major thought it his duty to combat Edward's purposes as long as it

was possible; and now he changed the mode of his attack and tried a

diversion. He seemed to give way, and only spoke of the form of what

they would have to do to bring about this separation, and these new

unions; and so mentioned a number of ugly, undesirable matters, which

threw Edward into the worst of tempers.

"I see plainly," he cried at last, "that what we desire can only be

carried by storm, whether it be from our enemies or from our friends. I

keep clearly before my own eyes what I demand, what, one way or another,

I must have; and I will seize it promptly and surely. Connections like

ours, I know very well, cannot be broken up and reconstructed again

without much being thrown down which is standing, and much having to

give way which would be glad enough to continue. We shall come to no

conclusion by thinking about it. All rights are alike to the

understanding, and it is always easy to throw extra weight into the

ascending scale. Do you makeup your mind, my friend, to act, and act

promptly, for me and for yourself. Disentangle and untie the knots, and

tie them up again. Do not be deterred from it by nice respects. We have

already given the world something to say about us. It will talk about us

once more; and when we have ceased to be a nine days' wonder, it will

forget us as it forgets everything else, and allow us to follow our own

way without further concern with us." The Major had nothing further to

say, and was at last obliged to sit silent; while Edward treated the

affair as now conclusively settled, talked through in detail all that

had to be done, and pictured the future in every most cheerful color,

and then he went on again seriously and thoughtfully: "If we think to

leave ourselves to the hope, to the expectation, that all will go right

again of itself, that accident will lead us straight, and take care of

us, it will be a most culpable self-deception. In such a way it would be

impossible for us to save ourselves, or reestablish our peace again. I

who have been the innocent cause of it all, how am I ever to console

myself? By my own importunity I prevailed on Charlotte to write to you

to stay with us; and Ottilie followed in consequence. We have had no

more control over what ensued out of this, but we have the power to

make it innocuous; to guide the new circumstances to our own happiness.

Can you turn away your eyes from the fair and beautiful prospects which

I open to us? Can you insist to me, can you insist to us all, on a

wretched renunciation of them? Do you think it possible? Is it possible?

Will there be no vexations, no bitterness, no inconvenience to overcome,

if we resolve to fall back into our old state? and will any good, any

happiness whatever, arise out of it? Will your own rank, will the high

position which you have earned, be any pleasure to you, if you are to be

prevented from visiting me, or from living with me? And after what has

passed, it would not be anything but painful. Charlotte and I, with all

our property, would only find ourselves in a melancholy state. And if,

like other men of the world, you can persuade yourself that years and

separation will eradicate our feelings, will obliterate impressions so

deeply engraved; why, then the question is of these very years, which it

would be better to spend in happiness and comfort than in pain and

misery. But the last and most important point of all which I have to

urge is this: supposing that we, our outward and inward condition being

what it is, could nevertheless make up our minds to wait at all hazards,

and bear what is laid upon us, what is to become of Ottilie? She must

leave our family; she must go into society where we shall not be to care

for her, and she will be driven wretchedly to and fro in a hard, cold

world. Describe to me any situation in which Ottilie, without me,

without us, could be happy, and you will then have employed an argument

which will be stronger than every other; and if I will not promise to

yield to it, if I will not undertake at once to give up all my own

hopes, I will at least reconsider the question, and see how what you

have said will affect it."

This problem was not so easy to solve; at least, no satisfactory answer

to it suggested itself to his friend, and nothing was left to him except

to insist again and again, how grave and serious, and in many senses how

dangerous, the whole undertaking was; and at least that they ought

maturely to consider how they had better enter upon it. Edward agreed to

this, and consented to wait before he took any steps; but only under the

condition that his friend should not leave him until they had come to a

perfect understanding about it, and until the first measures had been

taken.

CHAPTER XIII

Men who are complete strangers, and wholly indifferent to one another,

if they live a long time together, are sure both of them to expose

something of their inner nature, and thus a kind of intimacy will arise

between them. All the more was it to be expected that there would soon

be no secrets between our two friends, now that they were again under

the same roof together, and in daily and hourly intercourse. They went

over again the earlier stages of their history, and the Major confessed

to Edward that Charlotte had intended Ottilie for him at the time at

which he returned from abroad, and hoped that some time or other he

might marry her. Edward was in ecstasies at this discovery; he spoke

without reserve of the mutual affection of Charlotte and the Major,

which, because it happened to fall in so conveniently with his own

wishes, he painted in very lively colors.

Deny it altogether, the Major could not; at the same time, he could not

altogether acknowledge it. But Edward only insisted on it the more. He

had pictured the whole thing to himself not as possible, but as already

concluded; all parties had only to resolve on what they all wished;

there would be no difficulty in obtaining a separation; the marriages

should follow as soon after as possible, and Edward could travel with

Ottilie.