TALES FROM THE GERMAN 
 
 OP 
 
 HEINRICH ZSCHOKKE. 
 
 BY 
 
 PARKE GODWIN 
 
 NEW EDITION 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 WILEY & HALSTED 
 
 No, S51 BROADWAY. 
 1856. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1845, by 
 
 WILEY & PUTNAM, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of 
 
 New- York. 
 
 T. B. Smith, Stereotyper 
 818 William Street 
 
TO 
 
 DR. JOHN F. GRAY, 
 
 W TESTIMONY OF MY RESPECT 
 FOR 
 
 HIS SKILL AS A PHYSICIAN AND HIS CHARACTER AS A MAN, 
 THESE VOLUMES 
 ARE INSCRIBED BY 
 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
 P 
 
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. 
 
 It was the intention of the editor to have written a full 
 account of the life and character of his author, but as he 
 learns that a translation of Zschokke's " Autobiography" is 
 likely to be incorporated with the present series of publi- 
 cations, he refrains. It may not be amiss, however, to give 
 an outline of the man, for the sake of such as may not care 
 to see a larger sketch. 
 
 Heinrich Zschokke is by birth a German, his eyes having 
 opened to the light in Magdeburg, in Prussia, somewhere 
 about the year 1774 — the same year that a comet famous 
 among the astronomers appeared. His father had acquired 
 a. considerable fortune by selling cloth to the Prussian army 
 during the Seven Years' War; and his another died while 
 he was yet a child. The loss of the latter parent seems to 
 have produced a profound impression on his mind, and early 
 inclined him to religious meditation and inquiry. 
 
 He had little relish for the so-called instruction given at 
 school, and indeed such was his apparent stupidity that the 
 master sent him away before his term had expired, to save 
 the reputation of his academy. Yet the lad, with all his 
 stupidity, was a most diligent reader, and it was afterwards 
 discovered, not by his teacher, that he had carried with 
 him from the school a larger amount, perhaps, of deep and 
 varied learning than any of his companions. It is true he 
 
VI 
 
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR. 
 
 began with such works as Robinson Crusoe, he continued 
 through all the Voyages and Travels he could lay his hand 
 upon, but he ended — strange as it is — a most correct 
 and accomplished classical scholar. At the time that his 
 school books were dreadful annoyances, he was drinking 
 from the richest springs of literature in his own and foreign 
 tongues. 
 
 There was another reason why Zschokke did not advance 
 as rapidly as others with his regular studies, which was, 
 that "he had already begun to think, and his mind and heart 
 and soul were absorbed in pondering the great questions of 
 this mysterious existence of ours. At first he thought that 
 he had solved the whole difficulty by supposing that the 
 vast universe was a great eight-day clock, in which 
 nothing was alive except God and himself — little Heinrich 
 Zschokke — all the rest being wound up and set a-going on 
 the most skilful mechanical principles. But he soon found 
 that this kind of a universe would not do ; indeed, it did 
 not satisfy his own childish mind. Day and night his ima- 
 gination was filled with the most extraordinary fancies in 
 regard to these matters, and he shut himself in the deepest 
 solitude to consider them ; and they were banished only by 
 the calls which the necessities of life made upon him for 
 active exertion. 
 
 His first step in life was to go, during the year 1788, to 
 Mecklenburg Schwerin, where he knew of an old friend 
 that was an actor, and whom he proposed to join. Learn- 
 ing, however, that his services would not be needed at the 
 theatre, even in the capacity of candle- snuffer, he found 
 himself in the world, poor, forlorn and miserable enough — 
 in fact, too miserable, he says, to think of anything more 
 agreeable than the shooting of himself through the head. 
 
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. vii 
 
 But it happened that a person, who had heard him talking 
 with his actor friend, was much struck with his observa- 
 tions, and sought him out to ask him to become a private 
 tutor in his family. This request he accepted, and for a 
 while he enjoyed unbounded freedom and kindly social 
 intercourse. 
 
 Still his hankering after the theatre continued, and he sub- 
 sequently obtained a place as correspondent and poet of the 
 theatre at Prenzlau. He accompanied the actors in their 
 various country excursions, and seems to have entered into 
 their wild and boisterous pranks among the country people 
 with great heartiness. He amended tragedies, patched up 
 farces, and re-wrote bloody melo-dramas, to the great de- 
 light of his merry friends, and his own emolument. Yet 
 what was more important, he contrived to prepare himself 
 for entering one of the higher universities, which he suc- 
 ceeded in doing, and afterwards obtained the highest rank 
 as a student. He there also wrote a drama called Abellind, 
 which speedily became a popular favorite in all the play- 
 houses of Germany, and acquired no little reputation. 
 
 During the whole of his collegiate course, Zschokke was 
 deeply troubled with religious doubts and difficulties, but 
 he became a disciple of the philosophy of Kant, and thereby 
 strengthened his convictions of Christianity sufficiently to 
 enable him to take his degrees as a clergyman, and to 
 preach very acceptably to his old friends at Magdeburg. 
 
 In 1795 Zschokke visited Switzerland, a country which 
 he had long sighed after — and becoming interested, immedi- 
 ately on his arrival, in the absorbing political disputes of the 
 people, he selected it as a place of residence. He was 
 chosen head-master of the Seminary of Reichnau, which at 
 once placed him in a position to follow his cherished stu- 
 
viii 
 
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR. 
 
 dies and do good to mankind. His political sympathies were 
 entirely on the side of popular freedom, and in his autobio- 
 graphy he relate, with great modesty the almost incredible 
 labors he performed in improving the condition of the lower 
 people, in animating the hearts of the patriots, in writing 
 for the moral and religious instruction of all classes, while 
 he was at the same time patiently instructing a numerous 
 family of youth. His public services were of the most dis- 
 interested and useful kind, impelled by a vehement enthusi- 
 asm for the advancement of his fellow men, yet controlled 
 by remarkable sagacity and calmness of judgment. Among 
 the poorer sort of people he was almost worshipped as a 
 benefactor — all the while that the more learned and idle 
 classes were instructed by grave histories, or moved alter- 
 nately to laughter or tears by the most winning and grace- 
 ful fictions. 
 
 Zschokke's literary labors comprised the " Schwitzer 
 Bote," a periodical undertaken to diffuse useful knowledge 
 among the agricultural population in regard to their parti- 
 cular branch of industry ; a History of the Princes and 
 People of Bavaria," undertaken at the instance of the cele- 
 brated historian Joannes Von Muller ; a " History of Switz- 
 erland:" the "Miscellany," a periodical work on physical 
 science, addressed to the Swiss people ; some eight or ten 
 novels and about fifty tales, and a book of religious devo- 
 tion, called M Hours of Meditation," which was published at 
 intervals, in twelve volumes, and has already gone through 
 twenty-seven editions. Some of his talcs have reached the 
 fortieth regular edition. 
 
 Zschokke, it has been remarked, was greatly troubled 
 with religious misgivings. He tried to read and reason 
 them down ; he found a temporary support in the philoso- 
 
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. ix 
 
 phy of Kant ; but it was all in vain. Only after he had 
 engaged earnestly in patriotic exertion ; only after he gave 
 himself to deeds of active benevolence — did these distress- 
 ing feelings leave him, and the gospel of Christ reveal itself 
 to his mind as in truth Divine. He passed from the dark 
 and tempestuous abyss on which he had floated, up into the 
 serene heaven of a living Faith, not through the narrow 
 gateway of a wretched Logic, but along the broad and beau- 
 tiful road of actual Work. When he ceased to wrestle 
 with the grim spectres of the imagination, and addressed 
 himself with true manly earnestness to the great business 
 of life, he found peace. Traces of his feelings in his various 
 spiritual moods will be found throughout his fictions. 
 
 In 1805 our author was married, and still lives at a sim- 
 ple and beautiful country place near Aarau, surrounded by 
 a large family, and universally esteemed wherever he is 
 known. In the seventy-fourth year of his age, after an 
 intensely exciting but useful life, he awaits with calmness 
 the summons to the eternal world. 
 
 Zschokke's literary works have been generally under- 
 taken with no view to either wealth or fame, having been 
 mostly suggested from time to time by the incidents of his 
 daily experience. His romances, particularly, are the re- 
 sults of moments of recreation when he would relieve his 
 mind from severer tasks. Yet I scarcely know a writer 
 who has been more successful in this walk of art. Of the 
 forty or fifty tales of his which I have read, no two are 
 alike — so great is his variety — yet all are marked by an 
 easy grace of manner, purity of language, and rapid and 
 interesting incidents. The merely humorous among them, 
 irresistibly droll as many of them are, can hardly offend 
 any taste, while they often illustrate important truths. But 
 
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. 
 
 the more serious will be found to be pervaded by a profound 
 religious philosophy — combining the broadest liberality 
 with the finest sympathies and the noblest aspirations. 
 
 It remains only to say, in regard to the present work, 
 that the person whose name is on the title-page is rather 
 the editor than the translator. Several of the tales to be 
 embraced in the series have been kindly furnished him by 
 friends, whose names or initials will be attached to their 
 respective translations ; ana in the case of one or two others, 
 which he has found in magazines or newspapers already 
 very well rendered, he has satisfied himself with merely 
 comparing them faithfully with the originals, and correcting 
 or re-writing such parts as seemed to require it. Should 
 the public demand warrant the expense, several parts of 
 the size of this will be published, so as to comprise a com- 
 plete collection of the best tales of the author ; otherwise, 
 the series will only be extended to two parts. And as the 
 tales embrace Historical, Satirical, Mystic, Humorous and 
 Moral subjects, the editor will give as great a variety as 
 possible in each number. P. G. 
 
THE FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY, 
 
FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 PRELIMINARY. 
 
 On my last journey through the north of Germany, I did not 
 regret going a little out of the way, to see once more one who 
 had been a favorite in the golden time of my life. It must be 
 understood, however, that in the following story, the names of 
 countries, places, and persons, are concealed or disguised. Yet 
 the history, as improbable as it may appear to some, is none the 
 less true on that account. 
 
 This favorite was the Baron Olivier, of Flyeln, with whom 
 I had pursued the sciences at the High School of Gottingen. He 
 was then an excellent youth, and at the same time one of the 
 most intellectual. A love of Greek and Roman literature had 
 brought and bound us together ; I called him my Achilles, and he 
 called me his Patroclus. In fact, he was a model that might 
 have served any artist for an Achilles. In form and bearing like 
 a young demigod, pride and goodness shone in the dark fire ot 
 his glance ; supple and active as any one ; the boldest swimmer, 
 the swiftest-footed runner, the wildest rider, the most graceful 
 dancer, he had withal, the most generous and fearless heart 
 His very nobleness involved him in many an unpleasant affair, 
 as he always took the part of the oppressed. He had therefore 
 many occasions to fight with others ; did not avoid even the best 
 swordsman ; went into the contest as to a pastime ; was never 
 himself wounded, as if he bore a charmed life, yet seldom suf- 
 fered any one to escape him unmarked. 
 
 Since our separation, we had several times written to each 
 other, but as it often happens, when one begins to be tossed by the 
 2 
 
2 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 waves of life, though we did not wholly forget each other, we 
 at last dropped the correspondence. I knew nothing of him, 
 finally, except that he had become a Captain in a regiment of 
 infantry. He must have been already about five and-thirty 
 years old, and in the first rank. In the course of my journey, 
 I had learned, quite accidentally, the station of his regiment, and 
 this reconciled me to the roundabout way. 
 
 The post-boy drove me into the streets of an old, straggling, 
 rich commercial city, and stopped before one of the most respect- 
 able hotels. As soon as I had learned which was my chamber 
 from the waiter, I asked him, whether the Baron of Flyeln was 
 with the regiment now in garrison of the place ? 
 
 "Do you mean the major?" asked the waiter. 
 
 " Major he may be ! Is his residence far from this ? Can he 
 be spoken with at this time ? It is late, I know — but I wish 
 some one to conduct me to him." 
 
 " Pardon me, but the Baron is not with his regiment — he has 
 not been for a long time. He took leave — or rather he was 
 obliged to take it." 
 
 "Obliged ? Wherefore?" 
 
 " He has played all sorts of pranks and wonderful capers — I 
 know scarcely what ! He is at least not right in the head : he is 
 cracked — cracked — crazed. They say, he has studied himself 
 out of his wits." 
 
 This news frightened me so at first, that I completely lost pos- 
 session of myself. 
 
 "And what then?" stammered I, finally, in order to learn 
 something more definite about him. 
 
 "Pardon me," said the obsequious waiter, " but what I know, 
 is only from hearsay, for he was sent away before I came to this 
 house : still they tell many things about him. By way of a joke, 
 he got up many duels with the officers, and called each one thou, 
 even the General — each one, let him be who he might ! When 
 he came into possession of a rich inheritance from his uncle, he 
 imagined himself as poor as a beggar, could not pay his debts, 
 and sold everything he had on and about him. He even vented 
 blasphemous speeches in his phrenzy. But the funniest part of 
 it is, that he married himself to an ordinary woman, a gypsy, in 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 3 
 
 spite of his family. His very dress became, in the end, so queer 
 and fantastic, that the boys in the streets ran after him. In 
 the city, they grieved very much, on account of his vagaries, for 
 he was generally liked before that, and must have been, while 
 he had his right mind, an excellent man." 
 " And where is he now ?" 
 
 " I cannot say. He has quitted the town — we hear and see 
 nothing of him. His family have probably got him a place 
 somewhere that he may be cured." 
 
 The waiter could give no further information. I had already 
 heard too much. I threw myself shuddering into a seat. I 
 recalled to mind the heroic form of the intellectual youth, of 
 whose future I had indulged such fond anticipations ; who, by 
 means of his rank as well as through his large family con- 
 nexions, might have so easily attained the first place in the army 
 or the state ; who, by his knowledge and rare endowments, 
 seemed to have been called to all that is great — and who was 
 now one of those unfortunates, before whom men shrink back in 
 dread ! Oh ! that the Angel of Life had rather withdrawn him 
 from the world, than left him a miserable caricature and mourn- 
 ful spectacle to his friends. 
 
 As anxious as I had been to see the good Olivier, it was no 
 longer pleasant to me to inquire about him in the city. Alas, he 
 was no more Olivier — no more the manly Achilles, but a pitiable 
 unknown Torso. I would not have wished to see him, even if it 
 had been easy for me to find him. I must then have exchanged 
 the memory of my Gottingen Achilles for the image of a madman, 
 which would have robbed me of one of my loveliest and most 
 pleasing recollections. I did not wish to see him, for the same 
 reason that I avoid looking at a friend in his coffin, that I may 
 retain in my thoughts the image of the living only ; or, as I for- 
 bear to enter rooms which I formerly occupied, but which are 
 now in the possession of another, and arranged in a different 
 style. The Past and the Present then become blended in my 
 imagination in a very painful confusion. 
 
 I was yet lost in various speculations on the nature of human 
 existence, and how the same spirit, which spans the spaces of the 
 Universe and aspires to the Highest, becomes through the de- 
 
4 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 pression and injury of the nervous system, like a jarring ana 
 discordant instrument, — to itself and to the rest of the world an 
 unintelligible enigma — when the waiter entered and called me 
 to supper. 
 
 The table of the brilliant dining-room was crowded with guests. 
 It happened that a place was assigned me in the neighborhood of 
 some officers of the occupying army. I naturally, as soon as 
 the ice was broken between us, turned the conversation to my 
 friend Olivier. I gave the minutest description of him, that 
 there might be no mistake as to his person ; for it was probable, 
 as I believed then, that the mad Baron of Flyeln might be some 
 other than my Achilles of Gottingen. But all that I asked, and 
 all that I heard, convinced me too surely that there was no room 
 for mistake. 
 
 " It is, indeed, a sad affair, that of the Baron," sighed one of 
 the officers. " Everybody liked him ; he was one of the bravest 
 of the regiment, — in fact, a dare-devil. We saw that, during the 
 last campaign in France. What none of us dared to do, he did 
 as if in sport. He excelled in everything. Just think of the 
 affair at the battery of Belle-Alliance ! We had lost it ; — the 
 General tore the very hair from his head. Flyeln cried out, 
 1 We must take it again, or all is gone !' We had then made 
 three sallies in vain. Flyeln went out with his company once 
 more, cut his way through a whole battalion of guards, and, at 
 last pressing on with the most horrible butchery, stormed the 
 battery." 
 
 " But it cost half the company," interrupted an old captain 
 near me ; "I was an eye-witness. He came out, however, as 
 usual, without a scratch. The most monstrous luck always 
 attended the man. The common soldiers cannot even now be 
 persuaded that the Baron is not sword, spear, and bullet-proof." 
 
 I heard with real transport the eulogies passed upon the 
 good Olivier. I knew him again with all his virtues. They 
 particularly praised his beneficence. He was the founder and 
 improver of a school for soldiers' children, and had gone to great 
 expense on account of it. He had done much good in secret ; 
 always led a simple and retired life ; never gave way to the ex- 
 travagance or dissoluteness to which youth, beauty, vigor and 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 5 
 
 health invited him. Yes, the officers assured me, he had had a 
 signal influence in ennobling the tone of the corps, — in improving 
 their manners as well as in enlarging their knowledge. He 
 had even read lectures upon various subjects, useful to the war- 
 riors, until he was silenced." 
 
 " And why silenced V asked I with some astonishment. 
 
 " Why, even in these lectures," answered one of my neigh- 
 bors, " he discovered some symptoms of his mental disorder. 
 No Jacobin in the French National Convention ever raved so 
 vehemently against our monarchical arrangements, and against 
 the various European Courts and their politics, as he did at 
 times. He said, openly that the people would sooner or later 
 help themselves — themselves and the king — against ministerial 
 domination, priestcraft, and pecuniary exactions. He thought 
 that the revolution would spread inevitably from nation to 
 nation, and that in less than half a century, the whole political 
 aspect of Europe would be changed. But enough : the lectures 
 were forbidden, and very properly and justly. Even so madly 
 did he declaim at times, that he assailed the nobility and their 
 prerogatives. If any one reminded him, that he himself was a 
 baron, he would answer, ' You are silly to say so ; I am a plain 
 man of sense, and have been from the cradle no better than 
 our sutler there !' " 
 
 " But that was only a preliminary symptom of his derange- 
 ment," interposed a young lieutenant. " The most decided act 
 of craziness was, when, falling in with Lieut. Col. Baron Von 
 Berkin, he saluted him with a box on the ears, and then threw 
 him down stairs ; afterwards, however, he did not dare to fight 
 with him, by which means he offended the whole officer- 
 crops." 
 
 " Yet he was always a good fighter ; one who had little fear 
 for the naked sword," said I. 
 
 " Until then, we had supposed him such ; but as I said before, 
 his whole nature changed. When he went out to the place 
 where they ought to have fought, he appeared without a sword, 
 and with only a whip in his hand, and said to the Lieutenant. 
 Colonel, in the presence of all of us, ' You silly fool, you, if 1 
 should really tear you open with my sword, what good would it 
 
6 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 do you V And as the Colonel, no longer able to contain his 
 wrath, drew his sword, the Major calmly bared his breast, held 
 it up to him, and said, 1 Are you anxious to become an assas- 
 sin ? — strike then !' We here interrupted the conversation, and 
 desired him to fight the Lieutenant-Colonel as duty and honor 
 commanded. Then he called us all fools together, whose max- 
 ims of honor, he said, belonged appropriately to the Mad-house 
 or to the House of Correction. This confirmed our opinion that 
 he was not altogether right in his upper story. One of us 
 insulted him, but he took no notice of it, and only laughed. We 
 repaired to the General, and frankly related to him the whole 
 proceeding. The General was grieved, and the more so, be- 
 cause that very day he had received an Order for the Major 
 from the Court. He enjoined us to say nothing — he would set- 
 tle all — the Major must give satisfaction. The next morning at 
 parade, the General, according to command, handed over the 
 Order with a suitable speech to the Major. He did not take it, 
 but answered in respectful words, that " he had fought against 
 Napoleon for the sake of his country, and not for a little bit of 
 ribbon. If he deserved any praise he did not wish to wear it on 
 his breast, as a show to the eyes of everybody." The General 
 was almost startled out of his senses. But no prayers nor 
 menaces could move the Major to take the royal distinction. 
 Next, the officers stepped forth and declared that they could no 
 longer serve with him unless he rendered some satisfaction. The 
 affair came to trial ; the Major was imprisoned ; and was only 
 released by the Court. Then his malady broke out in its ful- 
 ness. He suffered his beard to grow long like a Jew's — wore 
 ludicrous dresses — married, to spite his relations, a quite ordi- 
 nary, yet pretty girl — a foundling, for whom he had already 
 had r.e affair with the Lieutenant-Colonel — thought himself, for 
 a long while, miserably poor — and finally, did so many foolish 
 things, that he was exiled by royal command, under strict guar- 
 dianship, to his own estate." 
 " Where is he now V 1 I asked. 
 
 " Still at his own estate, in Flyeln, in the castle of his deceased 
 unc le — distant, it may be, ten hours from this. For a long year 
 no one went to him without permission — even the management 
 
THE VISIT. 
 
 7 
 
 of his business was taken away from him. It is now restored 
 to him, though he must still render a yearly account. He does 
 not venture to stir a step beyond his domains. He has solemnly 
 excommunicated the whole world, and does not permit relatives, 
 acquaintances, or friends, to come near him. They have now, 
 for a year and more, heard nothing of him." 
 
 THE VISIT. 
 
 From all the tales of the officers it was clear, that the unfor- 
 tunate Olivier, after the loss of his understanding, would always 
 remain a good-natured fool j and that probably the wild spirit 
 of freedom, which for some years had been the fashion in Ger- 
 many, had seized him more vehemently than it ought, or had 
 at least given a color to his phantasies. 
 
 All this caused me great apprehension. I could not get to sleep 
 for a long while in the night. When I awoke in the morning, 
 it was already late ; but I felt myself refreshed and strengthened. 
 The world appeared to me in a serener light than on the previous 
 evening, and I resolved to seek my much-to-be-pitied friend in 
 his place of exile. 
 
 After I had casually surveyed the lions of the place, I flung 
 myself into a waggon, and drove all night and the following day, 
 towards Flyeln, to a seaport in the neighborhood. The village 
 of Flyeln lay yet ten miles distant from this town. The post- 
 master, when he heard where I wanted to go, laughed and re- 
 minded me that I was going on a useless journey. The Baron, 
 he said, did not permit himself to be seen by strangers. I also 
 learned that he had not improved in the condition of his mind, 
 but that the good man had become firmly persuaded that the 
 whole world during the last century had turned crazy, and that 
 the remedy was to go forth from Flyeln. In this belief — all the 
 world holding him, and he holding all the world, to be senseless 
 — he separated himself altogether from other men. His peasants 
 find themselves none the less well off on account of it, for he did 
 much for them. But in return they must obey his whims in the 
 
8 
 
 FOOL OF THE XIX CENTURY. 
 
 smallest particulars, wear trousers with long jackets and round 
 hats, suffer their beards to grow long, and thou all people, espe- 
 cially upon the grounds of Flyeln — even the most important 
 personages. Aside from these crack-brained notions, he was 
 one of the most sensible men in the world. 
 
 Notwithstanding the warning of the post-master, I continued 
 the attempt, and went on towards Flyeln. Why should it trou- 
 ble me to go ten miles for nothing, when, for the sake of Olivier, 
 I had already ventured so far out of my way ? Nor had I 
 reason to fear that I should be turned back, since he had nor 
 suffered in his memory. The road was a miserable untravelled 
 route, sometimes through deep sand, sometimes through newly 
 dug brooks and miry ground, sometimes through rough defiles ; 
 and more than once my waggon was like to have upset. But, about 
 one hour's ride from Flyeln, the land began to rise. The fields 
 stood in excellent order upon a wide plain ; on the right, an oak 
 forest stretched in the distance, with its dark green leaves, like an 
 immense bower ; while on the left, an endless sea, a broad heaving 
 mirror, with its shining clouds, completed the panorama. The 
 village of Flyeln peered out of the fruit trees, willows, and pop- 
 lars before me ; in front, rose a large old structure, the castle, 
 encompassed by a wood of wild chestnuts ; and behind, nearer 
 the water, lay the village of Lower Flyeln, also attached to the 
 domain of Olivier, picturesquely relieved by rugged ranges of 
 rocks, which with woody cliffs projected like little peninsulas far 
 into the sea. Fishermen's boats with sails swarmed upon the 
 shores, a ship was riding upon the ridge of the sea, while clouds 
 of white sea gulls fluttered upon the air. 
 
 The nearer I came to the village and castle, the more pictu- 
 resque and cheerful grew the scenery. It possessed the peculiar 
 charms of a country bordering the sea — those which spring from 
 the mingling of the beauties of landscape with the majesty of 
 the ocean, retired and peaceful cottages contrasting with the 
 stormy elements. At any rate, the place of exile selected by my 
 friend had attractions enough to have induced any one to prefer 
 it to the liberty of living in bustling cities. 
 
 In the fields, as well as in the gardens, I soon discovered the 
 famous Flyeln beards. Even the hotel-keeper before whose inn 
 
THE VISIT 
 
 9 
 
 I reined up and alighted was profusely covered with hair about 
 his chia and mouth. He returned my greeting in a friendly man- 
 ner, but seemed to be rather astonished at my arrival. " Dost 
 thou seek the proprietor ?" he asked me courteously. I permit- 
 ted the somewhat unusual thou to pass with a smile, answering 
 simply yes. " Then, I must inquire concerning thy name, rank, 
 and dwelling-place. These must be announced to Mr. Olivier. 
 He does not willingly receive travellers." 
 
 " But he will certainly receive me ! Let him be told that one 
 of his eldest and best friends, in passing by, wishes to speak 
 with him for a little while. Let nothing further be said to him." 
 
 " As thou will'st," replied the host ; " but I can anticipate the 
 answer." 
 
 While the hotel-keeper was looking for a messenger, I went 
 slowly through the village, direct towards the castle, to which a 
 foot-path that ran between the houses and a fruit garden seemed 
 to invite me. But it led me astray to a building which I took for 
 a wash-house. On one side beyond a meadow flowed a pretty 
 broad brook over which the high and dark wild chestnuts of the 
 ancient homestead of the Baron flung their shadows. I deter- 
 mined upon the hazard of introducing myself to Olivier unan- 
 nounced. I had purposely concealed my name from the hotel- 
 keeper, in order to see whether Olivier would recognize me when 
 he should meet me. I crossed over the meadow — and found after 
 long seeking a bridge over the brook, and a path that led through 
 the underbrush towards the wild chestnuts. These overshadow- 
 ed a spacious round plot near the castle, ornamented with green 
 turf. On both sides rustic chairs were placed under the broad 
 branches of the trees, and upon one of the benches sat — I 
 was not overcome — Olivier. He was reading a book. At his 
 feet a child about three years old played in the grass. Near 
 him sat a beautiful young woman with an infant at her breast. 
 The group was not a common one. I stood still, half hidden by 
 the shrubs. None of them looked towards me. My eyes hung 
 only on the good Olivier. Even the black beard which twined 
 about his chin, and by means of the whiskers, connected with 
 the dark locks of his head, became him — and iis to his drosf, 
 though it was peculiar, it was not odd. On his head, he carried 
 
10 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 a neat cap, with the shade turned against the sun ; his breast 
 was bare or covered only with wide overlapping shirt collars ; 
 a green jacket buttoned tight in front, with lappets reaching 
 down to his kness, loose sailor trousers, and half-boots completed 
 his attire. He was dressed much in the same way as the pea- 
 sants, only more tastefully and with finer stuffs. His mien was 
 quiet and thoughtful, and he looked like a man just entering his 
 fortieth year. His beard gave him an heroic aspect and bear- 
 ing. He stood before me as I would imagine one of the noble 
 forms of the middle ages. 
 
 In the meantime, the messenger of the tavern-keeper came 
 from the castle to the circle of trees. The young fellow took off 
 his beaver and said, " Sir, there is a stranger on his journey here, 
 who wishes to speak with thee. He says that he is one of thy 
 oldest and best friends." 
 
 Olivier looked up and inquired, " Journey ? Is he on foot ?" 
 
 " No, he came with the post !" 
 
 " What is his name ? Who is he ?" 
 
 " That he won't tell." 
 
 " He must let me alone. I will not see him," cried Olivier, 
 and made a sign with his hand to the youth that he should de- 
 part. 
 
 " But you must see me Olivier," cried I, stepping forth, but first 
 bowing courteously to the young woman. He, without moving, 
 even without returning my salutation, stretched his neck towards 
 me, surveyed me for some time with a sharp glance, looked 
 grave, threw his book down, then approached me, saying, " With 
 whom am I speaking ?" 
 
 " What, Achilles no longer knows his Patroclus !" replied I. 
 
 " 'G to to i !" he exclaimed, greatly amazed, while he spread 
 out his arms, " welcome, noble Patroclus, though in a French 
 frock and with powdered hair." Then he fell upon my Dosom. 
 In spite of his sarcastic speech both he and I were moved, and 
 gave way to tears. An interval of twenty years melted away 
 in the embrace. We breathed again as we had upon the shores 
 of the Leine or at Bovenden, or amid the ruins of the old castle 
 of Gleichen. 
 
 Thereupon, with eyes sparkling with joy, he led me to the 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 11 
 
 charming young mother who modestly reddened as he said to 
 her, " See, this is Norbert, — thou knowest him already from 
 many of my stories !" and to me, " That is my dearest wife." 
 
 She smiled with the veritable smile of an angel, and said with 
 an air and voice more kind even than her words, " Thou noble 
 friend of Olivier, thrice welcome ! I have long since desired 
 the pleasure of thy personal acquaintance." 
 
 I would have said something complimentary in return for this 
 fine speech, but I confess that the familiar Thou which greeted 
 me, unaccustomed to hear it spoken from such lovely lips, and in 
 so unrestrained a manner, quite deprived me of self-possession.* 
 
 " My gracious lady," I stammered finally, " I have — by a 
 roundabout way of more than forty miles — purchased cheaply — 
 the happiness — you and your husband — my oldest friend " 
 
 " Hallo, Norbert," interrupted Olivier laughing, " only one 
 word in the beginning, a request, — call my wife as thou callest 
 thy God, simply Thou. Do not disturb the plain customs of 
 Flyeln with the fooleries of a German master of ceremonies and 
 dealer in compliments : it makes a disagreeable discord in our 
 ears. Imagine to thyself, that thou art two hundred years, or two 
 hundred miles, away from Germany and Europe, and living 
 again in a natural world, — somewhere, if you please, in the 
 good old times of the Odyssey.." 
 
 " Well, Olivier, you have managed to be Thou and Thou 
 with so worthy a woman that no one need be requested twice 
 on that score ; and as to thee, Baroness, then " 
 
 " Once more hold !" cried Olivier, laughing loudly between 
 each word, " thy Baroness agrees with Thou, about as well as 
 thy French frock and shorn beard agrees with the name of Pa- 
 troclus. My peasants are no more bond-servants but freemen ; 
 I and my wife are no more nor less barons than they are. Call 
 my Amelia, as everybody names her here, Mother — the noblest 
 title of a wife — or at most Madam." 
 
 "It appears," I interposed, "you good people have here in 
 the midst of a kingdom, founded a new republic and abolished all 
 nobility." 
 
 * The Germans only use thou to persons with whom they are on intimate 
 terms. 
 
19 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " Right — all but the nobility of sentiment." answered Olivier 
 " and in that respect thou findest us in this land more extensive 
 ly aristocratic than in thine own Germany. For with you nobili- 
 ty of mind is of little worth, and nobility of birth is falling into 
 the mire where it properly belongs." 
 
 " Pardon me, but thou art somewhat Jacobinically inclined," 
 responded I ; " who told thee that nobility of birth was sinking 
 in public opinion among us ?" 
 
 " 'ft ttowoi P? he exclaimed, " must I teach thee, then 1 I 
 knew, some years ago, a poor ragged Jew, that you pious 
 Christians would rather have had not born than born. He 
 chaffered so much money together, however, that he soon took 
 his letters from the post-office under the address of a nobleman. 
 After some years he was a rich man, and the courtly Germans 
 readily conceived that the fellow must have sprung from some 
 high birth. All addressed him from that time forth as a no- 
 bly-descended Banker. But the secret of it was, that the Bank- 
 er with his ducats, helped the finance minister and the prosperi- 
 ty bringing war minister in their straits for money. Forthwith 
 then, the useful Banker was addressed and designated as the 
 most nobly born Baron. This illumination of the Germans — 
 this mockery of nobility, has spread in a few years much fur- 
 ther than thou believest. But I hope as nobility of birth comes 
 to be regarded among you as worthless, nobility of mind will be 
 much more legitimate and sufficient." 
 
 The Baroness, in order to put her infant to rest, and to prepare 
 a chamber for me, left us with the children. Olivier led me 
 through his garden, whose beds were filled with the choicest 
 flowers. About a fountain, there stood on high pedestals of 
 black stone white marble busts with inscriptions. I read there : 
 Socrates, Cincinnatus, Columbus, Luther, Bartholomew, Las 
 Casas, Rousseau, Franklin, and Peter the Great. 
 
 " I see thou still livest in good company," said I. " Is there 
 among the living any more worthy than thy excellent wife, 
 with those two curly Amorettas, or among the dead, any more 
 honorable than these here ?" 
 
 " Didst thou, then, doubt my good taste V 
 
FOOL OP^ THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 13 
 
 " No, indeed, Olivier ; but I heard that thou hadst completely- 
 retired from the world." 
 
 " Only because I love good company, which is nowhere more 
 scarce than in your assemblages of people of ton !" 
 
 " Still, thou wilt grant it possible that good company may be 
 found out of Flyeln !" 
 
 " Certainly, Norbert, but I will not waste time and money in 
 going to find it. Let us, however, break off from this topic. Ye 
 Europeans have so frightfully departed from the holy simplicity 
 of nature, both in great things and small — for more than a 
 thousand years have so much resembled sophisticated brutes, 
 that the unnatural has become your nature, and ye no longer 
 comprehend a plain man. Ye are such corrupters of the human 
 race that a healthy being must dread to be among you. No 
 thou noble Norbert, let us quit this subject ! Thou wouldst not 
 readily understand me if I spoke. I value thee — I love thee — 
 yet I pity thee." 
 
 " Pity ? Why ?" 
 
 " Since thou livest among fools, and must remain among 
 them, though against thy conscience." 
 
 From these words of Olivier's, I inferred that he had gone 
 over to his fixed idea. It was uncomfortable to me to be with 
 him. I wished to draw him to some other subject, looked anx- 
 iously around, and began, as I happened to remark his beard, 
 to praise it, and especially since it was so becoming. 
 
 " How long since thou hast suffered it to grow ?" asked 1 
 
 " Since I returned to my senses, and had courage enough to 
 be reasonable. Does it really please thee, Norbert ? Why not 
 wear thine own so, too ?" 
 
 I drew my breath, and said, "If it were the common custom, 
 I would with pleasure." 
 
 " That's it ! While Folly is the Fashion, every vestige 
 of Nature, even upon the chin, must be rooted out with 
 brush and razor — thou hast not the courage to be reasonable, 
 even in a small matter. This ornament of man, mother Nature 
 has not given in vain, any more than she has the hair on the 
 head. But man, in his foolishness, imagines himself wiser than 
 his Creator, and first smears his chin with soap, and then slicks it 
 
14 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 with a knife. So long as the nations have not altogether departed 
 from Nature, they stick to the beard. Notwithstanding Christ 
 and the Apostles wore it, Pope Gregory VII. put it under ban. 
 And still the clergy held to it for a long while, as do the Capucins 
 at this day ; but when some old fops began to be ashamed of 
 their grey hair, they began to destroy that on their chins, and to 
 confine that on their heads in a peruke. When people became ac- 
 customed to belie themselves in all things else, they sought to belie 
 their age. Old men frisked about with blond hair and smooth 
 chins, like young girls, and that, also, made them effeminate in 
 disposition ; and other men followed the example, not having the 
 courage to abide by the truth. Compare the heroic form of an 
 Achilles, Alexander, or Julius Caesar, with one of our modern 
 Field-Marshals or Lieutenants, in their untasteful uniforms; one 
 of our exquisites, with his neck-cloth and walking stick, to an 
 Antinous ; thyself, O Councilman Norbert, with a Senator of 
 old Greece or Rome ! Must we not laugh, to split our sides, 
 over the caricatures that we are ?" 
 
 " Thou art right, Olivier !" said I, interposing, " who will 
 deny that the old Roman or Greek dress is more graceful than 
 ours ? But to us in the North — we Europeans — a close dress is 
 proper and needful ; we should feel somewhat uncomfortable in 
 the beautiful flowing robes of an Oriental or a Southron." 
 
 " Look at me, Norbert," said Olivier, laughing, as he placed 
 himself before me, drew his cap on one side of his head, stuck 
 his left arm jauntily on his hip, and continued, " I, a North- 
 lander, in my close, convenient, and simple dress, do I compare 
 disadvantageously with an old Roman citizen ? Why does the 
 Spanish, Italian, and German costume, of the Middle Ages, still 
 please us? Because it was beautiful. An Austrian knight, in 
 his helmet, nay, a hussar, would even now catch the eye of a 
 Julius Caesar. Why, oh ye stiff gentlemen, do ye not follow 
 better models, as our women have already begun to do, since 
 they have cast aside trains and powdered toupees ? Should 
 ye come to be once ashamed of being caricatures externally, 
 perhaps ye would get nearer to Nature internally. There is 
 some truth in the proverb that ' dress makes the man.' And I tell 
 thee, Norbert, my Amelia has found me handsomer, since 1 have 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX CENTURY. 
 
 15 
 
 only cropped my beard with the shears, and not destroyed it ; 
 yes, I believe since that time, her affections have grown more 
 ardent, for her cheeks lean no more on a soft woman face, but 
 upon a man's. Women ever like a manly man." 
 
 As Olivier spoke, he became quite excited. In fact, he stood 
 before me as a hero of the earlier times, as if an old portrait 
 had stepped out from its frame alive, as a being of that elder 
 world, which we admire, but cannot restore. 
 
 "Really, thou almost convertest me to an honest beard," said 
 I to him, "and I should profit by it, if thou didst, since three 
 times every week I should escape the torture of the barber." 
 
 "Friend," exclaimed Olivier, laughing, " it would not stop 
 with that. The beard draws many things after it. Only fancy 
 thy figure, with its crisp beard, and the three-cornered peaked 
 hat on thy head, like a Jew — thy powdered pate, with a rat's-tail 
 in the neck — and thy French frock, with skirts that stick out 
 behind, like a swallow's tail ! Away with the nonsense ! Clothe 
 thyself modestly, becomingly, warmly, comfortably, in good 
 taste, so as to please the eye, but not to distort the sublime form 
 of man. Banish all superfluity. For what is superfluous is 
 unreasonable, and what is unreasonable is against nature." 
 
 As we continued our dispute on this point, the Baroness 
 sent a servant to call us to dinner. I followed Olivier silently, 
 with my head full of thoughts which I did not dare to utter. In 
 the whole course of my life, it had never happened to me to hear so 
 philosophical a fool. I was hardly prepared to make a reply to 
 his remarks on European habiliments ; for what he said seemed 
 to be right. The old saying is not without meaning, that 
 " Fools and children often speak truth." 
 
 THE FEAST. 
 
 In consequence of Olivier's liking for the old Romans and the 
 Homeric Greeks I was troubled, on my return to the castle, as 
 to his dinner. For to infer from his cap, beard, and appearance, 
 in other respects, I could hardly do otherwise than expect a 
 deportment at table which would be highly uncomfortable to me — 
 
10 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 that I should at least be obliged to take my soup either stretched 
 out in the Roman fashion upon couches, or tailor-wise, and in 
 good Oriental fashion, with my legs crossed under each other. 
 
 The amiable Baroness met us and conducted us into the dining- 
 room. My anxiety was removed as soon as I caught sight of 
 European tables and chairs. The guests soon arrived ; they 
 were the maid, the servant, and the secretary of the Baron. An 
 active young chambermaid remained without a seat, and waited 
 as a Hebe, at the feasts of the Patriarchs. The Baron, before 
 we sat down, briefly said grace. Then began the work of 
 mastication. The food was excellently prepared, but in a simple 
 style. I remarked that, except the wine, all the dainties were 
 products of their own soil or of the neighboring sea ; and all the 
 foreign spices were wanting, even pepper, in the place of which 
 there were salt, cummin and fennel. 
 
 The conversation was quiet, but sociable, and related chiefly 
 to rural affairs, and the events of the immediate neighborhood. 
 The people behaved themselves, in the presence of their master, 
 neither bashfully nor immodestly, but with great circumspection. 
 I felt myself among these good-looking and bearded men, with 
 their brotherly and respectful thou, I must say it, somewhat odd 
 and ludicrous, and I sat there, with my powdered head, stiff 
 pig-tail, French frock and smooth chin— there, in the midst of 
 Europe — as if in a strange world. It pleased me, that as dif- 
 ferent as I was from them, and as often as between the thous, 
 especially when speaking with the Baroness, I slipped in a You, 
 no one burst into a laugh. 
 
 After a half hour the servants left us, and we then protracted 
 the feast, and under the influence of the old golden Rhine wine, 
 grew unreserved in conversation. 
 
 " I perceive," said the Baroness gaily, while she placed before 
 me a choice bit of pastry, " that in Flyeln, thou missest the 
 Hamburg or Berlin cooking." 
 
 " And I perceive, my amiable friend, that an eulogium — so 
 much deserved — of Flyeln cooking, is due from me, which I 
 can give, to the disadvantage of Berlin and Hamburg kitchens, 
 without being obliged to indulge any flattery. No, I have 
 earned for the first time in my life, how luxurious a feast can 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 17 
 
 be dished up from our own domestic products, and how easily we 
 may dispense with the Moluccas." 
 
 "Add to that, friend Norbert," said Olivier, " and with the 
 Moluccas, the torture of the brain, and those foreign vices which 
 spring from irritated or exhausted nerves in a sickly body." 
 
 " Without healthy flesh and blood, 
 Neither mind nor heart are good." 
 
 " The most of Europeans are at this day self-murderers — 
 murderers of soul and of body — by means of cookery. What 
 your Rousseaus and Pestalozzis correct, ye destroy again with 
 coffee, tea, pepper, nutmegs, and cinnamon. Live simply, live 
 naturally, and two-thirds of your preachments, books of morals, 
 houses of correction, and apothecaries, might be spared." 
 
 " I grant it," said I, " but that was long since settled ; yet — " 
 "Well then," cried he, "even in that consists the irredeema- 
 ble foolishness of the Europeans. They know the better way 
 and avoid it ; they abominate the worse and pursue it. They 
 poison their meats and drinks with expensive poisons, and keep 
 doctors and apothecaries to restore them to health, in order to 
 renew the poisoning. They foster a premature ripeness in 
 their young men and maidens, and afterwards mourn inconsola- 
 bly over their ungovernable impulses. They incite, by means 
 of laws and rewards, to the corruption of manners, and then 
 punish it with the gibbet and sword. Are they not altogether 
 like idiots?" 
 
 " But, dear Olivier, that has been so from the earliest times !" 
 
 " Yes, Norbert, from the earliest times — that is, as soon and 
 as often as men passed a single step from Nature towards bar- 
 barism. But we should be warned by the sufferings of our an- 
 cestors, to be not only as wise, but more wise than they. Other- 
 wise, of what use is knowledge 1 Him I regard as the wisest 
 man, who, to the innocence and purity of a child of Nature, 
 joins the manifold knowledge and endowments of the age. Dost 
 thou concede this ?" 
 
 " Why should I not ?" 
 
 " Well, thou dost grant this ; yet thou makest not even a be- 
 ginning of improvement in thy house and inward state." 
 3 
 
18 
 
 ZSCIIOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " That is still possible under certain circumstances. Mean 
 while, let me tell thee, Olivier, that we, artificial men, as well 
 as the more simple men of Nature, are bound by the hard-to-be 
 broken bands of custom. Our fictitious being becomes itself a 
 kind of Nature, which cannot suddenly be laid aside with impu- 
 nity." 
 
 " Formerly I thought the same, Norbert. I have been per- 
 suaded to the contrary by experience. It costs only a single 
 grievous moment — a strong heart ; the first struggle against the 
 frenzy of mankind will break through all to happiness and quiet. 
 I hesitated long : I contended long in vain. A mere accident 
 decided me ; yes, it decided my own fortune and the fortune 
 of my chosen friends." 
 
 " And that accident, tell it me quickly," said I, for I was 
 curious to learn what had worked so powerfully upon the de- 
 termination and understanding of my friend, as to draw him 
 over to such odd caprices, and such a fanciful life and conduct. 
 
 He arose and left us. 
 
 " Not so, friend Norbert," said the Baroness, while she looked 
 at me silently for some time ; and there lay in the soft smile of 
 her eyes a question that went to my heart, " Thou feelest pity 
 for my husband ?" 
 
 " Only for the unfortunate, and not for the happy do we feel 
 pity," answered I with an evasion. 
 
 " Doubtless thou knowest that he is abandoned by his rela- 
 tives, scorned by his acquaintances, and regarded by all the 
 world as a crazy man." 
 
 " My sweet friend, subtracting from his code somewhat 
 that appears a little extravagant to me, which with more pru- 
 dent circumspection might be avoided, in order not to give of- 
 fence — subtracting this, I find nothing in Olivier which is worth 
 condemnation or disdain. Indeed I know much too little of him." 
 
 " Dear friend," she continued, " and dost thou not regard 
 public opinion ?" 
 
 "Not at least so far as it concerns Olivier," replied I, " for I 
 know how public opinion of Jerusalem once condemned the Inno- 
 cent One to the cross : that public opinion calls the destroyers of 
 the people Great ; that it holds wisdom as foolishness ; and adorns 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 19 
 
 the high priests of folly and wickedness with the surnames of Most 
 Holy." 
 
 " I rejoice," said the Baroness with animation, " that thou 
 hast won the love of Olivier ; thou art a noble man, worthy of 
 his friendship. Believe me, Olivier is an angel, and yet they 
 thrust him out of human society, as a criminal or a bedlamite." 
 
 While we were thus conversing, Olivier returned to us. He 
 carried in his hand a little book. Having resumed his chair, 
 he said, " See here the accident, or rather the heaven-provided 
 means of my restoration from weakness, and of my awaking 
 from delirium. It is an unnoted book ; the composer unknown 
 and unnamed ; it says many common and every-day things, 
 but now and then you meet with an unexpected flash of light. 
 Even the title page, ' Dreams of a Philanthropist,' is not the 
 most promising in the world. I found it one day in the garri- 
 son, on the table of an acquaintance, and took it with me, that 
 I might at all events have something to read when I walked on the 
 greensward beyond the town-gate. As I lay once in the broad 
 shadow of a maple, thoughtful of the many perversities of life, 
 the book opened, and there fell out of it an extract with this 
 superscription : — ' Fragment from the Voyage of Young Pythias 
 to Thuh.' " 
 
 " Let us hear," said I, " what the old Greek of Massilia can 
 relate of us at the North. It should be, I think, coeval with 
 Aristotle." He read : 
 
 " Fragment from the Voyage of Young Pythias to Thule. (From 
 the Greek.) 
 
 " But I tell you the truth, my friend, as incredible as it 
 
 may appear. Consider, that in the rough country of the North, 
 Nature itself repels men by its ungenial rigor, and forces them 
 to resort to many contrivances to render life endurable. These 
 we do not need in our country, where Nature is bountiful to 
 mortals, so that we live both winter and summer in the open air, 
 procuring without trouble what is useful to the prolonging and 
 pleasure of existence. But those, who for half the year groan 
 under the severity of winter, must consider how they may cre- 
 ate within their heated houses an artificial summer. And since 
 Nature repulses, and turns them upon themselves, they are more 
 
20 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 driven than we, to occupy their minds with vain dreams, beau- 
 tiful schemes which they never prosecute, and the investigation 
 of whatever is remarkable. By this means, they are full of 
 knowledge, and learned in all things which serve for instruc- 
 tion or happiness ; and they write great books about matters 
 that we do not care for, and the names of which are hardly 
 known to us. Indeed, for that purpose they institute schools and 
 colleges. 
 
 "But the weather, in the northerly parts of the world, is so 
 ordered that heat and cold, day and night, pass from one ex- 
 treme to the other, without any middle state that is tolerable to 
 the soul or body. For in summer they suffer under as great a 
 heat as they do in winter under deadly cold ; one half of the 
 year the day is eighteen hours long, and the other half only 
 six. No less unsettled and dissolute are the minds of men — as 
 changeable as the weather. They lack all steadfastness of 
 -'thought or purpose. From year to year they have new fash- 
 ions in dress, new schools of poetry, and new sects of philoso- 
 phers. Those who yesterday overthrew tyranny — having prais- 
 ed the blessedness of freedom with their lips, and abused its 
 sweets in their lives — on the morrow voluntarily return to ser- 
 vitude. 
 
 " So among these barbarians, there is the greatest inequality 
 in all things. A portion of the people, consisting of a few fami- 
 lies, possess every comfort and unlimited wealth, and riot in 
 excess ; but the majority are poor, and mostly dependent upon 
 the favor of the great. Thus, too, certain individuals are in 
 possession of the treasures of knowledge, but the greater part 
 of the inhabitants live in the darkness of ignoiance. The no- 
 bility and priests not only tolerate such ignorance before their 
 eyes, but because it conduces to their own advantage they keep 
 the multitude in the debasement to which they are already doom- 
 ed by their poverty and indolence. Hence it is, that the rab- 
 ble of every nation love the traditions of their forefathers 
 in all usages and arrangements relating to the mind, while 
 only in affairs of corporeal gratification are they inclined to 
 variety. Still, they approve any novelty, be it right or wrong, 
 if it brings them money or household distinction. For r*old 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 21 
 
 and ardent spirits among barbarians, prevail over custom, honor 
 and the fear of God. 
 
 " Among the inhabitants of Thule, freedom is unknown, and 
 so much of it as they may have had in former times, has 
 been taken away from them by the force or fraud of the great. 
 They are governed by kings, who give themselves out as the 
 sons of God, and the kings and their satraps are governed as 
 much by mistresses and sweethearts as by their counsellors. 
 The people are divided into castes, as in India or Egypt. To 
 the first class belong the king and his children alone. To the 
 second belong the so called Nobles, whose children, without re- 
 gard to their own worthiness, choose the best offices in the 
 army and state, as well as around the altars of God. What 
 is incredible to us, is an old custom among these barbarians, 
 for that rank or birth is more thought of than all other kind? 
 of merit. In the third class is ranged inferior officers, mechan- 
 ics, merchants, common soldiers, artists, learned men, and ordi- 
 nary priests. In the fourth class are servants or slaves, who can 
 be bold or given away like other cattle. With some people, who 
 have partly thrown off their primitive rudeness, the fourth and 
 last class is wanting ; there are some, also, where good princes, 
 who have become sensible of the power of their nobility, make 
 no laws but with the concurrence of a senate, selected from the 
 several classes of inhabitants. 
 
 The kings, in the country of Thule, live in perpetual enmity 
 with each other. The weak are only safe through the mutual 
 envy of the strong. But wheh the strong throw aside their jea- 
 lousies, they make war upon the weaker states on the most trivial 
 pretences, and divide them among themselves. Hence they 
 cause the title of the Righteous to be added to them, — the Fathers 
 of the country or heroes, — since such vain surnames are every- 
 where, and especially among ba/barians, much esteemed. But 
 as often as the lower classes in any land, making use of their pro- 
 per discernment, resist the preposterous claims of the higher 
 classes, these princes and nobles put aside their own contests, 
 and unite in the establishment of oppression upon the old founda- 
 tions, always, of course, in a disinterested manner. Such a man 
 is always looked upon by barbarians as holy, since they believe 
 
22 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 that kings and the disposition of caste are ordained by God 
 himself. 
 
 " Of the public disbursements, that for the maintenance of the 
 court is the greatest, and next to that is the expense of the army, 
 which even in peace is most enormous. For the instruction of 
 the people, for agriculture and all that concerns the happiness of 
 men, the least is given. In most of the countries of Thule, 
 where the working classes have the greatest number of duties 
 and the fewest rights, they must satisfy the needs and cravings 
 of the body politic by paying all the taxes. 
 
 " As far as their religion is concerned, they all affirm that it 
 is one and the same, and all boast that their dogmas have one 
 and the same author. But their modes of worship are manifold, 
 as well as their opinions concerning the person of the founder of 
 their religion. On this account, the different sects hate each 
 other with the most perfect hatred. They persecute and scorn 
 each other. Among the whole of them there is to be found 
 much superstition which the priests encourage. Of the Divine 
 Majesty they have the most unworthy notions, for they ascribe 
 to him even human vices. And when kings lead their people to 
 war against each other, the priests are appointed on both sides, 
 to call upon the Supreme Being to destroy the enemy. After a 
 battle has been fought, they thank the Almighty Governor, that 
 he has devoted their adversaries to destruction. 
 
 " Their books of history hardly deserve to be read ; for they 
 contain commonly no account of the nation, only of the kings 
 and their advisers, — of successions, wars, and acts of violence. 
 The names of useful inventors and benefactors are not reported, 
 but the names of devastating generals are elevated above all 
 others, as if they were the benefactors of the human race. The 
 histories of these people also, inasmuch as their manners differ 
 from ours, are hard to be understood. For with them, there is 
 not at all times, nor at any particular time under all circum- 
 stances, the same conception of honor or virtue. In the higher 
 classes, incontinence, adultery, dissipation, gaming, and the 
 abuse of power, are deemed praiseworthy, or appear as amiable 
 weaknesses, which in the lower classes are punished, as vices 
 and crimes, with death and the dungeon. Against fraud and 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 2.3 
 
 theft, the law has ordained its severest penalties ; but if a great 
 man cheats the government by his ingenuity, and enriches him- 
 self at the cost of his prince, he is frequently advanced to higher 
 honors, or dismissed with a pension. As it is in respect to virtue 
 and vice, so is it in regard to honor. The members of the higher 
 classes require no other honor than that of birth to merit prefer- 
 ence ; but the lower classes can seldom, by means of the highest 
 virtue, attain the respectability of these favorites of chance. But 
 the honor which consists in the accident of birth, can also easily 
 be annihilated by a single abusive word. Still more odd, how- 
 ever, is the mode of redeeming that honor. He who has violated 
 the honor of another, and he by whom it has been lost, meet in 
 arms after a prescribed form, like two lunatics, and seek to 
 wound each other. As soon as a wound or death is brought 
 about, no matter to which of the two, they believe sincerely that 
 their honor is again restored. 
 
 " Above all things else these barbarians have one common and 
 universal characteristic. They are altogether greedy of gain, 
 and to that end risk both life and virtue. It is among their singu- 
 larities, that they are excited to astonishment or laughter, if one 
 works for another without a remuneration, or sacrifices his pro- 
 perty for the benefit of the commonwealth. They talk a great 
 deal of noble sentiments and magnanimous conduct, but these are 
 only seen, except to be derided, on the stage. Yet the inhabit- 
 ants of Thule quite resemble the actors, since they have great 
 dexterity in the art of making anything appear other than it is. 
 No one speaks freely to another what he thinks. For that rea- 
 son, they call the knowledge of men, the most difficult art, and 
 prudence the highest wisdom. 
 
 "Meanwhile, they cannot dissemble so much that their kna- 
 very or awkwardness shall not be detected. For since they 
 live in perpetual contradiction to human reason, teaching one 
 thing and doing another, feeling one thing and saying another, 
 and often choosing the most repugnant means for the accom- 
 plishment of their ends, their unskilfulness is made manifest. 
 In order to encourage agriculture, they burden the farmer with 
 heaviest taxes and the greatest contempt ; to stimulate inter- 
 course and trade, they institute innumerable custom-houses and 
 
24 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 prohibit an exchange of merchandize ; that they may punish 
 and improve fallible men, they shut them up together in a pub- 
 lic prison, where they reciprocally corrupt each other with new 
 vices, and from which they return accomplished rogues to socie- 
 ty ; to cherish the health of their bodies, they subvert the order 
 of living ; some are awake during the night, and sleep away 
 the day ; while others destroy the energy of their bodies by hot 
 drinks and spices, which they buy in large amounts in the Indies, 
 so that hardly a poor household is to be found which satisfies it- 
 self with the products of its own fields or flocks, without adding 
 thereto the drinks of Arabia, the spices of the Indies, and the 
 fishes of the most distant seas." 
 
 THE EFFECT OF THE FRAGMENT OF PYTHIAS. 
 
 Here Olivier finished reading. He looked towards me with in- 
 quisitive eyes. 
 
 Laughing, I said, " One must grant, the tone of it is well 
 kept up. Doubtless, one of the old wise men of Greece would have 
 spoken just so of the barbarous nations of Asia in his time, if he 
 had sought them out. Excellent ! Even the stiffness of the 
 style denotes that this fragment is only a translation. Meantime, 
 I do not believe in its authenticity. We have nothing of Pythias, 
 to my knowledge, but — " 
 
 Olivier interrupted me with peals of laughter and exclaimed, 
 " Oh thou child of the eighteenth century, which always gropest 
 about the shell of a thing and forgettest the kernel, which always 
 deals with the appearance and not with the essence, dost 
 thou not see and hear that thou art thyself a citizen of Thule ? 
 What ! Asia ? No, — a wise man of ancient Greece would have 
 spoken thus of us Europeans, if he could have seen us at this 
 day !" 
 
 " Thou art right, Olivier ; but thou didst not suffer me to fin- 
 ish my remark. I will still add that there is in this fragment 
 the manner of the Lettres Persannes. The account relates to us. 
 Its exquisite truth cannot be mistaken." 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 25 
 
 " I only half understand thee, thou artificial man ! Tell me ; 
 dost thou infer the art of the author because he has hit the truth ? 
 Or thinkest thou that the truth has hit thee V* 
 
 " Both ! but thou said'st before that it made a painful impres- 
 sion on thee ; thou wast lying with this book in the shade of a 
 maple. Go on !" 
 
 " Well, there lay I. When I had read the fragment, I threw 
 the book from me, reclined my head back upon the grass, stared 
 up into the dark blue of the eternal heavens — up into the deep 
 of the shoreless universe, I thought of God, the all-perfect — 
 all imbued with Love and Glory — of the eternity of my being ; 
 and in this moment of elevated conception understood much better 
 than I had ever done many words of Christ — the Revealer of the 
 divine relations of our spirit. 1 In my father's house there are 
 many mansions,' or, ' unless you become as little children,' &c. 
 ' Whoever will be my disciple, let him deny the foolishness of 
 this world, and take up my cross willingly.' And I never saw 
 the divinity of Christ more clearly than then. I thought of the 
 degeneracy of men, who from century to century have wandered 
 further from the truth, simplicity, and happiness of Nature, to a 
 brutal, sensual, foolish and painful life. I flew back in thought 
 to the dawn of time, to the earliest people, to the simple wisdom of 
 the lofty ancients. I sighed, the tears came into my eyes. I 
 was again in my fancy a child of God. Wherefore can I not 
 feel truly, think truly, speak truly, act truly, as did Jesus 
 Christ? Can I not break the chains of custom ? What but stu- 
 pid timidity hinders me from being a reasonable godly man 
 among delirious and perverse barbarians ? I said this. In my 
 imagination I was so already. I closed my eyes. I felt an un- 
 speakable happiness in being free from the tormenting sensuality 
 of the world, again to be reconciled, and at one with God, Na- 
 ture, the Universe, and Eternity. So I lay a long while ; then, 
 as I opened my eyes, the sun had gone down, and the glow of 
 evening suffused and gilded all things." 
 
 " I know that holy state of mind," exclaimed the Baroness. 
 
 " When I rose up in order to return to the city," continued 
 Olivier, " my eyes fell upon my uniform — it went through me 
 like a flash. Loathsome lay the world in all its foolishness, in 
 
26 
 
 ZSCHOLKE'S TALES. 
 
 all its nonsense before me ; never had I seen more clearly than 
 in that moment, the frightful departure of mankind from the Eter- 
 nal, the True, and the Holy. I perceived how Socrates, had he 
 lived at this day, would once more have been obliged to drink 
 the poisoned cup ; that Christ would have found in every city 
 another Jerusalem — would have been led to the cross by Christian 
 sects unanimously, and would have been condemned by princes 
 as an Enemy to the good old ways, as a Seducer of the people, 
 as a Fanatic. I shuddered. Then I asked myself in a loud 
 tone of voice, ' Hast thou courage V A firm resolution seized 
 me. I answered in the same voice, ' I have courage. It shall 
 be. I will live rationally, come what may !" 
 
 " The next morning, after I had had a bracing sleep and quite 
 forgotten all that I had thought on the previous evening, this book 
 again came under my eyes. I remembered my determination. 
 I saw the perilousness of my undertaking. I wavered. Still 1 
 was compelled to acknowledge the truth of my yesterday's con- 
 viction. 1 Whoever would be my disciple, must forsake all/ &c. 
 I thought over my domestic and public relations. The rich 
 young man in the gospel, who seemed sorrowful at the words 
 of Christ, occurred to me. Then I asked myself again, ' Hast 
 thou courage?' And with a louder voice answered, 'I will 
 have it.' And so I determined from that hour to live rationally, 
 in the least as well as in the greatest things. The first step 
 taken, the scorn of the world is not thought of, and each subse- 
 quent step becomes easier." 
 
 " I tremble for thee, thou noble enthusiast." cried I, grasping 
 his hand ; " but wilt thou not tell me the issue of thy daring ?" 
 
 " Wherefore not ? But such things must be talked of in the 
 open air, under the broad sky, beneath the trees, in sight of the 
 wide waving sea," said Olivier ; " for, dear Norbert, in a room, 
 between walls and partitions, many things seem rational, which, 
 in the face of Nature where the soul loses itself in the broad 
 pure All, appear quite fanciful and dream-like. And we find 
 outdoors, in the presence of God's creation where the Eternal 
 and the True stand for ever, that many things are perfectly 
 right, which, between the walls of a dwelling-house full of con- 
 ventionalities, or within the walls of a philosophical lecture-room, 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 2*7 
 
 an audience-chamber, a dancing saloon, or a gorgeous parlor, 
 appear as an extravagant silliness, an enthusiasm, or idiotcy. 
 Come, then, into the open air P J 
 
 He took me by the arm. The Baroness went to her children. 
 Olivier led me through the garden to a little hill where we re- 
 clined in the shadow of a wall. Above us, in the broad atmo- 
 sphere, swung the tender branches of the birch : below us rolled 
 the sparkling waves of the eternal ocean. 
 
 u Fate favored me very much even on my first coming to 
 reason. My father, whose property had been scattered by pro- 
 digal expenditure, left me at his death a scanty inheritance. But I 
 had a prospect, after the decease of my uncle, of becoming a 
 goodly owner of wealth. This was known to everybody. On 
 that account, I had been betrothed to the Baroness Von Mooser, 
 the daughter of the President of the Exchequer. She was one 
 of the most eligible matches in the country, as they used to say, 
 being very pretty, very rich, and the niece of the War-Minister. 
 The marriage having been concerted by my relations and the 
 old uncle, I was compelled to agree to it, according to custom. 
 But the sickness of my uncle, who stood to me in place of a 
 father, caused the ceremony to be postponed. I was already 
 major, and by the next promotion would have become lieutenant- 
 colonel. In a few years a regiment would have been at my ser- 
 vice. 
 
 " So stood matters at that time ; and I soon found, after my 
 recovery of reason, that they were not the most agreeable. It 
 was an uncomfortable thought that I, a free man, should be 
 forced by my relatives to couple myself to a girl, for the sake of 
 money, rank, and protection, without knowing her peculiarities, 
 views, faults, or inclinations. The Baroness was, it must be 
 confessed, pretty and good, but nothing more than any young- 
 lady might be under the same training; well disposed by nature, 
 but through an artificial education, vain, pleasure-loving, trivial, 
 proud of her family, her rank, and her beauty, and witty at the 
 expense of the best people in the world ; in all things more French 
 than German. Whether she truly loved me or not, I did not 
 know • but that I cared no more for her than for any other well 
 formed and pretty woman, I did know. 
 
28 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " A letter brought by a messenger, summoned me to my sick 
 uncle. I procured a furlough from the General, took leave of 
 my betrothed and her parents, and rode off. When I arrived, 
 my uncle was already dead and buried. An old steward handed 
 over to me the keys of the closets, and the will. I counted off 
 the little legacies to the servants, let the steward into my secret, 
 and openly declared myself poor, as all the means of my uncle 
 were covered with debts. 
 
 " Thus I returned to the garrison, and made known my story. 
 I did it to try the disposition of my betrothed, whether she had 
 the courage to remain by my side in the world, and become 
 what I was. To make the story more striking, I sold what I 
 did not want, to pay my own debts in the city, of which, old and 
 new, there was a small amount. My companions laughed at 
 me, and particularly when I gave out that I intended, at least, to 
 bean honest man. Even the President of the Exchequer and 
 his spouse dissuaded me ; I must not excite eclat — I would Ma- 
 mire myself and them — I would make myself and them au ridi- 
 cule, &c. 
 
 " I stuck to my notions, that honor is more than appearance, 
 poverty is no disgrace, and he who can want much is rich. 
 These saws, as they were termed, pleased the Baroness least of 
 all. Her parents gave me to understand that their child had 
 been accustomed to certain aisances, and that they were not rich 
 enough at that late period of their lives, to give me and their 
 daughter an outfit. Finally, after a few days, they trusted im- 
 plicitly that my own sense of delicacy would prompt me to re- 
 lease them from the contract. I did not hesitate to do it, and to 
 declare that I thought I got off cheaply, since no mutual choice of 
 hearts, but only an agreement and money reckoning among rela- 
 tives had taken place. 
 
 " My assumed poverty had other effects of a good kind — name- 
 ly, that old friends and jolly comrades did not so earnestly seek 
 my company. Still it pleased me, that some continued to hold 
 me in esteem. But the most of them became cold and distant ; 
 for, with my money, I had lost in their eyes my highest attrac- 
 tion. ' So much the better,' thought I ; ' thou canst act and speak 
 more sincerely.' " 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 29 
 
 " But I was no more fortunate in my attempts to lead a true 
 life, — and this was foreseen — than others who have preceded me. 
 For several winters I had been accustomed to deliver lectures to 
 the officers on scientific subjects. I continued the occupation, 
 and uttered my sentiments freely. But when I came to lay down 
 the following proposition, that every war which was not under 
 taken for the independence and safety of our country against 
 foreign invaders, but for the personal whims of a prince, intrigues 
 of ministers, the ambition of the court, in order to conquer, to 
 mix in the affairs of another people, or for the sake of revenge, 
 was unjust ; that standing armies were the plague of the land, 
 the ruin of the finances, the ready slaves of despotism, when the 
 prince wished to become a despot ; that the soldier should be a 
 citizen ; that a hereditary or created nobility was, now-a-days, 
 nonsense, which could only be tolerated among savages and bar- 
 barians ; that I hoped to live to see the time when all the kings 
 of Europe would agree by concordat to disband their immense 
 standing armies, and on the other hand make their soldiers only 
 of all citizens capable of bearing arms ; that duels belonged to 
 the house of correction or the insane asylum : when, I say, I in- 
 troduced these propositions, and others like them, and defended 
 their correctness, of which no sane human understanding could 
 doubt, the lectures were prohibited, and the General gave me a 
 severe reprimand. I answered back again, and was put under 
 arrest. 
 
 " This did not disturb me, for I had all along expected it. 
 Above all things I performed my duty. After I had fallen out 
 of the favor of the General, even the best officers began to with- 
 draw from me. They laughed and jested at my expense. Some 
 of the wittiest insisted that I was crazy, and thought it a conse- 
 quence of the shock I must have received when my hopes were 
 disappointed as to the large inheritance. I was soon so much ne- 
 glected that even my former servants would remain with me no 
 longer, becauss I supported them and myself upon slender 
 means, rejected coffee, seldom took wine, and, instead of their 
 former rich liveries, caused them to wear a simple neat garb, 
 such as happily thou seest me in now. 
 
 " On the other hand, about the same time I received a letter 
 
30 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 which made amends for all. I had, some time before, found a poor 
 beggar girl weeping near the barn of a farm-house. In the barn 
 her ragged mother lay dying upon the hay. I learned from the 
 dying woman, who was still young, that she was from Southern 
 Germany, of poor but respectable parents, had been in the ser- 
 vice of a rich lord, where she was seduced by the son of the 
 house, who gave her a piece of money and sent her away ; that 
 after her delivery, she had sought employment, but on account 
 of her child, could procure it nowhere for any length of time, 
 was greatly distressed, had lately lived upon alms, and could 
 now only pray for her daughter. I ran into the peasant's house 
 to buy her some refreshments, for the peasant himself would 
 hardly allow her a resting-place in his shed. When I came 
 back she already lay lifeless upon the hay, and the little 
 girl was mourning bitterly over the corpse of her mother. I 
 comforted her as well as I could ; discharged the expenses of 
 interment, and sent the orphan, who did not know the family 
 name of her mother, to a female boarding-school at Rastrow. 
 She was called Amelia, and I gave her out of charity the sur- 
 name of Barn, after the place in which she was found. 
 
 " Well then, when all had deserted me, I received from this 
 Amelia Barn a letter, which is still secured among my treas- 
 ures. Thou shalt read it. At that time it moved me to tears. 
 The contents were, in effect, that she had heard of my misfor 
 tune, and thought that she must no longer be a burden to her 
 father, as she was accustomed to call me. She would seek, as a 
 governess in some good family, or by means of embroidery, dress- 
 making, instruction on the pianoforte, or in some other way, to 
 earn her support. I must not trouble myself about her ; since 
 now it came to her turn to be anxious about me. Thou must read 
 the letter thyself, with its beautiful outburst of gratitude. It is 
 the very mirror of a pious and pure heart. She asked for per- 
 mission to see, only for once, the benefactor, whose image was 
 traced on her memory since the day of her mother's death. I 
 wrote back, praising her good sense, but advising her that she 
 had no occasion to be in a hurry ; I would take care of her until 
 she had found a suitable place. 
 
 M One day as I had returned from parade, there was a knock 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 31 
 
 at the door of my chamber. A strange young lady with a most 
 lovely countenance entered. The lilies and plum-blossoms do 
 not mingle their colors more beautifully in a bouquet than they 
 were mingled on her face, under full flowing locks of hair. Blush- 
 ingly, and with a tender voice, she asked after me, then melting 
 into tears, fell down, embraced my knees, and when I, greatly 
 astonished, would have raised her up, covered my hands with her 
 kisses. What I suspected was confirmed by her cry of ' O my 
 father, my father ; O my guardian angel !' I besought her to 
 arise. She asked me to allow her to remain in that position, say- 
 ing, ' Ah, I am so happy, that my heart is like to break.' 
 
 " It was a long while before she let me go, and stood up. 
 Then I clasped her to my breast, impressed a kiss upon her 
 pure white forehead, and requested her to consider me as a 
 father, and to call me Thou. She listened. But the fatherly 
 kiss had somewhat confused my thoughts. She was taken to 
 the hotel, where she remained some days ; but these days were 
 enough to undermine my peace of mind. When Amelia jour- 
 neyed back to the institution, I counselled her to remain in the 
 house of some respectable citizen, and take in embroidery for 
 support. It was hard for me to tear myself from her ; yet I did 
 not betray to her that I was rich. I wished to try her ; I hired 
 a chamber for her, engaged a maid for her service, supplied her 
 with harpsichord, harp, books, and, after a few days, also with the 
 proceeds of the sale of her embroidery, freely, at her own price 
 under the pretence that they came from a strange hand. I 
 visited her only once or twice a week, to avoid observation 
 and evil construction. 
 
 " Every visit was a feast. Thou canst think how sweet it 
 was to know that there was one being under the sun, indebted to 
 thee for all, who belonged to no one in the world except thy- 
 self, who was entirely dependent upon thy care, and that this 
 being, of all that nature had made beautiful, pious, and noble, 
 was the most exquisite. The beauty and humble condition of 
 Amelia was soon no secret in the town. She drew all eyes towards 
 her. They spoke to me about her, and I did not dissemble that 
 I was her foster-father, and that she was a poor child of dis- 
 
32 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 honorable birth. Work after work was brought to her, so tha; 
 I advised her to go to some other and unknown house. Young 
 ladies came to her, less for the sake of her embroidery, than tc 
 see one who was so much praised by the whole neighborhood. 
 
 " One day when I was visiting Amelia, as I stood before the 
 door of her chamber, I heard her in hot dispute with some man. 
 I recognized the voice of my lieutenant-colonel. Just as I 
 opened the door, he was stealing a kiss from her. I upbraided 
 him for his disgraceful conduct, and availed myself of the oppor- 
 tunity to help him somewhat quietly out of the door, and down 
 the steps. He fancied that I had tarnished his honor, and chal- 
 lenged me to fight a duel. I would have nothing to do with his 
 nonsense. The corps of officers threatened that they would not 
 serve under me, if I was a coward. That I was not, and so went 
 out to the usual battle-ground weaponless, saying to the fool that 
 if he was ambitious to be an assassin, I would give him permis- 
 sion to try his hand on me. He and the officers then became 
 excessively abusive. They believed, according to their barba- 
 rous conception, that my honor would sustain a deadly wound, 
 although, in reality, they dishonored themselves only by their 
 brutality. I asked them whether the blackguards who covered 
 a respectable man passing in the street with mud, became them- 
 selves respectable thereby, or whether, on the other hand, the re- 
 spectable man became a blackguard. 
 
 " At the parade the next morning, the General delivered to 
 me, with a suitable speech, an Order just received from the 
 court. This was one of the late fruits of my former connexion 
 with the Baroness Von Mooser, and the work of her uncle, 
 the War-Minister. I could not, according to my notions of my 
 services, receive the little ribbon. Had I really performed a 
 service to the state, I should have been ashamed to drag the 
 reward of it vaingloriously about with me all day. My stead- 
 fast refusal to take the lappet with a little star on it, was a 
 thing unheard of in the annals of the monarchy. My idea 
 was that duty and virtue did not permit themselves to be re- 
 warded, but only recognized ; that the man of honor would do 
 his duty, recognized or not ; that least of all should he suffer 
 himself to play the great man before other people, particularly 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 33 
 
 those whom he had aided ; yet these notions went for so much 
 Jacobinism and nonsense. The General was angered. The 
 officers then stepped forward in behalf of their wounded honor. I 
 was arrested, and after some weeks discharged from the regiment. 
 
 " I was well satisfied. I clad myself citizen fashion, as I 
 wished ; not after the present uncouth mode, but modestly, 
 neatly, and naturally, as thou now seest us all here in Flyeln. 
 The people opened their eyes, and regarded me as a crazy man, 
 and the more so when it transpired that I was not only not poor, 
 but one of the most wealthy men in the land. Amelia wished 
 to know why I behaved so. I communicated to her my opi- 
 nions of the world, as well as my own principles. She, a child 
 of nature, simple and full of soul, approved my notions, and 
 lived according to them. I could not but be proud of Amy's 
 judgment, for it was my own. She thought and felt as I did ; 
 her being was rapt in mine. Her reverential, daughterly love 
 had been changed into the purest, most modest, and deepest 
 love that a young woman knows, and I appeared, even to my- 
 self, somewhat too young to play the part of a father. 
 
 " One day when I told her that I thought of returning to my 
 possessions, she asked whether she might follow me ; and said 
 she would be happy to serve me as a maid. And when I 
 hesitated, saying, that I had some notion of getting married, 
 she dropped her head and said, ? All the better, thy wife will 
 not find a more trusty servant than I.' ' But,' said I, ' my 
 future wife has not now as excellent an opinion of thee as 
 thou deservest.' 'What have I done to her?' she answered 
 with the lofty expression and pride of an innocent. ' Show me 
 thy bride, and I will win her affection and esteem.' I led 
 Amy to the looking-glass which hung in the chamber, pointed 
 to it, and said stammering, 1 There thou seest her !' She 
 started with fright, grew pale as she turned her large blue eyes 
 towards me, and whispering with a tremulous voice, 1 I am not 
 well,' sank death-like upon the floor. I called the maid ; I was 
 palsied by the sudden fright. 
 
 " As Amelia recovered from her swoon, and the color came 
 into her cheeks, she opened her eyes, and smiled gently on me, 
 wondering at the anxiety of both myself and the maid. By 
 4 
 
34 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 degrees, her recollection returned ; she believed that she had 
 been asleep. I hardly ventured to speak to her of what had 
 passed. As soon as we were alone again, I said, 1 Amelia, 
 why wert thou so frightened before the glass? Wherefore 
 durst thou not become my wife. Speak freely, I am prepared 
 to hear all.' She blushed, and was a long while silent, with 
 her eyes fixed on the floor. ' Wherefore dost thou not dare V 
 asked I once more. Here she sighed and looked towards 
 Heaven. 'Dare, oh yes! dare! What dare I not to do, if 
 thou wishest it ? Can I be happy, can I live without thee ? 
 Whether thy servant or thy wife, all is the same, for I have 
 but one love for thee.' 
 
 " Whilst I thus lived in the very portal of Heaven, the whole 
 town was quite gone with astonishment ; my relations on both 
 father's and mother's side, were in terror and desperation, when 
 I informed them of my approaching nuptials with Amelia. A 
 baron, of an old and noble family, whose ancestors had been 
 covered with the highest dignities in the service of the king ; 
 a knight, capable of entering the list at a tournament, and in- 
 termarried with the chief families of the land — to form such a 
 wicked mis-alliance, — to marry, not with one of the parvenue no- 
 bility, not even with the citizen class, nor yet with the daughter 
 of a respectable mechanic, — but with a beggar-girl, and she of 
 disreputable birth ! Only think ! My relations wrote me threat- 
 ening letters, to the effect that they would discard me, that they 
 would deprive me of my inheritance, that they would have me 
 put under restraint. They came all too late, for in about 
 fourteen days Amelia and I were formally married. 
 
 " Why should I tell thee of the foolish things, which men in- 
 fected with prejudices began to do, as soon as I determined to 
 live as an honest, natural man, strictly according to truth, banish- 
 ing all duplicity, all dancing-master frivolities, all foreign airs, 
 all the so called etiquette of conduct, without, on the other hand, 
 losing sight of a respectable and dignified deportment? My 
 simple Thou, with which I began to accost them, and to re- 
 quest them to accost me, frightened many away from me, as 
 though I were smitten with plague-spots. My beard became a 
 subject of wit; my frank return of a friendly salutation in the 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 35 
 
 streets, without ceremoniously taking off the hat, was called rude- 
 ness. I did not suffer myself to be put out. At some time or 
 other the ice must be broken. I wished to see, whether one could 
 live in the nineteenth century, in a European city, without em- 
 bracing all its humbugs, and all the prescribed notions of honor, 
 manners, justice and respectability. So far from offending any 
 one by an ill-habit, or from making their prejudices, or whims, 
 or moral peculiarities a reproach, I was more complaisant to- 
 wards them ; I sought men, from whom I differed as much ex- 
 ternally as I did already in my inmost being, in order to con- 
 ciliate them by goodness and kindness. 
 
 " I betook myself to my estate here in Flyeln, where I found 
 delight in becoming known and respected by my dependants. 
 They were then half wild ; they were vassals. They cringed 
 in the most slavish manner before their master. None of them 
 could read or write ; they were lazy and indecent. To be idle, 
 to guzzle, to fight, seemed to be their heaven. Superstition was 
 their religion, a deadly, godless sanctimony their observance of 
 it, and deceit and falsehood their prudence. I determined to 
 make men out of these brutes. I caused the prisoners to be 
 improved, and a great school-house to be buill. Amelia and 
 I visited every hut ; they were mere mud-stalls. I ordained 
 heavy punishments against the smallest indecency. Whoever 
 did not obey, was put into gaol ; on the other hand, to the obe- 
 dient I gave, by way of encouragement, tables, glasses, chairs, 
 and other household furniture. Soon everything in the houses 
 was well arranged and neat. I forbade card-playing, brandy, 
 coffee, wrestling, cursing, and swearing, &c, &c. Whoever 
 failed was chastised, and those that obeyed, and for one month 
 gave no cause for censure, I suffered to become mere bond- 
 servants. I gave the old pastor an annuity ; chose a young, 
 learned, and excellent clergyman, who soon entered into my 
 plans, in place of the former : appointed a person skilled in va- 
 rious knowledge, and educated in Switzerland by Pestalozzi, as 
 schoolmaster, with a good salary ; and with the help of both 
 these perfected the reformation. I myself kept a school twice 
 a week, composed of the larger boys and young men ; Amelia 
 rook the girls ; and the wife of the pastor the matrons. I caused 
 
3fi 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES 
 
 all the children to be clothed at my expense, as thou seest them 
 now. At our expense also, Amelia changed the ill-shaped 
 dresses of the maidens. 
 
 The school and prison worked well. The young men, at my 
 solicitation, suffered their beards to grow. I forbade it to the 
 slaves— only the free being allowed to wear beards ; whilst 
 slaves must go shorn. I opened the door to freedom. Who- 
 ever, after my directions, cultivated his field the best, received it 
 at the end of the year for a small but easily redeemed ground- 
 rent, as his own, and therewith certain privileges. Whoever for 
 two years was the most frugal, diligent, and skilful, obtained his 
 freedom, his own house, an outfit in money, an honorable dress, 
 modelled after my own, and might suffer his beard to grow. 
 Before the end of the first year, I had occasion, nay was under 
 obligation, to free a great many families ; these had begun to 
 improve before my arrival. They awakened the envy of some, 
 but a general emulation among others, the more so, when on 
 court-day 1 placed the freemen beside me to decide the cases of 
 those who had erred. The subordinate judges were chosen by 
 the freemen themselves from out of their own number. 
 
 " Whilst I was here troubling myself very little about the 
 outward world, the world troubled itself the more about me. 
 Quite unexpectedly one day an extraordinary commission, which 
 was sent by ministerial command, to inquire into the state of my 
 health and property, made its appearance. My relations had re- 
 ported me to be crazy, and that I squandered my property in the 
 most frantic methods. The gentlemen of the commission behaved 
 very well for several months. What report they rendered I 
 don't know, but probably, as I forgot to put money into their 
 es hands, not the most favorable. For, without regard to my wish- 
 or my threats of vengeance, they treated me as a lunatic, and 
 confined me to my estate. An administrator of my property was 
 sent down, who was at the same time to watch my conduct, and 
 prevent the intrusions of visitors. Fortunately, the adminis- 
 trator was an honest, well-informed man, so that we speedily be- 
 came friends. When he had looked through my accounts, the 
 good man was astonished at my rigid economy, and was of opi- 
 nion, that by means of this, and the redemption money paid by the 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 37 
 
 bond-servants and slaves, I should gain more than I lost. At 
 times he assisted me in the attempt to humanize my slaves. He 
 suggested some good things, viz : that for the space of five 
 years the emancipated should render an account of their receipts 
 and expenditures, in order to assure themselves that they were 
 not growing worse or becoming more indolent. The good man, 
 in the end, was quite enamored with our Flyeln household, since 
 he saw that, under well-directed management, nothing was done 
 in vain. Before the second year of my being there, the peasants 
 of our community had distinguished themselves above the whole 
 neighborhood, for thrift, knowledge, and respectability. They 
 called us, in other places, the Moravian brethren, and even to 
 this day, in the neighboring villages, they believe that we have 
 adopted a new religion. 
 
 " The administrator and guardian found my notions of the 
 world, in the main, uncommonly correct. He even went so far 
 as to wish that people generally would return to greater simpli- 
 city and truthfulness in manners, conduct and life. But he could 
 not stand the beard : he stuck for life and death to the queue 
 in the neck and the powder on the hair ; the Thou was quite of- 
 fensive to him, and he could not, to Amelia and me, in spite of all 
 his efforts, bring it over his lips. Meanwhile, his report about 
 me, — after an administration of one year, and after he had 
 made to the government the most favorable disclosures as to my 
 sound management of my property, — had the happy effect of 
 restoring me to the control of my own affairs, under a condition, 
 however, that I should render a yearly account of them. This 
 was the doing of my relatives. They would not be persuaded 
 that I had not lost a good deal of sound human understanding, 
 although my former guardian had made me out at the worst 
 only a wonderfully queer fellow. So, on that account, and that 
 I might give offence to no one by means of my new error, 
 namely, my free utterance of whatever nature and reason sanc- 
 tioned, I was forbidden, without special permission, from going 
 out of the boundaries of my estate, i. e., from visiting the great 
 European lunatic asylum, which I was allowed to know of only 
 through the newspapers. By that I was a greater gainer. 
 
 " It is now five years that I have dwelt here in my blesseo 
 
38 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 solitude. Go out, consider my fields, and the fields of our 
 farmers, our forests, our flocks, and our dwelling-places ! Thou 
 shalt see a blooming prosperity where it was before unknown. 
 All my slaves are free. Only a single drunkard, and another 
 lazy rough churl, seemed to be unimprovable. The drunkard 
 starved. The other could not be corrected either by rewards or 
 punishments. But as all Flyeln wore beards, and he and the 
 pastor alone were clear-chinned, it wrought a most wonderful 
 effect upon the fellow ; for the pastor was moved to let his 
 beard grow, so that the slave became the only smooth face of 
 the lot. He couldn't endure that, and thus improved himself, 
 that he might be respected among respectable people. 
 
 " The beard of the good pastor was a scandal to the consis- 
 tory. Although he proved that a beard was not against the true 
 faith ; although he called to mind the holy men of both the Old 
 and New Testament ; although he showed that he, by making 
 himself like his equals, could do more good, and by means of it 
 had changed one deemed utterly irreclaimable, the beard gave 
 offence to the consistorial body. It was only after my pastor 
 adduced the evidence of a physician, that the toothache, under 
 which he had always suffered, was alleviated by means of the 
 beard, was he allowed to provide for his own health, and that 
 only within bounds. 
 
 " I not only instituted courts among my free people, but gave 
 them the right to choose an overseer or governor immediately 
 from themselves, as they pleased. Their self-respect and dig- 
 nity have been aroused. From time to time the more noted 
 among them eat at my table, with their wives. I am their 
 equal. Similarity of dress begets confidence, without diminish- 
 ing respect. Children are required to stand up before older 
 people, and uncover their heads, but not to uncover before their 
 equals. Every manifestation of deceit is ranked as a crime, 
 no less than theft. The people judge themselves more strictly 
 than I did formerly. I have often to moderate their decisions. 
 Our schools are flourishing. The apter boys learn the history 
 of the world, a knowledge of the earth, with its countries and 
 people, geometry, and something of architecture. In the 
 churches we have already choral hymns and worship. 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX CENTURY. 
 
 39 
 
 " But, dear Norbert, better that thou stay est one week with 
 us, and see for thyself ; or canst thou not while away a few 
 weeks?" 
 
 THE CONVERSATION ON THE HEIGHTS OF FLYELN. 
 
 Such was the narration of Olivier. 
 
 I do not conceal it, that all that he had said to me, and all I had 
 seen in Flyeln, made a great impression upon me. I wondered 
 at his perseverance, and his benevolent invention, but regretted 
 that his plans were so much misrepresented. 
 
 But neither the persuasions of my friend, nor the seductive 
 and nattering requests of the baroness, were necessary to induce 
 me to prolong my stay in this lordly oasis. Yes, I must call 
 Flyeln an oasis, a blooming island in the waste of the surround- 
 ing country. For here, as soon as you reach the spot, if you 
 have travelled through the sometimes sandy, and sometimes 
 boggy lands of the vicinity, or through the pine forests, and the 
 poor, muddy, ordinary villages, with their barracks and neglected 
 inhabitants, — the ground seems suddenly greener, and the people 
 more humane. Here, too, what were once barracks, have be- 
 come neat cottages, which I visited, with Amelia, with pleasure. 
 Here, also, there had been morasses, now only recognized from 
 the long ditches and excavations, filled up with stones and cover- 
 ed with earth, which have,, been made to draw off the water ; 
 here, too, had been slaves, who were accustomed to tremble 
 before their overseers and officers, and to cheat them behind their 
 backs, but who have now the upright and bold bearing of freemen, 
 looking upon the Baron as an equal, — and with a childlike reve- 
 rence and love clinging to him and his ! This transformation, 
 within the space of the half of ten years, would have been a 
 veritable wonder, if we did not know how prudently and surely 
 Olivier went to work ■ how gradually he passed from the charac- 
 ter of feudal master to that of, first, a teacher, and then a father ; 
 how his peasants, moved only by the fear of the lash, had been 
 allured and subdued by means of their rude self-interest ; how 
 he counted neither upon their thankfulness nor their understand- 
 
40 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 ing, nor their moral or religious feeling, but from the outset, dis- 
 ciplined rather than instructed them, and having habituated them 
 to doing good, relied chiefly upon the strength of habit, and the 
 rising generation. Therefore, he and the baroness, with the pastor 
 and the school teacher, undertook the instruction of all ; thence, 
 also, it happened that the assessors of the judgment, that the 
 overseers of the community, were mostly young persons from 
 five-and-twenty to thirty years of age ; at least I saw none of 
 the older peasants among them. 
 
 But all this does not concern us here. I will describe the 
 success of my friend, and not the art and method by which he 
 tamed his dependants, and made a sterile place blooming. 
 
 As Olivier exhibited his account-books, and showed irrefu- 
 tably that, so far from having lost by the reformation, he had 
 gained more than his deceased uncle or any of his ancestors, he 
 said to me laughing, " Now thou seest, Norbert, where folly 
 is at home, whether at Flyeln or in the royal residence ! While 
 I am actually gaining I am treated as a spendthrift, and compel- 
 led every year to suffer strangers, whom they send here to in- 
 vestigate my accounts, to look into the intimacies of my house- 
 hold." 
 
 " Why hast thou not complained of this ? It is an injustice — 
 it is an outrage." 
 
 " My complaint would be in vain. Not justice, but the mere 
 command of the cabinet, sent forth by the ministry, condemned 
 me to this position. The matter is not easily remedied ; for the 
 ministry will take no backstep by which to declare themselves 
 to have been in fault. The committee of investigation would 
 not advise it, because they would lose the delights of their 
 annual pleasure-visit and the profit of their daily pay. That I 
 have been confined here, in the estate of my forefathers, is the 
 most endurable thing about it. Now, Norbert, what thinkest 
 thou of all this?" 
 
 " I confess, Olivier, I came with prejudice and sorrow to thee ; 
 I shall quit thee with the most pleasurable remembrances. 
 They have everywhere spoken of thee as a lunatic. I do not 
 think thou art, but I concur with thy former guardian, that thou 
 art a wonderfully queer fellow." 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 41 
 
 " Queer fellow ! truly, that is the proper name for all those 
 who do not succumb to the common-places and disorders of the 
 age. Diogenes of Sinope was regarded as a fool ; Cato the Cen- 
 sor was considered a pedant by the Romans ; Columbus was 
 pointed at as a crazy man in the streets of Madrid ; Olavides 
 was condemned to the Inquisition ; Rousseau driven from his 
 asylum among the Bernese ; and Pestalozzi held by his country- 
 men as more than half a fool, because he associated with beg- 
 gars and dirty children rather than with the be-powdered and be- 
 queued world. And that I should be called a queer fellow, — I 
 that presume only to speak, to think, and to act, naturally and 
 intelligently — according to my right derived from God — is it not 
 rather a reproach to ye yourselves t" 
 
 " No, Olivier, neither a reproach against the world nor against 
 you. No one prevents thee from acting or thinking naturally 
 or reasonably ; but thou must also respect the right of others to 
 think, to speak, and to act, according to their opinions, customs, 
 and even prejudices, until they or their children grow wiser. 
 All men can't be philosophers." 
 
 " Have I not paid them proper respect ? Have I trespassed 
 upon them ?" 
 
 " Certainly, friend, if thou wilt allow me to say so. While 
 thou opposest thy own customs to the general customs of the 
 world, thou breakest the peace with those among whom thou 
 livest, and accomplishest only half the good that thou mightest 
 do, — if, indeed, the half. Christ received the customs of Judea, 
 let himself down even to Judea's prejudices, in order to work 
 the more powerfully. What boots a mere mode of address ? 
 What matters it whether we wear a stiff queue or shorn pate, a 
 beard or a smooth chin ? Thou knowest the meaning of sie in 
 German, and of vous in French ; well, I grant, it is silly to 
 speak of a single person in the plural number, but what harm is 
 it, after all ? Did not the old Greeks and Romans address each 
 other in the plural number ? Thou knowest the meaning of you 
 and thou. Dost thou not, then, take the offensive part when re- 
 jecting common innocent customs, and without regard to former 
 notions of civility, thou forcest Thou upon everybody 1 Who- 
 
42 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 ever fights with the world must have the world fighting with him. 
 Canst thou wonder at it then ?" 
 
 " I do by no means wonder at what I expect. But do not 
 adduce the example of Christ, after the manner of those who con- 
 ceal deceit and villainy, with a pious countenance, behind some 
 distorted version of the Bible. The God-like One had a higher 
 mission among his contemporaries than I have, and forbore speak- 
 ing of small follies ; but I have to do with these alone ; and I 
 will not suffer myself to be constrained to praise, excuse, or 
 practise barbarisms. There is surely reason enough still among 
 the inhabitants of earth to permit one to make use of his right 
 to his own poor understanding." 
 
 " Friend," I replied, " it appears to me, they have not made 
 that right questionable ; but the free use of that right, by the in- 
 discreet communication of your sentiments, especially if they are 
 at war with existing arrangements, is likely to occasion confu- 
 sion. Thou thyself, at the outset in Flyeln, didst play the part 
 of a severe task-master to thy slaves, and gradually, not sud- 
 denly, enfranchised them, after they were prepared for freedom. 
 Thou knowest how dangerous it is to put in the unpractised hands 
 of children, a knife, which in skilful hands is a useful instru- 
 ment. What wouldst thou have said, if one of thy slaves had 
 suddenly spoken the truth to his companions concerning the fun- 
 damental principles of human nature, the barbarism and profli- 
 gacy of the feudal relation, and the natural equality of men 1 
 Would not such a reformer have broken up all thy projects?" 
 
 " Certainly, Norbert ; but the example is not applicable to 
 me or my actions. I have never spoken against the existing 
 order, even when it was bad, though I have rendered unto God 
 the things which were God's, and unto Caesar the things which 
 were Caesar's. I have spoken only against existing fooleries and 
 prejudices ; against your foreign airs, against your masque- 
 rades and hypocritical compliments, against your unnatural in- 
 dulgences, against your effeminate disfiguration of yourselves 
 by foreign fashions, against your conceptions of honor and shame, 
 of worth and reward, and only in the way of a defence for my 
 person, when ye Europeans would urge me to abandon my re- 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 43 
 
 turn to reason, and would force me, in order to be pleased with 
 your perversity, to desert nature." 
 
 " But, friend Olivier, thy notions of standing armies, of here- 
 ditary nobility, of the rights of subjugated nations, of the w 
 
 " Ah, ha ! Norbert, these sentiments are generally recognized 
 in Europe, but as yet only as dead truths. They are spoken of 
 in essays and theories, but not in practice. I have nothing 
 against those that act thus. I myself, were I a prince or minis- 
 ter, unless I had a philosophical people, would take great care 
 how I attempted to organize a Plato's Republic. I have only 
 uttered my opinions in the company of my friends and equals, 
 and not preached them to the multitude to raise a revolution. I 
 have done what millions are doing at this time both in writing 
 and speaking. You must cut off half the heads of populous 
 Europe if you would prevent such matters from being thought 
 of and talked about." 
 
 " And because they are thought and spoken of by one half 
 the people, they must soon infuse themselves into the minds of 
 the other half. As soon as the Majority come to see what is 
 right, then will it embody itself without bloody and fearful revo- 
 lutions, of its own accord, and in the natural course of a con- 
 stantly improving legislation. But to tell you the truth, dear Nor- 
 bert, it was not for these sentiments that they pronounced me mad 
 or banished me from the rest of the world. No one would have 
 complained if I, a Baron, had merely declaimed against the injustice, 
 folly and wickedness, which are inseparable from the institutions 
 of a privileged nobility — and not carried my opinions into prac- 
 tice. All would have gone well enough if I had married a 
 Countess. But because I acted consistently, although no one 
 was injured by my conduct, because I preferred the love of a 
 nure but portionless beggar girl to the prejudices of my class, 
 because I married a child whom I had rescued from infamy — 
 that was my crime. Oh ! Norbert, just look at Amy, — and then 
 at my ancestral parchments — and condemn me if you can !" 
 
 " With such a document to sustain your case, dear Olivier, 
 thou art in fact a most persuasive advocate. Still I think the 
 Nobility would in a short time have forgiven thy protests against 
 them, and regarded thee only as an exception among them ; for 
 
ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 thou knowest that at the present day such matters are regarded 
 differently from what they once were, and that rank is no longer 
 what " 
 
 M Dost think so ?" interrupted the Baron, «* then, oh my dear 
 friend, thou deceivest thyself in regard to our caste, in which 
 not only physiognomies but privileges and prejudices are here- 
 ditary, and by transmission from generation to generation have 
 become ineradicable. It has one fixed idea, which is that its 
 members are by birth of a better mould than the rest of man- 
 kind. Even when it is prostrated by Revolution, this one fixed 
 idea manages to keep the upper hand. Didst thou not see the 
 French nobility when in exile ? They lost none of their haughti- 
 ness, although they were often poor enough to be obliged to 
 mend their own shoes and wash their own clothes. Look again 
 at the miserable young noblemen of France ! What are they 
 doing ? Why, instead of submitting to their fate, they raise a 
 terrible clamor because they must needs share their political 
 privileges with common low-born citizens." 
 
 " Here, my dear advocate," I answered, " thou art falling into 
 a little bad logic, which, however, I am too generous to expose. 
 What have the people of this country to do with the people of 
 that country ? Because the wild Indian nobility wear rings in 
 their noses, is that a reasonable ground of accusation against 
 our nobles. But let us drop the subject — understand me, I wish 
 to reconcile thee to the world. A little sacrifice from thee, a 
 little compliance with unimportant externals, and believe me, 
 they would forgive thy opinions, and even thy paradoxes." 
 
 " Thou requirest a little sacrifice from me ! thou askest as a 
 small matter, nothing less than that I should sacrifice my con- 
 victions, my principles, and all consequent duties ! But if I 
 sacrifice my convictions and principles, that is, my whole being, 
 what am I fit for in the world ? How shall I do good ?" 
 
 " In many ways. See other wise men — they accomplish un- 
 speakable good without quarrelling with the world. Wherefore 
 canst not thou ? What canst thou do now, by thy single exam- 
 ple, standing all alone, when all thy neighbors are convinced 
 and believe, that thy understanding is a little shattered." 
 
 " The question deserves an answer, for of all thy questions it 
 
FOOL OF THE XIX. CENTURY. 
 
 45 
 
 is the most important. First, consider my right as a man, that 
 within my own house, on my own grounds, according to my own 
 better convictions, I ought to be allowed to eat, drink, dress, 
 speak and act as I please, if I trespass upon no other's right. 
 And since I find the follies, the impertinences, the artifices, and 
 affectations, of modern European human nature, which have 
 been culled out of the refuse of ancient barbarisms, ludicrous, 
 shameful, unnatural and mean, — why should I, with all my 
 sense of duty, with my obligations to truth and justice, not make 
 use of my right ? Should the sailor, whom the wild Indians 
 invite to a banquet of human flesh, overcome his horror and 
 adopt their terrible customs, lest the Indians laugh at him ? So 
 much, Norbert, as to what immediately and only concerns my- 
 self." 
 
 Here Olivier remained silent as if awaiting an answer, but 
 soon continued. " Besides, Norbert, recall the Fragment from 
 the Voyage of Pythias, and thy own confession as to the truth 
 which merely seems to hit, and that which actually strikes. Thou 
 thyself hast granted that human society has departed very far 
 from the dictates of nature. Ye all acknowledge that there is 
 infinitely too much suffering ; for the violations of the eternal 
 laws of God carry with them the punishment of the transgressor. 
 None of ye will deny, that your whole civil and domestic 
 economy, your constitution, customs, and manner of life, are at 
 best but a protracted rebellion against nature. But which of 
 you has heroism of soul enough to return to the simple, eternal 
 order of God ? In this ye all fail ; but to me, it is nothing new. 
 It is well that, some individual, undisturbed by the conceit and 
 derision of the great horde, should bring back an example of 
 goodness and justice. It is well, that some individual, who will 
 not capitulate or make terms with the follies of the age, should 
 stand out, not to minister to your madness, but to make open war 
 upon it. For, by means of the simple teaching of the church, 
 the cathedral, and the theatre, by means of philosophy, by the 
 abstract eulogy of unaided naturalness and truth, nothing is 
 done. For ye talk, philosophize, and write for ever, and your 
 teachers remain for ever the same, and your learners do not be- 
 come anything more than learners. Therefore it is well that 
 
46 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 some individual should step forth as a model for your better 
 instruction in the realities of life. True, in the beginning they 
 will rate him as a crazy man, and abuse and mock him ; but 
 gradually the eyes of his contemporaries will be accustomed to 
 the strange appearance. Bye and bye, it is whispered 'that 
 the man is not so far out of the way.' And at last the boldest 
 begin shyly to follow him in particular things. Ah ! Norbert, 
 whoever can bring back humanity, or a small part of humanity, 
 one single step toward Nature, has done as much as the fleetness 
 of life permits. And so, dear friend, let me admonish thee, that 
 many are accustomed to decry one who does right, because he 
 has, and they have not, the courage to do right. Because I eat 
 and drink, without luxury, banishing all foreign superfluity; 
 because I dress myself in a way at once comfortable and pleas- 
 ing to the eye j because I reinstate the manly beard in its lost 
 honor; because I withstand the privileges and prejudices of my 
 class, and would pass for no more than I am worth ; because I 
 believe that I have not stained myself by marriage with a maiden 
 of lower and unhonorable descent ; because I will not establish 
 my character by a duel, or bear about the insignia of real or 
 feigned services, as a show upon my breast ; because I make my 
 slaves my free companions and friends ; because I forswear 
 deceit, and assert the truth without fear ; therefore am I treated 
 in the Nineteenth Century as a Fool. Yet I live according 
 to Reason, have transgressed no institution or law, have injured 
 nobody, and while doing good to many, violated no single prin- 
 ciple of morality or decorum. Here, Norbert, thou hast my 
 answer to thy question. Now let us cease this parley." 
 
 He broke off ; I embraced the noble but eccentric man, and 
 laughing said, "We have an old-fashioned saying — 'the sharp 
 tool is easily notched." ' 
 
 After some days I left him. The remembrance of Flyeln be- 
 longs to the most agreeable of my life. Nor will I conceal, that 
 if the whole world should fall into the phrenzy of my Olivier, I 
 should be the first among the frantic. We have since then 
 resumed our correspondence, and I have vowed, from time tc 
 .ime, to make another pilgrimage to happy Flyeln. 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
 49 
 
 ; .. c ;',. ) .. -'V 
 
 HARMONIUS. 
 
 i. 
 
 We often sat together, in the spring, in the garden of Har- 
 monius. Never have I seen a man who lived more purely and 
 inwardly ; never one whose love was more worthy of the ten- 
 derest return. 
 
 As an old man of seventy years, he was still the same glad, 
 quiet, contented, guiltless person which he had been as a child of 
 seven. Still with the same heartiness he inclined towards all 
 that was good and true, as in the days of his boyhood. He 
 carried the fresh spring-heaven of childhood with him through 
 the hot age of summer, down to the cool winter of life. Time, 
 indeed, touched the outer shell of his spirit, and colored and 
 bleached it : but on his inner life the destroying finger rested 
 not. 
 
 Still, as ever to him was the immeasurable world the great, 
 sacred dwelling-house of God and of His children : and the earth 
 but a school apartment in this house ; our life-time a bright, 
 laborious hour of study. He believed not in crime and crimi- 
 nals, but only in error and erring ones; he believed in suffering 
 only as the step to happiness. 
 
 " Man must live in himself, not out of himself," he often 
 said. " We have nothing to do with the outward, but only with 
 the inward. The outer world belongs to us only so far as it 
 mirrors in our souls its colors and forms through the camera 
 obscura of sense. Man is spirit ; he lives not by intercourse with 
 bodies and dead forms, but with souls. But our souls are related 
 5 
 
50 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 to one another, and are all sisters. Even the dumb animals we 
 should love, for we have no reason to doubt that they have souls : 
 these are, as it were, younger brothers and sisters." 
 
 Before the interwoven arbor of climbing honey-suckles, in the 
 garden of Harmonius, stood a group of marble figures. A young 
 and beautiful woman leaned upon an urn. A bird sat resting 
 upon the urn near her ; a little dog lay sleeping at her feet. 
 
 On the pedestal stood the words — Love Imperishable under 
 all forms. 
 
 When we were together in the garden of Harmonius for the 
 first time, and saw that group, and read those words, we thought 
 we discovered the key to their meaning, when Harmonius said 
 that the female figure was dedicated to the memory of his wife, 
 who died many years since, in the bloom of life. The dog 
 seemed to us a symbol of Fidelity, and the bird upon the urn 
 an image of the Soul, which wings its way above this earthly 
 dust towards better worlds. 
 
 When we soon afterwards stepped into his house, we observed 
 upon the wall, among other pictures, one which was larger than 
 the rest. We saw here the same young woman, clothed in in- 
 expressible beauty, and near her, upon a green bough, a bird, 
 whose feathers showed that it was a gold- finch ; a little brown dog, 
 snoAV-white upon his paws and under his neck, lay couched at 
 the young woman's feet. The eyes of these three beings were 
 so arranged by the art of the painter, that we seemed to be seen 
 by them all at the same time. 
 
 In the study apartment of Harmonius, which was the most 
 beautiful in the whole house, with an extensive view over the 
 surrounding country, we saw the same thing again, under other 
 relations. 
 
 Three portraits hung together, wreathed about with a flowery 
 chain of evergreens and forget-me-nots. The first represented a 
 similar bird to the one we had before seen ; the second, the same 
 brown dog, but as full grown ; the third the wife of Harmonius. 
 Beneath the pictures, in golden letters, upon a sky-colored ground, 
 were the words : Love Imperishable under all forms. 
 
 In other apartments of our venerable friend, we saw other 
 pictures still, but all of these had ever the same text. 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
 51 
 
 II. 
 
 One Sunday evening, though it was quite late, we were assem- 
 bled around the old man before the garden-house. Night kindled 
 above us her thousand suns. The moon rent the veil of clouds, 
 and her spiritual silver fell down upon us, with the blossoms of 
 the hanging apple-tree, like elysian rain. 
 
 In the deep stillness, scarcely broken by the sighing of the 
 evening breeze through the blooming shrubbery, our souls sank 
 into a profound and earnest mood. 
 
 " Such evenings are a festal summons to the human heart ; — 
 are peculiar reflexes from other worlds ; — are like evanescent 
 summers from the fields of yonder life." So spoke one of our 
 company who sat next to the old man. 
 
 Harmonius withdrew his eyes from the stars, and said : 
 " Thou art a happy man, and I am happy with thee, since I 
 prize the Evening as thou dost. Truly, truly, dear friends, 
 the world is to us what we are to it. It does not make us 
 happy or unhappy, but we make it happy or unhappy. He 
 who believes in Virtue, has Virtue ; he who believes in no God, 
 for him there is no God. Since, then, we are, as it were, crea- 
 tors of our own world, let us continue to be good creators." 
 
 Then one of us said : "Yet I have found but few men who 
 considered themselves entirely happy. Shall I believe that they 
 were not sufficiently virtuous and pure ?" 
 
 "I will not sit in judgment upon the heart of man!" an- 
 swered Harmonius. " The pupil in painting knows not the 
 value of shadows ; he will either banish them altogether, or 
 put in too much of them. Even so the half-developed man 
 knows not the value of deprivation. He will abstain from 
 nothing. Man, too, envies not the happiness of another, near so 
 much as his means of happiness. Each one has in his propor- 
 tion an equal right and a like power to sleep on a hard or a soft 
 bed." 
 
 " But," said I, " if every one shares the same right and the 
 same power, all have not received the same insight to find 
 out the highest good. Thou knowest, Harmonius, how many 
 
52 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 theories of happiness our philosophers have written, and how 
 they have contended against each other." 
 
 Harmonius answered me : " He who seeks out of himself 
 what is to be found in himself, will seek forever and find nothing. 
 We have all received one good teacher, we in Europe, as well a.s 
 our brothers in Indus and Mississippi, that is Nature — Nature 
 with her legislation. He who lives within this, has peace ; he who 
 once despises her laws, loses the rose, feels only its thorn, and 
 wounds himself. Pain is the best cure for error. Why does 
 man invent stupefying preventives against instructive pain ? 
 These means are unnatural, and create fresh wounds. And so 
 we wander ever farther from Nature, and bewail these, instead 
 of ourselves. We have fabricated for ourselves a host of 
 sciences and systems, which were not necessary for our happi- 
 ness. Sciences have not made man miserable ; but misery has 
 made sciences." 
 
 III. 
 
 When Harmonius had thus spoken, a deep silence arose 
 among us, and each one reflected upon his words. 
 
 Near me sat Vitalis, who seemed deeply bowed down, and 
 sighed softly as he looked up to the sky. 
 
 " Many men have freely left the firm land," he said, " and 
 thrown themselves into a frail bark. Even I am one of these 
 wanderers. But why is the island so small on which Destiny 
 casts us ? Why is our desire of knowledge so great, that we 
 do not enjoy what we have 1 Why are we still so eager to 
 discover what lies outside of our island of life ? Why are the 
 fairest and most desirable objects veiled impenetrably ? Why 
 must we be most uncertain about that which it is most important 
 to know ?" 
 
 "Why, why," replied Harmonius, " 1 cannot answer, since I 
 am not thy Creator, but His child as thou art. But is then our 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
 58 
 
 desire for knowledge really too great for the circumference of 
 our life-island ? Is this really too poor for the nourishment of our 
 spirit, so that we must seek another island ? O truly thou didst 
 not mean to think and say this. Thou art convinced as I am 
 that this present world is too rich in materials for our spirit ; that 
 our stay in it is too short for us to enjoy more than a small part of 
 it in the most hasty way. See, I number seventy years, and men 
 call me an old man, and will remember me by that title when I 
 in a little while shall have departed hence ; but my spirit is still 
 undeveloped, my thirst not yet quenched ; I have learned daily 
 and am a scholar in my seventieth year. Thou scarcely num- 
 berest twenty-one ! 
 
 " The desire of learning and knowledge may gormandize here 
 below to excess, and we shall never exhaust the store held out 
 to us. But what thou callest desire of knowledge, I call curios- 
 ity, and curiosity is disease. It will not enjoy, but sip ; not in- 
 vestigate, but flutter about from novelty to novelty. Curiosity 
 never has enough, just as the whole vault of heaven does not fur- 
 nish air enough for the asthmatic patient. It is a moral asthma. 
 
 " Thou hast now thrown thyself into a fragile bark, and art 
 sailing about to discover the unknown country. What hast thou 
 found ? What more dost thou know now, than thou didst be- 
 fore thou left the shore ? Wouldst thou make discoveries con- 
 cerning the true home of spirits ; concerning the World from 
 which the hour of death separates us? O my friend, thou wouldst 
 feel the magic of music, without an ear for it, and gaze into 
 Elysium, without eyes. 
 
 " Come home then after thy fruitless search ; — fruitless, not 
 really because there is no other country to be found beyond 
 the island of life, but because thy boat was too frail. Or wilt 
 thou, blind one, persist in denying the beautiful colors of spring, 
 because thy sight is wanting ? 
 
 " Come home. Take the divine medicine, as my motto pre- 
 scribes it for thee : Faith, Love, Hope, and Patience" 
 
 " But what shall we believe ?" asked several of us at once. 
 
 Harmonius smiled, and looked at us awhile in silence. Then 
 he began again : " How childishly you ask ! Or would you 
 try me ? Believe whatever Reason bids you, and your Heart 
 
ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 advises you. No Belief can be prescribed or inoculated. It is 
 another thing with principles of Reason, which only need to be 
 announced in order to be received and approved by every one. 
 For the law of the Reason is alike in all men. But it is other- 
 wise with Belief. It is not shared, nor received. It is a spiritu- 
 al, flower, springing from the constitution, education, strength, 
 weakness and necessities of the soul. Therefore it is different 
 in all men. That of a Kamschatkan is as little to be measured 
 by me, as mine by him. Belief is a blossom of the soul : in the 
 blossom thou knovvest the tree. Destroy not the blossom with a 
 rough hand, if it displeases thee in another person, for thou wilt 
 be in danger of making the whole tree fruitless. But if thou wilt 
 do good, then honor the root of the tree, give it better soil, finer 
 nourishment. Ennoble the soul, so will it ennoble its own faith. 
 
 " But I," continued Harmonius, and he raised his hands through 
 the moonbeams and blossoms, " but I believe in thee, Eternal, 
 Unknown, Nameless One ! I believe in the sacred world of spi- 
 rits, wherein reward and blessedness reign : I believe in the im- 
 perishableness of our Love in all its forms !" 
 
 When Harmonius had spoken these last words, his looks were 
 turned from the sky and rested upon the marble image before the 
 arbor. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " O Harmonius, how happy am I to be of thy faith !" I 
 exclaimed. " But the sense of thy last words I have not precisely 
 understood. I beg of thee, if thou wilt, to make them clearer 
 to me." 
 
 " And if I should do it," said he, " would not my Belief ap- 
 pear to you like a mere dream ? But my Belief is the fruit of 
 my life, as it is with all mortals. And as my life is not yours, 
 so my Belief cannot be yours. But if you send a deeper gaze 
 into your own being, and that of the divine All of things, my 
 Belief will of itself strike you as it did the Ancients, the Indians 
 and the old Greeks, and you will love it as Pythagoras and Plato 
 did. 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
 55 
 
 " But before I knew Pythagoras and Plato, that which those 
 divine men believed, had already bloomed forth from my own 
 life. Therefore I must draw out some individual threads from 
 the web of my destiny. I will relate to you, if you are not weary 
 of listening to me, a few passages from my history. 
 
 " I can in recollection still look far back through this termi- 
 nated path of seventy years. Yet in the farthest distance, the 
 objects begin, like clouds, to fade away and grow uncertain. I 
 recognize still in dubious forms the revered figure of my father. 
 My mother I never beheld. She died a year after my birth. 
 He six years later. I was an orphan, and delivered into the 
 hands of strangers. 
 
 " To be an orphan was to me a hard lot : but only hard to me 
 at that time, because I was not like my playmates. I had no 
 father to teach me, no mother to press me to her bosom. This 
 deprivation made my heart continually sore. I wept silently 
 for myself: I lost myself with unspeakable pleasure in the little 
 Paradise of my past life : each feeling in me formed itself into 
 tenderness. 
 
 " Of all whom I knew, no one loved me. Yet I was not hated. 
 I was lonely. They called me a dreamer. My playmates I 
 little valued. In the Summer I wished for Winter, because its 
 solitude seemed consoling to me : in the Winter I called upon the 
 Spring, that I might find my playmates. 
 
 " When I was twelve years old, on the very morning of my 
 birthday, I lay under the high pear-tree in my father's garden : 
 I was half asleep. Yet I tormented my heart with longing dreams. 
 Tears gushed through my closed eyelids. I looked up and gazed 
 through my tears, and through the green wilderness of branches, 
 at the sky. ' I am alone in the whole world. No one knows me !' 
 I sighed ; * No one may love me. And yet I am not wicked. Is 
 nothing then related to me ? Has nothing yet loved me V 
 
 " Then I shut my eyes. Tears flowed down my cheeks. I 
 longed to die. 
 
 " At this moment I felt that a little bird seated itself upon my 
 chin, and with his bill picked toyingly against my lips. I was 
 frightened, and as I opened my eyes, the little thing flew away. 
 
5G 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " I raised myself. The bird sat in the tree above me, and 
 seemed to look at me attentively. 
 
 " O, what would I have given to possess him ! I enticed and 
 allured him, but in vain. He did not fly away, but came no 
 nearer. I searched for all the crumbs in my pocket, and scat- 
 tered them about. Then he flew timidly down, ate a few, and 
 looked at me as if he would thank me. But at my slightest 
 motion, he flew away. 
 
 O little bird, dear little bird,' I cried, and, weeping, stretched 
 my arm up to the tree, into which he had flown, ' I am not one 
 to be feared ; I will love thee and feed thee, and nobody shall 
 do thee any harm.' 
 
 " So I called, well as 1 knew that the little creature could not 
 understand my entreaty. Yet, as if he had understood me, he 
 looked at me, hopped from one bough to another — looked at me 
 — and flew down from the tree, and lit upon my arm. 
 
 " How shall I describe my delight ? It is impossible. Man's 
 joys are even greater than his sorrows. For beneath those he 
 forgets himself : but with these he still retains enough of self to 
 commiserate or to admire himself. Therefore have we so short 
 a memory of our joys, and so long an one of our sufferings. 
 
 "I showed to all my house-mates my beautiful captive: — I could 
 not call it a captive. The little creature had given itself to me. 
 I carried it to my chamber. There I kissed it a thousand times ; 
 there I fed it ; there I let it flutter freely around me. 
 
 " I was as in heaven. I was more industrious at school ; more 
 agreeable at home ; more gay among my playmates. Every 
 one came, and wondered at my bird and its fearlessness ; its 
 love and its fidelity towards me. 
 
 " Every morning my little friend awoke me with his song. When 
 I left my bed, then he flew to me, and received his grain from 
 my hand. I seated myself to prepare for school ; he hopped so- 
 ciably upon my table, upon my shoulder, and around the chamber. 
 
 "Even with the window open, the little favorite remained true to 
 me. He flew out sometimes, and came chirping back again. 
 
 " Smile not that I take so much pleasure in relating this trifling 
 circumstance. It belongs to the brightest dreams of my seven- 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
 57 
 
 tieth year, when the god of sleep sweetly mirrors back to me 
 those scenes of childhood. 
 
 " The little creature died, after a year and a half of fidelity 
 and friendship. For some days before its death it lost its ac- 
 customed sprightliness. It fluttered around no longer, but sat 
 sorrowfully in its place, or, at most, upon my shoulder* At last 
 it became so weak that it could not even reach that. I held it 
 in my hand. I carried it in my bosom. When I wept, and 
 held it caressingly before me, it looked at me with its little eyes, 
 as though it felt the nearness of its departure ; as though it 
 would thank me for my love and for my tears. Then it hid its 
 little head under its wing, as in sleep. 
 
 " On its last evening, I carried it into its corner, to its freshly 
 broken twigs. I wept aloud, and kissed it a thousand times. 
 
 " I went to bed, but turned back again and again, to see it once 
 more. And as often as I came, it hopped from the lower twig 
 towards me upon the floor, so weak was it — as though it was 
 conscious of the approaching separation — as though, for the last 
 time, it would caress me, for the last time see me and thank me. 
 I fell asleep quite late with tears in my eyes. 
 
 " In the morning it lay dead on the floor. It lay before my bed : 
 it had left its little place in the night, and had come to die 
 near me. 
 
 " O thou dear faithful little creature, thou dumb angel of my 
 childhood ! why wast thou obliged to depart so soon ? 
 
 " Spare me the picture of my sorrow over the bird. I buried 
 him, sobbing, under the same pear-tree where I first found him. 
 So buried I my bright dream of a year and a half, and all the 
 joys of my childhood.'' 
 
 V. 
 
 After a brief silence. Harmonius began again: "He who 
 loves aright, loves with fidelity. Fidelity is the breath of Love. 
 He who loves without this, goes alone through the world, and 
 only makes a few transient travelling acquaintances." 
 
58 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " Dost thou think, Harmonius," said he who sat by the old 
 man's side, " that we preserve our fidelity even in death ? — that 
 even after the decay of our bodies, we may still love our friends ? 
 But what avails even this love, if it is only for a few earthly 
 minutes ? The loss of all consciousness in the grave would be 
 a more enviable gift of Nature than the flame of love within us, 
 without an eternity for its manifestation." 
 
 " Thy inquiry," answered the venerable man, "goes into a 
 land to which our sight cannot reach. But I can ask again, 
 dost thou think that we are living here upon earth for the first 
 time ? that we love now for the first time ?" 
 
 "Where should we have lived before — where and whom should 
 we have loved ? What good do life and love do me, which 
 exist for me no longer ? What avails me the most beautiful 
 dream of a summer night, which I forget when I open my eyes ?" 
 Thus I spoke. 
 
 Harmonius pressed my hand. " No, my friend," said he, 
 u not thus should we ask. These questions we might ask a 
 thousand times, and about a thousand things around us, the 
 object of which is concealed from us. But I know and believe, 
 that one day the great Darkness will become light, for we are 
 from God, and therefore have a Divine existence. But God is 
 Light in Himself. We ourselves are not God, but God's ; are 
 therefore eternal, as He himself, and as All is, for as there is but 
 One, and this One is God, and nothing is out of Him, so all is in 
 him, and belongs to Him. Could anything be possible out of 
 God, then there would be two Gods, two Original, Uncreated 
 Beings, who would limit each other. But God cannot be any- 
 thing limited or finite, else He were not God." 
 
 " But, Harmonius," I exclaimed in amazement, " All is God ! 
 How sayest thou ? Nature, the world, the dust, is all God !" 
 
 "Dear friend," answered the old man, "not nature, not the 
 world, not the dust is God, but All. But dost thou know the 
 infinite All ? — dost thou know even the smallest part thereof, 
 extending from earth up to the pale light of the nebulous stars, 
 whose distances human computation and measurement fail to 
 tell ? Not one of the million globules of blood in thy veins is the 
 man, but the whole is the man." 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
 59 
 
 " Thou sayest, Harmonius, there can be nothing out of God 
 which limits him to the Finite. Is the Finite also in God ?" 
 
 f And where else should it be, if it is impossible that the Finite 
 can be out of Him, and consequently limit him ? Are not the 
 thoughts of thy everlasting Spirit also in thee ? Are not they also 
 changeable and finite ? Art thou, on account of their change- 
 ableness, any the less enduring and endless? No, my friend. 
 So is All in God, even the so-called Finite. But do not err ! the 
 Finite is in God himself ; and thy coming and going thoughts, 
 thy changing ideas belong to thee and are in thee : but they of 
 themselves are in no wise thy Spirit, thy Whole." 
 
 " And thou vvouldst not, then, Harmonius, separate Nature and 
 the World from God ? not distinguish the Created from the 
 Uncreated, the Creature from the Creator, the Finite from the 
 Infinite, the Material from the Spiritual ?" 
 
 " Why should I not ?" answered the old man ; " I do it in 
 order that I may distinguish according to human modes of thought, 
 that I may speak as a man in this poor human language. But 
 what, then, is Matter — what is Spirit ? As All is Spirit, All is 
 Power. We name material, or matter, only the operation upon 
 us of those concealed forces, which place themselves in union 
 with our spirit by means of the senses. The external manifesta- 
 tions of these forces, which are perceivable by the senses, these, 
 and nothing else, we call matter and material, without com- 
 prehending what the actual forces are, or what their operation 
 may be, and how it takes place. These are childish, human 
 signs, mere words. What, then, is Finite and Infinite ? They 
 are poor words and symbols, and nothing more. For All is Infinite : 
 only the change of activity of the Infinite, this change we call 
 finite, though it is still something infinite. We have borrowed 
 the unwieldy auxiliary words, temporal, transient, mortal, finite, 
 and more like them, only from the change of activity in those 
 forces, which, through eye, ear, touch, &c, stand in connection 
 with our eternal force, the Spirit. But the forces themselves 
 are ever working on, and are not perishable. What, then, is 
 created and uncreated ? These are bare words and nothing 
 more, which childish man has borrowed from the works of his 
 hands. He imagines that he can create, if he operates upon the 
 
60 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 ever-existing forces ; if he arranges differently, or even to a 
 different end, that which is already there. Thus he has created 
 nothing, but only bound together or separated what was there 
 already, into a house, a book, a tool. It is all uncreated, because 
 all is in God, and God is uncreated, that is eternal." 
 
 Harmonius was silent. But we were all silent. The speech 
 of the old man sounded wonderful and strange to us. We had 
 a hundred questions to ask, but no one ventured to interrupt 
 him. 
 
 " You are silent and astonished," he continued after a time, 
 " that I call only the change of activity of the forces, and not 
 the forces themselves, finite, destructible, transient. Does not 
 your Reason dare to assent to this? Or do you find it nobler 
 and more suitable, in the highest and living God, that He in his 
 actions and life should be likened unto poor man ? that He 
 must compose and create as we do ? Or do you find it more 
 comprehensible to your Reason that He should bring into ex- 
 istence something which of itself is in the kingdom of Nothing- 
 ness ? It is absolutely inconceivable to the human understand- 
 ing, because it is absurd and self-contradictory, that non-exist- 
 ence should become Existence ; just as it is to conceive of 
 Existence becoming non-existence. Will you then ascribe to the 
 Omnipotence of God, what to you is Absurdity ? Know you not 
 that from the unalterable conviction, that out of Nothing there 
 can arise no Something, and out of Something no Nothing — that 
 even hence comes the necessary knowledge and conception of 
 the Eternal and Infinite ? — that if it were possible that that 
 which exists could end, that is, become nothing, it would also be 
 possible for God to end, to cease and become nothing ? But 
 that because this is impossible and absurd, only the eternity of 
 God and of all that exists, is possible, actual and necessary ? " 
 
 " Whither wilt thou lead us at last with these thoughts, Har- 
 monius? " one of us asked. 
 
 " Back again," replied the venerable old man, " where we com 
 menced our conversation, namely, that our Souls and Spirits are 
 eternal uncreated existences in God, because He Himself is 
 All ; that our Spirit and our Soul did not spring out of that 
 which had no former existence, but existed already, before they 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
 61 
 
 were connected with the living power, and with the rest of the 
 sensuous perceptible material, which we call the Body, at the 
 so-called hour of human birth. 
 
 1 We were, are, and shall be.' 
 
 " You ask, where, how, or what ? Friends, we are not God 
 himself, but God's. This satisfies us ; this is our Blessedness, 
 our Rest for Eternity ! He who will look through the All and 
 the Highest, and the Life and web of the eternal house-keeping, 
 he will see through the Divinity, and will himself be God." 
 
 " But," said I, " there is something in this, I know not what, 
 which to me is comfortless. For if I existed before, and can 
 never end, then my eternal existence is not of higher value than 
 the shortest and most finite, since I know as little of what has 
 been, as of what shall be in the future." 
 
 "Friend," replied Harmonius, "we know the Eternal and 
 Divine, so long as we are men, only dimly through a veil which 
 surrounds our spirit, and this veil is Time and Space. When this 
 veil is taken away, then lies Eternity before us, without Time 
 and Space, as One and All. But I bear within me a high con- 
 solation, a consciousness that I as Spirit am capable of higher 
 Union, higher Power, capable of Perfection. I observe many 
 forces in the Infinite, which eternally are and were, what they 
 now are. Some produce the forms of stones, metals, lights, and 
 other substances : others the lives and forms of plants : others 
 the forms and souls of animals. And each substance, each 
 plant, each animal is still the same, according to History, which 
 it was many centuries ago. But the human race, the world of 
 our spirits has not remained the same. Here is inconceivable 
 development, majestic progress, from knowledge to knowledge, 
 from human to divine. — And as I see, not merely the human 
 race, but myself to ue evermore complete, so I am compelled to 
 believe that I have had an earlier but more incomplete exist- 
 ence : that I shall exist in the future, but more complete, ac- 
 cording as I tend towards union with lower or tvilh higher natures 
 in the divine Ail." 
 
 " Can there be then in God a higher and lower, a more and a 
 ess noble ?" interrupted my neighbor. 
 
62 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " Certainly not ! " answered Harmonius ; " but what dost thou 
 ask me, who must speak with a human tongue and in human 
 words ? — Man is throughout a noble being ; noble in his body, 
 his soul, his spirit ; wonderful in their co-operation, and their 
 oneness. And yet we call one part nobler than another ; the 
 spirit higher than the body ; the head more valuable than any 
 other limb. But with the All it is only the Whole, that consti- 
 tutes the being of the Man. And so All, is whatever God's 
 being comprehends in itself." 
 
 "But what dost thou mean by the ' direction the Spirit may 
 take towards lower or higher natures in the divine All ? ' " in- 
 quired another. 
 
 " The forces of things, the beings of the Universe, inter- 
 penetrate, divide and unite themselves according to eternal 
 laws. But the laws of Nature are, to speak after the manner of 
 men, Thoughts of God, in which all lives, that is to say, He is. 
 The tendency of the spirit towards lower beings and oneness 
 with them, its proneness to the animal nature, to the gratifica- 
 tion of the senses, lowers it ; its upward striving towards holy, 
 wise, divine, living existence, elevates it. It separates itself 
 from the lower, purifies itself in higher things, and weds itseh 
 to them. This is called Virtue in human lanjmajje : that is 
 called Sin, and falling away from the godlike. 
 
 "I, whose being was eternally in God, could I have existed 
 eternally, and unchanged, unimproved in my individual being, 
 as I am to-day ? I, who since my childhood have not remained 
 unchanged and unimproved 1 No, no, already the experience 
 which at this step of my existence I possess, assures me of it : I 
 once stood lower, was less perfect ; I stand higher, i walk 
 already in a heaven. I, eternal in God, have lived in union 
 with lower beings; I now live in union with loftier ones; I 
 shall still live with those infinitely higher. For me who am 
 eternally God's, God remains, and my exaltation in him. What 
 I have is His, for I am His. In Him nothing can be lost to me, 
 for He is not to be lost. I have loved, before I was in this 
 human frame, which has now grown old. I have lived and 
 loved, and shall live, and love whatever 1 have loved. For the 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
 03 
 
 living God is the eternal Love in Himself, and my love is only 
 a beam shining through me from Him. Love is but the rela- 
 tionship of the divine to itself the oneness of that which is one 
 in Him. As there is, among the inferior powers of the universe, 
 a friendship and mutual attraction between those that are re- 
 lated, so among the higher natures there is a spiritual affinity, an 
 interpenetration of different beings by tr^e same divine ray of eter- 
 nal Love. I have lived and loved. And what I have lived for 
 and loved will remain for me, for nothing can be lost in God." 
 
 " Thou speakest consolingly and loftily, O Harmonius," said 
 I ; " but if no recollection mirrors back to us the past, then have 
 we lost our loved ones for ever, whom death took away from us ! 
 How sad is the thought !" 
 
 Harmonius was silent. He raised his eyes to the image of 
 his wife. Like a spirit-form in our childish dreams, the marble 
 statue shone in the moonlight. 
 
 " Thou seest not the dust again," said Harmonius ; " if thou 
 hast loved the dust, then is thy longing hopeless. Lovest thou 
 the Spirit ? Ah, my friend ! then it lives with thee still in the 
 great house of God, is a citizen even of our spirit world. 
 
 " But we often deceive ourselves. We fix our love oftener upon 
 the external than upon the internal. We desire rather the body 
 than the spirit. And it is so pardonable — so human. But the 
 human avails nothing in the spiritual world. For, there are no 
 fathers, mothers, sisters, wives — we are only congenial beings 
 there, and God's children, and brothers. 
 
 " The spiritual world, with its relations, powers, and laws, is 
 hidden from us. We men know only the world of men. But 
 even here there breathes through us many a presentiment of — 
 the Only One ! We dare not cast it from us. Many an inex- 
 plicable thing announces itself to our natures. It is madness to 
 attempt to unriddle it, but madness also to wish to despise it as 
 a superstition. We are too little acquainted with spiritual 
 natures, and must put up with riddles, as we do even in the world 
 of matter. 
 
 " As in visible nature similarly constituted beings readily 
 associate, and even lifeless things are involuntarily attracted 
 towards one another, so that they are only separated by force, 
 
64 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 so there is a similar, law in the spiritual world. It is more than 
 a fiction, that children who have never known their parents, at 
 the first sight of them, without knowing who they are, are moved 
 by strange feelings, and attracted towards them. It is more than 
 a fiction that separated friends, neither of whom was aware of 
 the state of the other, have suffered sympathetically. I know no 
 reason that forbids me from believing that that magnet which 
 here attracts one soul so wonderfully to another, may not, under 
 other transformations, have still more influence. Thus 1 hope 
 one day to be reunited in another world and another life, with 
 those whom I loved in this life. It is the same to me in what- 
 ever change of state I again find myself. It is sufficient that we 
 belong to one another, that we are relations for eternity ; and 
 our Love endures imperishably under all forms. 
 
 " Permit me," continued Harmonius, "to go on with the story 
 which was broken off at the death of the little bird. This part 
 of it will not appear more important than the preceding, but 1 
 can tell you what led me to a belief, that darts a beautiful ray 
 through my whole life, and through all its gloomy hours." 
 
 VI. 
 
 We evinced the liveliest attention. He observed it with a 
 smile, and said : " Your interest may not perhaps last a great 
 while ; for the narrative is unimportant, though it has its signi- 
 ficance to me. 
 
 " I could not for a long time forget the bird. And, smile as 
 you may, I long believed that I should find it again in some 
 other form. 
 
 " An adventure with a little dog reminded me anew of his loss. 
 One evening, wearied with walking in the Cathedral-field, I 
 seated myself upon a bench under the broad chestnut-trees, and 
 looked at the people who were promenading up and down. 
 
 " Without my observing it, a young dog had approached me. 
 He brushed gently by my feet, in a fawning way, but I did not 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
 65 
 
 notice it particularly. At last he grew so familiar that he lifted 
 himself up and put his feet upon my knee. I looked at the 
 animal with some wonder. He seemed to speak to me with his 
 eyes, and wagged his tail. I soon felt the liveliest affection for 
 the little fellow. I caressed him. He was a beautiful dog, 
 with silky, chestnut-brown hair, snow-white breast and feet, and 
 long-hanging ears. 
 
 " While we were caressing each other, a stranger drew near in 
 travelling garb, and called with an angry tone, ' Mylon ! ' The 
 dog seemed frightened, left me, went cowering to his master, 
 and then came back again timidly and slowly to me. 
 
 " ' How happens it,' said the stranger to me in French, 1 that 
 the dog knows you ? Have we ever met before in our travels V 
 
 " 4 That can hardly be the case,' said I ; ' I have never seen 
 your dog before, and until now I was never upon a journey.' 
 
 " ' That surprises me,' said the man ; ' 1 observe for the first 
 time that this animal fawns upon a stranger.' 
 
 " He called him and went away. I followed him involuntarily. 
 Mylon sprang back to me again, barked at me in a friendly 
 way, and ran in large circles around his master and me. 
 
 " A couple of acquaintances met me, and we engaged in 
 conversation. Mylon and his master went still farther on their 
 way. Late in the evening I returned home. 
 
 " I had a singular dream in the night. I thought I was walk- 
 ing in my father's garden ; but my father was at my side. I 
 told him about my bird. He listened to me smiling, then pointed 
 me to the trellis which separated the garden from the court- 
 yard, and said : 4 There is thy beloved bird.' I looked, and saw 
 behind the trellis the brown Mylon, who seemed to be searching 
 for the entrance of the garden. I hastened to open the gate. 
 Mylon sprang towards me ; and, amidst mutual caresses, I 
 awoke. 
 
 " The dream was still vividly present to me while awake ; and 
 it seemed to me to explain the friendliness of the little dog. I 
 ventured to believe, even with the danger of deceiving myself, 
 that the soul of my bird after many wanderings now enlivened 
 Mylon's beautiful form, and felt towards me its former affection. 
 I found the delusion too beautiful to be willing to lose it. 
 6 
 
66 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " I was about to leave my chamber ; I went to the door and 
 opened it, when Mylon sprang towards me. I looked at him 
 awhile full of amazement. He had left his master, crept into 
 our house, and had probably passed the night before my cham- 
 ber-door. 
 
 " I lifted the animal with emotion ; I pressed him to my breast 
 and wept tears of joy. All that but a minute before appeared to 
 me a delusion, vanished. My bird and Mylon were now one. 
 No doubt disturbed my happy thoughts. Everything contribut- 
 ed farther to confirm them. 
 
 " Mylon did not leave me. Neither he nor I saw his master 
 again. I will not describe to you my joy. Only one singular 
 passage I must cite. You may call it but an accident. 
 
 " On the first evening I prepared a soft couch for Mylon near 
 my bed. I thought I should find him there the next morning, 
 but I did not. He lay upon the hard floor, and in the very cor- 
 ner where formerly my bird had his usual resting-place on his 
 twigs. Be it accident, or Mylon's usual habit to prefer sleeping 
 in such a narrow corner to a more open space, — at that time it 
 confirmed anew the ideas which you perhaps will call foolish en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 " O how happy was I with this new friend ! He learned to un- 
 derstand my speech, even my wishes. He was so obedient, 
 faithful, so devoted to all my little caprices. — I felt the impossi- 
 bility of being able to reward such self-abandoning love, and all 
 its thousand sacrifices, which he who receives them, is often hard- 
 ly aware of! 
 
 " I left my native town, and spent some years at the high 
 schools, in order to perfect myself in the sciences. My faithful 
 companion accompanied me wherever I went. He even made 
 with me the journey through Germany and Italy, and every- 
 where shared with me weal and wo. 
 
 " I was not, I confess, drawn towards Italy by the far-famed 
 natural beauty of the country, or by the halls of art in Florence, 
 or the ruins of Rome, so much as by other circumstances. At 
 Colorno, not far from Parma, my father's brother had been liv- 
 ing for many years with his family. He had considerably in- 
 creased his property by business at Livorno, and afterwards, in 
 
1IARM0NIUS. 
 
 07 
 
 consideration of his age, retired with his children to a beautiful 
 estate at Colorno. Since the death of my father, all friendly- 
 correspondence between him and us was discontinued. I was 
 curious to see this man, the brother of him who was the dearest 
 to me of all mortals, and to whom he bore a high degree of per- 
 sonal resemblance. — I hoped, through my uncle's features, to 
 bring before me my father's countenance, and to draw the pic- 
 ture of my father, which I wanted. 
 
 " But already I learned at Parma that he was no more among 
 the living. He had died a terrible death, and beneath the dag- 
 ger of an assassin. 
 
 " His children too, my cousins, had since then left the property 
 at Colorno, sold it, and chosen their residence in other countries. 
 They seem to have fled from the soil from which the blood of 
 their unfortunate father cried to heaven. As well as I could 
 with difficulty learn, the monks and priests had been my uncle's 
 bitterest enemies. 
 
 u I went myself to Colorno and to the estate which had once been 
 his. In the midst of vine-hills and luxuriant fields of rice lay 
 the simple castle, to which on all sides long shaded avenues of 
 beautiful fruit-trees conducted. 
 
 " My uncle seemed to have reverenced the beneficent doctrine 
 of the Zendavesta, where the Persian Zoroaster says, ' He who 
 tills the earth with care and industry does a higher service be- 
 fore God than he who repeats ten thousand prayers a day !' — 
 But this did not save his devout life. Would that his blood might 
 be the last that flows for the cause of religion, through the fury 
 of priests ! — A single false principle leads for ever from the path 
 of truth into endless war with humanity and nature. The sin- 
 gle doctrine that only one belief among all beliefs can be true 
 and saving, has dyed the^ countries of the four ancient divisions 
 of the earth with more human blood, and authorized more horri- 
 ble crimes through seeming justice, than all the rest of the false 
 doctrines of heathendom put together. 
 
 " Under the neighboring ruins of an old Abbey, they told me 
 my uncle was murdered, and that there his ghost went about 
 all night, plainly to be seen. 
 
 " 1 laughed at the tale. But as they repeated and confirmed 
 
63 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 it with the greatest seriousness on all sides, I resolved, in a fit of 
 boastful mirth, as a youth of twenty-two years might well do, to 
 look into the matter. 
 
 " One evening I went there, well armed, along with my servant 
 Matthias and Mylon. A peasant brought us to the outlet of a 
 dark thicket, where we saw the ruins of the cloister rising up be- 
 hind the low bushes in the moonlight. 
 
 " We went slowly towards the ruins ; now they disappeared, 
 now they came out again from the bushes. An involuntary 
 shudder passed over me in this solitude. The moon hung palely 
 from the clouds. The wind sent a chill from time to time 
 through the gloomy foliage of the overhanging trees. 
 
 " How little is man when his courage is overpowered by that 
 superstitious fear with which he is inoculated under a wrong in- 
 struction in childhood! Such is the common course of educa- 
 tion, which compels us to bestow more years, in order to unlearn 
 the inculcated folly, than we needed in childhood in order to 
 learn it. 
 
 " The midnight passed without any occurrence. Already a 
 pale light sketched the outline of the hills against the eastern 
 sky. My blood became cooler. I laughed at my superstitious 
 fear, and regretted remaining without meeting with an adventure. 
 
 " At this moment there was a rustling behind me through the 
 rubbish. I started. I looked back, and saw in the thin morn- 
 ing light a human figure moving slowly near the walls. I 
 sprang up and called to the figure with a trembling voice. At 
 the same moment a considerable portion of the wall near 
 which I had seen the figure, fell thundering down. 
 
 " My senses forsook me. I sank down in a deep swoon, which 
 must have bound me in a heavy sleep, for I was awakened quite 
 late, after sunrise, by the loud barking of my faithful dog. 
 
 " When I opened my eyes, I saw two fellows among the ruins. 
 They ran and sprang towards me. They were wrapped in short 
 cloaks ; one of them was armed with a stiletto, the other with a 
 short sword. Mylon kept them from pressing upon me. En- 
 raged at the dog, they both fell murderously upon him; I had 
 gained time to jump up, and to draw and fire my pistol. Just at 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
 69 
 
 the same time another shot was fired against the wretches from 
 the opposite side. 
 
 " It was Matthias, who came to my assistance. He, as he af- 
 terwards told me, when the wall fell down, had fled towards the 
 wood ; at last, at full day-break he had discovered again the 
 outlet of the wood towards the Abbey, and now had betaken 
 himself to this place, to see what had become of me. 
 
 " The robbers fled, and we did not pursue them. Mylon, who 
 had saved my life, the faithful friendly Mylon, moaned sadly, 
 and dragged towards me his bleeding body. He had been twice 
 pierced through by the assassins. Weeping, I raised him, bore 
 him to the soft grass, and held his wounds, while Matthias brought 
 water from a neighboring stream to wash them. 
 
 " His moaning grew softer. He licked my hand, and looked 
 fixedly at me, as though he knew of his long departure from me. 
 At this bitter hour, the whole past renewed itself : the death-hour 
 of my bird ; Mylon's first fawning upon the walk in the cathe- 
 dral-field of my native-town ; his flight from his master to me ; 
 his and the bird's favorite corner in my chamber. Now he lay 
 here, about to die from me, breathing out his faithful love with 
 his life. 
 
 " My grief became passionate. Sobbing I called repeatedly 
 on his name ; Mylon heard my voice ; he opened once more his 
 eyes, and once more made the attempt to lick my hand. He 
 died. 
 
 " I dug him a grave with tears. ' Rest gently, thou dear dust,' 
 I cried, ' rest gently ! — O Mylon, we shall find one another 
 again ; thou had'st a beautiful soul ; it cannot be annihilated.' " 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Here you have a new element of that which first led me 
 to believe in a transmigration of souls. As an appendix to this, 
 I will now relate to you the history of my acquaintance with my 
 wife, eighteen years later. 
 
70 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 "I perceive how strange my course of thought must appear to 
 you. You unacquainted with a thousand kindred ideas which 
 shoot up within me all at once from the bottom of my soul, with 
 every thought, unacquainted with the whole concatenation of 
 my ideas, will perhaps call this belief a strange enthusiasm." 
 
 " No, Harmonius," exclaimed my neighbor, " thy belief is 
 mine also. Its germs have long lain in my mind ; they shoot 
 up beneath the mild warmth of thy discourse — I understand 
 thee entirely — Spirits go in their own world their own course. 
 They unite themselves to bodies according to unknown laws, 
 and again set themselves free. Created from eternity, they 
 ripen for eternity. Here there is an Infinite struggling forth, 
 and every death is but a change in the scene of action. Unre- 
 lated to the earthly, they cannot cleave to this, but aspire to- 
 wards the divine. I am immortal ; the universe has no earthly 
 limits for me ; sooner or later I dare to hope that I shall be a 
 witness of loftier scenes. 
 
 " O Harmonius, I feel that there is no catechism-heaven, no 
 catechism-hell! An infinite crowd of spirits, ascending to the 
 fountain of goodness and bliss ! Harmonius, I also once doubted 
 with childish weakness. But since I have ceased to listen to 
 the wisdom of the schools, and have inquired of Nature, the 
 great universe is to me divine. 
 
 " Yes, ye eternal flame-flowers, up there in the unmeasured 
 fields of heaven, ye cannot be planted there in vain ! Ye look 
 down upon dog, eagle, worm and fish, but no one of them knows 
 that ye are earths and suns swimming in the Infinite. Man 
 knows it. Ah, perhaps, sooner or later, one of ye shall be my 
 dwelling-place : and while upon earth, true friends are still 
 weeping over the grave of the slumbering one, I shall already 
 feel there the unknown charms of another life. There I shall 
 find new brothers and sisters. 
 
 " Death will lead them to me — and me to them ; an eternal 
 and ever beautiful change ! And among all spirits, there will 
 be for me perhaps a twin-spirit, one dearer than all !" 
 
 He was silent. We were strangely moved. No one could 
 6peak. Our souls were lost in a mild stream of feeling. 
 We now floated through a golden sea of clouds ; and its light 
 
 / 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
 71 
 
 fell upon the flowering bushes, now dimly, now in streams of 
 splendor. Between the intricate branches of the chestnuts and 
 poplars, the stars shone here and there, now hidden, now reveal- 
 ed by the moving leaves. The whole landscape seemed to hang 
 around us in etherial light, dissolved in delicate vapor-pictures. 
 So did the poets of the olden time look upon their Elysium. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "Dear friend," said Harmonius at length, "I love these soar- 
 ings of imagination, under the guidance of holy feelings. But 
 there is something more to be found here than the rainbow-col. 
 ored web of Fantasy. There is here a deep, earnest truth of 
 Nature and Reason. Perhaps I may lead you back to this. 
 
 " My inspired friend was certainly right when he said, that if 
 we inquire of Nature herself, we shall learn to know a more 
 beautiful heaven, than the barren heaven of the Catechism. I 
 have read Nature, the word of God : it is a work of infinite 
 Wisdom and Love. 
 
 " The Life of the universe is the activity of its ever living 
 forces and existences, and their eternal striving to separate or to 
 unite. All the forces of Nature work near and through and in 
 one another. No one of them can be lost ; we see only in their 
 various connections and operations that they change, like the ideas 
 in the human spirit. The electric force which dwells in the 
 cramp-fish and in the thunder-cloud, and which fills all earthly 
 substances, always existed : but it is never perceived by us, till 
 it unites itself to those other forces, which through their opera- 
 tion upon our senses, and much more upon our souls, awaken 
 feelings and ideas. In the same way does the formative power 
 exist and operate, which creates in rock-caverns the wonderful 
 crystal, and in plants fibres and sap-vessels and cells. Thus, 
 too, the life-power, in mosses, sea-weeds, oaks and palms, in 
 the mouse as in the lion, unfolds the mystery of germination, 
 growth and social propagation. 
 
72 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " When the plant withers and dies and is turned into dust, do 
 you suppose that the life-power which has departed from it may- 
 pass away, like the outer form in which it was veiled ? Do you 
 suppose that for every new flower that springs from the earth, 
 there must arise out of nothingness, a new life-power, which has 
 never before existed ? No, whatever is, — was, and ever shall 
 be. The life-power of the decayed plant has only gone back 
 into the generally diffused mass of life-power, just as the electric 
 fluid which shows you the lightning flash, goes into the general 
 mass of electricity ; or as the earthly portion of the plant goes 
 into the general mass of organic substances diffused over the 
 surface of the earth. 
 
 " The organic substances, or rather the forces that operate in 
 them, remain for ever ; and also those forces, which, in order to 
 be revealed to the senses, unite themselves with organic matter. 
 The life-power changes only the garment in which it appears 
 to us. 
 
 " Higher, infinitely higher than these lower powers, stand in 
 the kingdoms of God, in the midst of the boundless All, souls 
 and self-conscious spirits. Neither can these vanish away into 
 inconceivable nothingness, even in their earthly forms. They 
 wed themselves to other powers, and appear before us in new 
 forms. Whatever has lived upon earth still lives ; and the mat- 
 ter in which the first plants, animals and men, were embodied, is 
 the same as that of which the bodies of plants, animals and men, 
 consist, at the present day. Why should I doubt the transforma- 
 tion and self-transformation of spirits, souls and forces, when 
 Nature already shows it to me in her kingdoms ? 
 
 "It can in nowise be maintained then, that spirits in their trans- 
 formations are limited only to the little body of a world which 
 we call our earth. Why should not the higher beings be wan- 
 derers from other worlds, when we perceive other and far inferior 
 powers move actively from star to star with inconceivable rapid- 
 ity ? There is an inward wonderful communion between the 
 myriads of worlds scattered through the universe. The power 
 of gravitation links them together in shining wreaths, and the 
 streaming light builds golden bridges from world to world in the 
 immeasurable space. 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
 73 
 
 "The belief of high antiquity in the transmigration of souls, 
 which to the ignorance of later times seems foolishness, will 
 return to its former nobility through observation of nature. And 
 if in your opinion it be a delusion that I have met upon earth 
 one and the same beloved soul in different forms, then call it a 
 delusion on my part, though an inexplicable feeling in me, though 
 an inward voice assures me it is a certainty. 1 know three be- 
 ings to whom I have been attached during my seventy years' 
 life, in a wonderful and involuntary manner, as I have been 
 towards no other beings. In all three there was the same ten- 
 derness, the same fidelity. The third of these beings was my 
 wife. 
 
 " Not far from a village, one day, on my return from a journey 
 of business, I saw on the highway a female beggar, whom one 
 of those who passed by was repelling with the words, £ Go and 
 work, thou art young, and* should be ashamed to beg !' 
 
 " As I drew nearer, my travelling-chaise being a good way be- 
 hind me, the man quietly continued his way. 
 
 "I stood still involuntarily. I suddenly felt my heart so con- 
 tracted, and all my ideas and feelings so resolved into one, that 
 I did not know myself. The most captivating Beauty stood be- 
 fore me in the garb of the deepest poverty. 
 
 "She also seemed confounded. A glowing blush overspread 
 her face, like the burning reflection of the morning clouds. Then 
 she turned pale, seemed to try to command herself and hasten 
 away, staggered, lost her strength, and was obliged to support 
 herself tremblingly against a tree. I went up to her. 
 
 " ' Thou art not well, my child !' T said. And it seemed to me 
 that I had already known her long. 
 
 " She answered not, though her lips opened to reply. She 
 gazed at me long and fixedly with her innocent look, as if she 
 would read my very soul. Then she turned suddenly and went 
 away. 
 
 " I remained rooted to the spot. Ten paces from me she again 
 leaned against an oak tree, and looked back at me. She wept, 
 and seemed endeavoring to repress her tears forcibly. 
 
 "I approached her. ' What aileth thee, my child V I asked ; 
 4 art thou unhappy V 
 
74 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 "She answered not. Her grief overpowered her. She sobbed 
 aloud, gazed upon me with eyes full of tears, endeavored to fly, 
 reeled as if exhausted, and sank down towards me. I caught 
 her in my arms. Her eyes were closed, and her face deadly 
 pale. I trembled lest she should die upon my breast. 
 
 " Trembling I laid her down in the high grass, ran to a run- 
 ning spring which flowed out of the rocks across the road, scoop- 
 ed up the cool water in my hat and hastened back. 
 
 " The maiden had awakened from her swoon. She heard my 
 footsteps, and using all her strength, rose up slowly. 
 
 " A faint red again tinged her cheeks. She thanked me with 
 a smile. 
 
 " 1 Thou art very ill !' said L 
 
 " She smiled, and answered with a faint hesitating voice : 1 No 
 indeed !' 
 
 "I drew out my purse, and instead"Df selecting any pieces of 
 gold for her, gave her the whole sum. I thought I had still 
 given her but little. 
 
 " The girl blushed, gave me back the gold, and said : ' I want 
 nothing.' 
 
 " 1 Then I will at least attend thee to thy dwelling, for thou 
 art weak.' 
 
 " i It is not far from here,' said she. 
 " ' Are thy parents there V I asked. 
 
 " 1 O no. My parents are dead. I am an orphan. They are 
 distant relatives, poor, good people, who have taken pity on me. 
 But except the shelter of their cottage, they can give me no- 
 thing. I tend the geese, or carry milk.' 
 
 " 1 Why dost thou not go into service V 
 
 " ' I cannot. The old man in our cottage would be without a 
 nurse. He is sick.' 
 
 " ' And how old art thou V I asked. 
 " 1 Seventeen years.' 
 
 " With such conversation we arrived at the maiden's dwelling : 
 a dilapidated cottage, almost held together by the ivy which 
 climbed around it, and bound it to a steep wall of rock. Within 
 there were everywhere traces of the extremest poverty, but 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
 75 
 
 still great neatness. A woman was washing at a running 
 spring, shaded by a tall elder-bush. An old man lay moaning 
 within upon a straw bed near the door. 
 
 " We seated ourselves upon a wooden bench not far from the 
 cottage. Before us, through willows and alder trees, a smiling 
 prospect opened across the river to the opposite shore. 
 
 " ' May I venture to offer you fresh milk and black bread for 
 your breakfast?' asked the maiden. 
 
 " I nodded pleasantly. Joy streamed from her eyes. She ran, 
 she flew away. 
 
 " During her absence I had some conversation with the woman 
 about her foster-daughter. The woman spoke of her with emo- 
 tion, and her account agreed with what I had myself learned 
 of the maiden. As yet I did not know her name. The poor 
 girl was called Cecilia. 
 
 " After a while Cecilia made her appearance. In a clean 
 wooden vessel she set the bread and milk before me. 
 
 " ' Cecilia,' said I, ' I feel for thee ; thou art unhappy.' 
 
 " She blushed. Her expressive eyes were again filled with 
 tears. 
 
 " 1 Wilt thou always remain a beggar V I continued. 
 
 " ' Poverty has not made me unhappy,' she sighed. 
 
 I would do everything for thee !' said I again, after a pause. 
 'I will give thee new clothes and travelling-money, and thou 
 shalt go to my native-town. I will have thy foster-parents pro- 
 vided for, that they shall not starve.' 
 
 " The foster-mother had overheard my words. Cecilia looked 
 down with a disturbed expression. The woman hastened for- 
 ward, and exhausted all her eloquence in persuading Cecilia 
 not to reject such good luck. Cecilia assented obediently. I 
 gave the woman money, and sent her to the village to purchase 
 better clothes for Cecilia. 
 
 " I was left alone. After a little while I heard the tones as of 
 one weeping. _I knew it was Cecilia's voice. She was speaking 
 in the cottage half- aloud and with a smothered voice. 
 
 " I hastened in. A half-open door gave me a view of the poor 
 girl in a chamber. Her back was turned to me. With her 
 
70 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 hands folded and raised to heaven, there stood Cecilia, weeping 
 and sobbing, and I now and then caught a few of her words : 
 
 " ' Thou hast seen my tears !' she said, overpowered by her 
 feelings : 1 Thou hast counted my sighs ! O my God, my God, 
 how have I deserved that thou shouldst make me so happy V 
 
 " Prayer, when it comes from the over-burdened heart, is like 
 tears. It takes from suffering all its thorns, and from joy its 
 intoxicating poison. 
 
 " I seated myself upon the wooden bench. In a few moments 
 Cecilia came towards me, her eyes red with weeping. She 
 looked fixedly at me, as I did at her. 
 
 a < Why dost thou weep, dear Cecilia V said I. 
 
 " Unchecked her tears now streamed down her cheeks. She 
 threw herself on her knees before me ; she seized my hand, and 
 pressed it to her lips, and cried, ' Ah, my happiness is all too 
 great ! How could I hope so much ? I will be your truest 
 maid ; I will never forsake you — I will willingly die for you !' 
 
 " But I will not longer detain you with my feast in the cottage 
 of these poor people. I brought Cecilia to a neighboring town, 
 to one of my female acquaintances, who was the principal of 
 an institution for the education of women. Then the humble 
 saint became my wife. 
 
 " More important in this narrative are some other circumstances, 
 both as respects myself and Cecilia. It remains with you to 
 call these circumstances the dreams of an enthusiast, or the 
 game of what we call Chance. To me they had a vivid 
 significance. 
 
 " To these belong that strange feeling with which I was seized 
 when I first saw Cecilia. That my whole being was thus carried 
 away towards this poor girl may perhaps be nothing remarkable. 
 For the instances are many of persons who, never having met 
 before, at the first glance are kindled into a sudden and pas- 
 sionate natural love. There are similar phenomena to these, 
 belonging to our mysterious inward being, which have never 
 been explained. Whence this sudden, involuntary passion of 
 man towards one person, to whom a thousand others remain 
 indifferent ? 
 
 " It is not generally the magic power of Beauty that works this 
 
HARMONIUS. 
 
 77 
 
 miracle, for we know that in life we often do not recognize beauty 
 in that to which we are attracted by passion ; and that sometimes 
 hearts are kindled by a form which, through its irregularity, 
 approaches what seems unlovely in the general opinion. In all 
 passion or love, as in our conviction of truth, we are governed 
 not so much by free-will as by the constraint of Nature, by 
 Necessity. That the first pleasing impressions of a human form 
 upon the tender mind of earliest childhood should always re- 
 main indelible, and should still, in later years, influence our 
 opinion of Beauty, and the pleasure we feel in this or that form 
 is as little borne out by experience as it is ridiculous to a sound 
 understanding. This authoritative Necessity, in our inclination 
 or disinclination, seems to me to lie in a peculiarity of the nature 
 of the soul, which is involuntarily subjected to the same natural 
 law, which rules everything else. Only the mind of man has 
 free-will, not the soul, which is its next form, its organ of feeling. 
 That alone has consciousness ; the soul knows only feelings and 
 instincts. In the mind dwells the longing after perfection, in 
 the soul Love. 
 
 " At my first interview with Cecilia, I had no control over my 
 inclination towards her, but was drawn to her in spite of my 
 will. Neither her poverty nor her beauty had moved me, but 
 our minds were one, as if we had always been one being, as the 
 life of the mother and her babe are for a long time but one life, 
 until they are separated by the constraint of Nature. Friends ! 
 there is already more than a new world discovered upon 
 the much navigated ocean of Science : but, from the limitation 
 of the soul's power of observation, we can scarcely know the 
 shores, and find a fit landing-place, from which we may 
 press into the interior, for a sight at the wonders and secrets of 
 all life. 
 
 " Far more surprising to me was that which I afterwards learned 
 from Cecilia. She affirmed, that before she had known me, she 
 had at times seen a form like mine in her dreams, and even in 
 the earliest dreams of her childhood. She became so much 
 accustomed to the appearance of this form, under every variety 
 of circumstance, as is often the case with dreams, that she re- 
 tained her recollection of it even when wide awake. Only 
 
 HI 
 
73 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 occasionally — not once in a year — my image had appeared 
 before her : but it was met by her with the same longing 
 and love. She spoke of the sensation which it produced, to 
 me unintelligible, as an indescribable, a strange, painfully- 
 pleasant contraction of the breast, even as far up as between 
 her shoulders. She affirmed that after one of these dreams, she 
 had experienced this feeling for some days, though it gradually 
 grew less perceptible. 
 
 " As she was one day gathering strawberries in the woods, she 
 was, without any previous dream, seized with this same stricture, 
 and this immediately brought to her remembrance the image in 
 her dream. She soon heard the sound of a horse's feet on the 
 road which led through the wood. She looked towards the rider. 
 It was myself, who was travelling through this oountry upon a 
 journey of business. But I do not remember at that time seeing 
 the strawberry-gatherer. Cecilia, on the contrary, as I learned 
 from her account, was as if paralyzed by my look. She clung 
 to the trunk of a tree, to prevent her sinking to the earth. 
 She doubted whether she was dreaming or waking. And as I 
 might be far on my way, she ran up the road after my horse's 
 steps, to see me once more, if only at a distance. Her endeavor 
 was fruitless. 
 
 " This explains the singular state she fell into, when I found her, 
 as I have related to you, begging alms near the village. She, 
 at that time, had no doubts about the actual existence of the 
 form she saw in her dreams : but she had relinquished the hope 
 of ever meeting it in reality. 
 
 " Enough of this, dear friends. I have given you the explana- 
 tion, which you desired, of my words, i Imperishable Love 
 under all forms.' 
 
 " As for yourselves, you may suppose that the story I have 
 related to you shows the sportings of chance, or the workings of 
 a deluded imagination ; you may find another key to what to 
 me appears wonderful. I will give you credit if you do! But 
 these higher convictions of my belief cannot be shaken, much 
 less eradicated. You cannot destroy for me the harmony of 
 Experience and Reason, of Past and Future, of Time and 
 Eternity. 
 
HARMONIUM. 
 
 79 
 
 " Man, placed between an eternal Nothing and an eternal 
 Reality, can comprehend the possibility of neither the one nor 
 the other; or who can fathom the question, why an eternal 
 Nothing is not as good as an eternal Being ? But I am con- 
 scious of myself and of the actual All. This IS. And because 
 it is, therefore it is impossible that what is, should vanish away 
 and become nothing ; therefore what is, is eternal ; the power in 
 an atom of dust, and the power which thought in Plato. All is 
 power, all spirit, all active. This is the infinite kingdom of 
 Nature : but the world is only the operation of this upon the mind 
 and soul. The play of effects, of operations, is changeable : the 
 eternally-active is unchangeable. The world changes, but not 
 nature. 
 
 Being itself does not change, but only its relations to one 
 another. Mind and soul move in other connections according to 
 divine ordinances. The strength or weakness of the Will, which 
 the mind is conscious of in itself, by a natural necessity creates 
 a distinction between the elevation or the degradation of Self. 
 That is its Heaven — this its Hell. There is an infinite progress of 
 spirits towards perfection in the Infinite, as the solar systems with 
 their planets wheel through the realm of the immeasurable All. 
 Eternal Activity ! New union, to be going on, of spirits and souls 
 with new powers, which become their serviceable instruments 
 of contact with the All of things — this is transmigration of souls. 
 Any other kind of continued duration and continued action is 
 inconceivable to us. Whether upon earth, or in other worlds, 
 is a matter of indifference. But one spirit sees these things 
 more clearly than another. 
 
 " That which in the seemingly self-unconscious forces which 
 lie deep beneath us, we call Attraction and Affinity, and which 
 higher beings among themselves call Love, is ever the same, is 
 from God. For God is Love. And thus Love bears kindred 
 souls imperishably through all forms." 
 
so 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 X. 
 
 So spoke Harmonius. But these are not his words which 
 I give, but mere links in the chain of his thoughts. We all 
 found ourselves so wonderfully entangled by them, that we 
 could neither free ourselves from them by contradiction, nor, on 
 account of their singular character, altogether agree with them. 
 
 What Harmonius said of the objects of his affection, appears 
 to us not more singular than what is related of Pythagoras. 
 Concerning the substance of this peculiar view of Nature I ven- 
 ture no opinion. But to me it is remarkable, that so lofty a spirit 
 as Harmonius should return at last to that which already per- 
 vaded the secret doctrines of the ancients, of the Indians and 
 Egyptians, the Pythagorean and Platonic ideas, and the Pindaric 
 songs. 
 
 For the thinker, the exhibition of a thinking spirit of a pecu- 
 liar kind, is not less attractive than the delineation of a striking 
 character in external life. Therefore I have thought that I 
 should do something not altogether useless, in selecting the more 
 significant passages from the conversation of the excellent old 
 man Harmonius.* 
 
 * From the MSS. of C. P. Cranch. 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 JACK STEAM, 
 
 THE BUSY-BODY. 
 
 JACK STEAM. 
 
 The return of the famous Jack Steam from the high school of 
 Outland to his native town, was an epoch in the history of Lalen- 
 burg, and concerned, we may say, the whole European world. 
 At least, every good Lalenburger considered the affairs of his 
 own little town of importance enough to fasten tfc s attention of 
 the most remote as well as of the nearest countries ; and no one 
 doubted for a moment that the least detraction from the ancient 
 fame of Lalenburg, or of the Lalenburg patricians, would disturb 
 the sacred balance of Europe, and set the whole world, from the 
 Ural mountains to the Tagus, in fire and flames. It is always 
 good when the citizen of never so small a town thinks well of 
 himself, and he ought never to behave himself meanly, for great 
 words and little deeds amount to nothing but Quixotism and gas- 
 conade. The true greatness of a state does not consist in the 
 fact of its wealth, but in the power and active-mindedness of its 
 inhabitants — at least of those who bear the staff of authority. 
 The people in themselves are nothing but cyphers ; only the 
 magistrates are the numbers that can be counted at all, or that 
 possess any real significance. 
 
 Jack Steam was the son of the deceased burgomaster Peter 
 Steam, one of the greatest statesmen of his_ century. Peter's 
 lofty and philanthropic spirit had never disturbed the peace of 
 Europe. In sagacity he surpassed all his contemporaries; in 
 judgment he was infallible ; in decision perfectly correct ; and in 
 
84 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 sallies of wit, there never was one like him. And he was all this 
 upon the simple ground that he was the first magistrate of the 
 town. Not what he had actually done, but what he might have 
 done, would, if it were written, fill whole folios, and he take 
 rank, if not above, still near to the most commanding princes in 
 the history of the world. He died too early for the fortunes of 
 Lalenburg, and only the virtues of his successor, Mr. Burgomas- 
 ter Tobias Crack, could mitigate the just but silent sorrow of the 
 state, for the loss of the great Peter Steam. 
 
 The young Jack Steam had formed himself at school so that 
 he might assume the duties of his hereditary rank as a patri- 
 cian with honor. It was true there was a good academy at 
 Lalenburg, but that served only for the instruction of the common 
 citizen-classes and the poorer families among the higher orders. 
 The Lalenburg nobility already understood, what other states- 
 men have more slowly made the ground-work of their policy, 
 that enlightenment and intelligence were the most deadly poi- 
 sons that could be distributed among the people. Europe has 
 only to thank intelligence for the greater part of the evils under 
 which she suffers. If this principle, then, is so detrimental in 
 monarchies, that the Secretary often knows more than his Minis- 
 ter, and the Captain or the Lieutenant presumes to criticise the 
 strategy or the tactic of the General, by which, in the end, they 
 are completely turned about, the highest becoming the lowest, 
 and the lowest the highest, how dangerous would be the opera- 
 tion of it in a state where there existed greater freedom, in a re- 
 public, for instance, where the people are so apt to know as much 
 as their betters. 
 
 The lords of Lalenburg had early adopted the noble principle 
 that the lower classes should be allowed to sip from the springs 
 of Wisdom only as much as might be requisite for the necessi- 
 ties and sustenance of life. In several of the neighboring vil- 
 lages of that free republic, they had left it to the patriotic chari- 
 ty of the peasants themselves whether they would have common 
 schools or not, and whether they would pay the salary of the 
 teachers. The peasants, as might naturally have been expected 
 from their sound good sense, found out for themselves the eternal 
 truth, that a peasant at the plough has no need of great erudi- 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 65 
 
 tion. They grew, . accordingly, in the fear of God and pious 
 simplicity, as well as other people, and became thick and fat, to 
 the admiration of everybody. In general, the government of 
 Lalenburg, if we may judge from their blooming prosperity, was 
 much too good for the people, who were regarded as one would 
 regard a flock of sheep entrusted to his care, as something to be 
 made fat. The fatter the man, the more respectable he was. In 
 the towns, also, a similar principle prevailed, and there sprung up 
 in Lalenburg one of the most praiseworthy regulations in the 
 world, which only obtains in India, Egypt and the celebrated 
 countries of the east, viz. that the son pursued the calling of his 
 father ; the son of a rustic remained a rustic, and could never 
 to all eternity be anything else ; the mechanic's Child became 
 a mechanic, the preacher's son a preacher, the merchant's son a 
 merchant, and the counsellor's son a counsellor. Whoever 
 thought this was not an excellent arrangement, was called a tur- 
 bulent fellow, a demagogue, or perhaps a metaphysician, ajaco. 
 bin, and other bad-sounding names. 
 
 To maintain this spiritual peace, and to banish ail unsafe curi- 
 osity, they had established an excellent censorship, which was af- 
 terwards copied from the Lalenburgers by other lands. Manu- 
 scripts and books, with a proper foresight, were forbidden to the 
 before-mentioned " turbulent fellows," and they were allowed to 
 carry about with them only the song and the prayer-book or a 
 catechism. The Lalenburg Code contained one singular ar- 
 ticle : of the state or republic of Lalenburg not the least word 
 could be whispered, lest some important state secret should 
 be betrayed. But when theCouncil consented that something re- 
 ally worthy could be praised, then the Lalenburg Fame took up 
 her trumpet, and blowed the praises of the glorious action to the 
 ends of the earth, that other nations might have an example, and 
 the future historian proper materials. This awakened among 
 the patrician youth a noble emulation. 
 
 Even Jack Steam himself was inflamed by it, although Nature 
 had already done much for the worthy lad. He seemed to have 
 been born for great things. It is but just to speak, in the outset of 
 his career, of the rare merit that he was not rich, although he 
 had rich uncles and cousins to inherit from. Already the secret 
 
86 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 knowledge that he would have money one day and was born to 
 command, acquired him great credit and made him virtuous, 
 learned, intelligent, upright, intellectual and worthy. From 
 his agreeable figure, they saw wherever he came, that he would 
 form himself according to his own will ; his words, his manners, 
 his movements were marked with a pleasing easiness, an unaf- 
 fected life, which in another person, of lower extraction, they 
 would have called ill-breeding or impudence. He was accustom- 
 ed to speak, with noble frankness, whether he understood his 
 subject or not ; was full of knowledge without pedantry, which 
 he had gathered from romances, reviews and learned newspapers, 
 that enabled him to dispense with the reading of pedantic books, 
 and yet communicated a fifth part of their contents. To this 
 foundation of wisdom there was not wanting either humor or 
 activity. He was a restless, indeed, we might say a mercurial 
 man ; mingled in all things, wished to know everything, to say 
 everything ; to do everything, — in short, was perfect in every 
 quality which in a common person would certainly pass for pert- 
 ness, but in Lalenburg acquired him great weight, and is regard- 
 ed by eminent statesmen as a mark of universal genius. 
 
 THE BUSY-BODY. 
 
 At the high school, the same liveliness of disposition had been 
 the occasion of many little disagreeable events, and sometimes of 
 a severe flogging from some rude man. But only common mor- 
 tals allow themselves to be intimidated by earthly mischances. 
 He continued the same. Raised above the storms of fate, and 
 the pains of his back, he pursued his chosen career, which 
 among his schoolfellows won him the somewhat equivocal and 
 singular name of bully, but which on the throne of one of your 
 world-rulers, is very properly metamorphosed into the title of 
 The Great. For, strictly speaking, nothing in itself is either 
 great or small, and only becomes so by means of time, place and 
 circumstance. Alexander the Great, as well as his Swedish 
 ape Charles the Twelfth, — Charles the Great, as well as his 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 87 
 
 Corsican imitator, was each in his time a mere Jack Steam the 
 busy-body, and played in the great drama of their several na- 
 tions, his ever memorable but unblessed part. 
 
 Even this brisk butterfly-like courage, this desire to be over 
 all, and like no one else, to be all in all, distinguished our no- 
 ble youth, among his fellow citizens no less than among stran- 
 gers. His fellow citizens were accustomed to think deliberate- 
 ly, and come to a point with caution. Fortune was true to him 
 here as in all things. No wonder that the greater part of the 
 Lalenburgers regarded him as an extraordinary apparition in 
 the history of the world and mankind, and at last came to look 
 upon the sports of accident as the work of his strength, and wrote 
 reports concerning many performances of his, which he himself 
 knew nothing about. 
 
 As soon as he had returned to his native place, it was com- 
 monly remarked that he had grown in years, in understanding 
 and in body. Indeed, he overtopped the majority of his fellow 
 citizens about the length of a head, and therefore they gave him, 
 as a distinction from the rest of the Steamish family, the sur- 
 name of the Great. That it was only to greatness of mind such 
 a surname was due, never entered the thought of a Lalenburg- 
 er ; for mind has neither flesh nor bones. 
 
 After one year, when the great and sovereign council of the 
 town and republic of Lalenburg was renewed, or, more pro- 
 perly, repaired, he attained, by right of birth, to the dignity of 
 those who wielded the chief power, who were the legislators of 
 the state, and from among whom it was customary to select the 
 persons on whom the highest posts of honor were conferred. 
 
 A young aspiring man must naturally have felt it to be very 
 agreeable lo belong to the "Fathers of the Country." This 
 appellation, the best and most honorable which mighty Rome 
 gave to her most excellent rulers, and which, in modern times, 
 the people apply to their really great men, the Lord-Councillors 
 of Lalenburg referred to themselves, both in their solemn dis- 
 cussions and in their every-day proclamations, even if the object 
 was merely to make known a meat or bread tax. 
 
 Soon after this elevation, fortune cast upon Jack Steam, the 
 dignity of First Architect to the republic. 
 
88 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 I say, fortune ; for, with the exception of the consular dignity, 
 which depended upon a secret majority in a formal election, all 
 the other offices at Lalenburg were distributed by lot. This 
 excellent arrangement deserved to be admired, as it was. Not 
 only, by means of it, were all the strifes of factions and parties 
 prevented, which the ambition of the citizens in a republic car- 
 ries to such extremities, but the choice received a sort of holy 
 attestation and seal. It was not man, but Heaven itself, who 
 designated the most worthy officers. True, it happened not 
 unfrequently that the butcher became the school-teacher, the 
 barber the postmaster, and the chief cook superintendent of the 
 treasury ; but this promoted a multiplicity of mental accom- 
 plishments which are nowhere easily got. It was in accord- 
 ance too with the old and sensible maxim, that to whom God 
 gives a place he gives also understanding, a maxim which 
 originally took its rise in Lalenburg, as everybody knows. 
 
 Jack Steam was, therefore, in no respect misplaced, although 
 he had never in the course of his life made even a card-house, 
 when he was chosen Chief Architect of the republic. He as- 
 sumed the oversight of the two common springs of the capital, 
 of the public streets, on which in open daylight one might 
 without special care break his neck or his bones, and of the 
 public edifices, to which belonged the council-house, the 
 academy, the engine houses, and even the church and parsonage. 
 
 His youth, his wealth and his distinctions, made him one of 
 the most important personages in the state. Every maiden and 
 mother looked upon him with friendly expectations, and he very 
 naturally looked kindly upon them ; but the matrimonial candi- 
 dates were so many, that he found it difficult to decide to which 
 of them he should give the ring. He fluttered from flower to 
 flower. In every street, he had a sweetheart ; and very soon, 
 in the whole of Lalenburg, there was not a citizen's daughter 
 who did not fancy that she had made some impression upon the 
 heart of this Alcibiades. 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 89 
 
 JACK STEAM. 
 
 Uncles and cousins, when they saw his irresolution, at last met 
 together, to consult over the choice of the future Mistress Chief 
 Architect. They considered it an indispensable requisite in the 
 daughter of the country who should be offered the marriage, 
 that she should have wealth and family ; and after long thought, 
 investigation, and many timely ifs and huts, their votes fell 
 upon Miss Rozina Piphen, only daughter of the Chamberlain of 
 the republic, a grandchild of a for-twelve-blessed-years-deceased 
 burgomaster, relative of the most respectable and wealthy 
 houses of the state, and herself the richest heiress among all the 
 blooming maidens of Lalenburg. 
 
 Jack Steam frankly gave vent to many objections against this 
 chosen one : but all were without any real foundation. She 
 was about ten years older than he — but she was the grandchild 
 of a burgomaster. She patiently carried a hump on her back 
 — but she had money. She was so small in figure that she 
 could not, without stretching her hand high above her head, 
 walk arm-in-arm with him through the ways of life — but he 
 himself could bend, or shorten himself by getting down on his 
 knees. 
 
 After all, to the delight of the pious little Rozina, the 
 negotiation was opened between the relatives of the two, with 
 all proper form. Jack Steam willingly left the trouble of it 
 to them. The affair was crowned with the very best luck. 
 The day was appointed, when he should go and ask the hand 
 of their daughter from the Honorable Chamberlain and the 
 Honorable Chamberlainess. After this important business, 
 which, according to custom, was managed as a most notorious 
 secret, the portions given by the relatives on both sides were to 
 be brought together, and a brilliant supper prepared. 
 
 Jack Steam, on the appointed day, could hardly wait till 
 evening, and keep the secret of the festival in the dark. Mean- 
 while, the uncles and cousins rejoiced, not so much at the pros- 
 pect of a betrothal- feast, as at the supposed surprise of the whole 
 town on the following morning, when the secret should take air. 
 
90 
 
 and greeting upon greeting fly from every mouth. The town-ar- 
 chitect had dressed himself most gaily, early in the morning, and 
 it gave him much uneasiness that he could not show his finery 
 until the evening. His vanity caused him to think of the many 
 complaisances and coynesses which would make him appear to 
 be the very Cupid of Lalenburg. 
 
 At any rate, that he might reap a harvest of wonder, he 
 walked forth. 
 
 THE BUSY-BODY. 
 
 His first desire led him to the house of the town-pastor, where 
 he had always been received with the most Christian kindness ; 
 for the pastor had a daughter, a pious, sweet blonde, called 
 Susanna, who was well worthy to become Mistress Town- 
 architect. Jack Steam, in general, looked kindly upon the 
 blonde, and the heavenly blonde looked kindly upon him. He 
 was possessed by a feeling which is peculiar to great men, that 
 he burned with the most intense devotion for every beautiful 
 woman that stood near him. 
 
 It was afternoon. The time flew past swiftly in the midst of 
 entertaining chat about household affairs, and. the marriage 
 statistics of the neighborhood. Coffee was brought in ; and they 
 sat down around a black cloth with great gold landscapes, which 
 ornamented a Japanese table, with one leg made in the form of 
 a pillar, the parson and his wife on the right and left, and the 
 tender Jack Steam and the modest blonde opposite to each other. 
 They greatly enjoyed the famous Arabian drink. The Archi- 
 tect had never seen Susanna more beautiful than she was that 
 day ; no doubt, she was the more so, because that very day, 
 within a few hours, he was to surrender his freedom for ever to 
 the little Rozina. He quietly compared the attractive rival 
 with her little treasure-box, which awaited him in the evening, 
 with the golden hair curling so beautifully over the marble 
 forehead of Susanna, and all the gold and money of Miss 
 Chamberlainess seemed like so much dross. Susanna's blue 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 91 
 
 heavenly eyes, her sweet little red mouth, and her snow-white 
 neck induced him easily to forget the entire circle of Rozina's 
 respectable and distinguished relatives. And when he caught 
 a glimpse of the neat and delicate feet under the table, with their 
 white stockings, and then thought of the broad masculine foot 
 of Rozina, his love for the blonde blazed out at once into a clear 
 flame. He dismissed the elected bride, and wished for no other 
 paradise than Susanna could have made for him. It gave him 
 pain, however, that she all the while modestly hung down her 
 eyes, and kept surveying the coffee cups. Not even his new 
 violet-colored silk vest had fastened her attention. He would 
 willingly have declared the sweet feeling which possessed him, 
 but was restrained by the presence of the parents. Still he 
 could not refrain, while placing his feet near to hers, from con- 
 veying to her by one soft and tender touch, how eager he was 
 to approach her. 
 
 Unfortunately, he had not observed that Susy had drawn her 
 feet back, and that the feet of the mother occupied their place. 
 Now, these were no less sensitive than those of the seventeen- 
 year-old-beauty, for the good lady had been a long while com- 
 plaining of what are called corns. It would appear she had 
 them at any rate, since the love-tap of the architect not only 
 pressed out of her a very death-shriek, but, in order to save her 
 toes from the vehement pressure, made the Japan-table a parti- 
 cipant in the affair, by which all the coffee-dishes were tumbled 
 pell-mell towards one side. As no one was impolite enough, 
 however much he might desire it, to take all the coffee, milk, 
 sugar and butter to himself, each one pushed the table the other 
 way, so that it was kept flying about like a ball between them, 
 until everybody had received a portion of its contents. 
 
 All were frightened out of their wits, since no one knew the 
 particular occasion of this sudden stroke of Fate. The dark 
 tablecloth, as well as the architect's new violet-colored vest, 
 shone like another milky-way, while the pastor's wife and 
 daughter, with a hundred curtseys, asked pardon of Jack 
 Steam for the awkward accident, which had also ornamented 
 their fine white aprons with coffee-colored and curious images. 
 Jack foresaw that in the end, when their fright would allow 
 
92 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 them to inquire into the affair, that his guilt would become 
 apparent, and so, before it was too late, he took his departure. 
 
 A cloudy sky had anticipated the darkness of the night. 
 Jack hoped to indemnify himself for the misadventure ai the 
 parson's, by the feast at the Chamberlain's, and hurried to his 
 house, and so into his chamber, to exchange his silk violet- 
 colored vest for one that was dryer. 
 
 This accomplished, he went to the window, to see whether the 
 rain would render any measure of security necessary. But 
 the rain had suddenly ceased, and he, as he opened the window, 
 was met by fire instead of water — not an earthly, but a super- 
 earthly fire — not from heaven, but from the black eyes of a 
 charming neighbor called Catharine. 
 
 This Catharine was no one else than the daughter of Place- 
 Major Knoll. But she knew no better place in the whole king- 
 dom than the heart of Jack Steam, and fondly believed that she 
 would soon get possession of it. For Jack Steam, whenever he 
 was near her, loved no one as well as she ; and he was often 
 near her, although the Major himself was not much of a friend 
 or patron. Both these high officers had been reared in the 
 same rank and precedence in diplomatic controversies. The 
 Major maintained, that in consequence of the big feather on hi*? 
 hat, he was a greater man than Jack Steam, while Jack was 
 just as certain, that as the architect was distinguished for con- 
 struction, and the soldier only for destruction, they should take 
 precedence accordingly. Although the architect had never 
 constructed anything, nor the Major destroyed anything, they 
 had continued the controversy before the council and citizens 
 for more than a year and a day. 
 
 The good little Kate, with her fire-flashing eyes, was not 
 altogether of the opinion of her father. Whenever she could, 
 in the twilight of morning or evening, she looked out of that 
 window of her house which was opposite to the house of the 
 Steamers. The whole street was not three paces wide, as if 
 made especially for lovers, so that they might whisper back and 
 forth without being heard by the people who sauntered along 
 the walks below. 
 
 Now they whispered here for some time ; they said a great 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 93 
 
 many pretty things, and Jack complained at times of what he had 
 often before lamented, that the street was not a pace or two 
 smaller, so that he might kiss, or at least shake, the hand of the 
 dear Katy. He had even gone so far, since he had been town- 
 architect, as to swear to his lovely neighbor, that he would some 
 time or other build a bridge from his casement to hers, which 
 no one within a hundred miles of Lalenburg would be able to 
 find. Thus far he had contented himself with the mere threat, 
 although Catharine had never expressed the least objection to 
 the enterprise. 
 
 This bridge-building plan again entered Jack's noddle, when 
 the beauty, with the flaming eyes, continued to tell him, among 
 other things, that she was very glad to see him or any other 
 man, for she was all alone in the house and nearly terrified. 
 The project of storming the castle of Major Knoll had never 
 seized Jack so forcibly as now, when the garrison was left ex- 
 posed. He called upon the stars for permission to construct his 
 air-bridge, and pass over it, and without waiting for an answer 
 — there was a plank near at hand — he fell to at his daring 
 work. It is true the beauty was not a little uneasy at the 
 danger of this projected air-voyage ; but the architect was de- 
 termined to keep up the dignity of his calling, and be an archi- 
 tect in fact. He blessed the art of architecture as practised in 
 Lalenburg, because it brought people into such neighborly 
 relationship ; laid the plank from window to window, and crept 
 cautiously upon all fours out into the open air. No one could 
 discover him, since it was already dark night. 
 
 This darkness, as advantageous as it was, had still a few 
 little drawbacks. For Catharine, as she cautiously drew one 
 end of the plank into her chamber, did not observe that she drew 
 it a little too far ; neither did guildmaster Crackle, a potter 
 by trade, observe what a tempest was sweeping over him, as he 
 drove through the street below, his wagon All of earthenware, 
 destined for the annual fair of a neighboring market. 
 
 How often adverse circumstances conspire to defeat the best 
 \aid schemes of mortals was seen in this instance. The bridge 
 lost its stand-point on the Steamian window. The plank slid, 
 
94 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 and although Miss Catharine held fast with both hands, and 
 pulled with might and main, — still the architect would fall. 
 
 Jack Steam came down to the great danger of guildrnaster 
 Crackle's pots ; and fortunately, or unfortunately, though he kept 
 himself whole, he metamorphosed the ware into the strangest 
 shapes. This occasioned such a fearful crackling and crashing, 
 that the guildrnaster, who walked quietly beside his horses, 
 thought, that if the whole heavens were not falling down, some 
 house was certainly undergoing the process. The horses, no 
 less frightened, gave one furious leap, and were soon out of the 
 street into the park before the Council-house. 
 
 The guildrnaster, curious as to how much of his wagon would 
 be left, stopped, and was in the act of making an investigation, 
 when to his no small astonishment, he saw a man spring from 
 the back part of the wagon, carrying with him, in the midst of 
 a terrible crackling, some dozen or more of the pots. It was 
 plain to him now, that this had been some thieves' trick, or the 
 work of the devil. With great presence of mind, he ran to 
 seize the perpetrator of it, who, as we know, was no other than 
 the town-architect. But, instead of him — Jack had slipped off 
 to avoid unpleasant observation — the angry potter grabbed the 
 shoemaker, Mr. Awl, a deserving head-guildmaster, whose Fate 
 led him, unseasonably as it appeared, on his way from the Council- 
 chamber to his house, to pass the place where lay the unfortu- 
 nate wagon. Mr. Crackle seized the head-guildmaster with such 
 lusty vehemence, and grappled him so fast, that he could not 
 move. A boa-constrictor would not have embraced him more 
 warmly than the potter, who then, with a voice which might 
 have been heard far beyond the city gates, cried out, "Help! 
 Robbers ! Murderers ! Thieves !" 
 
 The hard-pressed shoemaker, who, indeed, had great occa- 
 sion to shelter himself from this clamor, did not miss the opportu- 
 nity. The public peace was never broken more maliciously. 
 Feeling both his innocence and his danger, he shouted out in 
 emulation of his raving companion, " Death ! Fury ! Murder ! 
 Banditti! Thieves!" 
 
 This shrieking, the like of which had not been heard for a 
 full century in Lalenburg, spread a panic of fear over the whole 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 95 
 
 neighborhood. Everybody bolted his doors and windows from 
 within with the greatest nimbleness, while they conjectured that 
 there was a whole band of robbers in the streets, or that, after 
 the fashion of other countries, a revolution had broken out. 
 Those who were loitering in the streets flew hastily in the oppo- 
 site direction, least they should be put to death in the fisticuff. 
 At the gates, the town watchmen, mostly old paralytic men, 
 whom the praiseworthy magistrates fed at public expense, grasped 
 their halberds tremblingly, flew to the watch-house, barricadoed 
 themselves in, and then swore that they would die each for all, 
 and all for each, if they should be invaded and caught. Major 
 Knoll, even, who was accidentally returning home that way, 
 took the alarm, and fancying that he heard robbers and murder- 
 ers calling to each other, tore the big feather from his hat, lest 
 some of the band should take him for a military person, and fled 
 panting back to the town-house. 
 
 When in this way no one came to the help of the combatants, 
 they shouted a good half hour longer, until their voices became 
 hoarse. In the mean time, they had tried their strength against 
 each other in manifold ways ; more than once had they rolled 
 over each other on the hard ground, more than once had the 
 fight been renewed without either of them gaining a decided 
 victory. Neither was willing to let the other go. They dragged 
 one another, both with the same design, to the house of a butcher 
 near by, who was the godfather of both of them ; and after many 
 entreaties that the door should be opened, it was done. The 
 butcher thought that he heard the well-known voices of some 
 of his fellow citizens who had escaped the blood-bath in the 
 streets. But as the shoemaker and the potter came to recognize 
 each other by the candlelight, without loss of time they redoubled 
 their clatter ; for their respective guilds had been old enemies, 
 and each believed for a certainty that the other had played him 
 a bad trick out of mere revenge. 
 
 Meanwhile Jack, in anxiety and fear, had made the best of 
 his way out of the town, not wishing to lead the much-bruised 
 potter, by whom he supposed he was followed, to his own house. 
 He forgot Rosina, and the almonds and confectionery of the be- 
 trothal, and Catharine at the window, and her amazement over 
 
96 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 the contemplation of an empty plank. He wandered about the 
 whole evening, and found, when he supposed it would be safe 
 for him to return home, that the town gates were closed. This 
 troubled him uncommonly, for it now occurred to him that he 
 had left his friends and followers locked in at home. He passed 
 the night at a little tavern out of town, where he gave out that 
 he had been belated while taking a walk. 
 
 JACK STEAM. 
 
 On the following morning he returned in good time to the 
 town, but not without trepidation. Sometimes he dreaded that 
 the proud Chamberlain Piphen would revenge his absenting him- 
 self from the betrothal, and at times he suspected that some cir- 
 cumstance had betrayed him to Potter Crackle, as the author of 
 the mischief done to his ware. But he hoped to get through the 
 difficulty by means of his peculiar self-assurance. 
 
 Thus far, everything in Lalenburg went well ; but as he came 
 to his residence, he found before it three messengers from a neigh- 
 boring village, who had already waited for him more than an hour. 
 The first announced hastily that a fire had broken out in the 
 village, and that they had diligently looked after him, to send an 
 engine, inasmuch as he had the keys of the engine houses. 
 The second continued that three houses were already burned 
 down, but that many fire-engines had arrived from the surround- 
 ing country. And the third concluded by saying that fortunately 
 the fire was extinguished in about half an hour. 
 
 Jack Steam stroked his chin thoughtfully, and said to the 
 peasants, who reverentially stood before him with their hats ofF, 
 '•'You asses, if the whole village had been burned down, you 
 would have been guilty ; for you ought to have come here at the 
 proper time, before the fire had caught, so that something could 
 have been done for you in season. In that case, I should not 
 have gone out, or passed the night in the country. Still, it is 
 well that the fire is extinguished. At another time, you must 
 announce it before it breaks out, so that we can have time before- 
 
/land to put the engines in order. So go home, and tell my de- 
 cision to your principals." 
 
 He had scarcely dismissed them, and taken his breakfast, 
 when he was sought for by one of his uncles, who had experienced 
 so much pleasure at the betrothal feast of yesterday. He came 
 with a commission from Mr. Chamberlain Piphen, who had taken 
 the absence of the architect so sorely that he could hardly speak 
 with politeness, to the effect, that, as to the betrothal, marriage 
 and son-in-lawship, it must be dropped now and for ever ; that 
 Jack must henceforth make no pretensions to the hand of the 
 worthy little humped-back Rozina, and that he must take care 
 how he crossed the threshold of the much injured Chamber- 
 lain, if he would avoid the risk of making a rough exit by the 
 window. 
 
 As it concerned the hand of the beautiful Rozina, Jack com- 
 forted himself very soon; nor did the threatened expulsion from 
 the window make any particular impression upon him, seeing 
 that his first attempt in that way had been so successful. But 
 the displeasure of the Chamberlain was not so agreeable. He 
 was undoubtedly a man of influence in the council of the town 
 and republic, and very properly so, since with all his ignorance, 
 he was one of the richest men in the place. 
 
 The uncle, however, gave him to understand that he would 
 not have found the Chamberlain so severe upon his heedlessness, 
 but for the sly Town Secretary, who had sedulously inflamed the 
 wrath of the Chamberlain by his wicked insinuations. Mr. 
 Sulks in fact reckoned upon coming into possession of Rosina 
 and her treasury himself : besides that for other reasons he was 
 not a good friend of Steam's, because when he was soliciting 
 the office of Secretary, and made his regular round of suppli- 
 cating visits to the worthy magistrates, Jack, under the pretence 
 of clearing him of a few blots that had been sprinkled upon him, 
 had rubbed them in with lampblack. Sulks was not the man 
 who could forget an offence of this kind even after twenty 
 years. He used very few words, but as they were accus- 
 tomed to say in Lalenburg, he had big ears ; looked no one 
 in the eye when he spoke ; but always smiled very obligingly, 
 particularly in the church when he was saying his prayers be- 
 
98 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 hind his hat ; was therefore, on account of his agreeable and 
 meagre appearance, a little vain ; and asserted with immovable 
 self-confidence, that no scribe in Europe wrote so graceful a 
 hand as he. 
 
 Jack Steam, that same day, felt not only the remarkable effects 
 of his recent invasion of the sharp crockery of the potter, but 
 also that Secretary Sulks suspected that no one but Jack Steam 
 could have been the author of the mischief. Sulks, in truth, as 
 soon as he had learned the story from his neighbor, the guild- 
 master, had gone to make a personal inspection of the premises 
 where the affair occurred, and had found among the traces of the 
 crockery before the door of the Town-Architect's house, one of 
 the mother-of-pearl buttons from his coat. This fact, and Steam's 
 singular non-appearance at the betrothal, seemed to stand in the 
 closest relation to each other. It was soon reported that the 
 Secretary of the Council was about to bring charges against 
 Jack Steam, both on account of this aggression, for the disturb- 
 ance of the public peace, and for not having sent the engines 
 to the fire. The Architect, not at all terrified, took the threat 
 quite easily ; and although Chamberlain Piphen, guildmaster 
 Crackle, the whole kin of the Pastor, and many others having 
 similar grievances, swelled the party of the Secretary, Jack 
 Steam, nothing daunted, confided in his luck like a Caesar, and 
 in his eloquence like a Cicero. He distributed, however, a pro- 
 test, if not against the Secretary, still against the long hair-tail, 
 upon which, as the longest in Lalenburg, the Secretary prided 
 himself, although he was not bound, as a burgomaster was, by 
 the nature of his office, to wear a long pigtail. Already this tail 
 had become a stone of offence to many judicious citizens, and a 
 certain patriotic butcher had more than once sworn that he 
 would hew it from the top of his head. 
 
 The news of this protest spread quickly over the town ; for, 
 according to the custom of Lalenburg, whatever passed in the 
 Council of Lalenburg, was told with solemn confidence from 
 mouth to ear, and ear to mouth, until every inhabitant of both 
 sexes was let into the secret. The inquisitive and tattling 
 people were made quite happy by this, and used to spend a good 
 deal of money on the gazettes. 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 99 
 
 Both parties prepared themselves, and awaited the approach- 
 ing day for holding the Council, with great anxiety. The ses- 
 sions were held once a week. The government in the mean- 
 while went on very well, and the republic was governed in the 
 best way without any trouble. One burgomaster, on the ordi- 
 nary week days, would sell coffee and spices, another would fabri- 
 cate ribbons, the Chamberlain poured out wine, one Councilman 
 made sausages, another bread, &c, &c. ; enough that every one 
 was busy, and knew that the material interests of the state were 
 better promoted in this way than by all the scribblings in Chan- 
 cery, or the brawlings of the Council-House. 
 
 THE BUSY-BODY. 
 
 The great day at last appeared, when the dangerous state of the 
 republic was to be considered. Adventures like those of the last 
 week had from time immemorial never happened. Jack had not 
 been idle. He had paid court to all the handsome girls in town, 
 and had sworn that it was only for their sakes that he had sacri- 
 ficed to the humpbacked daughter of the Chamberlain. The 
 grateful maidens had therefore provoked their mothers, the 
 mothers their husbands, and the husbands their obliging friends 
 of the council, against the indecently long queue of the Town 
 Secretary. Every one expected with fear and trembling the 
 issue of these things. As soon as the town-clock had struck the 
 hour, all the Lalenburgers and Lalenburgeresses were at the 
 Council-house, in spirit if not in body. Many mechanics left 
 their work- benches, the smith his anvil, the miller his mill, the 
 weaver his loom, to await in the park before the Town-house, the 
 coming forth of the learned gentlemen who would let them know 
 confidentially what would be the probable turn of affairs. 
 
 The Council had assembled with its full complement of mem- 
 bers. During the first silence the eyes of all wandered restlessly 
 towards one or the other of the heads of both parties, but particu- 
 larly towards the Secretary, before whom there lay on the table 
 several pots of earthenware and a mother-of-pearl button. 
 
100 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 After the preliminary business had been disposed of, Sulks 
 took the floor, and brought forward his charges. 
 
 " Where shall I find words," said he, " to paint the ruin which 
 the unquiet spirit of one of our own citizens has brought upon 
 the republic ? Since the founding of Rome and of Lalenburg, 
 many men have lived ; but not one of all have been able in so 
 short a time, with such small means, and on so limited a theatre, 
 to work so much mischief as Jack Steam. Yes, O fathers of 
 your country, I name him, because already the children in the 
 streets point to him as the author of all evil. Where is there a 
 house which has not something to complain of him ? Are secrets 
 betrayed, it is Jack Steam who does it ! Is there back-biting, 
 Jack Steam helps it along ! Do the nobility quarrel, Jack Steam 
 has set them on ! If a plan miscarries, Jack Steam is the man 
 who thwarts it ! Is a betrothal broken off, Jack Steam has a 
 hand in the sport ! Is an enterprise wrecked, it is all through 
 the awkwardness of this same Jack Steam. He was born for 
 the misery of mankind, has his nose everywhere, goes every- 
 where, will know all things, do all things, improve all things, 
 and bring all things into confusion." 
 
 After this opening, the orator illustrated his points by many 
 citations from the well-known history of the town, and spoke of 
 recent adventures, of the fire, of the smashed crockery, of the 
 fierce encounter between the guildmasters, of the immeasurable 
 astonishment of the whole town, and of the detrimental effect of 
 this upon nervous persons — the sick and lying-in women. He 
 spoke so movingly, that guildmaster Crackle could not withhold 
 his tears at the reference to the broken pots ; so ardently, that 
 Chamberlain Piphen became fiery-red in the face, and shoe- 
 maker Awl clenched his fists. Even Jack Steam himself for 
 a moment seemed to lose his imperturbable elevation and peace 
 of mind. 
 
 But he soon came to, and began his defence with great dignity 
 and clearness, to the effect, that from an old pot, and a pearl but- 
 ton which he might have lost in the streets, they could prove 
 nothing against him ; that his intimacy in the families of the 
 neighborhood was only a proof of the strength of his affection for 
 his fellows, and the profound love with which he regarded every- 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 101 
 
 thing that related to Lalenburg. As it concerned the fire, the 
 fault was not his that the engines came too late, since the mis- 
 fortune was not spoken of until after it had happened. But even 
 if the engines had made their appearance, the conflagration 
 would not have been less, because the machines had fallen to 
 pieces from age, and were so rotten that they would not hold a 
 cup of water. 
 
 The Secretary replied to him with vehemence, insisting that 
 Jack Steam was to a certainty the author of all evil. " To such 
 an extent O fathers of your country," he went on, " has this 
 man carried it, that no persuasions are necessary to make me 
 believe that the bloody Turkish war, that the pestilence in 
 Poland, that the terrible earthquake in Calabria, that the last 
 great storm, that the swallowing up of the Spanish fleet by the 
 sea, that all, in short, are not to be ascribed to Jack Steam ! 
 Since he came within our walls, confusion, discord, faction, and 
 tears, have been the order of the day. Lalenburg still stands ; 
 but we, O fathers, shall yet behold its unhappy ruin, if we do 
 not forthwith banish this Jack Steam beyond the sea. Has he 
 not brought us difficulties and terrors enough 1 Would you 
 excite a civil war, murder and conflagration — the overthrow of 
 this excellent Council-house — the reduction of our dwellings to 
 ashes !" Then Sulks went on to elaborate an image of destruc- 
 tion, which made the hair of every listener, even of the noble 
 Jack Steam himself, stand on end with fright, and all believed 
 that another siege of Jerusalem was to be enacted at the very 
 gates of Lalenburg. 
 
 Anxiety, fear, doubt, and revenge-, shone in every counte- 
 nance. Some sank down half powerless upon their seats ; others, 
 with outstretched nostrils, swelled with courage, and cast deadly 
 glances at the poor Town-Architect ; others, in stupid astonish- 
 ment, wished to fly that they might save themselves in time, or 
 crawled on their bended knees under the benches ; while others 
 longed to give the word to put Jack Steam to death, only their 
 voices were so thick with excessive indignation that they did not 
 succeed in making themselves heard. 
 
 Suddenly the door of the chamber opened, and the messenger 
 came in with a letter in his hand, bearing a monstrous great 
 
ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 seal. He gave it to the chief burgomaster, and said that a 
 courier from His Highness the Prince of Lynxcrag had brought 
 it. Then the ears of all were eagerly stretched forward. The 
 burgomaster laid the letter down, giving it a majestic look, and 
 mysteriously whispering on both sides, " Despatches from his 
 High Mightiness." The good Lalenburgers burned with 
 curiosity, and hung with their eyes fixed upon the great seal. 
 The siege of Jerusalem appeared to have been soon forgotten. 
 
 As the presiding burgomaster unfolded the letter, those who 
 sat next to him drew as near as they could, and others, that they 
 might not lose a single syllable or breath, discreetly rushed for- 
 ward from their .seats, so that they came to sit upon the laps of 
 the former. The whole chamber was empty except just around 
 the Master, where head crowded upon head. There reigned the 
 stillness of death. Although Lalenburg had had some business 
 intercourse with the Principality of Lynxcrag, it had never 
 before happened that the Prince had written directly to the 
 Council of the republic. The burgomaster very properly divined 
 that the message must relate to some affair of unusual im- 
 portance. 
 
 He began to read, but in a low and trembling voice, suitable 
 to the solemnity of the circumstances. As those who sat behind 
 did not perfectly understand the first words, they called out, 
 " Read louder ! louder !" By that means, those who were in 
 front were disturbed, and unanimously ordered the others to be 
 still. Thereupon the hindmost quite lost all that had been read, 
 and repeated their calls for a louder enunciation, while some 
 demanded that the reader should begin again at the beginning. 
 The foremost grew impatient, and again commanded silence 
 This calling back and forth grew stronger, until at last all were 
 provoked into a tumult, and each one tried to raise his own above 
 the voice of his neighbor, in order to persuade them to silence. 
 Then those behind, convinced that those in front had the advan- 
 tage in being near to the reader, moved forwards ; and among 
 others, Jack Steam, as quick as lightning, sat himself directly 
 under the nose of the burgomaster. The Secretary shouted 
 until he became cherry-brown in the face, that Jack Steam had 
 crowded him out of his place ; but it was in vain ; for others 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 103 
 
 had been crowded out in the same way. Now arose a frightful 
 pushing and tearing and storming, in the midst of cursing and 
 swearing, and praying and sighing, for the restoration of order. 
 
 In this tumultuous movement the burgomaster had the most to 
 bear, for against him, as the centre, they pressed from all direc- 
 tions. He determined, however, that he would make himself 
 heard in spite of the storm. He rose with majestic indignation, 
 and that he might overtop the crowd, stood upon his chair. But 
 while he was expressing his just anger with a thundering voice, 
 an indiscriminating push of the multitude struck the throne from 
 under his legs, and he came down among the herd, like a proud 
 oak among an undergrowth of shrubs. His peruke, which, rich 
 in powder and pomatum, covered the face of the collector of the 
 customs, and made him rub his eyes out, was seized by the latter 
 in his wrath, and converted into a weapon of offence and defence. 
 The sight of this, and its efficacy, excited others to the wicked 
 imitation of the example. Soon no peruke was any longer safe 
 upon its skull ; one after another they flew over the heads of the 
 mob, like mist, scattering clouds above, and cries of pain and 
 murder among those engaged below. 
 
 In this melancholy confusion of affairs, the great and long- 
 prepared design against the hair-tail of the Secretary w.as 
 ripened. One of the Councilmen, a tailor by trade, took out his 
 shears, and followed the Secretary as he ran about in the tumult 
 like a long-tailed rat. In a jiffy, the tail was separated from his 
 head, without the least misgiving on his part until it gave him a 
 stroke in the face. Some one had borne away the trophy from 
 the malicious tailor, and as it was about a yard long, made use 
 of it as a whip. 
 
 When the Secretary saw his pigtail at the mercy of strangers, 
 and by a quick grasp of the back of his neck, concluded that he 
 had lost his treasure for ever, he raised a sorrowful cry, and 
 with eyes full of tears, and hands raised to Heaven, called its 
 avenging thunder down upon the head of the transgressor. He 
 would not have tormented himself as much for the loss of his 
 head itself as he did for the loss of his hair! His howling was 
 so unearthly that he frightened the whole assembly in the height 
 of their fray, all quarrels were forgotten, and suddenly keeping 
 
104 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 silence, they surrounded the Miserable One. But when they 
 found out that neither arm nor leg was wanting to him, and that 
 only his illegal and inofficial tail was gone, they all laughed 
 most provokingly, the perukes were restored to their proper 
 owners, and each one regularly resumed his seat on the benches. 
 
 The burgomaster shook his head ominously at the recent dis- 
 order, which made his rough wig look like the head of Medusa 
 or Titus. Still these lively debates were no unheard-of thing 
 in Lalenburg, and so no fuss was made about this affair. They 
 saw in it only an expression of citizen-like independence and 
 true republican freedom of manners. Each one took his own 
 hair back, and kept his clothes together, wherever they were 
 torn, with his fingers. The Secretary laid his defunct tail near 
 the pot and button on the table, drying his eyes with a colored 
 pocket-handkerchief. All awaited, with renewed reverence, the 
 reading of the princely letter. But this, during the pulling and 
 hauling, had been torn into many pieces. They carefully 
 gathered the scattered particles, laid them on the desk before the 
 burgomaster, and left it to his wisdom to decypher the contents. 
 
 This was no easy task, for the pieces were so manifold that a 
 single sentence of the writing could not be made out. The 
 Council were thrown into a great strait and embarrassment. 
 Three times the burgomaster put the question, as to what 
 answer should be sent back to Lynxcrag, and three times the 
 enlightened assembly shook their heads. At last Jack Steam 
 rose up, and proposed that they should announce to His Princely 
 Highness that his message had been received and lost, and that 
 a noble and learned magistrate should entreat him to be good 
 enough to write his commands a second time. 
 
 Jack's advice would have been adopted, had not Sulks, who 
 all the while had been collecting the scattered pieces of the let- 
 ter, begun to read from them the following words, — " Take — 
 Jack Steam — the dog — a thousand guilders — the price — of his 
 head"— 
 
 Everybody listened with mute astonishment. 
 
 "There," cried the Secretary, "there is no longer any doubt. 
 Jack Steam has again been perpetrating some silly trick which 
 will perhaps bring misfortune upon all Lalenburg. The Prince. 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 105 
 
 as it appears to me, commands us that we should take Jack 
 Steam. He himself calls him a dog outright, and sets a price 
 of a thousand guilders upon his head. This Jack Steam has 
 undoubtedly had his hand again in some forbidden and uncalled 
 for affair, which did not concern him. But it wont do to eat 
 cherries with great lords. Without pretending to dictate, my 
 advice is, that you secure the accused in a prison, until the 
 Prince has been informed that the Council were ready to make 
 every satisfaction, and for that purpose had seized the much 
 offending Jack Steam." 
 
 The proposal of the Secretary was adopted with unanimity, 
 as much as Jack protested against it, and averred that he had 
 never in his life had anything to do with the Prince. They 
 ordered the constables, who were reckoned among their parti- 
 zans, to seize him. The Major pulled his big feather a little 
 further out of his hat, put himself at the head of his troops, 
 and led the condemned, amid a large concourse of people, to the 
 town-jail. 
 
 JACK STEAM. 
 
 The intelligence of the arrest of the Town-Architect, and of the 
 anger of the Prince of Lynxcrag, caused the most incredible sur- 
 mises. Every man cudgelled his brains to find out in what res- 
 pect Jack Steam had offended. Indeed, the perplexity was so 
 absorbing that they did not once miss the yard-long tail lost from 
 the head of the Secretary. They talked only of Jack Steam, 
 the busy-body, and no one seemed to doubt his probable execu- 
 tion. Some conjectured that he would be beheaded, others that 
 he would be hung, and still others that he would only be burnt. 
 Many gave out that the solemnity would not be observed in 
 Lalenburg, but at the princely residence instead, and others 
 rejoiced at this, since it would furnish them a good excuse and 
 pretence for visiting the palace. Several agreed with others 
 that they would make the journey in company so as to save ex- 
 
106 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S T^LES. 
 
 pense. All the carriages and horses in the town, at that early- 
 day, were bespoken and laid under an embargo. The tailor 
 was called in, and measures taken for new clothes. 
 
 Still there was mingled with these considerations and early- 
 preparations, some Christian piety, when they thought of the. 
 delinquent, who now pined in the prison, awaiting his death. 
 Jack Steam, whom everybody knew, who had more or less 
 busied himself in every household ; Jack Steam, whom every 
 mother had disposed of, or wished for a son-in-law ; whom all the 
 girls looked at askant in the street, but always with the most 
 friendly eyes in private ; Jack Steam, a vivacious companion at 
 the table, an elegant speaker in council, a chatterer over his 
 coffee among aunts and cousins, the most zealous respondent in 
 church ; Jack Steam, the All in all, the Alcibiades of Lalenburg, 
 in prison ! ! 
 
 The quiet anguish of compassion first seized the daughters, 
 then the mothers, and finally the men. Scarcely had the dark- 
 ness of evening arrived, when many a pretty young woman, who 
 at other times would fly the presence, and hardly hear the naked 
 name of an unmarried man without blushing, would trip along the 
 street of the jail with moist eyes, to convey something to the 
 "poor sinner," as they now called the Architect. One brought 
 sausages, another sugar-candy, a third little pasties, and a fourth 
 confections and raisins. 
 
 " Oh ! merciful heaven V cried the old women, the maid- 
 servants and the little chimney-sweeps, who had remarked this, 
 " already his hangman's mealtime has come." Throughout the 
 entire citizen class, there was now no delay. This hangman's- 
 meal, or farewell meal, that we speak of, was a custom observed 
 of old by the Lalenburgers towards a criminal sentenced to 
 death. Some day before the execution it was their wont to send 
 in all manner of eatables and drinkables, whetner he wished 
 them or not. As the prison at this time was on a level with the 
 street, and a hole had been broken in the wicker-work of the 
 window, through which things could be conveyed from without 
 (no one being allowed to open the prison-door without a special 
 permit from the authorities), the place in front of the building 
 »vas thronged till midnight with givers. Bread and cookies of 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 107 
 
 all sorts, hams, sausages, roast goose, chickens, ducks, pigeons, 
 pastry, apples, pears, &c, then bottles of beer and wine, flasks 
 of liquor, smelling-bottles, crawled through the hole. The 
 grocer provided the "poor sinner" with salt, pepper, cheese, 
 butter, and smoking and snuffing tobacco, so that the Town- 
 Architect was in danger of being stuck fast in the midst of the 
 enormous quantities of things which were poked through to him. 
 But he did not suffer himself to be seen by the philanthropic 
 donors, and never answered a word to their expressions of con- 
 dolence. "He is so ashamed," they said with great tenderness 
 of feeling, " that he keeps himself back there in the dark." 
 
 For once this tenderness was in error, for the Town-Architect 
 was not in the town-prison. When the Major about midday 
 had led him forth, he found the prison in the best condition, but 
 badly preserved. The door could neither be locked nor bolted, 
 inasmuch as both lock and bolt had rusted away the mouldy 
 wood. But this was not a consequence of any neglect of duty 
 on the part of the worthy magistrates of the republic, but be- 
 cause of a forty year old lawsuit between the town and the 
 county (i. e. several neighboring villages) relating to the ques- 
 tion, whether the expense of the prisoners should be borne by the 
 town, which possessed the right to imprison, or by the county, 
 the inhabitants of which had the privilege of being imprisoned. 
 It had never entered into the thought of man that a citizen of 
 the town should be condemned to jail. This lawsuit had been 
 conducted by the Great Council of the republic for forty years, 
 and was not yet terminated. Every year the administration of 
 the town or the administration of the county gave a reconcilia- 
 tion feast, on the strength of the so called " undetermined ex- 
 penses," and thereby the contending parties were happily mo- 
 derated and harmonized. But although the wine and roast meat 
 of the said reconciliation feast tasted very nicely to both parties, 
 the reconciliation itself was never brought about, partly because 
 they feared they might lose the prospect of new feasts for the 
 future, and partly because they feasted at the cost of the one 
 that was in the wrong, yet neither of them would be in the 
 wrong. 
 
 The Major immediately perceived, by means of his charac- 
 
108 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 teristic sagacity, the little deficiency in the door, so that instead 
 of locking it, he nailed it fast, covering the nail, at the instiga- 
 tion of the Secretary, with the public seal. A watchman, one 
 of their partisans, was placed outside to remain all the while. 
 The captive, as soon as he was in, put this cogent question to 
 the watchman : — " How a prisoner was to comport himself in 
 certain straits which naturally happen to everybody V The 
 watchman considering the question, thought it important 
 enough to run after the Major and Secretary, who were not far 
 distant, to procure their solution of the difficulty. During his 
 absence, the Architect examined the construction of the door, 
 and as the hinge, where it was not nailed and sealed, easily came 
 out of the worm-eaten posts, he walked forth, and then putting 
 the hinge back in its place, slipped out of a side door, without 
 being remarked. 
 
 The faithful watchman returned with the unfeeling command 
 of the Major, that the prisoner might deport himself in the cir- 
 cumstances alluded to, in the best way he could. Thereupon 
 the sentinel disclosed his sincere compassion ; and as the prisoner 
 did not answer a syllable, he continued a quarter of an hour 
 comforting him, and giving him good advice, when he ceased, 
 contenting himself from time to time with inspecting the nail and 
 the seal. 
 
 THE BUSY-BODY. 
 
 It was a very masterpiece of travelling which the architect per- 
 formed from the prison, through the town, to his own dwelling. 
 He reached the back court of the Town-house by means of a 
 spacious pen, which had an outlet to the next street. In this 
 pen the hogs belonging to the government were fatted, which 
 hogs Jack took occasion to give the liberty to come out into the 
 open air. Then he sprung into a bakery that communicated by 
 means of a gate near the top, with the houses standing upon the 
 further street. He flew nimbly up the stairs, found the gate bar- 
 ricaded by a parcel of meal sacks, shoved the sacks off into the 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 109 
 
 street with all his might, and before the sixth sack had reached 
 the ground, was on the other side of the gate, down into the 
 street, and over the way to the house of the Major, from which, 
 fuming and blowing, he found a path to the place where not long 
 before Mr. Crackle had had his singular misfortune with his 
 crockery. Here w r as a new obstruction. The Major had built 
 a new goose-pen across the path, in which, since he had taken 
 to the feather-business, he confined immense flocks of geese. 
 Fortunately the pen was not built in the massive order ; and the 
 wooden slats flew right and left, under the hands of the Architect, 
 so that he was safe in his own house, before the geese, screaming 
 and fluttering, for having gained their freedom, could testify their 
 joy to the town. 
 
 So deeply absorbed were the Lalenburgers with the occur- 
 rences of the morning, that they seemed to have no thought about 
 anything else than the arrest of the Architect, the courier of the 
 Prince, and the tearing of the despatch which had been sent to 
 the council. Yet it must have occasioned some unusual remark 
 when suddenly they saw the hogs of the beloved Council, burnt 
 with a big L (for Lalenburg) wandering over the town ; or when 
 the air was darkened with clouds of meal from the falling and 
 bursting sacks, or when at last the Major's flocks of geese flew 
 screaming round the gable-ends of the houses. No one could 
 make out why these wonders should happen all in the same 
 neighborhood, and about the same time. One person, a politician, 
 suggested that the adherents of the condemned Architect designed 
 to create a public uproar, and Secretary Sulks gave out that 
 he would have believed it to be Jack Steam himself at his old 
 tricks, if he had not nailed and sealed him in almost the very 
 moment that the hogs, the meal sacks, and the geese had made 
 their first appearance in public. 
 
 On the following morning as the more thoughtful revolved the 
 great deeds of their country, particularly the expected solemn 
 execution, and all the accompanying circumstances, a courier 
 rushed full gallop into the town with new despatches for the gov- 
 ernment. Instantly the town bell was sounded. The burgo- 
 master and the Councilmen, in their gowns and swords, hastened 
 to the extraordinary session with countenances full of profundity 
 
110 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 and seriousness. Many people ran inquisitively into the public 
 park, and many more did so when they saw the coach of the 
 Prince drive up, for the purpose, no doubt, of carrying away the 
 prisoner. 
 
 The session was opened. The burgomaster laid out the letter, 
 broke the great seal in the presence of the assembly, and began 
 to read in a loud voice the following — 
 
 " We, Nicodemus, Prince of Lynxcrag, Count of Crowburg, 
 Baron of Dockfield, Lord of Sowwinkle and Foxtown, to the 
 enlightened Burgomaster and Council of the noted town and re- 
 public of Lalenburg, send greeting. Most honorable, beloved, 
 and true ! We are sorry to learn that our message to you was 
 lost — for it was to this effect — Whereas one of your accomplish- 
 ed citizens, named Jack Steam, told one of our courtiers, that if 
 he should only undertake it, he could teach a dog to speak, which 
 would be particularly pleasing to us, so that no price would be 
 too dear, if he succeeded in bringing our favorite dog, Fidele, to a 
 knowledge of human speech, which is a very difficult matter, 
 notwithstanding his natural aptness, seeing that the dog already 
 comprehends the German fully, and has a smattering of Italian 
 and French, we invite the aforesaid Jack Steam, for a time, to 
 our court, sending him a thousand guilders for his first experi- 
 ment, and should this come to a head, should he succeed, we 
 will make him High Counsellor, and Instructor to our princes, 
 as soon as they grow big enough. And now we expect from you, 
 most honorable, beloved and true ! that you send this Jack Steam 
 to us directly and without delay. Hereof fail not." 
 
 With mute signs of astonishment, the whole assembly listened 
 to this annunciation. Not a soul, from the Secretary and First 
 Councillor down to the doorkeeper, who did not keep his mouth 
 wide open for two minutes after there was nothing more to be 
 heard. Even the presiding burgomaster, when he laid down the 
 letter, did not close his lips, and stared quite vaguely into the 
 air. 
 
 Some wondered at the favorite dog of his Highness, which 
 was already accomplished in three languages ; others over the 
 till now unknown skilfulness of Jack Steam in teaching dogs to 
 speak, others reverentially considered the dignity and offices to 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 Ill 
 
 which the Architect had been suddenly raised just when he ex- 
 pected a contrary elevation ; and others dreaded the revenge of 
 the great man, translated from a prison to the neighborhood of a 
 throne, when he should once get the town and republic in his 
 power. The dead silence of astonishment was soon changed 
 into tumult, as each one wished to proclaim how that yester- 
 day he had protested against the arrest of the Architect. No 
 one was concerned in that, but Secretary Sulks. In the midst of 
 all, some broke out in lofty praises of the godlike Jack Steam, 
 whom they called the Pride and Ornament of his native country, 
 whilst others enumerated how, the evening before, from pure at- 
 tachment, they had poked costly spices and drinks into the little 
 hole in the lattice of the prison. Sulks chewed his pen in igno- 
 miny, and stood as the scapegoat of the nation. Even he was 
 anxious to reconcile himself to his great enemy. 
 
 Accordingly he was the first to propose tfiat a deputation of 
 the Council be sent to fetch the distinguished High-Counsellor 
 from the prison, and carry him in triumph to the town-house ; 
 then they must formally ask his pardon for the misunderstanding 
 of yesterday, set him in the place of honor by the side of the pre- 
 siding burgomaster, when the letter should be read to him ; and 
 lastly, would he, as he, ?. e. the Secretary ought, crave his mer- 
 cy, and commend his native land and his fellow citizens to his 
 affection, so that Jack Steam might never turn against Lalen- 
 burg, as Coriolanus once did against Rome. 
 
 Let no one wonder at this sudden change of opinion. Circum- 
 stances among them so easily altered principles, friendships, 
 hatreds, oaths and inclinations, that he whom they would have 
 yesterday trodden under foot, because of his misfortunes, to-day 
 they would crawl upon all fours to propitiate. They call it the 
 Way of the World, Politics, Prudence, and they find the practice 
 of it profitable, so that it is diligently pursued. 
 
 JACK STEAM. 
 
 Jack Steam, who knew his fellow citizens very well, sat fearless 
 and contented in his own house, where his old housekeeper sup- 
 
112 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 plied him with food. He knew that in a few days everything 
 would be changed ; that his deai Lalen burgers, great in words, 
 but little in deeds, even if he should be discovered, would not 
 touch a hair of his head. He moreover comforted himself in the 
 certain knowledge that he had never hurt a flea of the Prince 
 of Lynxcrag. 
 
 But when his faithful housekeeper, who went out from time to 
 time to get the news of the town and the proceedings of the council, 
 told him the singular story that he had been dubbed High-Coun- 
 sellor by the Prince in order to instruct the favorite dog in the 
 German grammatics ; that a deputation of the Council had waited 
 upon him in vain at the town jail ; that the whole town was in an 
 extraordinary amazement, both on account of his disappearance, 
 and as to the mode in which it was effected, especially when it 
 was shown, after the narrowest scrutiny, that neither wall nor 
 window, neither nail nor seal, had been injured — Jack, we say, 
 quite regretted his flight. But to bring the matter in its proper 
 track, he dressed himself in his showiest, lighted his tobacco pipe, 
 stationed himself conspicuously at the open window, smoked in 
 comfort, and accosted in a friendly way everybody that passed. 
 By this he hit his mark ; for each one stopped and gaped at him 
 in surprise, the report flew swift as lightning over the town that 
 the mysteriously-disappearing High-Counsellor was smoking his 
 pipe at his window ; and all ran thither to convince themselves of 
 the truth of the report. In less than half an hour, the street was 
 thronged with people from one end to the other, the honorables of 
 the town hastened to the neighborhood of his acquaintances and 
 friends, head crowded upon head out of the windows, while the 
 chimney-sweeps, masons, carpenters and more daring boys, chose 
 places on the roofs of the opposite houses, to see the new-made 
 High-Counsellor, who regarded the multitude with curiosity and 
 pleasure, as though we were quite astounded by their respect. 
 
 With unwearied courage, the deputation from the Council 
 worked their way to his house through the throng in the streets. 
 He received them with condescending kindness. The burgo- 
 master had placed himself at their head, and opened his address 
 with the words, " Mighty and well-born Lord High-Counsellor of 
 the Prince ! How shameful is it that our dear native town should 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 113 
 
 prove what was said in the Scriptures to be true, 1 that a prophet 
 is not without honor save in his own country.' " Upon this text 
 the speaker spun out a long salutatory discourse, which in the 
 midst of flattering compliments, and excuses for the mistake of 
 yesterday, ended with some wise advice. Thereupon the mes- 
 sage of the Prince was disclosed. All the councillors wept tears 
 of joy. The potential Architect made an exquisite reply, which 
 lasted so long that the people had almost deserted the streets, and 
 the deputation ceased to shed their tears of joy. Then appeared 
 the coach of the Prince, and the High-Counsellor was informed 
 that he was expected that very evening at the royal residence. 
 There was now no delay. Jack jumped into the royal carriage, 
 and drove away, amid the mingled sobs and shouts of the popu- 
 lation which had nourished so great a man. 
 
 Jack Steam was obliged to go that same evening to His High- 
 ness. Prince Nicodemus was a very nice gentleman, who only 
 needed an empire to make him one of the greatest, of monarchs ; 
 he was, however, a very small monarch, with a great many 
 debts. He very properly considered hunting as the noblest 
 enjoyment, and from that you may guess that more dogs lived 
 at his court than men. Other society did not please him. 
 Though he was no misanthrope, he would sometimes inti- 
 mate to his confidential friends, that with the exception of the 
 hunters, he would give a great deal if his true and beloved 
 subjects could be changed into stags and roes, wild boars, hares, 
 wild geese, ducks, snipes, partridges, and so forth. He thought 
 they would then give him more pleasure, and be of more use. 
 
 " Listen !" said the Prince to his newly created Court-Coun- 
 sellor, who was kissing his coat tail with humble submission : 
 " Are you the one who can teach dogs to speak ? Here is 
 Fidele. What a pity that the poor beast cannot express itself 
 in words ; but, upon my honor, she comprehends every syllable 
 I say to her." Nicodemus then commanded the dog in French, 
 German and Italian, to do various things ; and the dog executed 
 his orders with wonderful precision. 
 
 "Hey, what do you say to that?" asked the Prince, pleasure 
 beaming from his eyes. 
 
 9 
 
114 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " As your Highness commands !" answered the Lalenburger. 
 " Do you think you can teach Fidele to talk ?" 
 " If you let us have time enough — " 
 
 " There shall be no difficulty about that. Listen ; begin 
 with German ; French can be taken up afterwards when the 
 beast has made some progress in the mother- tongue. You can 
 live here in the castle with me. The steward will show you a 
 room, but you must attach the dog to you first, so that she will 
 remain willingly with you. If you do your business well, you 
 shall be handsomely rewarded. Now and then I shall inquire 
 how she gets on with her lessons. Do you understand French ?" 
 
 " Your Highness, I understand it sufficiently well to instruct 
 the amiable Fidele ; but it was always difficult for me to speak 
 French, owing to a malformation of my tongue. It sometimes 
 happens that I cannot pronounce the word which I wish to 
 speak." 
 
 " And Italian ?" 
 
 " Your Highness, I began to learn it at the University, but 
 unfortunately it is a long time since." 
 
 " Well, well, then let it alone, mon cher." 
 
 " Your Highness, I am very sorry, but I have not got them." 
 
 « What ?" 
 
 " The shears." 
 
 " Why, what shears ? What a stupid reply ! I did not 
 speak of any shears. But n'importe." 
 
 " Thank your Highness, I am fond of port, but I prefer sau- 
 sages and Madeira." 
 
 The Prince laughed at Jack's mistake. 
 
 " Now go ! Tell them to show you a room, and to bring you 
 some good sausages from my kitchen, for Fidele is fond of 
 them. You will quickly win her heart with them." 
 
 The Court-Counsellor observed that the door was pointed out 
 to him, and approached it backwards with many bows, not wish- 
 ing to show the Prince such a want of respect as to turn his 
 back upon him. But Fidele, a strong hunting dog, ran unex- 
 pectedly between his legs, and he fell down in such a 
 clownish way, that his feet were elevated high above his head. 
 Jack Steam heaved a deep sigh, the dog yelled with fright, and 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 115 
 
 Nicodemus almost laughed himself sick. " Well, you are be- 
 ginning to get acquainted already !" cried the Prince, and the 
 Court-Counsellor ran out of the door, making a thousand apolo- 
 gies. 
 
 THE BUSY-BODY. 
 
 In the course of four weeks, and with the aid of the court-cooV, 
 Jack Steam won the entire affection and confidence of the 
 Prince's favorite dog. From this time the Prince often inquired 
 if he advanced any in teaching. The cunning Court-Counsellor 
 remarked to his Highness that it takes a child four or five years 
 to learn to speak, and that it could scarcely utter single syllables 
 at the end of one year. Nicodemus thought this was very 
 reasonable, and restrained his impatience. Jack Steam, how- 
 ever, whose life at court was very comfortable, took the matter 
 quite quietly. Now and then he was a little uneasy, when, 
 after having repeated the same word a thousand times to the 
 dog, he found he had produced no impression. The dog would 
 look attentively at her teacher, but seemed quite too bashful to 
 pronounce the words after him. 
 
 Jack Steam fortunately remembered a wag whom he had 
 known among the students of the University, who was in the 
 habit of secretly squeezing and pinching his poodle's snout, to 
 make him snarl and growl. If he relaxed his hold at the pro- 
 per time, the pressure on the open mouth of the dog would 
 make him in anger pronounce distinctly Mama. Jack Steam 
 tried it with Fidele, and succeeded beyond his expectations. At 
 the end of six months, when Nicodemus asked the Court-Coun- 
 sellor rather peevishly how Fidele came on, this gentleman 
 praised his pupil extravagantly, and offered to give a proof of 
 her first childish stammering. The Prince assembled his confi- 
 dential, and the Court-Counsellor, with his scholar, entered the 
 circle in a most assured manner. 
 
 The Court-Counsellor, in a long and excellent speech — full 
 
no 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 of the pedagogue — observed, that in teaching he closely followed 
 the course of Nature, as that was the best. That bringing up 
 and instructing a child scientifically was nonsense, weakening 
 to its intellect, and hurtful, not only to the present generation, 
 but to all posterity. That the misfortunes of kingdoms, the fall 
 of great nations, and all the evil in the world, were owing to bad 
 management in the first lessons. In connexion with these re- 
 marks, he gave hopes that philanthropy might yet induce him 
 to teach the secret of his new method of spelling for one hun- 
 dred and twenty thousand gulden, and mentioned a great project 
 — a new primer, full of copper plates, to be published accord- 
 ing to his own ideal, and dedicated to His Highness Prince 
 Nicodemus, the patron and protector of scientific and literary 
 men. 
 
 From this he proceeded to an explanation of the process of 
 Nature in teaching mankind. " Who," said he, " who does the 
 child first recognize and learn to love ? It is its mother. And 
 its mother's tenderness is most touchingly rewarded by its first 
 stammering. The sweet name of mother is the first word which 
 passes the tender unpractised lips of childhood ! And thus I 
 have commenced with the talented and amiable Fidele. Now, 
 Fidele, come here, be good and tell the noble company the name 
 of thy mother." 
 
 With these words he took the dog coaxingly in his arms, held 
 her nose, and pinched and punched her behind until she bellowed 
 out, " Mama !" in a deep, bass voice. 
 
 Everybody present broke into loud and almost inextinguish- 
 able laughter, giving evidence thereby either of their approba- 
 tion or their astonishment. The Court-Counsellor's learning, and 
 Fidele's bass voice, made the thing irresistibly funny. The 
 Court-Counsellor was cheered by the merriment, and caused the 
 favorite to repeat his performance, until the laughter changed 
 into screaming, and the Prince begged him for peace sake to 
 make Fidele stop. 
 
 His Highness t was so delighted, that he kissed the dog, and 
 pressed her to his heart, and in his joy he even forgot himself so 
 far as to embrace the Court-Counsellor, who received the com- 
 pliments of the court with modest self-possession- The Prince 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 117 
 
 gave his dog some sweet biscuit, and encouraged her to con- 
 tinue her application. He presented the Court-Counsellor with a 
 golden snuff-box containing a miniature of the Sovereign. Jack 
 Steam, excited by gratitude, exclaimed, " Oh, I will answer for 
 it, the dog shall soon say papa to your Highness !" 
 
 « Then you shall have an additional salary," answered the 
 Prince ; and took leave of the counsellor in the most gracious 
 manner. 
 
 But Jack Steam did not succeed so quickly with the word 
 papa, When Nicodemus inquired again after the dog, the 
 counsellor remarked that Fidele would unquestionably be soon 
 confined, and that in her situation it was best to avoid all mental 
 exertion. 
 
 To this the Prince agreed, and Jack Steam thus gained time 
 and peace, or might have done so, had he had the desire. 
 
 He was well known all about the palace, was trusted, and his 
 opinion asked about matters great and small ; he talked with 
 everybody, was sarcastic, impudent or consequential, just as 
 he pleased, knew all that was going on, decided everything, 
 arranged everything. 
 
 Every day he rose in the estimation of the Prince, and there- 
 fore in that of the inmates of the palace, and with the courtiers, 
 who called him merely the Favorite. The town-counsellors of 
 Lalenburg sent a deputation regularly every month, to inquire 
 after the health of their noble citizen ; they honored him by 
 naming the narrow lane where his father's house stood, " The 
 Steamy Lane," and even went so far as to hang up his silhouette 
 in the council chamber, as they possessed neither likeness nor 
 bust of him. 
 
 Even the privy-counsellors of the Prince courted him, that they 
 might through him influence his Highness, particularly as Nico- 
 demus was determined to collect a land tax, that he might con- 
 tinue his praiseworthy expenses. As the privy-counsellors were 
 against the proclamation of this tax, the people being already suffi- 
 ciently burdened with duties of all kinds, they turned to Jack 
 Steam, and beggpd him, in the name of his oppressed country, 
 to persuade the Prince to refrain from these exactions. 
 
 " Nothing easier than that, gentlemen !" said the Court-Coun- 
 
118 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES 
 
 sellor, with his peculiarly consequential manner, and went to the 
 Prince. 
 
 "But listen," said Nicodemus to him, "I must have the 
 money. Only procure the money, and then I need not collect 
 
 taxes." 
 
 " Nothing easier than that !" returned the Court-Counsellor. 
 " How much does your Highness require ?" 
 " The more the better." 
 
 " Very well. Your Highness need only set up a small traffic 
 in the way of ribbons, — that will bring in enormous sums of 
 money." 
 
 " A ribbon-store ? Listen ! You are not Jack Steam, but 
 Jack Fool. I am no Jew." 
 
 " Your Highness will only please to sell half a yard of ribbon 
 for one hundred Nicodemus d'or, and 
 
 " Who will pay me that ?" 
 
 " If your Highness would create a new order of knighthood, 
 
 for instance, in honor of the Saint of the Hunters say — 
 
 St. Nimrod's order. Every Nimrod Knight who has the cross 
 of the order, the knightly strike, and a hanger, pays one 
 hundred Nicodemus d'or ; but for the great order, when every 
 knight receives a green ribbon for his button-hole, with a golden 
 image attached to it of a handsome fowling-piece and a bugle 
 laid across it — you must have a thousand Nicodemus d'or duly 
 registered. If you institute all kinds of festivities to accompany 
 the installation — I know how much effect that had in my uni- 
 versity days — " 
 
 " Listen," said the Prince, interrupting him. " You are truly 
 not a Jack Fool. We will think of the thing. You may 
 order the ribbon instantly at the manufactory, and let the 
 jeweller make the other contrivances. I will make you 
 Chancellor of this Order of Nimrod." 
 
 No tax, in fact, ever brought so much money into the princely 
 coffers as this same ribbon-traffic ; as the Lalenburger very im- 
 properly called it. For scarcely was it known that the Prince, 
 his half brother, the Count of Crowburg, and Jack Steam, the 
 Chancellor of the Order, had appeared with the Nimrod 
 ribbon, and could become Nimrod's Knights by paying rather 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 119 
 
 a high price for being registered, than they all crowded to the 
 Chancellor's. Each exchanged his Nicodemus d'or for a half 
 yard of ribbon, for none would be behind the rest in rank. In 
 a short time even the wig-makers wore the little green ribbon. 
 This aroused the proper pride of the nobility and wealthy men 
 of the land. How could they stand on a level with common 
 people ? They would rather sell house and land, that they 
 might wear the broad ribbon with the golden Nimrod's Horn. 
 The whole country was full of green ribbons and of debts. Prince 
 Nicodemus was overjoyed, but his faithful ministers cursed the 
 inventive faculties of the new Chancellor, and learned from 
 experience, that no Jack Steam should be made the minister of 
 Finances, any more than a stork should be turned into a gar- 
 dener. 
 
 J.ACK STEAM. 
 
 Jack Steam had neither too much nor too little conscience, as 
 it should be with a great minister, who would rather have a 
 province perish, than have one of his whims miscarry ; and who 
 is not discouraged even when a whole nation suffers from his 
 administration. One day when a faithful minister was pointing 
 out the sad effects of the Nimrod rage, he answered, " As true 
 as my name is Jack Steam, everything good has its evil, and 
 all evil has its good. If a minister was obliged by law to pre- 
 vent all complaints, and a physician to cure all his patients, who 
 would be either a minister or a doctor ? Therefore, my dear 
 friends, be encouraged. God has so well regulated the world, 
 that we may go bungling about for a long time without actually 
 spoiling anything !" 
 
 In truth this great maxim was nowhere better observed than 
 among the Lynxcragers, for all possible and impossible theories 
 had been successively tried for the last hundred years, without 
 making it a desert, or extinguishing the race. Each new prince 
 or minister made new regulations, and repealed the old ones. 
 One builds convents, the next turns them into dairies ; one 
 
120 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 erects manufactories on the credit of the State, the next stops the 
 manufactories, and sells regiments of young men like any other 
 ' produc* of the soil ; one wishes to turn the State into a great 
 hareem, the next wants it to be a single large park. It is re- 
 markable, however, in this as in other cases of oppression, that 
 the people increased, and fed themselves just as before, as 
 soon as they had reflected and become accustomed to the great 
 truth, that they were created for their master's pleasure, and 
 afterwards their own. 
 
 Of course they were obliged to conform to the newest 
 system ; to-day to the left, to-morrow to the right ; to-day 
 forwards, to-morrow backwards. All the mischief done by the 
 order of Nimrod did not diminish the respect, esteem, love or 
 admiration with which the Chancellor was greeted wherever he 
 went ; for he was the right hand of a prince whom the people 
 idolized. 
 
 Envious people were not wanting, but he scarcely noticed 
 them. He was so secure in the good graces of his master, that 
 he did not even fall in his estimation when Fidele was taken 
 sick and died. Without doubt he was the victim of court in- 
 trigue or a conspiracy, for the doctor found traces of poison in 
 his body. A report was officiously brought to his highness, that 
 the Chancellor had probably sent his pupil out of the world to 
 avoid teaching him to speak ; as he would be obliged finally to 
 confess that he was a mere boaster, and had never understood 
 the art. But the tears which Jack Steam had shed were too 
 sincere, and the whole court had shown too open an indifference at 
 the death of the noble beast, for Nicodemus to be deceived by 
 malicious calumnies. A marble obelisk, which had been or- 
 dered from one of the most celebrated Italian sculptors, was 
 erected to " the incomparable dog," and placed in the Castle 
 garden under weeping willows and cypresses. 
 
 It could not be said that Jack Steam had friends, for who has 
 friends at a court or in the great world? and who would be the 
 friend of a man who belonged to all the world as did Jack 
 Steam ? But the Chancellor did not lose by this ; he was the 
 confidant of all, even of the Prince and his half-brother, the 
 Count of Crowburg, who called him his Indispensable. Every 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 121 
 
 one smiled upon him, and he returned the smiles. Even the 
 pretty female Lynxcrageresses smiled on him, for he was an 
 amiable man, who never took anything amiss, and who found all 
 his happiness in increasing the pleasure of others. 
 
 To be sure he did not always succeed, and then he had to 
 put up with bitter vexation and ingratitude for his pains. I 
 will take the history of a single day as an instance. 
 
 THE BUSY-BODY. 
 
 The Count of Crowburg had cherished a little love affair for 
 some time at the Capital. Miss Sabina, a pretty little brunette, 
 felt much flattered by the Count's adoration, and very willingly 
 gave him a private meeting now and then ; when they admired 
 each other without spectators. Her father got wind of the mat- 
 ter, was very much vexed, and gave the beautiful coral lips of 
 his daughter some very prosaic slaps. Herr von Tasseltuft, 
 as he was called, was but a common nobleman, though of very 
 ancient family, and thought it outrageous that the grand-daugh- 
 ter of that hero (who was groom of the chamber to the Emperor 
 Karl the Great), should condescend to be the object of a tem- 
 porary passion, or perhaps the mistress of a larking gentleman. 
 And from that time he carefully watched his daughter, — who 
 had less ancestral pride, — so that the lovers could only cast 
 stolen glances at each other once a week in church. 
 
 The Count very naturally fell into the proper state of despair, 
 discovered his sorrows to the Chancellor, and promised him 
 mountains of gold if he would only procure him one interview 
 with his beloved. 
 
 " Nothing easier than that !" said Jack Steam, and imme- 
 diately sought Miss Sabina at a party. Blushing, she remarked 
 to the trusty confidant of her lover, that she dared not move 
 one step without her father's knowledge, but that if he could 
 persuade her stern father 
 
122 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " Nothing easier than that !" said Jack Steam, and went the 
 next day to Herr von Tasseltuft, and spoke so touchingly of 
 the Count's love for Sabina, and made such earnest representa- 
 tions of the dangerous effects of his severity on the unfortunate 
 lovers, that the proud old gentleman could not do otherwise than 
 approve of their love ; that is, if the Count would promise his 
 daughter marriage in the presence of her parents. 
 
 "Nothing easier than that !" said the ambassador: " but ar- 
 range that yourself with the Count. I will write to him imme- 
 diately — for since yesterday he has been atCrowburg — that this 
 evening at eight o'clock, all obstacles being removed, he may 
 pay his respects to Miss Sabina." 
 
 Pleased with having accomplished his undertaking, he imme- 
 diately wrote to the Count not to fail coming. It did not occur 
 to him, that far from thinking of a festive betrothal, the Count 
 only wanted to chat for an hour alone with his inamorata in 
 her boudoir. Herr von Tasseltuft, on the contrary, understood 
 it to be a formal wooing of Sabina by the brother of the Prince, 
 and therefore invited the entire Tasseltuft family to a magnifi- 
 cent entertainment. Sabina in full dress, amidst a circle of 
 forty cousins, aunts, and other female relations, awaited her 
 lover in triumph, whilst he only aspired to passing a modest 
 pastoral hour with her. 
 
 In the evening he entered the Tasseltuft house as quietly 
 and secretly as a thief, half disguised in a coarse great coat. 
 He secretly cursed the blazing lights, and hid himself in an 
 angle of the stairs because so many servants were running 
 about, and there he peeped until he saw the well-known and 
 trusty maid of Sabina. In answer to the whispered question, 
 '• In which room is the young lady," the servant conducted him 
 thither. But when the door opened, who can describe the 
 amazement of the Count, when instead of flying into the arms 
 of his beloved, he stumbled into the large brilliant state-room 
 full of people, who expected him and surrounded him with bows 
 and curtsies ! 
 
 Jack Steam certainly might have spared this cruel dilemma to 
 the confused noble, had he given a verbal account of his mis- 
 sion, instead of writing a few lines. But the Chancellor had a 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 little love affair of his own on hand, and had laid a plan fof 
 surprising his beloved that same day, in the most agreeable 
 manner. His charmer was truly a very pretty girl, and a 
 countrywoman besides. Her name was Joanna, the daughter of 
 the Apothecary Twirl, of Lalenburg, who had come to live with 
 a rich old aunt in Lynxcrag, and was expected to be her 
 heiress. The old aunt was an ill-natured aunt, who was al- 
 ways praying, and instead of taking her to concerts, balls, and 
 plays, only took her to the prayer-meetings of the pious and 
 godly people. And the old aunt did not seem to like it, when the 
 boasting peasant, as she called Jack Steam, talked too often to 
 his pretty countrywoman. This gave him great sorrow, and 
 he therefore made use of every opportunity to see Joanna. 
 
 He saw her that morning, though only for a few moments, as 
 he passed her in the street, and spoke of his wish to visit her in 
 the evening. She shrugged her shoulders, but regretted that she 
 was to spend the evening in a company of young ladies, who 
 were in the habit of having weekly meetings at a certain place. 
 Her vanity prevented her from owning that she was going to a 
 prayer meeting with her aunt. "And where is it?" asked the 
 Court-Counsellor. She designated the house. " Will they 
 dance ?" She smiled, blushed and said : " Unfortunately they 
 do not ! The utmost will be singing." He continued : " Would 
 they allow an uninvited friend to enter ? For if I can but see 
 you, I should be happy wherever it was." She blushed again, 
 stammered, " I do not know !" and slipped away. Jack Steam, 
 however, like a good Lalenburger, took the blushes and smiles 
 of the Lalenburgeress for an invitation, and the mute expression 
 of her secret wishes. 
 
 He immediately called around himself several young gentle- 
 men of the city, for the purpose of embellishing the party of 
 young ladies by their presence. If they could not justify the 
 intrusion, they could compensate for it in a measure by some at- 
 tentions of another kind. They would privately order some 
 music, and the young gentlemen (who would, without doubt, 
 find many of their amiable acquaintances among the ladies), 
 should then appear in ball masquerade. " And then," said 
 Jack Steam, delighted with his plan : " when the young ladies 
 
124 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 are sitting at their tea-tables, or at cards, or talking over some 
 tiresome nonsense ; and suddenly hear a lovely waltz at the 
 dcor, and we enter in masks and invite the beauties to dance — 
 they will none of them resist, and all will be forgiven and for- 
 gotten. Of course we can make our excuses afterwards." 
 
 They were all pleased with the idea of this entertaining adven- 
 ture. Music and the most elegant masquerades were ordered 
 with the greatest secrecy, and also the place and time of meeting 
 at dusk agreed upon. When the long desired moment came, 
 Jack Steam was the first on the spot. The musicians assembled ; 
 the dancers dressed themselves, and being wrapped in cloaks, slid 
 into the house, which was easily distinguished for some distance 
 by the row of well lighted windows, that indicated the assem- 
 bly-room. The door-keeper, when asked in what room the as- 
 sembly were, pointed the way, though not a little astonished at 
 seeing the musicians who accompanied them ; for the pious of 
 either sex had never made use of flutes, fiddles, or bugles, in 
 their edifying sessions. They approached the door of the hall 
 on their toes, threw off their cloaks, drew down their masks, and 
 made ready in the deepest silence. 
 
 In the mean time the small community of chosen believers 
 were sitting together in blessed devotion, and listened to an edi- 
 fying statement by their deacon, of the joy and blessedness of 
 the heavenly Jerusalem, where the lambs sit on the throne with 
 the banner of victory. The good old mothers were ranged along 
 the walls with clasped hands, and the lay-brothers also, with 
 their heads hanging between their shoulders ; and now and then 
 a quiet sigh of longing for the Heavenly Zion would escape from 
 their lips. The younger women were not affected until the 
 speaker painted the beauty of the angels, the floating of the Che- 
 rubim around the throne of glory, the festive Hallelujahs, and 
 the music of the spheres. 
 
 At that moment the musicians before the door began a merry 
 waltz, first very softly, then with increasing sound. At first the 
 godly assemblage thought they heard the music of the spheres 
 in reality, and the preacher became more ardent and seemed 
 filled with rapture. The younger Christians, though spiritually 
 in the Heavenly Zion, tapped the time with their feet, as will 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 happen even to the most pious girls, on hearing the very worst 
 dancing music. But when the bugles sounded, and the tones 
 from the spheres became more earthly, the speaker stopped, and 
 the community of the elect could not comprehend the cause of 
 this worldly vanity nor what would be its effect. 
 
 Suddenly the doors of the meeting-room were thrown open, 
 and six or eight light-footed masks entered, the musicians fiddling 
 and blowing behind them. Whilst these were placing them- 
 selves, the masks raced about, bowing joyfully through the 
 room, and the whole assemblage of devout worshippers sat as if 
 turned into statues at the sight of their performance ! Jack Steam 
 and his companions who came there to dance, took no notice of 
 their surprise, or that almost all of them had prayer-books in 
 their hands. The last thing they would have thought of was 
 the occupation, or the sacred objects of this religious meeting. 
 
 But one thing displeased them ; they could find but two or 
 three young ladies, all the rest being respectable matrons. 
 Jack Steam took Joanna, the other young ladies were invited, 
 and as a virtue must be made of necessity, the rest of the dancers 
 caught hold of the old ladies. They thought it very natural that 
 the young ladies should resist a little, but they drew them along, 
 the music became brisker, and they made them waltz, whether 
 they would or not. All this took place so quickly that no one 
 had time to deliberate, and the remainder of the congregation 
 could neither move nor speak in their astonishment. 
 
 There was but one of the ladies of a certain age, who abso- 
 lutely would not be drawn into the whirling eddies of the waltz, 
 and who took the whole phenomenon for a regular temptation on 
 the part of Beelzebub, and protested against the performances in a 
 very noisy and decided manner. It was the widowed High 
 Court-cook, a pious, broad, robust lady. She had been seized 
 by the merriest, wildest fellow among the dancers, and though 
 she worked hard to loosen herself from him, he clung to her like 
 a burr, skipping around her as he tugged her on. Enraged she 
 finally pressed towards him, and with one blow felled him to 
 the earth, though not without keeping him company. Her 
 shocking screams excited the rest of the good to a revolt 
 against the profaners of their sanctuary. Men and women 
 
126 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 grasped their prayer-books, and marched in solid columns against 
 the dancers and musicians. The dancers, surprised at being 
 treated so uncivilly and ungratefully, let their partners go, and 
 began to offer excuses. It was not so with the orchestra ; some 
 one threw a singing book with massive silver clasps into a cor- 
 ner, as a random shot, but it walked into the belly of a base 
 viol, and the angry musician did not delay revenging the death of 
 his growling friend, but handled his fiddle-bow unmercifully on 
 his assailant. The rest of the musicians saw themselves obliged, 
 from necessity, to change their violins, bass-viols, and bugles, into 
 defensive armor. 
 
 It was with great difficulty that the mo r e reasonable of both 
 parties could put an end to the strife. The dancers explained 
 that their intentions were good, and begged pardon for their mis- 
 take, and Jack Steam, who turned out the author of the mischief, 
 had to be so kind as to pay the entire damages. They were 
 generous enough to dispense with the payment of a dole-bote, 
 notwithstanding that they all suffered from smarts and bruises. 
 
 JACK STEAM. 
 
 Next day, the affair made quite a noise in the city. To this 
 was added the vexatious fate of the Count of Crowburg in the 
 Tasseltuft family, for they also came to explanations, and all 
 the blame fell on Jack Steam. Everybody abused him but 
 Prince Nicodemus, who laughed loudly. The Count cursed 
 and swore at his awkward negotiator, would have nothing to do 
 with him, and forbad his entering the house. The pious aunt of 
 Joanna Twirl did the same, and immediately sent her niece 
 back to her father in Lalenburg. 
 
 All this did not disturb the Court-Chancellor. Conscious of 
 his own innocence and good intentions, he joyfully went on his 
 way, consoling himself with the saying, that ingratitude is the 
 reward of the world, and that the works of great men are gene- 
 rally unappreciated by their contemporaries. Besides, so long as 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 127 
 
 he stood in the favor of the Prince, he was considered a very- 
 estimable man, both in court and city, whose words were ora- 
 cles, and whom every body flattered. 
 
 His Highness, the Prince, put such confidence in the Chancel- 
 lor, that he appointed him one of the Embassy, which was des- 
 tined to fetch, from the court of her father, the Princess of Mouse- 
 home, the future wife of the Lord of Lynxcrag. As the rest 
 of the Ambassadors were almost all old gentlemen, the Princess 
 was very gracious to Jack Steam, for youth is sometimes a great 
 virtue. The favor of the Princess was not an easy purchase, for 
 she had many strange whims, which are very becoming things 
 in a beautiful Princess. As she was in the habit of having a 
 new whim every day — for a habitual whim is no whim at all — her 
 attendants often found it difficult to ascertain which was the right 
 one. She was very charming, had very weak nerves, and there- 
 fore loved everything soft and gentle, particularly cats. She 
 always had in her suite some of the most beautiful and friendly 
 of these dear creatures, of all colors and all sizes. Each of 
 her maids of honor had two or three cats to take care of. 
 
 Now as the Prince had the same affection for dogs that the 
 Princess possessed for cats, it was feared that, according to the 
 old proverb about dogs and cats, the approaching marriage 
 would not be one of the most blessed in the world. In spite of 
 that, numberless flattering poems were written about the high 
 nuptials ; and they very properly made speeches, and painted 
 allegories full of prophecies of a golden age, where strength 
 and loveliness, wisdom and beauty, were united — just as they 
 always do on such occasions. A great many good things in this 
 world are mere figures of speech. 
 
 The respect shown to the Chancellor by the Princess of 
 Mousehome — whose nuptials were to be celebrated at the Border- 
 Castle — increased the public estimation of noble Jack Steam. 
 Therefore, whatever he chose to say or to write, was eagerly 
 caught up and repeated by all listeners, reporters, readers, or hear- 
 ers, and even printed in the newspapers. Now, as Jack Steam 
 had the delightful gift of being a great talker, and very fluent, it 
 was always his mind, or his word, which swayed public opinion. 
 At the palace, his descriptions of the charms of the future sove- 
 
12S 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 reign Princess, and her tender love for cats, were read with 
 rapture. In her triumphal entrance into the Capital, besides 
 the illumination, he said they must think especially of making 
 a fine display of cats. The hint was taken, and every one 
 would have the prettiest of these little beasts, white, spotted, 
 black, brown, grey, and tin-colored, in order to recommend 
 themselves to the Princess. Cats were ordered from far and 
 near, and, although many came, still the prices of cats were 
 raised for ten miles around. 
 
 THE BUSY-BODY. 
 
 The entrance of the young couple into the Capital was very 
 magnificent. Numbers of triumphal arches almost darkened 
 the streets, and very tasteful pictures of cats were not only put 
 in every arch to delight the eyes of the Princess, but one of the 
 triumphal arches was ingeniously made of a concatenation of 
 stuffed cats, that looked as if they were chasing each other. 
 There were cats in all the windows, but generally these behaved 
 very badly and squalled, probably from a very unnecessary fear 
 of falling down. This universal miauling was so remarkably 
 piercing and loud, that the little children were terribly fright- 
 ened, and added their screams to the prevailing melodies. The 
 royal pointers, greyhounds and watch-dog, that ran forward of 
 the carriages, and the dogs of the citizens who were attracted by 
 curiosity into that street like other spectators, saw and heard 
 this countless number of their natural enemies with the greatest 
 amazement, and fell into a strong commotion. Some sprang 
 barking to the right and left, others dashed against the walls of 
 the houses in their rage, and the rest yelped in imitation, or from 
 sympathy. 
 
 This obstreporous conversation between the dogs and cats, 
 made it exceedingly difficult to understand a single human 
 word. Some spectators who wished to restore the former re- 
 spectful silence, cried : " Away with the dogs ! " others, on the 
 contrary, cried : " Away with the cats ! " And their zeal helped 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 129 
 
 to raise such a tumult of discords, that even the horses began to 
 shy. They were obliged to hold them, particularly under the 
 principal arch in the middle of the city, where a magistrate 
 en corps (meaning bodily) was to give an excellent speech, of 
 his own preparation, upon the rapture of the people. 
 
 He placed himself opposite the princely pair, who sat in 
 the state carriage, and began his speech. But the screaming, 
 barking, mewing and halloing were such, that he perceived he 
 must exert his organs of speech to the utmost, or all his fine 
 remarks, and extraordinary similes about flowers, and so forth, 
 would all be lost. Fortunately, he was a very strong man, and 
 not wanting in voice, it having been exercised for twenty years 
 in the Council-Hall. He actually did out-scream the dreadful 
 racket, though it turned his face the color of a cherry. The 
 nervous Princess in the carriage, in anguish of soul, put her 
 fingers in her ears, and Nicodemus swore to the right and left 
 out of the boot. As not a word of this was heard in the uni- 
 versal outcry, the people thought that the Prince was expressing 
 his thanks for the love of his faithful subjects, and there arose 
 a joyful huzza, and cries of " Long life to the Pair." In the 
 papers and journals of that day was written an account of the 
 enthusiasm of the people, the warm acknowledgments of the 
 Father of the Country, and the deep emotion manifested by the 
 Princess, who did in fact begin to cry, finding she could obtain 
 no relief. This declaiming, or rather screaming, civil officer 
 took the greater part of these precious tears as a consequence 
 of his very affecting speech, and addressing himself especially 
 to the Princess, inserted a comparison between herself and the 
 goddesses of high Olympus, and did not stop until he had ar- 
 rived happily at the end of the last phrase. 
 
 Then the princely carriage rolled off to the Castle at a full 
 gallop. Everybody's ears rung for two hours afterwards, 
 particularly those of the nervous Princess. Her ears were so 
 sensitive that no one dared to speak aloud to her, or make use of 
 more than whispers ; and her great sorrow was the being obliged 
 to be present that evening at a concert in the Court-Chapel. Out 
 of a tender regard for his young wife, Nicodemus had forbid- 
 den the Chapel-Master to use any wind instruments, even 
 10 
 
130 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 a flute. Yet this did not quiet her, and she told the Chancellor 
 in confidence, that if the concert must take place, she would be 
 much obliged to him if he would persuade the Chapel-Master to 
 play so low that it could scarcely be heard. 
 
 Jack Steam was ready to do it, but the Chapel-Master made 
 a strong resistance to a constant Pianissimo ; and everybody 
 knows that artists have their peculiarities. He promised to 
 have the instruments tuned before the princely pair appeared, 
 that their Highnesses' ears might be spared all unavoidable 
 and disagreeable discords. He also promised to make another 
 selection of pieces which might be soft enough, but he would not 
 give up a rather noisy and brilliant overture, which was of his 
 own composition, and from which Trumpets, Kettle-Drums, 
 Bassoons, Clarionets, and other Wind Instruments, had already 
 been excluded. 
 
 This determination on the part of the immovable Chapel- 
 Master, naturally put the serviceable Chancellor into great 
 embarrassment ; but he yet hoped to find some expedient, and 
 did find it. To mitigate the sharp, piercing sounds from the 
 violins, he stealthily went into the orchestra before the arrival of 
 the Court, and rubbed all the fiddle-bows with soap. The Court 
 arrived. The artists of the Chapel entered the orchestra from 
 an ante-room, took their proper places, the Master at the head. 
 He raised his paper wand, and at the first tap, the harmonies 
 of the brilliant orchestra were to be poured forth. 
 
 But this time Jack Steam was right ; for at the first tap all 
 the fiddle-bows worked actively up and down the violins, but no 
 sound came — a deathlike silence prevailed. The Chapel-Master 
 cast a furious glance at his colleagues, raised his arm again, 
 and signed to them to begin anew, by a deep bend of his body. 
 The violins put themselves in motion, but the second manoeuvre 
 was as fruitless as the first. The princely auditory feared that 
 they were struck with deafness, and the suspicion of the Master 
 that he was not obeyed from envy must be forgiven. Full of 
 suppressed rage, he exclaimed in an under tone to the orchestra, 
 " Well ! are you going to begin ? " And he turned round to 
 look at the fiddlers, raised his arm, made a sign for the third 
 time, whilst the amazed artists, nearly frightened to death 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 131 
 
 worked away at their violins. And now the Chapel-Master 
 nearly fainted when he saw that the fiddlers were impotent, and 
 that the whole Court were laughing, all but the Prince, who 
 thought a great deal of his choir, and wished to win some honor 
 thereby from his wife. He was quite angry at the speechless- 
 ness of the instruments, told the Chapel-Master to go to the 
 devil, and left the Hall with the Princess and the whole Court. 
 The cause of the three fruitless attempts on the brilliant over- 
 ture could not long remain a secret. Jack Steam had blabbed 
 himself. Perhaps the Princess with weak nerves would have 
 been his grateful intercessor, had she not learned at the 
 same time that the influence of Jack Steam had raised the 
 triumphal arches and cat-gates ; and also, that he was the prin- 
 cipal cause of the dreadful cat-squalling, for which she asserted 
 she never could forgive him in her life. Therefore, the fall of 
 the Chancellor was unavoidable. The Princess, in one of her 
 caprices, requested him to leave the Court, and the Prince, to 
 satisfy both himself and his wife, ordered him out of the 
 country. 
 
 Jack Steam, whose evil genius was now uppermost, scratched 
 his head, and sighed, "Ingratitude is the reward of the world V s 
 packed his things, and, wrapped in his virtues, travelled on to 
 Lalenburg. 
 
 JACK STEAM. 
 
 A great man is great even in his fall. His descent makes 
 kingdoms tremble. When Alexander died, his immense sway 
 from the mouth of the Danube and the Nile, to the Indus and 
 the Ganges, disappeared in a stream of blood : and the Empire 
 of Charles the Great was scattered when its creator died. And 
 thus did all traces of the state of Lynxcrag disappear, after 
 the fall of the great Jack Steam, for a great war both by land 
 and sea between England and France was a consequence of the 
 resignation of the Chancellor of the order of St. Nimrod. This 
 will be easily seen and proved by the private histories of the 
 
132 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 several Courts at that time, but. they are too long and tiresome 
 to print here. 
 
 The Ex-Chancellor had scarcely left the Capital, when a 
 French extra courier arrived inquiring for Jack, as he wished to 
 deliver him a package. This attracted some attention, as Germany 
 was not on good terms with France at that time. Prince Nico- 
 demus was informed of the arrival of the extra courier, and the 
 enemies of the banished Jack Steam intimated that very possibly 
 he had a treacherous correspondence with the French crown. 
 Nicodemus thought it very probable — for he well understood the 
 character of Jack Steam, the busy-body, and gave orders for the 
 arrest of the extra courier, who had already departed ; but he 
 was caught and brought back again. He did not deny his being 
 acquainted with Jack Steam ; but no one would believe that the 
 package which he had brought for him, was, as he asserted, a 
 peruke of the newest fashion, bought at a great city, to oblige 
 Jack Steam, and now sent on to Lalenburg. 
 
 A request was therefore transmitted to the magistrate of that 
 city, that he should forward the box and forthwith arrest the 
 Chancellor, for there were probably traces of a great conspiracy 
 against the Holy Roman Empire within the package. The 
 Magistrate of Lalenburg eagerly obeyed ; but his curiosity forced 
 him to open the box, that he might see himself the traces of this 
 tremendous conspiracy. The majestic Algonquin-Peruke set the 
 wits of the Councillors on a stretch, to ascertain in what dangerous 
 relations this hairy creation stood to the Holy Roman State. A 
 long debate ensued. 
 
 The extra courier might make as much noise as he liked about 
 the haste and importance of his commission ; wait he must, until 
 the matter was concluded. They found nothing on him but a 
 package of most beautiful sables and ermine, with a letter from 
 the Keeper of the Wardrobe to his Majesty, the King of France. 
 But the King had personally ordered the costly ermine and sable 
 which he had promised his mistress, on New Year's day, for it 
 was the most recent Parisian fashion for ladies. Until then the 
 wife of the English ambassador had had the pleasure of wearing the 
 finest ermine before the eyes of the whole Court. New Year's 
 day came, and no extra courier. It was in vain that the King 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 133 
 
 put the Keeper of the Wardrobe into the Bastilc to justify 
 himself in the eyes of his capricious mistress. She cried with 
 rage, that on New Year's day the proud Englishwoman would 
 surpass her in magnificence, and would not grant the monarch 
 the least favor. The King was in the greatest consternation, but 
 received no hope of mercy, until he promised to make the haughty 
 Englishwoman leave France. Opinions had been equally divided 
 in the Cabinet on the question of war with England, on ac- 
 count of some unanswered claims. The King now decided for 
 " War," and the English Ambassador had to leave Paris imme- 
 diately, and of course the lady with costly furs went also. Blood 
 flowed in streams, both by land and by sea. States were lost 
 and won in battle ; some were even annihilated, as was the case 
 with Lynxcrag ; for, when the courier had justified himself, 
 he arrived too late at Paris : but, having explained the cause of 
 his detention, the fall of the house of Lynxcrag was sworn — 
 and the oath kept. 
 
 These tears, wars, streams of blood and unsettling of kingdoms, 
 were solely caused by the fall of the great Jack Steam. Had 
 he remained the favorite of the Prince, he would have explained 
 the origin of the peruke, without being suspected and accused 
 of bearing no love to his Fatherland. 
 
 THE BUSY-BODY. 
 
 Jack Steam, as I said before, took his way to Lalenburg, but 
 thousand-tongued rumor had announced his disgrace even 
 before his arrival. The worldly-wise burgomasters immediately 
 took down the silhouette of the Ex-Chancellor from the Assem- 
 bly Hall, and came to the conclusion of never giving the sur- 
 name of Great to a mortal in his life-time, or to erect memorials 
 of him, such as obelisks, statues, silhouettes, pyramids, and so 
 forth. No Lalenburger would now own that he had ever 
 courted Jack Steam ; all the city-councillors denied having 
 sent deputations to him ; every one declared that their relations 
 with him had never been friendly ; they wrote libels and satiri- 
 
134 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 cal songs about the " Ex-Great Man." Now they all called 
 him the small man, and many found him so small, that they 
 could not remember whether they had ever known him or not. 
 
 Jack Steam must have been really surprised at the short 
 memory of the Lalenburgers, for on arriving at his native town, 
 everybody stared at him as if they knew nothing of him, and 
 he were an utter stranger to them. This did not annoy him, 
 particularly as he noticed that the damsels had the longest 
 memories. He therefore said something sweet to all of them, 
 and promised each that she should be the lady-mayoress when 
 lie became mayor, and a girl does not forget that so easily. He 
 mentioned the mayoralty because the officiating officer had 
 shortly previous broken his neck one night by falling into a 
 grave-pit, to which he had delayed putting a new balustrade 
 instead of the old rotten one which stood on its steep sides. 
 The " blessed dead" had strongly opposed a renewal of the 
 balustrade, partly upon the ground of economy, and partly for 
 the reason that from as long ago as could be remembered no one 
 had ever fallen into the grave. 
 
 Without doubt, in the choice of chief-burgomaster,* they would 
 have proceeded as usual, had not the command arrived from 
 Lynxcrag to arrest the Ex-Chancellor, and deliver up the 
 treacherous peruke. For greater safety they bound poor Jack 
 Steam with chains and cord, and had him watched day and 
 night in his own house, by fifty-seven men, armed with long 
 spikes ; two or three of these were placed wherever there were 
 holes in the wall ; for instance, at the window or door — even at 
 those of the cellar and roof. This was a lucky thought of Se- 
 cretary Sulks, and it took up the entire time of the assembled 
 citizens, so that all else was forgotten. 
 
 In the mean time Prince Nicodemus was fully persuaded of 
 the innocence of the Ex-Chancellor when he saw the Peruke. 
 His old liking for him revived, and he not only sent back the 
 massive curly head-piece with an obliging note, but left him free 
 to choose any boon as an indemnification for his imprisonment. 
 
 Soon as this was rumored in Lalenburg a new difficulty 
 
 * Chief-burgo naster and mayor are the same. 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 135 
 
 arose, for they all feared that Jack Steam would, out of revenge, 
 request the heads and necks of those who had used him harshly, 
 if not the destruction of all Lalenburg. The fifty-seven guards 
 ran away spear in hand ; the smiths, locksmiths, and riveters 
 on the contrary, rushed with hammers, nippers, and crowbars, 
 that they might be the first to loosen the prisoner. Five and 
 twenty virgins declared without secrecy, that they were the affi- 
 anced brides of the princely favorite ; a deputation arrived 
 from the Council with excuses for their proceedings : the decree 
 against great men was repealed — the Steamian silhouette re- 
 placed in the Council Chamber ; and Secretary Sulks, strongly 
 supported by Town-Major Knoll, was the first who recommended 
 himself to the favor of the great man, by publicly proposing him 
 for Mayor. 
 
 Fickleness among the people, who to-day shout Hosanna ! and 
 to-morrow crucify him ! was indigenous in Lalenburg, as it is in 
 all ages, and in all nations. With the mass it arises from ig- 
 norance, — from thoughtlessness in some ; and in others, who 
 have not yet been aroused to better feelings, or in whom these 
 feelings have perished — from egotism and selfishness. It must 
 be owned that the Republic of Lalenburg was neither composed 
 of Greeks, nor of capricious French ; but of a respectable, 
 knowing, inflexible, and pedantic race. Where there was a 
 question of property, money-making or bargaining, you could say 
 of the Lalenburgers that they were very wise in such things 
 — though they knew nothing else. Selfishness was, therefore, 
 the principal cause of their fickleness, instead of arising as it 
 does with other people, from heroism, pride, insolence, or even 
 humility and cowardice. 
 
 Jack Steam was the greatest man of his century in Lalenburg, 
 because he was an entire exception to all their rules, for he un- 
 derstood the people, and knew how to manage them. In quiet 
 times the gentlemen of the Council would swell with importance, 
 nor step aside for any big ox — they thought themselves almost 
 immortal ; but if there was the smallest aspect of danger, they 
 mistook gnats for elephants, and would humble themselves, and 
 fawn, even doing mean things — when they could be done safely. 
 Jack Steam understood them, and took measures accordingly. 
 
136 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 JACK STEAM. 
 
 His first measure was hanging the broad and great order of 
 Nimrod about him, as the bell rung for the meeting of the Coun- 
 cil voters. He knew that in well-constituted Republics — at least 
 in that of Lalenburg, a piece of ribbon in the button-hole has 
 quite as much effect as in a Monarchy. A man with the ribbon 
 could not be allowed to sit in any- but the best places, for other- 
 wise they would offend the prince of Lynxcrag His second 
 measure was to don the immense Algonquin Peruke, which _ 
 rolled down like a cloud from his crown to his breast, and far 
 down his back, turning half of his agreeable person into a head- 
 piece. 
 
 As he walked towards the Council-Hall with studied steps, all 
 the windows flew open, chatterers stopped talking, and hats and 
 caps were respectfully taken off. He inspired such universal 
 reverence that none of the councillors dared to walk beside him, 
 hut in their great politeness went about one step behind him. 
 They also gave to his ribbon, his state peruke, and himself — 
 the most distinguished seat on the first bench, and with so many 
 ceremonies, bows and foot scrapings, that three chairs were 
 thrown down, and several members of the Council had their 
 corns violently trodden upon, which increased the universal 
 emotion, particularly in the last mentioned gentlemen. He who 
 was then officiating in the capacity of Mayor asked Jack Steam 
 to offer his opinions upon the present important choice for that 
 office. 
 
 After taking several very modest attitudes, Jack Steam made 
 a low bow and said : " He felt exceedingly sorry that they had 
 put him in such an embarrassing situation as that of first speaker, 
 for he was wanting in knowledge, eloquence, and experience. 
 It was better for him to be silent in this assembly, that he might 
 hear and learn. There was not a soul there who did not sur- 
 pass him in the necessary qualifications for discoursing, and 
 therefore he begged leave to decline the honor of speaking 
 first." But the Lalenburgers overwhelmed him with praise, re- 
 gretted naught but his extreme modesty, and seven times begged 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 137 
 
 him to speak because he had six times begged to be excused. 
 This see-sawiifg of compliments ; this humble refusal of an offer 
 which a man is glad to get, was a mere piece of formality in La- 
 lenburg, or rather of genuine good-breeding. 
 
 Now the tongue of the noble Jack Steam began to run. Ten 
 minutes he uccupied in giving them their titles, ten minutea 
 more in declaring his incompetency to speak ; then dilated upor 
 the virtues of the " blessed dead " whose place was now to b& 
 filled, and of the qualities which the first magistrate of a Re- 
 public should possess. 
 
 "To rule, 5 '* said he, " is a great art, and that art consists in 
 destroying nothing ! Can man better that which God has already 
 made ? The watch goes of itself when it is wound up, but 
 touch not the wheels ! Does the peasant sow the field ? — the 
 seed will come up of itself if he does not inconsiderately dig 
 the ground over. The love of novelty has ruined the oldest 
 states ; — he who runs must some time come to an end, he who 
 would not come to an end, had better keep quiet. Thus did 
 our glorious ancestors, O Lalenburgers, and thus must we do. 
 
 " All this nonsense of the ministers and metaphysicians of the 
 present day is of no use. Are thrones any the more secure ? 
 No, they totter the more. Therefore stick to old customs. New 
 customs are like new wine, they need fermenting, but old cus- 
 toms are like old wine, strong, sweet, and clear. Therefore the 
 most stupid of old customs is better than the wisest of new cus- 
 toms. Let us now remain as we are, in spite of them ; like the 
 very beasts. Mankind die as much where there are doctors 
 and an apothecary, as where neither is to be found. In fact 
 they die sooner, for the doctor and the apothecary seek to better 
 and mend the natural order of things for money's sake. Be- 
 ware of the faculties ! Blessed are the poor in spirit, for in 
 their simplicity they see more than those who are blinded by 
 wisdom. 
 
 " Thus thought our ancestors. Rome and Greece have per- 
 ished, and Lalenburg yet stands. It is with states as with man 
 — bright children do not live long — and the minister causes their 
 downfall. But everything will finally go well if we do not ad- 
 vance too quickly, for Nature likes no leaping. What does 
 
138 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 not happen to-day may happen to-morrow. If the apple is ripe, 
 it falls to the ground, and needs no plucking from the tree. 
 
 " Things that are forgotten are new, and a novelty excites 
 zeal, especially when that novelty has been an old friend. Run- 
 ning does not aid one's progress. He who does the least, has 
 in fact accomplished the most. Preserve us from too much go- 
 vernment ! Whom God loves is known by his sleep. The 
 principal duty of Rulers is to create respect for all the laws, 
 even the worst of them, and if you would have men look with 
 honor on your laws, you must make yourselves respected. 
 From this arises the necessity of outward display, pomp and 
 magnificence with which Kings, Emperors, Princes, and minis- 
 ters surround themselves. A serious imposing demeanor is 
 more necessary in a Republic than wisdom itself, and a good 
 peruke more effective than a good head. For this reason it 
 has been said in the common law of Lalenburg, from time im- 
 memorial, that burgomasters and secretaries must wear perukes, 
 — and all. Dress makes the man ! 
 
 " In free states, the most efficient mode of action is secrecy or 
 mystery. It increases a man's own importance, a proper res- 
 pect for the office and the honor of the state. A wise minister 
 will always have his head and his heart full of secrets — or at 
 least the appearance of it, since a bucket of water falls to the 
 ground when it contains nothing. There is no harm done by 
 telling the whole in confidence, if it only seems as if the best 
 part were reserved. We are all masters in this art, and thence 
 the fame of Lalenburg. 
 
 " Talking and chattering about state secrets, must of course be 
 allowed in the Council Hall ; but no blabbing in print. God 
 created a mouth for man, but no printing-press. Nothing is 
 more injurious to our reputation than this wicked instrument 
 
 which exhibits our and our misdeeds to the whole world. 
 
 Wise Princes have nearly cracked their skulls over the censor- 
 ship of the press ; we will be yet wiser, and forbid the printing 
 of books or newspapers in our Republic, unless it be a prayer- 
 book or a hymn-book, a new year's ode, or an occasional 
 marriage poem. It is certain that the more severity we show 
 all impious publications, the sooner will riots he driven from our 
 
JACK STEAM. 
 
 139 
 
 country, and the less we print about ourselves, I am sorry to say 
 — for we are very modest, — the more will be written and printed 
 abroad in praise of the Lalenburgers. This cannot be helped 
 and therefore must be endured ; we will therefore play the press- 
 gang a trick and not read their publications : thus we shall 
 keep our self-respect." 
 
 Jack Steam continued in the same strain for some time. As 
 the others knew it all by heart, they yawned until their eyes 
 closed, but when their turn came to speak, they were inexhaust- 
 ible in their praises of the great man who had spoken first, 
 praised his deep understanding, and added the modest remark, 
 that he had spoken exactly what they were going to say. 
 
 THE BUSY-BODY. 
 
 And that same day Jack Steam was nominated and elected 
 Consul of the Republic. He begged the councillors with tears 
 to take back their votes and elect a more worthy man. But they 
 paid no attention to this, for they all knew, that these tears and 
 this humility were only a part of the usual ceremonies of the 
 inauguration. 
 
 Now began the most brilliant epoch in the life of the great 
 Jack Steam, or Jack Steam the Busy-Body as his contemporaries 
 preferred calling him. For he was the life of all Lalenburg, 
 was everywhere in a twinkling, and settled everything whether 
 it would or not. In all love affairs, there was Jack Steam ; in all 
 quarrels, there was Jack Steam ; in all mistakes, there was Jack 
 Steam ; and if a secret became known to the whole world, Jack 
 Steam was first in the business. 
 
 On the day of the election, he was invited to twenty-five places 
 
 as the guest of as many betrothed damsels, he was but 
 
 the historian shrinks from the gigantic undertaking of becoming 
 the Plutarch of this hero. The reader must at least allow the 
 Plutarch to take fresh breath, that he may write with greater 
 vigor hereafter. 
 
* 
 
 I 
 
FLORETTA: 
 
 OR 
 
 THE FIRST LOVE OF HENRY IV, 
 
THE 
 
 FLORETTA, 
 
 OR 
 
 FIRST LOVE OF HENRY IV. 
 
 I. THE YOUNG PRINCE OF BEARN. 
 
 At Nerac, a graceful little place in Gascony, there was a grand 
 feast, or rather a general festival, inasmuch as the King of 
 France, Charles IX., with the whole of his magnificent retinue, 
 was there on a visit to the Court of Navarre. At least it is so 
 written down at this very day in the old chronicle of Nerac, 
 and was about the year of our Lord 1566. 
 
 There was good ground for the visit. For the King of France 
 brought to the Queen of Navarre her young son Henry, who, 
 until now, had been reared at the Court of Paris. The Queen 
 wished him henceforth to be with her. One may easily imagine 
 with what joy the mother once more clasped the child to her 
 breast. The Queen, as we know, was named Joanna, and was 
 not only a tender mother, but a true heroic woman. Indeed 
 the whole world knows how she comported herself when this 
 dearly beloved child Henry, was born. At that time, her 
 father, Henry of Albret, King of Navarre, stepped to her 
 bed-side, carrying in his hand a gold box, attached to a long 
 gold chain, and said, " Look now, daughter mine ! Sing me 
 at thy lying-in a right cheerful Gascon song, and this with all 
 that is in it shall be thine." And she sang as soon as the child 
 appeared. Then he immediately placed the gold chain round 
 her neck and gave her the box. " But," said he, and took the 
 
144 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 new-comer in his arms, "on that account I hold him here;" 
 the mother, on the other hand, would not allow the child to be 
 taken. 
 
 Now, Henry was larger ; in fact, though only fifteen years 
 old, we might have easily mistaken him for eighteen, he had 
 shot up so tall. The flax was scarce on his chin, and his face 
 was like milk and blood, but his heart was like a well tried 
 sword, and his hands were hard and strong from the use of 
 weapons and every vigorous labor. In fact, he was a mettle- 
 some fellow, a right roving blade, who could run, hunt, fight, 
 dance, and clamber about the hills and rocks like a Chamois. 
 His tutor and master, the sage Lagaucherie, had as much as 
 he could do with him ; yet the young Prince was so loveable, so 
 intellectual, so good-hearted, they could not do otherwise than 
 humor him. And when a little impetuous, if he was reminded 
 of Duty and Honor, those two little words would make him 
 as gentle as a lamb. This is saying a great deal of a young 
 man who had a kingdom for an inheritance. For in these days 
 the two words Duty and Honor will scarcely bring the son of an 
 ordinary tradesman into obedience. ^ 
 
 The people at Nerac for this reason preferred the wild, hand- 
 some, good Henry, to the pomp and majesty of the King of 
 France. For what is it after all to see horses and coaches, and 
 gilded outriders, and guards, and footmen and lackies with all 
 their pride ? We might rather run after the saddlers, the tailors, 
 the wheel-wrights, the lace-makers, and other people of that sort, 
 for one might possibly learn something of their trades. People 
 who are themselves respectable, look with the most pleasure 
 upon him who deserves the most honors ; not upon him who wears 
 the most. The respectable people of Nerac consequently looked 
 with greater pleasure upon the promising Prince of Bearn, the 
 young Henry, than on the King. This one went along always 
 very seriously and majestically, and scarcely thanked them 
 when they greeted him ; but Henry smiled kindly on all sides, 
 and cheerfully returned their greetings. And his smile was 
 uncommonly full of fascination. At least so testified all the 
 young ladies and maidens of Nerac unanimously and with 
 knowing looks. In such matters young ladies without contro- 
 
FLORE TTA. 
 
 145 
 
 versy, are the most accomplished connoisseurs, or rather natural 
 judges. 
 
 In the train of the King also were many young lords, beauti- 
 ful, spirited and brave men : for example, the young Duke of 
 Guise, three years older than the Prince of Beam. Everybody 
 liked the Prince, however, because he made himself agreeable 
 to them. This the young Duke well knew ; it often mortified 
 him, and he was, probably, not the best disposed in the world 
 towards the son of the King of Navarre. They had grown up 
 together play and school companions ; still they did not take 
 much to each other. The King of France was continually 
 called upon to settle their little difficulties. It was well, there- 
 fore, that they should be separated, and Henry remain with his 
 mother. Even before his absence from Nerac he had given 
 some trouble in this respect. 
 
 II. THE CROSS-BOW SHOOTING. 
 
 Among other sports a shooting with the cross-bow was held. 
 The King himself was a good shot. With sorrow be it said 
 that he was so. For men know how, six years after the festi- 
 val at Nerac, at the bloody marriage in Paris, he shot at his 
 own Huguenot dependents. At Nerac, he tried his skill more 
 innocently. For a pomegranate, fastened up at a distance which 
 had been measured off, was the mark. 
 
 When a king or prince takes pleasure in being the best in any 
 act, men do not lightly presume to prove that they are better in 
 it than he. It so happened here. No courtier ventured to hit 
 the golden fruit with his arrow, lest he should rob the King of 
 the honor, or rather the delusion, that he was the best shooter 
 under the sun. Thus great lords, poor fellows, are always 
 deceived, and men secretly laugh at them behind their backs. 
 The Duke of Guise was also an excellent shot ; but not the less 
 a most excellent courtier. Naturally his shaft flew far aside 
 from the beautiful pomegranate. Many spectators, both male 
 and female, came from the castle as well as from the village to see 
 11 
 
ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 the sport ; all gracefully drest. The good people believed in 
 real earnest that the King was a master at cross-bow shooting, 
 for he had almost hit the pomegranate with his arrow. But they 
 did not yet understand the courtly mode of handling the bow. 
 
 Now they cried out ; " The Prince of Beam !" Then came 
 young Henry with his cross-bow, aimed, and cleft the golden 
 mark in two with his arrow at the first stroke. The spectators 
 murmured simultaneous applause ; the beautiful spectatresses, 
 smiling, whispered in each other's ears, I know not what. But 
 the King was not altogether satisfied : he looked dark and almost 
 gloomy. 
 
 According to the rules of the game, Henry should now begin 
 again and shoot first at the new pomegranate. On the contrary, 
 the King thought, I am yet King ! and would not give up the 
 honor of the first shot, and said : " We must proceed in regular 
 order." Henry said : " By all means, according to rule !" But 
 Kings, particularly when they are a little angry, are not in the 
 rule of keeping any rules. Then, as Henry would have taken 
 his place and aim, the King pushed him back quite rudely. 
 This ought not to be thought evil in him, for he was young, and 
 indeed only about the age of the Prince of Beam. But Henry, 
 by nature a hot-headed creature, sprang back a few steps from 
 the enclosure, stretched the sinew of his bow, laid a bolt upon 
 it, and aimed at the King. 
 
 His majesty, greatly frightened, ran quickly back, and placed 
 himself behind the thickest of his courtiers. The stout man, 
 who in imagination already felt the arrow in his paunch, cried 
 murder ! and drew his hands, as far as he could, before his 
 belly. Henry, although he was somewhat irritated, could not, 
 at the sight of the stout man, who stood like a tottering wall 
 before the King, keep from laughing, and he laughed aloud. 
 The maidens of Nerac, when they saw the young Prince laugh- 
 ing so immeasurably, began to giggle, and the old ladies did the 
 same. Laughter, like crying, is among females exceedingly 
 contagious. And as Eve formerly seduced Adam to a little 
 dainty indulgence, she now seduced the men to laugh. All 
 laughed ; but the courtiers knew hardly what face they ought 
 properly to assume on the occasion. The King, however, was 
 
FLORE IT A 
 
 147 
 
 disposed to laugh, quite as little as his stout bulwark and de- 
 fender. " Take away the Prince of Beam !" he cried. 
 
 Fortunately the wise Lagaucherie, Henry's tutor, was present. 
 He took his pupil by the arm and led him into the castle. Henry's 
 laugh was heard until he was lost in the distance. 
 
 This little spat between Charles and Henry was settled as 
 soon as they understood themselves, and so it led to no subse- 
 quent contests. Henry was a thoughtless youngster who must 
 make an apology and let the matter drop. 
 
 III. THE ROSE ON THE ARROW. 
 
 On the following day there was another shooting with the cross- 
 bow, at gold pomegranates. All the archers came, all the 
 maidens came, all the wives came, also the men. The specta- 
 tors were now more numerous than before. For they hoped 
 they would be able 'to laugh all day long. But he who came 
 not was the King. He remained under some pretence at the 
 palace ; probably he had important public business. 
 
 This time they all shot better than they had done yester- 
 day. The people of Nerac could not comprehend how the 
 court had become altogether so skilful in a night. All the 
 pomegranates were struck. The mark was set up at a greater 
 distance. Even there the same fortune attended them. Espe- 
 cially the Duke of Guise showed himself a master. He aimed 
 at the farthest pomegranate and split it. 
 
 It was vexatious to Henry that there were no more pome- 
 granates. He would gladly have had another trial for mastery 
 with his young competitor. He looked on every side to find 
 something that would do for a mark. He saw among the spec- 
 tators a young maiden about as old or as young as himself, a 
 beautifully formed child of fifteen. She stood there in simple 
 dress, her sweet face half shaded by her hat, charming as love, 
 harmless as innocence. 
 
 Henry sprang hastily towards the little Venus of Nerac. He 
 would not indeed have chosen her as the mark for his arrow ; 
 
148 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 but the rose which she wore in her breast. It was a rose like 
 the maiden herself, its charms but half-unfolded, and its deep 
 red mouth delicately fringed with the pale leaves. Henry- 
 begged the flower, and stretched forth his hand to the youthful 
 bosom which it adorned. The little Venus reddened, and smiling 
 gave him her image. He ran with it to the mark, placed the 
 rose there, and then back to the shooting place. 
 
 " Now, Duke, you are conqueror. There is a new mark. 
 To you belongs the first shot I" Thus cried Henry breathlessly, 
 and sucked the blood from his wounded finger, which he had 
 pricked with a thorn from the rose. The finger pained him not 
 half so much as — he knew not himself what or why ! Then 
 looked he sidewise to the lowly original of the rose, from whom 
 his sweet sorrow had come. 
 
 Guise drew, aimed — the arrow flew — and failed. Then 
 Henry advanced, bent his bow, aimed, and glancing first side- 
 wise over his arm, whence his sorrow came, and then at the 
 rose, let the missive fly. The arrow pierced the heart of the 
 flower. 
 
 " You have won !" said Guise. But the young Prince of 
 Beam wished to examine closely, and ran to the mark. He 
 drew the arrow from the plank. The pierced rose sat as fast 
 there as if it had been on its own stalk. He flew with it to the 
 artless maiden, to return her the plundered flower. With a 
 gentle bow he offered to his Beauty, the rose and the victorious 
 arrow also. 
 
 "Your gift gave me fortune," said he. 
 
 " But your fortune was the misfortune of the poor rose," re- 
 plied the little one, while she sought with her tender fingers to 
 free the flower from the arrow. 
 
 "I willingly leave you, as an atonement, the guilty arrow!" 
 
 "I have no need of that !" replied the maiden. 
 
 " I believe it truly ! You wound with a sharper arrow than this," 
 added Henry, and looked upon the beautiful innocent who stood 
 abashed before him, and as she raised her eyes to him, faltered and 
 blushed. He blushed as well as she ? and unconsciously held 
 his hand before his breast, as if he would preserve that from the 
 
FLORETTA. 
 
 149 
 
 misfortune of the Rose. He could not muster a single word 
 more, and therefore bowed and went back to the archers. 
 
 The play was over. The shooters returned to the palace 
 which lay in the dark green plain that sloped gradually down 
 to the shores of the Blaize. The spectators separated. The 
 young maiden, with the pierced rose on the arrow which had been 
 given her, also went away, attended by her companions. Her 
 playmates prattled a good deal, and even envied the little one on 
 account of the arrow. The little one was very dumb and observed 
 only the pierced flower ; and in it she saw her own heart pierced. 
 
 As the archers stood upon the steps of the castle, Henry look- 
 ed again at the assemblage, who were now rapidly disbanding. 
 And among the spectators he sought one person. But she was 
 not to be recognized. 
 
 " Who is that little pretty maiden from whom I stole the 
 rose ?" said he to a nobleman of his mother, the Queen Johanna. 
 
 " She is the daughter of the castle gardener," answered the 
 nobleman, " and does honor to the vocation of her father as well 
 as herself by her name." 
 
 " What is she called?" 
 
 " Floretta is her name now, but when she is older, it will be 
 Flora." 
 
 " Floretta !" said Henry, scarcely knowing what he said. He 
 once more looked round, although he knew there was nothing to 
 be seen. 
 
 IV. THE SPRING OF LA GARENNE. 
 
 Henry had often in his lifetime heard the word love, and how, 
 without being deaf, could he have escaped hearing it at the 
 court of Paris ? But he understood it as little as he understood 
 Arabic or Chaldee, of which he had probably been informed 
 that there were such things extant in the world. Meanwhile he 
 learned love more easily than Arabic, and in later years was 
 more versed therein than was often advantageous to his fame. 
 It is well known that the battles and the victories, by which he 
 
150 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 afterwards gained the crown of France, are not so hard to be 
 numbered as his intrigues and their consequences. Even at the 
 present day they sing of the beautiful Gabrielle D'Estres, of the 
 enchanting Henriette De Balzac D'Entragues, of Jacqueline De 
 Beuil, of Charlotte des Essarts and others, who scattered roses 
 along the thorny path of Henry the Great. Yet of all whom he 
 ever loved, none was like Floretta of Nerac ; none more beauti- 
 ful ? No, I could not say that without giving pain to poets and 
 other women, for every one has liberty of conscience in this 
 article of faith. No, none was more lovely, if loveliness is raised 
 in degree in proportion as it becomes worthy of the sincerest 
 affection. 
 
 Such was Floretta. With the pierced rose her heart was 
 pierced ; and as Henry gave her the arrow, the flaming look of 
 her dark, beautiful eyes, full of sweet revenge, threw another 
 arrow into his unprotected breast. 
 
 Thus misfortune began with these children, though neither of 
 them yet knew what had happened to them. Floretta, during the 
 whole day, could not awake from the dream of the moment 
 when he stood before her with the arrow, and the whole night 
 she could not sleep. Henry, as soon as he was free from the 
 castle, ran round the garden and observed all the flowers with 
 great care and attention, in order to discover by their beauty 
 whether Floretta had planted or watered any of them. One 
 might have fancied that he would become a botanist, when he was 
 seen standing thoughtfully before the flower beds, with his hands 
 locked in each other. He would much rather, however, have 
 become a gardener at the side of Floretta. Or if we had seen 
 him sauntering slowly, with his head sunk and his eyes turned 
 towards the ground, along the wide walks between the flower 
 beds, one might reasonably have conjectured that he was some 
 young chemist in search of the Philosopher's stone. He was 
 seeking, however, in the sands of the garden walks the light 
 foot-prints of the artless child. 
 
 It made him tremble when, at the end of the garden, near the 
 spring of La Garenne, he discovered footsteps which could only 
 belong to her. He had not, it is true, seen Floretta's feet, much 
 less measured them; but Henry had a nice eye and fine com- 
 
FLORETTA. 
 
 151 
 
 parison, as in after years he proved on many a battle field. 
 And as he followed the trace he went through the bushes to a 
 wooden bridge across the quiet brook of Blaize. On the other 
 side of the water stood a little white elegant house. Now he very 
 much wanted to inquire who this house belonged to or who lived 
 in it. But there was no one there to tell him, — except his arrow 
 with the rose which stood at the window, in one of the rooms of 
 the little house. He started as if there was something terrible at 
 the window, and turning round quickly ran back into the gar- 
 den, his heart beating all the while, though he was followed by 
 nobody. 
 
 In the evening he went again to the garden. Twilight had 
 already come on, but he kept a sharp look-out. And he saw in 
 the distance, at the spring of Garenne, a maiden neither larger nor 
 smaller than Floretta. She drew a bucket of water, and heav- 
 ing it on her head, carried it through the bushes and over the 
 bridge of the Blaize to the little house. 
 
 Then he was haunted all the evening by an image before his 
 eyes. At the palace in the evening an informal ball was given, and 
 the princesses, ladies and lords all danced. But no young woman 
 danced so beautifully as in Henry's imagination danced the 
 garden-maid, with the bucket on her head, through the bushes 
 along the steep rocks. And when he himself took part in the 
 dance he looked less upon his partner than upon the door, where 
 the spectators were gathered. But he looked there quite in 
 vain. 
 
 V. THE GARDENER. 
 
 The next day Henry went very early to the castle garden. He 
 wandered with his spade upon his shoulder, to the spring of 
 Garenne. For it was rude and uncultivated about the spring, 
 probably because no one went there, except such as wished to 
 draw water. The spring was too remote, and only convenient to 
 the house of the gardener. On that account, perhaps, it was 
 particularly pleasant to the young Prince of Beam. 
 
152 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 Pie dug and dug, a broad circle in the green sod about the 
 spring. The sweat rolled from his brow. And when he be- 
 came weary and thirsty, he went to the spring, which ever 
 sparkled silver bright, to drink. When his lips were wet by the 
 cool water, he thought to himself that no wine had ever tasted 
 so pleasant. Without a doubt, Floretta must some time have 
 drunk from the same fountain. He returned from his labor 
 to the castle ; and there he sat down dejectedly in his dark-green 
 chamber to look out of the narrow and high-pointed window. 
 
 Now, if he had remained where he was a quarter of an hour 
 longer, he would have had an observer of his toils, for Floretta 
 came to the spring. And as she descried the broad circle dug in 
 the grass, with the borders for new flower-beds, she thought — 
 " Father must have been up very early ; or has he suffered his 
 workmen to do this ?" 
 
 When she returned home and asked old Lucas about it, he 
 was greatly surprised, and knew nothing of the matter. He 
 betook himself to the spring of Garenne, and saw the work, and 
 said with some anger, " My men have done that without my 
 orders," And he called the workmen and scolded them. But no 
 one would own to having done it. This puzzled old Lucas's 
 brains, for he could not conceive who would dare to usurp his 
 function in the garden of the castle. He resolved, therefore, to 
 stand upon the watch. He watched faithfully all day, but he 
 did not watch to any purpose. 
 
 For the royal family had gone to a neighboring castle, and did 
 not get back till late in the evening. The next morning there 
 was a little festival from which the young prince did not dare to 
 be absent. Therefore, he took advantage of the earliest hour 
 after sunrise for gardening ; he dug and raked over the beds ; 
 he took the flower-stalks, where they stood too thick, and planted 
 them around the Garenne spring. Nobody saw him, but what 
 was sadder, he saw nobody, — at least, that he wanted to see. He 
 returned, therefore, by the nearest path to the castle. But strange 
 to say, this nearest path led him a long circuit around the castle, 
 past a certain pretty little house. Then he peeped towards a 
 certain window, merely to see a certain arrow. Oh ! how it ter- 
 rified him to the heart ; for by the window stood a certain little 
 
FLORETTA. 
 
 153 
 
 maiden, and the window was open, and the whole Heaven was 
 open ! 
 
 Floretta stood at the open window, and bound the long tresses 
 of her black beautiful 'curls about her head. Her young 
 bosom was uncovered, her white neck glittered like snow beneath 
 the dark locks of her silken hair. In the window lay flowers, 
 with which she probably designed to deck her hair, or her hat, 
 or her breast. Henry hailed the window in a friendly voice, and 
 Floretta sent down a friendly reply. Henry jumped up upon a 
 bench, and in that way was almost as tall as Floretta, before 
 whom close to the window he stood. 
 
 A deep red flushed her angel-face and her alabaster neck. 
 He asked, " can I help you dress V She asked, " are you up so 
 earl vj young Lord." He considered that it was not so very ear- 
 ly, and she considered that she had no need of his help. He 
 thought particularly that she needed no other ornament than her 
 own self to be very beautiful ; and she thought that he was a great 
 joker, which was not at all civil in him just then. He observed 
 that he had never in his life spoken a truer word than now ; for 
 since she had given him the rose, he had not forgotten her for one 
 moment. She observed that it was rather a cheap price whereby 
 to render one's self unforgetable. He regretted that he had given 
 back the rose ; rather would he have kept it as an amulet ; and 
 she regretted that the flowers lying before her were so poor ; still 
 she would give him all, willingly, if that would yield him any 
 pleasure. He maintained, whilst he stuck some of the flowers 
 in his breast, that the poorest were made worthy by the giver. 
 And she now maintained, that the flowers were in reality right 
 beautiful, since he had disposed them there. 
 
 Thus they considered, and thought and observed, and regretted 
 and maintained, these two little people, about a great many 
 things, till old Lucas called Floretta to the next chamber. The 
 maiden bowed with a sweet smile to the young prince and van- 
 ished. Henry went from there to the castle. But he did not 
 tread upon the earth. And when he came into the castle, he 
 found that they had already been asking after him ; but he was 
 utterly indifferent to that. 
 
154 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 VI. THE WATCHING. 
 
 At noon, when old Lucas came from the castle garden to his 
 dinner, lie said, " Who plays me these tricks ? The strange 
 gardener has been at work again, the beds are well laid out, 
 levelled and enclosed, and some are set out with flowers. I have 
 watched the whole morning, but as before to no purpose. There 
 is something wrong in the business. He must labor at night by 
 the light of the stars." 
 
 In the evening, as Floretta went to the spring, with her pail, 
 it occurred to her that perhaps the young prince was the gar- 
 dener : for it was nearly from that quarter that Henry had come 
 when he approached her from the garden that morning as she 
 stood at the window, 
 
 In the evening, too, when the Court returned from its sports, 
 nothing was more agreeable to Henry than to wander about in 
 every part of the garden. He came to the spring — there he 
 found Floretta's hat. He took it, he pressed it to his breast, he 
 kissed it. He plucked in the twilight the most beautiful flowers 
 as he could find them, brought from the castle a handsome sky- 
 blue ribbon, and bound the flowers in an artificial wreath around 
 the hat. Then he sped to the house of the gardener ; the win- 
 dows were closed ; all were asleep. He hung the bonnet upon 
 the window. 
 
 The next morning, against the custom of the house, and against 
 her own heart, Floretta was up earlier than the sun. For she haa 
 concluded in her own mind to give her father pleasure, and dis- 
 cover and unmask the nightly gardener. Moreover, she might 
 have been a little curious on her own account, though this is by- 
 no means usual with young maidens. And perhaps there was 
 another thought in her mind, which, as she told it to nobody, 
 nobody ought to know. 
 
 When she had dressed herself with the stillest stillness, and 
 opened the window, she saw the hat with the sky-blue ribbon, and 
 the great flower wreath tied round it. Now she first recollected 
 that she had the evening before left her bonnet lying near the 
 
FLORETTA. 
 
 155 
 
 fountain. First she laughed at the ribbon and the wreath, but 
 then her countenance lowered. 
 
 " Ah," she sighed, " he has been up earlier than I. He has 
 already been here." 
 
 Whom she meant particularly by this He, she did not say. She 
 looked again at the flowers, loosened them, stuck them in a vessel 
 of fresh water, rolled the sky-blue ribbon together, and put it a way 
 with the rest of her simple ornaments. Thereupon she stepped 
 up into the window, out of the window down upon the little bench, 
 and from the little bench upon the hard ground. It was true, 
 the building had a very palpable door to it, but this was locked, 
 and could not be opened without considerable noise. 
 
 And she went over the bridge, and remained standing quite 
 undecided. " I have certainly come too late. He works by 
 star-light, as father guessed. And the stars have already gone 
 and the sun is near his rising. The bushes begin to glow with 
 the red streaks of dawn. Yes, I have come too late." So she 
 thought and determined to return, but she still went slowly for- 
 wards from the border of the Baize to the garden. 
 
 " But if he should be really here ! What would he think of 
 me, coming here so early ! Must he not believe that it is on his 
 account ? But he shan't believe that ! He might — no, I will go 
 home, get my pail as if I came to draw water, and so he shan't 
 think that I have come on his account." So she thought, and 
 again determined to return, but again went slowly forwards 
 towards the spring of Garenne. 
 
 Soon she heard the bubbling of the water. Soon she saw the 
 freshly dug garden-beds drawn around the fountain, through the 
 bushes. Yes, she discerned with pleasing surprise a spade in the 
 earth of one of the beds. 
 
 " Surely, he can't be far, when his implements are all here. 
 He himself is no more there, else I should see him. Perhaps he 
 has gone to dig up some flowers, in order to transplant them here ! 
 I will conceal myself ; I will watch him." So thought Floretta, 
 and tripped lightly, gently over the dewy grass behind a high 
 green bank of elms, through the leaves of which, all unobserved 
 herself, she could observe whatever approached the spring. 
 
 And as she stood hid, her heart beat violently. For when the 
 
150 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 morning breeze gently waved the trees, she believed she saw the 
 motion of some one coming. If a bird hopped or fluttered on 
 the branches, she thought she perceived a walk. But she was 
 always alarmed to no purpose. For she saw no one approach, 
 as sharply and keenly as she threw her eyes about. v 
 
 VII. THE SURPRISE. 
 
 Thereupon two hands were laid softly over her eyes, and held 
 them shut ; yet they were strange hands, not her own. The 
 poor child was very much frightened. And a voice whispered in 
 her ear, ; ' Now guess, Floretta, who it is ?" 
 
 She could have guessed very well ; for on the strange hands 
 which had been laid over her eyes from behind, she felt a finger- 
 ring. Yet she did not say what she thought, but cried out laugh- 
 ing, " I know you. Thou art Jacqueline, and on this very finger 
 is the ring which Lubin gave you !" 
 
 "Thou art wrong!" whispered the voice again behind her: 
 " and as thou hast not guessed, I have the right to punish you." 
 And the lips which whispered that, imprinted a kiss upon Flo- 
 retta's beautiful neck. The punishment seemed to her in fact 
 to be very irritating, for she wished to release herself suddenly. 
 But she was so encircled, that she could not move. 
 
 When she saw her labor in vain, she cried out : " Let me loose, 
 Minette, you bad girl ; now I know you. You want to repay 
 me for holding your eyes, when three weeks ago you were in 
 an interesting conversation with Colas." 
 
 " Thou art wrong again !" whispered the voice, and the pun- 
 ishment was exchanged this time for three kisses on her gently 
 bowed neck. 
 
 Floretta started at every kiss and begged for liberty, but re- 
 ceived it not. Yet her liberty was not so important a matter, 
 for why did she not name him, whom she knew ? It could have 
 been only from sheer caprice, and pretty girls are at times very 
 capricious. Enough ; she drew upon herself, for the third time, 
 a repetition of the punishment, and said : " So it is then no one 
 
FLORETTA. 
 
 157 
 
 else than Rosine Valdes, the worst, most mischievous creature 
 in the whole village or neighborhood, at whom I yesterday threw 
 almonds, through the open window into her room, as she was 
 sitting alone, thinking of, Heaven knows who. How you were 
 frightened at the shower of almonds, as if you supposed Heaven 
 were falling in !" 
 
 " Far from the mark !" whispered the voice, and now the 
 kisses on the neck could no more be counted ; they followed 
 each other, like the shower of almonds. All of a sudden, Flo- 
 retta stepped backwards and got her little head loose from her 
 confinement. She turned round. There stood Henry. There 
 stood Floretta. Each smiled at the other. She, however, 
 threatened with her finger, yet modestly and playfully said : 
 " Could I believe that you would have been so rude ? Before 
 you, my young lord, we must be on our guard." 
 
 He now begged pardon for his boldness : had he not done so, 
 the crime would have been forgiven. But now because he ask- 
 ed for mercy, she quickly concluded that he did not deserve any 
 favor. Then one should have heard what touching words he 
 spoke to soften her heart ; then one should have seen how seri- 
 ous and frowning she was, and how she turned herself half away 
 from him, and uttered her sharp words to one side. Then one 
 should have seen how submissively he came a step nearer, and 
 how she retreated a step back : how he clasped his hands, as if 
 to pray to her, and she, with her head bent down, and her fingers 
 on the elm leaves, tore off the buds. At last tears rushed into 
 Floretta's eyes, so deeply grieved was she by his boldness, her 
 voice trembled and seemed to be lost in sobs. Nevertheless he 
 spoke a great deal, and she nevertheless very little, and pretend- 
 ed not to hear him ; plucked all the foliage from the nearest tree, 
 and pressed all the leaves which she pulled off in her hands. 
 
 When he saw that it was all in vain, he said : " I will go, if 
 my presence is so disagreeable to you, beautiful Floretta ! I 
 will go, if you are so unforgiving and cannot pardon a joke. I 
 will go and never come before your presence again. Farewell. 
 But do not let me go, without the consolation that you are not 
 angry with me. Say only the one word, I am not angry !" he sigh- 
 ed, and dropped on his knee before her. 
 
158 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 She looked down through her tears, sweetly smiling, at the 
 fine handsome youth ; quite dumb but thoughtful. Then the 
 kneeling one, with clasped hands, became too respectful. She 
 could not but laugh, and taking her two hands full of leaves, 
 threw them upon his head, so that he was entirely covered, and 
 then ran quickly away. 
 
 He hastened after her. Both were now merry again. " Now, 
 confess to me," said Floretta, " that you have supplanted my fa- 
 ther in his office, and made a new garden here." 
 
 He readily confessed. " When Floretta comes to the fountain, 
 she shall think of me even against her will. I will surround it 
 with the loveliest flowers, which I can find and buy. Could I 
 buy all the joys of heaven, I would encircle thee with them." 
 
 " Very good !" answered Floretta, " but, young sir, my fa- 
 ther is not at all pleased with you. You disturb his garden, and 
 transplant the flowers before their time, so that they die. You 
 have not even once watered them." 
 
 u Had I only an instrument !" 
 
 " That you have twenty steps from here, — there, where the 
 door is open in the grotto, you would have found one, if you had 
 only looked for it a little." 
 
 With that they both sprang forward, and found the watering 
 pot. One after the other they watered the flowers, and consult- 
 ed how the circle around the spring might be beautified. 
 
 Thus the time flew, and Floretta hastened again to the house 
 of her father. 
 
 VIII. — THE EVENING. 
 
 Now the Prince labored every day at his garden plots. It gave 
 him great delight. Lucas helped him. Floretta was also ac- 
 customed to walk up and down, give her advice, and in the eve- 
 ning, water the new flowers. Even the Queen Johanna came, 
 and saw what her son was doing. The King of France found 
 little in it to his taste, the Duke of Guise still less; so much 
 the more the Prince of Beam himself. 
 
FLORETTA. 
 
 159 
 
 In after years indeed he had more various, more brilliant, 
 more luxurious, and more famous amusements : but never 
 sweeter ones than in the simplicity and quiet of his gardener's 
 life, illuminated by the magic of first love. Floretta and Henry 
 regarded each other with the spontaneous joy of innocence. 
 They played with each other like children : and were intimate 
 as brother and sister. They enjoyed the present without seeking 
 to penetrate the future, and their guileless passion knew no 
 bounds. Floretta indeed never thought that she had won the 
 love of the son of a queen. He was her equal. She saw in 
 him only a blooming, strong, spirited youth. In his grey doublet, 
 and simple dress, which he wore in common with the other peo- 
 ple of the country, nothing reminded her of his descent nor his 
 elevated destiny. Henry, on the other hand, troubled himself 
 little for the great or the beautiful of the Court. Near Floretta 
 nothing else was beautiful, and in the quiet delight of seeing her, 
 nothing great. His look ever rested upon her finely formed 
 figure, even while he toiled, so that his work was often slack 
 or never came to an end. But who can refrain from admiring 
 the graces ? Every limb of her body was a peculiar beauty ; 
 every movement and motion was easy ; every word full of inex- 
 pressible power. 
 
 One thing only was wrong to either of them ; the days in the 
 garden were shorter than the days out of the garden. In order 
 to lengthen them, they must call the evening to their help. 
 True, by moonlight or starlight they could not work ; but then 
 they could rest, and while resting, pleasantly prattle and chat. 
 
 " I shall come at nine o'clock, a little after supper, to the 
 spring !" said Henry softy to Floretta, while he knelt down and 
 planted, " And thou, Floretta ?" 
 
 " But my father will by that time have gone to bed," she replied. 
 
 " And thou, Floretta ?" he whispered again, and looked up 
 with an imploring look. 
 
 She smilingly nodded her head. " If it is a clear bright eve- 
 ning." At nine o'clock Henry was at the spring of Garenne. 
 But the sky was clouded. Floretta was not there. " If it is a 
 clear, bright evening," she said. " She will not now come," he 
 thought. There was a rustling through the shrubbery. Flo- 
 
160 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 retta came with the water pail on her head to the spring. It is 
 always clear and bright to happy love. He took down the bucket. 
 He thanked her, and said a thousand tender words to her ; they 
 forgot that the sky was overcast. It was clear in both their 
 bosoms. 
 
 Several large drops of rain fell from the clouds. They ob- 
 served them not. The warm May rain wet them at length more 
 thoroughly, and drove them for refuge to the rock grotto behind the 
 fountain. There they were obliged to remain about half an hour. 
 They bore this little mischance without complaint. As the 
 moon broke through the clouds, they came forward, hand in 
 hand. Henry took the pail full of water upon his head. Flo- 
 retta walked by his side leaning upon his arm. Thus they went 
 to the house of old Lucas. He was already asleep. Henry 
 gave the bucket to Floretta, who thanked him for his trouble. 
 " Good night, thou sweet Floretta !" he lisped. " Good night, 
 dear friend," lisped she. 
 
 IX. THE WET CAP. 
 
 The evenings at the spring never seemed tedious to them. With 
 clear or clouded sky, they never failed to be there at tbe 
 ninth hour. Thus four weeks of a beautiful spring fled away. 
 Every evening the Prince carried the pail of his love to her 
 house. 
 
 Floretta's father never remarked that his daughter, since that 
 first evening, had had such a desire to make her customary visit to 
 the fountain quite late. The wise Lagaucherie, on the other hand, 
 perceived that his royal pupil regularly vanished at a certain 
 hour when darkness approached, and that the top of his cap was 
 wet. every evening, let the evening be as dry as it could be. 
 Foi a long time he could not solve the riddle. The young Prince 
 nevci spoke of his doings ; and Lagaucherie had never asked 
 him. Still the fact impressed him as rather singular, and the 
 wet cap of the young Prince excited his curiosity. 
 
 To gratify this, he one evening secretly pursued the night- 
 
FLORETTA. 
 
 ltU 
 
 wanderer. He followed Henry at such a distance, that he could 
 not easily be discovered by him. He saw him at the spring of 
 Garenne, where he also saw a female form. Both suddenly disap- 
 peared. A part of the riddle was solved to the Court tutor. Yet 
 how the cap of the Prince became wet, was still a very great 
 mystery. He had already waited a long time. He drew nearer 
 and nearer ; he overheard their whisperings. After a little 
 while, he saw the Prince of Bearn, with a pail full of water on 
 his head, and a girl leaning upon his arm, take his way towards 
 the cottage of the gardener, after which he flew back to the 
 castle. 
 
 The Mentor shook his head considerately. He confided his 
 observation privately to the Queen. The mother was embar- 
 rassed and indignant. She wished her son to have a severe 
 lecture. 
 
 " No, gracious lady," said the wise Lagaucherie, " lectures 
 cannot extinguish a passion. Punishments and reproofs lend 
 them new charms, as obstacles only swell the violence of a stream. 
 Men conquer temptation the easiest by flying from it. We anni- 
 hilate passions only by removing their nourishment, or supplant- 
 ing them by nobler." 
 
 Thus spake Lagaucherie. The Queen agreed with him in 
 opinion, and discussed the measures that ought to be pursued. 
 
 The next morning Lagaucherie went to the Prince, and im- 
 pressed upon his mind that the world now expected him to become 
 a Doer, that he must prepare himself to rule ; and that in all 
 conflicts, whether with the reverses of fate or the propensities of 
 his own mind, he could have but one principle, which was the 
 foundation of all religion and success, viz. to conquer or die. 
 
 After this introduction Lagaucherie informed him quite acci- 
 dentally that the Queen with her court would betake themselves 
 the next day to the castle of Pau, where Henry would remain a 
 short time at his birth-place, and then ride over to Bayonne to be 
 a witness of the interview between the King of France and the 
 Queen of Spain. 
 
 Henry received the information of his teacher with deep 
 silence. Yet his manner betrayed considerable confusion. La- 
 gaucherie saw this, but made as if he perceived nothing at all of 
 12 
 
162 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 it. He quietly turned the conversation to other topics, and enter- 
 tained the Prince with various incidents and narratives, so that 
 he had no time to reflect upon what had frightened him. The 
 Queen, on her side, followed the lead of Lagaucherie. She 
 dwelt upon the magnificent assemblage that there would be at 
 Bayonne ; on the festivities that would be observed ; and the 
 distinguished personages he would meet. What could Henry 
 reply ? That it was not for him to think of such things, but to 
 remain at Nerac. How could he have dared to tell, why the 
 meeting at the spring of Garenne was infinitely more to be prized 
 than the royal interview at Bayonne ? 
 
 X. TAKING LEAVE. 
 
 No sooner was the evening star in the sky, than the young Prince 
 took his place at the spring of the castle garden. Floretta soon 
 came tripping in : but when he informed her of their near sepa- 
 ration, she almost dissolved in grief. Who can picture her des- 
 pair ; or who write down what Henry suffered ? Wrapped in each 
 other's arms, they cried and complained, and comforted each other. 
 
 " Thou art leaving me now, Henry," said she sobbing. " Now 
 thou wilt forget me. I am alone upon the earth. Now that 
 thou, my sweet life, art gone, nothing remains to me but sweet 
 death." 
 
 " But," said he, " I go not for ever. I shall return again. Whose 
 am I, if I am not yours. I am truly not my own, since I am 
 now and forever thine. What is worth remembrance, if I could 
 forget thee ? Thou art the life, of my fondest recollections. When 
 I forget thee, let me forget to breathe." 
 
 "Oh Henry, thou returnest never again ; and should'st thou 
 return, thou wilt not know Floretta again. I shall fade like the 
 flower without the dew. Thou art my sun ; how shall I prosper 
 if thou art vanished ?" 
 
 " No, Floretta, thou art more fortunate than I. For thee, still 
 remains the play-place of our blessedness — with thee, the spring, 
 with thee, this garden. I live in all these flowers for thee : on 
 
FLORETTA. 
 
 163 
 
 the morrow, when I have lost thee, I shall be driven from Para- 
 dise. I shall be in the desert, among thousands of others, but 
 alone. Therefore, shall my longing stretch back to thee more 
 anxiously. Alas ! only a single little flower, which has bloomed 
 on the borders of the spring, would transport me when I am far 
 away. When those that are around me shall hate me or only 
 fear, those who are near to thee will love thee. Oh, why art thou 
 so beautiful ? Who would not love thee ? Others, will idolize 
 thee, others will adore thee, and ah ! thou wilt find others more 
 worthy of thy love V 
 
 Thus they talked a long while. Tears, oaths, curses, doubts, 
 consolations followed each other, until the clock in the tower of 
 the castle recalled the Prince, and warned both of them to 
 separate. 
 
 Then Floretta grasped the hand of the Prince with deep earn- 
 estness, drew it to her heart, and said, " See'st thou this spring of 
 Garenne ? There, always there shalt thou find me ; always 
 and for ever, as to-day! And, Henry, look; as its unfailing 
 life streams forth from this fountain, so shall my unconquerable 
 love stream forth to thee ! Yes, Henry, I can coase to live, but 
 not to love. Thou shalt find me ever, as to-day. Ever there, 
 ever there !" 
 
 She fled away. The young Prince tottered through the garden 
 of the castle, sobbing and miserable. 
 
 XI. THE RETURN. 
 
 The distractions of travel had a good effect upon his mind. 
 He conquered his pain. The first fifteen months which followed 
 that last moment at the spring, quite filled his head with other 
 cares. In the tumult of parties which then distracted France, 
 on the field of battle, war awakened the entire activity of his 
 heroic spirit, which afterwards won him so deathless a name. 
 Already, the young hero had become the admiration of brave 
 men, while the noble women at the court of Catherine de Medicis 
 
164 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 consoled him more perhaps than was necessary, for the loss of 
 Floretta. 
 
 The lovely Floretta heard of the fame of her Lover, and how 
 all the world praised him. He was no longer the gardener who 
 planted flowers by her side ; he was the warrior, who marched 
 about to earn a laurel-wreath. She had only loved Henry, and 
 not the Prince of Beam. His brilliant change moved less her 
 admiration than her sorrow. For she heard, too, how the beauties 
 of the court encircled him, while he, all too frivolous, fluttered 
 from one to another. 
 
 Floretta had never in the world known or loved but one man ; 
 this was Henry. Now she lost, along with her faith in him, her 
 faith in all mankind. But in that she broke her heart. What had 
 come and must come, her reason in vain had foreseen. 
 
 Henry, in the midst of his marches, came at last once again to 
 Nerac. Once only Floretta saw the Prince of Beam with the 
 beautiful Lady of Ayelle, taking a pleasure walk through the 
 gardens and shrubberies of Garenne. She could not resist the 
 desire to meet them on their way. 
 
 The sight of Floretta, who, though pale and sorrowful, was 
 even more beautiful in her sorrow than she had been in the flush 
 of her gladness, suddenly revived in the young Prince all the 
 memory of his first love. He was disturbed. The lady at his 
 side, and the nearness of the courtiers, prevented him from 
 yielding to his wishes. The following morning, when he saw 
 old Lucas in the garden, he glided to his house. He found Flo- 
 retta alone ; but the speedy return of her father hindered him 
 from having a long interview with her. He begged for one short 
 hour at the spring of Garenne. She answered, without taking her 
 eyes from her work, " At eight o'clock I shall be there !" 
 
 He hastened home. He felt as of old. His whole soul burned 
 for Floretta. He could hardly wait the hour of appointment. 
 
 It was dark : the clock had struck eight hours. In order that 
 he might -not meet anybody, he went out by a private gate of 
 the town, and sought a foot-path through the bushes, which he 
 well knew'. He arrived at the spring. His heart beat violently. 
 Floretta was not yet to be seen. He waited for some time. The 
 rustling of the leaves in the night air several times startled him 
 
FLORETTA. 
 
 with a pleasant alarm. He stretched forth his arms to fly to meet 
 her, and clasp her to his heart. But it was not she. Impatiently 
 he walked back and forth. Then, at a little distance from the 
 spring, he saw something white in the darkness, like a piece of a 
 dress. He ran to it. It was a strip of white paper, tied to an 
 arrow, and a rose which had been pierced. The paper was 
 inscribed, but the darkness of the night prevented him from 
 reading it. 
 
 Alarmed, disquieted, in strong agitation, he flew back to the 
 castle and sighed, " Ah ! comes she not again ? Sends she the 
 arrow back to me, because she loves me no more ?" 
 
 He read the writing — only these words : " I have promised 
 thee, that thou should'st find me at the spring. Perhaps thou 
 may'st pass by, without seeing me. Look again ; thou wilt cer- 
 tainly find me. Thou lovest me no more ; therefore I live no 
 more ! Oh my God, forgive !" 
 
 Henry grasped the meaning of the words. The palace re- 
 echoed with his calls. All hurried in at the cries of the Prince. 
 Several servants with lighted torches went with him to the spring 
 of Garenne. ■ 
 
 Why prolong the sad tale ? The corpse of the beautiful 
 maiden was found in the small lake formed by the waters of the 
 spring. It was buried between two young trees. The grief of 
 the Prince knew no bounds. 
 
 Henry IV. is still a demigod among the people of France. He 
 accomplished great things. He lived to see a great deal of life ; 
 he won much, and he lost much. But a heart, he never again 
 won, so pure and lovely and true as the heart of Floretta ; and 
 the painful memory of that angel was what he never lost. 
 
 That was the First Love of Henry IV.; that, the only Love. 
 So loved he never again. 
 
IE¥ YEARS' EVE. 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 169 
 
 ADVENTURES OF A NEW-YEAR'S EVE, 
 
 i. 
 
 Mother Kate, the watchman's wife, at nine o'clock on New. 
 Year's eve opened her little window, and put # out her head into 
 the night air. The snow was reddened by the light from the 
 window as it fell in silent heavy flakes upon the street. She 
 observed the crowds of happy people, hurrying to and fro from 
 the brilliantly lighted shops with presents, or pouring out of the 
 various inns and coffee-houses, and going to the dances and other 
 entertainments with which the New Year is married to the Old 
 in joy and pleasure. But when a few cold flakes had lighted 
 on her nose she drew back her head, closed the window, and 
 said to her husband, " Gottlieb, stay at home, and let Philip 
 watch for thee to-night ; for the snow comes as fast as it can 
 from Heaven, and thou knowest the cold does thy old bones no 
 good. The streets will be gay to-night. There seems dancing 
 and feasting in every house, masqueraders are going about, and 
 Philip will enjoy the sport." 
 
 Old Gottlieb nodded his assent. "I am willing, Kate," he 
 said. " My barometer, the old wound above my knee, has 
 given me warning the last two days of a change of weather. 
 It is only right that my son should aid me in a service, to which 
 he will be my successor." 
 
 We must give the reader to understand, that old Gottlieb had 
 been a sergeant of cavalry in one of the king's regiments, until 
 he was made a cripple for life by a musket ball, as he was the 
 
3 70 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 first mounting the walls of a hostile fort in a battle for his father- 
 land. The officer who commanded the attack received the 
 cross of honor on the battle field for his heroism, and was ad- 
 vanced in the service ; while Gottlieb was fain to creep home- 
 wards on a pair of crutches. From pity they made him a 
 schoolmaster, for he was intelligent, liked to read, and wrote a 
 good hand. But when the school increased they took it away 
 from him to provide for a young man who could do none of 
 these as well as he, merely because he was a godson of 
 one of the trustees. However, they promoted Gottlieb to the 
 post of watchman, with the reversion of it to his son Philip, who 
 had in the mean-time bound himself to a gardener. It was only 
 the good housewifery of Mistress Katharine, and the extreme 
 moderation of old Gottlieb, that enabled them to live happily on 
 the little they possessed. Philip gave his services to the gar- 
 dener for his board and lodging, but he occasionally received 
 very fine presents when he carried home flowers to the rich peo- 
 ple of the town. He was a fresh handsome young fellow, of 
 six-and-twenty. Noble ladies often gave him sundry extra 
 dollars for his fine looks, a thing they would never have thought 
 of doing for an ugly face. Mrs. Kate had already put on her 
 cloak to go to the gardener's house to fetch her son, when he 
 entered the apartment. 
 
 "Father," said Philip, giving a hand to both father and 
 mother, " it's snowing, and the snow won't do you much good. 
 I'll take the watch to-night, and you can get to bed." 
 
 " You're a good boy," said old Gottlieb. 
 
 " And then I've been thinking," continued Philip, "that as 
 to-morrow is New Year's day, I may come and dine with 
 you and make myself happy. Mother perhaps has no joint in 
 the kitchen, and" 
 
 " No." interrutped the mother, " we've no joint, but then we 
 have a pound and a half of venison ; with potatoes for a relish, 
 and a little rice with laurel leaves for a soup, and two flasks of 
 beer to drink. Only come, Philip, for we shall live finely to-mor- 
 row ! Next week we may do better, for the New Year's gifts 
 will be coming in, and Gottlieb's share will be somethin ! Oh ' 
 we shall live grandly." 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 171 
 
 " Well, so much the better, dear mother," said Philip ; " but 
 have you paid the rent of the cottage yet?" 
 Old Gottlieb shrugged his shoulders. 
 Philip laid a purse upon the table. 
 
 " There are two-and-twenty dollars that I have saved. I can 
 do very well without them ; take them for a New Year's gift, 
 and then we can all three enter on the new year without a deb + 
 or a care. God grant that we may end it in health and hap 
 piness. Heaven in its goodness will provide for both you and 
 me !" 
 
 Tears came into Mother Katharine's eyes as she kissed her 
 son ; old Gottlieb said, " Philip, you are the prop and stay 
 of our old age. Continue to be honest and good, and to love 
 your parents, so will a blessing rest on you. I can give you 
 nothing for a New Year's gift, but a prayer that you may keep 
 your heart pure and true — this is in your power — you will be 
 rich enough — for a clear conscience is a Heaven in itself." 
 
 So said old Gottlieb, and then he wrote down in an account- 
 book, the sum of two-and-twenty dollars that his son had given 
 him. 
 
 " All that you have cost me in childhood is now nearly paid 
 up. Your savings amount to three hundred and seventeen 
 dollars which I have received.'' 
 
 " Three hundred and seventeen dollars !" cried Mistress 
 Katharine, in the greatest amazement — and then turning to 
 Philip with a voice full of tenderness, " Ah, Philip," she said, 
 " thou grievest me. Child of my heart ! Yes, indeed thou dost. 
 Hadst thou saved that money for thyself thou might have bought 
 some land with it, and started as gardener on thy own account, 
 and married Rose. Now that is impossible. But take comfort, 
 Philip. We are old, and thou will not have to support us long." 
 
 " Mother," exclaimed Philip, and he frowned a little ; "what 
 are you thinking of ? Rose is dear to me as my life, but I would 
 give up a hundred Roses rather than desert you and my father. 
 I should never find any other parents in this world but you, but 
 there are plenty of Roses, although I would have none but Mi s. 
 Littner's Rose, were there even ten thousand others." 
 
 "You are right, Philip." said Gottlieb ; "loving and marrying 
 
172 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 are not in the commandments — but to honor your father and 
 mother is a duty and commandment. To give up strong passions 
 and inclinations for the happiness of your parents is the truest 
 gratitude of a son. It will gain you the blessing from above : — 
 it will make you rich in your own heart." 
 
 "If it were only not too long for Rose to wait," said Mrs. 
 Katharine, "or if you could give up the engagement altogether! 
 For Rose is a pretty girl, that can't be denied ; and though she 
 is poor, there will be no want of wooers. She is virtuous and 
 understands housekeeping." 
 
 " Never fear, mother," replied Philip ; " Rose has solemnly 
 sworn to marry no man but me ; and that is sufficient. Her 
 mother has nothing to object to me. And if I was in business 
 and had money enough to keep a wife with, Rose would be my 
 wife to-morrow. The only annoyance we have is, that her 
 mother will not let us meet so often as we wish. She says fre- 
 quent meetings do no good ; but I differ from her, and so does 
 Rose — for we think meeting often does us both a great deal 
 of good. And we have agreed to meet to-night, at twelve 
 o'clock, at the great door of St. Gregory's church, for Rose is 
 bringing in the year at a friend's house ; and I am to take her 
 home." 
 
 In the midst of such conversation the clock of the neighboring 
 tower struck three quarters, and Philip took his father's great- 
 coat from the warm stove where Katharine had carefully laid it, 
 wrapped himself in it, and taking the lanthorn and staff, and wish- 
 ing his parents good night, proceeded to his post. 
 
 IL 
 
 Philip stalked majestically through the snow-covered streets of 
 the Capital, where as many people were still visible as in the 
 middle of the day. Carriages were rattling in all directions, 
 the houses were all brilliantly lighted. Our watchman enjoyed 
 the scene, he sang his verses at ten o'clock, and blew his horn 
 lustily in the neighborhood of St. Gregory's church, with many 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 173 
 
 a thought on Rose, who was then with her friend. " Now, she 
 hears me," he said to himself ; " now she thinks on me, and 
 forgets the scene around her. I hope she won't fail me at twelve 
 o'clock at the church door." And when he had gone his round, 
 he always returned to the dear house and looked up at the lighted 
 window. Sometimes he saw female figures, and his heart beat 
 quick at the sight ; sometimes he fancied he saw Rose herself ; 
 and sometimes he studied the long shadows thrown on the wall or 
 the ceiling to discover which of them was Rose's and to fancy what 
 she was doing. It was certainly not a very pleasant employ- 
 ment to stand in frost and snow and look up at a window ; but 
 what care lovers for frost and snow ? And watchmen are as 
 fiery and romantic lovers as ever were the knights of ancient 
 ballads. 
 
 He only felt the effects of the frost when, at eleven o'clock, 
 he had to set out upon his round. His teeth chattered with cold ; 
 he could scarcely call the hour or sound his horn. He would 
 willingly have gone into a beer-house to warm himself at the 
 fire. As he was pacing through a lonely by-street, he met a 
 man with a black half-mask on his face, enveloped in a fire- 
 colored silken mantle, and wearing on his head a magnificent 
 hat turned up at one side, and fantastically ornamented with a 
 number of high and waving plumes. 
 
 Philip endeavored to escape the mask, but in vain. The 
 stranger blocked up his path and said — " Ha ! thou art a fine 
 fellow ; I like thy phiz amazingly. Where are you going, eh ? 
 I say, where are you going ?" 
 
 " To Mary Street," replied Philip. " I am going to call the 
 hour there." 
 
 "Enchanting!" answered the mask. "I'll hear thee: I'll 
 go with thee. Come along ! thou foolish fellow, and let me hear 
 thee, and mind thousingest well, for I am a good judge. Canst 
 thou sing me a jovial song ?" 
 
 Philip saw that his companion was of high rank and a little 
 tipsy, and answered — " I sing better over a glass of wine in a 
 warm room, than when up to my waist in snow." 
 
 They had now reached Mary Street, and Philip sang, and 
 blew the horn. 
 
174 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " Ha ! that's but a poor performance," exclaimed the mask 
 who had accompanied him thither. " Give me the horn ! I 
 shall blow so well, that you'll half die with delight." 
 
 Philip yielded to the mask's wishes, and let him sing the verses 
 and blow. For four or five times all was done as if the stranger 
 had been a watchman all his life. He dilated most eloquently 
 on the joys of such an occupation, and was so inexhaustible in 
 his own praises, that he made Philip laugh at his extravagance. 
 His spirits evidently owed no small share of their elevation to an 
 extra glass of wine. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, my treasure, I've a great fancy to be a 
 watchman myself for an hour or two. If I don't do it now, I 
 shall never arrive at that honor in the course of my life. Give 
 me your great-coat and wide-brimmed hat, and take my domino. 
 Go into a beer-house and take a bottle at my expense ; and 
 when you have finished it, come again and give me back my 
 masking-gear. You shall have a couple of dollars for your 
 trouble. What do you think, my treasure ?" 
 
 But Philip did not like this arrangement. At last, however, 
 at the solicitations of the mask, he capitulated as they entered a 
 dark lane. Philip was half frozen ; a warm drink would do 
 him good, and so would a warm fire. He agreed for one half- 
 hour to give up his watchmanship, which would be till twelve 
 o'clock. Exactly at that time the stranger was to come to the 
 great door of St. Gregory's and give back the great coat, horn, 
 and staff, taking back his own silk mantle, hat, and domino. 
 Philip also told him the four streets in which he was to call the 
 hour. The mask was in raptures : " Treasure of my heart, I 
 could kiss thee if thou wert not a dirty miserable fellow ! But thou 
 shalt have naught to regret, if thou art at the church at twelve, for 
 I will give thee money for a supper then. Joy ! I am a watch- 
 man !" The mask looked a watchman to the life, while Philip 
 was completely disguised with the half-mask tied over his face, 
 the bonnet ornamented with a buckle of brilliants, on his head, 
 and the red silk mantle thrown around him. When he saw his 
 companion commence his walk, he began to fear that the young 
 gentleman might compromise the dignity of the watchman. He 
 therefore addressed him once more, and said : 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 175 
 
 " I hope you will not abuse my good nature and do any mis- 
 chief or misbehave in any way, as it may cost me the situation." 
 
 " Hallo !" answered the stranger. " What are you talking 
 about? Do you think I don't know my duty? Off with you 
 this moment, or I'll let you feel the weight of my staff. But 
 come to St. Gregory's church and give me back my clothes at 
 twelve o'clock. Good-bye. This is glorious fun !" 
 
 The new guardian of the streets walked onward with all the 
 dignity becoming his office, while Philip hurried to a neighboring 
 tavern. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ac he was passing the door of the Royal palace, he was laid 
 hold of by a person in a mask who had alighted from a carriage. 
 Philip turned round, and in a low whispering voice asked what 
 the stranger wanted. 
 
 "My gracious lord," answered the mask, "in your reverie 
 you have passed the door. Will your Royal Highness " 
 
 " What ? Royal Highness?" said Philip, laughing. " I am no 
 highness. What put that in your head ?" 
 
 The mask bowed respectfully, and pointed to the brilliant 
 buckle in Philip's hat. " I ask your pardon if I have betrayed 
 your disguise. But, in whatever character you assume, your 
 noble bearing will betray you. Will you condescend to lead the 
 way ? Does your Highness intend to dance ?" 
 
 "If To dance?" replied Philip. "No — you see I have 
 boots on." 
 
 " To play, then ?" inquired the mask. 
 
 " Still less. I have brought no money with me," said the as- 
 sistant watchman. 
 
 " Good heaven ! " exclaimed the mask. " Command my 
 purse — all that I possess is at your service ! " Saying this, he 
 foiced a full purse into Philip's hand. 
 
 " But do you know who I am ?" inquired Philip, and rejected 
 the purse. 
 
176 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 The mask whispered with a bow of profound obeisance — " His 
 Royal Highness, Prince Julian." 
 
 At this moment Philip heard his deputy in an adjoining street 
 calling the hour very distinctly, and he now became aware of 
 his metamorphosis. Prince Julian, who was well known in the 
 capital as an amiable, wild, and good-hearted young man, had 
 been the person with whom he had changed his clothes. " Now, 
 then," thought Philip, " as he enacts the watchman so well, I 
 will not shame his rank ; I'll see if, for one half hour, I can't be 
 the prince. If I make any mistake, he has himself to blame for 
 it." He wrapped the red silken mantle closer round him, took 
 the offered purse, put it in his pocket, and said, — " Who are you, 
 mask ? I will return your gold to-morrow." 
 
 "I am the Chamberlain Pilzou." 
 
 " Good — lead the way — I'll follow." The chamberlain 
 obeyed, and tripped up the marble stairs, Philip coming close be- 
 hind him. They entered an immense hall lighted by a thousand 
 tapers and dazzling chandeliers, which were reflected by bril- 
 liant mirrors. A confused crowd of maskers jostled each other, 
 sultans, Tyrolese, harlequins, knights in armor, nuns, goddesses, 
 satyrs, monks, Jews, Medes, and Persians. Philip for a while 
 was abashed and blinded. Such splendor he had never dreamt 
 of. In the middle of the hall the dance was carried on by 
 hundreds of people to the music of a full band. Philip, whom 
 the heat of the apartment recovered from his frozen state, 
 was so bewildered with the scene that he could scarcely nod his 
 head as different masks addressed him, some confidentially, 
 others deferentially. 
 
 " Will you go to the hazard table ?" whispered the Chamber- 
 lain, who stood beside him, and who Philip now saw was dressed 
 as a Brahmin. 
 
 " Let me get unthawed first," answered Philip ; " I am an 
 icicle at present." 
 
 " A glass of warm punch ?" inquired the Brahmin, and led 
 him into the refreshment-room. The pseudo-prince did not wait 
 for a second invitation, but emptied one glass after the other n 
 short time. The punch was good, and it spread its genial 
 warmth through Philip's veins. 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 177 
 
 " How is it you don't dance to-night, Brahmin ?" he asked 
 of his companion, when they returned into the hall. The Brah- 
 min sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I have no pleasure now in the dance. Gaiety is distasteful 
 to me. The only person I care to dance with — the Countess 
 Bonau — I thought she loved me ; our families offered no objec- 
 tion — but all at once she broke with me." His voice trembled 
 as he spoke. 
 
 " How ?" said Philip, " I never heard of such a thing." 
 
 " You never heard of it V repeated the other, " the whole city 
 rings with it. The quarrel happened a fortnight ago, and she 
 will not allow me to justify myself, but has sent back three let- 
 ters I wrote to her, unopened. She is a declared enemy of the 
 Baroness Reizenthal, and had made me promise to drop her 
 acquaintance. But, think how unfortunate I was ! When the 
 Queen-mother made the hunting party to Freudenwald, she ap- 
 pointed me cavalier to the Baroness. What could I do 1 It was 
 impossible to refuse. On the very birthday of the adorable 
 
 Bonau I was obliged to set out She heard of it. . 
 
 . She put no trust in my heart !" 
 
 "Well, then, Brahmin, take advantage of the present mo- 
 ment. . The new year makes up all quarrels. Is the Countess 
 here ?" 
 
 " Do you not see her over there — the Carmelite on the left of 
 the third pillar beside the two black dominos. She has laid 
 aside her mask. Ah, Prince ! your intercession would" 
 
 Philip thought : now I can do a good work ! and, as the punch 
 had inspired him, he walked directly to the Carmelite. The 
 Countess Bonau looked at him for some time seriously, and with 
 flushed cheeks, as he sat down beside her. She was a beautiful 
 girl ; yet Philip remained persuaded that Rose was a thousand 
 times more beautiful. 
 
 " Countess," he said, — and became embarrassed when he met 
 her clear bright eye fixed upon him. 
 
 " Prince," said the Countess, " an hour ago you were some- 
 what too bold." 
 
 " Fair Countess, I am therefore at this present moment the 
 more quiet." 
 
 13 
 
178 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " So much the better. I shall not, then, be obliged to keep 
 out of your way." 
 
 " Fair lady, allow me to ask one question. Have you put on 
 a nun's gown to do penance for your sins ?" 
 
 " I have nothing to do penance for." 
 
 " But you have, Countess ! — your cruelties — your injustice 
 to the poor Brahmin yonder, who seems neglected by his God 
 and all the world ?" 
 
 The beautiful Carmelite cast down her eyes, and appeared 
 uneasy. 
 
 " And do you know, fair Countess, that in the Freudenwald 
 affair the Chamberlain is as innocent as I am ?" 
 
 " As you, Prince ?" said the Countess, frowning — " what did 
 you tell me an hour ago ?" 
 
 " You are right, dear Countess, I was too bold. You said so 
 yourself. But now I declare to you the Chamberlain was 
 obliged to go to Freudenwald by command of the Queen-mother 
 — against his will was obliged to be cavalier to the hated 
 Reizenthal" — 
 
 " Hated — by him ?" — interrupted the Countess with a bitter 
 and sneering lau^h. 
 
 " Yes — he hates, — he despises the Baroness. Believe me, 
 he scarcely treated her with civility, and incurred the Royal 
 displeasure by so doing. I know it ; and it was for your sake. 
 You are the only person he loves — to you he offers his hand, 
 his heart — and you ! — you reject him I" 
 
 " How comes it, Prince, that you intercede so warmly for 
 Pilzou ? You did not do so formerly." 
 
 " That was because I did not know him, and still less the sad 
 state into which you have thrown him by your behavior. I 
 swear to you he is innocent — you have nothing to forgive in him 
 — he has much to forgive in you." 
 
 " Hush !" whispered the Carmelite, " we are watched here ; 
 away from this." She replaced her mask, stood up, and placing 
 her arm within that of the supposed Prince, they crossed the 
 hall and entered a side-room. The Countess uttered many 
 bitter complaints against the Chamberlain, but they were the 
 complaints of jealous love. The Countess was in tears, when 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 179 
 
 the tender Brahmin soon after came timidly into the apartment. 
 There was a deep silence among the three. Philip, not know- 
 ing how to conclude his intercession better, led the Brahmin to 
 the Carmelite, and joined their hands together, without saying a 
 word, and left them to fate. He himself returned into the hall. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Here he was hastily addressed by a Mameluke — " I'm giaa 1 
 have met you, Domino. Is the Rose-girl in the side-room ?" 
 The Mameluke rushed into it, but returned in a moment 
 evidently disappointed. " One word alone with you, Domino," 
 he said, and led Philip into a window recess in a retired part of 
 the hall. 
 
 " What do you want?" asked Philip. 
 
 " 1 beseech you," replied the Mameluke, in a subdued yet 
 terrible voice, " where is the Rose-girl ?" 
 " What is the Rose-girl to me V* 
 
 " But to me she is everything !" answered the Mameluke, 
 whose suppressed voice and agitated demeanor showed that a 
 fearful struggle was going on within. " To me she is every- 
 thing. She is my wife. You make me wretched, Prince ! I 
 conjure you drive me not to madness. Think of my wife no 
 more ?" 
 
 " With all my heart," answered Philip, drily ; " what have I 
 to do with your wife ?" 
 
 ' Oh, Prince, Prince !" exclaimed the Mameluke, " I have 
 made a resolve which I shall execute if it cost me my life. Do 
 not seek to deceive me a moment longer. I have discovered 
 everything. Here ! look at this ! 'tis a note my false wife slipt 
 into your hand, and which you dropt m the crowd, without 
 having read." 
 
 Philip took the note. "Swae written in pencil, and in a fine 
 delicate hand — "Change your mask. Everybody knows you. 
 My husband watches you. He does not know me. If you 
 obey me I will reward you." 
 
180 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " Hem !" muttered Philip. " As I live, this was not written 
 to me. I don't trouble my head about your wife." 
 
 " Death and fury, Prince ! do not drive me mad ! Do you 
 know who it is that speaks to you? I am the Marshal Blank- 
 enswerd. Your advances to my wife are not unknown to me, 
 ever since the last route at the palace." 
 
 " My Lord Marshal," answered Philip, " excuse me for say- 
 ing that jealousy has blinded you. If you knew me well, you 
 would not think of accusing me of such folly. I give you my 
 word of honor J will never trouble your wife." 
 
 " Are you in earnest, Prince ?" 
 
 " Entirely." 
 
 ' Give me a proof of this ?" 
 " Whatever you require." 
 
 " I know you have hindered her until now from going with 
 me to visit her relations in Poland. Will you persuade her to 
 
 do so now ?" 
 
 " With all my heart, if you desire it." 
 
 " Ye-s, yes ! and your Royal Highness will prevent incon- 
 ceivable and unavoidable misery." 
 
 The Mameluke continued for some time, sometimes begging 
 and praying, and sometimes threatening so furiously, that Philip 
 feared he might make a scene before the whole assembly that 
 would not have suites .iim precisely. He therefore quitted him 
 as soon as possible. Scarcely had he lost himself in the crowd, 
 when a female, closely wrapped in deep mourning, tapped him 
 familiarly on the arm, and whispered : 
 
 " Butterfly, whither away ? Have you no pity for the discon- 
 solate Widow ?" 
 
 Philip answered very politely, " Beautiful widows find no lack 
 of comforters. May I venture to include myself amongst 
 them ?" 
 
 " Why are you so disobedient ? and why have you not changed 
 your mask ?" said the Widow, while she led him aside, that 
 they might speak more freely. " Dg you really fancy, Prince, 
 that every one here does not know who you are V 
 
 " They are very much mistaken in me, I assure you," re- 
 plied Philip. 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 181 
 
 " No, indeed," answered the Widow, " they know you very 
 well, and if you do not immediately change your apparel, I 
 shall not speak to you again the whole evening : I have no 
 desire to give my husband an opportunity of making a scene." 
 
 By this Philip discovered who he was talking with. "You 
 were the beautiful Rose-girl ; are your roses withered so soon ?" 
 
 " What is there that does not wither ? not the constancy of 
 man? I saw you when you slipt off with the Carmelite. Ac- 
 knowledge your inconstancy — you can deny it no longer." 
 
 " Hem," — answered Philip drily, " accuse me if you will, I 
 can return the accusation." 
 
 " How, — pretty butterfly ?" 
 
 " Why, for instance there is not a more constant man alive 
 than the Marshal." 
 
 " There is not indeed ! — and I am wrong, very wrong to have 
 listened to you so long. I reproached myself enough, but he has 
 unfortunately discovered our flirtation." 
 
 " Since the last route at Court, fair Widow" — 
 
 " Where you were so unguarded and particular — pretty but- 
 terfly r 
 
 " Let us repair the mischief. Let us part. I honor the 
 Marshal, and, for my part, do not like to give him pain." 
 
 The Widow looked at him for some time in speechless amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " If you have indeed any regard for me," continued Philip, 
 " you will go with the Marshal to Poland, to visit your relations. 
 'Tis better that we should not meet, so often. A beautiful 
 woman is beautiful — but a pure and virtuous woman is more 
 beautiful still." 
 
 " Prince !" cried the astonished Widow, " are you really in 
 earnest ? Have you ever loved me, or have you all along de- 
 ceived i" 
 
 "Look you," answered Philip, "I am a tempter of a peculiar 
 kind. I search constantly among women to find truth and vir- 
 tue, and 'tis but seldom that I encounter them. Only the true 
 and virtuous can keep me constant — therefore 1 am true to 
 none ; but no ! I will not lie — there is one that keeps me in her 
 chains — I am sorry, fair Widow, that that one — is not you !" 
 
182 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " You are in a strange mood to-night, Prince," answered the 
 Widow, and the trembling of her voice and heaving of her 
 bosom showed the working of her mind. 
 
 "No," answered Philip, " I am in as rational a mood to-night 
 as I ever was in my life. I wish only to repair an injury; I 
 have promised to your husband to do so." 
 
 " How !" exclaimed the Widow, in a voice of terror, " you 
 have discovered all to the Marshal ?" 
 
 " Not everything," answered Philip, " only what I knew." 
 
 The widow wrung her hands in the extremity of agitation, and 
 at last said, " Where is my husband ?" 
 
 Philip pointed to the Mameluke, who at this moment ap- 
 proached them with slow steps. 
 
 " Prince," said the Widow, in a tone of inexpressible rage, — 
 " Prince, — you may be forgiven this, but not from me ! I never 
 dreamt that the heart of man could be so deceitful, — but you are 
 unworthy of a thought. You are an impostor ! My husband in 
 the dress of a barbarian is a prince; you in the dress of a prince 
 are a barbarian. In this world you see me no more !" 
 
 With these words she turned proudly away from him, and 
 going up to the Mameluke, they left the hall in deep and ear- 
 nest conversation. Philip laughed quietly, and said to himself, 
 " My substitute, the watchman, must look to it, for I do not play 
 my part badly ; I only hope when he returns he will proceed as 
 I have begun." 
 
 He went up to the dancers, and was delighted to see the beau- 
 tiful Carmelite standing up in a set with the overjoyed Brahmin. 
 No sooner did the latter perceive him, than he kissed his hand 
 to him, and in dumb show gave him to understand in what a 
 blessed state he was. Philip thought " 'Tis a pity I am not to be 
 prince all my life-time. The people would be satisfied then : 
 to be a prince is the easiest thing in the world. He can do 
 more with a single word than a lawyer with a four hours' 
 speech. Yes ! if I were a prince, my beautiful Rose would be 
 — lost to me for ever. No ! I would not be a Prince." He now 
 looked at the clock, and saw 'twas half past eleven. The Ma- 
 meluke hurried up to him and gave him a paper. " Prince," 
 he exclaimed, " I could fall at your feet and thank you in the 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 183 
 
 very dust ; I am reconciled to my wife. You have broken her 
 heart ; but it is better that it should be so. We leave for Poland 
 this very night, and there we shall fix our home. Farewell ! 
 I shall be ready whenever your Royal Highness requires me, to 
 pour out my last drop of blood in your service. My gratitude is 
 eternal. Farewell !" 
 
 " Stay !" said Philip to the Marshal, who was hurrying away, 
 " what am I to do with this paper ?" 
 
 " Oh, that, — 'tis the amount of my loss to your Highness last 
 week at hazard. I had nearly forgotten it ; but before my de- 
 parture, I must clear my debts. I have endorsed it on the back." 
 With these words the Marshal disappeared. 
 
 V. 
 
 Philip opened the paper, and read in it an order for five thou- 
 sand dollars. He put it in his pocket, and thought, " Well, it's 
 a pity that I'm not a prince." Some one whispered in his ear, 
 
 " Your Royal Highness, we are both discovered ; I shall blow 
 my brains out." 
 
 Philip turned round in amazement, and saw a negro at his 
 side. 
 
 " What do you want, mask V he asked, in an unconcerned 
 tone. 
 
 " I am Colonel Kalt," whispered the negro. " The Marshal's 
 wife has been chattering to Duke Herman, and he has been 
 breathing fire and fury against us both." 
 
 " He is quite welcome," answered Philip. 
 
 " But the King will hear it all," sighed the negro. " This 
 very night I may be arrested and carried to a dungeon ; I'll 
 sooner hang myself." 
 
 "No need of that," said Philip. 
 
 " What ! am I to be made infamous for my whole life ? I am 
 lost, I tell you. The Duke will demand entire satisfaction. 
 His back is black and blue yet with the marks of the cudgelling 
 
384 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 ] gave him. I am lost, and the baker's daughter too! I'll 
 jump from the bridge and drown myself at once!" 
 
 •• Qod forbid (" answered Philip; "what have you and the 
 baker's daughter to do with it ?" 
 
 " Your Royal Highness banters me, and I am in despair ! — I 
 humbly beseech you to give me two minutes' private conversa- 
 tion." 
 
 Philip followed the negro into a small boudoir dimly lighted 
 up with a few candles. The negro threw himself on a sofa, quite 
 overcome, and groaned aloud. Philip found some sandwiches 
 and wine on the table, and helped himself with great relish. 
 
 " I wonder your Royal Highness can be so cool on hearing 
 this cursed story. If that rascally Salmoni was here who acted 
 the conjuror, he might save us by some contrivance, for the 
 fellow was a bunch of tricks. As it is, he has slipped out of the 
 scrape." 
 
 " So much the better," interrupted Philip, replenishing his 
 glass ; " since he has got out of the way, we can throw all the 
 blame on his shoulders." 
 
 " How can we do that? The Duke, I tell you, knows that 
 you, and I, and the Marshal's wife, and the baker's daughter, 
 were all in the plot together, to take advantage of his supersti- 
 tion. He knows that it was you that engaged Salmoni to play 
 the conjuror ; that it was I that instructed the baker's daughter 
 (with whom he is in love) how to inveigle him into the snare ; 
 that it was I that enacted the ghost, that knocked him down, and 
 cudgelled him till he roared again. If I had only not carried 
 the joke too far, but I wished to cool his love a little for my 
 sweetheart. 'Twas a devilish business. I'll take poison." 
 
 " Rather swallow a glass of wine — 'tis delicious," said Philip, 
 taking another tart at the same time. " For to tell you the 
 truth, my friend, I think you are rather a white-livered sort of 
 rogue for a colonel, to think of hanging, drowning, shooting, and 
 poisoning yourself about such a ridiculous story as that. One 
 of these modes would be too much, but as to all the four — non- 
 sense. I tell you that at this moment I don't know what to 
 make out of your tale." 
 
 " Your Royal Highness have pity on me, my brain is turned. 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 185 
 
 The Duke's page, an old friend of mine, has told me this very 
 moment, that the Marshal's wife, inspired by the devil, went up 
 to the Duke, and told him that the trick played on him at the 
 baker's house, was planned by Prince Julian, who opposed his 
 marriage with his sister ; that the spirit he saw was myself, sent 
 by the Princess to be a witness of his superstition ; that your 
 Highness was a witness of his descent into the pit after hidden 
 gold, and of his promise to make the baker's daughter his mis- 
 tress, and also to make her one of the nobility immediately after 
 his marriage with the Princess. ' Do not hope to gain the Prin- 
 cess. It is useless for you to try !' were the last words of the 
 Marshal's wife to the Duke." 
 
 " And a pretty story it is," muttered Philip ; " why, behavior 
 like that would be a disgrace to the meanest of the people. I 
 declare there is no end to these deviltries." 
 
 "Yes indeed. 'Tis impossible to behave more meanly than 
 the Marshal's lady. The woman must be a fury. My gra- 
 cious lord, save me from destruction." 
 
 " Where is the Duke ?" asked Philip. 
 
 " The page told me he started up on hearing the story, and 
 said, ' I will go to the King.' And if he tells the story to the 
 King in his own way — " 
 
 " Is the King here, then ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, he is at play in the next room with the Archbishop 
 and the Minister of Police." 
 
 Philip walked with long steps through the boudoir. The case 
 required consideration. 
 
 " Your Royal Highness," said the negro, " protect me. Your 
 own honor is at stake. You can easily make all straight ; other- 
 wise, I am ready at the first intimation of danger, to fly across 
 the border. I will pack up, and to-morrow I shall expect your 
 last commands as to my future behavior." 
 
 With these words the negro took his leave. 
 
186 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES 
 
 VI. 
 
 " It is high time I were a watchman again," thought Philip. 
 " I am getting both myself and my substitute into scrapes he will 
 find it hard to get out of — and this makes the difference between a 
 peasant and a prince. One is no better off than the other. Good 
 heavens ! what stupid things these court lords are doing which 
 we do not dream of with our lanthorns and staff in hand, or 
 when at the spade ! We think they lead the lives of angels 
 without sin or care. Pretty piece of business ! Within a quar- 
 ter of an hour I have heard of more rascally tricks than I ever 
 played in my whole life. And" — but his reverie was interrupt- 
 ed by a whisper. 
 
 " So lonely, Prince ! I consider myself happy in having a 
 minute's conversation with your Royal Highness." 
 
 Philip looked at the speaker ; and he was a Miner, covered 
 over with gold and jewels. 
 
 "But one instant," said the mask. " The business is press- 
 ing, and deeply concerns you." 
 
 " Who are you ?" inquired Philip. 
 
 " Count Bodenlos, the Minister of Finance, at your Highness's 
 service," answered the Miner, and showed his face, which looked 
 as if it were a second mask with its little eyes and copper-color- 
 ed nose. 
 
 " Well, then, my lord, what are your commands V* 
 
 " May I speak openly ? I waited on your Royal Highness 
 thrice, and was never admitted to the honor of an audience ; 
 and yet — Heaven is my witness — no man in all this court has a 
 deeper interest in your Royal Highness than I have." 
 
 " I am greatly obliged to you," replied Philip ; " what is your 
 business just now ? But be quick." 
 
 " May I venture to speak of the house of Abraham Levi ?" 
 
 " As much as you like." 
 
 " They have applied to me about the fifty thousand dollars 
 which you owe them, and threaten to apply to the King. And 
 you remember your promise to his Majesty when last he paid 
 your debts. - ' 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 187 
 
 "Can't the people wait?" asked Philip. 
 
 " No more than the Brothers, goldsmiths, who demand their 
 seventy-five thousand dollars." 
 
 " It is all one to me. If the people won't wait for their mo- 
 ney, I must" 
 
 " No hasty resolution, my gracious Lord ! I have it in my 
 power to make everything comfortable, if " 
 
 "Well, if what?" 
 
 " If you will honor me by listening to me one moment. I 
 nope to have no difficulty in redeeming all your debts. The house 
 of Abraham Levi has bought up immense quantities of corn, so 
 that the price is very much raised. A decree against importation 
 will raise it three or four per cent, higher. By giving Abraham 
 Levi the monopoly, the business will be arranged. The house 
 erases your debt, and pays off your seventy-five thousand dollars 
 to the goldsmiths, and I give you over the receipts. But everything 
 depends on my continuing for another year at the head of the 
 Finance. If Baron Griefensack succeeds in ejecting me from 
 the Ministry, I shall be unable to serve your Royal Highness 
 as I could wish. If your Highness will leave the party of 
 Griefensack, our point is gained. For me, it is a matter of per- 
 fect indifference whether I remain in office or not. I sigh for 
 repose. But for your Royal Highness, it is a matter of great 
 moment. If I have not the mixing of the pack, I lose the game." 
 
 Philip for some time did not know what answer to make. At 
 last, while the Finance Minister, in expectation of his reply, took 
 a pinch out of his snuff-box set with jewels, Philip said, 
 
 " If I rightly understand you, Sir Count, you would starve the 
 country a little in order to pay my debts. Consider, sir, what 
 misery you will cause. And will the King consent to it ?" 
 
 " If I remain in office, I will answer for that, my gracious Lord ! 
 When the price of corn rises, the King will, of course, think of 
 permitting importation, and prevent exportation by levying heavy 
 imposts. The permission to do so is given to the house of Abra- 
 ham Levi, and they export as much as they choose. But as I 
 said before, if Griefensack gets the helm nothing can be done. 
 For the first year he would be obliged to attend strictly to his du- 
 ty, in order to be able afterwards to feather his nest at the ex- 
 
18S 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 pense of the country. He must first make sure of his ground. 
 He is dreadfully grasping I" 
 
 " A pretty project," answered Philip ; " and how long do you 
 think a finance minister must be in office before he can lay his 
 shears on the flock to get wool enough for himself and me ?" 
 
 " O, if he has his wits about him, he may manage it in a year." 
 
 " Then the King ought to be counselled to change his finance 
 minister every twelve months, if he wishes to be faithfully and 
 honorably served." 
 
 " I hope, your Royal Highness, that since I have had the Ex- 
 chequer, the King and court have been faithfully served." 
 
 " I believe you, Count, and the poor people believe you still 
 more. Already they scarcely know how to pay their rates and 
 taxes. You should treat us with a little more consideration, 
 Count." 
 
 " Us ! — don't I do everything for the Court ?" 
 
 " No ! I mean the people. You should have a little more con- 
 sideration for them." 
 
 " I appreciate what your Royal Highness says ; but I serve the 
 King and the court, the people are not to be considered. The 
 country is his private property, and the people are only useful to 
 him as increasing the value of his land. But this is no time to 
 discuss the old story about the interests of the people. I beg your 
 Royal Highness's answer to my propositions. Shall I have the 
 honor to discharge your debts on the above specified conditions ?" 
 
 " Answer, — no — never, never ! at the expense of hundreds and 
 thousands of starving families." 
 
 " But, your Royal Highness, if in addition to the clearance of 
 your debts, I make the house of Abraham Levi present you with 
 fifty thousand dollars in hard cash ? I think it may afford you 
 that sum. The house will gain so much by the operation, that — 
 
 " Perhaps it may be able to give you also a mark of its regard." 
 
 " Your Highness is pleased to jest with me. I gain nothing 
 by the affair. My whole object is to obtain the protection of your 
 Royal Highness." 
 
 " You are very polite !" 
 
 " I may hope then, Prince ?" 
 
 "Count, I will do my duty ; do you yours." 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 189 
 
 " My duty is to be of service to you. To-morrow I shall send 
 for Abraham, and conclude the arrangement with him. I shall 
 have the honor to present your Royal Highness with the receipt 
 for all your debts, besides the gift of fifty thousand dollars." 
 
 " Go, I want to hear no more of it." 
 
 " And your Royal Highness will honor me with your favor ? 
 For unless I am in the Ministry, it is impossible for me to deal 
 with Abraham Levi so as" — 
 
 " I wish to Heaven you and your ministry and Abraham Levi 
 were all three on the Blocksberg ! I tell you what, unless you 
 lower the price of corn, and take away the monopoly from that 
 infernal Jew, I'll go this moment and reveal your villany to the 
 King, and get you and Abraham Levi banished from the country. 
 See to it — I'll keep my word !" Philip turned away in a rage, 
 and proceeded into the dancing-room, leaving the Minister of Fi- 
 nance petrified with amazement. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " When does your Royal Highness require the carriage ?" 
 whispered a stout little Dutch merchant in a bobbed wig. 
 "Not at all," answered Philip. 
 
 " 'Tis after half-past eleven, and the beautiful singer expects 
 you. She will tire of waiting." 
 
 " Let her sing something to cheer her." 
 
 " How, Prince ? Have you changed your mind ? Would 
 you leave the captivating Rollina in the lurch, and throw away 
 the golden opportunity you have been sighing for two months ? 
 The letter you sent to-day, inclosing the diamond watch, did 
 wonders. The proud but fragile beauty surrenders. This 
 morning you were in raptures, and now you are as cold as ice ! 
 What is the cause of the change V 
 
 " That is my business, not yours," said Philip. 
 
 " I had your orders to join you at half-past eleven. Perhaps 
 you have other engagements ?" 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
190 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " A petit souper with the Countess Born ? She is not present 
 here ; at least among all the masks I can't trace her out. I 
 should know her among a thousand by that graceful walk and 
 her peculiar way of carrying her little head — eh, Prince ?" 
 
 " Well, but if it were so, there would be no necessity for 
 making you my confident, would there ?" 
 
 " I will take the hint, and be silent. But won't you at any 
 rate send to the Signora Rollina to let her know you are not 
 coming ?" 
 
 " If I have sighed for her for two months, she had better sigh 
 a month or two for me. I shan't go near her." 
 
 " So that beautiful necklace which you sent her for a new 
 year's present was all for nothing ?" 
 
 "As far as I am concerned." 
 
 " Will you break with her entirely ?" 
 
 " There is nothing between us to break, that I know of." 
 
 " Well, then, since you speak so plainly, I may tell you some- 
 thing which you perhaps know already. Your love to the 
 Signora has hitherto kept me silent ; but now that you have 
 altered your mind about her, I can no longer keep the secret 
 from you. You are deceived." 
 
 " By whom ?" 
 
 " By the artful singer. She would divide her favors between 
 your Royal Highness and a Jew." 
 "A Jew?" 
 
 " Yes ! with the son of Abraham Levi." 
 " Is that rascal everywhere ?" 
 
 " So your Highness did not know it ; but I am telling you the 
 exact truth ; if it were not for your Royal Highness, she would 
 be his mistress. I am only sorry you gave her that watch." 
 
 " I don't regret it at all." 
 
 " The jade deserves to be whipped." 
 
 " Few people meet their deserts," answered Philip. 
 
 " Too true, too true, your Royal Highness. For instance, 
 I have discovered a girl — oh Prince, there is not such another 
 in this city or in the whole world ! Few have seen this angel — 
 Pooh ! Rosalina is nothing to her. Listen — a girl tall and 
 slender as a palm-tree — with a complexion like the red glow of 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 191 
 
 evening upon snow — eyes like sunbeams — rich golden tresses — 
 in short, the most beautiful creature I ever beheld — a Venus — 
 a goddess in rustic attire. Your Highness, we must give her 
 chase." 
 
 " A peasant girl ?" — 
 
 " A mere rustic ; but then you must see hei yourself, and 
 you will love her. But my descriptions are nothing. Imagine 
 the embodiment of all that you can conceive most charming — add 
 to that, artlessness, grace, and innocence. But the difficulty is 
 to catch sight of her. She seldom leaves her mother. I know 
 her seat in church, and have watched her for many Sundays 
 past, as she walked with her mother to the Elm-Gate. I have 
 ascertained that a handsome young fellow, a gardener, is making 
 court to her. He can't marry her, for he is a poor devil, and 
 she has nothing. The mother is the widow of a poor weaver." 
 
 " And the mother's name is V 
 
 " Widow Bittsier, in Milk-street ; and the daughter, fairest of 
 flowers, is in fact called Rose." 
 
 Philip's blood boiled at the sound of the beloved name. His first 
 inclination was to knock the communicative Dutchman down. 
 He restrained himself, however, and only asked, 
 
 "Are you the devil himself?" 
 
 " 'Tis good news, is it not ? I have taken some steps in the 
 matter already, but you must see her first. But perhaps such a 
 pearl has not altogether escaped your keen observation ? Do 
 you know her V s 
 
 "Intimately." 
 
 " So much the better. Have I been too lavish of my praises ? 
 \ ou confess their truth ? She shan't escape us. We must go 
 together to the widow; you must play the philanthropist. 
 You have heard of the widow's poverty, and must insist on 
 relieving it. You take an interest in the good woman ; enter 
 into her misfortunes ; leave a small present at each visit, and by 
 this means become acquainted with Rose. The rest follows of 
 course. The gardener can be easily got out of the way, or 
 perhaps a dozen or two dollars slipt quietly into his hand 
 may" — 
 
 Philip's rage broke forth. 
 
192 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " I'll throttle you" 
 
 " If the gardener makes a fuss ?" interposed the Dutchman. 
 " Leave me to settle this matter. I'll get him kidnapped, and sent 
 to the army to fight for his country. In the meantime you get 
 possession of the field j for the girl has a peasant's attachment for 
 the fellow, and it will not be easy to get the nonsense out of her 
 head, which she has been taught by the canaille. But I will give 
 her some lessons, and then" — 
 
 " I'll break your neck." 
 
 "Your Highness is too good. But if your Highness would 
 use your interest with the King to procure me the Chamberlain's 
 key" 
 
 " I wish I could procure you" 
 
 " Oh, don't flatter me, your Highness. Had I only known 
 you thought so much of her beauty, she would have been yours 
 long ago." 
 
 " Not a word more," cried the enraged Philip in a smothered 
 voice ; for he dared not speak aloud, he was so surrounded by 
 maskers, who were listening, dancing, talking, as they passed 
 him, and he might have betrayed himself : " not a word more !" 
 
 " No, there will be more than words. Deeds shall show my 
 sincerity. You may advance. You are wont to conquer. The 
 out-posts will be easily taken. The gardener I will manage, and 
 the mother will range herself under your gilded banners. Then 
 the fortress will be won !" 
 
 " Sir, if you venture," said Philip, who now could hardly 
 contain himself. It was with great difficulty he refrained from 
 open violence, and he clutched the arm of the Dutchman with 
 the force of a vice. 
 
 " Your Highness, for Heaven's sake, moderate your joy. I 
 shall scream — you are mashing my arm !" 
 
 " If you venture to go near that innocent girl, I will demolish 
 every bone in your body." 
 
 " Good, good," screamed the Dutchman, in intense pain ; 
 " only let go my arm." 
 
 " If I find you anywhere near Milk-street, I'll dash your 
 miserable brains out. So look to it." 
 
 The Dutchman seemed almost stupified ; trembling he said, 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE 
 
 193 
 
 " May it please your Highness, I could not imagine you 
 really loved the girl as it seems you do." 
 
 " I love her ! I will own it before the whole world !' 
 " And are loved in return ?" 
 
 " That's none of your business. Never mention her name to 
 me again. Do not even think of her, it would be a stain upon 
 her purity. Now you know what I think. Be off!" 
 
 Philip twirled the unfortunate Dutchman round as he let go 
 his arm, and that worthy gentleman slunk out of the hall. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 In the meantime Philip's substitute supported his character of 
 watchman on the snow-covered streets. It is scarcely necessary 
 to say, that this was none other than Prince JuUan, who had 
 taken a notion to join the watch — his head being crazed by the 
 fire of the sweet wine. He attended to the directions left by 
 Philip, and went his rounds, and called the hour with great 
 decorum, except that, instead of the usual watchman's verses, 
 he favored the public with rhymes of his own. He was cogi- 
 tating a new stanza, when the door of a house beside him opened, 
 and a well wrapped up girl beckoned to him, and ran into the 
 shadow of the house. 
 
 The Prince left his stanza half finished, and followed the 
 apparition. A soft hand grasped his in the darkness, and a 
 voice whispered — 
 
 " Good evening, dear Philip. Speak low, that nobody may 
 hear us. I have only got away from the company for one 
 moment, to speak to you as you passed. Are you happy to 
 see me ?" 
 
 " Blest as a god, my angel ; — who could be otherwise than 
 happy by thy side ?" 
 
 "I've some good news for you, Philip. You must sup at our 
 house to-morrow evening. My mother has allowed me to ask 
 you. You'll come V 
 
 " For the whole evening, and as many more as you wish. 
 14 
 
194 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 Would we might be together till the end of the world ! 'Twould 
 be a life fit for gods !" 
 
 " Listen, Philip ; in half an hour I shall be at St. Gregory's. 
 I shall expect you there. You won't fail me ? Don't keep me 
 waiting long — we shall have a walk together. Go now — we 
 may be discovered." She tried to go, but Julian held her back 
 and threw his arms round her. 
 
 " What, wilt thou leave me so coldly?" he said, and tried to 
 press a kiss upon her lips. 
 
 Rose did not know what to think of this boldness, for Philip 
 had always been modest, and never dared more than kiss her 
 hand, except once, when her mother had forbidden their meeting 
 again. They had then exchanged their first kiss in great sor- 
 row and in great love, but never since then. She struggled to 
 free herself, but Julian held her firm, till at last she had to buy 
 her liberty by submitting to the kiss, and begged him to go. 
 But Julian seemed not at all inclined to move. 
 
 " What ! go ? I'm not such a fool as that comes to ! You 
 think I love my horn better than you ? No, indeed !" 
 
 " But then it isn't right, Philip." 
 
 " Not right ? why not, my beauty ? there is nothing against 
 kissing in the ten commandments." 
 
 " Why, if we could marry, perhaps you might — but you know 
 very well we can't marry, and" 
 
 " Not marry ! why not ? You can marry me any day you 
 like." 
 
 " Philip ! — why will you talk such folly ? You know we 
 must not think of such a thing." 
 
 " But / think very seriously about it — if you would consent." 
 
 "You are unkind to speak thus. Ah, Philip, I had a dream 
 last night." 
 
 " A dream — what was it ?" 
 
 " You had won a prize in the lottery ; we were both so happy ! 
 you had bought a beautiful garden, handsomer than any in the 
 city. It was a little Paradise of flowers — and there were large 
 beds of vegetables, and the trees were laden with fruit. And when 
 I awoke, Philip, I felt so wretched — I wished I had not dreamed 
 such a happy dream. You've nothing in the lottery, Philip, 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 195 
 
 have you? Have you really won anything? The drawing 
 took place to-day." 
 
 " How much must I have gained to win you too ?" 
 
 " Ah, Philip, if you had only gained a thousand dollars, you 
 might buy such a pretty garden !" 
 
 " A thousand dollars ! And what if it were more V 
 
 " Ah, Philip — what ? is it true ? is it really ! Don't deceive 
 me ! 'twill be worse than the dream. You had a ticket ! and 
 you've won ! — own it ! own it !" 
 
 " All you can wish for." 
 
 Rose flung her arms around his neck in the extremity of her 
 joy, and kissed him. 
 
 " More than the thousand dollars ? and will they pay you the 
 whole ?" 
 
 Her kiss made the Prince forget to answer. It was so strange 
 to hold a pretty form in his arms, receive its caresses, and to 
 know they were not meant for him. 
 
 " Answer me, answer me !" cried Rose, impatiently. " Will 
 they give you all that money ?" 
 
 " They've done it already — and if it will add to your happi- 
 ness, I will hand it to you this moment." 
 
 " What ! have you got it with you ?" 
 
 The prince took out his purse, which he had filled with money 
 in expectation of some play. 
 
 " Take it and weigh it, my girl," he said, placing it in her 
 hand and kissing her again. " This then makes you mine !" 
 
 " Oh not this — nor all the gold in the world, if you were not 
 my own dear Philip !" 
 
 " And how if 1 had given you twice as much as all this mo- 
 ney, and yet were not your own dear Philip ?" 
 
 " I would fling the purse at your feet, and make you a very 
 polite curtsey," said Rose. 
 
 A door now opened j the light streamed down upon the steps,, 
 and the laughing voices of girls were heard. Rose whispered — 
 
 " In half an hour, at St. Gregory's," and ran up the steps, leav- 
 ing the Prince in the darkness. Disconcerted by the suddenness 
 of the parting, and his curiosity excited by his ignorance of the 
 name of his new acquaintance, and not even having had a full 
 
196 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 view of her face, he consoled himself with the rendezvous at St. 
 Gregory's church-door. This he resolved to keep, though it was 
 evident that all the tenderness which had been bestowed on him 
 was intended for his friend the watchman. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The interview with Rose, or the coldness of the night, increased 
 the effect of the wine to such an extent that the mischievous pro- 
 pensities of the young Prince got the upper hand of him. Stand- 
 ing amidst a crowd of people, in the middle of the street, he 
 blew so lustily on his horn that the women screamed, and the 
 men gasped with fear. He called the hour, and then shouted, at 
 the top of his lungs — 
 
 The bus'ness of our lovely state 
 Is stricken by the hand of fate — 
 Even our maids, both light and brown, 
 Can find no sale in all the town ; 
 They deck themselves with all their arts, 
 But no one buys their worn-out hearts. 
 
 " Shame ! shame !" cried several female voices from the win- 
 dow at the end of this complimentary effusion, which, however, 
 was crowned with a loud laugh from the men. " Bravo, watch- 
 man," cried some ; " encore ! encore !" shouted others. " How 
 dare you, fellow, insult ladies in the open street ?" growled a 
 young lieutenant, who had a very pretty girl on his arm. 
 
 " Mr. Lieutenant," answered a miller, " unfortunately watch- 
 men always tell the truth, and the lady on your arm is a proof 
 of it. Ha ! young jade, do you know me ? do you know who I 
 am ? Is it right for a betrothed bride to be gadding at night 
 about the streets with other men ? To-morrow your mother shall 
 hear of this. I'll have nothing more to do with you !" 
 
 The girl hid her face, and nudged the young officer to lead hei 
 away. But the lieutenant, like a brave soldier, scorned to re 
 treat from the miller, and determined to keep the field. He there 
 fore made use of a full round of oaths, which were returned witl 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 197 
 
 interest, and a sabre was finally resorted to, with some flourishes ; 
 but two Spanish cudgels were threateningly held over the head 
 of the lieutenant by a couple of stout townsmen, while one of 
 them, who was a broad-shouldered beer-brewer, cried — " Don't 
 make any more fuss about the piece of goods beside you — she 
 ain't worth it. The miller's a good fellow, and what he says is 
 true, and the watchman's right, too. A plain tradesman can 
 hardly venture to marry now. All the women wish to marry 
 above their station. Instead of darning stockings, they read ro- 
 mances — instead of working in the kitchen, they run after come- 
 dies and concerts. Their houses are dirty, and they are walk- 
 ing out, dressed like princesses : all they bring a husband as a 
 dowry, are handsome dresses, lace ribbons, intrigues, romances, 
 and idleness ! Sir, I speak from experience ; I should have mar- 
 ried long since, if girls were not spoilt." 
 
 The spectators laughed heartily, and the lieutenant slowly put 
 back his sword, saying peevishly, " It's a little too much to be 
 obliged to hear a sermon from the canaille." 
 
 " What ! Canaille /" cried a smith, who held the second cud- 
 gel. " Do you call those canaille who feed you noble idlers 
 by duties and taxes ? Your licentiousness is the cause of our 
 domestic discords, and noble ladies would not have so much cause 
 to mourn if you had learned both to pray and to work." 
 
 Several young officers had gathered together already, and so 
 had some mechanics ; and the boys, in the meantime, threw 
 snow-balls among both parties, that their share in the fun might 
 not be lost. The first ball hit the noble lieutenant on the nose, 
 and thinking it an attack from the canaille, he raised his sabre. 
 The fight began. 
 
 The Prince, who had laughed amazingly at the first com- 
 mencement of the uproar, had betaken himself to another region, 
 and felt quite unconcerned as to the result. In the course of his 
 wanderings, he came to the palace of Count Bodenlos, the Minis- 
 ter of Finance, with whom, as Philip had discovered at the mas- 
 querade, the Prince was not on the best terms. The Countess 
 had a large party. Julian saw the lighted windows, and still 
 feeling poetically disposed, he planted himself opposite the bal- 
 cony, and blew a peal on his horn. Several ladies and gentle^ 
 
IDS 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES 
 
 men opened the shutters, because they had nothing better to do, 
 and listened to what he should say. 
 
 " Watchman," cried one of them, " sing us a New Year's " 
 
 greeting !" 
 
 This invitation brought a fresh accession of the Countess'a 
 party to the windows. Julian called the hour in the usual man- 
 ner, and sang, loud enough to be distinctly heard inside — 
 
 Ye who groan with heavy debts, 
 And swift approaching failure frets, 
 Pray the Lord that he this hour 
 May raise you to some place of power ; 
 And while the nation wants and suffers, 
 Fill your own from the people's coffers. 
 
 " Outrageous !" screamed the lady of the minister — "who is 
 the insolent wretch that dares such an insult ?" 
 
 " Pleashe your exshellenshy," answered Julian, imitating the 
 Jewish dialect in voice and manner, " I vash only intendsh to 
 shing you a pretty shong. I am de Shew Abraham Levi, veil 
 known at dish court. Your ladyship knowsh me ver' well." 
 
 " How dare you tell such a lie, you villain V exclaimed a 
 voice, trembling with rage, at one of the windows — " how dare 
 you say you are Abraham Levi! I am Abraham Levi! You 
 are a cheat !" 
 
 " Call the police !" cried the Countess ! " Have that man ar- 
 rested !" 
 
 At these words the party confusedly withdrew from the win- 
 dows. Nor did the Prince remain where he was, but quickly 
 effected his escape through a cross street. A crowd of servants 
 rushed out of the palace, led by the Secretaries of the Finance, 
 and commenced a search for the offender. " We have hirn !" 
 cried some, as the rest eagerly approached. It was in fact the 
 real guardian of the night, who was carefully perambulating his 
 beat, in innocent unconsciousness of any offence. In spite of all 
 he could say, he was disarmed and carried off to the watch-house, 
 and charged with causing a disturbance by singing libellous 
 songs. The officer of the police shook his head at the unac- 
 countable event, and said — " We have already one watchman m 
 custody, whose verses about some girl caused a very serious 
 affray between the town's- people and the garrison." 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 199 
 
 The prisoner would confess to nothing, but swore prodigiously 
 at the tipsy young people who had disturbed him in the fulfil- 
 ment of his duty. One of the secretaries of the Finance repeated 
 the whole verse to him. The soldiers standing about laughed 
 aloud, but the ancient watchman swore with tears in his eyes 
 that he had never thought of such a thing. While the examin- 
 ation was going on, and one of the secretaries of the Finance 
 Minister began to be doubtful whether the poor watchman was 
 really in fault or not, an uproar was heard outside, and loud 
 cries of, " Watch, Watch !" 
 
 The guard rushed out, and in a few minutes the Field-Mar- 
 shal entered the office, accompanied by the captain of the 
 guards on duty. " Have that scoundrel locked up tight," said the 
 Marshal, pointing behind him — and two soldiers brought in a 
 watchman, whom they held close prisoner, and whom they had 
 disarmed of his staff and horn. 
 
 " Are the watchmen gone all mad to-night V exclaimed the 
 chief of police. 
 
 " I'll have the rascal punished for his infamous verses," said 
 the Field Marshal angrily. 
 
 " Your excellency," exclaimed the trembling watchman, 
 as true as I live, I never made a verse in my born days." 
 
 "Silence, knave," roared the Marshal. "I'll have you 
 hanged for them ! And if you contradict me again, I'll cut you 
 in two on the spot." 
 
 The police officer respectfully observed to the Field-Marshal 
 that there must be some poetical epidemic among the watch- 
 men, for three had been brought before him within the last 
 quarter of an hour, accused of the same offence. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the Marshal to the officers who had accom- 
 panied him, " since the scoundrel refuses to confess, it will be 
 necessary to take down from your remembrance, the words of 
 his atrocious libel. Let them be written down while you still 
 recollect them. Come, who can say them ?" 
 
 The officer of police wrote to the dictation of the gentlemen 
 who remembered the whole verses between them :— 
 " On empty head a flaunting feather, 
 A long queue tied with tape and leather; 
 
200 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES 
 
 Padded breast and waist so little, 
 Make the soldier to a tittle ; 
 By cards and dance, and dissipation, 
 He's sure to win a Marshal's station. 
 
 " Do you deny, you rascal," cried the Field- Marshal, to the 
 terrified watchman — " Do you deny that you sang these infa- 
 mous lines as I was coming out of my house ?" 
 
 " They may sing it who like, it was not. me," said the 
 watchman. 
 
 " Why did you run away, then, when you saw me ?" 
 "1 did not run away." 
 
 " What ?" said the two officers who had accompanied the 
 Marshal — "not run away? Were you not out of breath when 
 at last we laid hold of you there by the market ?" 
 
 " Yes, but it was with fright at being so ferociously attacked. 
 I am trembling yet in every limb." 
 
 " Lock the obstinate dog up till the morning" — said the Mar- 
 shal — " he will come to his senses by that time !" With these 
 words the wrathful dignitary went away. These incidents had 
 set the whole police force of the city on the qui vive. In the next 
 ten minutes two more watchmen were brought to the office on 
 similar charges with the others. One was accused of singing a 
 libel under the window of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, in 
 which it was insinuated that there were no affairs to which he 
 was more foreign than those of his own department. The other 
 had sung some verses before the door of the Bishop's Palace, in- 
 forming him that the " lights of the church" were by no means 
 deficient in tallow, but gave a great deal more smoke than illu- 
 mination. The Prince, who had wrought the poor watchmen all 
 this wo, was always lucky enough to escape, and grew bolder 
 and bolder with every new attempt. The affair was talked of 
 everywhere. The Minister of Police, who was at cards with 
 the King, was informed of the insurrection among the hitherto 
 peaceful watchmen, and as a proof of it, some of the verses were 
 given to him in writing. The King laughed very heartily at the 
 doggrel verse about the miserable police who were always put- 
 ting their noses into other people's family affairs, but could never 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 20J 
 
 smell anything amiss in their own, and were therefore lawful 
 game, and ordered the next poetical watchman who should be 
 taken to be brought before him. He broke up the card-table, 
 for he saw that the Minister of Police had lost his good humor. 
 
 X. 
 
 In the dancing-hall next to the card-room, Philip had looked at 
 his watch, and discovered that the time of his appointment with 
 Rose at St. Gregory's had nearly come. He was by no means 
 sorry at the prospect of giving back his silk mantle and plumed 
 bonnet to his substitute, for he began to find high life not quite to 
 his taste. As he was going to the door, the Negro once more 
 came up to him, and whispered, "Your Highness, Duke Herr- 
 man is seeking for you everywhere." — Philip shook his head 
 impatiently and hurried out, followed by the Negro. When 
 they got to the ante-chamber, the negro cried out, " By Heaven, 
 here comes the Duke !" — and slipped back into the hall. 
 
 A tall black mask walked fiercely up to Philip, and said, 
 " Stay a moment, sir — I've a word or two to say to you — I've 
 been seeking for you long." 
 
 " Quick then," said Philip, " for I have no time to lose." 
 
 " I would not waste a moment, sir — I have sought you long 
 enough ; you owe me satisfaction, you have injured me infa- 
 mously." 
 
 " Not that I am aware of." 
 
 " You don't know me, perhaps," said the Duke, lifting up his 
 mask — " now that you see me, your own conscience will save 
 me any more words. I demand satisfaction. You and the 
 cursed Salmoni have deceived me !" 
 
 " I know nothing about it," said Philip. 
 
 " You got up that shameful scene in the cellar of the baker's 
 daughter. It was at your instigation that Colonel Kalt made 
 an assault upon me with a cudgel." 
 
 " There's not a word of truth in what you say." 
 
 " What ? — you deny it ? The Lady Blankenswerd, the Mar- 
 
202 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 shal's lady was an eyewitness of it all, and she has told me every 
 circumstance." 
 
 " She has told your grace a fancy tale — I have had nothing 
 to do with it — if you made an ass of yourself in a baker's cellar, 
 that was your own fault." 
 
 " I ask, once more, will you give me satisfaction? If not, I 
 will expose you. Follow me instantly to the King. You shall 
 either fight with me, or — go to his Majesty." 
 
 Philip was non-plused. "Your grace," he said, " I have 
 no wish either to fight with you, or to go to the King." 
 
 This was indeed the truth, for he was afraid he should be 
 obliged to unmask, and would be punished, of course, for the 
 part he had played. He therefore tried to getoffby every means, 
 and watched the door to seize a favorable moment for effecting 
 his escape. The duke, on the other hand, observed the uneasi- 
 ness of the prince (as he thought him), and waxed more valor- 
 ous every minute. At last he seized poor Philip by the arm, 
 and was dragging him into the hall. 
 
 " What do you want with me ?" said Philip, sorely frightened, 
 and shook off the Duke. 
 
 " To the King. He shall hear how shamefully you insult a 
 guest at his court." 
 
 "Very good," replied Philip, who saw no hope of escape, ex- 
 cept by continuing the character of the Prince. " Very good. 
 Come, then, I am ready. By good luck I happen to have the 
 agreement with me between you and the baker's daughter, in 
 which you promise" — 
 
 "Nonsense! stuff!" answered the Duke, "that was only a 
 piece of fun, which may be allowed surely with a baker's 
 daughter. Show it if you like, I will explain all that." 
 
 But it appeared that the Duke was not quite so sure of the ex- 
 planation, for he no longer urged Philip to go before the King. 
 He, however, insisted more earnestly than ever on getting into 
 his carriage, and going that moment — Heaven knows where — to 
 decide the matter with sword and pistol, an arrangement which 
 did not suit our watchman at all. Philip pointed out the dan- 
 ger and consequences of such a proceeding, but the Duke over- 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 203 
 
 ruled all objections. He had made every preparation, and when 
 it was over he would leave the city that same night. 
 
 " If you are not the greatest coward in Europe, you will fol- 
 low me to the carriage — Prince !" 
 
 " I — am — no — prince," — at last stuttered Philip, now driven 
 to extremities. 
 
 " You are ! — Everybody recognized you at the ball — I know 
 you by your hat. You shan't escape me." 
 
 Philip lifted up his mask, and showed the Duke his face. 
 " Now, then, am I a prince ?" 
 
 Duke Herrman, when he saw the countenance of a man he 
 had never seen before, started back, and stood gazing as if he 
 had been petrified. To have revealed his secrets to a perfect 
 stranger ! 'Twas horrible beyond conception ! — But before he 
 had recovered from his surprise, Philip had opened the door, and 
 effected his escape. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The moment he found himself at liberty he took off his hat 
 and feathers, and wrapping them in his silk mantle, rushed 
 through the streets towards St. Gregory's, carrying them under 
 his arm. There stood Rose already, in a corner of the high 
 church door, expecting his arrival. 
 
 " Ah Philip, dear Philip," she said, pressing his hand, " how 
 happy you have made me ! how lucky we are ! I was very un- 
 easy to get away from my friend's house, and I have been wait- 
 ing here this quarter of an hour, but never cared for the frost 
 and snow — my happiness was so great : I am so glad you're 
 come back." 
 
 " And I too, dear Rose, thank God that I have got back to 
 you. May the eagles fly away with these trinkum-trankums of 
 great people. But I'll tell you some other time of the scenes 
 I've had. Tell me now, my darling, how you are, and whether 
 you love mo still !" 
 
204 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " Ah ! Philip, you've become a great man now, and it would 
 be better to ask if you still care anything for me." 
 
 " Thunder ! How came you to know so soon that I've been a 
 great man ?" 
 
 " Why you told me yourself. Ah ! Philip, Philip, I only 
 hope you won't be proud, now that you've grown so rich. I am 
 but a poor girl, and not good enough for you now — and I have 
 been thinking, Philip, if you forsake me, I would rather have 
 had you continue a poor gardener. I should fret myself to death 
 if you forsook me." 
 
 " What are you talking about, Rose 1 'Tis true that for one 
 half hour I have been a prince, 'twas but a joke, and I want no 
 more of such jokes in my life. Now I am a watchman again, 
 and as poor as ever. To be sure I have five thousand dollars in 
 my pocket, that I got from a Mameluke — that would make us 
 rich, but unfortunately they don't belong to me !" 
 
 "You're speaking nonsense, Philip," said Rose, giving him the 
 purse of gold that the Prince had given her — " Here, take back 
 your money, 'tis too heavy for my bag." 
 
 " What should I do with all this gold ? Where did you get it, 
 Rose t" 
 
 "You won it in the lottery, Philip." 
 
 " What ! have I won '? and they told me at the office my num- 
 ber was not yet out — I had hoped and wished that it might come 
 to give us a setting up in the world — but gardener Redman said 
 to me as I went a second time towards the office, " Poor Philip — 
 a blank " — Huzza ! I have won ! Now I will buy a large garden 
 and marry you. How much is it ?" 
 
 " Are you crazy, Philip, or have you drunk too much ? You 
 must know better than I can tell you how much it is. I only 
 looked at it quietly under the table at my friend's, and was 
 frightened to see so many glittering coins, all of gold, Philip. 
 Ah ! then I thought, no wonder Philip was so impertinent — for, you 
 know, you were very impertinent, Philip, — but I can't blame you 
 for it. O, I could throw my own arms round your neck and 
 cry for joy." 
 
 "Rose, if you will do it I shall make no objections. But 
 here's some misunderstanding here. Who was it that gave you 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 205 
 
 this money, and told you it was my prize in the lottery ? I have 
 my ticket safe in my drawer at home, and nobody has asked me 
 for it." 
 
 " Ah ! Philip, don't play your jokes on me ! you yourself 
 told me it half an hour ago, and gave me the purse with your 
 own hand." 
 
 " Rose — try to recollect yourself. This morning I saw you 
 at mass, and we agreed to meet here to-night, but since that time 
 I have not seen you for an instant." 
 
 " No, except half an hour ago, when I saw you at Steinman's 
 door. But what is that bundle under your arm ? why are you 
 without a hat this cold night ? Philip ! Philip ! be careful. All 
 that gold may turn your brain. — You've been in some tavern, 
 Philip, and have drunk more than you should. But tell me, what 
 is in the bundle ? Why — here's a woman's silk gown. — Philip — 
 Philip, where have you been ?" 
 
 " Certainly not with you half an hour ago ; you want to play 
 tricks on me, I fancy ; — where have you got that money, I 
 should like to know V 
 
 " Answer me first, Philip, where you got that woman's gown. 
 Where have you been, sir ?" 
 
 They were both impatient for explanations, both a little jeal- 
 ous — and finally began to quarrel. 
 
 XII. 
 
 But as this was a lover's quarrel, it ended as lover's quarrels 
 invariably do. When Rose took out her white pocket-handker- 
 chief, put it to her beautiful eyes, and turned away her head as 
 the sighs burst forth from her breast, this sole argument proved 
 instantly that she was in the right, and Phi T ip decidedly in the 
 wrong. He confessed he was to blame for everything, and told 
 her that he had been at a masked ball, and that his bundle was 
 not a silk-gown, but a man's mantle and a hat and feathers. And 
 now he had to undergo a rigid examination. Every maiden 
 knows that a masked ball is a dangerous maze for unprotected 
 
206 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 hearts. It is like plunging into a whelming sea of dangers, and 
 you will be drowned if you are not a good swimmer. Rose did 
 not consider Philip the best swimmer in the world — it is difficult 
 to say why. He denied having danced, but when she asked him 
 he could not deny having talked with some feminine masks. 
 He related the whole story to her, yet would constantly add : 
 " The ladies were of high rank, and they took me for another." 
 Rose doubted him a little, but she suppressed her resentment until 
 he said they took him for Prince Julian. Then she shook her 
 little head, and still more when she heard that Prince Julian 
 was transformed into a watchman while Philip was at the ball. 
 But he smothered her doubts by saying that in a few minutes 
 the Prince would appear at St. Gregory's church and exchange 
 his watchcoat for the mask. 
 
 Rose, in return, related all her adventure ; but when she 
 came to the incident of the kiss — 
 
 " Hold there !" cried Philip ; " I didn't kiss you, nor, I am 
 sure, did you kiss me in return." 
 
 " I am sure 'twas intended for you, then," replied Rose, whilst 
 her lover rubbed his hair down, for fear it should stand on end. 
 
 " Tf 'twas not you," continued Rose anxiously, " I will believe 
 all that you have been telling me." 
 
 But as she went on in her story a light seemed to break in on 
 her, and she exclaimed, " And after all, I do not believe it was 
 Prince Julian in your coat !" 
 
 Philip was certain it was, and cried : " The rascal ! He stole 
 my kisses — now I understand ! That's the reason why he 
 wanted to take my place and gave me his mask !" And now the 
 stories he had heard at the masquerade came into Philip's head. 
 He asked if anybody had called at her mother's to offer her 
 money — if any gentleman was much about Milk Street ; if she 
 saw any one watching her at church ; but to all his questions 
 her answers were so satisfactory, that it was impossible to doubt 
 of her total ignorance of all the machinations of the rascally 
 courtiers. He warned her against all the advances of philan- 
 thropical and compassionate princes — and Rose warned him 
 against the dangers of a masked ball and adventures with ladies 
 of rank by which many young men have been made unhappy — 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 207 
 
 and as everything was now forgiven, in consideration of the 
 kiss not having been wilfully bestowed, he was on the point of 
 claiming for himself the one of which he had been cheated, 
 when his designs were interrupted by an unexpected incident. 
 A man out of breath with his rapid flight, rushed against them. 
 By the great-coat, staff, and horn, Philip recognized his deputy. 
 He, on the other hand, snatched at the silk cloak and hat. 
 " Ah ! sir," said Philip, " here are your things. I would not change 
 places with you again in this world ! I should be no gainer by 
 the operation." 
 
 " Quick ! quick !" cried the prince, and threw the watch- 
 man's apparel on the snow and fastened on his mask, hat, and 
 cloak. Philip returned to his old beaver and coat, and took up 
 the lanthorn and staff. Rose had shrunk back into the door. 
 
 " I promised thee a dole, comrade — but it's a positive fact — I 
 have not got my purse." 
 
 " I've got it here," said Philip, and held it out to him. " You 
 gave it to my intended there ; but, please your Highness, I must 
 forbid all presents in that quarter." 
 
 " Comrade, keep what you've got, and be off as quick as you 
 can. You are not safe here." 
 
 The Prince was flying off as he spoke, but Philip held him by 
 the mantle. 
 
 " One thing, my Lord, we have to settle" — 
 
 " Run ! Watchman ! I tell you. They're in search of you." 
 
 " I have nothing to run for. But your purse, here" — 
 
 " Keep it, I tell you. Fly ! if you can run.'" 
 
 " And a billet of Marshal Blankenswerd's for five thousand 
 dollars"— 
 
 " Ha ! What the plague do you know about Marshal Blanken- 
 swerd ?" 
 
 " He said it was a gambling debt he owed you. He and his 
 lady start to-night for their estates in Poland." 
 
 "Are you mad? how do you know that? Who gave you 
 the message for me ?" 
 
 " And, your Highness, the Minister of Finance will pay all 
 your debts to Abraham Levi and others if you will use your 
 influence with the king to keep him in office." 
 
208 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " Watchman ! you've been tampering with Old Nick." 
 " But I rejected the offer." 
 
 You rejected the offer of the Minister ?" 
 " Yes, your Highness. And, moreover, I have entirely recon- 
 ciled the Baroness Bonau with the Chamberlain Pilzou." 
 " Which of us two is a fool ?" 
 
 " Another thing, your Highness, Signora Rollina is a bad 
 woman. I have heard of some love affairs of hers. You are 
 deceived — I therefore thought her not worthy of your attentions, 
 and put off the meeting to-night at her house." 
 
 " Signora Rollina ! how did you come to hear of her?" 
 
 " Another thing — Duke Herrman is terribly enraged about 
 that business in the cellar. He is going to complain of you to 
 the King." 
 
 " The Duke ! Who told you about that ?" 
 
 "Himself. You are not secure yet — but I don't think he'll 
 go to the King, for I threatened him with his agreement with the 
 baker's daughter. But he wants to fight you ; be on your 
 guard." 
 
 " Once for all — do you know how the Duke was informed of 
 all this?" 
 
 " Through the Marshal's wife. She told all, and confessed 
 she had acted the witch in the ghost-raising." 
 
 The Prince took Philip by the arm. " My good fellow," 
 he said, " you are no watchman." He turned his face towards 
 a lamp, and started when he saw the face of this strange man. 
 
 " Are you possessed by Satan, or . . . Who are you ?" said 
 Julian, who had now become quite sober. 
 
 " I am Philip Stark, the gardener, son of old Gottlieb Stark, 
 the watchman," said Philip, quietly. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Lay hold on him ! That's the man !" cried many voices, and 
 Philip, Rose, and Julian saw themselves surrounded by six 
 lusty servants of the police. Rose screamed, Philip took her 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 209 
 
 hand, and told her not to be alarmed. The Prince clapped his 
 hand on Philip's shoulder — 
 
 " 'Tis a stupid business," he said, " and you should have es- 
 caped when I told you. But don't be frightened, there shall no 
 harm befall you." 
 
 " That's to be seen," said one of the captors. " In the mean- 
 time he must come along with us." 
 
 " Where to ?" inquired Philip ; " I am doing my duty. I 
 am watchman of this beat." 
 
 " That's the reason we take you. Come." 
 
 The Prince stepped forward. " Let the man go, good peo- 
 ple," he said, and searched in all his pockets for his purse. As 
 he found it nowhere, he was going to whisper to Philip to give 
 it him, but the police tore them apart, and one of them shouted 
 — " On ! We can't stop to talk here." 
 
 " The masked fellow must go with us, too, he is suspicious 
 looking." 
 
 " Not so," exclaimed Philip, " you are in search of the 
 watchman. Here I am, if you choose to answer for taking me 
 from my duty. But let this gentleman go." 
 
 " We don't want any lessons from you in our duty," replied 
 the sergeant ; " march ! all of them !" 
 
 " The damsel, too?" asked Philip, "you don't want her surely !" 
 
 " No, she may go ; but we must see her face, and take down 
 her name and residence, it may be of use." 
 
 " She is the daughter of widow Bittner," said Philip ; and 
 was not a little enraged when the whole party took Rose to a 
 lamp, and gazed on her tearful face. 
 
 " Go home, Rose, and don't be alarmed on my account," said 
 Philip, trying to comfort her, " my conscience is clear." 
 
 But Rose sobbed so as to move even the policemen to pity 
 her. The Prince, availing himself of the opportunity, attempt- 
 ed to spring out of his captors' hands, but one of the men was a 
 better jumper than he, and put an obstacle in his way. 
 
 " Hallo !" cried the sergeant, " this fellow's conscience is not 
 quite so clear — hold him firm — march !" 
 
 " Whither?" said the Prince. 
 
 " Directly to the Minister of Police." 
 15 
 
210 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " Listen," said the Prince, seriously but affably, for he did 
 not like the turn affairs were taking, as he was anxious to keep 
 his watchman-frolic concealed. " I have nothing to do with 
 this business. I belong to the court. If you venture to force 
 me to go with you, you will be sorry for it when you are feast- 
 ing on bread and water to-morrow in prison." 
 
 " For heaven's sake, let the gentleman go," cried Philip ; " I 
 give you my word he is a great lord, and will make you repent 
 your conduct. He is " 
 
 " Hush ; be silent," interrupted Julian, "tell no human being 
 who I am. Whatever happens, keep my name a secret. Do 
 you hear ! an entire secret from every one !" 
 
 " We do our duty," said the sergeant, " and nobody can 
 punish us for that ; you may go to a prison yourself — we have 
 often had fellows speak as high, and threaten as fiercely — for- 
 ward !" 
 
 " Men ! take advice, he is a distinguished man at court." 
 
 "If it were a king himself he should go with us. He is a 
 suspicious character, and we must do our duty." 
 
 While the contest about the Prince went on, a carriage with 
 eight horses, and outriders bearing flambeaux, drove past the 
 church. 
 
 " Stop !" said a voice from the carriage, as it was passing 
 the crowd of policemen, who had the Prince in custody. 
 
 The carriage stopped. The door flew open, and a gentleman 
 with a brilliant star on the breast of his surtout, leaped out. 
 He pushed through the party, and examined the Prince from 
 head to foot. 
 
 " I thought," he said, " I knew the bird by his feathers. 
 Mask, who are you ?" 
 
 Julian was taken by surprise, for in the inquirer he recog- 
 nized Duke Herrman. 
 
 " Answer me," roared Herrman, in a voice of thunder. 
 
 Julian shook his head and made signs to the Duke to desist, 
 but he pressed the question home upon him, being determined 
 to know who it was he had accosted at the masquerade. He 
 asked the policemen — they stood with heads uncovered, and told 
 him they had orders to bring the watchman instantly before the 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 211 
 
 Minister of Police, for he had been singing wicked verses — 
 they had heard some of them. That the mask had given him- 
 self out as some great lord of the court, but that they believed 
 that to be a false pretence, and therefore considered it their 
 duty to take him into custody. 
 
 " The man is not of the court," answered the Duke, « take 
 my word for that. He insinuated himself clandestinely into the 
 ball, and passed himself off for Prince Julian. I forced him 
 to unmask, and detected the impostor, but he escaped me. I 
 have informed the Lord Chamberlain — off with him to the pa- 
 lace ! You have made a fine prize !" 
 
 With these words the Duke strode back to his carriage, and 
 once more urging them not to let the villains escape, gave orders 
 to drive on. 
 
 The Prince saw no chance left. To reveal himself now 
 would be to make his night's adventures the talk of the whole 
 city. He thought it better to disclose his incognito to the Cham- 
 berlain, or the Minister of Police. " Since it must be so, come 
 on then," he said ; and the party marched forward, keeping a 
 firm hand on the two prisoners. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Philip was not sure whether he was bewitched, or whether the 
 whole business was not a dream, for it was a night such as he 
 had never passed before in his life. He had nothing to blame 
 himself for except that he had changed clothes with the Prince, 
 and then, whether he would or no, been forced to support his 
 character. He felt pretty safe, for it was the princely watch- 
 man who had been at fault, and he saw no occasion for his be. 
 ing committed. His heart beat, however, when they came to 
 the palace. His coat, horn and staff were taken from him. 
 Julian spoke a few words to a young nobleman, and immediately 
 the policemen were sent away : the Prince ascended the stairs, 
 and Philip had to follow. 
 " Fear nothing," said Julian, and left him. Philip was taken 
 
212 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 to a little anteroom, where he had to wait a good while. At 
 last one of the royal grooms came to him, and said, " Come this 
 way, the King will see you." 
 
 Philip was distracted with fear. His knees shook so that he 
 could hardly walk. He was led into a splendid chamber. The 
 old King was sitting at a table, and laughing long and loud ; near 
 him stood Prince Julian without a mask. Besides these there 
 was nobody in the room. 
 
 The King looked at Philip with a good-humored expression. 
 " Tell me all — without missing a syllable — that you have done 
 to-night." 
 
 Philip took courage from the condescension of the old 
 King, and told the whole story from beginning to end. He 
 had the good sense, however, to conceal all he had heard among 
 the courtiers that could turn to the prejudice of the Prince. 
 The King laughed again and again, and at last took two gold 
 pieces from his pocket, and gave them to Philip ; " Here, my 
 son, take these, but say not a word of your night's adventures. 
 Await your trial, no harm shall come of it to you. Now go, 
 my friend, and remember what I have told you." 
 
 Philip knelt down at the King's feet and kissed his hand, as 
 he stammered some words of thanks. When he arose, and 
 was leaving the room, Prince Julian said, " I beseech your 
 Majesty to allow the young man to wait a few minutes outside. 
 I have some compensation to make to him for the inconvenience 
 he has suffered." 
 
 The King smiling nodded his assent, and Philip left the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 " Prince !" said the King, holding up his fore-finger in a threat- 
 ening manner to his son, " 't is well for you that you told me 
 nothing but the truth. For this time I must pardon your wild 
 scrape, but if such a thing happens again you will offend me. 
 There will be no excuse for you ! I must take Duke Herrman 
 in hand myself. I shall not be sorry if we can get quit of him. 
 As to the ministers of Finance and Police, I must have further 
 proofs of what you say. Go now, and give some present to 
 the gardener. He has shown more discretion in your charac- 
 ter than you have in his." 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 213 
 
 The Prince took leave of the King, and having changed his 
 dress in an anteroom, sent for Philip to go to his palace with him ; 
 there he made him go over — word for word — everything that had 
 occurred. When Philip had finished his narrative, the Prince 
 clapt him on the shoulder, and said, " Philip, listen ! You 're a 
 sensible fellow. I can confide in you, and I am satisfied with 
 you. What you have done in my name with the Chamberlain 
 Pilzou, the Countess Bonau, the Marshal and his wife, Colonel 
 Kalt and the Minister of Finance — I will maintain — as if I had 
 done it myself. But, on the other hand, you must take all the 
 blame of my doings with the horn and staff. As a penalty for 
 your verses, you shall lose your office of watchman. You shall 
 be my head-gardener from this date ; and have charge of my 
 two gardens at Heimleben and Quellenthal. The money I gave 
 your bride she shall keep as her marriage-portion, — and I give 
 you the order of Marshal Blankenswerd for five thousand dol- 
 lars, as a mark of my regard. Go, now ; be faithful and true !" 
 
 Who could be happier than Philip ! He almost flew to Rose's 
 house. She had not yet gone to bed, but sat with her mother 
 beside a table, and was weeping. He threw the purse on the 
 table, and said, " Rose, there is thy dowry ! and here are five 
 thousand dollars, which are mine ! As a watchman I have 
 transgressed, and shall therefore lose my father's situation ; but the 
 day after to-morrow I shall go, as head-gardener of Prince Julian, 
 to Heimleben. And you, mother, and Rose, must go with me. 
 My father and mother also. I can support you all. Huzza ! — 
 God send all good people such a happy New Year !" 
 
 Mother Bittner hardly knew whether to believe Philip or not, 
 notwithstanding she saw the gold. But when he told her how 
 it had all happened — though with some reservations — she wept 
 with joy, embraced him, laid her daughter on his breast, and 
 then danced about the room in a perfect ecstasy. " Do thy father 
 and mother know this, Philip V she said. And when he an- 
 swered no, she cried : " Rose, kindle the fire, put over the water, 
 and make some coffee for all of us." She then wrapped her- 
 self in her little w r oollen shawl and left the house. 
 
 But Rose lay on Philip's breast, and forgot all about the wood 
 and water. And there she yet lay when Mother Bittner returned 
 
214 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 with old Gottlieb and Mother Katherine. They surrounded their 
 children and blessed them. Mother Bittner saw if she wanted 
 coffee, she would be obliged to cook it herself. 
 
 Philip lost his situation as watchman. Rose became his 
 
 wife in two weeks, their parents went with them to but 
 
 this does not belong to the adventures of a New Year's Eve, 
 a night more ruinous to the Minister of Finance than any one 
 else ; neither have we heard of any more pranks by the wild 
 Prince Julian.* 
 
 • 
 
 * In some parts of this translation, the editor has been assisted by a very 
 spirited, but quite imperfect version of it, which appeared in Blackwood'* 
 Magazine several years since. 
 
 rmis. 
 
TALES FROM THE GERMAN 
 
 OF 
 
 HEINRICH ZSCHOKKE. 
 
 BY 
 
 PARKE GODWIN. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 NEW EDITION. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 WILEY k HALSTED, 
 
 No. 351 BROADWAY. 
 
 1856. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Illumination ; or, the Sleep- Waker, 1 
 
 The Broken Cup, .93 
 
 Jonathan Frock, . . .115 
 
 The Involuntary Journey, ... .... 179 
 
 Leaves from the Journal of a Poor Vicar in Wiltshire, . .201 
 
 * 
 
♦ 
 
ILLUMINATION ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE SLEEP. WAKER 
 
ILLUMINATION; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE SLEEP -WAKER.* 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 To the healing of our wounds, received at the battle of Molito 
 — we were four German officers — contributed not a little the 
 charms, beauty and seclusion of the villa, the hospitality and 
 goodness of our wealthy host, Ambrosio Faustino, and the grace 
 of his very lovely wife ; but most of all were we aided by the 
 pleasing discovery, that the open-hearted Faustino, as well as his 
 wife, was of German descent. He had formerly been called 
 Faust, but through a singular chain of events had been induced 
 to make a settlement in Italy, and alter his name. The exquisite 
 pleasure of exchanging words in our mother tongue, far from 
 the Heaven of our native land, inspired us with reciprocal con- 
 fidence. 
 
 I had permission to pass my morning hours in Faustino's library. 
 There I found, amid a splendid collection of well-selected works, 
 some volumes of Italian manuscript, written by Faustino himself. 
 They were " Remarkable Events from his own Life," mingled 
 with observations upon Painting and Sculpture. When I asked 
 
 * The title of this story in the German has a beautiful significance, Die 
 Verklarungen, or the Clarifications referring to that process in chemistry by 
 which any substance is freed from its grosser ingredients. But the word 
 clarification in English has somewhat of an uncouth sound, and does not ex- 
 press the author's meaning so well as illumination, which is in common use, 
 when speaking of an exalted spiritual condition of mind. Sometimes, also, 
 we use the word Transfiguration ; at others, Trance. P. G. 
 
 2 
 
2 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 that I might be allowed to read these, Faustino was not only kind 
 enough to grant the favour, but he even opened one of the bundles, 
 and pointed out with his finger what I should peruse. " Only 
 read it,'"' said he, "and believe me, it is true, as incredible as it 
 all appears. Even to myself, although I have experienced it all, it 
 seems at times a mere illusion of the imagination." 
 
 He acquainted me also with several small collateral circum- 
 stances. But enough in the way of preliminary. Here fol- 
 lows an extract from Faustino's, or rather Faust's " Remarkable 
 Events." 
 
 THE ADVENTURE AT VENZONI. 
 
 On the 12th of September, 1771, at Spilemburg, I passed over 
 the river Tagliamento. I approached the borders of Germany, 
 my father-land, which I had not seen in many years, with firm 
 steps. Yet my mind was oppressed with an indescribable dejec- 
 tion. It seemed as if some invisible influence was drawing me 
 back. It cried within me constantly — Return — return ! In 
 fact, I stopped several times upon that miserable road, and as I 
 looked back upon Italy would have returned to Venice, had I not 
 asked myself, " What wilt thou do ? how canst thou live ?" and I 
 advanced again toward the dark mountains that towered above 
 amidst clouds and rain. 
 
 I had little money in my pocket, scarcely enough to enable me 
 to reach Vienna, unless I begged by the way, or sold my watch, 
 linen, and my best suit, which I carried in my knapsack. The 
 brightest portion of my youth had been passed in Italy, to perfect 
 myself in painting and sculpture, but by the time I became seven 
 and twenty, I had just learned enough to know that I never could 
 produce anything great. It is true that my friends in Rome were 
 often kind enough to encourage me, and occasionally I received 
 very good prices for some of my paintings. But this was slight 
 consolation, since I could not help despising my own unsatisfac- 
 tory creations. 1 had a painful consciousness that I was, and 
 must remain, incapable of calling images to life with the brush 
 or with the chisel. This almost made me despair. I did not 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 3 
 
 desire money, but I longed for the power of art. I cursed the 
 years that were lost, and cursed myself. I longed for a solitude 
 in which I might forget myself, and transformed into a village 
 schoolmaster, or some such thing, I might thus punish the pre- 
 sumptuous pride which had dri\»en me to rivalry with Raphael and 
 Angelo. 
 
 The rainy weather, which had lasted several days, increased my 
 uneasiness. Could 1 but die ! was often my thought. — A fresh 
 shower had diverted me from the road into the refuge of a tree. 
 I sat down upon a rock, and reflected for a long time, and with 
 deep sadness, upon the hopes and plans of life which had been 
 destroyed. I was amidst the solitudes of the wild hills. The 
 cold rain poured down in torrents, and not far from me a swollen 
 mountain brook roared amongst the crags. 
 
 " What will become of me ?" sighed I. — I then looked to see 
 if the torrent was deep enough to drown me, and was vexed that 
 I had not already put an end to my sorrows in Tagliamento. 
 Suddenly I was seized with inexpressible pain — a death-like 
 agony. I shuddered at my own determinations, or rather wishes. 
 I sprang up and fled onward through the pouring rain, as if I 
 would escape from myself. It was already evening, and some- 
 what late. 
 
 I arrived at a singular-looking large house, standing alone, not 
 far from the town of Venzoni. The gathering darkness, the 
 continued tempest of rain, and my own exhaustion, induced me 
 to enter this building, which displayed a friendly and inviting 
 sign of entertainment to the stranger. As I passed the threshold 
 a violent shuddering seized me, and the same death-like agony 
 came over me which I had experienced as I sat upon the rock in 
 the forest. I stopped in the doorway to recover my breath, but I 
 revived as quickly, and as I entered the innkeeper's warm room, 
 and breathed the atmosphere with living men, I felt calmer than 
 I had been for many previous days. These were doubtless 
 alternations of health caused by physical weakness. 
 
 I was made welcome, and cheerfully threw my knapsack down 
 upon the table. They showed me a small ante-chamber where 
 I could exchange my wet clothes for dry ones ; but as I was 
 dressing, I heard hasty steps upon the stairs, the room-door open, 
 
4 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 and rapid inquiries made about me, such as, " If I were going 
 to remain over night; whether I came on foot with a knap- 
 sack on my back ; whether I had light hair," and many other 
 questions of the same sort. The speakers went away, but soon 
 returned, and another voice asked the same questions. — I could 
 not understand all this. 
 
 On returning to the public room, all eyes were bent inquisi- 
 tively upon me, but I behaved as if I had not noticed anything. 
 I was tormented by a curiosity to know why they had asked for 
 me with such earnestness, and turning the conversation, first upon 
 the weather, and next from the weather to travelling, then askea 
 if any strangers were in the house? "Certainly," said they, 
 " there is a noble family from Germany, consisting of an old 
 gentleman, a young lady, who is very sick, but beautiful as a 
 picture, an elderly lady of rank, probably the young lady's 
 mother, a physician, two men-servants, and two ladies'-maids." 
 Their Excellencies had arrived about noon, and been detained, 
 partly by the bad weather, and partly by the weakness of the 
 young lady. I learned, at the same time, that the physician, as 
 well as the old gentleman, had entered the room in haste, and 
 inquired for me with anxiety and astonishment. The host as- 
 sured me " that their excellencies were well acquainted with 
 me ; I ought to go up stairs, for I should certainly find them old 
 friends, since it appeared that they had been expecting me." 
 
 I shook my head, convinced that there was some mistake. I 
 had not a single noble acquaintance in the wide world, and they 
 were not likely to be Germans. I was confirmed in my belief 
 by an old servant of the strangers, who came and sat down at 
 the table beside me, and asked for wine, in broken Italian. When 
 I spoke to him in German he seemed pleased to hear his mother 
 tongue, and told me what he knew about the family he served. 
 The gentleman was the Count Von Hormegg, who was taking 
 his daughter to Italy for a change of air. 
 
 The more the old man drank, the more talkative he became. 
 He looked quite gloomy when he first sat down beside me, but 
 over the second bottle he was very gay. When I told him that 
 I thought of going to Germany, he sighed deeply, looked towards 
 heaven, and tears rose in his eyes. " Could I but go with you ! 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 Could I but go with you !" he continued with earnestness, but in 
 a low tone ; " I can stand it no longer. I believe a curse rests 
 upon this family. Strange things are going on. I dare not say 
 what ; and if I did, sir, nobody would believe me." 
 
 THE MELANCHOLY TRAVELLING PARTY. 
 
 With the third flask of wine, old Sebald, for so he was called, 
 had given himself permission to speak freely. 
 
 " Mr. Countryman," said he, looking anxiously around the 
 room — but there was no one else in it, as we sat alone beside two 
 dimly-burning tapers — " Mr. Countryman, they cannot blindfold 
 me. Amidst this overflowing abundance of wealth, there stalks 
 a curse. The Evil Spirit has the mastery here. God be mer- 
 ciful to us ! The Count has a mine of gold, but he creeps about 
 like a poor sinner, and seldom speaks. He takes no pleasure in 
 life. The old lady, who is a companion, or housekeeper, or 
 something of the sort, to the Countess Hortensia, acts as if an 
 uneasy conscience kept her in perpetual fear. So, too, the Coun- 
 tess herself, though a child of Paradise could scarcely be more 
 beautiful, I do believe her father has married her to the Devil. 
 Ave Maria ! what was that?" 
 
 The frightened Sebald jumped up quickly, and became as pale 
 as death. It was only the wind that slammed a shutter violently. 
 When I had quieted my countryman, he continued : " It is no 
 wonder. We live in constant fear of death. One of us must 
 and will die soon. I learned this from the maid Katharine. God 
 be merciful to me ! If I could not refresh myself now and then 
 over some wine with comrade Thomas, I should have run away 
 long since ; for there is no want of victuals and drink or money 
 here, but cheerful spirits are wanting." 
 
 I thought that Sebald was romancing, from having drunk too 
 much of the tempting wine. 
 
 " Why do you suppose that one of you will die ?" 
 
 " There is no supposing about it," returned Sebald, " it is but 
 too certain. The Countess Hortensia has said it. and no one 
 
6 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 dare gainsay her. Just listen : A fortnight since she made a 
 prediction at Judensburg. The young Countess announced the 
 death of some one of us, but we did not believe her, as we were 
 all well. We were journeying upon the highway. Pop! there 
 goes Mr. Muller, the Count's secretary, and a most amiable man, 
 with his horse and his luggage, from the top of the road down 
 over the cliffs into an abyss, ten times deeper than the church 
 steeple is high ! Jesu Maria ! that was a sight ! I lost my senses. 
 Man and horse lay shattered to pieces below, and if you go 
 through the village where he is buried the people will tell you 
 about it. I cannot bear to think of the thing. Now the only 
 question is, which of us is to be offered up next ? But if it does 
 happen, by my poor soul ! I will ask the Count on the spot for 
 my dismissal, for there is something wrong going on. My old 
 neck is dear to me, and I do not wish to break it in the service 
 of Satan." 
 
 I smiled at his superstitious distress. But he swore long and 
 loudl.y, and then whispered : " The Countess Hortensia is pos- 
 sessed by a Legion of bad Spirits. About a year since she often 
 ran about the roof of Castle Hormegg in a way that we can 
 scarcely do upon level ground. She prophecies, and at times falls 
 unexpectedly into a trance, and sees heaven open before her. She 
 looks clean into the bodies of men, and Doctor Walter, who is 
 certainly an honest man, is of opinion that she can, not only see 
 through people as if they were made of glass, but look through 
 doors and walls. It is horrible ! In her saner moments she is 
 perfectly reasonable. But Gramercy ! in her crazy hours, 
 when some one else speaks from her mouth, she rules us all. 
 
 Why could we not remain upon the broad highway but no, 
 
 we must not stop in Villach, but must travel over the most mis- 
 erable roads, the most frightful mountains, upon pack-horses and 
 mules. And why ? because she would have it so ! If we had 
 remained upon the highway, Mr. Muller, God bless him ! might 
 to-day be drinking his glass of wine." 
 
ILLUMINATION; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 7 
 
 MAKING A LEVY. 
 
 The return of the inn servants to the room, bringing with them 
 my slender supper, interrupted Sebald's gossip. He promised to 
 disclose other secrets to me when we were again alone, and then 
 left. In his place there sat down a small) dark, thin man, whom 
 Sebald in passing called " Doctor." I knew therefore that I had 
 before me another member of that mysterious and sad travelling 
 party. 
 
 The physician looked at me for a long time silently as I ate. 
 He seemed to be studying me. Then he began to ask me in 
 French whence I came, and whither I was journeying ? On hear- 
 ing that I was a German he became more friendly, and talked 
 with me in our mother tongue, communicating to me in return 
 that Count Von Hormegg was on his way to Venice with his sick 
 daughter. 
 
 " How would you like to keep us company ?" said the Doctor : 
 " it seems you are going to Germany without any definite aim or 
 object ? You are better acquainted with the Italian language 
 than the rest of us — know the people, the customs, and the most 
 healthy districts — you would be very useful to us. The Count 
 would put you immediately in the place of his deceased Secreta- 
 ry, where you would have your board paid, an easy life, a sal- 
 ary of six hundred guilders, to say nothing of the well-known lib- 
 erality of the Count." 
 
 I shook my head, and remarked that I did not know the Count 
 well enough, nor was he sufficiently acquainted with me, to be 
 certain beforehand that we should suit each other. Upon this the 
 Doctor eulogized the Count. I replied that it would be difficult 
 to say as much in my favour to the Count. " Oh !" he cried 
 hastily, " if that is the only objection, you are already recom- 
 mended to him. Rely upon that." 
 
 " Recommended ? by whom ?" 
 
 The Doctor seemed to be seeking for words to retrieve his has- 
 ty indiscretion : — " Well, then, through necessity, I will ven- 
 ture to say that the Count woujd pay you a hundred Louis d'ors 
 if you — " 
 
8 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " No, " answered I, " I never have worked in my life for the 
 superfluous, only for the needful. From childhood up I have 
 been accustomed to independence. I am anything but rich, but 
 I will not sell my freedom." 
 
 The Doctor seemed to be annoyed, but I was quite serious in 
 what I had said. Besides, I had absolutely made up my mind 
 not to return to Italy, and thus reawaken my passion for the arts ; 
 and I will not deny that the sudden importunity of the Doctor, no 
 less than the character of the travelling party, were both dis- 
 agreeable to me, although I did not exactly believe that the sick 
 Countess was possessed by a Legion of Evil Spirits. 
 
 The physician left me, finding that his entreaties only increas- 
 ed my aversion to joining their party. 
 
 I now revolved in my mind many little considerations, weighed 
 my poverty against a comfortable life in the suite of a rich count, 
 and fumbled the few gold pieces in my pocket, which were my 
 whole fortune. But the substance of my decision was this : 
 " Away from Italy ! God's world lies open before thee. Be firm ! 
 Only peace in thy heart, a village-school, and independence ! 
 But I must first be at peace with myself. I have lost all — the 
 whole future plan of my life ! Gold cannot recompense that." 
 
 NEW ATTEMPTS AT IMPRESSMENT. 
 
 My astonishment increased not a little when a servant of the 
 Count appeared, ten minutes after the Doctor's departure, and in 
 the Count's name requested me to call at his room. " What the 
 deuce do these people want of me ?" thought I, but I promised to 
 come. At any rate, the adventure excited my curiosity, if it did 
 not amuse me. 
 
 I found the Count alone, taking long strides up and down the 
 room. He was a tall, stout, fine-looking gentleman, dignified in 
 appearance, with something pleasing, yet melancholy, in his fea- 
 tures. He came to meet me immediately, apologized for having 
 sent for me, and leading me to a chair, repeated what he had 
 heard through the Doctor, and renewed his offers, which I de- 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 9 
 
 clined, modestly, but firmly. With his hands crossed upon his 
 back, he thoughtfully approached the window, then turning sud- 
 denly around, sat down close beside me, took my hand in his, and 
 said, " Friend, I appeal to your heart. My eyes must strangely 
 deceive me if you are not an honourable man. I will speak 
 freely. Stay with me, I beg of you, but two years. Rely upon 
 my most heartfelt gratitude. You shall have all the money that 
 you require, and at the end of that time I will pay you a capital 
 of a thousand Louis d'ors, that you may not regret the loss of a 
 couple of years in my service." 
 
 He said this in tones of such kindness and entreaty, that I was 
 more touched by them than by his promise of the immense capital, 
 which, with my few wants, would have secured to me an easy and 
 independent life for the future. I would have accepted on these 
 terms, had I not been ashamed to show that I finally gave in for 
 the sake of a contemptible sum of money. On the other hand, 
 this brilliant offer appeared suspicious. 
 
 " Gracious sir," answered I, " for such sums you can com- 
 mand greater talents than mine. You are not acquainted with 
 me." I told him freely about my previous occupations and for- 
 tune, and thought I could thus put aside his offers and his desire 
 for my company, without giving him offence. 
 
 " We must not part again !" cried he, pressing my hand earn- 
 estly, " we must not ; for you are the one I sought. For your 
 sake — wonder as you may — I have undertaken this journey with 
 my daughter ; for your sake did I choose this miserable road 
 from Villach, that I might not miss you ; for your sake I en- 
 tered this inn." 
 
 I looked at the Count in amazement, thinking he must have 
 had a fancy to make himself merry at my expense. " How could 
 you seek me, when you did not know me, when none knew the 
 way I was going, when I did not know myself, three days since, 
 that I should travel to Germany upon this road ?" 
 
 " Is this not as I say?" he continued. " This afternoon you 
 rested in a wood ; you were sitting in a wilderness, full of sor- 
 row ; you leaned upon a rock, under a great tree ; you gazed 
 upon a forest stream ; you ran eagerly into the pouring rain ! 
 Is it not thus ? Acknowledge it to me candidly, was it not so V 
 
10 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 These words made me almost lose my senses. He saw my 
 consternation, and said, " Indeed it is so ! you are the man 
 whom I seek." 
 
 I will not deny that a superstitious fear crept over me. With- 
 drawing my hand from his, I cried, " But who has watched me? 
 Who told you this?" 
 
 " My daughter," answered he, " my sick daughter. I can well 
 believe that this appears extraordinary to you, but the poor child 
 has both seen and said many more wonderful things in her ill- 
 ness. For four weeks she has declared that she could not be re- 
 stored to perfect health unless through your mediation. My 
 daughter described you to me four weeks since, as you now 
 stand before me, and about a fortnight since she declared that, 
 sent by God, you were coming to meet us, and that we must 
 leave our abode to seek you ; so we set out. She pointed out the 
 direction we should take, or rather what part of the country we 
 must traverse by the compass. With the compass in the carriage 
 and the map in our hands, we travelled on, uncertain whither, 
 like sailors on the sea. At Villach she showed us the nearest 
 way to you, describing even its peculiarities, and we were forced 
 to leave the highway. I learnt from Hortensia's mouth this after- 
 noon how near you were already, and also the little circumstances 
 which I have just mentioned. Immediately after your arrival, 
 Doctor Walter assured me, from the mouth of the host, that you 
 exactly resembled the person whom Hortensia had described a 
 month since, and whom she has mentioned daily from that time. 
 Now I am convinced of this, and as thus much has come to pass, 
 I do not doubt a moment that you, and no other, can save my 
 child, and give me back the happiness of my life." 
 
 He was silent, and awaited my reply. In my indecision I sat 
 for a long time without uttering a word. Nothing so extraordi- 
 nary had ever happened to me before. " What you say to me, 
 Sir Count, is incomprehensible, and, therefore, with your permis- 
 sion, quite incredible. I am, or rather I was, but an artist ; I un- 
 derstand nothing about physicking." 
 
 " There is much in life that is incomprehensible, but all that 
 is incomprehensible is not incredible, particularly when we can- 
 not deny the reality of appearances, though their causes are hid- 
 
 9 
 
ILLUMINATION; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 11 
 
 den from us. You are no physician. That may be, yet do not 
 doubt a moment that the power which made known your existence 
 to my daughter, has intended you for her preserver. In my 
 younger days, I was a Freethinker, who scarcely believed in a 
 God ; but in my old age, I find it possible to believe in Devils, 
 Witches, Ghosts, and Fairies, as obstinately as any old peasant 
 woman. From this, dear Faust, you will understand the cause 
 of my importunity and my offer. The first is pardonable in a fa- 
 ther who lives in constant fear for his only child, and the last is 
 not too great for the preservation of so precious a life. I per- 
 ceive that all this appears singular, strange, and romantic to 
 you. Only remain with us and you will be the witness of many 
 extraordinary things ! Do you want any occupation beyond that 
 afforded by the amusements of travelling ? It depends upon you 
 to choose what it shall be. I will force no labour upon you, 
 only be my faithful companion, my consolation. A sad hour lies 
 before me, and perhaps it is near at hand. One of our party 
 will die a sudden, and, if I understood aright, an uncommon 
 death. Perhaps it will be myself. My daughter has foretold it, 
 and it will be accomplished. I tremble at the approach of that 
 fatal moment, from which my whole fortune cannot buy me free. 
 I am a very unhappy man." 
 
 He said yet more, and was moved even to tears. I was pecu- 
 liarly embarrassed. All that I had heard, excited first my won- 
 der, and then, very naturally, my doubts. I suspected the Count 
 of not being in his right mind, and then suspected my own 
 sanity. I finally came to the bold determination of engaging in 
 this strange business, come what would of it. It seemed unjust 
 to regard the Count as a cheat, and I stood in God's wide world, 
 without employment or support. 
 
 " Sir Count," said I, " I disclaim your generous offer. Give 
 me only what I require for my necessities, and I will accompany 
 you. It is enough if I can hope to contribute to your happiness 
 and the well-being of your daughter, although I cannot conceive 
 how ? The life of man is worth much : I should be proud could I 
 venture to believe I had saved the life of one human being : I re- 
 lease you, however, from all that you promised me. I do nothing 
 for money, but, on the other hand, I will retain my independence, 
 
12 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 remaining in your suite so long as you shall derive any advantage 
 from me, and I feel contented in your service, [f you accept this 
 proposition, I belong to your suite. You can present me, then, to 
 your invalid." 
 
 The eyes of the Count glistened with joy. He silently clasp- 
 ed me in his arms, and pressed me to his breast, as he sighed — 
 " God be praised !" After a pause, he continued : " To-morrow 
 you shall see my daughter. She has already retired to bed. I 
 must prepare her for your presence." 
 
 " Prepare her for my presence !" exclaimed I in amazement ; 
 " did you not tell me, a few minutes since, that she had announ- 
 ced my arrival, described my person ?" 
 
 " Pardon me, dear Faust. There is one circumstance which I 
 forgot to mention to you. My daughter is in some sense a double 
 person. In her natural state she knows not a word of what 
 she says, hears, or sees, in her trances, if I may so call them. 
 She does not recollect the least trifle occurring at those periods, 
 and would herself doubt that she had done and said what we tell 
 her, had she not every reason to put confidence in my words. 
 But she remembers in her trances all that took place in the pre- 
 vious trances, and also her experiences in common and natural 
 life. She has only seen and described you in her trances, but 
 beyond that knows nothing of you except what we have repeated 
 to her of her own expressions. Let us wait for one of her strange 
 moments, and I do not doubt but that she will recollect you im- 
 mediately." 
 
 In a conversation of several hours' length, I learned from the 
 Count, that the Countess had, many years ago, even as a child, 
 a propensity for walking in her sleep. When in these states 
 of somnambulism, and without ever remembering it afterwards, 
 she would leave the bed with closed eyes, dress herself, write let- 
 ters to her absent friends, play most difficult pieces upon the 
 piano, and perform a hundred other things with an adroitness which 
 she did not possess in her waking state, nor could she afterwards 
 attain it. The Count believed that this, which he called Ecstasy 
 or Trance, was nothing more than a higher degree of Somnam- 
 bulism, that was, however, weakening his daughter and leading 
 unto her death. 
 
ILLUMINATION; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 L3 
 
 AN AWFUL CATASTROPHE. 
 
 It must have been rather late when I left the Count's room. I 
 found no one in the sitting-room but old Sebald, who was making 
 himself comfortable over some wine. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " do talk a little German with me, so that I 
 may not altogether forget my own honest tongue, for that would 
 truly be a great pity ! You have been talking with the Count ?" 
 
 " I have spoken with him, and now I shall travel with him to 
 Italy in your company." 
 
 " Excellent ! It always does me good to have a German face 
 near me, and those Italians must be regular knaves, as I have 
 heard tell. Well, then, every thing will please you in our com- 
 pany, except the possessed Countess ; and, now that, you are ac- 
 tually one of us, I will talk more freely to you of our affairs. 
 The Count would be an excellent gentleman if he could only 
 laugh. I believe he does not even like it when anybody else 
 laughs. All that are about him wear a face that would answer 
 for the last day. The old lady would be well enough, but she 
 loves to scold if we do not all fty hither and thither at her bidding. 
 I think she travels to Italy for the sake of the finely-distilled 
 brandy, for, between ourselves, she loves a glass of liquor. Nei- 
 ther would the young Countess be amiss, if she had not, besides 
 her pride, a legion of devils in her body. Whoever wants to be 
 in her good graces must creep upon all fours ; therefore, bow very 
 humbly before her. Doctor Walter would be the best of us all, 
 if he only understood the art of expelling devils. My comrade 
 Thomas, for that reason " 
 
 At this moment the terrified host rushed into the room, calling 
 to his people, " Help ! help ! fire !" 
 
 " Where's the fire ?" I cried, in affright. 
 
 " In a room above. I saw the bright flames at the window, 
 from the outside !" 
 
 He ran away. Confusion and tumult arose in the house. I 
 wished to go out, but Sebald, as pale as a corpse, held me fast in 
 his arms. " Jesu Maria ! what has happened now ?" I told 
 him, in German, to get some water, for a fire had broken out in 
 
14 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 the house. " Another prank of the devils' !" sighed he, and has- 
 tened to the kitchen. 
 
 People were running up and down the stairs. They said that 
 the room which had taken fire was fastened ; they were seeking 
 instruments with which to force the door. Sebald was up stairs 
 as soon as I, with a pail of water. When he saw the door to 
 which we were all crowding, he screamed : " Jesus Maria ! that 
 is the room of the old lady !" 
 
 " Force the door," cried Count Von Hormegg in great distress : 
 " burst it open, or Madame Von Montluc, who sleeps in that room, 
 will be suffocated. " 
 
 Meanwhile a man had arrived with an axe. With great diffi- 
 culty he cut through the ponderous, well-made oaken door. 
 Then all rushed forward into the room, but every one flew back 
 shuddering. 
 
 The room was dark, but in the back-ground by the window 
 some bluish-yellow flames were playing upon the floor ; however, 
 they soon went out. On opening the door a terrible stench was 
 wafted towards us. Sebald made a cross and ran down the steps 
 at a full jump, and some a>f the maid-servants did the same. The 
 Count screamed for a light. It was brought. I went through the 
 room to raise the window. The Count took the light to the bed. 
 Jt was empty and untouched, nor was there any smoke in the 
 room. The stench was so strong by the window that it made me 
 unwell. 
 
 The Count called Madame Von Montluc by name. As he 
 approached with the lighted taper I saw at my feet — imagine my 
 horror ! — a great black heap of ashes, beside it a head so dis- 
 figured as to be unrecognizable, one hand and arm, in another 
 place three fingers covered with gold rings, and the foot of a lady 
 which was but partly charred. 
 
 " Great God V' J cried the Count, turning pale : " what is that V 
 — Shuddering, he contemplated the remains of this human form, 
 but when he saw the rings upon the fingers he sprang towards 
 the Doctor, who was then entering, with a loud scream : " Ma- 
 dame Von Montluc is burnt, yet there is no fire, no smoke ! 'Tis 
 incomprehensible !" 
 
 He staggered back to convince himself of the fact, then re- 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 15 
 
 turned the light, folded his hands convulsively, and walked away 
 as pale as death. 
 
 I stood there myself as if petrified at the sight of this strange, 
 horrible tragedy. All that had occurred during the day, and the 
 extraordinary things which had been said, combined to stun 
 me so that I looked unmoved upon this black dust and coals, the 
 disgusting remains of a human corpse at my feet. The room was 
 soon filled with the waiters and maids of the inn. I heard their 
 creeping steps, their whispers — it seemed to me that I stood among 
 ghosts. The nursery tales of my childhood seemed to have been 
 realized. 
 
 When I came to my senses, I worked my way out of the room. 
 I was going down into the public hall ; at the same moment a 
 side door opened, and a young lady appeared clad in a light night 
 dress, and supported by two young women, each bearing a lighted 
 taper. Dazzled, I stood looking at this new apparition. I had 
 never seen such majesty of form and movement, such noble 
 features either in nature or the creations of the painter or 
 the sculptor. The terror of the preceding moments was al- 
 most forgotten, I was all eyes and amazement. The young 
 Beauty tottered towards the room where the awful catastrophe 
 had taken place. When she perceived the servants, she stood 
 still and exclaimed in German with a commanding voice, " Drive 
 this rabble away from here !" One of the Count's servants 
 immediately busied himself in executing her orders, which he did 
 with such rudeness, that all were forced from the hall to the 
 stairs, and I with the rest. 
 
 " If there ever were enchantresses," thought I, " this is one !" 
 
 Sebald was in the sitting-room over his wine, but very pale. 
 
 " Did I not tell you," cried he, as I entered, " that one of us 
 must take it ! The Possessed woman, or rather the malicious 
 Satan, would have it so. One of us must break his neck, the 
 other be burnt alive — your humble servant : to-morrow I take 
 my leave, or the turn of my littleness may come next. Those 
 who are as wise as I will not travel with them to hell. In Italy 
 they say that the mountains vomit fire ; God keep me from coming 
 too near one of them ! I should be roast number one, of Moloch, 
 
16 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 to a certainty, for I am rather too pious, although not always — 
 a Saint." 
 
 I mentioned the young lady to him. 
 
 14 That was she," exclaimed he. 44 That was the Countess. 
 God be with us ! She probably wanted to take a snuff of the 
 burnt dish ! — To-morrow let us shake the dust from our feet. 
 Your dear young life quite awakens my pity." 
 
 44 So that was the Countess Hortensia?" 
 
 44 Who else can it be ? she is pretty ; that's the reason the King 
 of the Devils was smitten with her, but — " 
 
 Sebald was now called to the Count. He went or rather stag- 
 gered out, heaving a deep sigh. 
 
 This event had filled the whole house with confusion. I sat 
 upon a bench, scarcely recognizing myself amongst all these 
 wonders. 
 
 Long after midnight the innkeeper led me to a small room, 
 where he gave me a bed. 
 
 ANTIPATHY. 
 
 The fatigue of the previous days made me sleep soundly until 
 near noon. On awaking, the events of the day before seemed to 
 me like the chimeras of a fever, like the delusions of intoxication. 
 I could not persuade myself of the reality of those occurrences, 
 nor could I disbelieve them, yet I now looked upon everything in 
 a more cheerful spirit. I did not hesitate a moment longer about 
 keeping my word with the Count Von Hormegg. On the contrary, 
 my destiny seemed so new and extraordinary that I followed him 
 with pleasure and curiosity. For what had I to lose in Germany ? 
 What had I to lose in life ? What risk could there be in the 
 suite of the Count ? Finally, it depended altogether upon me to 
 break the thread of the romance as soon as I found its length 
 disagreeable. 
 
 When I entered the public room, I found it filled with magis- 
 trates, police officers, capuchins, and peasants from the neighbour- 
 ing parts ; brought thither, either by business or curiosity. Not 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 17 
 
 one of them doubted but that the death of the burnt lady was the 
 work of the Devil. The Count had caused the remains of the 
 unfortunate woman to be buried by his own people, but according 
 to the loudly expressed opinion of the reverend Father Capuchins, 
 the whole house must be sprinkled and blessed that no traces 
 might be left of the Evil Spirit. This was done at great expense. 
 They were about to arrest and take us before the Justice. The 
 question now was whether we were to answer to a civil or eccle- 
 siastical magistrate. The majority of voices was for taking us 
 before the Archbishop at Udine. 
 
 The Count, not being master of Italian, was rejoiced to find that 
 I was so. He had offered in vain a large sum of money as a 
 remuneration for the expenses occasioned by so unusual an 
 occurrence. He requested me to settle with the people in his 
 name. I went immediately to the capuchins and magistrates, 
 declared to them that so far I had had as little previous acquaint- 
 ance with the strangers as they, but gave them two things to con- 
 sider. The unfortunate burning had either occurred naturally, at 
 any rate without the participation of the Count ; and in that case 
 they might draw some displeasure upon themselves for arresting 
 a gentleman of rank : or he actually was in connexion with evil 
 spirits ; in that case, he might, out of revenge, play their cloisters, 
 their villages, and themselves some very bad tricks. That it 
 would be most advisable to take the Count's money and let him 
 go, as they would have nothing then to fear from the tribunal or 
 his revenge, and most decidedly be the gainers. My arguments 
 were convincing, and the money was paid down. Our horses 
 were brought out, we mounted and rode away. The sky had 
 become clear. 
 
 The Countess had already departed several hours before with 
 her damsels and the other servants, the Count remaining behind 
 with but one servant. On the way he began to talk of the dread- 
 ful occurrence of the day previous. He said that his daughter 
 had been much affected at the time. For several hours she 
 suffered from cramps and spasms, then fell into a gentle sleep 
 which left her quiet on awaking, but she desired to leave that 
 house of misfortune immediately. 
 
 " Probably to prepare me for my future situation," he added : 
 
 a 
 
18 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " I must submit to much and forgive much in my poor sick child. 
 Her will is uncontrollable, and her excessive irritability makes 
 her angry at the least contradiction. A little vexation is enough 
 to cause her many days' suffering. 1 announced your arrival to 
 her. She heard it with indifference. I asked whether I should 
 present you to her. Her answer was : ' Do you think I am 
 so curious ? There will be time enough when we are in Venice.' 
 — But I think we shall have opportunities enough by the way. Do 
 not be offended, dear Faust, at the caprices of my daughter. She is 
 a sick, unfortunate creature, whom we must treat with tenderness, 
 if we would not send her to the grave. She is my only treasure, 
 my last joy upon earth. The loss of Madame Von Montluc was 
 not of itself particularly painful to her, for my daughter had 
 begun to dislike her of late, perhaps on account of the inclination 
 for strong drink which she manifested, though never carried 
 to excess." 
 
 " Doctor Walter thinks that this habit had caused spontaneous 
 combustion, though otherwise she was very good, and much 
 attached both to me and my daughter. I mourn her loss. Doctor 
 Walter has told me of several instances of the self-combustion of 
 human bodies, by which they were turned to ashes in a few mo- 
 ments, but these must happen very seldom. He tried to explain 
 this phenomena upon natural principles, but I can neither under- 
 stand nor conceive anything of the matter. Only this I know ; 
 that these flaming gates of death are most appalling." 
 
 Thus spoke the Count, and it was about the substance of our 
 conversation until we reached Venice. The young Countess, 
 weak as she was in body, had a notion to travel to Venice 
 by quick stages without any delay except for the night's rest, 
 notwithstanding the objections of her father and the physician ; 
 nor was I favoured with an introduction. Yes — I always had to 
 keep at a respectful distance from her, as unfortunately it was 
 the only way I could give her pleasure. 
 
 She was carried in a litter, with servants running beside it. 
 The young women rode in one carriage, the Count in another. 
 The Doctor and myself were on horseback. 
 
 The Countess, seeing me one morning, as she left the inn-door, 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 1!) 
 
 to ascend the litter, said to Doctor Walter, M Who is that man 
 that is forever taging after us V 9 
 
 " Mr. Paust, gracious lady." 
 
 " A disagreeable fellow ; send him back." 
 
 " You desired him. We took that journey on his account. 
 You must look upon him as a drug, which you have prescribed 
 for yourself." 
 
 " He is disgusting, in common with all physic." 
 
 I was near enough to hear this not over flattering conversation, 
 and do not know what kind of a face I made, but 1 remember 
 very well that I was not a little annoyed. If the Count had not 
 been so kind, I would have immediately left this whimsical Venus 
 to take care of herself. I did not exactly consider myself hand- 
 some, but I did know that I was not often displeasing to women. 
 But now to be tolerated only as disgusting physic, was too much 
 for the vanity of a young man, and besides, one who, if he were 
 a Prince or Count, would not hesitate to place himself amongst 
 the suitors of the beautiful Hortensia. 
 
 This state of things continued long the same. The Countess 
 reached Venice without any especial misfortune, and her medicine 
 followed very obediently. We took possession of a magnificent 
 palace, and I had my particular rooms, and even my particular 
 servants. Count Von Hormegg lived, as they say, with great 
 eclat. 
 
 He had many friends among the Venitian nobility. 
 
 THE ILLUMINATION. 
 
 We had been about four days in Venice, when, one afternoon, I 
 was summoned in great haste to the Count. He received me with 
 an unusually cheerful expression of face. 
 
 " My daughter," said he, " has sought you. It is queer, a day 
 has not passed that she has not fallen into her strange disease, 
 which she has done again to-day ; but now, for the first time, she 
 desires your presence. Go with me into her chamber — yet softly. 
 Every noise throws her into dangerous convulsions." 
 
2U 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " But," said I, with an inward shudder, " what does she wish 
 me to do ?" 
 
 " Who can tell ? wait the developments of time. God will di- 
 rect all." 
 
 We entered a large chamber, hung round with green silk dra- 
 pery. The two chambermaids leaned silently but anxiously upon 
 the window, while the Doctor sat upon a sofa considering his pa- 
 tient. She was standing bolt upright in the middle of the room, 
 her eyes closed, with one of her beautiful arms hanging down, and 
 the other half-raised, stiff, and motionless, like a statue. The 
 heaving of her bosom alone betrayed that she was alive. The 
 silence of death that reigned around, and the heavenly form of 
 Hortensia, on which all eyes were fixed, filled me with an in- 
 voluntary yet pleasing dread. 
 
 As soon as I entered the silent sanctuary, the Countess, without 
 opening her eyes, or changing her position, said in an indescriba- 
 bly sweet voice, " At last, oh Emanuel ! Why remainest thou 
 so far off? Come hither and bless her, that she may be recover- 
 ed from her sufferings." 
 
 The probability is that I looked rather silly at this address, 
 hardly knowing whether it was meant for me or not. The Count 
 and the Doctor winked to me to go nearer to her, and indicated 
 that ill the manner of a priest I should make the sign of a cross 
 before her, or lay my hands upon her as if to bless her. I drew 
 near her, and raised my hand over her wonderfully beautiful 
 head, but my reverence for her quite deprived me of the courage 
 to touch her. I suffered my hands to sink down again slowly. 
 Hortensia's countenance seemed to betray some uneasiness. I 
 raised my hands once more, and held them stretched out towards 
 her, uncertain what I ought to do. Her expression brightened. 
 This induced me to remain in the position in which I was. But 
 my embarrassment was increased when the Countess said, " Eman- 
 uel, thou hast not yet the will to assist her ! Oh ! only give thy 
 will — thy will ! Thou art all-powerful — thy Will can do all." 
 
 " Gracious Countess," said I, " doubt of everything, but not 
 of my Will to help you." I said this truly with the most entire 
 sincerity. For had she ordered me to spring into the sea for her, 
 I would have done so with pleasure. It seemed to me that I 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 21 
 
 stood in the presence of some divinity. This delicate symmetry 
 of the limbs, the nobleness of her whole form, that countenance, 
 which seemed to belong to no earthly being, had, as it were, dis- 
 embodied my own soul. Never before had I looked upon such a 
 wonderful union of the graceful with the sublime. Hortensia's face, 
 as 1 had before observed it — only transiently or at a distance — 
 had always been pale, painful, and dejected ; but now it was 
 quite otherwise. An exceedingly delicate red overspread her 
 features like a reflection from a rose ; in every lineament beam- 
 ed a light which mankind in its ordinary state cannot acquire 
 either by nature or art. The expression of the whole was a 
 solemn smile ; and yet not a smile, but rather a deep inward ec- 
 stasy. Her attendants properly characterized this extraordinary / 
 state as a transfiguration, but such a transfiguration as no 
 painter had seen or conceived in his most inspired moments. 
 Add to the rest, the statue-like repose, the marble stillness, of all 
 the features, and the eyes closed as if in sleep ! Never until then 
 had I experienced such awful delight. 
 
 M Oh ! Emanuel," said she, after a little while, " now thy will 
 is sincere. Now she knows that through thee she can be restored. 
 Thy looks radiate flames of gold ; from thy fingers flow streams 
 of silvery light ; thou sweepest through the clear azure of the 
 heavens. Oh, how eagerly her thirsty being drinks in this splen- 
 dour, this health-bringing flow of light." 
 
 In the midst of these somewhat poetical compliments, the 
 " drugs" to which a few days since I had the honour of being 
 compared, involuntarily recurred to my mind, and I quietly 
 regretted that nothing of the rays of gold and silver had been 
 remarked at that time. 
 
 " Be not angry with her in thy thoughts, Emanuel," said 
 Hortensia, " be not vexed with the weak one, whose distempered 
 fancies compared thee to a bitter remedy. Be more magnanimous 
 than the thoughtless one, who is misled by pain and earthly weak- 
 nesses to abandon herself to illusions.'" 
 
 At these words the Doctor cast a smile towards me, and I 
 looked at him, but with an expression of astonishment, not 
 so much because the proud Countess had humbled herself to 
 
22 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 make an apology, but that she seemed to have divined my very 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Oh ! do not dissipate thy attentions, Emanuel !" said the 
 Ecstatic quickly, l - thou art speaking with the physician. Bend 
 thy mind on her and her recovery alone. It pains me when thy 
 thoughts are away from me even for one moment. Continue in 
 the firm desire to penetrate her half-distracted being with the 
 beneficent energy of thy light. Seest thou not how' strong thy 
 will is ? The frozen fibres soften and melt like the rime of the 
 winter beneath the warm beams of the sun." 
 
 While she was saying this the arm which had been raised sunk 
 down. Motion and life passed into her frame. She requested a 
 seat. The doctor brought her one, which stood in the chamber, 
 splendidly decked with green silk cushions. "Not that!" said 
 she. After a time she continued, " The arm-chair covered with 
 striped chintz, which stands before the table in Emanuel's room. 
 Bring it hither forever." 
 
 Strange as it may seem, I had actually left the arm-chair 
 standing before my writing table : yet the Countess had not seen 
 my room. I then handed one of the chamber-maids the key, 
 when the Countess said, u Is that the one ? I do not recognize the 
 dark spots. Thou hast in the left pocket of thy vest another key 
 — throw it way from thee !" I did so : it was the key of my chest. 
 
 As soon as the arm-chair was brought she sat down in it, and 
 seemed to be perfectly contented in it. Me she commanded to 
 stand right before her, to stretch out my hands towards her, and 
 to turn the tips of my fingers in the direction of her heart. 
 
 " Oh God, with what bliss the man is charged !" she exclaimed. 
 " Emanuel, give her thy word, she adjures thee, that thou wilt not 
 leave her until her inward distractions are regulated and her 
 recovery is complete. Shouldst thou desert her she must miser- 
 ably perish. Her life depends upon thee." 
 
 I promised with transport and pride to be the protector £ ad 
 guardian angel of so precious a life. " Do not care for it," ne 
 continued, u if, during her ordinary waking state, she does not 
 know thee. Forgive her, because she is an unfortunate one A/ho 
 does not know what she does. All offences in mortals are dis- 
 eases that impair the powers of the spirit." 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 S3 
 
 She was talkative, and so far from being vexed by my ques- 
 tions, she appeared to listen to them with considerable satisfaction. 
 I expressed to her my curiosity in regard to the extraordinary 
 nature of her state. I had never heard that disease could render 
 a person, as it were, divine, so that with his eyes closed he could 
 discern the unseen and the distant, and even the thoughts of 
 others. I must believe that her state, rightly denominated i 
 Clarification or Illumination, was the very perfection of Health. 
 
 After some moments' silence — which always preceded her an- 
 swers — she replied, <; Her health is like that of a dying person, 
 whose material parts are about to fall asunder. She is healthy, 
 or she will be, when mortality departs, and her body, that earthly 
 lamp of the Eternal Light, has been broken." 
 
 "Yours is an illumination,"' said I, "that makes everything 
 dark to me." 
 
 " Dark, Emanuel ? But thou shalt yet see through it. She 
 knows much which she cannot explain — she sees much, now 
 clearly, and anon vaguely, which she cannot describe. Lo — 
 Man is a compound of various natures, which collect and form 
 themselves, as it were, around a single point, and by means of 
 these he becomes Man. Thus all the smaller parts of a flower 
 are held together, and their union in that particular form consti- 
 tutes them a flower. And since each part supports and limits the 
 other, the one determines the form of the other, and no one is 
 precisely what it might be by itself ; for the whole together only 
 is man, and nothing more. Nature is like an immeasurable 
 ocean of brightness, in which single opaque points arc condensed. 
 These are Creations. Or like a vast crystal heaven in which 
 drops of light run together into stars. All that is in the world 
 has run together from the universal chaos, and after growing 
 awhile, dissolves again in the All, as nothing can remain station- 
 ary. Thus, Man is one of the ever-growing, ever-changing 
 flowers, amid the manifold existences of the All. But, in order 
 that he may be man, inferior things are placed about him, to sup- 
 port his divine part. These inferior things, or natures, go to form 
 his body. This body is only the shell of a spiritual body. The 
 spiritual body is called the soul. The soul is the covering or 
 recipient of the Infinite. Now, in regard to the present sufferer, 
 
24 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 the earthly shell is broken, and its light streams out, her spirit 
 flows into union with the All, from which it was separated by the 
 more perfect body, and sees, hears, and feels all things, both 
 without and within itself. For it is not the body that perceives, 
 since that is only the lifeless casement of the soul, without which, 
 eyes, ears, and tongue, are like stones. Ah, if this earthly shell 
 cannot be repaired by thy aid, Emanuel, it will break entirely 
 and fall to pieces. She will then no longer belong to humanity, 
 since she will have nothing in common with men." 
 
 She ceased. I heard as if she brought tidings from another 
 world. I understood nothing distinctly, yet I guessed what she 
 thought. The Count and Doctor listened to her with equal aston- 
 ishment. Both assured me afterwards that Hortensia had not 
 before spoken so clearly, consistently, and, as it were, divinely, 
 as at this time ; but generally with much incoherence, and often 
 in pain ; at times she had gone into frightful convulsions, or lay 
 for hours together in a state of perfect torpidity. Besides, she 
 had very rarely answered questions, while now conversation did 
 not appear to fatigue her at all. 
 
 I caused her to direct her attention to her disease, and asked 
 if such loner conversations did not diminish her strength. "Not 
 at all," she replied. " It is good for her. She would always be 
 well, if thou wert by. But in seven minutes she will awake. 
 She will enjoy a quiet night; but at three o'clock to-morrow 
 afternoon her sleep will come back ; then do not fail, Emanuel. 
 Five minutes before three the cramps will again begin to seize 
 her : then stretch thy hands towards her, as if blessing her, with 
 an earnest determination to become her healer. Five minutes 
 before three, and that by the clock in thy room, — not by the 
 watch in thy fob — which differs some three minutes. Set this 
 one carefully by that, lest the patient should suffer in conse- 
 quence." 
 
 She said several other unimportant things, ordered what they 
 should give her to drink and what to eat after she awaked, and 
 when they should put her to bed, &c, &c. She was then silent. 
 The former death-like stillness reigned. Her face gradually be- 
 came pale, as it commonly was ; the animation of her counte- 
 nance vanished. She now first appeared to wish to sleep, or 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 25 
 
 actually to be asleep. She no longer held herself upright, but 
 sank down carelessly, and nodded like those who are slumbering. 
 She then began to extend her arms and stretch herself. She 
 yawned, rubbed her eyes, opened them, and was almost in the 
 same minute awake and cheerful, as she had foretold. 
 
 When she saw me, she started with some surprise — she looked 
 around on the others. The women hastened to her, also the 
 Count and Doctor. 
 
 " What do you want ?" she asked me, in a severe tone. 
 
 " Gracious Countess, I wait your commands." 
 
 " Who are you ?" 
 
 " Faust, at your service." 
 
 "I am obliged to you for your good will, but suffer me to be 
 alone!" said she, somewhat pettishly, bowed proudly toward me, 
 and arose and turned her back on me. 
 
 I left the room with a singular mixture of feelings. How im- 
 measurably different was the waking from the sleeping person ! 
 Gone were my gold and silver rays ; gone too her confidential 
 thou, which penetrated deep into my innermost feelings — even 
 the name of Emanuel, with which she had enriched me, was no 
 longer of value. 
 
 Shaking my head, I entered my chamber, like one who had 
 been reading fairy tales, and lost himself in them so that he still 
 mistakes the reality for enchantment. The arm-chair before my 
 writing-table was wanting. I placed another, and wrote down 
 the wonderful tale, as I had experienced it, and as much of Hor- 
 tensia's conversation as I recollected, since I feared that I might 
 not hereafter believe it myself, if I had it not written before 
 me. I had promised to pardon all the severity she might show 
 toward me while awake. Willingly did I forgive her. Only 
 she was so beautiful that I could not bear it with indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 A SECOND TRANCE. 
 
 The next day the Count Von Hormegg visited me in my room, 
 to inform me what a quiet night Hortensia had enjoyed, and how 
 
26 ZSCHOKKES TALES. 
 
 that she was stronger and more animated than she had been for 
 a long time. " At breakfast I told her," said he, " all that passed 
 yesterday. She shook her head and would not believe me, or 
 else she said she must have fits of delirium. She began to weep. 
 I quieted her. I told her that, without doubt, she would be re- 
 stored to perfect health, since in you, dear Faust, there certainly 
 dwells some divine power, of which hitherto you have been un- 
 conscious. I begged her to receive you into her society from 
 time to time during her waking hours, since I promised myself 
 much from your presence. But I could not move her to this. 
 She asserted that the sight of you was insupportable to her, and 
 that only by degrees could she perhaps accustom herself to you. 
 What can we do ? She cannot be forced without putting her life 
 in danger." 
 
 Thus he spoke, and sought in every way to excuse Hortensia 
 to me. He showed me, as if in contrast to Hortensia's offensive 
 dislike, obstinacy, and pride, the most flattering confidence ; told 
 me of his family affairs, of his estates, law-suits, and other disa- 
 greeable circumstances ; desired my advice, and promised to lay 
 all his papers before me, in order that my judgment of his affairs 
 might be more intelligent. He was true to his word, that same 
 day. Initiated in all, even his most secret concerns, I became 
 every day more intimate with him ; his friendship appeared to 
 increase in proportion as the repugnance of his daughter aug- 
 mented. At length, I conducted all his correspondence — had the 
 management of his income, and the direction of his household — 
 so that, in short, I became all in all to him. Persuaded of my 
 honesty and good- will, he trusted me with unlimited confidence, 
 and only seemed discontented when he perceived, that with the 
 exception of mere necessaries, I took nothing for myself, and 
 steadfastly refused all his rich presents. Dr. Walter and all the 
 male and female domestics soon remarked what extraordinary in- 
 fluence I had acquired, as sudden as unexpected. They besieged 
 me with attentions and flattery. I was happy on account of this 
 unmerited and general good-will. Still I would willingly have 
 sacrificed it all for mere recognition from the inimical Countess. 
 She, however, remained irreconcilable. Her antipathy appeared 
 almost to degenerate into hate. She warned her father against 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 27 
 
 me, as against a cunning adventurer and cheat. Among her 
 women she called me only the vagabond, who had insinuated 
 himself into her father's confidence. The old Count, at last, scarce 
 dared to allude to me in her presence. 
 
 But I will not anticipate the history and course of events. 
 
 My watch was adjusted. It was really three minutes different 
 from the clock. Five minutes before three in the afternoon, nei- 
 ther sooner nor later, I, unannounced, entered Hortensia's room. 
 The witnesses of the day before were present. She sat on the 
 sofa, with her own peculiar grace, pale, suffering, and thoughtful. 
 As she was sensible of my approach, she threw a contemptuously 
 proud look on me, rose hastily, and cried, " Who gave you per- 
 mission to come to me directly — without being announced " 
 
 A violent shriek and fearful paroxysms stopped her voice. She 
 sank into the arms of her women. They brought the chair 
 which she had desired the day before. Scarcely was she seated 
 in it, than she began to strike herself with her clenched fists, in 
 the most frightful manner, and with incredible velocity, as well 
 on the body as the head. I could hardly endure the horrible 
 spectacle. Trembling, I took the attitude which she had indica- 
 ted the day before, and directed the finger ends of both my hands 
 towards her. But she, with eyes strongly distorted and fixed, 
 seized my hands vehemently, and thrust the fingers with violence 
 many times against her stomach. I remained as I was. She 
 soon became more tranquil, closed her eyes, and after she had 
 heaved a deep sigh, appeared to sleep. Her countenance betray- 
 ed pain. She muttered something indistinctly. But even the 
 pain appeared to subside. She now sighed a few times more, but 
 gently. Her countenance gradually became clearer, and soon 
 resumed the expression of internal blessedness, while the paleness 
 of her face was overspread by a delicate pink. 
 
 After some minutes, she said, " Thou, true friend ! what should 
 I be without thee ?" She spoke these words with a solemn ten- 
 derness, with which, perhaps, angels alone can greet each other. 
 Her tones thrilled through all my nerves. 
 
 " Are you well, gracious Countess V said I, almost in a whis- 
 per — for I still feared she might show me the door. 
 
 " Very, oh ! very, Emanuel !" answered she, " as well as yes- 
 
28 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 terday, and even more so. It seems thy will is more decided, 
 and thy power more elevated, to heal her. She breathes — she 
 swims in the halo which surrounds thee : her being, penetrated 
 by thine, is in thee dissolved. Would she could be ever thus!" 
 
 To us prosaic listeners, this mode of speaking was quite unin- 
 telligible, though to me by no means unpleasant. I regretted 
 only that Hortensia thought not of me, but of some Emanuel, and 
 thus deceived herself. Yet it was some consolation when I after- 
 ward learned from the Count, that to his knowledge none of his 
 relations or acquaintances bore the name of Emanuel. 
 
 When her father asked her some questions, she did not hear 
 them — for she began, in the midst of one of them, to speak to me. 
 He stepped nearer to her. When he stood near me, she became 
 more attentive. " How, dear father, art thou here V 1 said she. 
 She now answered his questions. I asked her why she had not 
 observed him sooner. She replied, " He stood in darkness — only 
 near thee is light. Thou also shinest, father, but less brightly 
 than Emanuel, and only by reflection from him." I then said 
 that there were other persons in the room ; she was silent for 
 some time, afterwards named them all, even the places where 
 they were. Her eyes were constantly closed, yet she could dis- 
 tinctly describe what passed behind her. Yes, she even remark- 
 ed the number of persons who were passing in a gondola in the 
 canal before the palace, and was not mistaken. 
 
 " But how is it possible that you know this ? You cannot see 
 them," said I. M Did she not inform thee yesterday that she was 
 ill ? That it was not the body which perceives the internal 
 world, but the soul ? Flesh and blood and the bony structure are 
 only the shell that imprisons the noble kernel. The shell in my 
 case is broken, and the vital power seeks to make the fragments 
 whole, but cannot do it without assistance. Therefore the spirit 
 demands thee. And the soul, streaming forth into the universe, 
 finds thee, and fills itself from thy strength. During her earthly 
 wakefulness, she sees, hears, feels more quickly, more vivaciously, 
 but Dnly external and present things. Now, however, she comes 
 in contact with things, which she would, and yet would not ; she 
 does not touch, she penetrates ; she guesses no more, she knows. 
 In dreaming, thou goest forth to things, they do not come to thee ; 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 29 
 
 and thou k no west them, and thou know est why they do so. Well, 
 now it seems to me as in a dream, except that she knows that she 
 is awake, although the body is not awake, and the external sensi >s 
 do not assist her." 
 
 She then related many things of her disease, of her somnam- 
 bulism, and of a swoon in which she once lay, what had passed 
 within her, what she thought, etc., all the while that the by-stand- 
 ers mourned her as dead. The Count Von Hormegg heard her 
 tales with astonishment ; for besides many circumstances with 
 which she was not acquainted, she touched upon others which had 
 occurred during her swoon, of some ten hours duration, that could 
 only have been known to himself; as, for instance, how, quitting 
 her in utter hopelessness, he had fallen upon his knees in his 
 chamber, and prayed with all the agony of despair. He had told 
 this to no one ; nobody could have observed him, for not only had 
 he bolted his door at the time, but it was a dark night, and there 
 was no light in the room. Now that Hortensia referred to it, he did 
 not deny the fact. Inconceivable it was, indeed, how Hortensia 
 could have known of this in her swoon ; but the more so, that she 
 should remember it now, when the incident had occurred in her 
 earliest childhood. She could then scarcely have been eight 
 years old. 
 
 It was also a little curious that she always spoke of herself in 
 the third person, as of a stranger, even when she referred to her 
 own history, or to herself, in various domestic and social relations. 
 One time she said emphatically, " I am no Countess ; she is the 
 Countess: 1 ' and at another, "I am not the daughter of the Count 
 Von Hormegg, but she is." 
 
 As her whole outward being seemed rapt in an ecstasy, more 
 serene, exalted, and beautiful than common, her language took a 
 corresponding tone. It was, though still as gentle and soft as in 
 her ordinary state, more solemn ; every expression being well 
 chosen, and very often highly poetical. Sometimes this, some- 
 times the lofty range of her imagination, sometimes that she spoke 
 of things out of our reach, or that she conceived them from a 
 point of view peculiar to herself, frequently involved her words 
 in a singular obscurity, or often in complete apparent want of 
 congruity. 
 
30 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 Nevertheless, she spoke readily, and even liked it, when she 
 was questioned, especially by me. But at times, she sunk into a 
 quiet and long thoughtfulness ; and we could then read in her 
 countenance the varying expressions of successful or unsuccess- 
 ful inquiries, surprises, admiration, or delight. Then she would 
 break this deep silence, from time to time, with single exclama- 
 tions, whilst she whispered "Holy God." 
 
 Once she began, of her own accord : " Now is the world dif- 
 ferent. It is a great one, and the Eternal One is a spiritual 
 Unity. There is no distinction between body and soul, for all 
 is soul, and all may become body, when it coalesces, in order to 
 be perceived as individual. The All is as if formed out of ethe- 
 real vapour; All is living and moving; the All transforming 
 itself, since it would unite itself to the All ; one thus supports the 
 other. There is an eternal fermentation of Life — a perpetual re- 
 ciprocation between the too-much and the too-little. Seest thou 
 how the clouds gather out of the purest Heaven ? They belly 
 and swell, until the whole mass is complete, when, attracted by 
 the earth, they discharge themselves, and penetrate it in the form 
 of fire or rain. Seest thou a flower? A spark of life has fallen 
 amid the bustle of other energies ; it unites itself with all that 
 may be of service to it, gives them form, and the germ becomes a 
 plant, until the success of the other, and external influences, over- 
 grows and extinguishes its own vitality. And when this spark 
 of vitality is lost, the parts fall asunder, because they have no 
 longer a principle of union. So it is in the formation and 
 passing away of mankind."* 
 
 She said much more, wholly unintelligible to me. Her trance 
 ended like the first. She again announced correctly the period 
 of her earthly waking, as well as the recurrence of a similar 
 state the next day. She dismissed me as soon as she opened her 
 eyes with the same dark looks as on the first day. 
 
 * Literally, the Becoming (Das Werden) and the Be-going (Begehen) of 
 mankind. 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 31 
 
 SYMPATHY AND ANTIPATHY. 
 
 Thus it continued, and always in the same way, for many 
 months. I may not and cannot write down all her remarkable 
 revelations. Her extraordinary sickness was subject only to in- 
 significant changes, from which 1 could not affirm that they 
 denoted either improvement or deterioration. For, though she 
 suffered less from cramps and convulsions — and while awake 
 there was not the slightest trace of uncomfortable feeling, except 
 extreme irritability — her unnatural sleeps and trances returned 
 more frequently, so that I was often summoned two or three times 
 in a day. 
 
 I became in this way really the slave of the house, for I dared 
 absent myself only for a few hours. Any neglect might bring 
 on mortal danger. And I bore the yoke of slavery so willingly ! 
 I never failed. My soul trembled with joy, when the moment 
 came that assigned me to the beautiful miracle. Each day 
 invested her with higher personal charms. If I saw her, or 
 heard her, but for one hour, I had remembrances enough to feed 
 on during my long solitudes. Oh ! the intoxication of first love ! 
 
 Yes, 1 deny it not — it was love ; but I may truly say, not 
 earthly, but celestial love. My whole being was bound to this 
 Delphic priestess, by some new art, by an awe in which even the 
 hope died of ever being worthy of her most indifferent glance. 
 Had the Countess endured me even as the meanest of her attend- 
 ants, without opposition, I should have thought that Heaven had in 
 store no higher happiness. But as, in her ecstatic state, her 
 kindness toward me seemed to increase, even so did her aversion 
 increase, as soon as she saw me, when waking. This dislike 
 grew at last into the bitterest abhorrence. She declared this on 
 every occasion, and always with an air that was most irritating 
 to me. She daily bade her father, and always more earnestly, 
 to send me from the house ; she conjured him with capricious 
 tears ; she affirmed that I could do nothing towards her recovery ; 
 and were it so, all the good I could effect during her unconscious- 
 ness, was again destroyed by the vexation my presence caused 
 her. She despised me as a common vagabond, as a man of vile 
 
32 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 origin, who should not be allowed to breathe the same air with 
 her — to say nothing of so intimate a connection with her, or such 
 great confidence from Count Von Hormegg. 
 
 It is well known that women, particularly the pretty, delicately- 
 educated, and self-willed, have their whims, and consider it not 
 unbecoming, if they sometimes or always are a little inconsistent. 
 But never did any mortal exhibit more inconsistency than the 
 beautiful Hortensia. What she thought, said, or did, in her 
 waking state, she contradicted in the moments of her trance. She 
 entreated the Count not to regard what she might allege against 
 me. She asserted, that an increase of her illness would be the 
 infallible consequence of my leaving the house, and would end in 
 her death. Me she begged not to regard her humours, but gener- 
 ously to overlook her silly conduct, and to live under the convic- 
 tion that she would certainly improve toward me as her disease 
 abated. 
 
 I was, on the other hand, as much astonished as the others at 
 Hortensia's extraordinary inclination to me during her trans- 
 figured state. She seemed, as it were, only through me, and in 
 me, to live. She guessed, indeed, she knew my thoughts — 
 especially when they had any reference to her. ]t was unneces- 
 sary to utter my little directions to her ; she executed them. In- 
 credible as it may be, it is not the less true, that she, with her 
 hands, followed involuntarily all the movements of mine, as any 
 one might indicate. She declared that it was scarcely any longer 
 essential to stretch out my hands toward her, as at the commence- 
 ment ; my presence, my breath, my mere will sufficed to her 
 well-being. She declined the taste of any wine or water, that I 
 had not, as she said, consecrated by laying my hands on, and 
 made healthful by the light streaming from the ends of my 
 fingers. She went so far as to declare my slightest wishes to be 
 her irresistible commands. / 
 
 "She has no free will anymore," said she one day. "So 
 soon as she knows thy will, Emanuel, she is constrained so to 
 will. Thy thoughts control her with a supernatural power. And 
 precisely in this obedience, she feels her good, her blessedness. 
 She cannot otherwise. So soon as she perceives thy thoughts, 
 they become her thoughts and laws." 
 
ILLUMINATION; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 33 
 
 "But how is this perception of my thoughts possible, dearest 
 Countess?" said I. "Deny I cannot, that you often discern the 
 deepest recesses of my soul. What a singular sickness — which 
 seems to make you omniscient ! who would not wish for himself, 
 this state of perfection, while sickness is commonly the condition 
 of our greatest imperfection ?" 
 
 '•It is so also with her," said she. "Deceive not thyself, 
 Emanuel, she is very imperfect, since she has lost the greater 
 part of her self-dependence ; she has lost it in thee. Shouldst 
 thou die to-day, thy last breath would be her last. Thy serenity 
 is her serenity — thy sorrow her sorrow." 
 
 " Can you explain to me the possibility of a miracle, that fills 
 me with the greatest astonishment, and remains inexplicable after 
 all my reflections ?" 
 
 She remained silent for some time. After about seven minutes 
 she said, " No ! I cannot explain it. Has it not happened to you 
 in dreams of other persons, that you seemed to think their thoughts 
 in the same moment with themselves 1 It is so with her ; and yet 
 the Sick One lives all the while in perfect clearness, and is con- 
 scious that she is awake. 
 
 " In truth," she continued, " the I, the personality is always 
 the same. But that which unites the Spirit to the Body is no 
 longer the same. Her shell is wounded in that part with which 
 the soul is first and most deeply inclosed. Her life flows out and 
 is dissipated, so that it can no longer be bound together of itself. 
 Hadst thou not been found, Emanuel, the patient would have 
 already been in dissolution. But, as the uprooted plant, whose 
 strength would exhale without sustenance, drinks new life from 
 the earth, puts forth branches and grows green again, when its 
 roots are laid in a fresh soil — so it is with the Sick One. Her 
 soul and life, streaming out into the universe, finds nourishment 
 in thy fulness of life ; strikes new roots, as it were, into thy being, 
 and is, through thee, made whole. She is like the flickering 
 light of a broken vessel ; yet, the exhausted wick of her life 
 may be kindled again by the oil of thy overflowing lamp. Thus, 
 she is spiritually rooted in thee, lives by the same strength as 
 thou dost ; and experiences pleasure and pain, perception, will, 
 and even thought, as thou dost. Thou art her life, Emanuel !" 
 
 PART II. 4 
 
34 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 The chambermaids could no more refrain from a smile at this 
 tender avowal, than could the Doctor. 
 
 On the same day, said Count Von Hormegg to me, " Will you 
 not, by way of a jest, put your omnipotence over Hortensia to 
 
 the severest proof?" 
 " And how ?" 
 
 " Desire her, as a proof of her obedience, that she call you, 
 when she is awake, and make you a present, of her own accord, 
 of the most beautiful blooming rose in her vase of flowers." 
 
 " It is too much ; it would be rude. You know, Count, what 
 an unconquerable aversion she has to poor Faust, much as she 
 appears to honour Emanuel." 
 
 " For that reason, I entreat you to make the trial, were it 
 only to discover whether your will is powerful enough to have ef- 
 fect out of the state of transfiguration, and in her ordinary state. 
 No one shall tell her what you intend. Therefore it shall be ar- 
 ranged, that no person except you and myself, shall be present 
 when you make the request." 
 
 I promised to obey — though, I confess, rather reluctantly. 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 When on the next morning, as Hortensia lay in the slumber 
 that commonly preceded her extraordinary states, — and I never 
 went sooner — I entered her room, I found the Count there alone. 
 He reminded me, by a look and with laughing eyes, of the agree- 
 ment we had made the day before. 
 
 Hortensia passed into her trance and instantly began a friendly 
 conversation. She assured us that her illness had almost reached 
 its crisis, and would afterwards gradually diminish, as might be 
 known, by her perceptions during sleep becoming less clear. My 
 embarrassment increased the more the Count motioned me to 
 make the proposed experiment. She turned from one side to the 
 other restively, and with her brows knit, as if absorbed in some- 
 thing passing within herself. 
 
 In order to divert my mind, or rather to gain courage, I walked 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 31 
 
 silently across the room, to the window where her flowers were ir 
 bloom, and ran my fingers through the branches of a rose-bush 
 In my negligence, I struck a thorn pretty deep into the end of 
 my middle finger. 
 
 Hortensia uttered a loud shriek. The Count and myself hur 
 ried towards her. She complained of a severe prick on the en J 
 of her middle finger of the right hand. This singular effect was 
 one of the many sorceries to which, since my intercourse witu 
 her, I had become accustomed. I thought, in fact, I could see a 
 small bluish spot on her finger, and the next day a small sore was 
 discoverable on her finger as well as on mine, though mine wg.o 
 the first to heal. 
 
 " It is thy fault, Emanuel," said she after a little while : "thou 
 hast wounded thyself with the rose-bush. Take more heed of thy * 
 self, for what happens to thee, happens also to her." 
 
 We were both silent. My own thoughts were revolving how t 
 could best present my request. The wound seemed to hold out 
 the most suitable occasion. The Count motioned me to talw 
 courage. 
 
 " Why dost thou not speak out ?" said Hortensia : " request that 
 thou mayst be called at twelve o'clock to-day, before she dinc;s, 
 that she may give thee a new-blown rose." 
 
 I heard my wish from her lips with utter surprise, and said, " I 
 feared to offend you by my boldness." 
 
 " She knows well enough, oh Emanuel, that it was her father 
 who suggested the wish to thee," she answered with a smile. 
 
 M At the same time, it is my most ardent desire," I stammer- 
 ed ; " but will you remember it, at twelve o'clock, after you have 
 awaked ?" 
 
 " How car. she do otherwise ?" was her good-natured reply. 
 As soon as the conversation on this subject had ended, the Count 
 let in the chambermaids and the Doctor, who were in waiting 
 without. In about half an hour, after my usual custom, as soon 
 as the ecstatic fell into a natural sleep, I retired. It was then 
 about ten o'clock. 
 
 On awakening, Hortensia showed her wounded finger to the 
 Doctor. She imagined that she had pricked it with a needle, and 
 was a little astonished not to find an external bruise. 
 
36 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 About eleven o'clock she became uneasy, paraded up and down 
 the room, looked after various things, began to converse with her 
 maids about me, as was her wont, or rather she poured out her 
 fulness of wrath against me, and loaded her father with reproaches 
 for not having sent me away. 
 
 " This obtrusive fellow is not worthy of the words and tears he 
 has cost me," she said. " I hardly know what induces me to 
 think of him and embitter every hour with his hateful image. It 
 is already past endurance that I know him to be in the same house 
 with me, and that you respect him so highly, dearest father. The 
 wretched creature, I could be sworn, has bewitched us all. But 
 be warned, dear father ; I surely do not deceive myself, when I 
 say that in the end you will have bitter cause to repent of your 
 kindness. He will sooner or later deceive you, as well as all the 
 rest of us." 
 
 " I beg of you, my dear child," said the Count, " do not forever 
 torment and weary yourself with talking of Faust. You scarce- 
 ly know him. It is only twice that you have seen him, and 
 then for a moment only each time. How are you authorized, 
 then, to pass an adverse judgment upon him ? — Wait, till I 
 shall have caught him in some unworthy act. Meantime, you be 
 tranquil. It is enough that he must not come into your presence." 
 
 Hortensia was silent. She conversed with her women on other 
 topics. Her uneasiness increased. They inquired if she was 
 ill : she gave no answer ; but she began to weep. In vain they 
 strove to discover the cause of her grief and dejection. Hiding 
 her face in the pillows of the sofa, she requested both her father 
 and the maids to withdraw, that she might be alone. 
 
 Fifteen minutes before twelve o'clock she rang the bell. The 
 waiting-maid was ordered to let me know that I must come to her 
 precisely at twelve. The invitation surprised me, although I had 
 been anticipating it with some concern. It was partly the nov- 
 elty of the occasion, and partly dread, that both astonished and 
 embarrassed me. I walked several times before the glass to see 
 if my face betrayed my fears. Then — it struck twelve ! I went 
 with a heart almost beating aloud, and heard my name announced 
 to Hortensia. 
 
 She was sitting carelessly upon the sofa, with her head lean- 
 
ILLUMINATION : OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 37 
 
 ing upon one arm. She arose from her seat as I entered in very- 
 obvious displeasure. I declared my readiness to obey her com- 
 mands in a weak, tremulous voice, and a look that ought to have 
 propitiated her good- will. 
 
 She did not reply. Slowly and thoughtfully, as if waiting for 
 words, she walked past me. Finally, stopping before me, she 
 threw a contemptuous glance towards me, and said, " Mr. Faust, 
 I feel as if I ought to persuade you to leave this family and the 
 service of my father." 
 
 " Countess," said I, aroused by manly pride, " I have never 
 forced myself either upon the Count or you. You are aware of 
 the motives that led your father to beg me to form part of his so- 
 ciety. I consented unwillingly ; but the sincere goodness of the 
 Count, and the hope of serving you, forbid me to obey the com- 
 mand you have just uttered, as painful as it may be to me to in- 
 cur your displeasure." 
 
 Turning her back upon me, she played with a pair of scissors, 
 near the rose-bush at the window. All at once she snipped off 
 the last-blown rose — it was gracefully as it was simply done — 
 handed it to me, and said, " Receive the best I have now at hand ! 
 Take it, as a reward for having hitherto avoided me ! Take it, 
 and never return !" 
 
 This was said so hurriedly, and under such evident embarrass- 
 ment, that I hardly comprehended what she meant; but she 
 threw herself upon the sofa, and as I was about to make a reply, 
 motioned me to retire, and averted her face. I complied. 
 
 The moment I had quitted her, all her insults were forgotten. 
 I hastened to my chamber. Not the indignant, but the suffering 
 Hortensia, in all her guilelessness, floated before my fancy. I 
 prized the rose which had come from her hand, as a gem, whose 
 priceless worth all the crowns in the world could not equal. I 
 pressed it to my lips, and only regretted that it was so perishable. 
 I pondered how I should be best able to preserve it, — to me the 
 most valuable of all my possessions. I opened it carefully, and 
 then dried it between the leaves of a book. Then it was enclo- 
 sed in two round crystal glasses, set in a gold frame attached to a 
 chain of the same metal, that I might wear it, as an amulet, near- 
 est my heart. 
 
38 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 THE BILL OF EXCHANGE. 
 
 In the end, this event became the occasion of great inconveni- 
 ence. The dislike of Hortensia showed itself more decidedly 
 han ever. In vain her father, always too kind, defended me ! 
 3is conviction of my uprightness, and the aid I gave him in the 
 business of his house, no "less than his belief that I was indispen- 
 sable to the restoration of his daughter, were grounds sufficient 
 :o make him turn a deaf ear, for a long while, to the whisperings 
 :hat aimed at my ruin. After a little, he was the only one in the 
 family who deigned a friendly word or look. I observed by de- 
 grees that the maids, Doctor Walter himself, and even the most 
 menial domestic, shyly avoided me, and began to treat me with a 
 marked coldness. From the trusty Sebald, who alone remained 
 faithful, I learned that my expulsion from the house was the ob- 
 ject of this conduct, and that the Countess had vowed that she 
 would keep no one in her employment who would dare to hold 
 any intercourse with me. Her commands were the more effec- 
 tual, because while every one of them, from the physician and 
 steward down to the lowest servant, considered himself fortunate 
 to be engaged in so rich a family, they regarded me as no more 
 than an equal, and envied me the confidence in which I stood 
 with the Count. 
 
 A position of this kind promised to become very disagreeable. 
 I was living in Venice, in one of the wealthiest houses, more 
 solitary than in a wilderness, without a friend or companion. 
 Every step and motion of mine, I was aware, were watched, but 
 yet I bore it with patience. Not less than myself, the Count 
 suffered on account of Hortensia's whims. He came to me 
 sometimes for consolation. I was always an eloquent apologist 
 for my persecutor, who treated me, in her transfiguration, with 
 as much regard, I may say tenderness, as she annoyed me at 
 other times by her haughty scorn and pride. It seemed as if 
 she was alternately governed by two hostile spirits ; the one an 
 angel of light, and the other a demon of darkness. 
 
 But at last, when Count Hormegg himself came to watch me 
 and grow more reserved, my condition was altogether insupporta- 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 39 
 
 ble. It was only at a later period that I learned how he had 
 been pestered on all sides about me ; especially how Dr. Walter 
 had endeavoured to undermine his faith in me, by many little 
 calumnies, and what a strong impression one of Hortensia's re- 
 bukes had made upon him. She said, " Are we all dependent 
 upon this stranger ? It is said that my life is in his power. 
 Well, reward him suitably for any trouble he may be at, but 
 give him no more than he merits. Yet he is made familiar 
 with our family secrets. Even in our most important concerns 
 we are at his mercy ; so that, should I regain my health, we 
 could not then send him away with impunity. Who will vouch 
 for his fidelity ? His professed disinterestedness and honoura- 
 ble pretensions may one day cost us dear. Count Von Hormegg 
 will become the slave of his own servant, and the cunning of a 
 stranger render him a despot over all of us. Thus, a plebeian 
 fellow gets to be, not only the confidant of a count, lineally con- 
 nected with the most princely families, but the major-don 10 and 
 head of the house." 
 
 The further to arouse the pride of the old Count, his establish- 
 ment in a body appear to have conspired to execute his commands 
 with a certain reluctance and timidity, as if they feared incur- 
 ring my displeasure. A few even carried this adroit imperti- 
 nence to such a height, as io inquire openly whether his wishes 
 had received my consent. In this way the Count was gradually 
 influenced to a degree of distrust in himself that made him sup- 
 pose he had overstepped the limits of prudence. 
 
 The more he strove to disguise this change of mind, the more 
 I remarked it. I was mortified. I had never sought to penetrate 
 his private affairs. They had been communicated to me by him, 
 from time to time ; he had solicited my advice ; had followed it ; 
 and was never any the worse off, I believe, in doing so. The 
 care of his finances he had charged me with of his own accord ; 
 by my means they had been extricated from chaotic confusion 
 and put in some order; whilst he himself had confessed that he 
 never before had so clear an understanding of his own business. 
 He had been placed in a situation in which he could suitably 
 arrange his money and other property. Two old protracted fam- 
 ily law-suits had been satisfactorily settled by my advice, and the 
 
40 
 
 ZSCHOKKE S TALES. 
 
 immediate profits of the amicable arrangements were greater 
 than if he had succeeded in his cases. Many times, too, in the 
 overflowing of his grateful friendship, he would have forced con- 
 siderable donations on me, if I had not steadily refused to accept 
 Ihem. 
 
 For several weeks I put up with the dislike and misconstruc- 
 tion of all ; but my pride at last revolted. I longed to escape 
 from a disagreeable position to which no one any longer cared to 
 reconcile me. Hortensia, who was the author of all the mischief, 
 alone admonished me, and that only in her extraordinary states 
 of trance, not to pay the least regard to what she might do in her 
 waking periods. She would then condemn herself, and coax me 
 with the most flattering speeches, as if in these moments to recom- 
 pense me for the chagrin which in a little while she would pro- 
 voke, seemingly with redoubled earnestness. 
 
 One afternoon Count Von Hormegg called me to his cabinet. 
 He requested me to hand him his account-books, and a bill of ex- 
 change lately received for two thousand Louis d'ors, which sum, he 
 said, he wished to deposite in the Bank of Venice, as his residence 
 in Italy might be proloriged for the year. I took the opportunity 
 to beg him to confide the whole of the business with which he had 
 charged me to some one else, since I was determined, so soon as 
 the health of the Countess would permit, to quit his house and 
 Venice. Although he remarked the irritability with which I 
 spoke, he said nothing, except to request me not to neglect his 
 daughter and her care; but as to what regarded the other affairs, 
 he would willingly release me from the burden. 
 
 This was sufficient. I saw he wished to make me unnecessary 
 to him. I went to my room out of humour, and put together all 
 the papers, as well those which he had not demanded as those 
 which he had. But I could not find the bill of exchange. I must 
 have mislaid it among some papers. I had a dim recollection 
 that it was inclosed in a particular paper, and, with some other 
 things, put on one side. My search was fruitless. The Count, 
 hitherto accustomed to see his wishes executed with the greatest 
 promptitude by me, would certainly be surprised at my delay this 
 time. The next morning he reminded me of it again. 
 
 "Probably you have forgotten," said he, " that I asked you yes- 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 41 
 
 terday for the account books and the bill of exchange." I prom- 
 ised to deliver them to him at mid-day. I looked through the 
 writings leaf by leaf, but all to no purpose. Mid-day came ; I 
 had not found the magical bill of exchange. I excused myself 
 to the Count on the ground that I must have mislaid a couple of 
 sheets, a thing that had never before occurred. I had, probably 
 in my anxiety and the haste of my search, either overlooked some 
 or taken the papers for others, and placed them away. I asked 
 for a delay the next day, since they could not be lost, but only 
 mislaid. The Count wore, it is true, a discontented expression, 
 but yet replied, " There is time enough ! Do not hurry yourself." 
 
 What time I could spare during the day, I employed in search- 
 ing for those papers. This lasted till night. The next morning I 
 commenced anew. My anxiety increased. At last I was forced 
 to believe that the bill was either lost, stolen, or perhaps, in a mo- 
 ment of forgetfulness, used by myself as worthless paper. Ex- 
 cept my servant, who could neither read nor write, and who never 
 had the key to my sitting-room, no person had entered those apart- 
 ments. The fellow protested that he had never allowed any one 
 to enter while he was cleaning the room, still less, had he ever 
 touched a paper. Besides the Count, no stranger visited me, 
 since, from my retired life, I had made no acquaintances in 
 Venice. My embarrassment rose to a pitch of almost deadly fear. 
 
 THE STRANGE TREACHERY. 
 
 The same morning, as I went to the Countess, to be with her 
 during her trance, and render her the accustomed service, I 
 thought I remarked in the countenance of the Count a cold se- 
 riousness, which spoke more than words. The thought, that he 
 perhaps suspected my honesty and truth, increased my uneasi- 
 ness. I stepped towards the sleeping Hortensia, and at that mo- 
 ment it struck me, that perhaps her wonderful gift of sight might 
 inform me where the papers had gone. It was indeed painful to 
 me to confess, before Dr. Walter and the women, the neglect and 
 disorder of which I seemed to be guilty. 
 
ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 While I was yet struggling with myself what I should do, the 
 Countess complained of the insupportable coldness which blew 
 trom me towards her, and which would cause her great suffering 
 if it did not cease. 
 
 " Thou art troubled about something. Thy thoughts, thy will, 
 a -e not with her," said she. 
 
 "Dear Countess," replied I, "it is no wonder. Perhaps it is 
 in your power, from your peculiar ability to discover what is 
 most concealed, to restore me again to peace of mind. I have 
 Last, among my papers, a bill of exchange which belongs to your 
 fither." 
 
 Count Hormegg frowned. Dr. Walter exclaimed, " I beg 
 you do not trouble the Countess, in this situation, with matters of 
 .hat sort." 
 
 I was silent ; but Hortensia appeared thoughtful, and said, af- 
 er some time, "Thou, Emanuel, hast not lost the bill; it was 
 aken from thee ! Take this key, open the closet there in the 
 wall. In my jewel casket lies the bill." 
 
 She drew out a little golden key, handed it to me, and pointed 
 ivith her hand to the closet. I sprang towards it. One of the 
 women, called Elenora, jumped in front of the closet, and wished 
 co prevent the opening of it. " Your lordship," cried she, trem- 
 bling with terror, to the Count, " will not allow any man to rum- 
 mage among the goods of the Countess." Ere she had ended the 
 words, I had pushed her away. The closet opened, the casket ex- 
 posed, and lo ! the magical bill of exchange lay there on the 
 cop. I went with a face sparkling with joy to the old Count, who 
 was speechless and fixed in astonishment. " Of the rest, I shall 
 have the honour of speaking to you hereafter," said I to the 
 Count, and went back with a light heart to Hortensia, to whom I 
 gave back the key. 
 
 " How thou art changed, Emanuel V cried she, with a counte- 
 nance of delight. " Thou art become a sun, floating in a sea of 
 rays." 
 
 The Count, with extreme agitation, cried, " Command the 
 Countess, in my name, to say how she came by these papers." 
 
 I obeyed. Elenora sank senseless upon a chair. Dr. Walter 
 hurried to her, and was in the act of leading her from the room 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 43 
 
 as Hortensia began to speak. The Count commanded silence 
 and order in an unusually severe tone. No one dared to move. 
 
 " In her hatred of thee, beloved Emanuel, the patient had the 
 bill taken. Her malice foresaw the difficulty, and hoped to in- 
 duce thy flight. But that would not have happened, since Sebald 
 stood in a corner of the corridor, while Dr. Walter, with a double 
 Key, went in thy chamber, took the bill which thou hadst put in 
 some letters from Hungary, and gave it on going out to Elenora. 
 Sebald would have betrayed it all, so soon as it should have been 
 known that some papers of importance had been lost. Dr. Wal- 
 ter, who had seen the bill of exchange with thee, made the propo- 
 sition to the patient to purloin it. Elenora offered her assistance. 
 The patient herself encouraged them to do so, and could scarcely 
 wait for the time when the papers could be brought to her." 
 
 Dr. Walter stood quite beside himself, all this while, leaning on 
 Elenora's chair ; his countenance was pallid with fear, but, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders, he looked toward the Count and said : " One 
 may learn from this that the gracious Countess is capable of 
 error during her trances. Wait for her waking, and she will 
 explain more satisfactorily how the papers came into her hands." 
 
 Count von Hormegg made no answer, but ringing to a servant, 
 ordered him to bring old Sebald. When he came, he was asked 
 whether he had ever seen Dr. Walter go into my room durings*, 
 my absence. 
 
 " Whether in the absence of Mr. Faust, I know not, but, had 
 he been inclined, he might have done so last Sunday evening, 
 since he unlocked the door. Miss Elenora must know better than 
 I about it, as she remained standing on the stairs until the Doctor 
 returned, and gave her several papers, whereupon they whispered 
 together, and then separated." 
 
 Sebald was now permitted to go ; and the Doctor, with the half- 
 fainting Elenora, were also compelled to leave, on a motion from 
 the Count. Hortensia appeared more animated than ever. " Fear 
 not the hatred of the patient," said she man}' times; "she will 
 watch over thee like thy guardian angel." 
 
 The consequence of this memorable morning was, that Dr. 
 Walter, as well as Elenora, with two other servants, were dis- 
 missed by the Count, and sent from the house that very day. As 
 
•4 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 for myself, on the contrary, the Count came and begged my par^ 
 don, not only for the offence of his daughter, but for his own weak' 
 ness in listening to the spiteful inuendoes against me, and half 
 crediting them. He embraced me, called me his friend, the only 
 one which he had in the world, and to whom he could open his 
 heart with unlimited confidence. He conjured me not to forsake 
 his daughter and himself. 
 
 " I know," said he, " how much you suffer, and what sacri- 
 fices you make on our account ; but trust implicitly to my grati- 
 tude as long as I live. Should the Countess be restored to perfect 
 health, you will certainly have reason to be better pleased with 
 us than hitherto. Tell me now ! is there on earth a more deso- 
 late, unfortunate man, than myself? Nothing but hope supports 
 me ; and all my expectations rest on your goodness, and the 
 continuance of your patience. What have I already gone 
 through ! what must I yet endure ! The extraordinary state of 
 my daughter often almost deprives me of reason. I know not 
 whether I live, or whether destiny has not made me the victim of 
 a ghostly tale." 
 
 The distress of the good Count moved me. I reconciled my- 
 self to him, and even to my situation, which was by no means 
 comfortable. On the contrary, the spiteful disposition of the 
 Countess weakened the enthusiasm in which I had hitherto lived 
 for her. 
 
 FRAGMENTS FROM HORTENSIA's CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Through the sedulous and tender care of the Count, it came 
 to pass that I no longer saw Hortensia while awake, to which I 
 had myself little inclination, and did not even learn what she 
 thought about me, although I might easily have imagined the 
 whole of that. The most inflexible order reigned in the house. 
 The Count had resumed his authority. No one presumed any more 
 to take part with Hortensia, against either the "Count or myself, 
 since it was known that she would become an informer against 
 herself and all her accomplices. 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 45 
 
 Thus, I never saw my miraculous beauty, except in those brief 
 moments, when, exalted above herself, she seemed some being 
 from another world. But these moments were among the most 
 solemn, often the most exciting of my singular life. Hortensia's 
 indescribable personal charms were heightened by a mingled ex- 
 pression of tender innocence and angelic enthusiasm. The strict- 
 est propriety marked her whole deportment. Truth and goodness 
 only were upon her lips ; and although her eyes, by which 
 generally the disposition is most easily betrayed, were closed, we 
 could read the gentlest change of emotion in the fine play of her 
 features, no less than in the manifold intonations of her voice. 
 
 What she spake of the past, the present, and the future, — so far 
 her keen seer-like vision extended, — excited our wonder, some- 
 times through the peculiarity of her views, and sometimes because 
 of their incomprehensible nature. Concerning the How ? of these 
 things she could furnish us no explanation, notwithstanding I at 
 times besought it, and she exerted herself on that account in long 
 reflections. She knew, by actual inspection, as she said, all the 
 internal parts of her body, the position of the larger and smaller 
 intestines, the bony structure and the branchings of the nerves 
 and muscles ; she could perceive the same things in me, or any 
 one lo whom I gave my hand. Although she was a well- 
 instructed woman, she possessed no knowledge of the structure of 
 the human body, or only such as was of the most confused and 
 superficial kind. I had to tell her the names of many things 
 which she saw and accurately described ; whilst she, on the 
 Dther hand, corrected my representations when they were erro- 
 neous. 
 
 Chiefly was I attracted by her revelations of the secrets of our 
 life ; for the inexplicable nature of her own condition the oftenest 
 led me to inquiries upon this subject. I made a minute, every 
 time I left her, of the substance of her replies, though it is proba- 
 ble I lost much of what she furnished me by means of unintelli- 
 gible phrases and figures. 
 
 I will not here detail all that she said at different times, 
 but only detached sentences, and I will arrange in better order 
 what she revealed concerning many things that struck my sym- 
 pathy or love of the curious. 
 
46 
 
 As I once remarked to her that she lost much in not being able 
 to remember, during her natural waking state, what she saw, 
 thought, and said during her illuminated states, she answered : 
 " She loses nothing ; for the earthly waking is only a part of her 
 life adapted to certain specific ends, and is a mere narrow, exter- 
 nal existence. But in the true, unlimited, inward, pure life, she 
 is quite as conscious of what passes in that state as she is of what 
 passes in her waking state. 
 
 " The inward pure life and consciousness proceeds, as with all 
 mankind, without interruption, even in the deepest swoon as in 
 the deepest slumber, which is only another sort of swoon excited 
 by some other cause. In sleep, as in a swoon, the soul withdraws 
 its activity from the external organs of sense, back into the spirit. 
 Man is conscious of himself, even when he seems externally, — 
 because the im-souled senses are silent, — utterly unconscious. 
 
 " When thou art suddenly aroused into wakefulness from deep 
 sleep, a dim remembrance will hover before thee, as of something 
 that thou thought'st of while awake, or, as thou supposest, hast 
 dreamed of ; yet thou knowest not what it may have been. The 
 sleep- waker is sunk in the fast sleep of the external senses : he 
 hears and sees without ears or eyes : yet he is perfectly conscious 
 of himself, and considers accurately what he thinks, speaks, or 
 undertakes, whilst he remembers just as accurately whatever 
 relates to his ordinary waking, even to the place in which he may 
 have stuck a pin. 
 
 " The external and limited life may suffer its interruptions and 
 pauses, but the real inward consciousness has no pauses, and 
 requires none. 
 
 " The Sick One is well aware that now she seems more perfcci 
 to thee, oh Emanuel, but her spiritual and mental powers are not 
 more exalted or noble than at other times, but are simply less 
 constrained and crippled by the limitations of the external senses. 
 An excellent mechanic works imperfectly with imperfect instru- 
 ments. Even the most flexible human language is gross and un- 
 wieldy, because it can neither represent all the peculiarities of 
 thought and feeling, nor the quick mutation and play of images, 
 but only particular links in a continuous and sweeping chain of 
 ideas. 
 
ILLUMINATION; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 f In the pure life, although the external senses are inactive 
 there is a more perfect and exact remembrance of the past, the . 
 in the earthly waking. For in the ordinary w aking state, tl.< 
 universe streams in through the open door of the perceptions w'vh 
 violent and almost overwhelming force. It is on that account, hs 
 thou knowest, Emanuel, that during our natural state, we set -k 
 solitude and stillness, and draw ourselves in, as it were, from tfae 
 external world, wishing to hear and see nothing, when we would 
 give ourselves up to deep or earnest thinking. The further the 
 spirit is from external life, the nearer it approaches its pure con- 
 dition, — the more it is separated from sensuous activities, tr.e 
 clearer and surer it thinks. We know that many remarka i 
 conceptions come to us in that state between sleeping and wakii.^. 
 when the gates to the outward world are half closed and the l.fe 
 of the spirit remains undisturbed by foreign influences. 
 
 "Sleep is not a suspension of the perfectly self-conscious lile , 
 but the earthly waking may be regarded as such a suspension, 
 or rather as a limitation of the higher life. For, while in cu? 
 waking state, the activity of the senses can manifest itself only is 
 prescribed paths and limits, and, on the other side, the charms of 
 the external world absorb us too exclusively, — while, further- 
 more, in the earthly waking, the attention of the spirit is dis- 
 tracted and drawn to every external part for the preservation of 
 the body, — the remembrances of its purer life vanish. Yes, 
 Emanuel, sleep is peculiarly the full wakefulness of the spirit ; 
 the earthly wakefulness is like a slumber or torpor of the spirit. 
 Earthly sleep is a spiritual going down of the sun from the out 
 ward world, but a clearer rising of the sun upon the inwj rd 
 world. 
 
 " Yet, even amid the perturbations of the earthly waking, we 
 have at times faint gleams of another life that we have lived, we 
 know not when or where. So we see from the summit of a moun- 
 tain, in a summer night, the fore or after shine of a sun and a day, 
 which exists not for us, but which sheds its effulgence on other 
 portions of the globe. How miraculously swift, often, in extraor- 
 dinary junctures of events, do appropriate thoughts and resolves 
 occur to us without previous consideration or reflection ! We 
 know not whence they spring. No dependence can be discovered 
 
48 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 between our previous ideas and these sudden and all-controlling 
 suggestions. Men are accustomed to say, ' it was a good Spirit 
 or Divinity that inspired me with such and such a thought.' At 
 other times, we see and hear in our daily routine of life something 
 that appears already to have taken place just in the same way, 
 yet we cannot fathom how, when or where, and we are inclined 
 to imagine it some miraculous repetition or resemblance from the 
 region of dreams. 
 
 " It is not, — it is not extraordinary, Emanuel, that our conscious 
 being never ends, — that, whether we wake or sleep, it is ever 
 hastening on — for how can what is ever cease to be ? But won- 
 derful is the mutation, the ebb and flow, the intricate interchange 
 of life from the inner to the outer and from the outer to the inner 
 worlds. 
 
 " The spirit clothed by the soul, as the sun is by its world- 
 penetrating rays, may subsist without a body, as the sun might 
 without other heavenly bodies. But these other worlds would be 
 dead without the sun, and run loose in their orbits ; so the Body 
 is dust without the Soul. 
 
 " The body has its own life, as every plant has, yet natural 
 vitality can only first be awaked by the spirit. The former is 
 regulated and moved according to its own laws, independent of 
 the soul. Without our will or conscience, and without the will 
 or conscience of the body, it grows, digests its food, allows the 
 blood to circulate, and effects its thousand-fold transmutations. It 
 inhales and exhales breath, and it takes in from, and gives out to, 
 the ocean of the air its many invisible means of sustenance. But, 
 like vegetation, it is dependent upon the external matter upon which 
 it is nourished. Its condition changes every day and night like 
 the condition of the meanest flower: it grows and it decays; and 
 its energies consume themselves as an invisible fire that ever de- 
 mands fresh support. 
 
 " Only by an adequate fulness of its vegetative vitality is the 
 body adapted for an intimate union with the soul ; as otherwise 
 it is of a nature heterogeneous to the soul. When the strength of 
 the body is consumed or exhausted, the spiritual life withdraws 
 itself from the external parts to the internal. That we name 
 sleep, or the suspension of the sensuous activity. The soul enters 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 49 
 
 again into union with the external parts, as soon as the powers of 
 the vegetative life have been restored. It is not the spirit which 
 is fatigued and exhausted, but the body — it is not the spirit that 
 is made strong through rest, but the body. Thus, there is a per- 
 petual ebb and flow, a streaming back and forth of the spiritual 
 essence within us, almost simultaneously with the change of day 
 and night. 
 
 " For the greater part of our existence we are awake external, 
 ly — we must be — inasmuch as the body was given us as the con- 
 dition of our activity on earth. The body and its impulses give a 
 determinate direction to our activity. How great, how wonderful 
 are these ordinations of God ! 
 
 " With age, the body loses the ability to re-establish its vitality 
 to a degree sufficient to maintain the inward union of all its parts 
 with the soul. The organs, formerly pliant and flexible, stiffen 
 and become useless to the Spirit. The soul retreats into the In- 
 nermost. The inward activity of the Spirit continues until every- 
 thing hinders its union with the body, which only takes place 
 through the withering influence of old age, or disease. The loos- 
 ing of the Spirit from the body is the restoration of the former to 
 freedom. It makes itself known not unfrequently by foresights 
 the hour of death, and other prophetic anticipations. 
 
 " The healthier the body, the more intimately the soul enters 
 into union with all its parts, and the more perfect the union, the 
 less capable the soul is of prophecy, except that in moments of 
 extraordinary enthusiasm the Spirit seems to be able to break its 
 fetters. Then it becomes a seer of futurity. 
 
 " The withdrawal of the soul from the external world gives 
 rise to a peculiar phenomenon in nature. It is Dreaming. On 
 going to sleep, it is induced by a mingling of the last impression 
 on the senses with the first motions of the free inward life : and 
 on awakening, it gilds the last ray of the inner world with the 
 first beams of the outer world. It is hard to distinguish what prop- 
 erly belongs to each of these ; and dreaming is for that reason 
 an instructive subject to study. That the Spirit, in its more in- 
 ward life, should occupy itself with what was pleasing to it in its 
 outward life, may throw some light upon the movements of the 
 sleep-waker. If the sleep- waker, when his outward senses are 
 
50 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 again opened, remembers nothing of what he did in his extraordi- 
 nary state, it will all come to him in his dreams. Thus much may- 
 be brought from the consciousness of the inner to that of the outer 
 world. The Dream is the natural mediator or bridge between 
 the inner and outer life." 
 
 CHANGES. 
 
 These are, perhaps, the most striking thoughts to which she 
 gave utterance, either of her own accord, or under the prompting 
 of questions from us; not in the order, it must be confessed, in 
 which they are here placed, yet with a great deal of fidelity as 
 to the manner of the utterance. It is out of my power to repeat 
 much that she said, since, unconnected with the circumstances 
 of the conversation, it would lose the subtlety of meaning that it 
 often possessed. And some of it was wholly unintelligible. 
 
 It was an oversight of mine, too, that I failed to lead her mind 
 back when in the proper mood to the consideration of the things 
 that were obscure to me. For I had soon observed that she did 
 not see and speak with equal clearness during all her different 
 states of illumination : that she gradually began to weary of con- 
 versation on these topics, and finally, ceased from it altogether, 
 speaking almost exclusively of her domestic affairs and the con- 
 dition of her health. The latter, she repeatedly assured us, was 
 growing better, although, for a long while, we could discover no 
 signs of the amendment. She continued, as before, to prescribe 
 what she ought to eat and drink while awake, and what in other 
 respects would be good or hurtful for her. To every kind of drug 
 she manifested strong aversion, whilst, on the other hand, she re- 
 quired a cold-bath every day, which in the end was followed by 
 s^a- baths. With the approach of spring-time, her trances be- 
 came shorter. 
 
 But this is by no means the place for me to give the details of 
 Hortensia's illness ; so, let me state in brief, that in seven months 
 after my advent, she was sufficiently recovered to enable her, not 
 only to receive the visits of strangers, but to reciprocate them, 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 51 
 
 and even" to go to balls, to the theatre, and to church, though only 
 for a little while at a time. The Count was quite out of his head 
 with joy. His daughter was oppressed with the richest presents, 
 while he led her a round of the most diverting and expensive en- 
 tertainments. Related to some of the best families of Venice, 
 and on account of his wealth, no less than the charms of his 
 daughter, courted by all, their daily life seemed to be hardly less 
 than one continuous festival. 
 
 Made sad by the affliction of Hortensia, and kept in a state of 
 constant anxiety and vigilance by the wonderful phenomena con- 
 nected with it, he had hitherto lived the life of a recluse. His 
 intercourse with mankind had been almost confined to myself, 
 whilst his want of firmness, coupled with my influence over Hor- 
 tensia and the half-superstitious respect for my person it had in- 
 spired, had allowed him to be readily governed by my directions. 
 In fact, he submitted to me almost implicitly, and obeyed my 
 wishes with a subservience that was disagreeable, though I never 
 abused my power. 
 
 Now he changed his position towards me, as soon as the recov- 
 ery of Hortensia, and a mind free from care, vouchsafed the long- 
 postponed enjoyment of a round of brilliant pleasures. True, I still 
 kept possession of the management of his affairs, which he had for- 
 merly relinquished to me either in excessive confidence or for con- 
 venience sake ; but he wished that I should conduct his business 
 under some name or other, whilst in his service. Then, as I con- 
 firmed my resolution, not to become a recipient of his bounty, in 
 any way, but remain steadfast to the original terms under which 
 I had engaged, he seemed to make a virtue of the necessity. He 
 gave me out to the Venitians as a friend ; yet his pride would 
 not allow his friend to be a mere commoner ; and so he reported 
 me everywhere as a scion of the best and purest German nobility. 
 At the outset 1 strove against this lie, but was forced to give in to 
 the entreaties of his weakness. Thus I shone in the circles of the 
 Venitians, none of which dared to repulse me. True, the Count 
 still remained my friend, as formerly ; but not so much as for- 
 merly, since I was no longer his only one. We lived no more, 
 as once, exclusively with and for each other. 
 
 But more worthy of remark was the transformation of Hor- 
 
52 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 tensia as she grew better. In her moments of trance, as ever, 
 she was most gracious; but her hatred and repugnance, du- 
 ring the rest of the day, seemed gradually to vanish. Through the 
 warnings of her father, probably, or moved by her own feelings of 
 gratitude, she constrained herself from offending me either by 
 look or word. It was granted me, from time to time, though only 
 for a few moments, to pay a most respectful visit to her, as an 
 inmate of the house, a friend of the Count's, a veritable physician. 
 I could, before long, even without incurring the danger of arous- 
 ing her wrath, betake myself to the companies where she was. 
 Yes, so far did she carry this constraint or habit, that she could 
 suffer me with indifference at the same table with her, when the 
 Count ate alone or gave a dinner-party. But I always saw her 
 pride gleaming through her condescension, and beyond what de- 
 cency and ordinary politeness demanded, I seldom got a word 
 from her. 
 
 As to myself, though I felt more comfortable on account of my 
 greater freedom, my life was, after all, but half enjoyed. The 
 diversions into which I was attracted, pleased me, without adding 
 to my contentment. I longed often, in the midst of the whirl, for 
 a solitude, which was better adapted to me. It was also an un- 
 alterable determination of mine, to recover my former state of 
 freedom as soon as the restoration of the Countess should be com- 
 pleted. I longed intensely for that moment to arrive. For I felt 
 but too deeply, that the passion with which the beauty of Horten- 
 sia had inflamed me, might become my misery. I had battled 
 against it, and the pride, as well as the aversion of Hortensia, 
 had lightened the struggle. Against her pride of birth, as a noble, 
 I had set my self-respect as a citizen, and to her wicked perse- 
 cutions, the consciousness of my innocence and her ingratitude. 
 Were there moments, in which the grace of her person impressed 
 me — and who could remain unmoved by so many charms ? — there 
 were many other moments in which her offensive deportment in- 
 spired the deepest aversion. It filled my heart with a bitterness 
 fast verging upon positive hatred. Her indifference towards me 
 was as strong a proof of the thanklessness of her unimpressible 
 disposition as her former repugnance. I avoided Hortensia in 
 the end more vigilantly than she did me, and, let her look at me 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OK, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 53 
 
 with never so much indifference, she must have seen, in my whole 
 treatment of her, how great was my contempt 
 
 Thus had the relations between us all been gradually, and 
 strangely enough, changed during Hortensia's recovery. I had 
 no deeper wish than to be speedily released from obligations 
 which gave me little joy, and no better consolation, than that the 
 moment that Hortensia should be perfectly restored, would render 
 my person superfluous. 
 
 PRINCE CARLO. 
 
 Among those who were bound the most intimately to us in 
 Venice, was a young and wealthy man, who received the title of 
 Prince from one of the leading Italian families. I will call him 
 Carlo. He was of agreeable form, and fine manners, intellectual, 
 facile, and captivating. The restlessness of his features, and the 
 fiery gleam of his eye, betrayed an excitable disposition. He 
 maintained an extravagant style, and was more vain than proud. 
 He had once passed some time in the military service of France. 
 Weary of that, he was minded to visit the most attractive cities 
 and courts of Europe. A chance acquaintance which he hap- 
 pened to form with Count Von Hormegg, fixed him longer, than lay 
 in his original plan, at Venice. For he had seen Hortensia, and 
 enlisted himself in the multitude of her worshippers. Soon he 
 seemed to have forgotten every thing else in the conquest of her. 
 
 His rank, his wealth, his countless and splendid retinue, and 
 his pleasing exterior, flattered Hortensia's pride and self-love. 
 Without distinguishing him from the others by any special 
 favour, she gladly saw him in her train. A single confidential, 
 friendly look, was sufficient to raise the boldest hopes in him. 
 
 The old Count Von Hormegg, no less flattered by the Prince's 
 solicitations, met them half way, preferred him over all, and soon 
 changed a mere acquaintance into a hearty commerce. I doubt- 
 ed not for a moment that the Count had in his own mind elected 
 the Prince for his son-in-law. Only Hortensia's sickness, and a 
 
54 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 fear of her freaks, appeared to prevent both the father and lover 
 from more open declarations. 
 
 The Prince, in confidential conversations with the Count, had 
 heard of Hortensia's illuminations. He was inflamed with a 
 curiosity to see her in her extraordinary state ; and the Countess, 
 who well knew that this state was far from being disadvantageous 
 to her, gave him, what she had hitherto denied to every stranger, 
 permission to be present during such an hour. 
 
 He came one afternoon when we knew Hortensia was about 
 to sink into this remarkable sleep; for she always announced it 
 in the preceding trance. I cannot deny that I felt a slight touch 
 of jealousy as the Prince entered the room. Hitherto I had been 
 the happy one to whom the Countess, in her wonderful exaltations, 
 had chiefly shown her grace and beauty. 
 
 Carlo approached lightly over the soft carpet, moving on tip-toe. 
 He believed that she really slumbered, as her eyes were closed. 
 Trepidation and delight were expressed in his features, as he 
 gazed on the charming figure, which showed something beyond 
 the reach of art in all its fine proportions. 
 
 Hortensia at length began to speak. She conversed with me 
 in her usual affectionate expressions. I was again, as ever, her 
 Emanuel, whose will and thoughts governed her whole being; a 
 language which sounded not very agreeably to the Prince, and 
 which to me had never been flattering. Hortensia, however, 
 appeared to become restless and anxious. She asserted several 
 times that she felt pain, though she could not tell on what account. 
 I motioned to the Prince that he should extend me his hand. 
 Scarcely had he done so, than Hortensia, shuddering violently, 
 cried out, " How cold ! Away with that goat there! He offends 
 me !" She was seized with convulsions, which she had not had 
 for a long time. Carlo was obliged hastily to leave the room. 
 He was quite beside himself with terror. After some time, Hor- 
 tensia recovered from her cramps. " Never bring that impure 
 creature to me again," said she. 
 
 This accident, which even alarmed me, produced unpleasant 
 effects. The Prince regarded me from this moment as his rival, 
 and conceived a great hatred toward me. The Count Von Hor- 
 megg, who allowed himself to be entirely led by him, appeared to 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 55 
 
 become suspicious of Hortensia's feelings. The mere thought that 
 the inclination of the Countess might turn to me, was insupportable 
 to his pride. Both the Prince and Count concurring more firmly 
 among themselves, kept me at a greater distance from the Count- 
 ess, except during the time of her miraculous sleeps ; agreed 
 upon the marriage, and the Count . opened the wishes of the Prince 
 to his daughter. She, although flattered by the attentions of the 
 Prince, demanded permission to reserve her declaration till the 
 complete restoration of her health. Carlo, in the meanwhile, was 
 generally regarded as the betrothed of the Countess. He was her 
 constant attendant, and she was the queen of all his fetes. 
 
 I soon remarked that I began to be superfluous — that with Hor- 
 tensia's recovery I had sunk into my original nothingness. My 
 former discontent returned, and nothing made my situation sup- 
 portable, but that Hortensia, not only in her transfigurations, but 
 soon, also, when out of them, did me justice. Not only was her 
 old aversion toward me gone over into indifference, but in the 
 same degree as her bodily health returned, this indifference 
 changed itself into a considerate, deferential respect ; to an affable 
 friendliness, such as one is accustomed to from the higher to the 
 lower, or toward persons whom one sees daily, who belong to the 
 household, and to whom one feels indebted for the services they 
 perform. She treated me as if I were really her physician, — 
 willingly asked my advice, my permission, when it concerned any 
 enjoyment or pleasure ; fulfilled punctually my directions, and 
 could conquer herself to sueh a degree as to leave the dance so 
 soon as the hour arrived which I had fixed for her. It came 
 to me sometimes, as if the influence of my will had in part passed 
 over to her waking state, since it began to act more weakly over 
 her soul during her illuminations. 
 
 THE DREAMS. 
 
 Thus Hortensia's pride, obstinacy, and ill-humour, passed grad- 
 ually away like evil spirits. Almost as amiable in her deport- 
 ment, as during the time of her raptures, she fettered me no 
 
56 
 
 ZSCHOKKE S TALES. 
 
 less by her external beauty, than by her love, patience, and 
 grateful kindness. 
 
 All this made my misery. How could I, daily witness of so* 
 many perfections, remain indifferent ? I wished most earnestly 
 that she might, as of old, despise, wound, and persecute me, that 
 I might the more easily separate from her, and be able to despise 
 her in return. But that was now impossible. I again adored her. 
 I pined away in my passion, silently and without hope. I knew 
 beforehand, that my future separation from her would lead me to 
 the grave. What made my situation worse, was a dream, in which 
 I from time to time had seen Hortensia, always in the same or a 
 similar form. Now I was sitting in a strange room, then in a 
 grotto made by pendent rocks, again on the moss-grown trunk of 
 an oak, in some perfect solitude, but always in a deeply-agitated 
 state of mind. Hortensia would come, gaze at me with looks of 
 heartfelt pity, and say, " Dear Faust, why so melancholy ?" 
 This would awaken me every time ; for the tone in which she 
 spoke thrilled to my inmost soul. Through the whole day, too, 
 this tone haunted me. In the whirl of the city, in the presence 
 of company, in the gondolier's song, at the opera, — wherever I 
 was — it was heard. Sometimes at night, I would start suddenly 
 from this dream, just as the lips of Hortensia moved to express 
 the usual question, and imagine that the sound was actually 
 without me. True, a dream, in any ordinary condition of things, 
 is nothing but a dream, but in the enchanted circle in which 
 destiny had thrust me, even dreams were not to be lightly dis- 
 regarded. 
 
 One day, as I was putting the papers of Count Von Hormegg 
 to rights in his room, having given him some letters to be signed, 
 he was called out to receive a Venitian of some distinction, that 
 came to visit him. I supposed he would come back in a moment, 
 and threw myself in a chair, where I relapsed into my customary 
 sadness. Musing thus, I heard the sound of footsteps. The 
 Countess, in search of her father, had approached me. 1 trembled, 
 hardly knowing why, and rose to greet her. " Why so melan- 
 choly, dear Faust V said she, in a voice of singular tenderness, 
 that animated my whole being, and with the same tone that had 
 so often and touchingly been re-echoed through my dreams. She 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 5. 
 
 smiled, as if astonished or surprised at her own inquiry, and 
 passing her hand thoughtfully across her brow, said after a pause, 
 " How is this ? It seems to me that I have been in precisely this 
 condition before, though it's very odd. Some time or other I must 
 have seen you, just as you are now, in a dream perhaps, and 
 asked you the same question. Isn't it altogether queer V s 
 
 " Not more so than what I have experienced in the same way," 
 said I, " for not one time, but several times, I have dreamed that 
 you came to me, as you have done now, and asked me the same 
 question in the very words." 
 
 Count Von Hormegg returning, broke off our brief interview. 
 But the event, trifling as it was, became a source of profound 
 reflection, yet my gropings after the truth were in vain, to recon- 
 cile the workings of the imagination with the reality. She had 
 dreamed the same thing that I had, and the same had been accom- 
 plished in actual life ! 
 
 But this fairy- work did not for some time come to an end. 
 Five days after this incident, the god of sleep juggled with me 
 again, to the effect that I would be invited to a festival. It was 
 a great feast and dance. The music made me sad ; I remained a 
 lonely spectator. From the whirl of the dancing, Hortensia came 
 suddenly to me, and pressing my hand affectionately and secretly, 
 lisped, " Be cheerful, Faustino, or I cannot be," and then regard- 
 ing me with a look full of compassionate tenderness, lost herself 
 again in the throng. 
 
 Count Von Hormegg the next day made up a pleasure jaunt to 
 the country seat of one of the Venitians. I was to accompany 
 him. On the way he told me that the Countess would also be 
 there. When we arrived we found a large assembly. In the 
 evening there was a display of fireworks, and then a dance. The 
 Prince opened the ball with Hortensia — and as I looked at the 
 noble pair, it went through me like a dagger. I lost all desire 
 to participate in the dance. But in order to forget myself, I 
 selected a partner and mingled in the beautiful waving groups. 
 But it seemed to me that lead hung upon my feet, and I rejoiced 
 when I could slip from the crowd. Leaning upon the door, I 
 gazed at the dancers — no, not at them, but at Hortensia, who 
 hovered among the rest like a goddess. 
 
58 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 At that moment I recalled the dream of the past night ; at 
 that moment a dance was coming to an end ; at that moment 
 Hortensia stepped towards me, glowing with joy, yet coyly, 
 pressed my hand with a fugitive affection, and whispered, " Be 
 cheerful, Faustino, or I cannot be." She said it with such sym- 
 pathy, so friendly, and with a glance from her eyes — such a 
 glance — I lost all sense and speech. Hortensia, before I could 
 recover myself, had already vanished. She was sweeping once 
 more through the ranks of the dancers : but her eyes ever and 
 anon sought mine, and her look was constantly towards me. It 
 seemed as if she had taken a whim to wrest from me by her 
 attentiveness what little of understanding I had left. At the 
 close of the dances, the couples separated from each other, and I 
 left my place to look out another in the hall, to see if I had 
 deluded myself, or whether the looks of the Countess would fol- 
 low me. 
 
 Already new couples were gathered for the dance, when I 
 passed near the sitting-place of the women. One of them rose 
 the very moment I approached ; it was the Countess. Her arm 
 lay in mine. We entered the circle. I trembled, and scarcely 
 knew what was going on ; for never before had I had the auda- 
 city to request Hortensia to dance with me, and yet it seemed to 
 me that I must now have done so in my distraction. But she was 
 unembarrassed, scarcely regarded me, and penetrated the showy 
 tumult with her brilliant looks. In a moment the music struck 
 up. I seemed released from every earthly bond, to hover like a 
 spirit on the waves of sound. I was unconscious of all about me, 
 — knew not that we fastened the attention of every spectator. 
 What cared I for the admiration of the world ? At the ending 
 of the third dance, I led the Countess to a settee, that she might 
 rest. I stammered my thanks with trepidation. She acknow- 
 ledged them with mere friendly courtesy, as to the greatest 
 stranger. I withdrew among the spectators. 
 
 The Prince, as well as Count Von Hormegg, had seen me 
 dance with Hortensia, — had heard the general murmurs of ap- 
 plause. The former burned with jealousy, and did not even 
 conceal it from Hortensia. The Count took my boldness, in 
 asking his daughter to dance, in bad part, and on the following 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 59 
 
 day rebuked me for having so lightly forgotten her rank. Both 
 confessed, with all the rest of the world, that her dancing had 
 been full of soul and. passionateness. Neither doubted that I had 
 infused an unworthy inclination into the Countess. In spite of 
 their plausibilities, I soon saw clearly, that I was an obstacle 
 of hate and fear. I was much seldomcr. and at last not at all, 
 invited to companies where Hortensia might be present. 
 
 In the mean time, both went really too far in their carefulness. 
 It is true, the Countess did not conceal that she cherished a feel- 
 ing of gratitude towards me ; but everything further was a 
 reproach which she repelled. She confessed that she prized me, 
 but. beyond that, it was all one to her whether I danced at Con- 
 stantinople or Venice. 
 
 THE AMULEl. 
 
 The Count and Carlos eagerly awaited this moment to get rid 
 of me, and accomplish the marriage of Hortensia. Hortensia 
 looked for it Avith impatience, in order to rejoice over her own re- 
 covery, and at the same time to quiet the suspicions of her father. 
 I also expected it with no less eagerness. It was only far from 
 Hortensia, amid new scenes, and other occupations, that I could 
 hope to heal my mind. I felt myself miserable. 
 
 The Countess one day announced not unexpectedly, as she lay 
 in her strange sleep, the near approach of her restoration. 
 
 " In the vapour baths of Battaglia," said she, " she will entirely 
 lose the gift of illumination. Take her there. Her cure is no 
 longer distant. Every morning, immediately on waking, one bath. 
 After the tenth, Emanuel, she separates from thee. She sees thee 
 never again, if such is thy will ; but leave her a token of thy 
 remembrance. She cannot be healthy without it. For a long 
 time, thou hast worn in thy breast a dried rose, preserved between 
 glasses, and set in gold. So long as she wears this, inclosed in 
 silk, immediately about the region of the heart, she will not again 
 fall into her fits. Neither later nor earlier than the seventh hour 
 
60 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 after receiving the thirteenth bath, give it to her. Wear it con- 
 stantly till then. She will then be restored." 
 
 She repeated this request frequently, and with peculiar serious- 
 ness ; she laid particular stress upon the hour when I should de- 
 liver up to her my only jewel, and of whose existence she had 
 never heard. 
 
 "Do you really wear any such thing?" asked the Count, as 
 tonished, and highly delighted on account of the predicted resto- 
 ration of his daughter. As I answered, he asked further, if I set 
 any particular value upon the possession of this trifle. I assured 
 him it was priceless, and that I would rather die than have it 
 taken from me — nevertheless, for the preservation of the Countess, 
 I would sacrifice it. 
 
 " Probably a memorial of some beloved hand '?" observed the 
 Count, laughing, and in an inquiring manner, to whom it seemed 
 a good opportunity to learn whether my heart had already been 
 engaged. 
 
 " It comes," I replied, " from a person who is very dear to 
 me." 
 
 The Count was as much moved by my generosity, as pleased 
 that I was willing to make the sacrifice on which Hortensia's 
 continued health depended — and forgetting his secret grudge, cor- 
 dially embraced me, which had not happened for a long time. 
 
 "You make me your debtor," said he. 
 
 He was anxious to relate to Hortensia, as soon as I had gone, 
 on her waking, what she had desired in her trance : he, more- 
 over, did not conceal from her his conversation with me on the 
 subject of the amulet, which had so great a value in my eyes, 
 since it was the memorial of a person that I loved above all. 
 He laid great stress on this, as his suspicion still remained, and, 
 in case Hortensia really felt any inclination for me, to destroy it, 
 by the discovery that I, for a long time, had sighed in the chains 
 of another beauty. Hortensia listened to it all with such innocent un- 
 concern, and so sincerely congratulated herself upon her approach- 
 ing recovery, that the Count felt he had done injustice to the heart 
 of his daughter by his suspicions. In the joy of his heart, he was 
 eager to confess to me his conversation with his daughter, and at 
 the same time to mention to the Prince all that had passed. From 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 61 
 
 that hour I remarked, both in the manner of the Count and 
 Prince, something unconstrained, kind and obliging. They kept 
 me no longer, with their former care, at a distance from Horten- 
 sia ; but treated me with the attention and forbearance due to a 
 benefactor, to whom they were indebted for the happiness of their 
 whole life. Arrangements were immediately made for our jour- 
 ney to the baths of Battaglia. We left Venice on a beautiful 
 summer morning. The Prince had gone before, in order to pre- 
 pare everything for the reception of his intended bride. 
 
 Through the pleasant plains of Padua we approached the 
 Euganean mountains, at the foot of which lay the healing 
 spring. On the way the Countess often liked to walk ; then I 
 was always her escort. Her cordiality charmed me as much as 
 her tender sense of the noble in human character, and of the 
 beautiful in nature. " I could be very happy," she often said, 
 " if I could pass my days in any one of these beautiful Italian 
 regions, amid the simple occupations of domestic life. The 
 amusements of the city leave the feelings vacant — they are more 
 irksome than pleasing. How happy could I be if I might live 
 simply, unprovoked by the miseries of the palace, where one 
 vexes one's self about nothing ; sufficiently rich to make others 
 happy, and in my own creations find the source of my happiness ! 
 Yet one must not desire everything." 
 
 More than once, and in the presence of her father, she spoke of 
 her great obligations to me, as the preserver of her life. " If I 
 only knew how to repay it!" said she. " I have for a long time 
 racked my brains to discover something pleasing for you. You 
 must, indeed, permit my father to place you in a situation which 
 will enable you to live quite independent of others. But that is 
 the least return. I need for myself some other mode of com- 
 pensating you." 
 
 At other times, and frequently, she turned the conversation to 
 my resolution of leaving them as soon as she should recover. 
 " We shall be sorry to lose you," said she, good-naturedly : " we 
 shall lament your loss as the loss of a true friend and benefactor. 
 We will not, however, by our entreaties for you to remain with 
 us, render your resolution more difficult. Your heart calls you 
 elsewhere," added she, with an arch smile, as if penetrating the 
 
62 
 
 ZSCHGKKE'S TALES. 
 
 secrets of my breast. " If you are happy, there is nothing else to 
 wish for ; and I do not doubt that love will make you happy. 
 Do not, however, forget us, but send us news from time to time of 
 your health." 
 
 What I felt at such expressions, could be as little uttered, as 
 that I should repeat what I was usually in the habit of replying. 
 My answers were full of acknowledgments and cold politeness; 
 for respect forbade my betraying my heart. Nevertheless, there 
 were moments when the strength of my feelings mastered me, 
 and I said more than I purposed. When I ventured further than 
 mere courtesy. Hortensia looked at me with the clear bright look 
 of innocence, as if she did not comprehend or understand me. I 
 was convinced that Hortensia felt a grateful esteem for me, and 
 wished me to be happy and content, without, on that account, 
 giving me a secret preference over any other mortal. She had 
 joined me in the dance at the ball, from mere good-nature, and 
 to give me pleasure. She herself confessed, that she had always 
 expected me to ask her. Ah ! how my passion had created pre- 
 sumptuous hopes from that incident ! Presumptuous hopes, in- 
 deed ; since, had Hortensia, in reality, felt more than mere com- 
 mon good-will toward me, of what service would it have been to 
 me ? I should only have become more miserable by her par- 
 tiality. 
 
 While the flame silently devoured me, in her breast was a pure 
 heaven, full of repose. While I could have sunk at her feet, and 
 confessed what she was to me, she wandered near me without the 
 slightest suspicion of my feelings, and endeavoured to dissipate 
 my seriousness by pleasantry. 
 
 THE DISENCHANTMENT. 
 
 By the arrangements of the Prince, rooms were provided for 
 us in the castle of the Marquisa d'Este. This castle, situated 
 on a hill near the village, combined, with the greatest comfort, 
 the most lovely distant prospect and rich shaded walks in the 
 vicinity. But we were obliged to resort to the town for the 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 G3 
 
 oaths — therefore, a house was fitted up in that place for the 
 Countess, where she passed the mornings as long as she bathed. 
 
 Her trance in Battaglia, after the first bath, was very short and 
 indistinct. She spoke but seldom, did not once answer, and ap- 
 peared to enjoy quite a natural sleep. She spoke after the seventh 
 bath, and commanded, that after the tenth she should no longer 
 remain in that house. It is true, she once more fell asleep after 
 the tenth bath, though she said nothing more than "Emanuel, I 
 see thee no more !" These were the last words she spoke in her 
 transfigurations. 
 
 Since then she had had, indeed, for some days, an unnaturally 
 sound sleep, but without the power of speech in it. 
 
 At last arrived the day of her thirteenth bath. Until now, all 
 that she had commanded or predicted in her transfigured hours, 
 had been most punctually fulfilled. Now was the last to be ac- 
 complished. The Count and Prince came to me early in the 
 morning, in order to remind me of the speedy delivery of my 
 amulet. I must show it to them. They did not leave me for a 
 moment the whole morning, as if, being now so near the long- 
 desired goal, they had suddenly become mistrustful, and feared I 
 might, as regarded the sacrifice, change my mind ; or that the 
 relic might accidentally be lost. The minutes were counted as 
 soon as the news came that the Countess was in the bath. When 
 she had reposed some hours after her bath, she was conducted by 
 us to the castle. She was uncommonly gay, almost mischievous. 
 Having been told that she was to receive a present from me in 
 the seventh hour, which she must wear all her life, she was de- 
 lighted as a child at a gift, and teazed me, jestingly, with the 
 faithlessness I committed toward my chosen one, whose present I 
 gave to another. 
 
 It struck twelve! The seventh hour had arrived. We were 
 in the bright garden saloon. The Count, the Prince, and the wo- 
 men of the Countess were present. 
 
 " Delay no longer," cried the Count, " the moment which is to 
 be the last of Hortensia's sufferings and the first of my happi- 
 ness." 
 
 I drew the dear medallion from my breast, where I had carried 
 it so long, and loosening the golden chain from my neck, pressed, 
 
64 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 not without a sorrowful feeling, a kiss upon the glass, and deliver- 
 ed it to the Countess. 
 
 Hortensia took it, and as her look fell on the dried rose, a sudden 
 and fiery red spread over her face. She bowed gently toward me, as 
 if she would thank me — but in her features might be discovered a 
 surprise or confusion, which she appeared to endeavour to conceal. 
 She stammered some words, and then suddenly withdrew with 
 her women. The Count and Prince were all gratitude towards 
 me. They had arranged for the evening a little festival at the 
 castle, to which some noble families from Este and Rovigo were 
 invited. 
 
 In the mean time we expected long, and in vain, the reappear- 
 ance of the Countess. After an hour we learnt, that as soon as 
 she had put on the medallion, she had fallen into a sweet and 
 profound sleep. Two, three, four hours passed — the invited guests 
 had assembled, but Hortensia did not awake. The Count in great 
 disquiet ventured to go himself to her bed. As he found her in a 
 deep and quiet slumber, he feared to disturb her. The fete pass- 
 ed over without Hortensia's presence — though, without her, half 
 the pleasure was wanting. Hortensia still slept as they separated 
 about midnight. And even the following morning she was still 
 in the same sound sleep. No noise affected her. The Count was 
 in great agony. My uneasiness was no less. A physician was 
 called, who assured us that the Countess slept a sound and refresh- 
 ing sleep — both her colour and pulse announced the most perfect 
 health. Mid-day and evening came — yet Hortensia did not 
 awake ! The repeated assurances of the physician that the Count- 
 ess was manifestly in perfect health, were necessary to quiet us. 
 The night came and passed. The next morning rejoicings echo- 
 ed through the castle, as Hortensia's women announced her 
 cheerful waking. Every one hurried forward, and wished the 
 restored one joy. 
 
 NEW ENCHANTMENTS. 
 
 Why should I not say it ? — During the universal joy I alone 
 was sad — alas ! it was more than sadness. The engagements 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 65 
 
 into which I had entered with the Count Von Hormegg were now 
 at an end. I could take my departure whenever I pleased, and 
 I had often enough expressed my wish and intention of so doing. 
 
 Every body expected that I would keep my word ; but to 
 
 breathe in her neighbourhood, seemed to me the most enviable 
 of all lots, — to receive a glance of hers was nourishment to the 
 flame of my life — to go away from her was a sentence of death. 
 
 I thought of her approaching marriage with the Prince, and 
 the fickleness of the weak Count — I thought of my own honour — 
 of my love of freedom — and my manly pride arose. I was decided 
 to leave that place as soon as possible. I resolved to fly. I saw 
 before me an eternity of misery, but I preferred to bid joy a life- 
 long farewell to becoming contemptible in my own estimation. 
 
 I found Hortensia in the garden of the castle. I trembled gently 
 as I approached her to offer my congratulations. She stood apart 
 from her maidens, looking thoughtfully upon a bed of flowers, 
 and appeared fresher and more blooming than I had ever seen 
 her, as if animated by a new life. She was not aware of my 
 presence until I spoke. 
 
 " How you frightened me !" said she, smiling, and with some 
 embarrassment, while a deep blush overspread her cheeks. 
 
 " My dear Countess, I also would wish you joy. My con- 
 gratulations " 
 
 I could say no more, for my voice trembled — my thoughts be- 
 came confused — I could not support her looks, which penetrated 
 into the depths of my heart. With some difficulty I stammered 
 out my excuses for having disturbed her. 
 
 She looked at me silently, and after a long pause said, " You 
 speak of joy, my friend ; but are you happy ?" 
 
 "Yes. in having restored you from a sickness under which you 
 have suffered so long. In a few days I must depart, and in other 
 lands, if possible, become master over myself, for I belong to no 
 one now. My vow is redeemed." 
 
 " Are you in earnest, dear Faust ? I hope you will not leave 
 us. How can you say that you belong to no one ? Have you 
 not bound us to you by all the ties of gratitude ! What forces 
 you to separate from us V 
 
 part n. 6 
 
 / 
 
GG 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 I laid my hand upon my heart ; my eyes fell to the ground — 
 I could not speak. 
 
 " You will stay with us Faust, will you not V 
 " I dare not." 
 
 " And if I entreat you, Faust ?" 
 
 " For God's sake, gracious Countess, do not entreat, do not 
 command me. I can only be happy when I — no, I must go 
 
 hence !" 
 
 " You are not happy with us ? and yet no other employment, 
 no other duty calls you away from us?" 
 " Duty towards myself." 
 
 " Go, then, Faust ; I have been mistaken in you. I thought 
 that we held some place in your heart." 
 
 " Gracious Countess, if you knew the effect of your words, you 
 would spare me out of compassion ! 
 
 " Then I must be silent, Faust. Go ! but you do me great 
 wrong." 
 
 Saying these words, she turned away from me. I ventured to 
 follow her, and beg that she would not be angry with me. Tears 
 were falling from her eyes. I was frightened. With clasped 
 hands, I begged her not to be offended with me. " Command 
 me," said I, " I will obey. Do you desire me to remain ? — With 
 pleasure I offer up my inward peace, the happiness of my life, to 
 this command !" 
 
 " Go, Faust ; I would force no one. You do not stay with us 
 willingly." 
 
 " Oh, Countess, do not drive a man to despair." 
 " Faust, when will you leave ?" 
 " To-morrow — to-day." 
 
 " No, no, Faust !" said she softly, and Approached nearer to 
 me : ; ' I place no value upon my health, which is your gift, if 
 
 you Faust! you will remain ; — at least a few more days?" 
 
 She said this in such a soft, beseeching voice, and looked at me 
 so wiot fully with her tearful eyes, that I was no longer master of 
 my own will. 
 
 " I remain." 
 
 " But willingly ?" 
 
 " With rapture." 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 67 
 
 "Good! — now leave me a moment, Faust. You have made 
 me quite sad. But do not leave the garden. I only wish to re- 
 cover myself." 
 
 With these words she left me, and disappeared among the 
 blooming orange-trees. 
 
 I remained standing in the same place for a long time, as if in 
 a dream. I had never heard the Countess make use of such lan- 
 guage before, nor was it the mere language of politeness. The 
 idea of possessing a place in her heart set my blood on fire. Her 
 solicitations for me to remain — those tears — and — something inde- 
 scribable, something peculiar; her behaviour, her movements, 
 her voice, spoke a strange language — a language without words, 
 but which expressed more than words. I understood it not, and 
 yet I understood all. I doubted, and yet I was certain. I joined 
 the other young women, and after walking up and down the al- 
 ley for about ten minutes, the Countess approached us gaily and 
 with quick steps. Her graceful figure floated midst white dra- 
 pery that in the sun's full rays made her seem like one of those 
 beings that Raphael painted from his dreams. In her hand she 
 held a bunch of pinks, roses, and the blue vanilla blossom. " I 
 have plucked you a few flowers," dear Faust, said she to me : " do 
 not disdain them. 1 give them to you with quite other feelings from 
 those I felt while giving you the rose during my sickness. But 
 I should not remind you of that, my dear Doctor : I worried you 
 then so much with my childish caprices. I remember it, however, 
 very dutifully, that I may make it up. Oh how much I have to 
 atone for! Now give me one arm, and Miss Cecilia the other." 
 That was the name of her companion. As we walked about, 
 joking and chatting gaily, the Count joined us, and soon after the 
 Prince. 
 
 Never was Hortensia more lovely than on this, the first day of 
 her recovered health. She addressed her father with tender re- 
 spect, her companions with friendly confidence, the Prince with 
 great politeness and kindness ; but to me she always made some 
 demonstration of gratitude. Not that she thanked me in words* 
 but it was the manner in which she spoke. Whenever she turn- 
 ed to me there was something indescribably cordial in her tones 
 and words, something sisterly and confiding in her looks and 
 
68 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 manner, an attention paid to my happiness and wishes that was 
 never altered by her father's presence, or that of the Prince. She 
 continued it with ingenuousness and sincerity, as if it could not 
 be otherwise. 
 
 In festivities and pleasure we passed some delightful days. 
 Hortensia's behaviour towards me did not change. Even I, who 
 was fluttering betwixt the cold laws of respect and the warmth of 
 passion, felt an inward strength and peace from her society that 
 had never been mine since I had first seen this wonderful woman. 
 Her innocence and sincerity made me more candid and truthful ; 
 her sisterly confidence gave me some fraternal rights. She did 
 not conceal that her heart was full of the purest affection for me. 
 Still less did I conceal my own feelings, but I did not dare to be- 
 tray their depth. And yet Oh, who could withstand such 
 
 charms ! — I was betrayed. 
 
 The visitors to the Baths of Battaglia are accustomed to assem- 
 ble on fine evenings before the great Cafe, and take refresh- 
 ments in the open air. 
 
 People were sitting in a half circle in the open street indulging 
 in unrestrained conversation. As is always the case in Italy, the 
 tinkling of guitars, mandolins, and the sound of voices singing, 
 were to be heard in every direction. Music sounded in the great 
 coffee-house ; its doors and windows illuminated the street. 
 
 After the Prince had left us earlier than usual one evening, the 
 Countess took a notion to visit this assembly. I had already gone 
 to my room, and sat dreaming over my destiny, and holding in 
 my hands the bunch of flowers. My door was partly open ; the 
 light burned dimly. Hortensia and Cecilia saw me in passing, 
 and watched me for a while. Then they entered softly — but I 
 did not notice them until they stood exactly before me, and laugh- 
 ing and jesting at my surprise, declared that I must accompany 
 them to town. Hortensia recognized the flowers, took them from 
 the table where I had thrown them, and, withered as they were, 
 placed them on her bosom. We went down to Battaglia, and 
 mingled with the company. 
 
 Here it happened that, in conversing with persons of her ac- 
 quaintance, Cecilia separated from us. Neither Hortensia nor I 
 were sorry. Leaning upon my arm, she wandered about midst 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 the moving crowd until she was tired. We then seated ourselves 
 aside on a low bench, under an elm-tree. The moon shone 
 through the branches upon Hortensia's beautiful face, and upon 
 the wilted flowers in her bosom. 
 
 " Will you rob me of that which you have given me ?" said I, 
 pointing to the bouquet. 
 
 She looked at me long with serious and thoughtful earnestness, 
 and replied, " It always appears to me as if I could neither give 
 you anything nor take anything from you. Is it not sometimes 
 so with you ?" 
 
 This answer and question, so quietly and gently thrown out, 
 embarrassed and kept me silent. My respect would scarcely 
 allow me to touch upon what had so agreeable a meaning. She 
 repeated the question. 
 
 " Alas, it is so indeed with me !" said I : " when I see the gulf 
 between us two, and the rank that keeps me at a distance, I al- 
 ways feel thus. Who can take away from or give to the gods 
 that which they have not always possessed ?" 
 
 Her eyes opened with surprise. " Why do you talk of the 
 gods, Faust ? No one can give to or take from themselves." 
 
 " From one's self?" said I, with an uncertain voice; "you 
 must know then that you have made me your own property." 
 
 " I do not know myself exactly how it is," was her answer, 
 and she cast down her eyes. 
 
 " But I do know how it is, dear Countess ! The enchantment 
 which ruled over us is not dispelled ; it has only changed its mode 
 of action. In your trances, I formerly governed your will ; now 
 you rule over mine. I only live in your presence ; I can do noth- 
 ing ; I am nothing without you. Be offended if you will, at this 
 avowal ; it is a crime to the world's eye, but not in God's ! For 
 what I do is at your command. Can I dissemble before you ? 
 And if it is a crime that my soul is so bound up in your being, 
 Countess, it is not my crime." 
 
 She turned away her head, and raised her hand, with a sign for 
 me to be silent. I had raised mine at the same moment, to cover 
 my eyes, that were dimmed with tears, and our upraised hands 
 sank down clasped together. We were silent, for reason was lost 
 
 4 
 
70 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 under the influence of powerful passion. I had betrayed that 
 passion ; but Hortensia had forgiven me. 
 
 Cecilia recalled us to ourselves. We walked silently back to 
 the castle. As we separated, the Countess said softly and sadly, 
 " I have obtained health through your means, only to suffer the 
 more." 
 
 petrarch's dwelling. 
 
 The next day, when we met, it was with a kind of sacred ti- 
 midity. I scarcely ventured to address her ; she scarcely ven- 
 tured to answer me. Our glances often met, and they were full 
 of seriousness. She looked as if seeking to penetrate my inmost 
 thoughts. I sought to read in her eyes, whether she was not of- 
 fended at my yesterday's boldness, now that she was calm. 
 Many days passed without our again seeing each other alone. 
 We had a secret, and feared lest a word between us might pro- 
 fane it. Hortensia's whole demeanour was more solemn ; her 
 gaiety more moderate, as if her whole heart was not in her usual 
 occupations. 
 
 But I counted too much upon her altered manner after that 
 decisive hour under the elm-tree. For, as I afterwards learned, 
 Prince Carlo had formally asked for the hand of the Countess, 
 and there had been some unpleasant feelings between herself, 
 her father, and the Prince, in consequence. In order to gain 
 time and not to offend either of the two, she begged them to give 
 her leisure for reflection ; and for such an unlimited period, and 
 under such hard conditions, that Carlo almost despaired of ever 
 seeing his hopes crowned. As she expressed herself at the time, 
 " Not that I dislike the Prince, but I still choose to enjoy my free- 
 dom. I will at some future time give my answer voluntarily and 
 of my own accord. But if the offer is repeated before I desire it, 
 I will certainly decline it, even if I were truly attached to the 
 Prince." 
 
 The Count knew the inflexible disposition of his daughter of 
 old ; but he hoped for the best, as Hortensia had not absolutely 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 71 
 
 declined his suit. Carlo, on the contrary, was rather discouraged, 
 for by this arrangement he saw himself condemned to be always 
 a lover without definite hopes of being some day a husband. Yet 
 he had sufficient self-love to hope that his continued assiduities 
 would finally touch Hortensia's heart. The confidential manner 
 in which she treated me sometimes annoyed him, but he did not 
 seem to consider it dangerous from its very frankness and unre- 
 serve. Hortensia treated him in much the same manner. The 
 Prince had been accustomed to seeing me considered as the friend 
 of the house and a confidential adviser by both the father and 
 daughter, and as the Count had confided to him the secret of my 
 plebeian descent, he feared me so much the less as a rival. Yes ! 
 he even condescended to make me his confidant, and told me one 
 day the whole story of his wooing for Hortensia's hand, and the 
 answer of the Countess. He begged me to use my friendly ser- 
 vices to ascertain whether she had any inclination for him, how- 
 ever slight. I was obliged to promise that I would, and every 
 day he asked me " whether I had made any discovery ?" — and I 
 could always excuse myself by answering that I had found no 
 opportunity to see the Countess alone. 
 
 Probably to give me this opportunity he proposed a little plea- 
 sure party to A.^uato, three miles from Battaglia, where visitors 
 to the Baths often made a pilgrimage to the tomb and dwelling 
 house of Petrarch. Of all the Italian poets, Hortensia loved this 
 tender and spiritual songster of true love the best. She had been 
 delighted at the idea of making this pilgrimage. But when the 
 moment of departure arrived, Carlo, under some slight pretence, 
 remained behind, and also prevented the old Count from accom- 
 panying Hortensia, but promised, however, to follow us soon. 
 Beatrice and Cecilia, the companions of the Countess, rode with 
 her. I rode on horseback beside the carriage. 
 
 I led the ladies to the churchyard of the village, where a simple 
 stone covered the ashes of the immortal poet, and translated the 
 Latin inscription for them. Hortensia stood thoughtfully before 
 the grave. She sighed and said, " All does not die !" and I 
 thought I felt a slight pressure on my arm. "If all died,*' said I, 
 " would not the life of man be a cruelty in the Creator, and love 
 be the heaviest curse in life ?" 
 
72 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 We left the churchyard in sadness. A friendly old man led us 
 from thence to a neighbouring vine-covered hill, upon which 
 stood Petrarch's dwelling with its little garden. In the house 
 they showed us Petrarch's household furniture, which had been 
 preserved with religious care : the table by which he had both 
 read and written, the seat upon which he had rested himself — 
 even the kitchen utensils were there. 
 
 The sight of such relics always influences my mind — it annihi- 
 lates the intervals of centuries, and the present is utterly lost in 
 the past. To me it seemed as if the poet had gone out, and 
 would presently open his little brown door and greet us. Horten- 
 sia found a beautiful edition of Petrarch's sonnets upon a table in 
 the corner. Being fatigued, she seated herself, leaned her beauti- 
 ful head upon her hand, and read attentively, whilst the fingers 
 of that uplifted hand shaded and concealed her eyes. Beatrice 
 and Cecilia went to prepare some refreshment for the Countess. 
 I stood silently-by the'^ndow. Petrarch's love and hopelessness 
 were my destiny ; another Laura sat before me, not rendered 
 divine by the charms of the muse, but by her own. 
 
 Hortensia raised a handkerchief to dry her eyes. I was dis- 
 tressed at seeing her weep, and approached her timidly, though I 
 did not venture to speak. Suddenly she rose, a»~^ smiling on me 
 through her tears, said : " Poor Petrarch i Poor human heart ! 
 but nothing is lasting. Centuries have passed since he ceased to 
 lament. But they say that in his latter years he conquered his 
 passion. It is a good thing to conquer oneself. Might it not be 
 called annihilating oneself?" 
 
 "And if necessity commands it?" 
 
 " Has necessity any power over the human heart ?" 
 
 " But Laura was the wife of Hugo de Sade — her heart could 
 not belong to Petrarch. It was his lot to love alone, to die alone. 
 He had the gift of song, and the muses consoled him. He was 
 unhappy — as I am." 
 
 " As you are — you unhappy, Faust ?" interrupted Hortensia in 
 a scarcely audible voice. 
 
 " I have not the divine gift of song. My heart will break, for 
 it finds no consolation. Countess, dear Countess — may I say 
 more to you than I have said ? But I will remain worthy of 
 
ILLUMINATION; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 73 
 
 your esteem, and that can only be by a manly courage. Grant 
 
 me one request, only one modest request ?" 
 
 Hortensia cast down her eyes and did not answer. 
 
 " One request, dear Countess, to give me peace." 
 
 " What would you have V whispered she, without looking up. 
 
 " Am I certain that you will grant my prayer ?" 
 
 She looked at me seriously and earnestly, and then said with 
 an indescribable dignity : " Faust, I do not know what you will 
 ask, but however great it may be — yes, Faust, I am indebted to 
 you for my life ; my confidence — I grant your request. Speak." 
 
 I seized her hand, I sank at her feet, I pressed my burning lips 
 to her hand ; I nearly lost my consciousness and my speech. 
 Hortensia, profoundly absorbed, and as if without feeling, remain- 
 ed with downcast eyes. 
 
 At length I regained the power to speak. " I must away from 
 this. Let me fly. I cannot longer tarry. Let me grow tranquil 
 once more, in some solitude, far from thee. I must hence. I 
 disturb the peace of your house. Carlo has requested your 
 hand." 
 
 " It shall never be his," interposed the Countess, in a deter- 
 mined tone. 
 
 Let me fly ! Even your goodness increases the multitude of 
 my miseries." 
 
 Hortensia was in a vehement struggle with herself. " You do 
 me a frightful wrong. But I dare no longer hinder you," she 
 cried, and burst into violent weeping. She grew faint, and sought 
 a seat. As I sprang toward her, she sunk sobbing upon my 
 breast. After a few moments she became self-possessed again. 
 She felt herself embraced by my arms, and would have released 
 them. But I, with Heaven in my breast, forgetful of the re- 
 straints of former reverence, embraced her more tenderly, and 
 sighed, " But one moment — now enough !" Her resistance gave 
 way. She raised her eyes to me, and with a countenance which 
 a blush, like the red of her illuminations, suffused, she whispered, 
 " Faust, what's this?" 
 
 " Will you not forget me, when I am far away ?" I asked, in 
 reply. 
 
 " How can I ?" she sighed, and again cast down her eyes. 
 
74 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " Farewell, Hortensia !" I stammered, as my forehead sunk 
 down upon hers. 
 
 " Emanuel ! Emanuel !" she whispered. My lips hung upon 
 hers. I felt her tender and almost imperceptible kiss, while her 
 arms clung round my neck. Time vanished away. 
 
 I went from Petrarch's dwelling, by her side, like one intoxicated, 
 down the steps leading from the hill. Two servants waited be- 
 low, who guided us to a bower under wild laurel-trees, where a 
 little meal had been prepared. In a moment the vehicle of the 
 Prince rolled past, and Carlo and the Count alighted.^ 
 
 Hortensia was very serious, and quite abrupt in her replies. 
 She seemed lost in thought. I saw that she made an effort when 
 she would speak to the Prince. Towards me she preserved un- 
 changed the same heartiness and confidence of deportment. 
 Petrarch's dwelling was again visited, as the Count wished to 
 see it. When we entered the room, which our reciprocal con- 
 fession had consecrated into a sanctuary, Hortensia resumed the 
 seat at the table, where lay the book, precisely as at the first visit, 
 and kept it till we went away. Then she arose, placed her hand 
 on her breast, looked at me with a penetrating look, and hastened 
 out of the house. 
 
 The Prince remarked this gesture and glance. A dark red 
 came over his dejected visage ; he passed on with folded arms 
 and sunken head. All joy was fled from our company. Each 
 seemed anxious to reach the castle again. I did not doubt that 
 Carlo's jealousy had detected all ; but I feared his vindictiveness 
 less on my own account, than for the peace of the Countess. 
 
 Therefore, as soon as I got home, I resolved to make every thing 
 ready for a hasty departure the next morning. I disclosed to the 
 Count my unalterable resolution, surrendered him all the papers, 
 and entreated him not to say any thing to the Countess, until I 
 was far on my way. 
 
 THE SAD SEPARATION. 
 
 I had long before been promised by the Count, in case of my 
 departure, the company of the valiant old Sebald, who had many 
 
ILLUMINATION; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 75 
 
 times asked for his dismissal, that lie might return to his German 
 home. When he heard that the moment of parting had arrived, 
 he danced and whirled ahout the room for very rapture. Each of 
 us with a horse and portmanteau, we were entirely equipped for 
 the journey. 
 
 I had determined to ride away quietly before the break of day. 
 None in the castle knew this, except Sebald and the Count, and 
 none were to learn it. I intended to leave behind a few lines to 
 Hortensia, expressive of my thanks and love, and bidding her an 
 everlasting farewell. The old Count seemed rather surprised, 
 but not altogether displeased. He embraced me most tenderly, 
 thanked me for the services I had rendered him, and promised to 
 come to my room within a half hour, to deliver me some useful 
 papers, which would ensure me in future a life free from care ; 
 or, as he expressed it, the interest on the life-long debt he owed me. 
 I did not refuse a moderate sum for my travelling expenses to Ger- 
 many, for in fact I was nearly destitute of money, but my pride 
 hindered me from accepting more than that. 
 
 Soon as I returned to my rooms, we packed up. Sebald has- 
 tened to the horses, and provided all that was necessary for our 
 instant departure. I wrote, in the meantime, to Hortensia. I 
 will not here describe what I suffered — how I struggled with 
 myself — how often I sprang from the table to weep out my sor- 
 row. My life was wasted, my future without happiness. Death 
 were sweeter and easier than a life devoid of hope. 
 
 Many times I tore what I had just written, and had not yet 
 finished, when I was disturbed in a manner that I least expected. 
 
 Sebald rushed into the room, trembling and gasping for breath ; 
 seized the packed portmanteaus, and exclaimed : " Mr. Faust, a 
 misfortune has happened ! They will drag you to a prison ! 
 They will murder you ! Let us fly before it is too late !" I 
 asked in vain for the cause of his terror. I could only learn that 
 the old Count was furious ; the Prince raving ; and the whole 
 Castle raised against me. — I answered coolly, that I had no cause 
 for fear, still less to fly as a criminal. " Sir," cried Sebald, " we 
 cannot escape from this unfortunate family without some misfor- 
 tune. An Evil Star rules over them. I said that long since. 
 You must fly !" 
 
76 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 At this moment two Chasseurs* of the Count entered the room, 
 requesting me to come immediately to his excellency. Sebald 
 winked his eyes, and signed to me to try and escape them. I 
 could not refrain from smiling at his fears, and followed the 
 Chasseurs ; ordering him, however, to saddle the horses, as I no 
 longer doubted that something extraordinary had happened. It 
 was likely that the Prince, instigated by jealousy, had fastened 
 some accusation upon me. 
 
 It happened in this wise : I had scarcely left the Count Von 
 Hormegg, when Carlo came to him in a great rage, and asserted 
 that I had dishonoured his house by a secret intrigue with the Coun- 
 tess. Beatrice, one of Hortensia's companions, who had been 
 gained over to the Prince, either by presents or by kindness, had, 
 on leaving Petrarch's dwelling, with Cecilia, become impatient at 
 our delay ; returning to that spot, she had seen us embrace. The 
 damsel was discreet enough not to disturb us, but ready enough 
 to betray this important occurrence to the Prince, as soon as we 
 returned to the Castle. The Count Von Hormegg could believe 
 anything more readily than this assertion, because it seemed to 
 him the most unnatural of all delinquencies — a common citizen, 
 a painter, to win the love of a Countess of Hormegg — he treated 
 the matter at first as an illusion of jealousy. To justify himself, 
 the Prince was obliged to betray the betrayers, and Beatrice 
 acknowledged what had happened, although not without some 
 resistance on her part. 
 
 The wrath of the old Count knew no bounds, yet such an event 
 seemed so monstrous to him, that he even desired to question his 
 daughter. Hortensia appeared. The sight of those pale faces, 
 disfigured by anger and dismay, terrified her. " What has hap- 
 pened here V she exclaimed, half beside herself. With fearful 
 earnestness, the Count replied : " That, thou art to answer." He 
 then took her hand with forced calmness and gentleness, and said: 
 " Hortensia, they accuse thee of staining the honour of our name, 
 by — it must be spoken — by a love affair with that painter, Faust. 
 Hortensia, deny it, say no ! Give thy father back peace and 
 
 * Footmen in fanciful hunting dress, with cutlass and dirk. They are al- 
 ways seen behind the carriage of a lady of high rank, or about her doors. 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 77 
 
 honour. Thou canst do it. Silence all malicious tongues. Re- 
 fute what was but a delusion, a mistake, a deception, when icy 
 said they saw thee to-day in the arms of Faust. Here stands the 
 Prince, thy future husband. Give him thy hand ! Prove to him 
 that these are wicked lies, which have been said about thee and 
 Faust ! Faust's presence shall no longer disturb our peace. This 
 nigh*, he leaves us forever." 
 
 The Count continued to speak for some time. He did it proba- 
 bly to cover Hortensia's blushes, which left him no doubt of the 
 truth of the occurrence, and also to give the matter a more 
 favourable turn, that would reconcile the Prince, and put all 
 things in their proper train again. When he stopped he was least 
 of all prepared for what Hortensia actually did. 
 
 With the dignified and decisive manner peculiar to her, she 
 turned first toward Beatrice, and roused to the most lively emo- 
 tion by her treachery, and the announcement of my sudden 
 departure during that night, she exclaimed : " Wretched being ! 
 I do not stand confronted to thee. My servant shall not be my 
 accuser. I need not justify myself before thee. — Leave this 
 room, and this Castle, and never come before my eyes again." 
 
 Beatrice, in tears, attempted to fall at her feet. But it was in 
 vain, she was forced to obey and depart. 
 
 Then the Countess turned to her father, and desired me to be 
 called. The Count went out hastily, and I was requested to come. 
 Hortensia had also absented herself for a moment, and came back 
 almost at the same time that I entered. 
 
 " Dear Faust," said she to me, and her cheeks burned with an 
 unnatural red : " Both you and 1 stand here as accused or rather 
 condemned persons," and she thereupon related what had occurred, 
 continuing thus: "I am expected to justify myself, and there is 
 no one before whom I need justify myself but God — the judge of 
 all hearts. Here I have only to acknowledge the truth, as my 
 father requires it ; and to declare my unchangeable determina- 
 tions. Fate wills it, and I — was born to misfortune. Faust, I 
 should be unworthy of your esteem, if I could not rise above 
 misfortune." 
 
 She approached the Prince, and said : " I respect you, but I do 
 not love you. My hand will never be yours — nourish no future 
 
78 
 
 ZSCHO^KE'S TALES. 
 
 hopes that it will. After what has now taken place, I must beg 
 you to avoid us in future. Do not expect that my father will 
 force my inclinations. Life is indifferent to me. His first act 
 of violence would have no other consequence but that of obliging 
 him to bury his daughter's body. I have no more to say to you. 
 To you, my father, I must acknowledge that I love — love this 
 Faust, but I cannot help it. You dislike him ; he is not of our 
 rank ; he must part from us. My earthly ties with him are 
 sundered, but my heart remains his. You, my father, can make 
 no change, for every attempt to do so will hasten my death. I 
 tell you this beforehand ; I am prepared for death, for only with 
 death will my misfortunes end." 
 
 She stopped. The Count wished to speak and the Prince like- 
 wise, but she motioned them to be silent. Approaching me, she 
 drew a ring from her finger, gave it me, saying, " My friend, I 
 part from you, perhaps, for ever. Take this ring as a remem- 
 brance of me. This gold and these diamonds will turn to dust, 
 ere my love and my truth shall cease. Do not forget me !" 
 When she had uttered these words, she laid her arm upon my 
 shoulder, pressed a kiss upon my lips, turned pale and cold, and 
 with closed eyes fell to the earth. 
 
 The Count Von Hormegg gave a piercing, fearful scream. The 
 Prince called for aid. I carried that lovely form to a sofa ; 
 chambermaids hastened in; physicians were called. I lay un- 
 conscious beside that couch upon my knees, holding to my cheek 
 the cold hand of the lifeless maiden. The Count tore me away. 
 He was in a frenzy, and thundered at me these words — " Thou 
 hast murdered her ! Fly, wretch, and never show thy face 
 again !" He pushed me out of the door, and at. his command the 
 Chasseurs dragged me down the steps in front of the Castle. Se- 
 bald stood near the stables. As soon as he was aware of my pres- 
 ence, he hastened up, and pulled me with him to the stalls where 
 the saddled horses stood. Here I swooned, and as Sebald after- 
 wards told me, 1 lay lifeless for about a quarter of an hour upon 
 the floor. I had scarcely recovered when he lifted me upon one 
 of the horses, and we trotted off. I rode as if in my sleep, and 
 was often in danger of falling. It was only by degrees that I re- 
 covered my full consciousness and strength. 
 
ILLUMINATION; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 79 
 
 I now remembered clearly the past. I became desperate. I 
 wished to return to the castle and learn Hortensia's fate, for we 
 had rode no more than two miles. Sebald entreated me by all 
 the Saints to abandon so frantic a design, but it was useless. I 
 had but just turned my horse about when I saw some horsemen 
 approaching me at a full gallop. " Cursed murderer !" called out 
 a voice to me, and it was Carlo's voice. At the same time some 
 shot reached me. As I grasped my pistols, my horse fell dead. 
 I sprang up. Carlo rode towards we with his drawn sword, and 
 when he would have cut me down, I shot hirn through the body. 
 As he fell, his companions caught him. Sebald followed them in 
 their flight, and sent some balls after them. He then returned, 
 took the portmanteau from the dead horse, made me mount with 
 him, and we hurried away at a quick pace. 
 
 This affray had occurred in the vicinity of a little wood, which 
 we soon reached. The sun had already set. We rode the whole 
 night without knowing whither. When we stopped at daybreak 
 at a village inn to rest our horse, we found him so injured by the 
 saddle, that we were obliged to give up all hope of using him far- 
 ther. We sold him for almost nothing and continued our flight on 
 foot by safer bye-roads, carrying our luggage ourselves. 
 
 NEW ADVENTURES. 
 
 The first rays of the rising sun fell glittering upon the dia- 
 monds of Hortensia's ring. I kissed it, weeping. Sebald had 
 told me that in the night, while I lay in a swoon beside the 
 horses, a groom had said to him, that they thought the Countess 
 at first dead, but she had returned to life. This news strengthen- 
 ed and comforted me. To my own fate I was utterly indifferent. 
 Hortensia's elevation of soul had inspired me. I was proud of 
 my misfortunes. My conscience free from reproach, I was rais- 
 ed above all fear. I had but one sorrow — that of eternal separa- 
 tion from one whom I must love eternally. 
 
 On reaching Ravenna we took our first day's rest, for I was ill 
 from the exhaustion produced by exciting scenes, and the im- 
 
80 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 mense exertions I had made. For two whole weeks I lay ill of 
 a fever. Sebald was in a terrible state of anxiety, for he feared, 
 with some reason, that the death of the Prince would necessarily 
 bring us into the hands of justice. He had given us both feigned 
 names, and procured some different clothing. My good constitu- 
 tion quickly restored me, rather than any skill of the physician, 
 though great weakness remained in all my limbs. As we had 
 determined, however, to ship from Rimini for Trieste, I hoped to 
 recover upon the passage. 
 
 Sebald came to me one evening in a great fright, and said, 
 " Sir, we can remain here no longer. A stranger stands out there 
 who wishes to speak to you. We are discovered. He first ask- 
 ed me my name. I could not conceal it, and then he asked for 
 you." 
 
 " Let him come in," said I. 
 
 A well-dressed man entered, who, after the first exchange of 
 politeness, inquired after my health. When I assured him that I 
 was quite well, he said : " So much the better, I will then give 
 you some good advice. You know what passed between Prince 
 Carlo and yourself. He is out of clanger, but has sworn your 
 death. You had therefore better get out of his way. You now in- 
 tend going to Germany by the way of Trieste. Donotdothis. There 
 is no ship for Trieste at Rimini, but there is a Neapolitan vessel 
 returning to Naples. You arc safe when once upon the sea. 
 Otherwise, you will either be arrested in a few hours, or assassi- 
 nated. Here is a letter for the Neapolitan Captain, he is a good 
 friend of mine. He will receive you with pleasure. Only be- 
 take yourself quickly to Rimini and thence to Naples." 
 
 I was not a little embarrassed at finding this stranger so well 
 informed. On my questioning him as to his means of informa- 
 tion, he only smiled and replied : " I know nothing more, neither 
 can I tell you aught more. I live here in Ravenna, and am a 
 clerk of the Court. Save yourself!" With these words he 
 left us. 
 
 Sebald affirmed stoutly that the man must be possessed by the 
 Devil, or he would not have been so well acquainted with our 
 secrets. As the stranger spoke to the people of the inn, we 
 learned from them afterwards that he was a clerk of the Court, 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 81 
 
 and a good, honourable man, well to do in the world, and married. 
 How he could have known our secret plans of going through 
 Trieste to Germany, was incomprehensible to me, for none were 
 aware of it but ourselves. The enigma, however, was quickly 
 solved when Sebald acknowledged that, during my sickness, he 
 had written a letter to his former comrade Caspar, at Battaglia, beg- 
 ging to know whether the Prince had been killed. He waited in 
 vain for an answer. The letter had fallen, without doubt, into the 
 hands of Carlo or his people, or else its contents had been discover- 
 ed in some other way. 
 
 Sebald was now, for the first time, actually alarmed. He 
 hired a coach without delay for Rimini, and we set out that same 
 night. All these circumstances did not please me particularly. 
 I did not know whether I was flying from the danger, or running 
 to meet it. The Clerk of the Court might be in the Prince's ser- 
 vice. In the meantime, we not only reached Rimini, but found 
 the Neapolitan Captain also. I gave him the Clerk's letter — I 
 do not deny having opened and read it, — and soon entered into an 
 agreement for our passage to Naples. The wind became fair, 
 and the anchors were raised. 
 
 There were some passengers on board the ship besides our- 
 selves, amongst others a young man, whom at first I was not 
 much pleased to see, for I remembered having met him once, cas- 
 ually, at the Baths of Battaglia. I was tranquillized, however, 
 by gathering from his discourse that he had not noticed me, and 
 that I was an utter stranger to him. He had only left Battaglia 
 three days before, to return to Naples, where he said he carried 
 on a considerable business. He told of the acquaintances he had 
 made at those Baths, and mentioned incidentally a German 
 Countess, who was a wonder of grace and beauty. — How my 
 heart beat ! He appeared 'to know nothing of the Prince's being 
 either wounded or dead. The Countess, whose name he had for- 
 gotten, had left four days before his- departure, whither he had 
 not taken the trouble to inquire. 
 
 Uncertain as was this information, it yet served to calm me 
 considerably. Hortensia lived — Hortensia was well. " May she 
 be happy !" was my sigh. The voyage was tedious to all but 
 myself. I sought for solitude. For many nights I watched on 
 
 PART II. 7 
 
82 
 
 ZSCHOKKE S TALES. 
 
 the deck, dreaming of Hortensia. The young merchant (his 
 name was Tufaldini) observed my melancholy, and took much 
 pains to enliven me. He heard that I was an artist ; he loved 
 the art passionately, and constantly directed our conversation to 
 this subject, as it was the only one that could dissipate my sad- 
 ness, and make me conversational. His sympathy and friendship 
 went so far as to offer me a seat at his table and a room in his 
 house at Naples, an offer I was the less inclined to refuse, as I 
 was quite a stranger there, and Sebald's and my common purse 
 had melted away very considerably, particularly after deducting 
 our travelling expenses. 
 
 A NEW WONDER. 
 
 The kindness and attention of the noble Tufaldini was actually 
 humiliating to me. From a travelling companion he had made 
 me a friend, although I had done little or nothing, either to win 
 his love, or to deserve it. He presented me, as a friend, to his 
 venerable old mother and his charming young wife. They pre- 
 pared one of their best rooms for myself and Sebald — and from the 
 first day of our arrival, treated me as if I were an old friend of 
 the family. Nor was he satisfied with this. He introduced me 
 to all his friends, and orders for pictures soon followed. He was 
 as eager to gain me a reputation as if it were for his own advan- 
 tage. He even consented finally to accepting payment for my 
 board and lodging, although at first he was offended when I pro- 
 posed it ; but seeing my determination to leave his house, if he 
 would receive no compensation, he took the money more to gratify 
 me than to repay himself. 
 
 My works succeeded beyond my expectations. My pictures 
 were liked, I received my own price, and when one order was 
 finished, another was sure to follow in its train. Sebald was so 
 well satisfied with Naples, that he even forgot his home-sickness. 
 He thanked God for having escaped from the service of Count 
 Von Hormegg with a whole skin, and, as he expressed it, would 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP- VVAKER. 
 
 83 
 
 rather serve me for bread and water than the Count for a dish full 
 of gold. 
 
 My plan was to earn sufficient by my labour to go to Germany, 
 and settle there in some little hermitage. I was industrious and 
 economical, and thus a year passed. The love shown me by the 
 Tufaldini family, the quiet life I led in that great and seductive 
 city, the charms of their soft skies, and the thought that in Ger- 
 many I was without friends and without vocation, made me aban- 
 don the first design, and I stayed where I was. Joy bloomed for 
 me as little upon a German as an Italian soil, only the thought 
 that Hortensia might perhaps be living upon her father's estate, 
 and that I might yet have the consolation of seeing her once, if 
 only at a distance — kindled my desire to return to the north. But 
 when I recollected the words which she used in that parting hour : 
 " My earthly ties to him are sundered !'' when she renounced me 
 before her father with such solemnity and heroic devotion, my 
 own courage rose at the thought and I determined to endure all 
 things cheerfully. I was an oak which the storm had shattered, 
 without branches, without leaves, solitary, unloved, dying in its 
 loneliness. 
 
 They say that time heals the deepest wounds with a benevolent 
 hand. I myself believed the saying, but I found it untrue. My 
 melancholy continued the same. I avoided the gay. Tears often 
 gave me relief, and my only joy was to dream of her, as T saw 
 her in her majesty and beauty. Her ring was my sacred relic. 
 Had it fallen to the depths of the sea, nothing could have hindered 
 me from plunging after it. 
 
 The second year passed away, bat not my sorrow. But in the 
 darkest hours, I comforted myself with a faint gleam of hope that 
 perhaps an accident might bring me near to my lost mistress, or 
 at least give me some news of her. I knew there was not much 
 probability in this, for how could she, so distant, know, after the 
 lapse of years, where I lived in retirement ? But little ! He who 
 hopes, thinks little about impossibilities! Yet after the lapse of 
 two years even this hope was lost. Hortensia was dead to me. 
 In my dreams I saw her as a heavenly being resplendent with 
 the glory of an angel. 
 
 In our confidential conversations, Tufaldini and his wife had 
 
b4 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 often required the cause of my sadness, but I could never prevail 
 upon myself to disclose the secret. They ceased questioning me, 
 but they were more careful of my health. I perceived that my 
 own powers and life were sinking. The thought of the grave 
 was sweet to me. 
 
 All was suddenly changed. . One morning Sebald brought me 
 the letters which had arrived by the post ; among them were some 
 orders for pictures and a small casket. I opened it. Who can 
 imagine my joyful surprise ? — I saw Hortensia's image, living, 
 beautiful, but in the black dress of mourning — the face more 
 delicate, thin, and pale than when I had known her. — Three 
 words were written in Hortensia's hand upon the paper accompa- 
 nying it : " My Emanuel, hope /" 
 
 I Tan about the room like an intoxicated person ; I sank down 
 in a chair speechless ; I raised my clasped hands towards Heaven. 
 I shouted and sobbed with joy ; I kissed the image and the paper 
 which her hand must have touched ; I knelt and thanked Provi- 
 dence weeping, my face bowed to the earth. 
 
 Thus Sebald found me. He thought me crazy, and he was not 
 mistaken. I feel that man is always stronger to bear misfortune 
 than happiness, for he is always more or less prepared against 
 the advances of the first, but against those of the last he is fear- 
 less and unprepared. 
 
 My hopes bloomed anew, and with them my health and my life. 
 Tufaldini and all my acquaintances were delighted. I now ex- 
 pected from day to day further news of my much loved one. 
 There was no doubt of her being acquainted with my place 
 of sojourn, although I could not exactly make out how she had 
 ascertained it. But from what part of the world did her picture 
 come ? My inquiries and conjectures upon this subject were all 
 fruitless. 
 
 THE SOLUTION. 
 
 At the end of eight months I received another note from her. 
 It contained the following brief lines : " I would like to see thee, 
 
ILLUMINATION; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 85 
 
 Emanuel, once more. Be in Leghorn the first morning of May 
 
 at the Swiss Banking House of Thou wilt have further 
 
 information by inquiring for the widow Mariana Schwartz, who 
 will direct you to my dwelling. Tell no one in Naples where 
 thou goest, least of all speak of me. I exist no longer for any one 
 in the world, unless it be for a few moments with thee." 
 
 This letter filled me with new rapture, yet a mysterious 
 sadness that was visible in its tone, filled me with anxious fore- 
 boding. To see that glorious creature again, if only for a few 
 moments, was all that my soul required. In April I left Tufal- 
 dinrs house in Naples with regret. Sebald and the rest all sup- 
 posed that I was going back to Germany. 
 
 I arrived at Gaeta with Sebald. Here we had an unexpected 
 pleasure. In riding past the garden gate of a villa, outside the 
 city, I saw Miss Cecilia with several ladies. I stopped, sprang 
 from my horse, and made myself known to her. She led me 
 into a circle of her relations, for she had been married atout three 
 weeks. From her I learned that she had left Hortensia a year 
 before. She could not tell me her abode, only that she had en- 
 tered a convent. "The Count Von Hormegg died more than a 
 year since," said Cecilia. " We soon perceived, from the sudden 
 retrenchment of customary expenses, that he must have left his 
 affairs in very great disorder. The Countess reduced her train 
 of domestics to a very few persons. I had the honour of being 
 retained by her. But when she lost all hope, through an unlucky 
 law-suit, of retaining any portion of her paternal estate, which was 
 mortgaged, we were dismissed. She kept only one old attendant, 
 and declared that she would end her days in a cloister. Oh how 
 many tears this parting cost us ! Hortensia was an angel, and never 
 more beautiful, more enchanting, or more exalted, than when under 
 the heaviest blows of fate. She renounced all her accustomed 
 splendour, divided the riches of her wardrobe, like a dying person, 
 amongst the attendants she had dismissed, rewarded all with 
 such princely munificence, that she must have put herself in 
 danger of want, and only begged of us to remember her in our 
 prayers. I left her in Milan, to return to my family, who live 
 here. She gave out that she was going to Germany, to seek 
 there the solitude of a cloister." 
 
86 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 This narrative of Cecilia's explained to me at once the mystery 
 in Hortensia's last letter. She also told me that Carlo, who had 
 been wounded badly, but hot mortally, had entered the service of 
 the Knights of Malta, immediately after his recovery, and had 
 soon after died. 
 
 I left Gaeta with mixed feelings of joy and sorrow. Horten- 
 sia's misfortunes, and the loss of her father, awakened my pity, 
 but kindled, at the same time, more presumptuous hopes than I 
 had ever dared to conceive. I flattered myself that I should per- 
 naps be able to turn her from her resolution to seek a convent, 
 and with her heart, perhaps, to win her hand. My brain was 
 dizzy with the thought of sharing with Hortensia the fruits of my 
 labour. This was my constant dream upon the whole journey to 
 Leghorn, where I arrived one fine morning, eight days before the 
 appointed time. 
 
 1 did not delay a moment in seeking the Swiss banker, to whom 
 I had been directed. I ran there in my travelling apparel, and 
 begged for the address of the widow Schwartz, that I might learn 
 at once whether the Countess had already arrived at Leghorn. 
 A servant conducted me to the widow, who lived in a plain-looking 
 house, in a retired street. I was much vexed to learn that Mrs. 
 Schwartz was out, and was told I might call again in two hours. 
 Every moment of delay was so much stolen from my life. 
 
 At the appointed hour I returned. An old maid-servant opened 
 the door, led me up the stairs, and announced me to her mistress. 
 I had been shown into a simply-furnished, but neat room. A 
 lady sat upon a sofa opposite the door. She did not appear to 
 have noticed my entrance, not having returned my salutation. 
 With both hands before her face, she sought to hide her tears 
 and sobs. 
 
 At this sight, a feverish trembling ran through me. In the 
 form of the widow, in the tone of her sobs, I recognised the form 
 and voice of Hortensia. 
 
 Without reflecting, or waiting to assure myself of the fact, I 
 let my hat and cane fall, like an intoxicated person, and threw 
 myself at the feet of her who wept. Heavens ! who can tell my 
 rapture ? Hortensia's arms were about my neck, my lips met 
 hers. All the past was forgotten, all the future was an eternity 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 
 
 87 
 
 of joy. Never was love more beautifully rewarded — never was 
 constancy more blessed. We both feared lest those joyful mo- 
 ments should have been only a dream. During the whole of that 
 day we asked and answered questions, in so disconnected a manner, 
 that we parted at night without knowing more of each other, than 
 that we had met. 
 
 You may believe that I was ready in good season to accept of an 
 invitation to breakfast from the charming Hortensia. Her servants 
 consisted of a cook, a chambermaid, a lady's-maid, a coachman, 
 and a Chasseu?'. All the service was of the finest China or silver ; 
 but the ancestral arms and initials were missing. There was a 
 look of affluence, which did not correspond with the representa- 
 tions given me, and which was far beyond what my limited for- 
 tune could afford — rather mortifying, when I thought of the proj- 
 ects in which I had revelled during my voyage from Gaeta to 
 Livorno. I expected, and even wished, to find Hortensia in 
 rather straitened circumstances, that I might have courage to 
 offer her all that I possessed. But I stood before her again as a 
 poor painter. 
 
 In our private conversation, I did not conceal from her what I 
 heard at Gaeta from Cecilia, nor the feelings, the resolves, and 
 the hopes which it had awakened. I told her of my blighted 
 projects — how she had, perhaps, taken the terrible resolution of 
 sacrificing youth and beauty within the walls of a convent — how 
 she had consented to choose me for her servant and most true 
 friend — how I would have laid my savings, and all the fruit of my 
 future industry, at her feet. I painted to her, in the colours of 
 love and hope, the blessedness of a quiet country life, in some re- 
 mote place — the simple house, with its little garden — the studio of 
 
 the artist, inspired by her presence I trembled. I could not 
 
 go on. Her eyes fell ; a beautiful colour spread over her cheeks. 
 Thus have I dreamed ! added I, after a long pause, and it should 
 not have been. 
 
 Hortensia rose, went to a closet and took out an ebony box, 
 richly mounted in silver, and handed it to me with the key. " I 
 requested you to come to Leghorn that I might deliver this box 
 into your hands. It will aid you somewhat in the fulfilment of 
 your wishes, but not entirely. After my father's death, my first 
 
68 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 thought was to pay the debt of gratitude I owe you. I had never 
 lost sight of you since your flight from Battaglia. By lucky 
 chance a letter from your man at Ravenna to one of my own 
 servants, detailing the route you proposed, fell into my hands. 
 
 " In a private conversation with Mr. Tufaldini of Naples, he 
 was induced by me to promise to make you one of his family. 
 He received a small capital to defray all expenses, and which he 
 could draw upon, if necessary, for your support. I have also re- 
 warded him for his trouble, although the good man took my little 
 presents rather unwillingly. In return, I had the pleasure of 
 hearing of your welfare every month. Since our separation, 
 Tufaldini's letters have been my only comfort. 
 
 " After the death of my father, on account of his estate, I had a 
 dissension with my relatives. Our lands went to the male heirs. 
 All the rest I turned into gold. I had given up returning to my 
 native country — my last refuge was to be a cloister. Under the 
 cloak of poverty, I withdrew from all my father's old associates, 
 and dismissed all my retainers ; took the name and position of a 
 citizen, that I might live in greater retirement. Not until all this 
 was accomplished did I call upon you to finish my work, and to 
 release me from the vow I had made to Heaven. The moment 
 is here. You have told me beautiful dreams ; but turn with me 
 now to realities for a short time." 
 
 She opened the box and drew forth a package, carefully wrap- 
 ped up, and also some papers addressed to me. She broke the seal 
 of one of them, and laid before me a will, made in all due form, 
 by which I was to receive an immense sum, partly for debts 
 which were unpaid ; partly for the interest which had been suf- 
 fered to accumulate ; partly as a legacy from the widow Mari- 
 ana Schwartz, and all in bank-notes of various countries. 
 
 " This, dear Faust, is your property," continued the Countess; 
 " your well-earned and well-deserved property. I have no fur- 
 ther share in it. I have enough left for a modest income. When 
 I renounce the world and belong to a convent, you will inherit a 
 part of what I possess. If you really esteem me, you will show 
 it by keeping the secret of my birth, rank, and true name, and 
 that you will not utter a syllable of thanks, nor decline receiving 
 your own property. Give me your promise !" 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP-WAKER. 89 
 
 I heard her say this with astonishment and sorrow. I pushed 
 the papers aside with indifference. " Do you then believe that 
 these bank-notes are of any value to me ? I shall neither refuse 
 them nor thank you for them. Do not expect that I shall do ei- 
 ther. If you enter a cloister, all besides, even the world itself, 
 would be hateful to me. I need nothing. What you give me is 
 but dust. Oh, Hortensia ! you once said that it was my soul that 
 animated you. If it were now thus, you would not hesitate to 
 follow my example. I would burn the bank-notes. What should 
 I want of them ? Destroy your fortune, become poor and become 
 mine — oh, Hortensia, mine " 
 
 She bent towards me, clasped both my hands in hers with agi- 
 tation, and with tears in her eyes, said earnestly, " Am I not so 
 now, Emanuel ?" 
 
 " But the cloister ?" 
 
 " My last refuge when thou leavest me." 
 
 There we made our covenant before God. At the altar it was 
 consecrated by the hand of a priest. We left Leghorn, and 
 sought this charming solitude, where we now dwell with our chil- 
 dren. F. B. & P. G. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 The Inward Sight. — It seems that this story has some reference to a pe- 
 culiarity in Zschokke's constitution, by which he was endowed with a clairvoy- 
 ance similar to that he has ascribed to Hortensia. In his Autobiography, 
 he speaks of it as " a singular case of prophetic gift which I called my inward 
 sight, but which has ever been enigmatical to me." He adds the following in 
 regard to it : " I am almost afraid to speak of this, not because I am afraid to 
 be thought superstitious, but lest I should strengthen such feelings in others. 
 And yet it may be an addition to our stock of soul experiences, and therefore 
 I will confess. It is well known that the judgment we not seldom form at the 
 first glance of persons hitherto unknown is more correct than that which is the 
 result of longer acquaintance. The first impression that through some instinct 
 of the soul attracts or repels us with slfangers is afterwards weakened or de- 
 stroyed by custom or by different appearances. We speak in such cases of 
 sympathies or antipathies, and perceive these effects frequently among children 
 to whom experience in human character is wholly wanting. Others are in- 
 credulous on this point, and have recourse to physiognomy. Now for my 
 own case, 
 
90 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " It has happened to me sometimes, on my first meeting with strangers, as I 
 listened silently to their discourse, that their former life, with many trifling 
 circumstances therewith connected, or frequently some particular scene in that 
 life, has passed quite involuntarily, and as it were dream-like, yet perfectly dis- 
 tinct before me. During this time I usually feel so entirely absorbed in the 
 contemplation of the stranger- life, that at last I no longer see clearly the face 
 of the unknown wherein I undesignedly read, nor distinctly hear, the voices of 
 the speakers, which before served in some measure as a commentary to the 
 text of their features. For a long time I held such visions as delusions of the 
 fancy, and the more so as they showed me even the dress and motions of the 
 actors, rooms, furniture, and other accessories. By way of jest I once in a 
 familiar family circle at Kirchberg related the secret history of a seamstress 
 who had just left the room and the house. I had never seen her before in my 
 life ; people were astonished and laughed, but were not to be persuaded that I 
 did not previously know the relations of which I spoke, for what I had uttered 
 was the literal truth ; I on my part was no less astonished that my dream- 
 pictures were confirmed by the reality. I became more attentive to the 
 subject, and when propriety admitted it, I would relate to those whose 
 life thus passed before me the subject of my vision, that I might thereby 
 obtain confirmation or refutation of it. It was invariably ratified, not without 
 consternation on their part.* I myself had less confidence than any one in 
 this mental jugglery. So often as I revealed my visionary gifts to any new 
 person, I regularly expected to hear the answer : ' It was not so.' I felt a 
 secret shudder when my auditors replied that it was true, or when their aston- 
 ishment betrayed my accuracy before they spoke. Instead of many I will 
 mention one example, which pre-eminently astounded me. One fair day in 
 the city of Waldshut, I entered an inn (the Vine), in company with two young 
 student-foresters ; we were tired with rambling through the woods. We 
 supped with a numerous society at the table -d'hote where the guests were 
 making very merry with the peculiarities and eccentricities of the Swiss, with 
 Mesmer's magnetism, Lavater's physiognomy, &c, &c. One of my compan- 
 ions, whose national pride was wounded by their mockery, begged me to make 
 some reply, particularly to a handsome young man who sat opposite us, and 
 who had allowed himself extraordinary license. This man's former life was at 
 that moment presented to my mind. I turned to him and asked whether he 
 would answer me candidly if I related to him some of the most secret passages 
 of his life, I knowing as little of him personally as he did of me ? That would 
 be going a little further, I thought, than Lavater did with his physiognomy. 
 He promised, if I were correct in my information, to admit it frankly. I then 
 related what my vision had shown me, and the whole company were made 
 acquainted with the private history of the young merchant ; his school years, 
 
 * "What demon inspires you 7 Must I again believe in possession?" exclaimed the 
 spirituel Johann von Riga, when in the first hour of our acquaintance I related his past 
 life to him, with the avowed object of learning whether or no I deceived myself. We 
 speculated long on the enigma, but even his penetration could not solve it. 
 
ILLUMINATION ; OR, THE SLEEP- WAKER. 
 
 91 
 
 his youthful errors, and lastly with a fault committed in reference to the strong 
 box of his principal. I described to him the uninhabited room with whitened 
 walls, where, lo the right of the brown door, on a table, stood a black money- 
 box, &c, &c. A dead silence prevailed during the whole narration, which I 
 alone occasionally interrupted by inquiring whether I spoke the truth? The 
 startled young man confirmed every particular, and even, what I had scarcely 
 expected, the last mentioned. Touched by his candour I shook hands with 
 him over the table and said no more. He asked my name, which I gave him, 
 and we remained together talking till past midnight. He is probably still living ! 
 
 " I can well explain to myself how a person of lively imagination may form 
 as in a romance, a correct picture of the actions and passions of another per- 
 son, of a certain character, under certain circumstances. But whence came 
 those trifling accessories which no wise concerned me, and in relation to people 
 for the most part indifferent to me, with whom I neither had, nor desired to 
 have, any connexion ? Or, was the whole matter a constantly recurring acci- 
 dent ? Or, had my auditor, perhaps, when I related the particulars of his 
 former life very different views to give of the whole, although in his first sur- 
 prise, and misled by some resemblances, he had mistaken them for the same ? 
 And yet impelled by this very doubt I had several times given myself trouble 
 to speak of the most insignificant things which my waking dream had reveal- 
 ed to me I shall not say another word on this singular gift of vision, of which 
 I cannot say it was ever of the slightest service ; it manifested itself rarely, 
 quite independently of my will, and several times in reference to persons whom 
 I cared little to look through. Neither am I the only person in possession of 
 this power. On an excursion I once made with two of my sons, I met with 
 an old Tyrolese who carried oranges and lemons about the country, in a house 
 of public entertainment, in Lower Hanenstein, one of the passes of the Jura. 
 He fixed his eyes on me for some time, then mingled in the conversation, and 
 said that he knew me, although he knew me not, and went to relate what I 
 had done and striven to do in former times, to the consternation of the country 
 people present, and the great admiration of my children, who were diverted to 
 find another person gifted like (heir father. How the old lemon merchant came 
 by his knowledge he could explain neither tc me nor to himself; he seemed, 
 nevertheless, to value himself somewhat upon his mysterious wisdom." 
 
THE BROKEI CUP. 
 
THE BROKEN CUP.* 
 
 There is extant, under this name, a short piece by the author of Little 
 Kate of Heilbronn. That and the tale which here follows, originated in an 
 incident which took place at Bern in the year 1802. Henry Von Kleist, and 
 Ludwig Wieland, the son of the poet, were both friends of the writer, in whose 
 chamber hung an engraving called La cruche cassee, the persons and con- 
 tents of which resembled the scene set forth below under the head of The 
 Tribunal. The drawing, which was full of expression, gave great delight to 
 those who saw it, and led to many conjectures as to its meaning. The three 
 friends agreed, in sport, that they would each one day commit to writing, his 
 peculiar interpretation of its design. Wieland promised a satire ; Von Kleist 
 threw off a comedy ; and the author of the following tale, what is here given. 
 
 MARIETTA. 
 
 Napotjle, it is true, is only a very little place on the bay of 
 Cannes ; yet it is pretty well known through all Provence. It 
 lies in the shade of lofty evergreen palms, and darker orange trees ; 
 but that alone would not make it renowned. Still they say that 
 there are grown the most luscious grapes, the sweetest roses, and 
 the handsomest girls. I don't know but it is so ; in the meantime 
 I believe it most readily. Pity that Napoule is so small, and 
 cannot produce more luscious grapes, fragrant roses, and hand- 
 some maidens ; especially, as we might then have some of them 
 transplanted to our own country. 
 
 As, ever since the foundation of Napoule, all the Napoulese 
 women have been beauties, so the little Marietta was a wonder of 
 wonders, as the chronicles of the place declare. She was called 
 the little Marietta ; yet she was not smaller than a girl of seven- 
 teen or thereabouts ought to be, seeing that her forehead just 
 reached up to the lips of a grown man. 
 
 The chronicles aforesaid had very good ground for speaking of 
 
96 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 Marietta. I, had I stood in the shoes of the chronicler, would 
 have done the same. For Marietta, who until lately had lived 
 with her mother Manon at Avignon, when she came back to her 
 birth-place, quite upset the whole village. Verily, not the houses, 
 but the people and their heads ; and not the heads of all the peo- 
 ple, but of those particularly, whose heads and hearts are always 
 in great danger, when in the neighbourhood of two bright eyes. 
 I know very well that such a position is no joke. 
 
 Mother Manon would have done much better if she had remain- 
 ed at Avignon. But she had been left a small inheritance, by 
 which she received at Napoule an estate consisting of some vine- 
 hills, and a house that lay in the shadow of a rock, between cer- 
 tain olive trees and African acacias. This is a kind of thing 
 which no unprovided widow ever rejects ; and, accordingly, in 
 her own estimation, she was as rich and happy as though she 
 were the Countess of Provence or something like it. 
 
 So much the worse was it for the good people of Napoule. 
 They never suspected their misfortune, not having read in Homer, 
 how a single pretty woman had filled all Greece and Lesser Asia 
 with discord and war. 
 
 HOW THE MISFORTUNE CAME ABOUT. 
 
 Marietta had scarcely been fourteen days in the house, be- 
 tween the olive trees and the African acacias, before every 
 young man of Napoule knew that she lived there, and that there 
 lived not, in all Provence, a more* charming girl than the one in 
 that house. 
 
 Went she through the village, sweeping lightly along like a 
 dressed-up angel, her frock, with its pale green bodice, and orange 
 leaves and rose-buds upon the bosom of it, fluttering in the 
 breeze, and flowers and ribbons waving about the straw bonnet, 
 which shaded her beautiful features, — yes, then the grave old 
 men spake out, and the young ones were struck dumb. And 
 every where, to the right and left, little windows and doors 
 were opened with " a good morning," or " a good evening, Mari- 
 
THE BROKEN CUP. 
 
 »7 
 
 etta," as it might be, while she nodded to the right and left with 
 a pleasant smile. 
 
 If Marietta walked into the church, all hearts (that is, of the 
 young people) forgot Heaven ; all eyes turned from the Saints, 
 and the worshipping finger wandered idly among the pearls of the 
 rosary. This must certainly have provoked much sorrow, at 
 least, among the more devout. 
 
 The maidens of Napoule particularly, became very pious about 
 this time, for they, most of all, took the matter to heart. And 
 they were not to be blamed for it ; for since the advent of Mari- 
 etta, more than one prospective groom had become cold, and more 
 than one worshipper of some beloved one, quite inconstant. 
 There were bickerings and reproaches on all sides, many tears, 
 pertinent lectures, and even rejections. The talk was no longer 
 of marriages, but of separations. They began to return their 
 pledges of truth, rings, ribbons, &c. The old persons took part 
 with their children ; criminations and strife spread from house to 
 house : it was most deplorable. 
 
 Marietta is the cause of all, said the pious maidens, first ; then, 
 the mothers said it ; next the fathers took it up ; and finally, all 
 — even the young men. But Marietta, shielded by modesty and 
 innocence, like the petals of the rose-bud in its dark green calix, 
 did not suspect the mischief of which she was the occasion, and 
 continued courteous to every body. This touched the young men, 
 who said, " why condemn the pure and harmless child — she is 
 not guilty !" Then the fathers said the same thing ; then the 
 mothers took it up ; and finally, all — even the pious maidens. 
 For, let who would talk with Marietta, she was sure to gain their 
 esteem. So before half a year had passed, every body had 
 spoken to her, and every body loved her. But she did not sus- 
 pect that she was the object of such general regard, as she had 
 not before suspected that she was the object of dislike. Does the 
 violet, hidden in the down-trodden grass, think how swee it is ? 
 
 Now, every one wished to make amends for the injustice they 
 had done Marietta. Sympathy deepened the tenderness of their 
 attachment. Marietta found herself greeted every where in a 
 more friendly way than ever ; she was more cordially welcomed ; 
 more heartily invited to the rural sports and dances. 
 
 PART II. 8 
 
98 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 ABOUT THE WICKED COLIN. 
 
 All men, however, are not endowed with tender sympathy ; but 
 some have hearts hardened like Pharaoh's. This arises, no doubt, 
 from that natural depravity which has come upon men in conse- 
 quence of the fall of Adam, or because, at their baptism, the devil 
 is not brought sufficiently under subjection. 
 
 A remarkable example of this hardness of heart was given by 
 one Colin, the richest farmer and proprietor in Napoule, whose 
 vineyards and olive gardens, whose lemon and orange trees could 
 hardly be counted in a day. One thing particularly demonstrates 
 the perverseness of his disposition ; he was twenty-seven years 
 old, and had never yet asked for what purpose girls had been 
 created ! 
 
 True, all the people, especially damsels of a certain age, 
 willingly forgave him this sin, and looked upon him as one of the 
 best young men under the sun. His fine figure, his fresh unem- 
 barrassed manner, his look, his laugh, enabled him to gain the 
 favourable opinion of the aforesaid people, who would have for- 
 given him, had there been occasion, any one of the deadly sins. 
 But the decision of such judges is not always to be trusted. 
 
 While both old and young at Napoule had become reconciled 
 to the innocent Marietta, and proffered their sympathies to her, 
 Colin was the only one who had no pity upon the poor child. If 
 Marietta was talked of, he became as dumb as a fish. If he met 
 her in the street, he would turn red and white with anger, and 
 cast sidelong glances at her of the most malicious kind. 
 
 If, at evening, the young people met upon the sea shore near 
 the old castle ruins, for sprightly pastimes, or rural dances, or to 
 sing catches, Colin was the merriest among them. But as soon 
 as Marietta arrived the rascally fellow was silent, and all the gold 
 in the world couldn't make him sing. — What a pity, when he had 
 such a fine voice ! Every body listened to it so willingly, and its 
 store of songs was endless. 
 
 All the maidens looked kindly upon Colin, and he was friendly 
 with all of them. He had, as we have said, a roguish glance, 
 which the lasses feared and loved ; and it was so sweet, thoy 
 
THE BROKEN CUP. 
 
 99 
 
 would like to have had it painted. But, as might naturally be ex- 
 pected, the offended Marietta did not look graciously upon him. 
 And in that she was perfectly right. Whether he smiled or not 
 it was all the same to her. As to his roguish glance, why she 
 would never hear it mentioned ; and therein too she was perfectly 
 right. When he told a tale, (and he knew thousands) and every 
 body listened, she nudged her neighbour, or perhaps threw tufts 
 of grass at Peter or Paul, and laughed and chattered, and did not 
 listen to Colin at all. This behaviour quite provoked the proud 
 fellow, so that he would break off in the middle of his story, and 
 stalk sullenly away. 
 
 Revenge is sweet. The daughter of mother Manon well knew 
 how to triumph. Yet Marietta was a right good child and quite 
 too tender-hearted. If Colin was silent, it gave her pain. If he 
 was downcast, she laughed no more. If he went away, she did 
 not stay long behind : but hurried to her home, and wept tears of 
 repentance, more beautiful than those of the Magdalen, although 
 she had not sinned like the Magdalen. 
 
 THE CUP. 
 
 Father Jerome, the pastor of Napoule, was an old man of 
 seventy, who possessed all the virtues of a saint, and only one 
 failing ; which was, that by reason of his advanced years, he was 
 hard of hearing. But, on that very account, his homilies were 
 more acceptable to the children of his baptism and blessing. 
 True, he preached only of two subjects, as if they comprehended 
 the whole of religion. It was either, " Little children, love one 
 another," or it was, " Mysterious are the ways of Providence." 
 And truly there is so much Faith, Love and Hope in these, that 
 one might at a pinch be saved by them. The little children 
 loved one another most obediently, and trusted in the ways of 
 Providence. — Only Colin, with his flinty heart, would know 
 nothing of either : for even when he professed to be friendly, he 
 entertained the deepest malice. 
 
 The Napoulese went to the annual market or fair of the city 
 
100 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 of Vence. It was truly a joyful time, and though they had but 
 little gold to buy with, there were many goods to look at. Now 
 Marietta and mother Manon, went to the Fair with the rest, and 
 Colin was also there. He bought a great many curiosities and 
 trifles for his friends — but he would not spend a farthing for 
 Marietta. And yet he was always at her elbow, though he did 
 not speak to her, nor she to him. It was easy to see that he was 
 brooding over some scheme of wickedness. 
 
 Mother Manon stood gazing before a shop, when she suddenly 
 exclaimed, " Oh ! Marietta, see that beautiful cup ! A queen 
 would not be ashamed to raise it to her lips. Only see : the edge 
 is of dazzling gold, and the flowers upon it could not bloom more 
 more beautifully in the garden, although they are only painted. 
 And in the midst of this Paradise ! pray see, Marietta, how the 
 apples are smiling on the trees. They are verily tempting. And 
 Adam cannot withstand it, as the enchanting Eve offers him one 
 for food ! And do see, how prettily the little frisking lamb skips 
 around the old tiger, and the snow-white dove with its golden 
 throat stands there before the vulture, as if she would caress 
 him !" 
 
 Marietta could not satisfy herself with looking. " Had I such 
 a cup, mother!" said she, " it is far too beautiful to drink out of: 
 I would place my flowers in it and constantly peep into Paradise. 
 We are at the fair in Vence, but when I look on the picture, I 
 feel as if I were in Paradise." 
 
 So spoke Marietta, and called all her companions to the spot, to 
 share her admiration of the cup : but the young men soon joined 
 the maidens, until at length almost half the inhabitants of Na- 
 poule were assembled before the wonderfully beautiful cup. But 
 miraculously beautiful was it mainly from its inestimable, trans- 
 lucent porcelain, with gilded handles and glowing colours. They 
 asked the merchant timidly : " Sir, what is the price of it ?" 
 And he answered : " Among friends, it is worth a hundred livres." 
 Then they all became silent, and went away in despair. When 
 the Napoulese were all gone from the front of the shop, Colin 
 came there by stealth, threw the merchant a hundred livres upon 
 the counter, had the cup put in a box well packed with cotton, 
 
THE BROKEN CUP. 
 
 101 
 
 and then carried it off. — What evil plans he had in view no one 
 would have surmised. 
 
 Near Napoule, on his way home, it being already dusk, he met 
 old Jacques, the Justice's servant, returning from the fields. 
 Jacques was a very good man, but excessively stupid. 
 
 "I will give thee money enough to get something to drink, 
 Jacques," said Colin, " if thou wilt bear this box to Manon's 
 house, and leave it there ; and if any one should see thee, and 
 enquire from whom the box came, say, ' A stranger gave it to 
 me.' But never disclose my name, or I will always detest 
 thee." 
 
 Jacques promised this, took the drink-money, and the box, and 
 went with it towards the little dwelling, between the olive trees 
 and the African acacias. 
 
 THE CARRIER. 
 
 Before he arrived there, he encountered his master, Justice 
 Hautmartin, who asked, "Jacques, what art thou carrying?" 
 
 " A box for mother Manon. But, sir, I cannot say from whom 
 it comes." 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Because Mr. Colin would always detest me." 
 
 " It is well that thou canst keep a secret. But it is already 
 late ; give me the box, for I am going- to-morrow to see Mrs. 
 Manon ; I will deliver it to her, and not betray that it came from 
 Colin. It will save thee a walk, and furnish me a good excuse 
 for calling ou the old lad} ." 
 
 Jacques gave the box to his master, whom he was accustomed 
 to obey explicitly in all things. The Justice bore it into his 
 chamber, and examined it by the light with some curiosity. On 
 the lid was neatly written with red chalk : " For the lovely and 
 dear Marietta." But Herr Hautmartin well knew that this was 
 some of Colin's mischief, and that some knavish trick lurked un- 
 der the whole. He therefore opened the box carefully, for fear 
 that a mouse or rat should be concealed within. When he be- 
 
102 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 held the wondrous cup, which he had seen at Vence, he was 
 dreadfully shocked, for Herr Hautmartin was a skilful casuist, 
 and knew that the inventions and devices of the human heart 
 are evil from our youth upward. He saw at once, that Colin 
 designed this cup as a means of bringing misfortune upon Mari- 
 etta : perhaps to give out, when it should be in her possession, 
 that it was the present of some successful lover in the town, or 
 the like, so that all decent people would thereafter keep aloof from 
 Marietta. Therefore Herr Hautmartin resolved, in order to pre- 
 vent any evil reports, to profess himself the giver. Moreover, he 
 loved Marietta, and would gladly have seen her observe more 
 strictly towards himself the sayings of the grey-headed priest 
 Jerome, " Little children, love one another." In truth, Herr 
 Hautmartin was a little child of fifty years old, and Marietta did 
 not think the saying applied particularly to him. Mother Manon, 
 on the contrary, thought that the Justice was a clever little child, 
 he had gold and a high reputation, from one end of Napoule to the 
 other. And when the Justice spoke of marriage, and Marietta 
 ran away in affright, mother Manon remained sitting, and had no 
 fear for the tall, staid gentleman. It must also be confessed, that 
 there were no faults in his person. And although Colin might be 
 the handsomest man in the village, yet the Justice far surpassed 
 him in two things, namely, in the number of years, and in a very, 
 very big nose. Yes, this nose, which always went before the Jus- 
 tice like a herald, to proclaim his approach, was a real elephant 
 among human noses. 
 
 With this proboscis, his good purpose, and the cup, the Justice 
 went the following morning to the house between the olive trees 
 and the African acacias. 
 
 " For the beautiful Marietta," said he, " I hold nothing too 
 costly. Yesterday you admired the cup at Vence : to-day, allow 
 me, lovely Marietta, to lay it and my devoted heart at your feet." 
 
 Manon and Marietta were transported beyond measure when 
 they beheld the cup. Manon's eyes glistened with delight ; but 
 Marietta turned and said, " I can neither take your heart nor 
 your cup." 
 
 Then mother Manon was angry, and cried out : " But I accept 
 both heart and cup. O, thou little fool, how long wilt thou de- 
 
THE BROKEN CUP. 
 
 103 
 
 spise thy good fortune ! For whom dost thou tarry ? Will a 
 count of Provence make thee his bride, that thou scornst the Jus- 
 tice of Napoule ? 1 know better how to look after thy interests. 
 Herr Hautmartin, I deem it an honour to call you my son-in-law." 
 
 Then Marietta went out and wept bitterly, and hated the beau- 
 tiful cup with all her heart. 
 
 But the Justice drawing the palm of his flabby hand over his 
 nose, spoke thus judiciously : 
 
 " Mother Manon, hurry nothing. The dove will at length, 
 when it learns to know me better, give way. I am not impetu- 
 ous. I have some skill among women, and before a quarter of a 
 year passes by, I will insinuate myself into Marietta's good 
 graces." 
 
 " Thy nose is too large for that," whispered Marietta, who list- 
 ened outside the door and laughed to herself. In fact, the quar- 
 ter of the year passed by, and Herr Hautmartin had not yet 
 pierced her heart even with the tip of his nose. 
 
 THE FLOWERS. 
 
 During this quarter of a year Marietta had other affairs to at- 
 tend to. The cup gave her much vexation and trouble, and some- 
 thing else besides. 
 
 For a fortnight nothing else was talked of in Napoule, and 
 every one said, it is a present from the Justice, and the marriage 
 is already agreed upon. — Marietta solemnly declared to all her 
 companions, that she would rather plunge to the bottom of the sea 
 than marry the Justice, but the maidens continued to banter her 
 all the more, saying, Oh, how blissful it must be to repose in 
 the shadow of his nose !" — This was her first vexation. 
 
 Then mother Manon had the cruelty to force Marietta to rinse 
 out the cup every morning at the spring under the rock and to 
 fill it with fresh flowers. She hoped by this to accustom Marietta 
 to the cup and heart of the giver. But Marietta continued to hate 
 both the gift and giver, and her work at the spring became an ac- 
 tual punishment. Second vexation. 
 
104 
 
 ZSCHOKKE S TALES. 
 
 Then, when in the morning, she came to the spring, twice every 
 week she found on the rock, immediately over it, some most beau- 
 tiful flowers, handsomely arranged, all ready for the decoration of 
 the cup. And on the flower stalks a strip of paper was always 
 tied, on which was written, Dear Marietta. Now no one need 
 expect to impose upon little Marietta, as if magicians and fairies 
 were still in the world. Consequently, she knew that both the 
 flowers and papers must have come from Herr Hautmartin. Ma- 
 rietta, indeed, would not smell them because the living breath 
 from out the Justice's nose had perfumed them. Nevertheless, 
 she took the flowers, because they were finer than wild flowers, 
 and tore the slip of paper into a thousand pieces, which she strew- 
 ed upon the spot where the flowers usually lay. But this did not 
 vex Justice Hautmartin, whose love was unparalleled in its kind, 
 as his nose was in its kind. Third vexation. 
 
 At length it came out in conversation with Herr Hautmartin, 
 that he was not the giver of the beautiful flowers. Then, who 
 could it be ? Marietta was utterly astounded at the unexpected 
 discovery. Thenceforth she took the flowers from the rock more 
 kindly ; but further, Marietta was, — what maidens are not 
 wont to be, — very inquisitive. She conjectured first this and then 
 that young man in Napoule. Yet her conjectures were in vain. 
 She looked and listened far into the night ; she rose earlier than 
 usual. But she looked and listened in vain. And still twice a 
 week in the morning, the miraculous flowers lay upon the rock, 
 and upon the strip of paper wound round them, she always read 
 the silent sigh, Dear Marietta ! Such an incident would have 
 made even the most indifferent inquisitive. But curiosity at length 
 became a burning pain. Fourth vexation. 
 
 WICKEDNESS UPON WICKEDNESS. 
 
 Now Father Jerome, on Sunday, had again preached from the 
 text, " Mysterious are the dispensations of Providence." And 
 little Marietta thought, if Providence would only dispense that I 
 might at length find out who is the flower dispenser. — Father 
 Jerome was never wrong. 
 
THE BROKEN CUP. 
 
 105 
 
 On a summer night, when it was far too warm for rest, Mari- 
 etta awoke very early, and could not resume her sleep. There- 
 fore she sprang joyously from her couch, as the first streaks of 
 dawn flashed against the window of her little chamber, over the 
 waves of the sea and the Lerinian Isles, dressed herself, and went 
 out to wash her forehead, breast, and arms in the cool spring. She 
 took her hat with her, intending to take a walk by the sea-shore, 
 as she knew of a retired place for bathing. 
 
 In order to reach this retired spot, it was necessary to pass over 
 the rocks behind the house, and thence down through the orange 
 and palm trees. On this occasion Marietta could not pass through 
 them ; for, under the youngest and most slender of the palms, lay 
 a tall young man, in profound sleep — near him a nosegay of most 
 splendid flowers. A white paper lay thereon, from which, prob- 
 ably, a sigh was again breathing. How could Marietta get by 
 there ? 
 
 She stood still, trembling with fright. She would go home 
 again. Hardly had she retreated a couple of steps, ere she looked 
 again at the sleeper, and remained motionless. Yet the distance 
 prevented her from recognising his face. Now the mystery was 
 to be solved, or never. She tripped lightly nearer to the palms — 
 but he seemed to stir — then she ran again towards the cottage. 
 His movements were but the fearful imaginings of Marietta — 
 now she returned again on her way towards the palms — but 
 his sleep might perhaps be only dissembled — swiftly she ran 
 towards the cottage — but who would flee for a mere probability? — 
 She trod more boldly the path towards the palms. 
 
 With these fluctuations of her timid and joyous spirit, between 
 fright and curiosity, with these to and fro trippings between the 
 house and the palm-trees, she at length nearly approached the 
 sleeper ; at the same time curiosity became more powerful than 
 fear. 
 
 " What is he to me ? My way leads me directly past him. 
 Whether he sleeps or wake, I will go straight on." So thought 
 Manon's daughter. But she passed not by, but stood looking 
 directly in the face of the flower-giver, in order to be certain who 
 it was. Besides, he slept as if it were the first time in a month. 
 
106 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 And who was it? Now, who else should it be, but the arch, 
 wicked Colin ? 
 
 So it was he who had annoyed the gentle maiden, and given 
 her so much trouble with Herr Hautmartin, because he bore a 
 grudge against her ; he had been the one who had teased her 
 with flowers, in order to torture her curiosity. Wherefore ? He 
 hated Marietta. He behaved himself always most shamefully 
 towards the poor child. He avoided her when he could ; and 
 when he could not, he grieved the good-natured little one. 
 With all the other maidens of Napoule he was more chatty, 
 friendly, courteous, than towards Marietta. Consider — he had 
 never once asked her to dance, and yet she danced bewitchingly. 
 
 Now there he lay, surprised, taken in the act. Revenge swelled 
 in Marietta's bosom. What disgrace could she subject him to % 
 She took the nosegay, unloosed it, strewed his present over the 
 sleeper in scorn. But the paper, on which appeared again the 
 sigh, "Dear Marietta," she retained, and thrust quickly into 
 her bosom. She wished to preserve this proof of his handwriting. 
 Marietta was sly. Now she would go away. But her revenge 
 was not yet satisfied. She could not leave the place without 
 returning Colin's ill will. She took the violet coloured silken 
 ribbon from her hat, and threw it lightly around the sleeper's arm 
 and around the tree, and with three knots tied Colin fast. Now 
 when he awoke, how astonished he would be ! How his curi- 
 osity would torment him to ascertain who had played him this 
 trick ! — That he could not possibly discover. So much the bet- 
 ter ; it served him right. 
 
 Marietta had only been too lenient towards him. She seemed 
 to regret her work when she had finished it. Her bosom throbbed 
 impetuously. Indeed, T believe that a little tear filled her eye, as 
 she compassionately gazed upon the guilty one. Slowly she re- 
 treated to the orange grove by the rocks — she looked around often 
 — slowly ascended the rocks, looking down among the palm trees 
 as she ascended. Then she hastened to mother Manon, who was 
 calling her. 
 
THE BROKEN CUP. 
 
 107 
 
 THE HAT BAND. 
 
 That very day Colin practised new mischief. What did he ? 
 He wished to shame the poor Marietta publicly. Ah ! she never 
 thought that every one in Napoule knew her violet coloured rib- 
 bon ! Colin remembered it but too well. Proudly he bound it 
 around his hat, and exhibited it to the gaze of all the world as a 
 conquest. And male and female cried out. " he has received it 
 from Marietta." — And all the maidens said angrily " the repro- 
 bate." And all the young men who liked to see Marietta, cried 
 out, " the reprobate." 
 
 " How ! mother Manon V shrieked the Justice Hautmartin, 
 when he came to her house, and he shrieked so loudly, that it 
 re-echoed wonderfully through his nose. " How ! do you suffer 
 this ? my betrothed presents the young proprietor Colin with her 
 hat band ! It is high time that we celebrate our nuptials. When 
 that is over, then I shall have a right to speak." 
 
 " You have a right !" answered mother Manon, " if things are 
 so, the marriage must take place forthwith. When that is done, 
 all will go right." 
 
 " But, mother Manon, Marietta always refuses to give me her 
 consent." 
 
 " Prepare the marriage feast." 
 
 " But she will not even look kindly at me ; and when I seat 
 myself at her side, the little savage jumps up and runs away." 
 "Justice, only prepare the marriage feast." 
 " But if Marietta resists — " 
 
 " We will take her by surprise. We will go to Father Jerome 
 on Monday morning early, and he shall quietly celebrate the 
 marriage. This we can easily accomplish with him. I am her 
 mother. You the first Judicial person in Napoule. He must 
 obey. Marietta need know nothing about it. Early on Monday 
 morning I will send her to Father Jerome all alone, with a mes- 
 sage, so that she will suspect nothing. Then the Priest shall 
 speak earnestly to her. Half an hour afterwards we two will 
 come. Then swiftly to the altar. And even if Marietta should 
 
108 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 then say no, what consequence is it ? The old Priest can hear 
 nothing. But till then, mum to Marietta and all Napoule." 
 
 So the secret remained with the two. Marietta dreamed not of 
 the good luck which was in store for her. She thought only of 
 Colin's wickedness, which had made her the common talk of the 
 whole place. Oh ! how she repented her heedlessness about the 
 ribbon ; and yet in her heart she forgave the reprobate his crime. 
 Marietta was far too good. She told her mother, she told all her 
 playmates, " Colin has found my lost hat band. I never gave it 
 to him. He only wishes to vex me with it. You all know that 
 Colin was always ill-disposed towards me, and always sought to 
 mortify me !" 
 
 Ah ! the poor child ! she knew not what new abomination the 
 malicious fellow was again contriving. 
 
 THE BROKEN CUP. 
 
 Early in the morning Marietta went to the spring with the cup. 
 There were no flowers yet on the rock. It was still quite too 
 early ; for the sun had scarcely risen from the sea. 
 
 Footsteps were heard. Colin came in sight, the flowers in his 
 hand. Marietta became very red. Colin stammered out " good 
 morning, Marietta," but the greeting came not from his heart, he 
 could hardly bring it over hiu lips. 
 
 " Why dost thou wear my ribbon so publicly, Colin ?" said 
 Marietta, and placed the cup upon the rock. " I did not give it 
 thee " 
 
 " Thou didst not give it to me, dear Marietta ?" asked he, and 
 inward rage made him deadly pale. 
 
 Marietta was ashamed of the falsehood, drooped her eyelids, 
 and said after a while, " Well, I did give it to thee, yet thou 
 shouldst not have worn it so openly. Give it me back again." 
 
 Slowly he untied it ; his anger was so great that he could not 
 prevent the tears from filling his eyes, nor the sighs from escap- 
 ing his breast. — " Dear Marietta, leave thy ribbon with me," said 
 he softly. 
 
THE BROKEN CUP. 
 
 109 
 
 " No," answered she. 
 
 Then his suppressed passion changed into desperation. Sigh- 
 ing, he looked towards Heaven, then sadly on Marietta, who, 
 silent and abashed, stood by the spring with downcast eyes. 
 
 He wound the violet coloured ribbon around the stalks of the 
 dowers, said " there, take them all," and threw the flowers so 
 spitefully against the magnificent cup upon the* rock, that it was 
 thrown down and dashed to pieces^. Maliciously he fled away. 
 
 Mother Manon lurking behind the window, had seen and heard 
 all. When the cup broke, hearing and sight left her. She was 
 scarcely able to speak for very horror. And as she pushed with 
 all her strength against the narrow window, to shout after the 
 guilty one, it gave way, and with one crash fell to the earth and 
 was shattered in pieces. 
 
 So much ill luck would have discomposed any other woman. 
 But Manon soon recovered herself. " How lucky that I was a 
 witness to this roguery !" exclaimed she ; * he must to the Jus- 
 tice. — He shall replace both cup and window-sash with his gold. 
 It will give a rich dowry to Marietta." But when Marietta 
 brought in the fragments of the shattered cup, when Manon saw 
 the Paradise lost, the good man Adam without a head, and of 
 Eve not a solitary limb remaining, the serpent unhurt, triumph- 
 ing, the tiger safe, but the little lamb gone even to the very tail, 
 as if the tiger had swallowed it, then mother Manon screamed 
 forth curses against Colin, and said " one can easily see that this 
 fall came from the hand of the Devil." 
 
 THE TRIBUNAL. 
 
 She took the cup in one hand, Marietta in the other, and went 
 about nine o'clock to where Herr Hautmartin was wont to sit in 
 judgment. She there made a great outcry, and showed the bro- 
 ken cup and the Paradise lost. Marietta wept bitterly. 
 
 The Justice when he saw the broken cup and his beautiful 
 bride in tears, flew into so violent a rage towards Colin, that his 
 nose was as violet coloured as Marietta's well-known hat band. 
 
110 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 He immediately despatched his bailiffs to bring the criminal be- 
 fore him. 
 
 Colin came overwhelmed with grief. Mother Manon now re- 
 peated her complaint with great eloquence, before justice, bailiffs 
 and scribes. — But Colin listened not. He stepped to Marietta and 
 whispered to her " forgive me, dear Marietta, as I forgive thee. 
 I broke thy cup unintentionally ; but thou, thou hast broken my 
 heart !" 
 
 " What whispering is that ?' cried Herr Hautmartin, with ma- 
 gisterial authority. " Hearken to this accusation, and defend 
 yourself." " I have nought to defend. I broke the cup against 
 my will," said Colin. 
 
 " That I verily believe," said Marietta sobbing ; " I am as 
 guilty as he ; for I offended and angered him, — then he threw 
 the ribbon and the flowers to me. He could not help it." 
 
 " Well, I should like to know !" cried mother Manon. "Do you 
 intend to defend him ? Mr. Justice, pronounce his sentence. He 
 has broken the cup, and he does not deny it ; and I, on his ac- 
 count, the window — will he deny that ? Let us see." 
 
 " Since you cannot deny it, Mr. Colin," said the Justice, " you 
 must pay three hundred livres for the cup, for it is worth that ; 
 and then for " 
 
 " No," interrupted Colin, " it is not worth so much. I bought 
 it at Vence at the Fair, for Marietta, for one hundred livres." 
 
 " You bought it, Sir brazen face ?" shrieked the Justice, and 
 his whole face became like Marietta's hat band. He could not or 
 would not say more, for he dreaded a disagreeable investigation 
 of the matter. 
 
 But Colin was vexed at the imputation, and said, " I sent this 
 cup on the evening of the Fair, by your own servant, to Marietta. 
 There stands Jacques in the door. He is a witness. Speak 
 Jacques, did I not give thee the box to carry to Mrs. Manon ?" 
 
 Herr Hautmartin wished to interrupt this conversation by 
 speaking loudly. But the simple Jacques said, " Only recollect, 
 Herr Justice, you took away Colin's box from me, and carried 
 what was in it to Frau Manon. The box lies even now, there 
 under the papers." 
 
 Then the bailiffs were ordered to remove the simpleton ; and 
 
THE BROKEN CUP. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Colin was also directed to retire, until he should be sent for 
 again. 
 
 " Very well, Mr. Justice," interposed Colin, " but this business 
 shall be your last in Napoule. I know this, that you would 
 ingratiate yourself with Frau Manon and Marietta, by means of 
 my property. When you want me, you will have to ride to 
 Grasse to the Governor's." With that, Colin departed. 
 
 Herr Hautmartin was quite puzzled with this affair, and in his 
 confusion, knew not what he was about. Mrs. Manon shook her 
 head. The affair was dark and mysterious to her. "Who will 
 now pay me for the broken cup V she asked. 
 
 " To me," said Marietta, with glowing, brightened countenance, 
 " to me it is already paid for." 
 
 MYSTERIOUS DISPENSATIONS. 
 
 Colin rode that same day to the Governor, at Grasse, and 
 came back early the next morning. But Mr. Hautmartin only 
 laughed at him, and removed all Mother Manon's suspicions, by 
 swearing he would let his nose be cut off, if Colin did not pay 
 three hundred livres for the broken cup. He also went with 
 Mother Manon to talk with Father Jerome about the marriage, 
 and impressed upon him the necessity of earnestly setting before 
 Marietta her duty, as an obedient daughter, of not opposing the 
 will of her mother in her marriage. This the pious old man 
 promised, although he understood not the half of what they 
 shouted in his ear. 
 
 Marietta took the broken cup into her bed-chamber, and now 
 truly loved it ; and it was, as if Paradise were planted in her 
 bosom, since it had been destroyed on the cup. 
 
 When Monday morning came, Mother Manon said to her 
 daughter, " Dress yourself handsomely, and carry this myrtle 
 wreath to Father Jerome ; he wants it for a bride." Marietta 
 dressed herself in her Sunday clothes, took the myrtle wreath un- 
 suspiciously, and carried it to Father Jerome. 
 
 On the way, Colin met her, and greeted her joyfully, though 
 
l L3 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 timidly ; and when she told him where she was taking the 
 
 wreath, Colin said, " I am going the same way, for I am carrying 
 the money for the Church's tenths to the Priest." And as they 
 went on, he took her hand silently, and both trembled, as if they 
 designed some great crime against each other. 
 
 " Hast thou forgiven me ?" whispered Colin, anxiously. " Ah ! 
 Marietta, what have I done to thee, that thou art so cruel 
 towards me ?" 
 
 She could only say, " Be quiet, Colin, you shall have the ribbon 
 again ; and I will preserve the cup, since it came from you ! 
 Did it really come from you ?" 
 
 " All ! Marietta, canst thou doubt it ? All I have I would 
 gladly give thee. Wilt thou, hereafter, be as kind to me, as thou 
 art to others V 
 
 She replied not. But as she entered the parsonage, she looked 
 aside at him, and when she saw his fine eyes filled with tears, 
 she whispered softly, " dear Colin !" Then he bent down and 
 kissed her hand. With this, the door of a chamber opened, and 
 Father Jerome, with venerable aspect, stood before them. The 
 young couple had nearly fallen from giddiness, and they held fast 
 to each other. I know not whether this was the effect of the 
 hand-kissing, or the awe they felt for the sage. 
 
 Marietta handed him the myrtle wreath. He laid it upon her 
 head and said, "Little children, love one another;" and then 
 urged the good maiden in the most touching and pathetic manner, 
 to love Colin. For the old gentleman, from his hardness of hear- 
 ing, had either mistaken the name of the bridegroom, or from 
 want of memory, forgotten it, and thought Colin must be the 
 bridegroom. 
 
 Then Marietta's heart softened under the exhortation of the 
 venerable Father, and with tears and sobs she exclaimed, " Ah ! 
 I have loved him for a long time, but he hates me." 
 
 " I hate thee, Marietta ?" cried Colin, " my soul has lived only 
 in thee, since thou earnest to Napoule. Oh ! Marietta, how could I 
 hope and believe that thou didst love me ? Does not all Napoule 
 worship thep W. 
 
 W'ny 'hen dost thou avoid me, Colin, and prefer al! my com- 
 panions before mnV } 
 
THE BROKEN CUP. 
 
 113 
 
 " Oh ! Marietta, I feared and trembled with love and anxiety 
 when I beheld thee ; I had not the courage to approach thee ; and 
 when I was away from thee, I was most miserable." 
 
 As they talked thus with each other, the good Father thought 
 they were quarrelling ; and he threw his arms around them, 
 brought them together, and said imploringly, " Little children, 
 little children, love one another." 
 
 Then Marietta sank on Colin's breast, and Colin threw his 
 arms around her, and both faces beamed with rapture. They 
 forgot the priest, the whole world. Colin's lips hung upon Mari- 
 etta's sweet mouth. It was indeed only a kiss, but a kiss of 
 sweetest self-forgetfulness. Each was sunk into the other. 
 Both had so completely lost their recollection, that unwittingly, 
 they followed the delighted Father Jerome into the church and 
 before the altar. 
 
 " Marietta !" sighed he. 
 
 " Colin !" sighed she. 
 
 In the church there were many devout worshippers ; but they 
 witnessed Colin's and Marietta's marriage with amazement. 
 Many ran out before the close of the ceremony, to spread the 
 news in every direction throughout Napoule : " Colin and Mari- 
 etta are married !" 
 
 When the solemnization was over, Father Jerome honestly re- 
 joiced that he had succeeded so well ; and that such little oppo- 
 sition had been made by the parties. He led them into the par- 
 sonage. 
 
 END OF THIS MEMORABLE HISTOEY. 
 
 Then mother Manon arrived, breathless ; she had waited at home 
 a long time for the bridegroom. He had not arrived. At the 
 last stroke of the clock she grew anxious, and went to Herr Haut- 
 martin's. There a new surprise awaited her. She learned that 
 the Governor, together with the officers of the Viguerie, had ap- 
 peared, and taken possession of the accounts, chests, and papers 
 of the Justice ; and at the same time arrested Herr Hautmartin. 
 
 PART II. 9 
 
114 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " This surely is the work of that wicked Colin," thought she, 
 and hurried to the parsonage, in order to apologize to Father Je- 
 rome, for delaying the marriage. The good gray-headed old 
 man advanced towards her, proud of his work, and leading by 
 the hand the newly married pair. 
 
 Now mother Manon lost her wits and her speech in good ear- 
 nest, when she learned what had happened. But Colin had more 
 thoughts and powers of speech, than in his whole previous life. 
 He told of his love and the broken cup, the falsehood of the Jus- 
 tice, and how he had unmasked this unjust magistrate in the 
 Viguerie at Grasse. Then he besought mother Menon's blessing, 
 since all this had happened without any fault on the part of Ma- 
 rietta or himself. 
 
 Father Jerome, who for a long while could not make out 
 what had happened, when he received a full explanation of the 
 marriage through mistake, piously folded his hands and exclaimed 
 with uplifted eyes, " Wonderful are the dispensations of Provi- 
 dence." Colin and Marietta kissed his hands; mother Manon, 
 through sheer veneration of Heaven, gave the young couple her 
 blessing, but remarked incidentally, that her head seemed turned 
 round. 
 
 Frau Manon herself was pleased with her son-in-law, when 
 she came to know the full extent of his property, and especially 
 when she found that Herr Hautmartin and his nose had been 
 taken as prisoner to Grasse. 
 
 " But am I then really a wife ?" asked Marietta ; " and really 
 Colin's wife ?" 
 
 Mother Menon nodded her head, and Marietta hung upon Colin's 
 arm. Thus they went to Colin's farm, to his dwelling-house, 
 through the garden. 
 
 " Look at the flowers, Marietta," said Colin, " how carefully I 
 cultivated them for your cup !" 
 
 Colin, who had not expected so pleasant an event, now prepared 
 a wedding feast on the spur of the occasion. Two days was it 
 continued. All Napoule was feasted. Who shall describe Co- 
 lin's rapture and extravagance ? 
 
 The broken cup is preserved in the family to the present day, 
 as a memorial and sacred relic. P. G. 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 In the metropolis, and perhaps in the whole kingdom, no man, 
 for a long time, had been more highly esteemed than Herr Von 
 Schwarz, the first judge of the criminal courts, whose writings 
 had even gained him celebrity in foreign countries. Fortune 
 seemed willing to exhaust herself in showering favours upon him. 
 Though the son of a poor weaver, his talents had procured him a 
 scholarship, by which he was enabled to attend the high school, 
 and afterward to study the profession of law. Almost without a 
 farthing, he came to the metropolis to earn his bread as an attor- 
 ney ; immediately undertook a difficult lawsuit that had been 
 given up as lost, and gained the cause, which so fixed his reputa- 
 tion, that within a year he became one of the busiest and most 
 popular barristers of the city. Appearing everywhere loaded 
 with honours, rewards and flattery, he was introduced to the 
 society of the most illustrious men, and in the best houses was 
 considered an intimate friend. He married one of the hand- 
 somest and richest young girls of the city, was taken into the em- 
 ployment of the ministry, and advanced from office to office. 
 The king bestowed titles and orders upon him, and for important 
 services he had rendered, he received a foreign order, to which a 
 large income was attached ; it was indeed often whispered that 
 he would be made minister of state. In short, every one declared 
 Herr Von Schwarz to be the happiest of men. He possessed the 
 most brilliant prospects, great estates, excellent talents, a lovely 
 wife, and beautiful children ; and moreover, all agreed that no 
 one could be more worthy of so much good fortune. Herr Von 
 Schwarz was universally looked upon as a tender husband and 
 father, an unwearied man of business, a true friend, a most agree- 
 able companion, and the most pleasing of men in conversation. 
 
 I 
 
118 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 We must not, however, allow ourselves to be blinded by- 
 appearances. Herr Von Schwarz was in fact a very unhappy 
 man, and what is more, was unworthy of happiness. Doubtless 
 his address, industry, and talents, were sufficient to make him 
 respected ; but not the qualities of his heart. He belonged to 
 thai class of persons whom we can call nothing more than pru- 
 dent or cunning ; strictly just in affairs of business — in some 
 cases even more than just ; yet gold, honour, and pleasure, were 
 the secret trinity, for which he laboured, and sacrificed every- 
 thing. He was too liberal, to have either conscience or religion, 
 and too deeply versed in human nature, ever to confide with the 
 feelings of friendship in another heart. He trusted no one, 
 because he knew himself, and looked upon those who acted differ- 
 ently, as fools. He loved himself from instinct, yet if he had 
 seen any one like himself, he would have been afraid of him. In 
 his own house, moreover, he led a most unhappy life. There he 
 was the tyrant ; his wife he treated with contempt, and his sons 
 (two promising boys) trembled like slaves in his presence ; though 
 he sometimes treated them with great kindness, he did not trouble 
 himself about their education, having more important matters to 
 attend to. No one knew the misery of his household, but those 
 who belonged to it ; and when it was rumoured by gossiping 
 servants, it was either disbelieved, or thought quite excusable that 
 a man who was so much occupied, should at times be out of 
 temper. . 
 
 Others threw all the blame upon his wife. It was decided she 
 was wanting in the necessary cultivation of mind, was not a great 
 housekeeper, was a little goose, or anything they chose to say. 
 His domestic troubles were observed by few ; for if any one 
 visited him, there appeared but one heart, and one soul pervading 
 the house : he, the most attentive of husbands, the kindest of 
 fathers, and every one full of love and cordiality toward him. 
 No one considered that this might only be habitual politeness. 
 They could only envy his happiness. 
 
 For two years there had been in the family of Herr Von 
 Schwarz, a young man, by the name of Jonathan Frock ; he 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 119 
 
 played the part of a tutor to the children, but was as much 
 a slave, as every one else in the Rath's house. Herr Von 
 Schwarz possessed a peculiar talent (if I may so call it) for tor- 
 menting everybody in the best possible manner. After telling his 
 wife that she was not capable of being a good wife, and had 
 neither wit nor understanding, then he told the tutor that he was 
 an awkward fellow, who did not know how to behave himself, 
 and had no idea of teaching children. In fact, Herr Von Schwarz 
 assumed the tone of an instructor to his children's tutor, and op- 
 pressed poor Frock dreadfully. 
 
 Either too timid or too good, Frock silently acquiesced in the 
 Rath's weekly assertion — that he looked upon him as the superin- 
 tendent of his children, and not as their instructor. If Frock ven- 
 tured to say a word in his own defence, he might be sure that 
 Herr Von Schwarz would shrug his shoulders with assumed com- 
 passion, or turn his back upon him, with the words, " all labour is 
 lost upon you." 
 
 But with all this, it could not be denied, that since Frock had 
 lived in the house, Schwarz's children, who, before this, were ex- 
 cessively wild, had improved very much. They had learned 
 obedience and respect for their mother, and now turned toward 
 her with love and esteem. They appeared better bred, more de- 
 sirous of learning, less malicious to their playfellows, and clung 
 to Herr Frock with the greatest affection. He taught them read- 
 ing, writing, arithmetic, German history, geography, and other 
 things that Herr Von Schwarz little dreamed of. 
 
 Travelling once with his sons, they were obliged to sleep in the 
 same room, at an inn, where, to his astonishment, he saw the 
 children, after they were undressed, kneel down. 
 
 "What farce is this?" cried he. They did not answer, but 
 folded their hands, raised their eyes to heaven, and prayed — first 
 the oldest boy, half aloud ; then he was silent, and the youngest 
 commenced. What they said was nothing learned by heart, for 
 it related to the events of the past day ; father and mother, Frock, 
 and every playfellow were remembered. 
 
 Herr Von Schwarz did not lose a word, and the whale thing 
 appeared ridiculous to him. 
 
 "I believe, upon my honour," said he to* Frock, when Kb 
 
120 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 returned, " that you are a Moravian, and teach the children 
 hypocrisy. What is the use of the boys' kneeling down in their 
 shirts at night, and praying? Children cannot understand re- 
 ligion, and I wish them to hear nothing about it till they come to 
 mature years; then they can judge of such things correctly, and 
 without prejudice; I set no value upon a taught religion. Re- 
 ligion must unfold itself to man from his internal consciousness. 
 What we say to children on such subjects is beyond their com- 
 prehension, and becomes either prejudice or a pernicious habit of 
 dissimulation ; from which it is difficult for the more mature 
 judgment to break loose. Are you a Moravian ?" 
 " No, indeed I am not," replied Frock. 
 
 " Of what religion are you then ? Catholic, Lutheran, or Re- 
 formed V 
 
 Frock again coloured, and was silent from timid embarrass- 
 ments. 
 
 " Speak, for I must, and will know. It cannot be a matter of 
 indifference to me, with what opinions my children first become 
 acquainted; each church has its prejudices. I wish you could 
 dance, or had more grace and external advantages ; for in this 
 age, these would be of more use to my sons than religious prat- 
 tling, which children neither need nor understand." 
 
 "If you will allow me, Herr Rath," said Frock, " I think the 
 need is felt more deeply by children, than you may perhaps im- 
 agine. Among all the things an innocent and inquisitive child 
 wishes to know, he certainly asks with most interest about the 
 supernatural, the origin of things, the destiny of the soul beyond 
 the grave, and about God ; who and where he is. Such ques- 
 tions betoken the need of the child, and the spark of divinity 
 within. The first approach of the childish heart to the invisible 
 world, gives him strength, a consciousness of the dignity of human 
 nature, and a love of virtue, without which man ever remains an 
 amiable but dangerous creature." 
 
 " Quite right, Herr Frock, only after your usual fashion, you 
 set out on a wrong proposition. Pray, who made you believe 
 that children are rilled with desire for the invisible and spiritual, 
 because they are fond of asking questions about what they can- 
 not understand ? Do you not know, they like best to hear of 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 121 
 
 ghosts, robbers, fairies, jugglers and everything that is wonderful 
 and inexplicable? Why should they not ask as much about 
 heaven and hell, God and angels ! And what you tell them on 
 these subjects, be it true or not, they believe the more readily the 
 more extraordinary it is. Observe this, dear friend, if notwith- 
 standing your overpowering stock of imagination, you can still 
 discern a simple truth, that the more ignorant a man is, the more 
 he is inclined to believe in the wonderful and supernatural." 
 
 " May I express my opinion, Herr Rath ?" 
 
 " As you please ; I am prepared to hear something very wise." 
 
 " 1 will not deny, that the more ignorant a man is, the more he 
 is inclined to believe in the wonderful and supernatural. Whence, 
 however, this inclination, which leads him from the lowest and 
 most common to the sublime ? This impulse lies deep in human 
 nature, and is the indisputable work of his Creator. As every 
 flame of light is never earthbound, but always rises toward 
 heaven, whence streams the greatest light ; so every soul feels 
 the consciousness that, more than all earthly things, it may aspire 
 to the highest spirituality. In the ways and means of improve- 
 ment, it may err, but still its desire for what is most elevated and 
 imperishable, is innate. If in the progress of years, it gains more 
 cultivation : it then but becomes more artificial, and its natural 
 condition is overpowered by the artificial. Discovering, at length, 
 that it has erred in the way and means, the soul becomes mis- 
 trustful of the spiritual impulse, which first drew it to a belief in 
 the eternal and sublime ; and therefore, conceiving it great wis- 
 dom to repose entirely upon its reasoning powers, it accustoms 
 itself to explain everything by natural causes, and regards nothing 
 as true, which does not belong to the visible and natural world. 
 In this state the soul imagines itself most natural, when it believes 
 the least, though in fact it is all the while most unnatural, 
 because it strives against the laws of nature within : until finally 
 it perceives that it has wandered from the truth, since it has be- 
 come unsettled and unhappy. All man's discontent is caused by 
 his departure from nature, his inconsistency, and because he 
 wishes to become what he cannot be. Experience at last makes 
 him wiser, and the more he learns, the more he feels that he can- 
 not understand the grass that grows, nor point out, to God, the 
 
122 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 motes in the sunbeam. The more his knowledge increases, the 
 more is he convinced that he knows but little. The sage 
 approaches, although by another path, to the childlike nature, 
 and his perception of the narrowness of human knowledge, brings 
 him back to the belief in the Invisible and Eternal." 
 
 " My good friend," said Herr Von Schwarz, " I have heard all 
 this before, and I can only reply, that you have foolishly mixed 
 up much truth and error, with the strong tendency to mysticism 
 which you possess ; you have probably read something in a book, 
 which you have not understood, and now give it forth in a dis- 
 torted shape. You fancy your power of imagination is depth of 
 judgment, and there is your mistake." 
 
 " I beg, Herr Rath, that you will at least show me where my 
 power of imagination has misled me in what I have just said, or 
 where 1 have misunderstood what I have read V 
 
 " Young man, when you speak of children, and of ignorance, 
 you may speak from experience ; but he who wishes to speak of 
 the wisdom of men, must belong either to their ranks, or take 
 something out of books. Do you now speak from books, or, more 
 wisely, from experience ? But I am losing time. The main 
 point remains — spare my sons your whims ; you will do me a 
 favour. And now I must ask, to what religion do you really 
 belong ?" 
 
 Frock coloured and said nothing. 
 
 " I am accustomed to receive an answer when I ask a ques- 
 tion," said Herr Von Schwarz, in his usual tone of command. 
 
 "Herr Rath," said Frock, "I can be silent no longer ; you 
 understand, better than any one, the art of lowering a man in his 
 own opinion, and of destroying all belief in his own worth. I 
 would have left your house long since, had I not borne every 
 slight from love to your sons, who have twined themselves round 
 my heart. I know that I have too little merit in your eyes to be 
 of any importance ; but be generous enough, at least, to leave me 
 confidence in myself." 
 
 " Well, Frock, these are your usual subterfuges; were I to 
 trouble myself to bring you to your senses, and to a more just 
 view of things, I should not succeed ; for my part, if you wish to 
 leave the house, I shall not detain you. My children have out- 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 123 
 
 grown your guidance ; they should study Latin and Greek, which 
 you do not understand, while you are deficient in many other 
 necessary branches. But do as you like. Only remember my 
 words, whenever you go into the world, you will be the loser. 
 Self-conceit, and a total unfitness for the simplest concerns of life, 
 will bring you to misery. By whom are you either cared for or 
 esteemed ? Do you not live like a hermit, in the midst of the 
 city ?" 
 
 With this, Herr Von Schwarz turned away, and Frock went 
 sorrowfully to his pupils. 
 
 Such discussions often took place between these two persons, 
 but they did not cause Frock to leave the house. He really 
 clung with inexpressible affection to Schwarz's children, and 
 usually, after a conversation with their father, he drew them more 
 closely to his heart, murmuring : 
 
 " You are the only ones who understand and appreciate me ; 
 if I lose you, I lose all." 
 
 If Frock had left the house, he would have been entirely with- 
 out prospects for the future. Probably the Rath knew this full 
 well ; nor did he ever forget that Frock came to him in very 
 needy circumstances. As Schwarz at that time required an in- 
 structor, or rather a superintendent for his children, he had taken 
 him for little more than board and lodgings ; no agreement was 
 made either as to fees or salary, so that whatever Schwarz be- 
 stowed, although it was scarcely sufficient for respectable clothing, 
 was considered as a favour. This was all right in the Rath's 
 estimation, for every body and every thing must be subservient 
 to his caprices. 
 
 On this account, Jonathan Frock led a quiet, secluded life, and 
 rarely mixed in society. He was most gay and open-hearted, 
 when he was with his two little friends whom he educated ; when 
 he could be inspired with confidence, he seemed a different crea- 
 ture ; he became more lively, more eloquent ; his eyes flashed 
 with inward fire ; but this disappeared the moment he felt him- 
 self a stranger and out of place. In the house of Schwarz a re- 
 
124 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 served manner had almost become a second nature to him. Frau 
 Von Schwarz encouraged him as little as her husband ; she 
 treated Frock and all her servants in the same haughty manner 
 that Rath maintained toward her, and there was, therefore, a 
 greater distance between the tutor and herself, than there was 
 between him and Herr Von Schwarz. 
 
 Frock, in his exterior, was not ill-looking ; not handsome, per- 
 haps, but well made, with an open, agreeable, and rather pale 
 countenance ; which was rendered even paler, by jet-black curl- 
 ing hair, and soft white hands, which many a maiden might envy 
 bim. He had a low melodious voice, and much grace of manner, 
 when he became animated in conversation. He was apparently 
 about eight-and-twenty years of age ; his dress, though very sim- 
 ple, was always perfectly neat. A religious feeling evinced 
 itself in his conversation, yet he seldom or never went to church. 
 Often in his gayest mood, and when, with laughing eyes, he 
 seemed inclined to give himself up to amusement, he would sud- 
 denly become silent, and one could perceive that some sad recol- 
 lection came over him. Frequently, in the most indifferent 
 conversation, without any reason, he would colour, and become 
 embarrassed ; a certain proof, either that he was irritable, or (as 
 his paleness indicated) of uncertain health. In the eyes of the 
 Rath, however, these changes betokened something evil. He had, 
 therefore, at different times urgently inquired about it ; but could 
 discover nothing more than that Frock was a native of Alsace, 
 born of poor parents, and had served as a common soldier under 
 the French colours in Switzerland, Italy, and Egypt. Having 
 been wounded in the leg by a cannon-ball, he became tired of a 
 soldier's life, and abandoned it, probably without leave. 
 
 As Frock conducted himself in the most quiet and irreproach- 
 able manner, the Rath did not push the matter further, but 
 looked upon him as an insignificant person, and never for a mo- 
 ment imagined that he would have an important influence on his 
 destiny. 
 
 A few weeks after this conversation, an event took place, which 
 removed brother Wonderful (as Herr Von Schwarz called Frook) 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 125 
 
 suddenly from the house. Fie was instructing the children in 
 history, and was speaking, with his usual warmth, of the Moham- 
 medan religion ; of the many excellencies contained in the Koran 
 of the Turks, and of the virtues, which are more frequently 
 found in disciples of the prophet of Mecca, than among Christians. 
 At this moment Herr Von Schwarz came in ; he listened for a 
 time smiling, but smiling bitterly, for he was out of humour. He 
 had heard accidentally, that at court they had been amusing 
 themselves over one of his reports upon judicial reform ; wishing, 
 therefore, for a pretence, he vented his indignation in angry mock- 
 ery of the pale, patient expounder of the Arabian prophet. Frock 
 was silent, and gazed sadly around him. The boys did not listen 
 to their father, but looked sorrowfully in their teacher's eyes, as if 
 they wished to console him ; and laid their hands upon his shoul- 
 der, seeming to say, " Compose yourself, we still belong to you.'' 
 
 This scene was interrupted by the appearance of Major Von 
 Tulpen, a retired king's officer, who was in the habit of visiting 
 at the house. He was related to the Herr Von Schwarz, and 
 supposed himself a very good friend of the Rath's, for, in past 
 years, when Herr Von Schwarz was very little known, he had 
 rendered him important services. At that time Schwarz had 
 lived with the major a year and a half without compensation, and 
 his recommendations had also been the means of opening to him 
 his subsequently brilliant career. Herr Von Tulpen was a re- 
 markably brave, but somewhat hasty man ; who was very fond 
 of telling stories of his past campaigns, though his memory rather 
 failed him in names and numbers. 
 
 It was this very deficiency in his memory for numbers, which 
 now brought him to Herr Von Schwarz. 
 
 " I am in a cursed plight, good friend Rath," cried he ; " you 
 must do me a kind turn." 
 
 " With all my heart, my dear friend," said Herr Von Schwarz. 
 " I am listening with delight to the instruction of my children, and 
 the commendation of the Turkish religion, from the lips of this 
 youth. We will not allow the Mussulmen to excel us in the vir- 
 tues of friendship, generosity, gratitude, and charity." 
 
 " So much the better ; I come just at the right moment," cried 
 
126 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 Ilerr Von Tulpen, " for I mast have money, even should I steal 
 it. Come ; a few words with you in private." 
 
 The word money had its effect upon Herr Von Schwarz ; he 
 was not accustomed to have the major beg favours, much less 
 money, from him, and he hoped, by avoiding a tete-a-tete, to 
 escape his urgent request more easily. 
 
 " Speak without reserve," said he ; "I have no secrets with 
 my children and their tutor." 
 
 " The deuce ! that's good," said the major, embarrassed ; u but 
 I do not want to expose my situation to every one." 
 
 This was exactly what Schwarz wished ; and he therefore re- 
 mained in the study, in spite of all the oaths and entreaties of the 
 major, whose anxiety betrayed itself in every feature. Whatever 
 he said, Schwarz treated as a joke. The major ran up and down 
 the room, (Schwarz hoped he would run out of it,) then stood still, 
 and after whirling his military hat three times round, said : 
 
 " Well, the old nick must have been in me, when I was so stu- 
 pid as to let that merchant — merchant what d'ye call him ? — you 
 know, my neighbour there, who has failed and gone off; in short, 
 that I should have let him give my name as his security for 
 a thousand florins ; I, who do not own a thousand florins, must 
 now pay a thousand florins — think of that ! J, who have not a 
 thousand groats !" 
 
 " That is very bad," said Herr Von Schwarz, very seriously 
 and politely. " Are you the only security '?" 
 
 " The only one ; think of it ! and as the confounded paper 
 stands, my whole property is in pledge at present, and for the fu- 
 ture. I have told them explicitly at court, very explicitly, that I 
 have not a thousand groats ; and I have told that Finanz Rath — 
 what d'ye call him ? — to whom I had to pay the thousand florins, 
 the same. He shrugged his shoulders, and I shrugged mine, and 
 so we parted. I now thought it was settled, for the present, very 
 much to the loss of the Finanz Rath. Well, I waited for my 
 pension till quarter-day ; waited three or four weeks longer — 
 nothing came. Not a groat in the house, the last potato cooked, 
 no baker paid for three weeks, and the butcher's bill sent in. I 
 must eat ; my two girls are also flesh and blood. I ran to the 
 war-office, thinking they had forgotten it. The Herr there 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 127 
 
 shrugged his shoulders, and said, ; I am very sorry, Finanz Rath 
 — what is his name ? — has caused your pension to be sequestered ; 
 you certainly know it V 1 Go to the old Harry !' said I, ' I know 
 nothing about it/' I run to Finanz Rath — what d'ye call him ? — 
 he shrugs his shoulders, and says : ' The court has sentenced 
 you, as the merchant's security, to meet his payments ; you know 
 that, major V 1 The court go to the dogs ! I know nothing about 
 it. What shall I and my two daughters live upon ? I can 
 scarcely escape starvation, with my major's and captain's half- 
 pay.' I then begged the Finanz Rath for five dollars every quar- 
 ter, and promised to pay it, however slowly. He shrugged his 
 shoulders. May the furies take all shoulder-shruggers ! I now 
 come to you." 
 
 The Rath seemed very much disposed to shrug his shoulders 
 too ; but said, however : " It is certainly very bad ; you did very 
 wrong in standing security so thoughtlessly. There is nothing to 
 be done unless to protest against the sentence of the court." 
 
 " I do not wish to protest against the sentence of the court ; 
 but" do you help me in my great need. I know no one but you, 
 and it is to you, therefore, I come. Advance me a thousand 
 florins ; I will repay you fifty every year. I do not wish you to 
 give it to me; in a few years you will have it all back." 
 
 " By a few years you mean twenty," said Herr Von Schwarz, 
 and thoughtfully turned away his head. 
 
 " Well, yes — twenty." 
 
 " But, my dear friend," continued the Rath, and stepped back 
 a little, " one is not always in cash. I have really no ready 
 money." 
 
 " Will nobody lend you ?" 
 
 " I have debts already that you know nothing of. It is not in 
 my power to help you at this time." 
 
 " Not in your power ?" stammered Herr Von Tulpen, and, for 
 a moment, could say no more. " Or, to speak more plainly, you 
 will not do it." 
 
 " The way, not the will, is wanting, dear major." 
 
 " Then I must buy a farthing's worth of powder, and put a 
 ball through my head ; and you must support my little Leonore, 
 as she is your god-daughter." 
 
128 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 The Rath shrugged his shoulders instead of answering. The 
 major, in the greatest despair, implored his assistance in the most 
 touching manner. Firmly, politely, but very decidedly, the Rath 
 refused. Fortunately, at this moment, a servant announced a 
 visitor. Herr Von Schwarz bowed and left the room. 
 
 u Then you will not V called the major after him. 
 
 " 1 cannot," said the Rath coldly, at the door, and disappeared. 
 
 The major staggered, and sunk upon the nearest chair, remain- 
 ing for some time motionless. At last, tearing his hat with fury, 
 and turning his eyes to heaven, he cried, in a hollow, despairing 
 voice : 
 
 " Must I and my children starve ?" 
 
 Frock would have long since retired, with his pupils, but was 
 observing the major with much compassion. He now timidly ap- 
 proached him, and said, in a low voice, and with great respect : 
 " Pray, wait a moment." 
 
 " Go to the devil !" said the major, in a tone of thunder. 
 
 " Pray, wait one moment," repeated Frock imploringly, and 
 left the room hastily. He returned in a few minutes, and going 
 up to the major, offered him a snuff-box. Herr Von Tulpen took 
 no notice of him, and sat lost in thought. 
 
 " Take it," said Frock. 
 
 "Away!" cried the major, thumping his cane on the floor. 
 " Does he think me a fool ? I do not snuff." 
 
 " This box is worth more than a thousand florins : I give it to 
 you ! Pray take it, Herr Major ?" 
 
 The major looked at the box angrily, askance, but opened his 
 eyes, when he saw its wonderful brilliancy. It was a valuable 
 gold box, worked in enamel, and set with large diamonds. Herr 
 Von Tulpen looked first at the box, then at Frock. 
 
 " What is it for ?" said he. 
 
 " Take it, Herr Major ; you can pay your debts with it. I 
 will go with you to the jeweller's, for him to set a value on it. 
 
 Come !" 
 
 " Herr !" cried the major rising, and in a much more gentle 
 voice, " who are you V 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 129 
 
 " My name is Jonathan Frock." 
 
 "Jonathan Frock? And do you think that that — what d'ye 
 call it ? — is worth a thousand florins ?" 
 
 " More than that, among connoisseurs. Come !" answered 
 Frock. 
 
 " And you will pay my debts with it ?" 
 " Certainly : with all my heart." 
 " But who are you ?" 
 
 " I am Jonathan Frock, the tutor of these children." 
 
 The old man was silent : he looked at Frock till the tears in 
 his eyes blinded him. He then embraced him, saying, in low 
 broken accents : 
 
 " Then, Jonathan, let me be your David f" 
 
 Frock quieted him, and they proceeded to the jeweller's. The 
 box was valued at twelve hundred florins, and the jeweller at 
 length bought it at that price — though he assured them a thou- 
 sand times that he had been too hasty in estimating its value. 
 They then went to the major's creditor. The debt was paid ; 
 everything set right at the war-office, and the major reinstated in 
 his quarter's pay. 
 
 In the meantime, the Rath had learned the whole occurrence 
 from his children. " A gold snuff-box, set with diamonds," re- 
 peated he, at least twenty times ; " how did the wretch come by 
 a gold snuff-box ?" He found an answer as soon as he had ask- 
 ed the question : " Stolen !" said he ; immediately sent for a lock- 
 smith, and had Frock's little trunk opened. He himself looked 
 to see if it contained no valuable articles; but, excepting some 
 crumpled papers, linen, and clothes, he found nothing. 
 
 He had just finished his search, when Frock entered in his 
 usual quiet way, and bowed respectfully. So soon, however, as 
 his eyes fell upon the open trunk, his countenance suddenly 
 changed, from astonishment to severity, from severity to anger. 
 
 He was once more one of Napoleon's soldiers. He gave the 
 Rath a blow in the breast with his fist, shook him to and fro sev- 
 eral times, and then threw him against the wall. 
 
 " How ! have you presumed to ? — Do you take me for a thief?" 
 cried Frock, in a violent, lion-like voice. u Who gave you the 
 
 PART II. 10 
 
130 
 
 ZSfJHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 right to disturb and pull over other people's property, and to break 
 open private locks ? Do you not know the laws ?" 
 
 The Rath, surprised by this extraordinary and summary mode 
 of proceeding, lost a little of his usual coolness. He confessed, 
 afterward, that for the first time in his life, he had lost his pres- 
 ence of mind. There was nothing for him even to find fault 
 with, for, besides being discovered in an unlawful act, there was 
 something fearful and unaccountable in Frock's metamorphosis. 
 
 This once submissive and timid man had had the courage to 
 shake a Rath j and he, formerly like a lamb, was now terrible 
 with his fiery glance and severity. The thundering tone of his 
 voice appeared as little to belong to him, as the giant-like strength 
 of his arm. 
 
 With an air of command, Frock showed Herr Von Schwarz 
 the door; who, pale and trembling, and stammering out an ex- 
 cuse, prepared to leave the room. Scarcely, however, had he 
 left the enemy's territory, when, with a judge-like majesty, he 
 turned round and called : 
 
 " Herr Frock, you instantly leave my house." 
 
 Frock, doubtless, had already formed some such intention : for 
 he had, from the window, beckoned to a man in the street to carry 
 away his trunk, which, after looking over the papers and replacing 
 the books and clothes, he carefully locked. He then sought his 
 weeping pupils, embraced them with silent emotion, and left the 
 Schwarzen house for ever. 
 
 Very early the next morning, Herr Von Tulpen arrived. He 
 found Frau Von Schwarz alone : her husband had gone out on 
 business. 
 
 "So much the better, dear madam," said the major; "for I 
 am not looking for him, and do not care if I never see him again. 
 But where is my Jonathan ?" 
 
 " Your Jonathan, Herr Major ? I do not know him." 
 
 " What ! not my Jonathan ? He is commonly called — how is 
 it 1 — Jonathan Propf, or Kropf. You know the — what d'ye call 
 him ?— the tutor." 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 131 
 
 " Ah ! Frock. He is no longer with us. My husband sent 
 him out of the house yesterday." 
 
 " Out of the house ! Why ? because he is more generous than 
 your husband was ? I am a poor wretch dependent on my pen- 
 sion—have nothing but my quarter's pay ; but I will take that 
 Jonathan — what d'ye call him ? — home, and support him to his 
 last hour." 
 
 " Take care ! He is a bad man ; he has not a good conscience, 
 as he discovered long since. You might be taking a wicked com- 
 panion into your house." 
 
 " A wicked companion !" cried the major, his face colouring, 
 
 and his eyes flashing with anger at the words. " Go to the 
 
 but I will say nothing. Pray, my dear madam, spare me all 
 these insinuations." 
 
 " You misunderstand me, Herr Major. I am not speaking of 
 you." 
 
 " But of Jonathan Kropf. Tell me immediately where he is." 
 " He left us yesterday." 
 " But where has he gone V 
 " We neither know nor care." 
 
 " But I do. Adieu ! No ; write me down his cursed name 
 first. Is it Kropf? Write it on a bit of paper. I will go from 
 street to street, and will soon find him." 
 
 " If he has not stolen away, he would scarcely remain in the 
 city," said Frau Von Schwarz, giving him the name upon a paper. 
 
 Laughing heartily, the major put up the paper, saying, " Is 
 your husband either king or governor ?" touched his sword sig- 
 nificantly, bowed, and withdrew. 
 
 He went, as he had said, from street to street, through the 
 whole city ; returned very tired, dined with his children, and 
 again setting forth in the afternoon, questioned all the acquaintan- 
 ces whom he met. This he continued, day after day ; and at 
 length, after weeks of fruitless searching, he gave up the hope of 
 finding in the city his dear friend in need. 
 
 And yet Frock was not far off. He had spent the night at the 
 best hotel ; the next day he had hired a small room from an old 
 
132 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 widow-woman, and sent an advertisement to the newspapers, in- 
 forming the public, that in the Marktgasse No. 1717, in the first 
 story, and at any hour of the day, persons wishing to have Ger 
 man, or Latin, well copied, or rendered from German into French, 
 or vice versa; memorials or letters composed, would meet with 
 speedy, reasonable, and trustworthy attention. 
 
 Frock had chosen a mode of business which would keep him 
 from starving. But, he did not omit diligently looking through 
 the newspapers, to see if any one were in need of a tutor ; in this 
 hope he was. however, disappointed. His writing and copying 
 office soon obtained much custom, perhaps from the large, yet 
 elegant type in which he had written, upon royal folio, the sign 
 hanging outside of the widow's door. 
 
 The learned brought him their illegible manuscripts to be writ- 
 ten over, for the press. Servants, maids, and journeymen called 
 upon him to compose letters, either to their hard-hearted relations, 
 or faithful lovers. Others required translations. In short, he 
 made money in various ways, and though it might be but little, it 
 was still sufficient for his more immediate wants. His business 
 increased in the course of a few months, as his expertness and 
 reasonable charges became known. 
 
 His very remarkable memory was of the utmost advantage, to 
 those who had forgotten both the date and contents of the letters 
 they had given him to write. He preserved the most inimitable 
 order ; for in a book arranged for the purpose, he always noted 
 down the date of the letter, the name of the person who had sent 
 it, and its actual contents. 
 
 Though his occupation was a laborious one, and employed him 
 both night and day ; yet it was not without some amusement. 
 He learned the secrets of many a loving heart, the affairs of 
 many families, before unknown to him, and thus extended his 
 knowledge of human nature. 
 
 This state of independence pleased him. It seemed to him as 
 if, in leaving the Schwarzischen house, he had exchanged Alge- 
 rian slavery for blessed freedom. The loss of his beloved pupils 
 long depressed his spirits; but this sorrow he overcame, and the 
 still greater one of having no one to cling to, or whom he could call 
 his own. It gave him great pain, when a stranger one day came 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 13? 
 
 in, and begged to have several pages of a long political negotia- 
 tion copied immediately; on opening it, he recognized the hand- 
 writing of the Rath Von Schwarz. The bearer said lie would 
 wait till it was finished, as it did not require to be beautifully, but 
 speedily written. Frock performed his task with disgust, for it 
 appeared to him, as if every moment the detested countenance of 
 his former tyrant was before him. 
 
 He very seldom went into society, partly from want of time, 
 but still more from the want of money. For the sake of health, 
 he sometimes took long walks in the fresh air, but he more fre- 
 quently made use of his good Dolleux's telescope, to examine the 
 neighbourhood far and near. The back of his room overlooked a 
 number of gardens. In the distance, could be seen the suburbs 
 of the town, composed for the most part of small ill-looking 
 houses, and beyond these lay the open country. 
 
 No astronomer watches nightly more diligently, or with greater 
 exactness, the starry heavens to discover a comet invisible to the 
 naked eye, or a new planet, or the mountains in the shining 
 Venus, than did Frock every day inspect, one by one, the objects 
 of his horizon* This innocent amusement became, at length, the 
 only pleasure of the easily contented hermit. He regularly, 
 every day at the same hour, stepped to the window, however 
 pressing might be the work laying on his table ; if customers 
 came in, he could not be disturbed, they must wait. 
 
 The reason of this is soon told. He had indeed discovered no 
 star, only a new Venus. His observations were particularly di- 
 rected to one of the houses in the distant suburbs. It was a small, 
 but pretty house; the back of it, and a court-yard, in which stood 
 a well, alone were visible to him. 
 
 To this well, every morning, at six o'clock in summer, and 
 eight in the winter, came a maiden, well grown and delicately 
 formed ; she filled a pail with water, carried it into the house, and 
 was sometimes busied in this way for more than an hour. The 
 young girl's occupations at the well were various ; in the morn- 
 ing, she washed vegetables or salad, and sometimes even her face 
 and neck ; but did everything with such unsullied grace, that 
 the looker-on would have been prepossessed in her favour, even 
 had her face been less pretty. That the water-bearer was beau- 
 
134 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 tiful, however, was quite apparent to our astronomer. Her thick 
 golden hair, which usually fell in curls from under a fine snow- 
 white cap, her soft red cheeks, the beautiful shape of her nose, 
 and her little mouth, certainly spoke in favour of his opinion. He 
 fancied he could look into her blue eyes, and from her eyes, into 
 her secret heart. Here every one must understand he was rather 
 too imaginative. Who has ever been able, even with the aid of 
 a telescope, to make discoveries in a young girl's heart ? 
 
 According to Frock's astronomical theory, the young girl was 
 no common servant maid, but an industrious, thrifty, citizen's 
 daughter, modest, innocent, grave and sensible. Only once, in 
 two hundred and sixty-four careful observations, he thought he 
 heard her singing, that is, through his telescope. One would 
 imagine her voice might be lost in the immense distance. 
 
 At first he supposed her to be a washerwoman, for every week, 
 besides carrying in the water, he saw her busied in hanging and 
 drying clothes in the court-yard. 
 
 Sometimes he would have willingly gone to her assistance when 
 a piece fell from the line, which was fastened to three trees. He 
 abandoned this hypothesis, when he observed the regular return 
 of every piece belonging to the wash he had seen the week be- 
 fore. 
 
 From the smoke that now and then arose from a wing of the 
 house, and still more from the blue linen, and cotton clothes, that 
 sometimes were blowing about the roof of the house itself, the 
 father might be supposed to be a dyer. This conjecture amount- 
 ed to certainty, when one day an elderly man, with rolled up 
 shirt sleeves, and very blue hands, stood at the well with the wa- 
 ter-bearer. She smiled in a friendly and cordial manner. This 
 sight (the smile, not the blue hands,) charmed our astronomer so 
 much, that he not only joined in the laugh from his observatory, 
 but must needs smile the whole day. 
 
 Ah ! how little is required to make a man happy. 
 
 Thus a year passed away with poor Frock. What is there to 
 relate in his simple, laborious, yet joyful life ? The same story 
 was renewed each day. He was contented — he loved — he once 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 ]35 
 
 more had a being in the world to whom he was joined. But the 
 most unaccountable thing was, that, from a singular caprice, he 
 never gave himself the trouble of admiring the dyer's daughter 
 nearer at hand, or, indeed, cared to attract her attention to him- 
 self. 
 
 She could not dream that she was, every day, observed and 
 loved through a telescope ; still less would she think of arming 
 herself with one, to seek out the man in the observatory. He, 
 therefore, remained unknown to her, and, without doubt, so he 
 wished to be. Jonathan Frock had some odd notions. He had, 
 perhaps, found by experience, that some beauties, to appear love- 
 ly, must be seen only at a certain distance : for many who seem 
 attractive in the distance, fail, on approaching them, to make our 
 happiness. 
 
 Even the moderate happiness which Frock now enjoyed, was 
 not of long continuance. 
 
 Very late one evening, some one knocked at his door, and a 
 strange but polite voice was heard, urgently demanding admit- 
 tance. Frock arose, dressed himself, and opened the door. A 
 gentleman entered, in a gray surtout, with a sword by his side ; 
 behind him stood an armed soldier. 
 
 " Are you Jonathan Frock V 
 
 " Certainly," answered he, very much astonished. 
 
 " It grieves me to be obliged to inform you, that you are ar- 
 rested by order of the king's secret police, and, after delivering 
 up all your effects, must follow where I shall lead you." 
 
 Frock thought he could scarce have heard aright. He was 
 conscious of committing no other sin in his retirement, unless he 
 had pursued the beautiful dyer's daughter too passionately with 
 his telescope. In the meantime, neither delay nor resistance 
 would be of any avail. Two strong policemen entered the room, 
 to assist in packing and sealing up everything. Frock, undis- 
 mayed, and convinced they had mistaken him for some other 
 person, dressed himself with more than usual care, and, with the 
 permission of the guard, put in his pocket his little store of money, 
 and his telescope. It is difficult to conceive what the last was for. 
 He perhaps hoped to be put in a tower of the prison commanding 
 a more extensive prospect, and from which, with the aid of his 
 
136 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 telescope, he would find his heart's delight, his companion with 
 golden locks. 
 
 In the middle of the night, he accompanied his conductors to 
 the place of destination. It was a long high building, with courts 
 and broad cross-ways in all directions. A strong, heavily-bolted 
 door was opened. He was led into a small room, furnished with 
 a bed, a table, and a wooden stool. They wished him good-night, 
 closed and bolted the door, and left him in darkness. His many 
 sorrowful reflections prevented his enjoying much repose ; toward 
 morning, however, he fell into a sound, sweet sleep. They awa- 
 kened him very late, and brought him a breakfast of savoury, 
 nourishing soup. Till now, he had been in the habit of making 
 a very frugal meal, in the morning, of bread and water. The 
 great cleanliness of his new apartment pleased him ; but he much 
 disliked the view from the grated window, which consisted only of 
 a cold-looking, narrow court-yard, surrounded by cloister-like 
 buildings. Far away were the suburbs, the dyeing-house, and 
 the water-bearer. He could have wept ; but his good conscience 
 comforted him. He did not doubt but the mistake would soon be 
 rectified, that had placed him in this situation. A very good din- 
 ner was brought to him of bread, meat and vegetables. He had m 
 not lived so well for a long time ; and, excepting the view from 
 the window, and the ennui, he fared better as the king's prisoner, 
 than formerly at his office. 
 
 In the afternoon he was led to examination, and placed in front 
 of a table hung with black, at which sat several stern-looking 
 gentlemen of the upper police. After having informed them- 
 selves of his origin, name, age, residence and profession, they 
 laid before him a small publication, and asked him if he was the 
 author of it ? He read it ; the contents were not unknown to 
 him, yet he could answer immediately, and with great self-pos- 
 session, that he was not the author — for he had never had any- 
 thing printed in his life. When put upon his oath, he still per- 
 sisted in the same assertion. 
 
 The examiner now drew forth several written sheets of paper, 
 handed them to the prisoner, and asked : " Do you know this 
 hand-writing ?" Frock recognized it immediately ; it was his 
 own. It was the same paper that he had once been obliged 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 137 
 
 to copy, containing a political negotiation of Rath Von Schwarz's. 
 Without consideration, he confessed it was his hand- writing; he 
 had not composed the article, still less had it printed, but had 
 copied it for money, when it was brought to him in the way of 
 business. To the question, who had brought him the original to 
 copy ? he answered, a stranger, whose figure and dress he might 
 possibly recognize, but whose name he had never heard. 
 
 The examiners shook their heads. Frock was on the point of 
 confessing that the original was the work of Herr Von Schwarz. 
 By this means, he would, perhaps, at once have been relieved 
 from all responsibility. Nor had he any reason for sparing his 
 former tormentor, till he remembered his beloved pupils. He was 
 sufficiently noble-minded not to wish to make them unhappy, by 
 destroying their father, whose conduct appeared by this negotia- 
 tion to be very reprehensible. He was silent, therefore, and was 
 led back to prison. 
 
 He was again taken to examination, and again to prison. The 
 suspicions of the police increased with regard to him ; it was sup- 
 posed he was the author, or was well acquainted with him ; for, 
 out of the many questions put to him, he had answered some of 
 them too thoughtlessly, and so had contradicted himself. 
 
 He had already been in prison three weeks, when the guard 
 once more appeared, not to lead him to examination, but to 
 another prison, where, in place of his light room, he was left in a 
 dungeon. It illy pleased him to be put there, on bare straw, 
 bread and water, and in a dim twilight. Still he resolved in his 
 heart not to make the Rath unhappy. " For," thought he, " if I 
 abide by my declaration, what can they do to me ? If they hope 
 to force a confession from me by means of straw and meagre diet, 
 the gentlemen are mistaken. I shall keep to my word. They 
 must finally set me at liberty ; and then I shall have spared my 
 darling pupils anxiety and bitter tears." 
 
 The next day he was transferred from the dungeon to an asrree- 
 able, cheerful, well-furnished apartment; the grated windows, 
 the locks and bolts of the thick door, alone reminded him that he 
 was in prison. His food was more choice — he was even furnish- 
 
138 
 
 ZSCHOKKE S TALES. 
 
 ed with wine. Writing materials and books were allowed him. 
 He was told that all this was by the desire of a noble person, who 
 took a lively interest in his fate. The good Frock was not dissat- 
 isfied with this sympathy, though he said it did him too much 
 honour. 
 
 He considered it of much more importance, when, being taken 
 before a commission of the criminal court, he perceived Herr Von 
 Schwarz among his judges. 
 
 It is probable that the Rath supposed, after hearing the account 
 of Frock's behaviour before the police, that he had either not rec- 
 ognized or had forgotten his hand- writing. 
 
 Herr Von Schwarz cast a malicious glance at the prisoner, who 
 now entered, and seemed anxious, from his severe cross-question- 
 ing, to make Frock's guilt more apparent. The accused ob- 
 served with displeasure the insolence of the man. He long 
 restrained his anger. But when, at length, Herr Von Schwarz 
 let fall a suspicious word about the gold snuff-box, he was no 
 longer master of himself. 
 
 " From regard to my former pupils, your two sons, I have till 
 now been silent ; but your behaviour forces me to make public 
 what no direct question has drawn from me. It is true, that I am 
 not the author of that negotiation, which contains offences against 
 the highest court — perhaps betrays state secrets. It is true, I 
 neither know the author, nor he who brought it to me to be 
 copied. But I knew, and still know the hand-writing of him 
 who wrote the original. It was the hand-writing of Herr Von 
 Schwarz." 
 
 Schwarz laughed scornfully, but could not conceal a sudden 
 confusion, which did not escape his companions in office. In the 
 meantime the president said to the accused, (now become the ac- 
 cuser,) that he had brought forward an accusation, which it 
 would be difficult to prove. 
 
 " It is possible," returned Frock, " that the original may have 
 been destroyed so soon as the copy came into their possession. 
 But my memorandum-book, which, with my other papers, is in 
 the hands of the police, will prove that I very well know Herr 
 Von Schwarz's hand-writing. I remember, that in addition to 
 entering on my books that I had copied a negotiation without a 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 139 
 
 title, I noted on the margin, 1 Hand-writing of H. V. S.,' that is, 
 Herr Von Schwarz." 
 
 On a sign from the president, an officer brought out a box con- 
 taining Frock's papers. He took out the little book, looked for 
 the dale, found the place, which appeared to have escaped the at- 
 tention of the police, and laid it before the judge. It was exactly 
 as Frock had said. He was taken back to prison. 
 
 The next morning, his approaching deliverance, and the imme- 
 diate imprisonment of Herr Von Schwarz, were announced. For, 
 through the agency of the police, from the description Frock had 
 given of him, the man who had brought him the negotiation to 
 copy, was apprehended in a distant city, and brought into court. 
 The testimony of this man confirmed that of the innocent Frock, 
 when they were confronted and recognized each other. 
 
 The same day, Frock had a still greater surprise. He received 
 a visit from Major Von Tulpen, accompanied by a stranger. The 
 old major was beside himself with joy, at seeing him again. He 
 pressed him with emotion to his heart. 
 
 " There is good to be found in everything," said the major. 
 " If you had not been imprisoned, we never, in the world, would 
 have found you. But your trial made so much noise, that we 
 learned your abode." 
 
 " You do not recognize me, then," said the major's companion. 
 
 Frock looked at him earnestly, then bowed respectfully, and 
 said : 
 
 " Your highness shows me undeserved honour." 
 
 " Not such undeserved honour. When you took me prisoner, 
 in a skirmish in the Netherlands, if you had not protected me so 
 courageously from your comrades, I should long since have been 
 in the kingdom of the dead. You saved my life ; and in my de- 
 fence received that wound on the forehead, from the foolish chas- 
 seur, who wished to cut me down at all events." 
 
 " But how could your highness know my name ? for I never 
 told it to you." 
 
 " I learned it of the major. I became acquainted with the 
 major through the jeweller, to whom you sold the gold snuff-box, 
 that I gave you as a token of my remembrance, on the field of 
 battle. During my stay here, I wished to buy several things 
 
140 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 from the jeweller, and I was much surprised to meet with my 
 snuff-box. You have sold it from so noble a motive, that I must 
 indeed return it to you, to do honour to your virtue." 
 
 The prince laid the box upon the table j and Frock now learn- 
 ed that he had been formally acquitted by the court. 
 
 "Now, friend Jonathan Schopf," cried the major, "we must 
 gee each other oftener. You will find the name of my place of 
 residence upon this card, and you must visit me as soon as you 
 are at liberty. I thought you were lost for ever. May that Rath 
 — what d'ye call him ? — who is here now in place of you, go to 
 the devil ! He has got himself into a bad box. He wished to 
 trick the ministers of justice, and so drew attention upon himself. 
 It serves him right." 
 
 Frock was much comforted by this visit. It renewed his con- 
 fidence in mankind ; and he looked upon the past dangers and 
 sufferings of his imprisonment, as a trifling price he had paid for 
 the pleasure of this day. 
 
 Early the next morning, he was in all due form, and with an 
 ample apology and declaration of innocence, released from prison. 
 The court also adjudged to him a handsome sum, partly as in- 
 demnification for his suffering, partly as a compensation for the 
 interruption of his business, during the time of his imprisonment. 
 It was a long time since Frock had been so rich. The snuff-box 
 of the prince (who had the same day left the residence) was also 
 filled with gold pieces. 
 
 When Frock once more entered his little room at the old 
 widow's, he could have wept for joy, and wished to kiss the tables 
 and chairs, as old friends re-found. But his first proceeding was 
 to go to the window with his telescope. He looked with delight 
 at the three trees, and at the lines upon which the clothes were 
 blowing, like colours and banners hung out by Love to greet 
 him ; but, alas ! the dyer's lovely daughter, with her Berenice- 
 like curls, did not come to welcome him. 
 
 Upon the whole, Frock was a singular person. With a heart 
 full of virtue, and in consequence capable of feeling the tender- 
 est friendship, he remained estranged from men, and preferred 
 
Hi 
 
 perspective views, clothes-lines, tables and chairs, to their society. 
 He certainly had his reasons, which we must respect in silence. 
 The good-will and gratitude of the prince affected him very 
 much ; yet it never occurred to him to draw a straw's breadth 
 nearer him. The prince had even invited him to visit him, 
 promising him a situation in his school establishment ; and Frock, 
 who was without a maintenance, had merely bowed and silently 
 refused it. The old Major Von Tulpen had begged him, in a very 
 cordial manner, to become intimate at his house j but Frock had 
 never been there. And yet he was far from being shy, nor was it 
 Jjusiness that kept him at home ; for though, immediately on his 
 release from prison, he had hung his sign on the outside of the 
 widow's door, no one came to require his services in writing. 
 
 At last, one evening, the major himself appeared, and said : 
 
 "I might have waited till the day of judgment, Jonathan Rok, 
 or Farrok, before you came to see me ! You must now come 
 with me, that you may know how to find my house. To-day is 
 my birth-day. My cellar is full of Pontac, Burgundy, and 
 Champagne, with which the Prince of — what d'ye call him ? — has 
 enriched me, merely for taking him to the jeweller's and to you, 
 and for the story about the snuff-box, which I have told often 
 enough without having been paid for it." 
 
 Frock could not resist. They got into a hackney-coach, as it 
 was very dark, and drove off. The major was excessively gay 
 and talkative. But just as they reached the house, he began to 
 swear, and exclaimed : 
 
 " What a stupid fellow ! I have passed the recorder's office, 
 though I told him I should stop to take him home to supper. He 
 is an excellent young man ; it will please you, Jonathan, to be- 
 come acquainted with him. I will set you down first, and then 
 turn back for him." 
 
 The carriage stopped. Frock was obliged to jump out and go 
 into the house. " The room on the right," cried the major, and 
 drove off. 
 
 Frock groped his way through the hall, in the dark ; found the 
 door, knocked, was told to come in ; saw a table set out, bright 
 candles were burning on it, and at the same moment his eyes be- 
 
142 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 came blinded, for the well-known dyer's daughter stood living 
 before him. 
 
 " I fear I have made a mistake," stammered he ; " I thought 
 this was Major Von Tulpen's." 
 
 " This is the right place ; my father will soon be here, if you 
 can wait a short time," said she, and offered him a chair. 
 
 A young girl, about ten years old, came forward, and after 
 looking at the stranger for a moment, said timidly, and with a 
 pleasant smile : 
 
 " Am I not right ? Are you not the gentleman who gave away 
 a gold snuff-box for my father?" fc 
 
 " Not gave away, for I have it again," said Frock, who had 
 not recovered from his first surprise. 
 
 He became still more embarrassed, when the golden-haired one 
 laid her beautiful hand on his arm and said : 
 
 " Ah ! how much we are indebted to you. The snuff-box 
 must have become a holy thing to you, since it reminds you of 
 two men whom you have saved." 
 
 "Did you grow so pale in prison ?" asked the little girl, look- 
 ing at him compassionately. " I have prayed for you very often, 
 and that must have done you good." 
 
 Frock found that he was much better known here than he had 
 supposed ; and to turn the conversation from the subject of grati- 
 tude, he related the pleasures of his prison life. 
 
 Both the sisters thought it surprising, that he should have en- 
 dured the loss of his freedom so quietly, and even have found 
 something agreeable in his imprisonment. 
 
 " I should fret myself to death if I were in prison," said the 
 little girl, " and were obliged to live by myself, away from Jose- 
 phine and my father." 
 
 "I can easily believe that" said Frock; " but if one has no 
 Josephine and no father to fret after, then, with a pure heart, one 
 is well everywhere. To a man who, in time of need, is sufficient 
 for himself, the smallest room is a great world ; and he who is 
 not sufficient for himself, but depends upon society for his happi- 
 ness, even in the greatest extent of the universe, lives immured 
 in a dungeon." 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 143 
 
 "But to be alone the livelong day!" answered the little girl 
 with a sigh. 
 
 " How do you know that I was alone ? Was not my whole 
 past life before me ? And was not He with me, who is more 
 than all society ? Do you know who ? God !" 
 
 The conversation now took a more serious turn ; Josephine, 
 leaning on the back of a chair, listened in silence. 
 
 Her little sister Leonore had always a hundred questions to 
 ask, and a hundred replies to make. 
 
 The major now came in, and with him a very handsome young 
 man, the Recorder Bukhardt. He appeared very much at home 
 in the family, and intimate with the young ladies. 
 
 Frock, before this, had made much progress in their acquaint- 
 ance, but the more at ease Bukhardt appeared, the more reserved 
 Frock became. The major presented the " worthy" recorder to 
 him, and the conversation became more general. The major's 
 daughters now left the room to bring in the simple supper. They 
 sat down. The recorder placed himself next to Josephine, and 
 paid her the greatest attention. Frock was opposite to them, be- 
 side the chattering little Leonore, and in the disposing of his 
 hands and feet, sometimes even of his eyes, seemed much em- 
 barrassed. The golden-haired Josephine was, indeed, (as she 
 sat shaded from the light, and when she now and then bent for- 
 ward her lovely head,) surprisingly beautiful. The surprise, 
 certainly, was only on Frock's side, for neither the major nor 
 Leonore appeared to look upon it as anything wonderful : per- 
 haps the " worthy" recorder did. 
 
 Fortunately, the major passed round the Burgundy, and shortly 
 after the sparkling Champagne. This excited our pale philoso- 
 pher, till he was in the same state of innocent gayety that the 
 others were. He now became talkative and agreeable. The 
 lively chatterer, Leonore, busied herself in kind attentions to him. 
 She listened eagerly to whatever he chose to say, and when he 
 corrected her in some fault of arithmetic, she seized the opportu- 
 nity of begging him to become her instructor. She promised, out 
 of pure gratitude, to replace the loss of his former pupils, in the 
 Schwarzischen house, of whom he had spoken with so much 
 affection. 
 
144 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " For," said she, " they were boys, who forget one immediate- 
 ly, and are so wild and volatile." 
 
 Frock allowed himself to be drawn into a promise, to devote 
 two hours to her every Sunday and Wednesday. The major 
 shook his hand warmly. 
 
 " You are doing me a great favour," said lie. " I have nothing, 
 or I should certainly have sent her to school. The vain little 
 boaster must sit still and learn." 
 
 Frock did not know what a charge he had undertaken. He 
 repented it the day following, however, and still more the promise 
 he had given to dine that day (it was Sunday) with the Tulpen- 
 schen family. 
 
 As he did not return home till very late, he slept long. The 
 ringing of the church bells from all the steeples, far and near, at 
 last awakened him. While dressing himself, he thought over 
 the preceding day ; then his first step was to the telescope and the 
 window. But as he was raising the telescope to his eye, he laid 
 it quickly down, shut the window, and did not look out again the 
 whole morning, but walked up and down his room, singing and 
 whistling. About noon, he wrote the major a note, telling him 
 that it would be impossible for him to dine with him, as he was 
 not well, sealed it, and then remembered, as he had no messen- 
 ger, he would be obliged to take it himself. Then it was very 
 late, and would be impolite to keep them waiting. He tore up 
 the note, and went to the major's, repenting at every step what 
 he was doing, and what he had already done. 
 
 They received him in the same kind, unconstrained manner, 
 and he felt himself much more at ease with these friendly people 
 than he had the day before. They all seemed very serious, not 
 excepting the little Leonore. 
 
 The good people had just come from church, and the worship 
 of God had left in their souls a gentle gravity which tempered, 
 and even ennobled, their usual cheerfulness. 
 
 " Have you been to church 1" asked Leonore. 
 
 " Not to-day," answered Frock. 
 
 " If I do not go to church on Sunday, the whole week seems 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 145 
 
 dull and uninteresting. Sunday, among all other days, is like 
 the sun, which gives light to the rest. I can easily understand 
 how men commit great crimes, where they have no Sundays." 
 
 " But do you not think, there may be good men who have no 
 Sunday ?" 
 
 " Yes, there may be some ; but their existence is very tame, 
 and they can have nothing to comfort them. Their sense teaches 
 them to be good, but it does not proceed from the most beautiful" 
 
 " What do you call the most beautiful ?" 
 
 £ Why, the most beautiful is — the most beautiful. You know 
 better than 1 do. It is the most beautiful when in church 1 listen 
 and pray, and am at peace with God, and think of all that is 
 without and within. It passes away ; and I know besides, that 
 the Best remains in imperishably great majesty. All the beloved 
 dead are once more around me — my mother, my grandfather, 
 and the many heroes my father talks about. Jesus Christ, and 
 many holy souls live more blessedly than I, and yet live with me, 
 and love me as I love them. That is the most beautiful. Then 
 I hear the whispering of praying hearts, and the holy organ's 
 sound, and the voice of the preacher, and yet do not hear it; still 
 everything speaks within me, and I understand, though I can see 
 nothing." 
 
 Frock smiled. He gazed on Leonore's expressive countenance, 
 who spoke with great enthusiasm. Then he bent over the young 
 girl and kissed her beautiful forehead, without saying a word. 
 
 " The little girl prattles like a starling !" cried the major ; 
 " she often chatters of things by heart, which I feel, and yet can 
 never express." 
 
 After dinner a walk was proposed. They went to the Lilien- 
 thal, a neighbouring wood about a quarter of an hour's walk from 
 the suburbs. In the middle of the wood, between meadows and 
 gardens, was an inn, to which the inhabitants of the city resorted 
 to amuse themselves. Frock gave an arm to each of the sisters, 
 and the major went chattering by their side. Josephine displayed 
 quite as much spirit and feeling in her conversation, as she was 
 beautiful. 
 
 " It is indeed a magnificent day !" cried Leonore, hopping 
 about with joy ; "I am really in heaven to-day ! I am in 
 PART II. 11 
 
146 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 heaven ; and if you had been to church, you would be in heaven ; 
 too, Herr Frock !" 
 
 " But if I were to tell you, good Leonore, that I am really in 
 heaven, at this moment." 
 
 "No; you are only walking; but I am in heaven. Do you 
 not see, that all the -flowers are more gayly coloured, and look 
 quiet and heavenly ; and the foliage on the trees is transparent, 
 as if it were a green flame, and the sky has another dress, and 
 the sun another brightness. Everything has a different air, and 
 denotes something festive ; I do not entirely comprehend it, but I 
 shall certainly know how to study it." 
 
 Frock was in heaven, in spite of what Leonore might say to 
 the contrary. The whole world looked brighter to him with 
 Josephine on his arm. He gladly listened to Leonore's talking, 
 that he might be silent. For speaking was a burden, because he 
 was oppressed with feelings which he could not explain to himself. 
 
 Several acquaintances of the major's were in Lilienthal, and 
 some of Josephine's and Leonore's, who attached themselves to 
 the party. Frock, as a stranger, drew back. He went in search 
 of plants among the bushes. After about an hour the major ob- 
 served his absence ; they waited for him, talking one to another. 
 When it was time to break up and think of going home, Frock 
 had not yet returned. Leonore ran away into the wood to seek 
 him. The major swore, and took another path for the same pur- 
 pose. Josephine remembered the direction Frock had taken 
 through the bushes, and followed that, and it was she who found 
 him, lying on the grass under an oak, with his face hidden in his 
 folded hands. She thought he was asleep, and called his name 
 in a low voice. He instantly jumped up, his face agitated, and 
 deadly pale ; stared at her for a moment, then forcing a polite 
 smile, begged pardon for having left the company, and was much 
 surprised, when he heard it was time to return home. He 
 accompanied her, silent and embarrassed. 
 
 " You look very badly," said Josephine ; " perhaps you are 
 not well ?" 
 
 " It is nothing," said he, " I feel much stronger now." 
 
 The others came up, and were frightened at his appearance. 
 
 " What has happened to you, friend Jonathan ?" asked Major 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 14? 
 
 Van Tulpen, in a faint voice. " You have cried your eyes red, 
 and now they look glassy." 
 
 Frock smiled, passed his hand over his face, and said : 
 
 " Thoughts sometimes come over me !" 
 
 No one urged him further. Neither did any one question him, 
 when the next day, in the middle of the conversation, he was si- 
 lent, or was sad in the midst of general gayety, or coloured at in- 
 different words. Every one respected his secret. Even in the 
 Tulpenschen family, it was long before they talked on the sub- 
 ject in his absence. 
 
 Frock came regularly, on Sundays and Wednesdays, to teach 
 Leonore. He did not only teach her figures ; he related the prin- 
 cipal events in the history of the world, and explained many phe- 
 nomena of nature. He spoke with great clearness and precision, 
 but never with greater warmth than when he made a transition 
 from the earthly to the spiritual, and lost himself in religious 
 thoughts. This often happened ; he seemed to heed it. Jose- 
 phine always contrived to have her out of door work finished when 
 Frock came. Then she took her knitting, and sat down in her 
 corner by the window. Frock, who had at first appeared to her 
 as an estimable man, on account of what he had done for her 
 father, now, by the charm of his conversation, and the elevation 
 of his sentiments, caused her to forget the faults of his appearance ; 
 that is, his pale face and curling black hair. She felt very kind- 
 ly toward him, and a hearty compassion when, without apparent 
 cause, he was sad. 
 
 " He conceals a great sorrow within his bosom," said Josephine 
 often to Leonore, who had asked her about it. " Respect his se- 
 cret, he was looked upon as a penitent criminal in the Schwarz- 
 ischen house, but I believe his sorrow proceeds from a noble 
 cause." 
 
 Herr Von Tulpen and his daughters lived in a very simple and 
 retired manner, in a small house in the suburbs. Josephine, as- 
 sisted by her younger sister, took charge of the little household ; 
 and, indeed, made something out of nothing. She was the cook, 
 the gardener, the washerwoman, the tailoress of the house, all ir 
 
148 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 all. The major, her father, had few wants, but he knew not how 
 to take care of money. He, therefore, resigned his narrow in- 
 come to Josephine, who knew how to meet everything with it. 
 She was a complete mistress of housekeeping, and under her 
 management, there was neither superfluity nor want. There 
 was no extravagance in the house, but neatness, taste, and clean- 
 liness reigned. She, and her sister, dressed very plainly, but she 
 well knew what colour, and fashion, and what sort of ornaments 
 became her ; therefore, the major was thought much richer than 
 he was. Josephine had many admirers in the city, and many 
 suitors among the nobility. She was like a fresh, blooming lily, 
 at once dignified and humble, and at eighteen years of age united 
 the good qualities of the mother of a family, and the savoirfaire 
 of a woman of the world, to that innocence which is peculiar to 
 childhood. Taking charge of the house early in life, had given 
 her a certain independence of character, which she could not con- 
 ceal, and which inspired all who approached her with involuntary 
 respect. 
 
 A young count, of one of the most illustrious families of the 
 kingdom, had already sought her hand. Since then, the Recor- 
 der Bukhardt had become a friend of her father's, and often 
 came to the house. He loved Josephine passionately, but was 
 careful not to awaken any suspicions in her mind. She treated 
 him with a want of constraint, which let him understand that, 
 though his friendship was prized, he would not be allowed to ap- 
 proach a step nearer to a greater intimacy. 
 
 Bukhardt and Frock often met in this house. The former not 
 without a feeling of vanity, (for he was certainly a very hand- 
 some man,) patiently endured these frequent meetings with the 
 moodish, timid Frock ; who, after a lapse of more than half a year, 
 was as retiring and as little at home as he had been the first day. 
 But Frock did not seem to be less esteemed than the handsome 
 Bukhardt. Josephine treated him with as much kindness as the 
 other, even (one might say) with that tenderness which compas- 
 sion toward a sufferer, may be supposed to dictate. Leonore, too, 
 once remarked to her sister: ;£ Bukhardt is handsome; Frock, 
 with his moonlight face, is not at all so ; but, Josephine, when 
 Frock speaks, there is something more beautiful in his eyes than 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 149 
 
 Bukhardt has. There is something very lovely in Frock's eyes, 
 in his smile, in his seriousness; I cannot describe it. Bukhardt's 
 beauty appears to me like splendid levantine, not transparent ; 
 Frock's appearance is like thin gauze, through which shines 
 something glorious that I love and cannot explain." 
 
 About half a year after this, Bukhardt was called to the chan- 
 cellorship, with a considerable salary. There was great rejoic- 
 ing in the Tulpenschen family ; still greater, when one day he 
 brought them the news, that through his recommendation and in- 
 fluence, he had been enabled to gain the majority of votes, and 
 even the approbation of the minister, in favour of bestowing the 
 recorder's place on the good Frock. Provided for during his life- 
 time, Frock now could live more happily. He had only to pre- 
 sent himself to the minister, and to the other judges, who, from 
 Bukhardt's representations, looked upon him as the man, from ac- 
 quirements, talent and honesty, best fitted for the situation. The 
 major was moved to tears at the joy of beholding his dear Jona- 
 than taken care of, and invested with an office. He fell on the 
 chancellor's neck, and said : " Thank you, dear friend ! If 1 
 had become governor of the city, it would not have delighted me 
 so much." Both the young girls, too, in the fulness of their 
 hearts, could have embraced the good chancellor. 
 
 It was Wednesday, and Bukhardt well knew that Frock would 
 come on that day. They were just consulting in what way they 
 should most agreeably surprise him with the news, when he came 
 in to teach Leonore. They all gayly surrounded him ; every 
 one announced the news to him, every one wished him joy. Grat- 
 itude and astonishment were depicted on his countenance ; he 
 thanked the chancellor for his kindness, the others for their inter- 
 est ; and in the midst of the joy which beamed from his counte- 
 nance, a melancholy expression stole over it. He declared he 
 could not accept the office, from want of the requisite knowledge 
 and capability; and when this was contradicted, by every one, 
 he said he felt no inward inclination for such employment. They 
 now brought forward such powerful arguments in the uncertainty 
 of his profession, that nothing now remained for him to do, but to 
 shrug his shoulders, and say : " He could not sue for the office — 
 more important reasons, which he could not give, prevented him." 
 
150 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 None asked further, and a sorrowful silence ensued. Frock 
 continued Leonore's lesson as if nothing had happened. The 
 chancellor took his leave. The major threw himself into an arm- 
 chair, to smoke his pipe. Josephine took her seat at the window, 
 sewing and listening. 
 
 The subject was not again mentioned ; but from that day they 
 drew more closely to the mysterious sufferer, who, without means 
 or a livelihood, rejected a profitable situation, and passed his life 
 in a business which he often said was as tedious and laborious to 
 him as splitting wood. They endeavoured, by showing a more 
 tender interest, to make up to him for the secret sorrow which 
 was tormenting him. Even the reserved Josephine approached 
 him in a sisterly manner; but he remained always the same, as 
 kind and distant toward the beautiful young girl as toward the 
 major. 
 
 It was different with Bukhardt. He had opportunity enough 
 to perceive, from a thousand trifles, that all were more attached to 
 the silent Frock than to him ; but now, inspired by more daring 
 hopes, from his position and rich salary, and trusting to the pov- 
 erty of the major, he resolved to ask for Josephine's hand. He 
 first spoke to the major, who listened to him with delight. 
 
 " Very good. I give you my word of honour, if the girl is 
 willing, you shall have her. You are a worthy man, that I al- 
 ways say. Begin cautiously with Josephine — she has her pecu- 
 liarities. If you can win her heart, you have gained every- 
 thing ; but to offer yourself now, would be to spoil all. I will 
 say nothing to her of what you have confided to me." 
 
 Bukhardt now ventured to pay the maiden greater attention ; 
 but for some time past, Josephine had been colder in her manner 
 toward him than formerly. It was not to be accounted for. Buk- 
 hardt complained of it to the major, who for a moment seemed 
 embarrassed ; then took him by the hand, and led him (for the 
 conversation had taken place in the garden behind the house,) to 
 his daughter's room, and said : 
 
 " Josephine, I have not said a word to the chancellor, but do 
 you tell him yourself. If he has done it, he has not meant it ill ; 
 so you must not feel anything against him. Take him to the 
 wardrobe, and put an end to the thing." 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 151 
 
 The girl coloured very much, and did not seem pleased with 
 her father's request; but she obeyed. She went with the chan- 
 cellor into the next room, threw open a wardrobe, and said, 
 after showing him several pieces of linen, of India muslin, and of 
 satin, and a letter directed to her father, inclosing thirty Louis d'or: 
 
 " I must beg you to take back these presents, which you have 
 sent each of us on our birth-days, through the post-office. I 
 honour the delicacy which led you to send them anonymously, 
 and the friendship which prompted your sending such valuable 
 presents. We do not wish, however, to accept them, as it is not 
 in our power to make any return." 
 
 Bukhardt looked with astonishment at the precious contents of 
 the wardrobe, as he listened to Josephine's words. 
 
 " I assure you, my dear mistress," said he at length, " upon 
 the word of an honest man, that I know nothing about it. I have 
 had nothing to do with it. You suspect me without reason." 
 
 " Herr Chancellor," answered Josephine, regarding him with a 
 grave and sorrowful expression and blushing cheeks, " I can look 
 upon you as our friend, but not as our benefactor. I implore you, 
 if you wish to preserve the same intimacy with us, take the things 
 back. Nothing has been disturbed, or will ever be touched by 
 us. No one else but you could have sent them ; for no one but 
 you knew our birth-days, and the time when my father was dis- 
 tressed for want of money." 
 
 Bukhardt again denied it, with even more earnestness. Jose- 
 phine was much puzzled, but she was convinced there was 
 nothing else for him to say. They left the room, and the girl's 
 manner remained the same. 
 
 Josephine had guessed, that if it were not the chancellor, that 
 her admirer, the count, had perhaps hoped to ingratiate himself 
 by sending the presents. Frock was not suspected until Buk- 
 hardt had cleared himself ; then she began to think that, perhaps, 
 Frock might be the donor. She observed him closely, and one 
 day, when he had finished Leonore's lesson, he was obliged to 
 follow Josephine into the next room. 
 
 Opening the door of the wardrobe, she displayed the contents, 
 and said : " For some months past, Herr Frock, presents have 
 come to my father, for him, and for us, his children, we know not 
 
152 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 from whom. They remain untouched. I suspected the chancel- 
 lor ; he denies it. I should be sorry to offend the excellent man 
 without a cause. Pray, assist me in discovering who sent them, 
 and will force himself upon us as our benefactor." 
 
 Frock changed colour and stood with downcast eyes beside her. 
 
 " You speak rather severely, my dear lady. How do you 
 know whether he who sent these things, wished to be looked upon 
 as the defrayer of a debt, or as a benefactor ? If he be a debtor, 
 I do not know why you refuse to accept the payment. You 
 have the right to be too proud to accept either charity or favours." 
 
 " Dear Frock," said Josephine, and looked at him with a 
 searching glance, r< was it really you ? Tell me honestly " 
 
 " Condemn me, Miss. Yes, it was I. I have been much to 
 blame, that I set out so awkwardly, and troubled you with trifles 
 that I might spare myself embarrassment. Will you now return 
 everything ?" asked he, in a low, imploring tone of voice. 
 
 " No ! now I will keep everything — everything !" said Jose- 
 phine, smiling through her tears, and pressing both hands in grate- 
 ful acknowledgment upon his arm. 
 
 " It can give you no pleasure to be our benefactor ; you are 
 our friend. Is it not so ? But promise to make us no more 
 presents like these. You are too extravagant." 
 
 When they returned to the room, Leonore observed, with sur- 
 prise, that her sister had been weeping. At the same moment, 
 the major came in. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" he asked astonished. 
 
 Josephine kissed her father, and said : 
 
 " Let us thank the good Frock ; he has presented us with the 
 costly things in the wardrobe. We will now wear them in 
 honour of our friend." 
 
 " Oh ! my dear, dear Herr Frock !" said Leonore, delighted 
 and overwhelming him with caresses, " the India muslin on my 
 birth-day was entirely too beautiful !" 
 
 After this explanation, the old footing was re-established be- 
 tween the maiden and Bukhardt. Josephine was even kinder 
 than before, as she felt she had done him injustice. Though 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 153 
 
 Bukhardt felt happy at this change, still it was unaccountable to 
 him, that the ladies had so willingly accepted from poor Frock, 
 what they had refused to take from him. They worked at the 
 linen with great delight, and during the time they were making 
 the new dresses, Frock's name was incessantly mentioned. Buk- 
 hardt said one day to Josephine : 
 
 " You accepted from Herr Frock the gifts you despised as 
 coming from me. 1 scarcely dare to offer you anything for fear 
 of offending you ; for it would give me pain if you were to send 
 it back to me." 
 
 " Not so, Herr Chancellor ; I like you as much as the good 
 Frock. If you offer anything, you will see that I will not refuse 
 it ; but it must not be too much. For instance, the carnation 
 you have in your button-hole." 
 
 " Can I not present you with anything better worth having, my 
 dear lady ?" 
 
 * Not too much." 
 
 Bukhardt leaned over her chair, and whispered : 
 " Take all that I have, and am, and myself too." 
 Josephine drew back, blushing, and said : 
 " Herr Chancellor, that is too much !" 
 
 He spoke more openly, more urgently ; thereupon the major 
 came in, and added his influence. Josephine, pressed on all sides, 
 said in a solemn voice : 
 
 " I feel myself honoured by your friendship, Herr Chancellor ; 
 but I beg you to ask for nothing more. It would disturb our 
 peaceful, contented state ; but let it be, as if nothing had been 
 said." 
 
 Josephine could do so very well ; but not the disappointed 
 chancellor. From that day he avoided the house, where he had 
 lost the fairest hopes of his life. In about three months they 
 heard that he was married. The major said, with a dissatisfied 
 look at Josephine : 
 
 " The poor fellow has done it in a fit of desperation." 
 
 Though Frock was now the only intimate friend, he came no 
 oftener to the house than regularly every Sunday and Wednes- 
 day, or, perhaps, when he was invited. Neither did he change 
 his manners, which seemed to shun closer intimacy. With his 
 
154 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 little scholar Leonore, he was more unreserved ; but Leonore 
 clung to him with all the tenderness and idolizing affection of 
 which a girl of twelve years is capable. For him she cultivated 
 flowers ; for him she prepared little surprises ; and she looked at 
 him with impatience when he came half an hour after his time: 
 it was he too of whom she dreamed. Wednesdays and Sundays 
 were her festival days. 
 
 " Herr Frock, dear Herr Frock," she said one day, " you 
 are very good ; but Josephine says that you are not happy. 
 And you are not happy. Tell me, what is the matter with 
 you ?" 
 
 " I am happier than I deserve to be." 
 " Is that true ?" 
 w Certainly, miss." 
 
 " Look me straight in the face, Herr Frock. Ah ! there is 
 something very sad here. Now be very quiet. I wish to ask 
 you something very serious : Why do you never go to church ?" 
 
 " How is that connected with my happiness ?" 
 
 " Do you ask that question ? Have you not yourself said more 
 than once : without religion there is no happiness ? He who is 
 in God and with God, how can he be unhappy ?" 
 
 " But, miss, the church is not religion, and God dwells every- 
 where." 
 
 Leonore reflected for a moment, shook her head, and an- 
 swered : 
 
 " You always have something to say to which I cannot reply, 
 and yet I feel that you are wrong. You would be a blessed man, 
 if you went to church." 
 
 " Was not Christ more blessed than we are, dear ? and, tell 
 me, did he go to the Catholic, Lutheran, or Reformed church ? 
 If you can tell me truly to which he went, there will I follow 
 him." 
 
 Leonore did not know what to answer. " He was not Catholic," 
 said she, " neither Lutheran, nor Reformed. What are you, 
 then ? Why do you not belong to our Catholic church ? You 
 are, perhaps," added Leonore, timidly, " a Lutheran ? Oh, no ! 
 you are not. Say you are not." 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 155 
 
 " Would I be of less worth in your eyes," returned Frock, 11 if 
 I did not belong to your church ?" 
 
 " Ah ! it is melancholy," sighed Leonore, and wept bitterly. 
 Frock could scarcely quiet her. 
 
 When he came again, he observed that Leonore looked at him 
 more earnestly than usual ; that her manner was a mixture of 
 compassion and anxiety. He drew forth a book, and said : 
 
 " This will, perhaps, best instruct and quiet you." 
 
 " Oh ! if that were possible !" said Leonore, quickly. 
 
 She took the book. It was Lessing's Nathan der Weise. 
 
 Either this excellent book, or the natural volatility of Leo- 
 nore's mind, quieted questions of conscience. She consoled her- 
 self with the thought, that Frock was a heretic. She secretly 
 resolved to convert him ; and hoped to succeed, by inducing him 
 to accompany her to mass on Sundays, and perhaps on other days 
 of the week. 
 
 In the meantime, an uijexpected event took place, which put 
 an end to all plans of conversion. One morning the major, 
 perfectly breathless, ran into Frock's room, embraced him, and 
 said : 
 
 " Now, Friend Jonathan, now your David can return all your 
 kindness to him, and reward your love ! Look at this letter ! It 
 
 comes from the Stadt Rath of . In short — what d'ye call it 
 
 there ? — All the same. My cousin, the old lieutenant-general, 
 you know — what d'ye call him ? — I have told you how he was 
 wounded, at — what d'ye call it? — well, he is dead, and left no 
 heirs ; and by his last will, I am lawfully the only heir to his 
 estates. God bless the cousin — what d'ye call him ? — we were 
 always good friends. I am a rich man. Read it! They write 
 that I must either come myself, or send instead a — what d'ye 
 call him ? — who understands better than I, the arranging of the 
 whole thing. The devil ! there are women, and lawyers there, 
 who protest against it. If it should go wrong, and end in smoke, 
 I know nothing about law. I am old, and cannot travel in the 
 rough winter weather." 
 
 Frock read the letter. The case stood, as Major Von Tulpen 
 
156 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 had said, with regard to the property ; but the will, as well as 
 the prior right to the estate, was contested by a distant line of 
 the relations of the deceased, whose name they bore. Frock 
 promised the major that he would undertake the journey, and set- 
 tle the business. 
 
 "If the affairs are arranged by the spring, then on the first 
 fine day you can visit your estates," said Frock. 
 
 He then put up his books, and began with the major immedi- 
 ately to examine his relationship to the deceased. 
 
 Several days passed before the necessary papers could be col- 
 lected, for the decision of the lawsuit. During this time, Frock 
 having given up his former office-business, was every day at the 
 major's house. What plans were made ! What dreams ! Leo- 
 nore and Josephine painted, in hues brighter than those of the 
 rainbow, a heaven in the future. Frock was as certainly con- 
 nected with their plans as their father. How could he be the 
 only one, who did not know that he was indispensable to the hap- 
 piness of the rest ? 
 
 Even Josephine, who understood so^perfectly her sphere of ac- 
 tion ; upon whose approbation all depended, and who was adored 
 by every one ; even Josephine did not conceal from her father, 
 that Frock must leave the city, and accompany them to the prom- 
 ised land. 
 
 " We should otherwise be (such was the expression she made 
 use of) without a blessing." 
 
 " You have chosen the right word !" cried Leonore ; " did you 
 hear it, dear father ? without a blessing" 
 
 The major answered, "Of course." 
 
 " But," said Josephine, rising from her seat at the window, and 
 throwing her arms around the major's neck — " but, father, do you 
 think he will be able to make up his mind to go 1 He has not 
 said a word about it, though we have given him the chief place 
 in our projects. Dear father, Frock is a very peculiar man. I 
 entreat you, make him promise to accompany us." 
 
 Herr Von Tulpen was much surprised at Josephine's anxiety. 
 
 " I am really afraid !" said she. 
 
 When Frock came, the major's first words were : 
 
 " Friend Jonathan, my girls wish to frighten me by saying, 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 157 
 
 that you would be silly enough to leave us when we went to — 
 what d'ye call it ? — there are no two ways about it, inind ye ! 
 You make nothing by living in the city, and must go to tne estate, 
 and remain till the end of your life. Select your dwelling, all 
 and everything. We will be content with anything you choose." 
 
 Frock bowed and thanked him. It was evident he felt un- 
 happy. 
 
 Leoiiore sprang, with a loud exclamation, and outstretched 
 arms, toward Frock, and embracing him affectionately, cried : 
 
 " Oh ! dear Herr Frock, do not put on such a face ; it is that 
 of a dead angel, I am sure." 
 
 Josephine had seen it, and sunk down quite pale. She trem. 
 bled, and from time to time looked at Frock. 
 
 " Speak !" cried Leonore. " You remain for ever with us. 
 In God's name, say yes ! 
 
 Frock laid both hands on his heart, and with an imploring look, 
 said : 
 
 " I cannot." 
 
 " Ha !" cried the major, aghast. " Am I not your David ? 
 And you will forsake me, Jonathan ? Do not jest with us ! You 
 see how much pain such a jest causes us. Give me your hand, 
 comrade ; you will pass your life with us." 
 
 " I cannot !" answered Frock, half aloud, but with his usual 
 tone of decision. 
 
 " You cannot, Jonathan ? — what prevents you ? You are as 
 free as the bird in the air. You cannot ? — nonsense ! What 
 keeps you in the city ? Are we not your only friends ?" 
 
 " The only ones." 
 
 " Or — ha ! has the young fellow a sweetheart ? Nonsense ! 
 We will take the-— what d'ye call her ? — with us. Out with it : 
 a sweetheart ?" 
 
 " None." 
 
 " Well ! what pleases you so much in the city ?" 
 " Nothing." 
 
 "And will you not stay with us, and live in the promised land 
 with us, because you have been our good angel in our years of 
 trouble ?" 
 
 " I cannot." 
 
158 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 " Why not ? There must be some impediment. It can be 
 removed. Do you not know that when they said at — what d'ye 
 call it ? — it would be impossible to take the battery, that I led my 
 grenadiers against it, and took it, though it did cost ten or more 
 fine fellow's lives." 
 
 " I would do anything for you — I could die for you. But pray 
 do something for me. Leave me at liberty to go where I like, so 
 soon as I have arranged your affairs, and say nothing ftfrther to 
 me. You do not know how you tear my heart. If my life, my 
 health are dear to you, say nothing more to me about it." 
 
 " Then farewell, promised land !" sobbed Leonore. " Father, 
 then we will remain here in the city." 
 
 " Very well," said the major, gloomily. 
 
 " Then — then," stammered Frock, " I will leave the city. 
 Sacred duties call me hence." 
 
 He was so agitated, as he pronounced the last words, that he 
 could scarcely utter them. He withdrew, promising to return 
 after a short walk. 
 
 And when he did return, he found them all in the same places 
 where he had left them. The major leaned gloomily back in his 
 arm-chair. Leonore sat in a corner with weeping eyes ; Jose- 
 phine without tears, but like a stone. There was something in- 
 describable in her expression ; deathlike, immovable ; frightful 
 with all its beauty. Leonore and her father arose to welcome him. 
 
 " You have thought better of it ; is it not so, Jonathan ?" said 
 the major. But Josephine did not stir. 
 
 "Let us talk on pleasanter subjects," said Frock, but the 
 attempt was vain. Frock took out some paper and wrote till 
 dark. The others sat around in silence. Leonore wept and 
 sewed. Josephine, motionless, with her beautiful head leaning 
 on her hand, stared out of the window, without observing the pass- 
 ers-by. 
 
 " Do you still persevere in your childish behaviour ?" cried 
 the major the following day, as he entered his friend Jonathan's 
 chamber, and found him lying on the bed, with swollen eyes, and 
 as pale as death. 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 159 
 
 Frock had been expected at the Tulpen house to dinner, and 
 had not come. 
 
 " How late is it V said Frock, and sprang up. 
 
 At the side of his bed stood a table, with cold punch and a de- 
 canter of Madeira. He drank a glass of the latter, and held out 
 his hand to the major. 
 
 " Past three o'clock," said Major Von Tulpen. 
 
 " Past three o'clock ? Then I have been in a dead sleep for 
 seven hours. So much the better. J finished everything last 
 night. I can travel to the estate to-morrow. I shall pay my old 
 landlady, and spend the evening with you, and let the post-wagon 
 stop for me there. It does not agree with me here. My health 
 requires change of scene ; otherwise it will destroy me." 
 
 " Have you had company ?" asked the major, and pointed to 
 the punch. 
 
 " I have worked all night, and ' 
 
 " Wished to raise your spirits." 
 
 " My spirits require no excitement. But, no matter what de- 
 pressed the spirits, poor flesh and blood must be sustained." 
 
 " Comrade, you look miserably. We are men, comrade ; for 
 God's sake ! tell me what is wronging you ? I will be as silent 
 as the grave, only speak. Why are you not like other children 
 of men ? Why did you refuse that — what d'ye call him ? — the 
 prince who offered you, in the prison, an honourable situation in 
 his country ? Why did you prefer lowliness and poverty ? Why 
 do you love us, and yet appear colder and more strange to us, 
 than you feel ? Why do you renounce the pleasures of friend- 
 ship, evidently contrary to the inclination of your heart, which is 
 so susceptible of friendship ? Why do you avoid good men who 
 seek you, and would willingly risk their lives for you ? Why 
 are you as changeable as the sun, in an April day ? In the 
 midst of gayety, dark clouds pass over your joyous countenance. 
 Do not seek to escape me. See, Jonathan, there will be nothing 
 more between us, if you do not tell me. Why will you not stay 
 with us, when you return from my expected estates ? We n^ed 
 you. We swear to you, it is worth more to us than a kingdom. 
 You are generally so soft-hearted \ why are you now so hard- 
 hearted ?" 
 
160 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 Frock filled his glass once more, and swallowed the wine. 
 
 " 1 really believe you wish to intoxicate yourself. Is it not 
 so ? Jonathan, we are alone. Let us speak honestly and soberly 
 together. Have you committed a crime 1 Speak, for I could 
 swear you did it unintentionally, and have long since atoned for 
 it. You will lose nothing in my love for you. Had you slain 
 my father or mother, I could forgive you for it." 
 
 " I am no criminal !" said Frock, with a proud glance. 
 
 " The old Nick ! then you are a fool ! What evil spirit tor- 
 ments you then ? Can you not solve the mystery V 9 
 
 " With one word, if I wished, Herr Major. I have determined 
 that you shall know it." 
 
 "When ?" 
 
 " To-day before I leave for your estates." 
 " And when I have heard the one word, and say to you, Jona- 
 than, it is all nonsense." 
 " That you will not say." 
 
 " The old Nick ! I would if I could put an end to your misery." 
 " That you could not do." 
 
 " But listen. Do not put me in a passion. I say I will do it ; 
 and if I can do it, will you then stay with us V 9 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Yes! your hand upon it." 
 
 Frock gave his hand ; the major embraced him, as if all diffi- 
 culties were overcome. 
 
 " Upon your word, then, you will to-day tell me the fatal se- 
 cret of which you have nothing to be ashamed ?" 
 
 " This evening, Herr Major, before I get into the wagon. But 
 mind that the leave-taking be gay, or at least peaceful. Let us 
 drink punch, to forget our sorrow. Sometimes it may be a duty 
 to become intoxicated, and I should wish to be so, when I leave 
 you. My life with you has been only a state of intoxication." 
 
 The major promised to take care that the evening should be 
 
 gay- 
 
 " We will take leave of each other more contentedly than you 
 suppose," said he, and went home to make preparations. 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 161 
 
 Frock packed up everything, and when he had finished, saw 
 that he had forgotten the telescope. The tears started in his eyes. 
 
 " Ah !" sighed he, " come and make me happy for the last 
 time." 
 
 He stepped to the window and looked out, and beheld Josephine. 
 By her movements, he found that she was weeping and sobbing. 
 After a while, she hastily wiped her eyes and cheeks with her 
 handkerchief. Oh ! how beautiful she was, as she raised her 
 blue eyes in prayer, to the blue heavens. She went into the 
 house. 
 
 " Good night, for ever ! — good night, Josephine !" cried Frock, 
 as he threw himself on the bed, in heart-rending grief. 
 
 He loved Josephine, with all the passion of which a tender 
 heart is capable. He had now lived for two years in her society, 
 in silent adoration of her ; had striven with himself for two years, 
 and found his passion was unconquerable. Therefore the jour- 
 ney and change of scene were welcome to him, for he hoped to 
 cure himself ; and intended only after a long time, or perhaps 
 never again to see the charmer. 
 
 Frock thought and acted like a man, who does not wish to be- 
 come the prey of his passion. As often as lie had visited the 
 Tulpen house, in the two years past, he had been able (with re- 
 markable strength of mind,) to conceal under a cold, polite exte- 
 rior, the inward raging of his soul. He had been intimate with, 
 and talkative to every one excepting Josephine. She could not 
 suspect his passion ; still less did it enter his head, that he could 
 excite a similar feeling in her. And could he have thought that 
 Josephine returned his affection, he would long since have fled 
 the house, the city, the kingdom. 
 
 Sometimes, it appeared suspicious, when he accidentally saw 
 her dark, earnest eye, fixed upon him, and then suddenly rest- 
 lessly turned away. Sometimes, when she spoke with singular 
 energy, not to him, but to others, if the conversation related to 
 him — sometimes, when she took most pleasure in doing what he 
 best liked ; something breathed through her existence, which 
 spoke to him, like Love to Love. She was more reserved, more 
 thoughtful in his company, than in any other person's. Still he 
 had never addressed a flattering word to her, nor she to him. 
 
 part n. 12 
 
162 
 
 ZSCHOKKE S TALES. 
 
 They behaved like strangers to each other, with a formal civility 
 of manners. Frock now recovered his manly spirit, emptied the 
 third glass of Madeira, put on his travelling clothes, ordered the 
 post- wagon, in which his trunk was placed, and then went to the 
 Tulpen house. 
 
 It was rather an embarrassment to him, to fiiid Josephine alone 
 in the room. She was looking pale. He asked after her father 
 and sister. The latter had gone to make the punch ; the major 
 had been absent an hour. Frock threw off his cloak, and asked 
 several indifferent questions, which were answered only in mono- 
 syllables. She sat at the window knitting, without raising her 
 eyes. He stood at the chimney, looking at her. She had never 
 appeared to him so beautiful, as at that moment. 
 
 After a silence of several minutes, she arose, looked at him, and 
 then slowly approached him. " Frock," said she, with her usual 
 coldness, and looking at him steadfastly, " do you go away to-day, 
 as my father says ? I have to ask you a question. Answer me 
 plainly. You have resolved not to return to us. I will not ask 
 the reason, if it is different from what I suppose it to be ; bfft an- 
 swer me truly, if I give the reason, and dissipate your error. I 
 feel it ; I am the author of all your misery, and it gives me 
 pain." 
 
 Frock's face became scarlet, and his heart beat so fast, that he 
 could scarcely say : " Dear Miss, what makes you say so ? what 
 can make you think so ?" 
 
 " If I am mistaken, so much the better," said Josephine ; " it 
 would add much to my contentedness for the future. Answer 
 me truly. We are alone ; but God is our witness. Will you ?" 
 
 Frock trembled ; he answered : " I will," but scarce had the 
 courage to meet the maiden's eyes ; Josephine stood looking so 
 serious, yet so lovely before him. 
 
 " Confess, then. You have thrown my father and my sister 
 into grief and tears ; you wish to separate yourself from them for 
 ever ; from those who love you so much, and for whom you your- 
 self cannot help feeling the most sincere friendship. You insist 
 on leaving us for ever, and that only on my account ?" 
 
 Conscience stricken, and overcome by his feelings, Frock could 
 not collect himself sufficiently to answer. 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 163 
 
 "Your silence confirms my suspicions," said Josephine. " I 
 feared it some time since, and Leonore guessed it. But I declare 
 to you, my dear Frock, and the Almighty knows it, that it never 
 was my intention to offend or annoy you. My behaviour toward 
 you may have been blamable ; I have not treated you as my 
 father and sister did, as I might have done ; but, oh ! believe that 
 I highly esteem you. Would I otherwise have taken the presents 
 from you, which I refused to accept from the chancellor ? I cer- 
 tainly never intended to offend you ; I behaved different to you, 
 than I did to other persons ; but Heaven is my witness, that I 
 could not have done otherwise. Pardon me for it • and be as- 
 sured that I do not feel unkindly toward you now, or have done 
 so. I esteem you, though I do not express my sense of your 
 worth, as my father and Leonore do. You forgive me ; do you 
 not ? You are not still angry with me ?" 
 
 Much moved, and quite overcome by his feelings, Frock caught 
 hold of Josephine's hand, and said : 
 
 " What is it you say ? Offended me ? How can you imagine 
 such a thing, lady ? Oh ! no, no ! To breathe in your pres- 
 ence, was my only, my greatest happiness. Yes ! dearest, the 
 thought of you will ever be most dear to me." He pressed her 
 hand to his heart, then let it go, drew back, and stammered forth : 
 "Bless the unhappy one, and let him depart." 
 
 " Do you care as much for me, as for my father and Leonore V 
 asked Josephine, speaking slowly, and looking at him with earn- 
 estness. He sank at her feet, raised her hand to his, and said : 
 
 « More !" 
 
 " What are you doing ?" cried Josephine. 
 
 He arose in great confusion, scarce conscious of what he was 
 doing. Her hand lay in his, and she drew it not away. 
 
 "Now that the misunderstanding is settled," said she, in a 
 trembling voice, " I may tell my father and Leonore, that you 
 will not separate yourself from us ?" 
 
 " Lady !" cried Frock, " you only, in the world, can decide 
 what I shall do. I shall obey. But do not require me to stay 
 here ! You would be asking my death." 
 
 The tears started into Josephine's eyes, and ran down her 
 
164 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 cheeks, but her countenance remained the same. In a cold, quiet 
 voice she said : 
 
 " If you leave us forever, you will destroy my father's and 
 Leonore's joy, and happiness for life — and you will kill me." 
 
 After uttering the last words, which were said with some hesi- 
 tation, she sank in a chair, and sobbed aloud, in irrepressible 
 grief. Frock, no longer master of himself, threw his arms around 
 the fainting girl. As if in a dream, he clasped her, bent over her 
 face, and pressed his lips to hers. The past and future were 
 alike forgotten. Her sighs revealed to him, what he would not 
 have believed had all the angels of heaven assured him of it. 
 When from pride, or shame, Josephine drew herself back, he 
 stood as if doubting what had happened ; then once more ap- 
 proaching the girl, he drew her again toward him. She said : 
 
 " Then you never were angry with me ?" 
 
 u Before you knew me, I loved you more than my life !" cried 
 he, enraptured. 
 
 At this moment, they heard the major and Leonore approach- 
 ing. Josephine hastened to meet, and embrace them; and cried, 
 with a flushed and animated countenance : 
 
 " Everything is right ! everything is right !" 
 
 u Thank God !" said the major, as he shook the delighted 
 Frock by the hand. " The devil stands ready for every one ; 
 there would have been mischief, if the little one here had not hit 
 upon a cunning expedient." 
 
 He pointed to Leonore. 
 
 Leonore danced for joy. She ran up to Frock and said : 
 " Then you are quite reconciled. It is true, Josephine has 
 sometimes treated you strangely, but she likes you very much — 
 I know she does. Oh ! how happy I am ! Come, I must give 
 you a kiss for it. I am as giddy as if I had been drinking punch." 
 With this she clung to his neck like a burr, and kissed him with 
 the greatest affection. 
 
 Then the cloth was laid ; the candles were lighted ; cold meats 
 and wine were brought in ; Leonore and Frock had to make the 
 punch. They were all very gay, though they said nothing very 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 165 
 
 connectedly. Frock stood as if in a dream, squeezing lemons. 
 Josephine floated hither and thither ; her bright eyes turned to- 
 ward tiie only one who had infused light into the darkness of her 
 soul. Jjeonere sang, cracked sugar, danced around, laughed, 
 and said repeatedly, " I am very silly." The old major smoked 
 his pipe, walked up and down, joined sometimes in Leonore's 
 song, and, between whiles, swore in a very droll manner at his 
 Jonathan. 
 
 They seated themselves in a merry circle. Leonore filled the 
 punch-glasses, and now they must drink to eternal friendship. 
 Frock, becoming excited, drank glass after glass ; he seemed to 
 wish either to forget himself in intoxication, or to enjoy his hap- 
 piness to its full extent. His countenance often involuntarily re- 
 sumed its usual sadness ; but no sooner did Leonore observe it, 
 than raising her finger threateningly, she said : " You are right. 
 All must be forgotten now. Evil will come at its own time." 
 So he gave himself up to his happiness. 
 
 When the simple supper was finished, and the punch had raised 
 their spirits, and the conversation was flowing freely, the major 
 pulled out his watch, and looked at the time. Frock observed it, 
 showed alarm, and became suddenly gloomy and silent. Jose- 
 phine shook her head at him, laid her hand softly upon his, and 
 said, " Again the evil spirit." 
 
 The touch of her hand drove all Frock's blood more joyfully 
 through his pulse : " I was only thinking of the journey," said he. 
 
 " The journey !" cried Leonore, displeased. " I say delay the 
 journey for a fortnight." 
 
 Josephine joined her other hand to the first, and whispered, 
 with an imploring smile, " Yes, yes ! Frock, for two days !" 
 
 " Children," cried the major, interposing, "Jonathan has no 
 longer a lodging in the city, and everything is packed up. He 
 must now go, and you must not detain him. He will sit as com- 
 fortably in the post-wagon as in the inn. What must be, must 
 be. Let him go. I part with him willingly now, as he is to re- 
 main with us for ever. In a few weeks he will return to us, to 
 go to the promised land." 
 
 The " promised land" was enough to inspirit every one. The 
 former plans for the future were reviewed and embellished. The 
 
166 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 major spoke of by-gone days with touching delight. He lived 
 only for his daughters, and, until now, he had had only the most 
 gloomy prospects for them. 
 
 " I am now safe, and can close my eyes in peace. Jhey will 
 at least not be obliged to struggle with poverty," said he. " But, 
 girls, one thing is wanting. I must not forget to get it before I 
 leave you : A pair of sons-in-law who will please me, and be like 
 my own sons to me." 
 
 " Do not trouble yourself about me, papa," said Leonore, laugh- 
 ing ; " you will be contented with me. And as for Josephine 
 there ; look at them, with their hands joined together, and their 
 eyes fixed on each other. Did you ever see anything like it, 
 papa ? Make Jonathan your son ; how happy I shall be with 
 such a brother." 
 
 Josephine, blushing, drew away her hand, and said : 
 
 " I really believe, child, that you are intoxicated." 
 
 "Jonathan! Jonathan!" cried the major, threatening jestingly 
 and significantly across the table, " I see mischief is going on. 
 Why are you holding Josephine's hand, when for the last two 
 years you scarce ventured to look her in the face ? Come here 
 at once ! something strikes me." 
 
 Frock arose, and went to the major. 
 
 " Be more candid, Jonathan," said the major, " be more candid 
 now, than you were with me this afternoon. You love Jose- 
 phine ?" 
 
 Frock took the major's hand, and pressed it in silence to his 
 breast. Josephine arose in beautiful confusion, looked to the 
 rio-ht and left, and wished to leave the room. 
 
 " Stop, girl ! stay here !" said her father ; " for you shall make 
 good what you told me before dinner. Stay here. All shall be set- 
 tled ; then you will know where you are. I am no friend to delib- 
 eration and suspense. And you, Jonathan, open your mouth and 
 speak. Curse this timidity, which was within a hair's breadth 
 of making our unhappiness. You love Josephine. Is it not the 
 cause of the misery you would not confess, and which threatened 
 to drive you from us V- 
 
 " It is my misfortune," said Frock, with sad and averted looks. 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 167 
 
 " I love her : how could I do otherwise ? That is the cause of 
 my misery." 
 
 " Go to ! Jonathan ! do not speak in that way. Misery ? 
 What ! if you thought yourself poor, could I not give to you ? 
 Are you not richer than I ? If you have thought yourself but a 
 citizen and dared not raise your eyes to Fraulein Von Tulpen, 
 curse it ! have you not a more noble heart than I ? Remember the 
 gold snuff-box. Have I ever once been so noble as you have 
 often been ? If you have fancied that I despised you, you are 
 quite wrong, young man. I learned this morning, with mingled 
 joy and grief, what you are to her. I could not force my child 
 upon you ; but that you might have an opportunity of explaining 
 yourself, I asked for your confidence. Do you now feel misera- 
 ble ?" 
 
 Frock continued to gaze around. Just then the roll of a wag- 
 on was heard. The postboy's horn sounded before the door. 
 
 " Wait outside !" cried the major. Rising from his chair, he 
 embraced Jonathan and Josephine. " It must be so, before you 
 leave us. God bless you ! Take her, Jonathan ; she is your 
 bride — you are my son !" 
 
 Frock, in great emotion, drew back. 
 
 " What !" stammered the major, in alarm ; " what is the mat- 
 ter?'' 
 
 Josephine looked with amazement at Frock. 
 
 " Do you not love her ?" asked the major angrily. 
 
 " I dare not," answered Frock. 
 
 " Dare not? What prevents you ?" 
 
 " You will not — you dare not give me Josephine. Josephine 
 cannot love me. I am no criminal ; but I am " 
 
 At this word, Frock drew a sealed paper from his pocket, and 
 threw it upon the table. Josephine turned as pale as death. 
 Leonore, frightened, screamed aloud, and could not understand 
 what was going on. 
 
 " Be quiet !" cried the major. " What the Nick is the matter ? 
 Jonathan, out with it ! Why do you hesitate to become my son ?" 
 
 " Herr Major," said Frock, in a very earnest and impressive 
 manner, " I adore Josephine — I have never loved any other 
 maiden. I am not, however, to blame, that I cannot enjoy the 
 
168 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 happiness that you so generously destine for me ; neither is fate 
 to be blamed." 
 
 " Away with your prefaces," interrupted the major ; * where 
 does the fault then lie ?" 
 
 " In your prejudices, Herr Major." 
 " The old Nick ! in my prejudices !" 
 " I am not a Christian." 
 " Jesu Maria !" cried Leonore. 
 
 " I was born in the Mosaic faith, and am a Jew." 
 
 " A Jew !" faltered the major stupefied, as he let his arm fall 
 by his side. Leonore sprung with a piercing cry to Josephine, 
 who sank on a chair. Frock said, " Read the sealed paper. 
 Farewell ! ye dear ones ! farewell to you, my heaven !" and seiz- 
 ing his cloak and hat, he rushed out of the door. The post-boy 
 blew his horn. The wagon rolled on. The contents of the 
 sealed paper, which must be regarded as a continuation of Frock's 
 speech, ran, word for word, as follows : 
 
 " I am a Jew ; this confession, ye beloved ones, will solve the 
 mystery of my conduct. What maiden in all Christendom 
 would consent to make me happy ? What temporal or spiritual 
 authority of our land, would suffer me to hold any public office, 
 or to teach in a school of Christian children ? I am a Jew, which 
 condemns me without having committed any offence, and only be- 
 cause I descend from a people, who, from the prejudices of the 
 last thousand years, are despised and outlawed by Christians, 
 Turks, and Heathens. They are so oppressed by the contempt 
 in which they are held, that, alas ! they often merit it. I was 
 born in Alsace, of poor parents, who, like many others of our 
 belief, gained their livelihood by artifice, usury, and deceiving 
 Christians ; all caused by the prejudice of the world against them. 
 
 " The French revolution broke out in my early youth. It was 
 then, the professors of the Mosaic religion first obtained the right 
 of being considered men among men, and of being made citizens 
 of a great city ; not banished, nor merely tolerated creatures. 
 
 " In the confusion of the civil war, I became a drummer, and 
 was torn from my home before I was of age. The old people I 
 never saw again. But my youth, my daring courage, and my 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 169 
 
 natural understanding gained me friends. I became the servant 
 of a colonel, who afterward won an honourable name among the 
 French generals, and who took so much interest in me, that he 
 regretted my many imprudences on the field of battle. He al- 
 lowed me to indulge at his expense my desire for learning, by at- 
 tending a school in a French frontier town. Thus I received 
 such cultivation of mind and heart, that it was of the greatest im- 
 portance to me, in my future position in the world. My educa- 
 tion in science was not completed. Yet if I had ventured to de- 
 vote myself to medicine, I should perhaps have been able to gain 
 an honourable existence in some great town. My patron (the 
 general), however, recalled me, and made me his private secre- 
 tary. I remained with him, until his death, which was caused 
 by a cannon-ball. Without either calling or prospects for the 
 future, I chose the trade of war; long followed the troops, hither 
 and thither upon the fields of battle ; made myself rich with a 
 sorrowful wisdom, observing the miseries of the people and their 
 rulers, and the passions and prejudices that alone govern the 
 earth. Above all, I endeavoured to preserve the consciousness 
 of my inner worth, and to resign all claims to any outward ac- 
 knowledgment of it. The life of Jesus Christ has wrought this im- 
 provement within me. In wisdom, virtue, or courage, no greater 
 than he has ever appeared on the earth. Every great man is 
 great only in relation to the existing events of his age. The 
 greatness of Jesus, however, is confined to no age, and dependent 
 on no circumstances belonging to his time. Still, should he now 
 appear for the first time among Christians, they would nail him 
 to the cross as the Jews did. 
 
 " I make it the aim of my life to become like Jesus ; to sacri- 
 fice the exterior to the innermost, the perishable to the eternal ; to 
 the great aim of the spirit, the bodily, domestic, and political ties. 
 In courage and strength I am wanting, not in will. 
 
 '* The soldier's life disgusts me. My only friend among men, 
 a promising young man from Nancy, was killed at my side. I 
 had many quarrels, in the wild life we led, with my comrades. 
 The captains of the army were unjust toward me ; I deserted to 
 the enemy, dressed myself in citizens' clothes, and gained my 
 livelihood, by teaching languages, and other pursuits. My stay 
 
170 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 was not long at any place. I was not wanting in friends, but 
 they were Christians, and had they known that I was a Jew, even 
 the most liberal and enlightened among them, would have been 
 overcome by a singular and involuntary disgust. Therefore, I 
 avoided forming intimacies, which a future separation would only 
 make me regret. 1 feared friendship, because it could only bring 
 sorrow for me. I was now forced to resign all thoughts of a per- 
 manent establishment or act of citizenship in any Christian city. 
 In some places, as a Jew, I would not be allowed to remain a day; 
 in others, I would be allowed the greatest toleration ; but nowhere 
 would a situation or citizen's rights be granted me. For these, a 
 baptismal certificate was requisite, and I had never been baptized. 
 Wnat could I say ? 
 
 " My religious opinions interfered, in a painful manner, with 
 the most trying circumstances of my life and being. If the bells 
 were ringing for church, and the Christians were all, like one 
 family, flocking there ; I was obliged to worship God in my own 
 little room. Many censured me for never going to church ; others 
 regarded me as a free-thinker, who lived without religion. I 
 could not go to church, for that would have been a deception : 
 neither could I join the free-thinkers, because I despised all their 
 opinions. I was even oppressed by my better feelings, as well as 
 by the position in which I stood. For some time, I entertained 
 the thought of joining a Jewish synagogue, and becoming a 
 teacher of the truth to my own people, in order to raise them, 
 from their state of mental slavery, to the dignity of human na- 
 ture. But I remembered that I was deficient in every necessary 
 requisite. I had forgotten the Jewish German, knew little or no- 
 thing of the customary usages, or of the Talmud writings and 
 doctrines. I saw the impossibility of removing by mere argu- 
 ments, dictated by reason, the rust of many thousand years, and 
 prejudices, which had now become sacred ; or of overcoming the 
 obstinacy of poor ignorant men, contracted in their ideas, and 
 who had become what they were, through the barbarous regula- 
 tions of Christian law-givers. The Rabbis would have execrated 
 rne ; the Jews have expelled and stoned me. New religious par- 
 ties have arisen, and are still arising among Christians and Mo- 
 hammedans. Improved judgment, the operation of the climate, 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 171 
 
 or particular inquiry, tends to promote them. But the Jews will 
 allow neither new sects nor schisms. The enlightened Jews are 
 only what the free-thinkers are among the Christians. 
 
 " Disowned by my own brethren, and oppressed by my desire 
 to enjoy my rights as a man, among Europeans, and from my re- 
 spect for Jesus, 1 would have become a Christian and been bap- 
 tized. But besides not being able to make up my mind to make 
 myself a show in this solemnity ; even after my baptism, I should 
 be only a baptized and converted Jew, not a Christian, born of 
 Christian parents ; and against this, every feeling within me re- 
 belled. Much rather would I be, and remain, an Israelite ; for 
 there was actually nothing to be ashamed of in this name. Moses 
 w r as a greater man than the whole race of popes ; than Luther, 
 Calvin, or Zwingli. A Jew is very rarely baptized by Chris- 
 tians, from the effect of mental conviction, but frequently for the 
 sake of profit, which causes the suspicion and contempt, that al- 
 ways attaches to a baptized Jew. An open professor is worth 
 more than the renegade or Mameluke. 
 
 " In addition to these considerations, a more powerful reason 
 prevented my entering the Christian church. I was doubtful to 
 which I should belong. If Christ were again to appear, would 
 he be a Catholic, a Lutheran, or a Calvinist ? One church par- 
 ty of the Christians blames the other ; the last defends itself 
 against the first. This is not the effect of conviction, but is 
 caused by the feeling of attachment to the faith, which is imbibed 
 with the mother's milk. 
 
 " If I had become a Lutheran, the Reformed, or the Catholics 
 would have wished to convert me ; had I turned Catholic, the 
 Lutheran and Calvinist would have thought me in error. Each 
 church takes its truths and dogmas from the same book, and 
 from the same passages, which are differently interpreted by an- 
 other : a strong proof, that the fancies and opinions of man are 
 substituted for God's words. They are united only upon what 
 Christ himself has given. But Christ gave the spirit ; his fol- 
 lowers add the dead letter, which is the cause of the dispute. 
 What care I for the letter ? the interpretation of things which 
 fail to elevate my soul ? the acceptance of doctrines which are 
 incomprehensible ? the observance of solemnities which are ar- 
 
ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 bitrary, and are only dependent on the degree of perception or 
 the climate in which the people live who observe them ? Christ 
 is a teacher of heavenly things; no Moses, no later prophet, no 
 rabbi, no pope is higher. I believe as he did, I will live as he 
 did ; I am his follower, his disciple. In this sense I am a Chris- 
 tian, and will remain one ; but I am no Catholic, Lutheran, 
 Zwinglianer, Calvinist, Mennonite, Greek, Herrnhuter, Socinian, 
 Baptist, or Moravian brother. And Christ was none of these ; 
 according to his own confession, he was a Jew ; so am I. Christ 
 stood immeasurably higher than Moses ; I too, through Christ, 
 stand higher than Moses. On this account the Mosaic law has 
 lost its value for me, as it no longer takes its place among nations 
 and states, and by its duration stands in opposition to the age. 
 This, ye beloved ones, is my confession of faith. 1 cannot enter 
 your church and become a baptized, still less a converted, Jew. 
 None of your monks, priests, preachers, bishops, or general su- 
 perintendents can convert me. I belong neither to the English 
 nor evangelical reformed churches, nor to a so-called commu- 
 nity of brethren. I am in fact nothing but a disciple of Him, 
 whose disciples you all are, even if you have by heart the Atha- 
 nasian or Augsburg confession of faith. I am, however, no disci- 
 ple of your popes, of your Luther or of your Zwingli, because 
 I believe that I know as much as they, of the glory of eternity, 
 and of the way to seek a closer resemblance to God. 
 
 "Judge me, now, ye loved ones. You cannot condemn me, 
 without condemning yourselves. 
 
 " Rejected by the people, to whom I belong ; rejected by the 
 Christians, on account of my descent : among Jews and Chris- 
 tians I am a stranger. I belong neither to a domestic circle, nor 
 to a civil community. I am religious, yet am I persecuted by the 
 religious societies of men. I fear to resign myself to the delights 
 of friendship, for I know that my friends would blush at reposing 
 confidence in a Jew. And could a maiden love me, who must 
 become a Jew's wife ? Though I remain among men, I conceal 
 myself from them. I am left without a home, without bread, 
 without love, because the prejudices of the world close the door of 
 happiness to me. 
 
 " Till my last breath, will I love and pity Josephine. Pity, 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 173 
 
 because I am guiltless of her suffering. J avoided inspiring her 
 with the least sympathy, or inclination for me. If I have erred, 
 I have erred in being too weak-minded to tear myself away from 
 her, from the dear Leonore, and the venerable father. Near 
 Josephine, who is strong enough, or fixed enough in his principles, 
 to resist the magic of her voice ? I repent my fault bitterly. I 
 was happy for a moment, and now my life-long must be unhappy. 
 I fly, but with a torn, bleeding heart. Farewell. 
 
 "Jonathan Frock. " 
 
 Through the long winter's night did he travel, and in a feverish 
 state of excitement ; the whole of next day without stopping, from 
 post to post ; the second day, the following night, until he had 
 reached the place of his destination, where he had to arrange the 
 major's business. It appeared as if he intended to kill himself. 
 But the exertions and fatigue produced a different effect upon him. 
 The pressure of business entirely prevented his giving himself up 
 to the thoughts of the past ; in the bustle and confusion he felt 
 his grief less keenly ; and after some days a feeling of deep 
 melancholy only remained. 
 
 He could, therefore, devote himself with the more attention and 
 energy to the affairs of Major Von Tulpen. He visited the claim- 
 ants of the estate ; )ft visited the magistrates. The right of the 
 major was too well-founded not to be easily proved ; but not so 
 decided, that it could not afford material for an expensive and 
 tedious trial, which was much more ardently desired by the 
 judges, officers, waiters and advocates, than by the major's good- 
 humoured rival. 
 
 Jonathan's eloquence and pleasing manners, won upon this gen- 
 tleman so much, that he was persuaded to accept a farm near the 
 city, in lieu of prosecuting his claim to the estate. 
 
 For this, it was necessary to obtain the written consent of the 
 major. Jonathan had every week sent him a long account of the 
 progress of affairs. No letter was more than five days on the 
 road : but six and seven weeks passed, without his receiving an 
 answer from the major. This gave the good Frock the greatest 
 anxiety. He could bear it no longer, and determined, that if 
 
174 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES 
 
 within a fortnight he did not receive an answer to the letter on the 
 subject of giving up the farm, to return to the metropolis, happen 
 what might. 
 
 He was at the point of leaving when the major's letter arrived. 
 Trembling, and with tears in his eyes, Frock broke the seal, and 
 kissed the characters traced by the dear honoured hand. The 
 letter was as follows : 
 
 " Dear Jonathan : 
 
 "Thank God, we are all in good health. My Josephine is 
 also restored to me. I have signed the papers concerning the 
 farm, and return them to you. The story of the inheritance is 
 now at an end. Write to the agent on the estate, that he must 
 have everything in order. I will be there at the end of the 
 month, or at the beginning of the next, with my daughter and 
 Leonore. Josephine is well, and intends entering a convent. I 
 know not what she will do there. She has taken the idea in her 
 head, and persists in it. We will be in Arrfeld on the 25th of 
 this month, and expect you to meet us at the inn. Do not fail to do 
 so, or you will kill my Josephine. It is her earnest desire, that you 
 should be there. And when we leave for the convent, I give you 
 my word of honour, that I will no longer detain you, if you wish 
 to leave us. But if you wish to stay with me, Jonathan, then you 
 will be the joy of my old age. What ha#passed has been silly 
 enough ; so do not fail to be at Arrfeld on the 25th of this month. 
 I have nothing more of importance to say about the estate. 
 
 " I remain your friend and David, 
 
 " Major Von Tulpen." 
 
 On the other side of the paper Leonore had added the following 
 lines. 
 
 " Ah ! dear Herr Frock, you caused us a terrible night of suf- 
 fering ! I wish I may never live to see such another ; but 
 Josephine is very well again. May you, through the influence 
 of your religion, be as quiet and composed as Josephine now is. 
 The great blessings of religion are hereby made known. Jo- 
 sephine's only wish is to see and speak to you once more. Tn 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 175 
 
 God's name ! do not disappoint us, if you still prize our friendship 
 and esteem. I have so much more, oh ! so much more to say to 
 you, but cannot now ; you shall hear it all in Arrfeld. 
 
 " Your faithful friend, 
 
 " Leonore Von Tulpen." 
 
 This letter arrived so late, that there was no time for delay, if 
 Frock wished to reach Arrfeld on the day appointed. Frock, 
 with the deed of the farm in his hand, received the act of renun- 
 ciation to the estate from the assenting claimants, and the authority 
 of the magistrates in favour of Major Von Tulpen's immediately 
 taking possession of the property. This finished, Frock hastened 
 to the appointed place of meeting. 
 
 The journey was as sad to him, as the one he had made when 
 he left the beloved family. He only knew, in j>art, Josephine's 
 suffering, and the melancholy effect of it, from her determination 
 to forsake the world. He looked forward to a heart-rending sepa- 
 ration, but nothing could prevent his complying with Josephine's 
 request. If he, too, could only atone for her sufferings all his 
 life, so much the better. 
 
 The evening had scarce closed in, when he reached the inn in 
 Arrfeld. ■ He learned, that the major with his family had arrived 
 in the morning, and had proceeded to the priest's, at the Marien- 
 kloster. There they awaited Herr Frock. 
 
 A messenger went to inform the major immediately of Frock's 
 arrival, and on his return was to let Frock know, whether he 
 should await the major's arrival, or repair to the convent. More 
 than an hour elapsed ; Frock was in the greatest anxiety. At 
 length the messenger returned, to beg that he would go to St. 
 Marie's. 
 
 Frock jumped into the wagon. How his heart beat, as, by the 
 uncertain light of the moon, he beheld the far-extending walls and 
 towers of the convent ; and as he passed through a long shady 
 avenue of tall elms and lindens. When the wagon stopped 
 before a house belonging to the convent, Frock got out ; at the 
 same moment, the church-bells began to ring with a hollow 
 melancholy sound. The major came out of the house. A ser- 
 
176 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 vant-woman brought a candle, followed by a man carrying a 
 lantern. The major embraced his Jonathan with much emotion. 
 Frock, overpowered by grief, could not speak. 
 
 " Is it not true," said the major, " that you like my Josephine ?" 
 Frock, unable to answer, pressed the major's hand in silence. 
 " Go before," said the major to the servant, " and light the way. 
 Give me your arm, Jonathan ; be the support of my old age. 
 We are now going to her." 
 
 They proceeded together through the empty court of the con- 
 vent, and the cold silent cross-ways. The dim light of the even- 
 ing tapers fell on the priest, who stood praying at the altar. Some 
 peasants were kneeling in the church. When the major entered, 
 leaning on Frock's arm, Josephine, supported by Leonore, came 
 toward them with downcast eyes. She held out her trembling 
 hand to the agitated Frock. They stood before the priest, who, 
 raising his voice, went through the marriage ceremony. Frock 
 knew not where he was ; he was quite bewildered. 
 
 When the service was over, they went out of the church in the 
 same order in which they entered, excepting that the major's 
 married daughter (not he himself) took Frock's arm. But when 
 they reached the court, overcome by what had passed, Frock 
 fell at Josephine's feet with upraised hands. All wept. Such 
 tears of joy had never been shed in the convent since its foun- 
 dation. 
 
 Josephine drew the beloved one toward her, and whispered, 
 " Thou art mine." In these words, a new life of blessed happi- 
 ness was opened to the patient sufferer, Jonathan. He found 
 himself embraced, at the same moment, by both the major and 
 Leonore. The gray-haired priest stood near, unobserved by them. 
 He had been a companion of the major's, in his youth, and had 
 wittingly given his assistance upon this happy occasion. He 
 accompanied them back to the inn, where the major had ordered 
 the wedding-dinner to be prepared. 
 
 " Do you think," said the priest to the delighted bridegroom, 
 " do you think, you half-Christians, you reason in a more Chris- 
 tian-like manner, than we who, 1 Of a truth know, that God is no 
 respecter of persons, but in every nation, he that feareth him, and 
 
JONATHAN FROCK. 
 
 177 
 
 worketh righteousness, is accepted with him.' 1 Not every one 
 that saith unto me Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of 
 heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father, which is in 
 heaven, the same is my disciple.' 1 By our fruits are we known.' 
 By these have we known you. " H. 
 
 PART II. 13 
 
THE INVOLUNTARY JOURNEY. 
 
THE INVOLUNTARY JOURNEY. 
 
 That the first of the following letters may be better understood, 
 I must make known that the writer and his sister were invited by 
 
 the Countess Amelia Von St y, on the 20th of January, 1807, 
 
 to a ball at her palace in Warsaw. They went thither and had 
 a merry evening, although the joy that shone on the faces of all, 
 came not from the heart. For Warsaw at that time was full of 
 alarm and of Frenchmen, and a week had scarcely elapsed since 
 the transitory regency had been appointed, at whose head stood 
 the brave but much injured Malachosky. 
 
 The Countess of St y was as beautiful as an angel that 
 
 night. A magnificent necklace of pearls glittered around her 
 neck. It was the New Year's present of her uncle. 
 
 The writer's sister had received a similar New Year's gift, but 
 had neglected putting it on. The young rivals soon entered into 
 a dispute as to which was the most beautiful necklace, each wish- 
 ing that her own should bear away the triumph. The upshot of 
 it was, that both commanded the writer of these letters to go im- 
 mediately and bring the missing necklace. His sister having 
 given him the key of her jewelry-box, he ordered his coach and 
 hastened home. 
 
 FIRST LETTER. 
 
 Blonie, 21st January, 1807. 
 
 My dear Countess, 
 
 By all the Graces, amongst whom you stand the first, I beg 
 that you will not be angry with me. Instead of bringing you 
 Sophia's necklace yesterday, I carried it to Blonie. But to-day 
 
182 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 I return to Warsaw, and this evening I shall lay it at your feet. 
 I make use of a tedious hour to send you my excuses by a cou- 
 rier who hastens to Warsaw. You will certainly declare my of- 
 fence unpardonable in having postponed your yesterday's tri- 
 umph, and will think it can never be atoned for. But I beg you 
 to have mercy enough to deign to glance at these lines, and you 
 will have compassion on the offender, who only sinned toward 
 you, for friendship's sake. 
 
 Yesterday I had put up Sophia's necklace, and was on the point 
 of stepping into the carriage to return to you, at the ball to which 
 your beauty gave the greatest charm, when my servant announ- 
 ced a French officer. 1 was obliged to receive him. He brought 
 me a letter. Only think, they were the first lines I had received 
 for twelve years from the only dear friend of my youth, the noble 
 
 Felix L y, who has during that time been in all Napoleon's 
 
 campaigns, and now stands at the head of the Polish regiment. 
 He wrote me but a few words : " I have just arrived at Blonie, 
 and learn, my dear Joseph, that thou yet livest. My hopes of 
 embracing thee in Warsaw are frustrated, now that I stand al- 
 most before the gates of the dear city. I come from Posa, and 
 here I find a courier from the army with commands to hasten im- 
 mediately to Thorn. If it is possible, come immediately to Blonie, 
 where I shall rest at least several hours. Who knows whether 
 we shall ever approach each other again so nearly in this world. 
 We have so much to say to each other ! Early in the morning 
 [ shall travel onward." 
 
 Will you now blame me, my dear Countess, for taking advan- 
 tage of the important moment? To think of seeing a dear friend 
 from whom I had been so long separated ! I begged the officer to 
 take a seat in my carriage, letting his horses follow. I then 
 threw my cloak around me, and thus, instead of going to the tem- 
 ple of love, I went to the feast of friendship. 
 
 After a shocking ride, for the road was wretched and the night 
 pitch-dark, I arrived at Blonie, and my Felix was already at 
 Sochazew, where some French generals were awaiting him. But 
 he left a note for me, begging that I would follow him to Socha- 
 zew, where he would wait for me, at all events. Now that I have 
 come thus far, for his sake, I will even go a few miles further. 
 
THE INVOLUNTARY JOURNEY. 
 
 183 
 
 But everything goes wrong. One of my horses was lamed last 
 night, and I must take the post, and I must wait till the postman 
 finds horses, for his are all in use now. But they give me hope 
 of departing in one hour. Farewell, lovely one. This evening 
 I shall kiss your hands. Your true 
 
 Count of W. 
 
 SECOND LETTER. 
 
 Kulno, January 23d. 
 
 In truth, my most gracious, you will not be less astonished on 
 opening this letter, to find that I write from Kutno, than I am as- 
 tonished at being here. Fate will make me a liar towards you, 
 and I am inconsolable. What will you think of me ? And yet 
 I am the most innocent man under the sun. 
 
 The only thing in my adventure that pleases me is, that hap- 
 pily I overtook Felix at Sochazew. We embraced each other 
 with mute ardour ; an overwhelming sweet sorrow suddenly 
 seized us ; and it seemed to me as if in another world, I again 
 held to my heart a loved-one who had long since died. 
 
 You must have known him. The Fire-brains has become 
 quite sedate. Egyptian and Spanish suns have browned his face 
 finely, and the slash on the forehead, over the left eye, that he 
 carried away from a battle, to the honour of a Calabrian sword, 
 is so becoming, that he would make me jealous, were I to know- 
 that he were quartered near you at Warsaw. 
 
 I intend when I am with you to relate to you the whole story 
 of his military expeditions, and that will be day after to-morrow. 
 Heavens, how men are thrown about to all corners of the earth 
 in these days ! It is the general wandering time of nations, and 
 no one can say whether he shall eat his last mouthful in Europe 
 or America, Asia or Africa. Felix was attached to the general's 
 staff for a long time, but now he commands his own regiment. 
 He believes that he is destined to the corps of General Lannes, and 
 asserts that Napoleon will be in St. Petersburg next summer, par- 
 
184 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 ticularly now that the Turks have shown themselves by no means 
 indifferent, and have declared war. Thus much is certain, that 
 the Russian ambassador has left Constantinople. The French 
 generals that Felix found in Sochazew assured him that since the 
 battle at Pultusk and Golomyn, the French arms had been mas- 
 ters in a far bloodier day at Ostralenska. 
 
 But enough of politics. You will be much more curious to 
 know how, instead of being in Warsaw, I have finally arrived 
 in this most pitiful little city ? Only listen. He who has felt 
 the damage, must not mind the ridicule. You will laugh heartily, 
 and nothing will remain for me to do but to laugh also ; notwith- 
 standing that 1 have the greatest inclination to doubt whether I 
 am not even now with you. 
 
 We remained together in Sochazew till late in the evening, be- 
 fore we separated for heaven knows how long ! As I could not 
 count upon obtaining post-horses in a short time, and as I wished 
 to return immediately to Warsaw, notwithstanding my fatigue, 
 that I might make my atonement with you, Felix was kind enough 
 to use his military power to procure me a conveyance that would 
 take me to Blonie. A chaise appeared, which was harnessed to 
 three fine nags. I again pressed the noble Felix to my heart ; he 
 rode off, and I soon did the same. 
 
 Being wearied with the journey of the night before, in which 
 I had not closed an eye, and also with the affairs of the day, I 
 protected myself from the snow-storm by drawing the curtains of 
 the chaise. I then wrapped my cloak about me, squeezed my- 
 self into a corner of the carriage, and went to sleep, in spite of 
 its jolting. It was a happy thought of mine, that of putting on a 
 greatcoat over my ball dress. My feet, being only covered with 
 silk stockings and slippers, were sheltered by a whole load of 
 hay. 
 
 I slept uneasily, but my dreams were pleasant, for they were 
 of you. Oh how lovely, how kind the God of Fancy made you! 
 What blessed words did I read in your eyes ! My soul was with 
 yours, I knew what you felt, and yet I felt unspeakably more 
 than you. Oh, that it should only be a dream. Did you but 
 know, enchanting Amelia, what a heaven you have to dispense, 
 
THE INVOLUNTARY JOURNEY. 
 
 185 
 
 you would not act otherwise in reality than you did in my 
 dreams I 
 
 No matter how often I was startled from my Elysium, by the 
 merciless blows on my head or on my ribs, yet 1 always shut my 
 heavy eyes properly, and it was always you who led me back 
 again to that lost Elysium. As soon as I had aroused myself 
 from this enchanting sleep, I remarked with affright that it was 
 already morning, and 1 had counted upon being in Blonie shortly 
 after midnight. I tore back the curtains of the chaise, and saw 
 that we were entering a city, that I had not had the honour of 
 seeing before. 
 
 " Where are we ?" I asked the driver. 
 
 " In Kutno !" said the fellow drily, and kept on his way. 
 
 " In Kutno ?" I exclaimed, out of my senses with rage. " Does 
 the evil one possess you to drag me to Kutno ? I will go to Blo- 
 nie, to Blonie !" 
 
 The villain behaved as if he had no ears, and kept on, stopping 
 finally at an inn. I got out, it is true, for my whole body was 
 stiff ; but I felt the greatest temptation to cudgel the rascal in the 
 street. 
 
 He maintained, in the meantime, that the French officer who 
 ordered him to go had named Kutno to him ; at least he had un- 
 derstood it so. On this he insisted, and whipping his tired horses, 
 he hurried away. 
 
 I ascertained from the innkeeper that my wicked coachman 
 had been absent from Kutno, where he lived, for eight days, upon 
 requisition probably, (it being the custom with the military to 
 drive about the world dealing blows and hunger), and he had 
 now probably taken advantage of the night, to come home with 
 his wagon, particularly as he saw that I was a Pole, and neither 
 an officer nor a Frenchman. 
 
 This information, which my knowing host gave me so candidly, 
 might be true, but it did me no good. I now sat in Kutno, and 
 was not in Warsaw, not even in Blonie. The innkeeper com- 
 forted me with a miserable breakfast, and with the hope that an 
 opportunity would be found to take me back again to Sochazew. 
 He gave himself a great deal of trouble to procure me a wagon. 
 I myself ran over the miry little city in my silk stockings, and 
 
186 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 had my labour for my pains. Every thing had been seized, for 
 the service of the army. I even humbled myself so much as to 
 seek out the rascal who had brought me to Kutno. In my dis- 
 tress I forgave him all his sins, and holding up a purse, begged 
 him to take me back to Sochazew. But he declared that his 
 horses and carriage had been taken from him that same morning. 
 On the contrary, my sagacious host thought that the wicked 
 knave had hid his carriage in some safe place, so that it should 
 not be put in requisition again. 
 
 To-day, however, I struck a bargain with a French engineer 
 officer, who is quartered on my host. He travels to Kladova; I 
 accompany him there, and then he gives me the wagon, with the 
 power of using it as a Requisition wagon as far as Sochazew, and 
 even to Blonie or Warsaw, if I will. To make the matter more 
 certain, I have not only acquainted the driver with our contract, 
 but also that I shall not use it as a Requisition wagon, but shall 
 pay him well as far as I use it. So, in this worst of weathers, I 
 must first go to Kladova, then be brought back to Kutno to get a 
 carriage. For if I do not accompany the carriage to Kladova, I 
 run the danger of losing it altogether. 
 
 The misery in this land is indescribable. Our deliverers make 
 us pay dear for our enfranchisement. Money will hardly find a 
 man bread. 
 
 But I must close, else I shall lose the current post. Oh, how I 
 envy this happy sheet, that will be within your room two days 
 sooner than I can ! At the same time with this letter, I send one 
 to my sister, to whom I wrote yesterday. Calm the dear girl, and 
 say to her that, positively, I shall be in Warsaw day after to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Adieu ! I am almost dying with impatience to see you again. 
 More than once yesterday, I was on the point of running back to 
 Warsaw, through snow and mud, in my dancing shoes. But my 
 Reason was kind enough to make my Home-sickness the apposite 
 remark that I should have eighteen or nineteen miles to run.* 
 
 Fare you well ! May you feel the warm kiss that I spiritually 
 press upon your hand ! 
 
 * It must be remembered that these were German miles. 
 
THE INVOLUNTARY JOURNEY. 
 
 187 
 
 THIRD LETTER. 
 
 Posen, January 26th. 
 
 I am certainly bewitched. I now believe in all possible en- 
 chantments, whereas I have never believed in any but that of 
 your charms, until now. Now, I doubt no longer the power of 
 hobgoblins and of malicious spirits. To-day I would, should have 
 been in Warsaw, in your boudoir, and at the feet of you whom I 
 adore. But misfortunes multiply and bring me to Posen, to which, 
 I may add, that I made my entrance as a prisoner. Do not be 
 frightened. I stand already on my free feet. 
 
 I feel as one does in the nightmare. The faster I would go 
 forwards, the farther I find myself behind. Since man was born, 
 has a child of man ever had the unlucky chance, as I have, of 
 leaving a ball for a pearl necklace, and then be driven out forty 
 miles into the wide world \ All my longings, my impatience, my 
 eagerness, my wisdom, my foresight, have been of no use to me, 
 but to bring me backwards, still further backwards ; as the storm 
 at sea drives the most skilful and active sailor far from the port 
 for which he strives. 
 
 Day before yesterday, the engineer and I rode together to 
 Kladova, as we had proposed. In this miserable nest there was 
 a sort , of governor to whom the engineer announced himself im- 
 mediately after his arrival. There he found orders to go to 
 Sempolno without delay. He came back and told me the misfor- 
 tune, shrugging his shoulders, and with a million of regrets at not 
 being able to keep his word ; but the service must have precedence 
 over everything else. I became almost speechless with horror. 
 I begged, raved, placed my distress before him — all was in 
 vain. He shrugged his shoulders, and would go to Sempolno. 
 While the groom was feeding the horses, the engineer ran to the 
 governor, and, accompanied by soldiers, visited stalls and stables, 
 to procure another conveyance. I followed him, but we could 
 find nothing but a large dirt cart. 
 
 To keep possession of my wagon, I resolved to travel in it my- 
 self to Sempolno, where I had the hope of obtaining, far more 
 
188 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 easily, another relay of horses, and more endurable inns, than in 
 the wretched, dirty town of Kladova. The engineer approved 
 of my determination. But I was out of temper, and on the jour- 
 ney we were neither of us so friendly and talkative as before. 
 Yes, there were even disagreeable altercations, and in Sempolno 
 we coldly separated from each other. 
 
 I was so much the more affectionate toward my coachman. 
 We concluded to stay over night in order to let the horses rest, 
 and to journey back at the very earliest moment the next day. 
 My generosity increased, and as a reward, I sat at break of day 
 in the wagon with my face towards Warsaw. 
 
 We were scarcely half an hour's ride from Sempolno, when we 
 saw three French hunters running after us at full speed. My 
 driver, full of apprehensions and forebodings, whipped his horses 
 with all his strength. I thought his distress was as superfluous, 
 as his haste was fruitless. The French soon reached us, ordered 
 us to stop, and cursed the driver, who, as they said, had stolen 
 away from the Requisition without due permission. They com- 
 manded him to turn back, and even talked of shooting. My 
 Phaeton did not comprehend a word, but he understood the pan- 
 tomime of the " Conquerors of the World," and cast a piteous 
 glance on me. I now interfered. This the fellows seemed to 
 have expected, and turning to me, they inquired with much 
 politeness who I was 1 and then inquired for my passport. I had 
 none. In the most agreeable phrases, they remarked that I was 
 a suspicious person, and hoped 1 would have the goodness to 
 make myself known to the governor of the city. 
 
 The polite clowns, who now turned the wagon and horses 
 about, without further ceremony, were, without doubt, fully con- 
 vinced of my innocence. The governor, as soon as he under- 
 stood that I had procured one of the Requisition carriages in 
 a deceitful manner, and had not even a passport for myself; first, 
 declared me a suspicious person ; secondly, an enemy of Napo- 
 leon ; and thirdly, a prisoner. For my consolation, the objections 
 that I made to this, helped to send me to head-quarters in order to 
 give my justification ; and two hours afterwards I had the honour 
 of going to Posen, in the company of a corporal and a lieutenant, 
 hough not by my wish did they go thither, or rather, ride. 
 
THE INVOLUNTARY JOURNEY. 
 
 189 
 
 So long as we suffer from the little annoyances and unexpected 
 provocations of fate, we easily lose patience, probably because we 
 always hope to overcome them ; but when misery comes too pal- 
 pably, we are merry again, for man, when he sees himself con- 
 quered, and feels that all resistance is vain, turns to his native 
 pride, and while he fears naught, despises all things. 
 
 Tii us the vexations of the preceding days made me as angry 
 then, as it now appears amusing to me to go as a prisoner (in ball 
 dress, it is true,) to Posen, and be kicked on to the very borders 
 of Poland. In fact, my misfortune is not so very great, and I am 
 certain that you will laugh as heartily over my adventures as I 
 do myself. I have nothing to regret, my amiable Countess, but 
 the loss of the moments that I might live in your presence. You 
 now see what a misfortune can be brought about through a strife 
 between two beautiful women. Sophia's necklace must bear all 
 the blame, and it yet drives about the world with me. 
 
 I am now truly happy to be in Posen. I was very kindly 
 received at head-quarters. They made many excuses on the 
 score of strictness in the service, and could not refrain from 
 laughing at the merciless caprice of destiny which had brought 
 me, in the midst of winter, from a ball-room in the Capital, to the 
 tumult of war on the borders. My first business here is to equip 
 myself anew, for I look wretchedly. I shall no longer rely upon 
 a Requisition coach, for I have bought myself a fine riding horse 
 that is to carry me back to you. I am having a warm travelling 
 coat made, whose military cut will produce a sensation among 
 the commanding corporals of the World-Conquerors. And I have 
 also a passport, by means of which I shall reach your ante- 
 chamber without hindrance. 
 
 Nothing keeps me now from flying to your feet, but the tailor 
 and shoemaker. I cannot come away before day after to-morrow, 
 that I see. We poor mortals are most dependant in the smallest 
 matters. 
 
 Time is tediously long to me, and I have already had quite 
 enough of the warlike tumult that reigns here, the hundreds of 
 different uniforms, and the marching backwards and forwards of 
 troops. It is one of the most remarkable contradictions in enig- 
 matical mankind, that the whole world dreads war as the greatest 
 
190 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 trouble of life, the world detests toil, and fears death ; and yet 
 gives itself willingly in a thousand ways to war, toil, and death. 
 
 My only enjoyment is in thinking of you, in conversing with 
 you, unfortunately in thought alone ! To admire you now in the 
 dance, now at the piano, now at the toilet, now in the charming 
 negligence of domestic life, now as the queen of beauty in that 
 enchantment which nature and art shed around you. 
 
 Postscript of the 28th of January. — I could not send this letter 
 to the post till to-day. I am ready to travel, and early to-morrow 
 I take myself away. I travel in the company of several Polish 
 and French officers who are well known to me. Say to my sister 
 that I shall certainly arrive in Warsaw on Tuesday. 
 
 FOURTH LETTER. 
 
 Magdeburg, April 2nd. 
 
 Heaven knows, my dear Countess, whether you have received 
 the letter that I scribbled to you with a pencil from Dresden ; and 
 heaven knows whether you will ever receive these lines ! I will 
 therefore repeat in few words what I wrote from Dresden, and 
 renew my request, that you use all your influence, combined with 
 that of my relations with our government, and also with the 
 French authorities, that I may receive my freedom. 
 
 I have already made known to you that when some miles from 
 Posen, between Schwersens and Kostrzyn, we were very unex- 
 pectedly attacked by a heavy body of Prussians, surrounded and 
 made prisoners. Of the Frenchmen in whose company I was 
 riding, one officer and one common soldier lost their lives. We 
 were all plundered, and I only saved myself from ill-treatment, 
 by saying to the Prussian commander in the German language, 
 that I was no soldier, but merely a travelling citizen who had 
 been thrown among the French by chance. My passport, which 
 confirmed my declarations, and the announcement which I wisely 
 made in my trepidation, that far from making one of the French 
 party, I was a true Prussian subject, and longed for nothing more 
 
THE INVOLUNTARY JOURNEY. 
 
 191 
 
 than the emancipation of Poland from the French deluge, did me 
 great service. 
 
 The Prussian officer was a humane man. When I told him, in 
 answer to his questions concerning the number of troops in Posen, 
 that without doubt several regiments would that same day take 
 the road to Warsaw : he determined immediately to retire into Si- 
 lesia, but signified to me that he could not set me free that mo- 
 ment, because his own position forbade it. 
 
 Without being treated as a prisoner, yet I was the same as a 
 prisoner. After several days' travel on miserable roads, we arrived 
 in Silesia by passing over the Warta, half starved, and half fro- 
 zen. Neither complaining nor laughing did me any good. I hid 
 Sophia's necklace as cautiously as I could, together with my little 
 money, for I much distrusted the fortunes of war; and I did 
 wisely. Our commander, who bore the title of Major, claimed 
 me on the following day to serve as a true Prussian subject under 
 the banner of the king. It was impossible for me to reject this 
 honourable offer, without either injuring my character, or having 
 my patriotism suspected. I therefore did the service of an Adju- 
 tant, in the character of a Lieutenant, longing with impatience 
 for a convenient opportunity to get rid of it. The deeper we 
 penetrated into Silesia, the lower my courage sunk. 
 
 We suffered unspeakably from frost, snow, and want of provi- 
 sion. Wherever we went we were obliged to take what we 
 needed by force. Our prisoners of war, which were still driving 
 about with us, were the most to be pitied. Notwithstanding this, 
 the Poles, whose hard fate I most wished to relieve, declined my 
 attentions, proudly and indignantly. I read in the eyes of my 
 countrymen, that they took me for a betrayer, and this reproach 
 was more painful to me than all the other miseries. I also felt 
 soon enough the effects of their hate. 
 
 The Major turned his troops towards Golgau, but we had not 
 reached the place, when one morning, as our companies were taking 
 their stand for marching out cf a village, some French hussars 
 rode up. They started at seeing us, and quickly retreated. As 
 we marched out of the village, we were attacked and surrounded 
 by a squadron of light French cavalry. This gave our com- 
 mander no fear, but we were soon encompassed by several com- 
 
192 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 panics of infantry. We had fallen into a column of the Vendeean 
 body of the army, and our bravery was useless. The Prussians 
 fought with unexampled courage, and even won two of the field 
 pieces with which we had been shot at. Notwithstanding, the 
 end of the play was that we were beaten, and forced by their su- 
 perior power to surrender. On our side, we had several killed 
 and many wounded. 
 
 None were so happy as the French and Polish prisoners who 
 had been liberated by the fight. The Poles immediately pointed 
 me out to the French General, as a renegade Pole and an enemy 
 to the French, who had betrayed them into the hands of the 
 Prussians, into whose service I immediately went. As the Prus- 
 sian Major named me as his Lieutenant in counting out the pris- 
 oners to the victors, and called me a volunteer, he did not aid me 
 in my justification. The passport from Posen only added to my 
 guilt, and my horse, watch, and money were good booty for the 
 World-Conquerors. I was obliged to wade through snow and mire, 
 on foot, with the other prisoners, by the way of Liegnitz to 
 Dresden. 
 
 Here I wrote to you of my misfortune. In Dresden we rested 
 several days, and then, with a number of other prisoners, we came 
 through Leipzig here to Magdeburg. It is now eight days that I 
 have been in this fortress. The inhabitants show much pity and 
 kindness towards us, at the same time that they are to be pitied in 
 the highest degree themselves. In no place have I seen the peo- 
 ple so cast down as in this city. They all detest the French, the 
 citizens adhere with ardour to their unfortunate king, and they do 
 not give up the hope of yet seeing the Prussian Eagle upon their 
 ramparts. 
 
 As far as I can see, unless my cause is pursued in Warsaw 
 with untiring zeal, I must remain a prisoner till the end of the 
 war. My well-hidden store of money begins to melt down. At 
 all events, I beg of my dear sister, in the enclosed note, to send 
 me a remittance to the subjoined address. 
 
 The Governor is an obliging man. I had an opportunity of 
 telling him my confounded adventures from beginning to end. 
 He found them so curious that he laughed continually, and would 
 scarcely believe me. He is personally well acquainted with my 
 
THE INVOLUNTARY JOURNEY. 
 
 193 
 
 friend Felix. As to giving me my freedom, that, he says, is quite 
 out of his power, and refers me to bitter patience. In the mean 
 time, he has told me to forward a letter to Felix, as well as this 
 letter to you. 
 
 This joke of fate is almost too harsh to be amusing, but my de- 
 spair would be useless. I am therefore as merry as 1 can be, 
 under the circumstances, and my health is inexhaustible. So you 
 must be quiet on my account, and comfort my good Sophia. I 
 shall now count the days, the hours, the minutes, till I receive an 
 answer from you. When I see a line from you, it will seem as 
 if I saw yourself, &c. 
 
 FIFTH LETTER. 
 
 Nancy, May 20th. 
 Joy ! my affairs are going on excellently. My magical star, 
 or rather my evil star, I believe will finally take me unexpectedly 
 to Paris, to Lisbon, St. Domingo, Otaheite, the Tropics, the Es- 
 quimaux, the Hottentots, over Asia, to the small-footed Chinese, 
 past the pious children, of the Bramah's, and through the Persian 
 gardens back to Warsaw. — I have no doubt about the matter; 
 my affairs are going on excellently well, notwithstanding I always 
 wished that they would come to a stand. I am already in France. 
 It is not farther to Lisbon than to \Y T arsaw, and if I am once in 
 Lisbon, what is it to me whether I go to you through Asia or Eu- 
 rope ? 
 
 But neither the German maidens (and yet there are some 
 lovely faces among them), nor the French ladies, nor the Spanish, 
 nor the voluptuous beauties of the Friendly Islands, can make 
 me faithless to you. So far as I have already gone, I have no- 
 where seen so many charms, such grace and dignity, as I left at 
 the ball at Warsaw. Ah ! if I had but one line from you ! 
 
 Who knows but that letters for me are lying now in Magde- 
 burg, both from you and Sophia ? And who knows in Magde- 
 burg where I am stuck ? After my letter was despatched to you, 
 
 FAST II. 14 
 
194 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 I was taken away with a great multitude of other prisoners of 
 war. It was said that we were to go to Mayence ; in Mayence 
 we were told that Lyons was our destination ; and when we are in 
 Lyons, what will then be our destination ? 
 
 The host of prisoners with whom I came over the Rhine is 
 scattered into a hundred portions. They go to all parts of the 
 world. As I said before, I do not now doubt a moment but that I 
 must go round the world. Were I only in Thibet with the Lama, 
 or with the Prophet at Mecca, or on the Caspian Sea, I would 
 make a jubilee, for I should then be returning to you. 
 
 What miserable creatures we are ! We are like ants, whose 
 houses are destroyed by the uncertain tread of a horse ; like in- 
 sects, which the storm-wind carries away, and then deposites in 
 distant lands. Why am I in Nancy ? What is the war to me ? 
 
 I send you these lines, that you may not fear, at least for my 
 life. Good heavens ! It seems as though I had been absent from 
 you twenty years. How many countries, mountains, streams, 
 nations, lie between us ! No one can be certain that I shall not 
 yet have the honour of being your Antipode. Ah, my charming 
 Antipode, what would then become of Life ? How easily you 
 might die under my feet, without my knowing a word about the 
 matter. — If you lived for another, would you not be dead for me ? 
 I say to myself, I have never yet read of two Antipodes loving each 
 other faithfully. 
 
 Since we captured heroes wander on this side of the Rhine, 
 they allow us many more liberties than on German soil. I can 
 go where I will, if I only show myself to the commander at the 
 proper hour. I can live, eat, and drink as suits my pleasure, 
 with my own money — that is understood. 
 
 When I rode to your ball would I had but takt; out more than 
 the usual amount of gambling money, such as I have spent — I be- 
 lieve, for these twenty years ! 
 
 Next month I shall write to you again, and it shall be from the 
 place I hope to keep within till peace, and where I can await an- 
 swers from Warsaw. But probably, my beautiful Antipode, I 
 shall send you my first letter from the island of Teneriffe or Mad- 
 agascar. Adieu. 
 
THE INVOLUNTARY JOURNEY. 
 
 195 
 
 SIXTH LETTER. 
 
 Aix, June 21th. 
 
 Finally I have reached my goal. I am destined to remain 
 here, till an exchange of prisoners, or until peace is announced. 
 This information has been more painful to me, than I had at first 
 expected. To be hustled from Warsaw to the Spanish borders 
 is truly no small matter. I shall therefore neither see Otaheite 
 nor the East Indies, notwithstanding there is in all probability 
 much more to see there than in these deserts, on the Adour. 
 
 All the French that I have seen in Poland cursed my father- 
 land. I can sincerely give it all back to them in their own. 
 What a miserable, barren, flat, beggarly country theirs is ! I 
 strongly suspect that the French government carries on the war 
 that it may people these immense solitudes. There are almost 
 as many prisoners of war as inhabitants here. 
 
 This little town has almost fallen to the ground, but my host 
 prides himself not a little upon its great antiquity. It is a plea- 
 sure that I will give up to him. He has a young daughter who 
 appears to me much prettier than the oldest town. And he rec- 
 ommends the warm baths of the city to me as a great luxury, be- 
 lieving there never were such miraculous baths in the whole world. 
 But the man is a born fool ; — warm baths while the weather is 
 hot enough already to suffocate one. I am burnt as black by the 
 sun as a mulatto, and I can scarcely comprehend how the young 
 maiden of this old city has preserved such a dazzling, pure 
 hand. 
 
 The prisoners are quartered on the citizens ; but we receive 
 nothing free but lodging. Everything else is left for us to buy, 
 if we would not starve. My money has come to the dregs. My 
 fortune consists of Sophia's necklace alone, that I should have 
 brought to you at the ball, and that must now be consumed in 
 the neighbourhood of the Pyrenees. I hope my good Sophia will 
 bear with patience the present loss of her necklace, and be happy 
 that her ornament can preserve the life of her poor brother from 
 death by hunger and thirst. I have already sold some large dia- 
 monds and pearls to a jeweller of the city, but he was not in a 
 
196 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 position to pay down the cash. He was obliged to get the gold 
 from Bayonne, a town about twelve French miles dhtant from 
 here. 
 
 Since then I have again lived very comfortably, kept a servant, 
 taken rides in the neighbourhood, received visits, and lightened 
 the fate of my fellow-prisoners. Adieu. 
 
 SEVENTH LETTER* 
 
 Aix la Chapelle, July \Zih. 
 
 Te Deum laudamus ! There is peace ! — Every one comes 
 to congratulate me upon my approaching deliverance, and my re- 
 turn home. And in fact, the journey from Aix to Warsaw needs 
 a felicitation, for I put little trust in my fortune. The French 
 speak of naught but Tilsit, and raise their Napoleon up to the 
 Gods. They think that if Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great 
 lived at the present day, they would scarcely perforin the service 
 of Adjutant beside the great Napoleon. The mayor of the city 
 asserted, in a speech which he made in honour of the peace, that 
 without doubt Tilsit was on the borders of Asiatic Tartary, and 
 far to the north, and that the left wing of the great army had 
 pushed its advance guard far on to the eternal ice of the North 
 Pole, where no mortal had dared to place "his foot before. The 
 good people of Aix (who are also called asses) froze at the mere 
 suggestion of the mayor. No doubt, after listening to the speech, 
 they had immediate recourse to their warm baths to ward off the 
 Polar cold. 
 
 I am now awaiting the command to return, as an effect of the 
 Tilsit peace ; and still more impatiently a few letters from your 
 beautiful hand, my lovely Countess, before I leave. 
 
 I shall procure a comfortable and strong travelling wagon, and 
 as soon as I am free I shall fly over the Rhine with the extra 
 post to the dear Vistula. My servant, an honest fellow of a Gas- 
 
 * Between this letter and the former several were lost 
 
THE INVOLUNTARY JOURNEY. 
 
 197 
 
 con, I shall bring with me. He is much attached to me, and 
 bears the great Roman name of Pompey. The strange fellow 
 has no fault but that of chattering incessantly without regard to the 
 subject. He can talk three hours about salt soap. Sometimes I 
 like to be overwhelmed by this ocean of words, that is, when I 
 cannot forget myself in sleep ; and would not think, and would 
 tear myself away from my longing for you. 
 
 Do not write any answers either to this, or any chance letters 
 sent in future. They would arrive too late. 
 
 With this letter I send you my journal. It shall be my fore- 
 runner, and relate to you my experiences, remarks and adven- 
 tures, more circumstantially than I have been able to do till now, 
 in my hasty letters. I wrote it in weary moments, and of those 
 I had not a few. You will recognize my inmost thoughts therein, 
 and in the sanctuary of my inmost soul you will always find me 
 your adorer ! 
 
 Perhaps your eyes weep a tear in pity for the unfortunate on 
 
 the A dour perhaps ere you have left off reading and weeping 
 
 I shall kiss the beautiful tears from your blushing cheeks. 
 
 EIGHTH LETTER. 
 
 Pampelona, July 28th. 
 
 My sweet Countess, 
 
 Take the first good map of Spain, seek there the kingdom of 
 Navarre ; in the kingdom of Navarre, the capital, Pampelona, at 
 the foot of the Pyrenees, and consider 1 am there ! 
 
 I have an actual hobgoblin of a genius that withdraws me fur- 
 ther from you, when I am most certain in my hopes of soon being 
 
 with you. The whole world is making peace. 1 alone must 
 
 remain at war with the whole world, struggling with Alcaydes, 
 JRegidores, Procuratores, Escrivanos, and heaven knows how many 
 more honourable people. Now that I have passed the Pyrenees, 
 (certainly with little good will on my part), a journey may yet be 
 made to Lisbon, Madagascar, Calcutta, Isaphan, and Constantino- 
 
198 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES 
 
 pie. Put no longer any trust in aught that I may write concern- 
 ing my return to Warsaw. 
 
 I had received your package, enclosing some letters from dear 
 
 Sophie, from Uncle St , from my friend W and Count 
 
 S . Your words had charmed me into the highest heaven — 
 
 I enjoyed the sweetest reward for past sufferings, when mis- 
 fortune brought the tipstave of the Mayor of Aix to me ; the 
 tipstave led me to the Mayor ; the Mayor to the Judge ; the 
 Judge into a room where there were several people, amongst 
 whom I only knew the jeweller or goldsmith to whom I had sold 
 a good part of the jewels of Sophie's necklace, three weeks before, 
 to pay my travelling expenses. They showed me the precious 
 stones and pearls in a little box, with the question, " Whether I 
 acknowledged having truly sold these jewels to the man in Bay- 
 onne V They pointed out the goldsmith to me. I examined the 
 stones, recognized them, answered yes, giving them several ad- 
 ditional circumstances. 
 
 They declared me guilty, sealed up my effects, carried me to 
 Bayonne, gave me a second trial, and asked me in a most inno- 
 cent manner for the hiding-place of my companions in the rob- 
 bery. I then learned, for the first time, that a princess of high 
 rank had been plundered by robbers on the highway, as she 
 touched the Spanish borders at Trun. I proved my innocence to 
 the judges, by bringing forth the rest of Sophie's necklace, to 
 which the stones and pearls exactly matched. 
 
 They clapped their hands, took the necklace from me, put me 
 in closer confinement, and let me know incidentally that the 
 necklace answered exactly to that described as having been 
 stolen from the princess. Their decision only gave me hopes of 
 getting off with the punishment of the galleys for life, if I would 
 procure, also, a jewelry-box, with ten valuable rings, and a 
 diamond cross, belonging to the pillaged lady. I answered all 
 there was to answer. At the end of a week I was packed on a 
 donkey, and well bound, and well watched, I was led to Pampe- 
 lona, where the viceroy (as he is called) had imprisoned some of 
 my accomplices. He wanted to see the necklace, and to con- 
 front me with the highwaymen. 
 
 Let come what may out of this absurd affair, I now only write 
 
THE INVOLUNTARY JOURNEY. 
 
 199 
 
 to you that you may know what has become of me. More I can- 
 not write, for I must deliver this letter open to the police, and let 
 it be read, before it goes to you. Console my sister. If I am 
 hung in Spain it is your fault, for sending me from the ball to 
 fetch that wicked necklace. But even on the gallows, I have the 
 honour of being, &c, &c. 
 
 NINTH LETTER. 
 
 Bayonne, August 14th. 
 
 I iiope you have not been anxious on account of my last ad- 
 venture. I was released on the second day after arriving at 
 Pampelona; for the princess being there, she saw immediately 
 that it was not her necklace which I had. The confronting me 
 with other prisoners, the hanging, and a life in the galleys, 
 readily passed away from my mind. Apologies were made to 
 me, and the viceroy even invited me to dinner, and I was pre- 
 sented to the princess. 
 
 But the Spanish ground burnt like fire under my feet. The 
 viceroy had me conveyed to Bayonne, on his own equipage. 
 Here I find that my passports are ready for Warsaw, and my 
 chaise brought Pompey from Aix yesterday. Everything is 
 ready for departure. 
 
 Whether I shall go forwards to Warsaw, or backwards through 
 Pampelona, Madrid, Cadiz, Tangiers and Morocco — that, my 
 adored, I will not decide. Some enchanter must be in love with 
 you, and jealous of me. Beyond all question there is magic in 
 the game. In the natural state of the world, one is not required 
 to go from one street in Warsaw to another, by way of the Pyre- 
 nees. But if my enemy bewitches me into the moon, I shall even 
 love you there. — My next letter will probably be dated from 
 Algiers. I am full of resignation. 
 
200 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 TENTH LETTER. 
 
 Warsaw, October %d. 
 I have just recovered from my first rapture of joy in the arms 
 of my dear Sophie — having arrived within the last half hour. 
 Oh, Amelia ! Amelia ! I tremble with delight as I announce my- 
 self to you in these lines. Let me know when I and my sister 
 can come to you. Amen. 
 
 F. B. G. 
 
VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
* Note by the Author— Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield appeared in Lon- 
 don about 1772. This fact is mentioned because it may be that accomplish- 
 ed writer took the idea of his excellent work from the fragment of the 
 " Journal of a Vicar in Wiltshire," which had been published in the British 
 Magazine in 17G6. It was there described as an actual history, and it is 
 evident that it owed little to the exaggerations of fancy. I cannot discover 
 that the Journal has been continued ; probably the modest Vicar was only 
 induced to make this extract public, because the story of this marvellous 
 passage of his life — perhaps the only one — would be instructive to all who 
 might read it. 
 
 » 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 205 
 
 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 JOURNAL OF A POOR VICAR 
 
 IN WILTSHIRE.* 
 
 Dec. 15, 1764. — I received lo-day from Dr. Snarl, my Rec- 
 tor, £10 sterling, being the amount of my half-year's salary. 
 The receipt even of this hardly-earned sum was accompanied 
 by many disagreeable circumstances. 
 
 After I had waited an hour and a half in the cold ante-cham- 
 ber of the Rector, I was admitted to his presence. He was 
 seated in a large easy chair at his writing-desk ; my money was 
 already counted out. My low bow he returned with a majestic side- 
 nod, while he slightly pushed back his beautiful black silk cap, 
 and immediately drew it on again. He is certainly a man of much 
 dignity. I cannot approach him without awe. I do believe I 
 should not enter the king's presence with more reverence. 
 
 He did not ask me to sit down, although he knew that I had 
 this very morning walked eleven miles in bad weather, and 
 that the hour and a half's w-aiting in the ante-chamber had not 
 much rested my wearied limbs. He pointed with his hand to 
 the money. 
 
 My heart beat violently when I would introduce the subject, 
 
 * Two spirited translations of this tale have already been made in this 
 country — the first of which, by Mrs. Ellet. appeared in a monthly magazine 
 of this city, and the second, by the Rev. Wm. Furness, was published in the 
 Gift, an annual. In re-writing it, not in the hope of improving it, but to make 
 it uniform with the original edition from which these translations are made, the 
 editor has had these former versions constantly before him, and in many pas- 
 sages found he could do no better than copy one or the other almost literally. 
 
 P.G. 
 
206 
 
 ZSCHOKKES TALES. 
 
 long thought of and well conned, of a little increase of my sal- 
 ary. Would I were able to overcome my backwardness in the 
 most innocent, nay I will say, even in the most righteous cause. 
 With a trepidation as if I were about to commit a crime, 1 endeav- 
 ored twice to tell my tale. Memory, words, and voice failed me. 
 The sweat stood in great drops on my forehead. 
 
 " What do you wish ?" said the rector benignantly. 
 
 " I am — everything is so dear — scarcely able to get through 
 these hard times, with my small salary." 
 
 "Small salary, Mr. Vicar! How can you think so ? I can 
 any day procure another vicar for £15 pounds sterling a year." 
 
 "For £15! Yes, without a family, he might get along with 
 that sum." 
 
 " Your family, Mr. Vicar, has not received any addition, I 
 trust. You have only two daughters ?" 
 
 " Yes, your reverence ; but these are growing up. My Jen- 
 ny, the eldest, is now eighteen, and Polly, the younger, will soon 
 be twelve." 
 
 " So much the better. Can't your girls work ?" 
 
 I was going to reply, when he hindered me by rising and ob- 
 serving, while he went to the window and tapped with his fingers 
 on the glass, that he had no time to talk with me to-day. " Think 
 it over," he concluded. " whether you will retain your place at 
 £15 a year, and let me know. If you can't, I hope you will get 
 a better situation for a New Year's present." 
 
 He bowed very politely, and again touched his cap. I hastily 
 seized the money and took my leave. I was thunderstruck. 
 He had never received nor dismissed me so coldly before. With- 
 ouUdoubt somebody has been speaking ill of me. He did not 
 even invite me to dinner, as had always before been his custom. 
 I had counted upon it, for I came from Crekelad without break- 
 ing my fast. I bought a loaf in the outskirts of the town at a 
 baker's shop, observed in passing, and ate it on my way home- 
 wards. 
 
 How cast down was I as I trudged along ! I cried like a child. 
 The bread I was eating was wet with my tears. 
 
 Fy, Thomas ! Shame upon thy faint heart ! Lives not the 
 gracious God still 1 What if thou hadst lost the place altogether ? 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 2)7 
 
 And it is only £5 less ! It is indeed a quarter of my whole lit- 
 tle yearly stipend, and it leaves barely lOd a day to feed and 
 clothe three of us. What is there left for us ? He who clothes 
 the lilies of the field ! He who feeds the young ravens ! We 
 must deny ourselves some of our superfluities.: 
 
 Dec. 16th. — I do believe Jenny is an angel. Her soul is even 
 more beautiful than her person. I am almost ashamed of being 
 her father. She is so much better and more pious than I. 
 
 I had not the courage yesterday to tell my girls the bad news. 
 When I mentioned it to-day Jenny at first looked very serious, 
 but suddenly she brightened up and said, " Thou art distressed, 
 father !" 
 
 " Have I not reason for being so ?" 
 " No, thou hast not !" 
 
 "Dear child, we shall never be free from debt and care. I 
 do not know how we shall live. Our need is sore. Who will 
 give us the £15, hardly sufficient for the bare necessaries of life V 
 
 Instead of answering, Jenny gently passed one arm round my 
 neck, and pointed upwards with the other, " He, yonder !" said 
 she. 
 
 Polly seated herself on my lap, patted my face, and said, 
 " Let me tell thee something. I dreamed last night that it was 
 New Year, and that the king had come to Crekelad. There was a 
 splendid show. The king dismounted from his horse before our 
 door and walked in. We had nothing to cook or bake. He or- 
 dered some of his own dainties to be brought in on dishes of gold 
 and silver. The kettle-drums and trumpets sounded outside, 
 and behold, with the sound of the music, in marched some peo- 
 ple with a bishop's mitre upon a satin cushion, a New Year's 
 present for thee ! It looked very funny, like the cocked hats of 
 the bishops in the old picture books. But you looked right well 
 in it. Yet I laughed myself almost out of breath. Then 
 Jenny waked me up, which made me quite angry. This dream 
 has certainly something to do with a New Year's present. It is 
 only fourteen days to New Year's." 
 
 I said to Polly, " Dreams are but Seems }" but she said, 
 * Dreams come from God." 
 
208 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 I do not believe so. Still I will write the dream down, to 
 see whether it be not a consoling presage from heaven. A 
 Now Year's present would not be altogether a disagreeable 
 thing to any of us. 
 
 All day I have been at my accounts. I do not like accounts. 
 Reckoning and money matters make my head heavy and my 
 heart empty and sad. 
 
 Dec. 11th. — My debts, God be thanked, are all now paid, except 
 one. At five different places I paid off £1 lis. sterling. I 
 have therefore left in ready money, £2 9s. This must last 
 half a year. God help us! 
 
 The black hose that I saw at tailor Cutbay's I must leave un- 
 purchased, although I have great need of them. They are indeed 
 pretty well worn, yet still in good condition, and the price is rea- 
 sonable. But Jenny needs a gown a great deal more. I cannot 
 bear to see the good girl wearing her thin old camlet this cold 
 weather. Polly can do without, her sister having altered her 
 old cloak for her nicely. 
 
 I must also give up my share in the Gazette, which I have been 
 taking with the weaver Westburn. I am sorry for that, for 
 here in Crekelad without the newspapers one never knows what 
 is going on in the world. The last number gives an account of 
 the races at New-Market, at which the Duke of Cumberland 
 won from the Duke of Grafton, a wager to the amount of five 
 thousand pounds sterling ! How strange it seems that the words 
 of Scripture should be so literally fulfilled — " To him that hath 
 shall be given :" and it may be added with truth — " From him 
 who hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath." I 
 must lose £5 of my poor salary. 
 
 Fy, Thomas, ungrateful murmurer ! and wherefore murmur! 
 Because I can no longer read the newspaper ! May 1 be for- 
 given this sin ! After all, I can learn the news from my neigh- 
 bors, whether General Paoli succeeds in maintaining the free- 
 dom of Corsica. The French have promised freedom to the 
 Genoese ; but Paoli has twenty thousand old soldiers. 
 
 December IQth. — Ah, how little it takes to delight poor people! 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 2C9 
 
 Jenny has purchased a cloak from the shopman for a mere song, 
 and is now, with Polly, engaged in ripping it, to make it up into 
 one for herself. She understands bargaining better than I do ; but 
 perhaps her gentle, winning smile assists her. She wants to wear 
 the new gown on New Year's day. Polly has a hundred cheer- 
 ful sayings and prophecies to make. I dare say the Dey of 
 Algiers never pleased himself half so much over the presents 
 of the Venetians, the two diamond rings, the two watches set 
 with brilliants, the pistols inlaid with gold, the rich carpets, rich 
 housings, and twenty thousand sequins in cash. 
 
 Jenny thinks we can save enough from the table to pay for 
 her cloak ; we are therefore to have no meat 'till New Year's 
 day. This is quite right. 
 
 The weaver Westburn is a kind neighbor ; I told him yester- 
 day I should have to give up my share of the newspaper, and 
 he answered, shaking me by the hand — " Well, then, I will 
 take the paper alone, and you shall read it with me, my good sir." 
 
 It must be confessed that there are more kind people in the 
 world than we are apt to think, and more among the poor than 
 the rich. 
 
 Evening. — The baker is morose, though I owe him nothing ; 
 yet as Polly went to fetch the bread, which was small or badly 
 raised, or half burnt, he began to quarrel with her so vehemently, 
 that people stopped in the street. He protested that he would 
 let us have nothing more on credit; that we must get our bread 
 elsewhere. Polly came home crying. I am sorry for the poor 
 child ; yet we have enough to comfort us. 
 
 I wonder how the Crekeladers get all their news. It is cur- 
 rently reported that Doctor Snarl is going to provide himself 
 with another vicar in my stead. That would be my ruin ! 
 
 The butcher hearing of my near misfortunes, has sent his 
 wife to me, complaining of hard times, and regretting that it 
 will be out of his power to furnish meat hereafter, except for 
 the cash. The woman was civil enough, and overflowed 
 in expressions of kindness and esteem for us ; I cannot blame 
 her. She advised us to go to Colswood, and deal with him here- 
 15 
 
210 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 after ; he was rich, and could afford to wait for his pay. I 
 could have told the good woman how this usurer ahused us a 
 year ago ; he asking a penny a pound more for his meat than 
 anybody else; and that when his oaths and curses could not 
 help him, and he could not deny the fact, he had boldly said, 
 the money he had to wait for ought to bring him interest, and 
 had shown us the door. 
 
 My little wealth has dwindled down to two pounds one shil- 
 ling and three-pence. How will this end, if no one will trust 
 me, till I can pay my bills quarterly ? And, if the Rector de- 
 prives me of my place, I and my children must be turned into 
 the street. Be it so, God is also in the street. 
 
 December 19th, very early. — I have been awake a long time, 
 turning over in my mind what I shall do. I thought of writing 
 to Master Sitting, my rich cousin at Cambridge, but, alas ! it is 
 the rich, not the poor, who have cousins. Were I a bishop, as 
 Polly thought me in her dream, then half England would claim 
 to be related. Finally, I wrote the following letter to Dr. Snarl, 
 to send by to-day's post : 
 
 " Rev'd Sir — I write with an anxious heart. It is rumored 
 here that you are going to provide yourself with another vicar, 
 and dismiss me. I know not if there be any ground for such a 
 report, or if it has merely grown out of what was said at our 
 last interview, which I mentioned to one or two persons. I trust 
 you have no intention of dismissing me. I have endeavored to 
 discharge the duties committed to me zealously and faithfully. 
 I have preached the word of God in purity, and with a wish to 
 impress the truth on the hearts of the people. I hear no com- 
 plaints ; nay, my inward monitor, conscience, does not accuse 
 me. I cannot think in what I have offended, except in my hum- 
 ble petition the other day for an augmentation of salary ; you 
 then spoke of lessening it, though before it hardly sufficed to 
 keep me and my family from absolute want. Your own human 
 feelings, sir, may decide if I ought to be blamed for that. Under 
 your honored predecessor I served sixteen years, under you I 
 have served a year and a half. I am now fifty years old ; my 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 211 
 
 hair begins to grow grey ; I have no friends or patrons, no pros- 
 pect of another place, and can think of no other way of earning 
 my bread. My living and that of my children depend on your 
 favor. Should you cast us* off, we are reduced to beggary. 
 My expenses, as I mentioned before, have been unavoidably in- 
 creased of late, notwithstanding the most rigid economy. My 
 eldest daughter fills the place of mother to the younger, and 
 takes charge of the house. We keep no servants — my girls 
 are maid, cook, laundress and seamstress : while I am carpen- 
 ter, mason, chimney-sweeper, woodcutter, gardener, and wood- 
 carrier to the household. They have endeavored to earn some- 
 thing by taking in work, but little is to be done in this way. 
 Crekelad is a small place, the people are not rich, and seldom 
 hire assistance. I should not forget to enumerate mercies with 
 hardships : we have had little sickness, and no occasion for 
 a physician. This has been fortunate for us. I trouble you 
 with this detail, to show you how much reason I had to wish for 
 an increase of means. It was hard to live on twenty pounds a 
 year, I anticipate more difficulty with but fifteen, but I have 
 no other resource, and trust, sir, in your kindness and the mercy 
 of God, to continue that to me — etc. etc. 
 
 When I had sealed and directed this letter, I threw myself on 
 my knees, and prayed that it might be successful, while Polly 
 took it to the letter-carrier. How wonderfully relieved I felt in 
 mind ! Ah ! a word to God is ever a word from God ! I went 
 forth from my chamber as light-hearted as I had entered it sad. 
 
 Jenny sat by the window at work, looking as serene and 
 happy as if nothing had ever occurred to trouble her. How 
 beautiful she appeared, as the rays of the morning sun, pouring 
 through the little window, were reflected on her face ! I felt 
 refreshed in spirit. I sat down at my desk to write my sermon 
 on the joys of poverty. 
 
 In the church I preach to myself as well as to others, and if 
 nobody else is benefited I am ; if no soul receives comfort from 
 my words, I do. It is with the minister as with the physician — 
 he knows the design of his salutary medicines, though not al- 
 ways their effect on the constitutions of those to whom they are 
 administered. 
 
212 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 Noon. — This morning I received a note, sent from a stranger 
 who had lodged at the inn all night, begging to see me as soon 
 as I could make it convenient. I walked down immediately 
 and inquired for the stranger. He was a fine-looking young 
 man, of about six and twenty. He wore an overcoat, much the 
 worse for wear, and his boots were soiled with travelling. His 
 hat, though originally of better quality than mine, was even 
 more worn ; yet spite of his threadbare apparel, his bearing was 
 that of a gentleman. I noticed also that his shirt was of fine 
 linen, having been given to him probably by some benevolent 
 person. He asked me into a private room, and after begging 
 pardon for thus troubling me, informed me humbly that he 
 found himself at present in the greatest distress, and hav- 
 ing no acquaintance in the village, where he arrived yester- 
 day evening, he had applied to me, knowing that I was a cler- 
 gyman. He was, he added, by profession an actor, but with- 
 out employment, and on his way to Manchester ; but was just 
 now unexpectedly out of money. He had expanded all his 
 money, and had not enough, in fact, to pay for his night's lodg- 
 ing and his fare to Manchester ; he needed but the merest trifle 
 — twelve shillings. That sum would relieve him from his diffi- 
 culties — and if I would be kind enough to advance it, I might 
 rest assured that as soon as he obtained anything from his en- 
 gagement in Manchester, it should be thankfully repaid. His 
 name was John Fleetman. 
 
 It was not necessary for him to say how much anxiety his 
 embarrassment caused him, as his distressed looks showed that 
 more plainly than words. Alas ! he must have read an answering 
 grief in mine ! When he turned his eyes to me he seemed struck 
 with alarm, and exclaimed — " Will you not relieve me, sir?" 
 
 Without ifs or huts I explained to him the circumstances in 
 which I was placed, that the sum he required was no less than 
 the fourth part of my whole property, and that I was by no means 
 certain of retaining the scanty support I had. With evident 
 disappointment and chagrin, he answered — "You comfort the 
 unfortunate with stories of your own misfortunes. I seel can 
 ask nothing of you. But is there no other person in this village 
 who has, if not wealth, at least sympathy for one in my strait V 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 213 
 
 I cast an embarrassed look at Mr. Fleetman, and was vexed that 
 T had been tempted to speak of my own unhappy situation, and 
 to make that an excuse for being deaf to the call of distress. I 
 thought over all my acquaintance in Crekelad, but recalled 
 none to whom I could recommend the young man to apply. At 
 last, stepping up to him, and laying my hand on his shoulder, I 
 said — " Mr. Fleetman, I am truly sony for you. Have a little 
 patience ; you see I am very poor, but I will help you if I can. 
 In an hour you shall have an answer from me." 
 
 I went home. On the way I could not help thinking how 
 singular it was that the stranger should think first of applying 
 to me — he being a comedian, and I a clergyman. There must 
 be something in my nature which draws the poor and unfortu- 
 nate to me like magnetism. Those in need come to me, who 
 have least to give. I will almost wager that were I seated at a 
 table with strangers, and a hungry dog came into the room, he 
 would be sure to run straight up to me, and lay his cold nose 
 entreatingly on my lap to watch my eating. 
 
 On reaching home, I told the girls who the stranger was and 
 what he wanted. I wished to have Jenny's advice. She said 
 in a sympathizing tone — " I know, father, what thou art think- 
 ing — so I have no advice to give in the matter." 
 
 " And what am I thinking ?" 
 
 " That thou wilt do to this poor actor what thou wishest God 
 and Dr. Snarl should do to thee." 
 
 That was not what I was thinking ; but I wish such had been 
 my thought. I counted out the twelve shillings and gave them 
 to Jenny, that she might take them to the traveller. I wished 
 to shun his thanks. It would have humbled me. Ingratitude 
 always makes me more proud, — and now I will go on to write 
 my sermon. 
 
 Evening. — The actor is a noble man. When Jenny returned, 
 she had much to tell me of what she had seen and heard, not 
 only about the stranger but the landlady. The mistress of the 
 inn had learned that her guest's purse was empty, and Jenny 
 could not deny when questioned that she brought him some 
 money from me. Then she had to listen to a lecture upon the 
 
214 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 folly of giving when one has so little, and the danger of help, 
 ing vagabonds when one has not enough to live on at home : 
 with "a shirt is nearer than the coat," "to feed one's own 
 maketh fat," &c, &c. 
 
 I was still writing mv sermon when Master Fleetman came 
 in. He could not leave Crekelad, he said, without thanking his 
 benefactor, who had relieved him in so pressing a difficulty. 
 Jenny was just -aying the cloth for dinner. We had an omelet 
 and turnips. I invited him to partake with us. He accepted 
 willingly, having made, as he intimated, but a sorry breakfast 
 at the inn. Polly brought some beer. We had not for some 
 time fared so well. 
 
 Mr. Fleetman seemed to enjoy our social meal. His former 
 expression of anxiety and distress was gone, but still there was 
 about him that air of reserve and melancholy peculiar to the 
 unfortunate. He thought us very happy, and we assured him 
 we were so. He took me to be better off in the world than I 
 had said ; but in that he was mistaken. Our real poverty was 
 not apparent to him, while everything looked so neat and com- 
 fortable about us. The orderly appearance of our little apart- 
 ment, the cleanliness of the floor and the windows, shaded by 
 snow-white curtains, with the polish of our chairs and table, 
 took his attention from the homeliness of the furniture. In 
 truth the cottages of the poor generally present such a scene 
 of dirt and discomfort, as excites disgust as well as pity. They 
 seem to think it costs too much to be clean. But this is a mis- 
 take. Order and neatness are the best helps to economy ; so 
 I always taught my sainted wife. Jenny has learned this lesson 
 admirably, and is teaching it daily to her sister. She has an 
 eye for the smallest flymark. 
 
 Before long our guest was quite at home and familiar with 
 us. But he spoke less of his own than of our prospects. The 
 poor man has evidently something heavy upon his heart ; I 
 will not believe upon his conscience. I noticed that he often 
 paused in the midst of conversation, and seemed abstracted ; 
 then he would exert himself to be cheerful. May he be con- 
 soled if he have need of comfort ! 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 215 
 
 As he was quitting us after dinner, I gave him much friondly 
 counsel for his journey. Actors, I know, are rather a frivolous 
 set. He promised me sacredly as soon as he should have money, 
 to send back my loan. He must be serious in that, for lie 
 looked very honest, and several times asked how long I thought 
 I should be able, with the rest of my ready money, to meet the 
 necessaries of my household. 
 
 His last words were, " It is impossible it should go ill with 
 you in the world. You have heaven in your breast, and two 
 angels of God at your side." With these words he pointed to 
 Polly and Jenny. 
 
 December 20. — The day has passed very quietly, but I can- 
 not say very agreeably, for the grocer Lester sent me his bill for 
 the year. It was, for what we had had of him, larger than we 
 had expected, although we had had nothing of which we did 
 not ourselves keep an account. Only he had raised the price 
 of all his articles. Otherwise, his account agreed honestly 
 with ours. 
 
 The worst is the arrears of my last year's bill. He begged 
 for the payment of the same, as he is in great need of money. 
 The whole amount due is eighteen shillings. 
 
 I went to see Mr. Lester. He is a very polite and reasonable 
 man. I hoped to satisfy him by paying him in part, and prom- 
 ising to pay the remainder by Easter. But he was not to be 
 moved, and he regretted that his need was such as to drive him 
 to make use of every means. If he could, he would gladly 
 wait; but within three days he would have to pay a note which 
 had just been presented to him. With a merchant credit is 
 everything. 
 
 To all this there was nothing to be said in reply, after my 
 repeated requests for delay had proved vain. Ought I to have 
 allowed him to go to law against me, as he threatened ? I sent 
 him the money, and paid off the whole debt. But now my whole 
 property has melted down to eleven shillings. Heaven grant 
 that the actor may soon send back the little loan ! Otherwise I 
 know not what help there is for us. 
 
 Now, if thou knowest not, thou man of little faith, God know 
 
216 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 eth. Why is thy heart cast down ? What evil hast thou done ? 
 Poverty is no crime. 
 
 December 24. — One may be very joyful after all, even with 
 the least. We have a thousand pleasures in Jenny's new gown. 
 She looks as beautiful in it as a bride. But she wishes to wear 
 it the first time in public at church on New Year's day. 
 
 Every evening she reckons up, and shows me with how little 
 expense she has got through with her housekeeping. Of course 
 we are all in bed by seven o'clock, to save oil and coals. That 
 is no great hardship. The girls are so much the more indus- 
 trious in the day, and they chat in bed together until midnight. 
 We have a good store of turnips and vegetables. Jenny thinks 
 we can get through six or eight weeks without running in debt. 
 That were a stroke of management without parallel. And until 
 then, we all hope that Mr. Fleetman, like an honest man, will 
 keep his word, and pay us back the loan. If I appear to dis- 
 trust him, it awakens all Jenny's zeal. She will allow no evil 
 of the comedian. 
 
 He is frequently our topic. The girls often talk of him. 
 He will furnish us matter of conversation for half a year. His 
 arrival was an era in our monotonous life. It is amusing to 
 see Jenny's indignation when the mischievous Polly says : " What 
 a pity he is nothing but a player!" Jenny tells about the rich 
 and celebrated actors in London, who sit at the Prince's table, and 
 she is ready to prove that Fleetman must become one of the best 
 of Actors. For he is tall and well formed, and has so much 
 dignity, and such well-selected phrases. "Ah yes!" cried 
 Polly, archly, to-day, " fine phrases, indeed — did he not call 
 you an angel ?" " And you too V answers her sister, color- 
 ing. " Yes, it is true, I was thrown into the bargain," says 
 the younger, " but he looked at you while he was speaking." 
 
 All this chat and girlish nonsense awakens in me a father's 
 anxiety. Polly grows apace. Jenny is now eighteen. What 
 prospects have I of seeing the poor girls well to do ? Jenny 
 is well-informed, industrious, and a very lovely girl, but our 
 poverty is known to all Crekelad ; on that account we are ne- 
 glected, and it will be difficult to find a husband for Jenny. 
 Ad angel without money is now.a-days thought less of, than a 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 217 
 
 devil with a bag full of guineas. Jenny's wealth is her sweet 
 face, which everybody admires. Even the shopkeeper, Lester, 
 when she took the money to him the other day, presented her 
 with a pound of almonds and raisins, and said he was very sorry 
 to press me for payment, but that if I would continue to deal 
 with him, he would give me credit till Easter. I do not think he 
 would have said so much to me. 
 
 December 26. — These have been two lowering days. The 
 Christmas festival has never seemed so gloomy before. I 
 preached my two sermons in two days, five times, in four diffe- 
 rent churches. The roads were bad, and the weather dismal. 
 I feel that I am beginning to grow old. I have no longer the 
 strength and elasticity of frame I once had. In fact, cabbage 
 and turnips, with scarcely a bit of butter, and a glass of water 
 added, do not furnish much nutriment. 
 
 Both days I dined at Farmer Hurst's. The country people 
 are far more hospitable than the villagers, among whom I have 
 not been invited out to dinner in six months. How I wished 
 my daughters could have sat down to table with us ! Such a 
 profusion of good things. Could they only have had for a 
 Christmas feast the fragments of our meal, reserved for the far- 
 mer's dogs ! But they had some cake, and enjoy it even while 
 I am writing. I am glad that when they pressed me to eat 
 more, I had courage to ask for a slice of cake to carry home 
 to the girls. The good people filled a basket for me, and as it 
 was raining, sent me to Crekelad in the wagon. 
 
 Eating and drinking are indeed of little importance, if one 
 has enough to satisfy his hunger and thirst. Yet it may not be 
 denied that a comfortable provision for the body is an agreeable 
 thing. One thinks clearer, — one feels more vivacious';". 
 
 I am now very tired, and will write down some other time my 
 conversation with Farmer Hurst, which was really worth noting. 
 
 December 27. — We have lived to know perfect joy. But one 
 must be moderate in his joys. The girls must learn to practise 
 themselves in self-denial. Therefore I lay aside the packet of 
 money which Mr. Fleetman has sent. I will not break the seal 
 until after dinner. My daughters are Eve's daughters. They 
 
218 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 are dying of curiosity to know what Mr. Fleetman writes. 
 
 They are examining the address, and the packet is passing from 
 one to the other three times in a minute. 
 
 Indeed I am more disturbed than rejoiced. I lent Mr. Fleet- 
 man only twelve shillings, and he sends me back £5. God be 
 praised ! He must have been very successful. 
 
 How good and evil are blended in this world ! I heard yes- 
 terday morning a report that wagoner Brooks had committed 
 suicide, because of his embarrassments, and went to Alderman 
 Field son's to see about it. This man was a distant relation of 
 my late wife, and ten or twelve years ago I had consented to 
 be his security to the amount of an hundred pounds sterling, he 
 being about to make a purchase of some property. I had never 
 been released from my security, and remembered having heard 
 recently that Brooks had met with losses, and become very in- 
 temperate. 
 
 Alderman Fieldson persuaded me not to distress myself about 
 it. He too had heard the rumor, but thought it improbable. 
 There had been no official notification of the incident. 1 went 
 home somewhat more at ease, and prayed that God would be 
 merciful. 
 
 Polly ran to meet me, crying — " A letter from Mr. Fleetman, 
 father, with five pounds! The package cost seven pence postage." 
 
 Jenny, blushing, reached it to me, before I could lay aside my 
 stick and hat, and I perceived that both the girls were half out 
 of their wits with eagerness. Pushing back the scissors and 
 knives, I said, " Do you not see, children, that it is harder to 
 bear a great joy with composure, than a great evil ? I have 
 often admired your cheerfulness when we were in the sorest 
 want, and knew not where we were to find food for the next day. 
 I>ut now the fust smile of fortune puts you beside yourselves. 
 As a punishment for you I shall not open the letter nor the packet 
 of money until after dinner." 
 
 Jenny would have persuaded me that it was not the money, 
 but Mr. Fleetman's unusual gratitude and honesty, that rejoiced 
 her, and that she only wanted to know what he wrote, and how 
 he was ; but I adhered to my determination. This little Miss 
 Curiosity must learn to practise patience. 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 21) 
 
 The same day. Evening. — Our joy is turned into sorrow. 
 The letter with the money came, not from Mr. Fleetman, but 
 from the Rev. Dr. Snarl. He, as an answer to my letter, fore- 
 warns me that our engagement will terminate at Easter. He 
 informs me that until that time I may look about for another 
 situation, and that he has accordingly not only paid me up my 
 salary in advance, that I may bear any travelling expenses I 
 may be at, but also directed the new vicar, my successor, .to 
 discharge my parish duties. 
 
 Thus the talk of the people here in town was not wholly 
 groundless, and it may also be true, what is said, that the new 
 vicar had received his appointment thus readily, because he has 
 married a near relative of his reverence, to save the reputation 
 of the lady ! So I must lose my office and my bread for the sake 
 of the indiscretion of a woman, and be turned into the street 
 with my poor children, because a man can be found to buy my 
 place at the price of his own honor ! 
 
 Jenny and Polly turned deadly pale, when they found that the 
 letter came not from Mr. Fleetman, but from the rector ; and that 
 the money, instead of being the generous return of gratitude, 
 was the last wretched reward of my many years' services. 
 Polly threw herself sobbing into a chair, and Jenny left the 
 room. My hand trembled as I held the letter containing my 
 formal dismissal. But I went into my little chamber, locked 
 myself in, and fell upon my knees and prayed, while Polly wept 
 aloud. 
 
 I rose from my knees refreshed and comforted, and took my 
 Bible ; and the first words upon which my eves fell were, " Fear 
 not, for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name ; 
 thou art mine." Isaiah, chap, xliii., v. 1. 
 
 Then all fear vanished out of my heart. I looked up, and 
 said, "Yea, Lord, I am thine." 
 
 As I did not hear Polly weep any more, I went back into the 
 parlor ; but when I saw her upon her knees praying, with her 
 clasped hands resting on a chair, I drew back into my chamber 
 and shut the door very softly, that the dear soul might not be 
 disturbed. 
 
 After some time, I heard Jenny come in. I then returned to 
 
££0 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 my daughters. They were both sitting at the window. I saw 
 by Jenny's wet eyes that she had been giving relief to her 
 anguish in solitude. They both looked timidly at me. I believe 
 they feared lest they should see some sign of despair on my 
 countenance. But when they saw that I was quite composed 
 and serene, and that I addressed them cheerfully, they were 
 relieved. I took the letter and the money, and humming a little 
 psalm, threw them into my desk. They did not allude to the 
 matter the whole day, nor did I mention it. This silence in 
 them was owing to a tender regard for me ; with me it was fear 
 lest I should expose my weakness before my children. 
 
 The 28lh of December. — It is good to let the first storm go by, 
 without looking its desolation too closely in the face. We have 
 all had a good night's sleep. We talk freely now of Dr. 
 Snarl's letter, and of my loss of office, as of old affairs. We 
 discuss all manner of projects for the future. The bitterest 
 thing in all these plans is that we must be separated. We can 
 think of nothing better than that Jenny and Polly should go to 
 service in respectable families, while I betake myself to my 
 travels to seek somewhere a home and bread for myself and 
 children. 
 
 Polly has again recovered her former good humor. She has 
 recourse again to her dream about the bishop's mitre, and gives 
 us much amusement. She counts almost superstitiously upon 
 some new year's present. I have sometimes thought much of 
 dreams, but I do not believe in them. 
 
 As soon as the new vicar, my successor, shall have arrived, 
 and is inducted into his office, I shall hand over to him the parish- 
 books, and take my way in search of bread elsewhere. In the 
 mean time, I will write to a couple of old acquaintances at 
 Salisbury and Westminster, to request them to find places for 
 my daughters, as cooks, seamstresses, or chambermaids, in some 
 worthy families. Jenny would be an excellent governess for 
 little children. 
 
 I will not leave my daughters in Crekelad. The place is 
 poor, the people are unsociable, proud, and have the narrow 
 ways of a small town. They talk now of nothing but the new 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 221 
 
 vicar. Some are sorry that I must leave, but I know not who 
 takes it to heart. 
 
 The 29th December. — I have written to-day to my Lord 
 Bishop of Salisbury, and laid before him in strong terms, the 
 sad, helpless situation of my children, and my long and faithful 
 services in the vineyard of the Lord. He must be a humane, 
 pious man. May God soften his heart! Among the three hun- 
 dred and four parishes of the county of Wiltshire, there must 
 certainly be at least some little corner for me ! I do not ask 
 much. 
 
 Dec. 3Qth. — The bishop's mitre that Polly dreamt of must soon 
 make its appearance, otherwise I shall have to go to jail. I see 
 now very plainly that the jail is inevitable. 
 
 Iam very weak, and in vain do I exert myself to practise my 
 old heroism. Even strength fails me for fervent prayer. My 
 distress is too much for me. 
 
 Yes, the jail is unavoidable. I will say it to myself plainly, 
 that I may be accustomed to the prospect. 
 
 The All-merciful have mercy on my dear children! I may 
 not — I cannot tell them. 
 
 Perhaps a speedy death will save me from the disgrace. I 
 feel my bones give way ; fever-shivering is in my limbs. I 
 cannot write for trembling. 
 
 Some Hours after. — Already I feel more composed. I would 
 have thrown myself into the arms of God and prayed. But I 
 was not well. I lay down on my bed. I believe I have slept, 
 perhaps also I fainted. Some three hours have passed. My 
 daughters have covered my feet with pillows. I am weak in 
 body, but my heart is again fresh. Everything that has hap- 
 pened, which I have been told of, flits before me like a dream. 
 
 Alas ! it is true, Brooks has hanged himself. Fieldson sent 
 for me, and gave me the intelligence. He had an official 
 paper, and a notice of my liability, for it seems Brooks left a 
 frightful accumulation of debts. He was thought a rich, and 
 an honest man ; I never dreamed of his coming to such an end. 
 
222 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 He reminded me that I must account to Withiel, the woollen 
 draper of Towbridge. 
 
 Ficldson had good cause to pity me, under such a calamity- 
 Great God ! An hundred pounds ! How shall I obtain it ? All 
 we have in the world, if sold, would not bring one hundred shil- 
 lings ! The little property my wife brought, melted away during 
 her long illness; there is yet a piece of land at Bradford; that 
 must be sold at a sacrifice. But all is vain; I am a beggar; 
 and must go to jail if Withiel is not merciful. Payment of the 
 debt is not to be thought of as possible ! 
 
 The same Day, in the Evening — I am ashamed of my weak- 
 ness. What ! to fall into despair ! almost to doubt of Providence! 
 a minister of the gospel, too ! Fye, Thomas ! 
 
 1 have recovered my composure, done all in my power; I 
 have just carried to the post-office a letter to Mr. Withiel, can- 
 didly acknowledging my utter inability to meet his claim, and 
 confessing my readiness to go to the debtor's prison. If he is 
 kind-hearted he will have compassion on me : if not, let him 
 drag me where he pleases. 
 
 Returning from the post-office, I put my children's fortitude 
 to the proof. I wished to prepare them for the worst. Ah ! the 
 girls bore it more manfully than the man ; more Christian-like 
 than the Christian minister ! 
 
 I told them of Brooks' death, of my liability for the debt, and 
 the possible consequences. Both heard me with deep and sor- 
 rowful attention. 
 
 " To prison !" said Jenny, weeping softly and embracing me. 
 " Ah ! my poor dear father ! Thou hast done no wrong — and 
 yet thou must suffer so much ! But I will go myself to Trow- 
 bridge ; I will throw myself at WithiePs feet, and I will not 
 rise until he relents ! " 
 
 « No, Jenny, you shall not ! " cried Polly, sobbing. " He 
 would not forgive one farthing of the debt for all your tears. 
 Merchants are merchants. I will go to the woollen-draper and 
 hire myself to him as his servant ; I will live on bread and 
 water all the days of my life, 'till I have earned money enough 
 to pay father's debt," 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 223 
 
 We all became more calm while talking over our plans ; but 
 still could not fail to perceive how hopeless they were. At last 
 Jenny said — "Why disturb ourselves with fruitless schemes? 
 Let us wait Mr. Withiel's answer. If he is inexorable, let us 
 be resigned. God is also in the jail. Go then, to prison, my 
 father. Perhaps thou wilt be better there, than with us, amidst 
 hardship and want. And there is no disgrace, for thou goest 
 without guilt. We will both enter into service, and with our 
 wages buy thee everything necessary. I will not be ashamed 
 even to beg. To go a-begging for a father has something holy 
 in it. We will come and visit thee from time to time. Thou 
 shalt be well taken care of. We will fear no more." 
 
 " Jenny, thou art right," said Polly ; " whoever fears, does 
 not believe in God. I am not afraid. I will be cheerful — as 
 cheerful as I can be, separated from father and thee." 
 
 Such conversations cheered my heart. Fleetman was right 
 when he said that I had two angels of the Lord at my side. 
 
 Sylvester-Day, December 3\st. — The year is ended. Thanks 
 be to Heaven, it has been, with the exception of some storms, a 
 right bountiful and happy year ! It is true, we often had 
 scarcely enough to eat — still we have had enough. My poor 
 salary has often occasioned me bitter cares, still our cares have 
 had their pleasures. And now I scarcely possess the means of 
 supporting myself and my children half a year longer. But 
 how many have not even as much, and know not where to get 
 another day's subsistence ! My place, I have lost. In my old 
 age I am without office or bread. It is possible that I shall 
 spend the next year in a jail, separated from my good daughters. 
 Still Jenny is right ; God is there also in the jail ! 
 
 To a pure conscience there is no hell even in hell, and to a 
 bad heart no heaven in heaven. I am very happy. 
 
 He who can endure is rich. A good conscience is better 
 than that which the world names honor. As soon as we are 
 able to look with indifference upon what people call honor 
 and shame, we become honorable. He who can despise the 
 world, enjoys Heaven. I understand the gospel of Christ better 
 every day, since I read it in the school of experience. The 
 
ZSCHOKKETS TALES. 
 
 students at Oxford and Cambridge study the letter, not the spirit. 
 Nature is the best interpreter of the Scriptures. 
 With these reflections I conclude the year. 
 
 I am very glad that I have now, for some time, kept this jour- 
 nal. Everybody should keep one. One learns more from 
 himself than from the wisest books. When, by daily setting 
 down our thoughts and feelings, we in a manner portray our- 
 selves, we can see at the end of a year how many difFerent faces 
 we have. Man is not always like himself. He who says he 
 knows himself, can answer for the truth of what he says only at 
 the moment, for then he feels himself. Few know what they 
 were yesterday ; still fewer what they will be to-morrow. 
 
 A day-book is useful, also, because it helps us to grow in 
 faith towards God and Providence. The whole history of the 
 (vorld does not teach us so much about these things as the 
 thoughts, judgments, and feelings of a single individual for a 
 twelve-month. 
 
 I have also this year had the truth of the old sayings con- 
 firmed, that " Misfortunes seldom come singly," and " the darkest 
 hour is just before morning." When things go hard with me, 
 excepting the first shock, I am most at my ease, for then . 
 please myself with the prospect of the relief which is to suc- 
 ceed, and I smile because nothing can disturb me. On the 
 other hand, when everything goes according to my wishes, I 
 am timid and anxious, and cannot give myself up freely to 
 joy. I distrust contentment. Those are the hardest misfor- 
 tunes, which we allow to surprise us. It is likewise true that 
 trouble looks more terrible in the distance, than when it is upor. 
 us. Clouds are never so black when near as they seem afar oft 
 
 I have learnt from all my calamities to consider, with the 
 quickness of lightning, what will be their worst effect upon me. 
 So I prepare myself for the worst, and it seldom comes. 
 
 This also I find good — I sometimes play with my hopes, but I 
 never let my hopes play with me. To keep Hope in check, T 
 have only to remember how rarely fortune has been favorable 
 to me ; and then all air castles vanish as if they were ashamed 
 to appear before me. Alas for him who is the sport of his 
 hopes ! He pursues will-o'-the-wisps into marshes. 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 2V) 
 
 new year's DAY, 1765. A. M. 
 
 A wonderful yet sad affair opens the year. Here follows its 
 history. 
 
 Early this morning, about six o'clock, as I lay in bed thinking 
 over my sermon, 1 heard a knock at the front door. Polly was 
 up and already in the kitchen. She sprang to open the door and 
 see who was there. Such early visits are not usual with us. 
 In the darkness of the morning, she could only recognize a man 
 having a band-box on his arm, which he handed to Polly with 
 
 these words : "Mr. " (Polly lost the name) - sends this 
 
 box to the Rev. Vicar, and requests him to be very careful of 
 the contents." 
 
 Polly took the box with joyful surprise. The carrier disap- 
 peared. Polly tapped lightly at my chamber door to see whether 
 I was awake. She came in on my answering, and wishing me 
 "a happy new year," as well as "good morning," added laugh- 
 ing, " you will see now, dear father, whether Polly's dreams 
 are not prophetic. The promised bishop's mitre is come \" 
 Then she told me how a New Year's present had been given her 
 for me. It vexed me, that she had not asked more particularly 
 for the name of my unknown patron or benefactor. 
 
 While she went out to light a lamp and call Jenny out of bed, 
 I dressed myself. I cannot deny that I burned with curiosity. 
 For until now the New Year's presents for the vicar of Crekelad 
 had been as worthless as they were rare. I suspected that my 
 patron, the farmer, whose good-will I appeared to have won, 
 meant to surprise me with a box of cake, and admired his mod- 
 esty in sending me the present before he could be seen. 
 
 As I entered the parlor, Polly and Jenny were standing at the 
 table, on which lay the box directed to me, carefully sealed, and 
 of such a size as I had never seen before. I lifted it, and found it 
 pretty heavy. In the top were two smoothly cut round holes. 
 16 
 
215 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 With Jenny's help, I opened the box very cautiously, as I 
 had been warned to handle the contents carefully. A fine white 
 cloth was removed, and lo ! — but no, our astonishment is not 
 to be described ! We all exclaimed with one voice, " my God !" 
 
 There lay a little sleeping child, some six or eight weeks old, 
 dressed in the finest linen, with rose-colored ribbons. Its little 
 head rested upon a soft blue silk cushion, and it was well wrapt 
 up in a blanket. The covering, as well as the little cap, was 
 trimmed with the costliest Brabant lace. 
 
 We stood a few minutes in silent amazement, till at length 
 Polly burst out into a silly laugh, and said : " What shall we do 
 with the little captive ? It is no bishop's mitre !" Jenny seemed 
 rather inclined to tears than laughter. She touched its soft 
 cheek with her finger, saying, " Poor little thing, hast thou no 
 mother ! How cruel to abandon so helpless, innocent a creature ! 
 See, father, see, Polly, how quietly it sleeps — unconscious of its 
 condition, as though it lay in the hand of God ! Sleep on, thou 
 poor forsaken one ! Thy parents are perhaps too high in rank 
 to care for thee, and too happy to permit thee to disturb their 
 happiness. Sleep on, we will not cast thee out. They have 
 brought thee to the right place. I will be thy mother." 
 
 As Jenny spoke thus two large tears fell from her eyes. I 
 caught the pious .gentle-hearted creature to my breast, and said, 
 " Yes, be mother ! The step-children of fortune come to her step- 
 children. God tries our faith — no, he does not try it. He 
 Knows it already. Therefore is this outcast little creature 
 brought to us. True we do not know how we shall subsist from 
 one day to another. But He knows, who has made us the pa- 
 rents of this orphan." 
 
 Thus it was soon decided.- The child continued to sleep sweetly. 
 In the meanwhile, we exhausted ourselves in conjectures about 
 its parents, who were undoubtedly known to us, as the box was 
 directed to me in bold letters. Polly, alas ! could tell us nothing 
 more of the bringer of it than she had already told. Now, 
 while the little thing softly slumbers and I run over my new 
 year's sermon upon " the Power of the Eternal Providence," 
 my daughters are holding a council about the nursing of the 
 new-comer. Polly rejoices like a child. Jenny appears to be 
 
THE VTCAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 227 
 
 much moved. With me, it seems as if I entered upon the new 
 year at a season of wonders, and — it may be superstition, or it 
 may be not — as if this little child were sent to be our guardian 
 angel in our need. I cannot express how much more freely I 
 breathe, and how serene my feelings. 
 
 Same day. Evening. — I came home greatly exhausted and 
 weary with the sacred labors of the day. i was compelled to pass 
 over an exceedingly bad road on foot. But I was enlivened by a 
 happy return home, by the cheerfulness of my daughters, by 
 our pleasant little parlor. The table was ready laid for me, 
 and on it stood a flask of wine. It was a New Year's present 
 from an unknown hand. 
 
 The looks of the sweet little fellow in Jenny's arms invigor- 
 ated me above all things. Polly showed me the beautiful little 
 bed of our nursling, the dozen fine napkins, the dear little caps 
 and night-clothes which were in the box, and then a sealed 
 packet of money directed to me, which they had found at the 
 feet of the child when it awoke, and had taken it out. 
 
 Anxious to learn something of the parentage of our little un- 
 known inmate, I opened the packet. It contained a roll of 
 twenty guineas and a letter as follows : 
 
 " Reverend Sm : — To your well known humanity and kind- 
 ness the unfortunate parents of this infant entrust him. Do 
 not forsake it. We may one day be enabled to show you our 
 gratitude when circumstances permit us to make ourselves 
 known. Although at a distance, whatever you do for him will 
 not fail to be seen by us. The boy's name is Alfred. He has 
 been already christened. The twenty guineas enclosed are for 
 the first quarter ; every three months you will be punctually 
 remitted the like sum. Receive our child. We commend him 
 to the kind care of your noble-hearted Jenny." 
 
 When I had read the letter, Polly leaped with joy, and cried, 
 " There's the bishop's mitre !" Gracious heaven ! how rich 
 we're suddenly become. Away with you, miserable Vicarship ! 
 But I will not so rejoice! The letter might have mentioned the 
 noble Polly too! We read the letter a dozen times. We did 
 not trust our eyes with a glance at the gold upon the table. 
 
228 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 What a New Year's present! From my heaviest cares for the 
 future, was I thus suddenly released. But in what, a strange and 
 unexpected way ! In vain did I think over all the people I knew, 
 in order to discover who it might be who had been forced by 
 birth or rank to conceal the existence of their child, or who were 
 able to make such a liberal compensation for a simple service of 
 Christian charity. 1 thought on. I recollected no one. And 
 yet these parents were well acquainted with me and mine. 
 The ways of Providence are wonderful ! 
 
 Jan. 2. — Fortune is lavishing her favors upon me. This morn- 
 ing again I received a packet of money, twelve pounds sterling, 
 by the post, with a letter from Mr. Fleetman. It is too much. 
 For a shilling he returns me a pound. Things must have gone 
 well with him. He hints as much, even. I cannot, alas, thank 
 him, for he has forgotten to mention his address. God forbid I 
 should be puffed up with my present riches ! I hope now in time 
 to pay off honestly my bond for Brooks to Mr. Withiel. 
 
 When I told my daughters that I had received a letter from 
 Mr. Fleetman, there was a new festival. I do not understand 
 what the girls have to do with Mr. Fleetman. Jenny grew very 
 red, and Polly jumped up laughing, and held both her hands be- 
 fore Jenny's face. Jenny behaved as if she was right mad at 
 the foolish girl. 
 
 I read Fleetman 's letter. I could scarcely do it, for the young 
 man is an enthusiast. He writes flatteries which I do not de- 
 serve. He exaggerates everything, even indeed when he speaks 
 of the good Jenny. I pitied the poor and modest girl while I 
 read. I did not dare to look at my daughter. The passage, 
 however, which relates to her, is worthy of note. It runs thus: 
 
 " When, sir, I went from your door, 1 felt as if I went from a 
 father's roof out into the bleak world. I shall never forget you, 
 never forget how happy I was with you. I see you always be- 
 fore me, in your rich poverty, in your Christian humility, in 
 your patriarchal simplicity. And the admirable, smiling, fasci- 
 nating Polly; and the — ah ! for your Jenny I have no epithet. 
 In what words shall one describe the heavenly loveliness by 
 which everything earthly is breathed ? I shall for ever re- 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 229 
 
 member the moment when she gave me the twelve shillings, and 
 the consolatory language in which she accosted me. Wonder 
 not that I have the twelve shillings still. I would not part with 
 them for a thousand guineas. 1 shall soon perhaps make every, 
 thing clear to you personally. Never in my life have I been so 
 happy or so miserable as I am now. Commend me to your pre- 
 cious daughters, if they still bear me in remembrance." 
 
 So he intends to come to Crekelad again ! It would give me 
 pleasure. 1 could then return him my thanks. In his unbound- 
 ed gratitude, the young man has perhaps sent me his all, because 
 I once lent him half of my ready money. That grieves me. 
 He seems to be a light-minded youth, yet he has an honest heart. 
 The little Alfred rejoices us. The child laughed to-day at 
 Polly, as Jenny was holding him, like a young mother, in her 
 arms. Tne girls are more handy with the little cosmopolite than 
 I had anticipated. But it is a beautiful child. We have bought 
 him a handsome cradle, and provided in abundance for all his 
 little wants. The cradle stands at Jenny's bedside. She watches 
 day and night like a guardian spirit, over her tender charge. 
 
 Jan. 3d. — To-day Mr. Vicar Bleching arrived at the inn wilh 
 his young wife, and sent for me. I went to him immediately. 
 He is an agreeable man and has a great deal of politeness. He 
 informed me that he was my successor in office, that he wished, 
 if I had no objections, to enter immediately upon his duties, and 
 that 1 might in the meantime occupy the parsonage until Easter : 
 he would in the interval take up his abode in lodgings prepared 
 for him at Alderman Fieldson's. 
 
 I replied that, if it would give him pleasure, I would resign my 
 office to him immediately, in order to be on that account more at 
 liberty to look out for another situation. Only I desired to preach 
 a farewell sermon to my parishioners, in the churches in which 1 
 had for so many years declared the word of the Lord. 
 
 He then said that he would come in the afternoon to examine 
 the state, of the parsonage. — He has been here with his wife and 
 Alderman Fieldson. The young woman was far gone. She 
 was somewhat haughty and appears to be of high birth, for there 
 was nothing in the house that was as it ought to be, and she 
 
t 
 
 230 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 hardly deigned to look at my daughters. When she saw the 
 little Alfred in the cradle, she turned to Jenny and asked 
 whether she were already married. The good Jenny blushed 
 up to her hair, and shook her little head in denial and stammer- 
 ed out something. I had to come to the poor girl's relief. Mrs. 
 Bleching listened to my story with great curiosity, and drew up 
 her mouth, and shrugged her shoulders. It was very disagreea- 
 ble, but I said nothing. I invited them to take a cup of tea, but 
 they declined. The vicar appeared to be very obedient to the 
 slightest hint of the lady. 
 
 We were very glad when the visit was over. 
 
 Jan. 6ih. — Mr. W T ithiel is an excellent man, to judge from his 
 letter. He sympathizes with me in regard to my unfortunate 
 bond, and comforts me with the declaration that I must not dis- 
 quiet myself if lam not able to pay it for ten years or ever. He ap- 
 pears to be acquainted with my domestic circumstances, for he al- 
 ludes to them very delicately. He considers me an honest man ; 
 that gratifies me most. He shall not be mistaken. I will ride 
 to Trowbridge as soon as I can, and pay Mr. Withiel Fleetman's 
 twelve pounds sterling, as an instalment of my enormous debt. 
 
 Although Jenny insists that she sleeps soundly with little Al- 
 fred, who is very quiet o' nights, and only wakes once, when she 
 gives him a drink out of his little bottle, I feel anxious about the 
 maiden. She is not so lively by far, as formerly, although she 
 seems so much serener and happier than when we were every 
 day troubled about our daily bread. Sometimes she sits with her 
 needle, lost in a reverie, dreaming with open eyes ; or her hands, 
 once so diligent, lie sunk upon her lap. When she is spoken to, 
 she starts, and has to bethink herself what was said. Evidently all 
 this comes from the interruption of her proper rest. But she will 
 not hear a word of it. We cannot even persuade her to take a lit- 
 tle nap in the daytime. She declares that she feels perfectly well. 
 
 I had no idea that she was so vain. Fleetman's praises have 
 not displeased her. She has asked me for his letter to read once 
 more. And she has not yet returned it to me, but keeps it in 
 her work-basket ! 
 
 For my sake ! the vain thing ! 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 231 
 
 Jan. Slh. — My farewell sermon drew forth the tears of 
 most of my hearers. I see now for the first time that my pa- 
 rishioners love me. They have expressed their obligations on all 
 hands and loaded me with gifts. I never before had such an 
 abundance of provisions in the house, so many dainties of all 
 kinds, and so much wine. A hundredth part of my present plenty 
 would have made me account myself over-fortunate in past days. 
 We are really swimming in plenty. But a goodly portion has 
 already been disposed of. I know some poor families in Creke- 
 lad, and Jenny knows even more than I. The dear people share 
 in our pleasures. 
 
 I could not deliver my farewell sermon without deep emotion. 
 It was written with many tears. I was parting from what has 
 hitherto been my world, my business, my pursuit in life. I am 
 thrust out of the vineyard like a superannuated servant ; yet 
 have I labored not as an hireling ; I have planted some promis- 
 ing vines, and pruned many. I am driven from the field of my 
 labors, where night and day I have toiled, and watched, and 
 planted, and pruned, and prayed. I have sought the bed of the sick, 
 and shrunk not from fatigue, so I might administer strength, and 
 comfort, and holy hope to the dying. I have warned sinners to 
 turn from their evil ways ; I have filled the destitute with joy ; 
 I have led back the lost to the way of life. All this I say with- 
 out pride ; these souls are knit to mine with the strongest ties, and 
 now that tie is broken. Why should not my heart bleed ? But 
 God's will be done ! 
 
 Most gladly would I ask the favor of Dr. Snarl, to allow me 
 to remain, and perform the vicar's duty without salary, had not 
 my successor already entered upon his office ! I am used to 
 poverty and hardship from my childhood; I should not fear 
 them, now that I have enough, and more than enough, with the 
 money sent and promised with Alfred, to keep me and my daugh- 
 ters from want. We could be happy, and lay by enough for days 
 of sickness or adversity. I would never more complain of wind 
 and weather, however often arid severely they beat upon my 
 grey head, were I only privileged still to preach the word of God 
 to my dear parishioners ! 
 
 Be it so ; I will not murmur. The tears that fall upon this 
 
232 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 sheet are not tears of discontent. I have never prayed for 
 riches or prosperity, nor do I pray for them now. Cut oh, 
 Lord ! let not thy servant be dismissed entirely from Thy ser- 
 vic e, while he has yet strength to wait on Thee ! Grant that I 
 may again enter into Thy vineyard, and with Thy blessing, win 
 souls. 
 
 Jan. ISth. — My journey to Towbridge has altogether surpassed 
 my expectations. I arrived late at night with weary feet at a little 
 olo city, and could not rouse myself from sleep until late the next 
 morning. After I had put on my clean clothes (I had not been so 
 finely dressed since my wedding-day — the good Jenny has a 
 daughterly care for her father), I left the inn and went to Mr. 
 Witfflel'g. He lives in a magnificent big house. 
 
 He received me at first somewhat coldly, but when I mention- 
 ed my name, he led me into his small but beautiful office. Here 
 I thanked him for his great goodness and consideration, told 
 him how I had happened to give the bond, and what hard for- 
 tunes had hitherto been mine. I then laid my twelve pounds 
 upon the table. 
 
 Mr. Withiel, smiling, looked at me for a while in silence, and 
 with some emotion, and extended his hand to shake mine, and said, 
 " I know you already. I have informed myself particularly 
 about you. You are an honest man. Take your twelve pounds 
 back. I cannot find it in my heart to rob you of your New 
 Year's present. Rather let me add a pound to it, if you will be 
 so good as to take it, to remember me by." 
 
 He arose, brought a paper from another room, opened it and 
 said, " You know this bond and your signature ? I give it to 
 you and your children." He tore the paper in two, and placed 
 it in my hand. 
 
 I could find no words, I was so moved. My eyes filled. He 
 saw that 1 would thank him, but could not, and he said, " Whist ! 
 whist ! not a syllable. I pray you ; that is the only thanks I desire 
 of y:>u. I would gladly have forgiven poor Brooks the debt, had 
 he only dealt frankly with me." 
 
 I don't know a more noble-hearted man than Mr. Withiel. 
 He was too good. He wished me to relate to him much of my 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 233 
 
 past history. He introduced me to his wife, and to the young 
 gentleman his son. He had my little bundle, containing my 
 old clothes, brought from the inn, and kept me at his house. 
 The entertainment was princely. The chamber in which I slept, 
 the carpet, the bed, were so splendid and costly that I hardly 
 dared to make use of them. 
 
 The next day my kind friend sent me back to Crekelad in his 
 e legant carriage. I parted full of emotion from my benefactor. 
 My girls wept with me for joy, when I showed them the torn 
 bond, and said, " See ; this piece of paper, light as it is, was yet 
 the heaviest burden of my life. Pray for the life and happiness 
 of our deliverer." 
 
 January \Gth. — Yesterday was the most remarkable day of 
 my life. 
 
 We were together before dinner to-day ; Alfred was in his 
 cradle, which I rocked, while Polly read from a book, and Jenny 
 was sewing by the window. Suddenly Jenny started up, and be- 
 came pale as death. We asked what was the matter. " He is 
 coming," she replied ; and the next instant the door flew open 
 and Fleetman entered in an elegant travelling suit. We all 
 greeted him cordially, and were right glad to see him again, 
 unexpected as was his entrance — and especially to see him in bet- 
 ter circumstances than before ; he embraced me, kissed Mary, 
 and bowed to Jenny, not yet recovered from her agitation. Her 
 paleness attracted his attention. He inquired earnestly about 
 her health. Polly answered his inquiry, and he then kissed 
 Jenny's hand as if in atonement for having caused her so much 
 fright. But nothing was to be said about it, as the poor girl 
 blushed like an opening rose. 
 
 I bade the girls bring out wine and cold meats, to entertain 
 my guest and friend in rather better style than before ; but he 
 declined my invitation, having left, he said, his company at the 
 inn. Yet at Jenny's entreaty he consented to sit down and 
 lunch with us. 
 
 As he had spoken of his " company," I supposed of course, 
 he meant a theatrical company, and I asked if they expected to 
 play here in Crekelad, adding, that it was a poor place. Fleet- 
 
234 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 man laughed, and said, " We will act a piece or so, but it shall 
 be altogether gratuitous." Polly was delighted to hear this; 
 she had always wished, she said, to see a play. She told the 
 news to Jenny, who just then came in with the wine. 
 
 " Have you many actors in your company, Mr. Fleetman ?" 
 asked Polly. He replied, " Only a gentleman and his wife, but 
 they are both excellent performers.'" 
 
 Jenny looked unusually grave. She cast a sorrowful glance 
 towards Fleetman, and asked, "And you, sir — are you going to 
 perform V This was said in that soft but marked and penetrat- 
 ing voice, which I seldom observed but when she was seriously 
 deciding upon some important step. Poor Fleetman trembled 
 even, at this solemn tone, like that of a doom-angel. He did not 
 answer for a moment ; then stepping nearer to her, he said 
 almost in a whisper, " That, by my God and yours, Miss Jenny, 
 depends upon you." 
 
 My daughter looked down ; he spoke ; she replied ; and I 
 confess I was rather at a loss to know what they meant. Polly 
 and I listened, but we neither heard a word, or rather heard 
 words without any meaning. And yet Fleetman and Jenny 
 appeared not only to understand one another perfectly, but, what 
 struck me as very strange, Fleetman was deeply moved by 
 Jenny's answers, although they expressed the veriest trifles. At 
 last Fleetman clasped his hands passionately to his breast, raised 
 his eyes, streaming with tears, to heaven, and with an impressive 
 appearance of emotion, exclaimed, " Then am I indeed un- 
 happy !" 
 
 Polly could hold out no longer. With a comical vivacity, she 
 looked from one to the other, and at last cried out, " I do believe 
 that you two are beginning a comedy already !" 
 
 He pressed Polly's hand, and said, " Ah ! that it were so !" 
 
 I put an end to the confusion by pouring out the wine. We 
 drank to the welfare of our friend. Fleetman turned to Jenny, 
 and stammered out, " Miss, in earnest, my welfare ?" She laid 
 her hand upon her heart, cast down her eyes, and drank. 
 
 Our guest went to the cradle, and asked many questions about 
 little Alfred. I related the circumstances of my singular New 
 Year's present, and my vain conjectures as to who had sent it. 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 235 
 
 " I can give you some information respecting that," said he. 
 "The New Year's present came from me." 
 
 "From you !" exclaimed I and the girls, with incredulous as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 Then he told us the following story : 
 
 u I am no comedian, but a baronet, and my name is Cecil Fayr- 
 ford. My sister and myself have been long kept wrongfully 
 from the estate we inherited from our late father, by an uncle, 
 who made some difficulty about the will, and involved us in a 
 lawsuit. We have lived, till very recently, on a little property 
 left us by our mother. My sister suffered much from the tyranny 
 of our uncle, who was her guardian. He had promised her in 
 marriage to one of his friends ; whereas she was betrothed to 
 the son of Lord Sandom, whose father, meanwhile, was bent on 
 forcing his son to wed a rich heiress he had in view. The lovers, 
 persecuted as they were, resolved on a private union ; and short- 
 ly after, their marriage was solemnized without the knowledge 
 of either my uncle or Lord Sandom. 
 
 " Alfred is their son. My sister went, under my protection, to 
 reside in a country place, where she could have the benefit of 
 sea bathing, as her health was delicate. When the child was 
 born, our great concern was to find a place for it where it would 
 have the tenderest care. I accidentally heard a touching ac- 
 count of the poverty and humanity of the parish minister of 
 Crekelad, and I came hither to satisfy myself. The manner in 
 which I was treated by you decided me. 
 
 " I have forgotten to mention that my sister never returned to 
 her guardian ; for about six months ago I won the suit against 
 him, and entered into possession of my patrimony. My uncle 
 instituted a new suit against me for withdrawing my sister from 
 his charge ; but the old Lord Sandom died suddenly a few days 
 ago of apoplexy, and my brother-in-law has made his marriage 
 public. So that the suit falls to the ground, and all cause for 
 keeping the child's birth secret is removed. Its parents have 
 now come with me to take the child away, and I have come to 
 take you and your family away, if the proposal I make you shall 
 be accepted. 
 
 " During the lawsuit in which I have been engaged, the living, 
 
£36 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES 
 
 which is in the gift of my family, has remained unoccupied, 
 have at my disposal this situation, which yields over two hun 
 dred pounds per annum. You, sir, have lost your place. I 
 shall not be happy unless you come and reside near me, and ac- 
 cept this living." 
 
 God only knows how I was affected at these words. My eyes 
 were blinded with tears of joy. I stretched out my hands to the 
 man who came a messenger from heaven. I fell upon his breast. 
 Polly threw her arms around him with a cry of delight. Jenny 
 thankfully kissed the baronet's hand. But he snatched it from 
 her with visible agitation and left us. 
 
 My happy children were still holding me in their embraces, and 
 wc were still mingling our tears and congratulations, when the ba- 
 ronet returned, bringing his brother-in-law, Lord Sandom, with 
 his wife. The latter was an uncommonly beautiful young lady. 
 Without saluting us, she ran to the cradle of her child. She 
 krfelt down over the little Alfred, kissed his cheeks, and wept 
 freely with mingled pain and delight. Her lord raised her up, 
 and had much trouble in composing her. 
 
 When she had recovered her composure and apologized to us 
 all for her behavior, she thanked first me and then Polly, in the 
 most touching terms. Polly disowned all obligation, and pointed 
 to Jenny, who had withdrawn to the window, and said, " My 
 sister there has been its mother !" 
 
 Lady Sandom approached Jenny, gazed at her long in silence 
 and with evidently grateful surprise, and then glanced at her 
 brother with a smile, and folded Jenny in her arms. The dear 
 Jenny, in her modesty, scarcely dared to look up. " I am your 
 debtor," said my lady, " but the service you have rendered to a 
 mother's heart it is impossible for me to repay. Become a sis- 
 ter to me, lovely Jenny ; sisters can have no obligations between 
 them." As they embraced each other, the baronet approached. 
 " There stands my poor brother," said my lady ; " as you are 
 now my sister, he may come nearer to your heart, dear Jenny, 
 may he not V 9 
 
 Jenny blushed and said, " He is my father's benefactor." 
 
 " Will you not be," replied the lady, " the benefactress of my 
 
THE VICAR OF WILTSHIRE. 
 
 237 
 
 poor brother 1 Look kindly on him. If you only knew how 
 he loves you !" 
 
 The baronet took Jenny's hand and kissed it, and said, as 
 Jenny struggled to withdraw it, " Miss, will you be unkind to 
 me ? I am unhappy without this hand." Jenny, much dis- 
 turbed, let her hand remain in his. The baronet then led my 
 daughter to me, and begged me for my blessing. 
 
 " Jenny," said I, " it depends upon thee. Do we dream ? 
 Canst thou love him ? Do thou decide." 
 
 She then turned to the baronet, who stood before her, deeply 
 agitated, and cast upon him a full penetrating look, and then 
 took his hand in both hers, pressed it to her breast, looked up to 
 heaven, and softly whispered, " God has decided." 
 
 I blessed my son and my daughter. They embraced. There 
 was a solemn silence. All eyes were wet. 
 
 Suddenly Polly sprang up, laughing through her tears, and 
 flung herself upon my neck, while she cried, " There ! we have 
 it ! The New Year's present ? Bishop's mitres upon bishop's 
 mitres !" 
 
 Little Alfred awoke. 
 
 It is in vain — I cannot describe this day. My happy heart is 
 full, and I am continually interrupted. 
 
 Note. — To a translation of this tale, published with several others of 
 Zschokke, by Carey & Hart of Philadelphia — about the best translations of 
 the author I have seen — the translator has appended the following fragment, 
 which he found in the " Boston Chronicle" of 1766, reprinted from the British 
 Magazine, which Zschokke mentions in his introductory note on page 203. It 
 is very curious. 
 
 TUB JOURNAL OF A WILTSHIRE CURATE. 
 
 Monday. — Received .£10 from my Rector, Dr. Snarl, being one half year's 
 salary. Obliged to wait a long time before my admittance to the Doctor ; and 
 even when admitted was never once asked to sit down or refresh myself, though 
 I had walked eleven miles. Item : the Doctor hinted that he could have the 
 curacy filled for £15 a year. 
 
 Tuesday. — Paid £9 to seven different people, but could not buy the second- 
 hand pair of black breeches offered me as a great bargain by Cabbage, the 
 
238 
 
 ZSCHOKKE'S TALES. 
 
 tailor; my wife wanting a petticoat above all things, and neither Betsey nor 
 Polly having a shoe to go to church. 
 
 Wednesday. — My wife bought a petticoat for herself, and shoes for her two 
 daughters ; but unluckily in coming home dropped half a guinea, through a 
 hole which she had never before perceived in her pocket, and reduced all our 
 cash in the world to a half crown. Item : chid my poor woman for being af- 
 flicted at the misfortune, and tenderly advised her to depend upon the goodness 
 of God. 
 
 Thursday. — Received a note from the alehouse at the top of the hill, in- 
 forming me that a gentleman begged to speak to me on pressing business. 
 Went and found it was an unfortunate member of a strolling company of 
 players, who was pledged for 7^d. In a struggle what to do ; the baker, 
 though we had paid him but on Tuesday, quarrelled with us, to avoid giving 
 any credit in future ; and George Greasy, the butcher, sent us word that he 
 heard it whispered how the rector intended to take a curate who would do tho 
 parish duty at an inferior price ; and therefore, though he would do any thing 
 to serve me, advised me to deal with Peter Paunch, at the upper end of the 
 town : mortifying reflections these. But a want of humanity is in my opinion 
 a want of justice. The Father of the universe, lends his blessings to us with a 
 view that we should relieve a brother in distress ; and we consequently do no 
 more than pay a debt, when we perform an act of benevolence. Paid the 
 stranger's reckoning out of the shilling in my pocket, and gave him the re- 
 mainder of the money to prosecute his journey. 
 
 Friday. — A very scanty dinner, and pretended therefore to be ill, that by 
 avoiding to eat, I might leave something like enough for my poor wife and the 
 children. I told my wife what I had done with the shilling ; the excellent 
 creature, instead of blaming me for the action, blessed the goodness of my 
 heart, and burst into tears. Mem : Never to contradict her as long as I live ; 
 — for the mind that can argue like hers, though it may deviate from the more 
 rigid sentiments of prudence, is even amiable for its indiscretion ; and in every 
 lapse from the severity of economy, performs an act of virtue superior to the 
 value of a kingdom. 
 
 Saturday. — Wrote a sermon, which on Sunday I preached at four different 
 parish churches, and came home excessively weary and excessively hungry ; 
 no more money than 2£d. in the house ; but see the goodness of God, — the 
 strolling player whom I had relieved was a man of fortune, who accidentally 
 heard that I was as*humane as I was indigent, and from a generous eccen- 
 tricity of temper wanted to do me an essential piece of service. I had not 
 been an hour at home when he came in, and declaring himself my friend put 
 a £50 note into my hand, and the next day presented me with a living of .£300 
 a year.