UlitMM 
 
 'I ! ! imill: 
 
 THE MALAj 
 THE CENTURY 
 
 F.TtNNYSON NEELY. PUBLISHF.R.NEW YORK & LtJ. 
 
THE GIFT OF 
 TWO FRIENDS 
 
 OF Cornell University 
 
 t934 
 
THE 
 
 MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 By max NORDAU, 
 
 Author of "Degeneration," "The Comedy of Sentiment " "IVie Bight 
 
 to Love," "How Women Love," "Soap Bubbles," 
 
 "The Shackles of Fate," etc. 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 
 
 :>ftenntson-neely2 
 
 
 
 " S tlzESh^-bl^lil^c 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ' ^mPUBLISMERia'SSt 
 
 
 
 ^•■?V///////Mi\vv\s\\^KS 
 
 
 LONDON 
 
 P. TENNYSON NEELY, 
 
 PUBLISHEE, 
 F 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 

 Copyright, 1898, 
 
 by 
 
 F. Tennyson Neely, 
 
 in 
 
 United States 
 
 and 
 Great Britain. 
 
 All Rights Reserved. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. PAGB 
 
 Mountain and Forest 3 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 Vanity of Vanities 36 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Heroes 61 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 It was not to be. , 98 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 A Lay Sermon 136 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 An Idyll 154 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Symposium.o 179 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Dark Days 302 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Results 240 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 A Seaside Romance 277 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Iq th^ Horselberg , ,...,., 311 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XU. PASB 
 
 Tannliauser's Flight 355 
 
 CHAPTER XHI. 
 Consummation 893 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Uden Horizo 431 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MOUNTAIN AND FOBEST. 
 
 "CoMK, you fellows, that's enough joking. This de- 
 fection of yours, melancholy Eynhardt, combines obsti- 
 nacy with wisdom, like Balaam's ass! Well! may you 
 rest in peace. And now let us be off." 
 
 The glasses, filled with clear Affenthaler, rang merrily 
 together, the smiling landlord took up his money, and 
 the company rose noisily from the wooden bench, over- 
 turning it with a bang. The round table was only proof 
 against a similar accident on account of its structure, 
 which some one with wise forethought had so designed 
 that only the most tremendous shaking could upset its 
 equilibrium. The boisterous group consisted of five or 
 six young men, easily recognized as students by their 
 caps with colored bands, the scars on their faces, and 
 their rather swaggering manner. They slung their knap- 
 sacks on, stepped through the open door of the little 
 arbor where they had been sitting, on to the highroad, 
 and gathered round the previous speaker. He was a tall, 
 good-looking young man, with fair hair, laughi:^g blue 
 eyes, and a budding mustache. 
 
 "Then you are determined, Eynhardt, that you won't 
 go any further?" asked he, with an accent which be- 
 trayed him as a Ehinelander. 
 
 ""Jes, I ^m determined," Ej'nhs.rdt ans\vere(^, 
 
4 TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 "A groan for the worthless fellow; but more in sorrow 
 than in anger," said the tall one to the others. They 
 groaned three times loudly, all together, while the Ehine^ 
 lander gravely beat time. An unpracticed ear would 
 very likely have failed to note the shade of feeling im- 
 plied in the noise; but he appeared satisfied. 
 
 "Well, just as you like. No compulsion. Freedom 
 is the best thing in life — including the freedom to do 
 stupid things." 
 
 "Perhaps he knows of some cave where he is going to 
 turn hermit," said one of the group. 
 
 "Or he has a little business appointment, and we 
 should be in the way," said another. 
 
 They laughed, and the Khinelander went on: 
 "Well! moon away here, and we will travel on. But 
 before all things be true to yourself. Don't forget that 
 the whole world is as much a phantom as the brown Black 
 Forest maiden. And now farewell; and think a great 
 deal about us phantom people, who will always keep up 
 the ghost of a friendship for you. " 
 
 The young man whom he addressed shook him and the 
 others by the hand, and they all lifted their caps with a 
 loud "hurrah," and struck out vigorously on the road. 
 The sentiment of the farewell, and the tender speeches, 
 had been disposed of in the inn, so they now parted 
 gayly, in youth's happy fuUness of life and hope for the 
 future, and without any of that secret melancholy which 
 Time the immeasurable distils into every parting. 
 Hardly had they turned their backs on the friend they 
 left behind them when they began to sing, "Im Schwar- 
 zen Walfisch zu Askalon," exaggerating the melancholy 
 of the first half of the tune, and the gayety of the second, 
 passing riotously away behind a turn &f the road, their 
 song becoming fainter and fainter in the distance, ' 
 
THE MALAD T OF TMM GMNTttB t. § 
 
 This little scene, which took place on an August after- 
 noon in the year 1869, had for its theater the iiighroad 
 leading from Hausach to Triberg, just at the place where 
 a footpath descends into the valley to the little town of 
 Hornberg. The persons represented were young men 
 who had lately graduated at Heidelberg, and who were 
 taking- a holiday together in the Black Forest, recovering 
 from the recent terrors of examination in the fragrant 
 air of the pine woods. As far off as Offenburg they had 
 traveled by the railway in the prosaic fashion of commer- 
 cial travelers, from there they had tramped like Canadian 
 backwoodsmen, and reached Hasslaeh — twelve miles as 
 the crow flies. After resting for a day they set out at 
 the first cockcrow, and before the noontide heat reached 
 the lovely Kinzigthal, which lies all along the way from 
 Hausach to Hornberg. Over the door of a wayside inn 
 a signboard, festooned with freshly-cut carpenter's shav- 
 ings, beckoned invitingly to them, and here the young 
 men halted. The view from this place was particularly 
 beautiful. The road made a kind of terrace halfway up 
 the mountain, on one side rising sheer up for a hundred 
 feet to its summit, thickly wooded all the way; on the 
 other side sloping to the wide valley, where the Gutach 
 flowed, at times tumbling over rough stones, or again 
 speading itself softly like oil, through flat meadow land. 
 Below lay the little town of Hornberg, with its crooked 
 streets and alleys, its stately square, framing an old 
 church, several inns, and prosperous-looking houses and 
 shops. Beyond the valley rose a high, steep hill, with a 
 white path climbing in zigzags through its wooded sides. 
 On the summit a white house with many windows was 
 perched, seeming to hang perpendicularly a thousand 
 feet above the valley. Its whitewashed walls stood out 
 sharply against the background of green pine trees, 
 
6 Mi! MALAb t OP TBB CENTJfR T. 
 
 clearly visible for many miles round. A conspicuous 
 inscription in large black letters showed that this auda- 
 cious and picturesque house was the Schloss hotel, and a 
 glance at the gray ruined tower which rose behind it 
 gave at once a meaning to the name. Behind the hill, 
 with its outline softened by trees and encircled by the 
 blue sky, were ridges of other hills in parallel lines meet- 
 ing the horizon, alternately sharp-edged and rounded, 
 stretching from north to south. Thes' seemed like some 
 great sea, with majestic wave-hills and wave-valleys; 
 behind the first appeared a second, then a third, then a 
 fourth, as far as one's eye could see; each one of a dis- 
 tinct tone of color, and of all the shades from the deep- 
 est green through blue and violet to vaporous pale gray. 
 
 The sight of this picture had ^decided Wilhelm Eyn- 
 hardt not to go anj' further. The others had resolved to 
 push on to Triberg the same day, and above all, not to 
 turn back till they had bathed in the Boden-see. As 
 every persuasion was powerless to alter Eynhardt's deci- 
 sion, they separated, and the travelers started on their 
 walk to Triberg. Eynhardt, however, stayed at Horn- 
 berg, meaning to climb to the Schloss hotel again from 
 the other side. 
 
 TVilhelm Eynhardt was a young man of twenty-four, 
 tall and slim of figure, with a strikingly handsome face. 
 His eyes were almond-shaped, not large but very dark, 
 with much charm of expression. The finely-marked eye- 
 brows served by their raven blackness to emphasize the 
 whiteness of the forehead, which was crowned by an 
 abundant mass of curling black hair. His fresh com- 
 plexion had still the bloom of early youth, and would 
 hardly have betrayed his age, if it had not been shaded 
 by a dark brown silky beard, which had never known a 
 razor. It was an entirely uncommon type, recalling in 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 7 
 
 profile, Antinoiis, and the full face reminding one of the 
 St. Sebastian of Guido Eeni in the museum of the Capi- 
 tol; a face of the noblest manhood, without a single 
 coarse feature. His manner, although quiet, gave the 
 impression of keen enthusiasm, or, more rightly speaking, 
 of unworldly inspiration. All who saw him were power- 
 fully attracted, buthalf-unconsciously felt a slight doubt 
 whether even so fine a specimen of manhood was quite 
 fitly organized and equipped for the strife of existence. 
 At the university he had been given the nickname of 
 Wilhelmina, on account of a certain gentleness and deli- 
 cacy of manner, and because he neither drank nor 
 smoked. Such jokes, not ill-natured, were directed 
 against his outward appearance, but had a shade of 
 meaning as regards his character. 
 
 As Wilhelm walked into the courtyard of the Schloss 
 hotel he stopped a moment to regain his breath. Before 
 him was the stately new house, whose white-painted 
 walla and many windows had looked down on the high- 
 road ; to the left stood the round tower inclosed within 
 a ruined wall, shading an airy lattice-work building, in 
 which on a raised wooden floor stood a table and some 
 benches. Several people, evidently guests at the hotel, 
 sat there drinking wine and beer, and eying the new- 
 comer curiously. The burly landlord, in village dress, 
 emerged from the open door of the cellar in the tower, 
 and wished him "good-day." He had a thick beard and 
 a sunburned face, with good-natured blue eyes. With a 
 searching glance at the young man's cap and knapsack, 
 he waited for Wilhelm to speak. 
 
 "Can I have a room looking on to the valley?" asked 
 the latter. 
 
 "Not at this moment," the landlord answered, clearing 
 his throat loudly; "there is hardly a room free here, and 
 
8 TEE MALADY OF THE CENTUUT. 
 
 that only in the top story. But to-morrow, or the day 
 after, many people are leaving, and then I can give you 
 what you want." 
 
 TVilhelm's face clouded with disappointment, but only 
 for a moment, then he said : "Very well, I will staj'. " 
 
 "Luggage?" said the landlord, in his short, uncere- 
 monious way. 
 
 "My luggage is at Haslach. It can come up to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 "Bertha," called the landlord, in such a strident tone 
 that the mountains echoed the sound. The visitors 
 drinking in the kiosk smiled ; they were well accustomed 
 to the man. A neat red-cheeked girl appeared in the 
 doorway. "Number 47," shouted the landlord, and 
 went off to his other duties. 
 
 Bertha led the new guest up three flights of uncarpeted 
 wooden staircase, down a long passage to a light, clean, 
 but sparely-furnished room. The girl told him the 
 hours of meals, brought some water, and left him alone. 
 He hung his knapsack on a hook on the wall, opened the 
 little window, and gazed long at the view. Underneath 
 was the open space where he had been standing, to the 
 left the tower, and behind, over the ruined walls, he 
 could see the old, neglected castle yard full of weeds and 
 heaps of rubbish — -a picture of decay and desolation. 
 
 "I have chosen well," thought "Wilhelm, for beloved 
 solitude, and promised himself enjoyable hours of wan- 
 dering in the ruins in company with luxuriant flowers 
 and singing birds. 
 
 He barely gave himself time to freshen his face with 
 cold water, and to change his thick walking shoes for 
 lighter ones; immediately hurryingput to make acquaint- 
 ance with the castle. Before he could get there he had 
 first to find in the tumbledowa wall a hole large eaough 
 
^HE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 9 
 
 to enable him to get through. He shortly found himself 
 in a fairly large square space, the uneven grotind being 
 formed of a mass of rubbish, mounds of earth, and deep 
 holes. "Woods protected the greater part of it, most of 
 the trees stunted and choked by undergrowth and shrubs, 
 ■with occasionally a high, solitary pine tree, and near to 
 the west and south walls half-withered oaks and mighty 
 beeches stood thickly. Here and there from the bushes 
 peeped up bare pieces of crumbling stone and broken 
 pieces of mortar, in whose crevices hung long grasses, 
 and where yellow, white, and red flowers nestled. 
 Climbing, stumbling, and slipping, he worked bis way 
 through this wilderness, the length and breath of which 
 he wished to inspect so as to discover a place where he 
 could rest quietly, when he suddenly came to a precipi- 
 tous fall of the ground, concealed from him by a thick 
 curtain of leaves. Startled and taken by surprise, the 
 ground seemed tahim to sink under his feet. He in- 
 stinctively caught hold of some branches to keep himself 
 from falling, pricking his hands with the thorns, and 
 breaking a slender bough, finally rolling in company 
 with dust and earth, torn-out bushes and stone, down a 
 steep declivity of several feet to a little grass plot at the 
 bottom. He heard a slight scream near him, and a girl- 
 ish form sprang up and cried in an anxious voice : 
 
 "Have you hurt yourself?" 
 
 "Wilhelm picked himself up as quickly as he could, 
 brushed the earth from his clothes, and taking o£E his cap 
 said, "Thanks, not much. Only a piece of awkwardness. 
 But I am afraid I have frightened you?" he added. 
 
 "A little bit; but that is all right." 
 
 They looked at each other for the first time, and the 
 lady laughed, while "Wilhelm blushed deeply. She 
 stopped again directly, blushed also, and dropped her 
 
10 THE MALADt OF THE CENTtrttf'. 
 
 eyes. She was a girl in the first bloom of youth, of 
 particularly fine and ■well-made figure, with a beautiful 
 face; two dimples in her cheeks giving her a roguish ex- 
 pression, and a pair of lively brown eyes. A healthy 
 color was in her cheeks, and in the well-cut, seductive 
 little mouth. Her luxuriant, golden-brown hair, in the 
 fashion of the day, was brushed back in long curls. She 
 had as her only ornament a pale gold band in her hair, 
 and wore a simple dress of light-flowered material, the 
 high waistband fitting close to the girlish figure. Con- 
 ventionality began to assert its rights over nature, and 
 the girl too felt confused at finding herself in the middle 
 of a conversation with a strange man, suddenly shot down 
 at her very feet. Wilhelm understood and shared her 
 embarrassment, and bowing, he said : 
 
 "As no doubt we are at the same house, allow me to 
 introduce myself. My name is Wilhelm Eynhardt. I 
 come from Berlin, and took up my abode an hour ago at 
 the Schloss hotel. " 
 
 "From Berlin," said the girl quickly; "then we are 
 neighbors. That is very nice. And where do you live 
 in Berlin, if I may ask?" 
 "In Dorotheenstrasse." 
 
 "Of course you do," and a clear laugh deepened the 
 shadow of her dimples. 
 
 *|Why 'of course?' " asked Wilhelm, rather surprised. 
 "Why, because that is our Latin quarter, and as a 
 student — you are a student, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes, and no. In the German sense I am no longer a 
 student, for I took my degree a year ago; but the word 
 in English is better and truer, as there 'student' is used 
 where we should say scholar (gelehrter). Scholars we 
 are, not only learners. In, the English sen^se then I am a 
 student, and hope to remain so all my life." 
 
TSB MALADY OF THE CBNTURT. H 
 
 "Ah, you speak English," she said, quickly catching 
 at the word; "that is charming. I am tremendously 
 fond of English, and am quite accustomed to it, as I 
 spent a great part of my time in England when I was 
 very young. I have been told that I have a slight 
 English accent in speaking German. Do you think so?" 
 
 "My ear is not expert enough for that," said Wilhelm 
 apologetically. 
 
 "My friends," she chattered on, "nearly all speak 
 French ; but I think English is much more uncommon. 
 Fluent English in a German is always proof of good edu- 
 cation. Don't you think so?" 
 
 "Not always, " said Wilhem frankly; "it might happen 
 that one had worked as a journeyman in America." 
 
 The girl turned up her nose a little at this rather un- 
 kind observation, but Wilhelm went on : 
 
 "With your leave I would rather keep to our mother- 
 tongue. To speak in a foreign language with a fellow- 
 country-woman without any necessity would be like act- 
 ing a charade, and a very uncomfortable thing." 
 
 "I think a charade is very amusing, " she answered; 
 "but just as you like. Opportunities of speaking English 
 are not far to seek. Most of the visitors at the hotel are 
 English. I dare say you have noticed it already. But 
 they are not the best sort. They are common city 
 people, who even drop their h's, but who play at being 
 lords on the Continent. Of course I have learned already 
 to tell a 'gentleman' from a 'snob.' " 
 
 Wilhelm smiled at the self-conscious importance with 
 which she spoke. His eyes wandered over her beautiful 
 hair, to the tender curve of her slender neck and beauti- 
 ful shoulders, while she, feeling perfectly secure again, 
 settled herself comfortably. Her seat was a projecting 
 piece of stone, which had been converted by a soft cover- 
 
13 THE MALADY OF THE CENTtfRT. 
 
 ing of moss into a delightful resting-place. An over- 
 hanging bush shaded it pleasantly. In front lay a 
 corner of the castle ; across a smooth piece of turf and 
 through a wide gap in the -wall they caught a view of the 
 mountains, as if painted by some artist's brush — a per- 
 fect composition which would have put the crowning 
 touch to his fame. The girl had been trying to make a 
 sketch of the viewin a well-worn sketchbook which lay 
 near. 
 
 "You have given a sufficient excuse for your sketches 
 by your feeling for natural beauty," remarked Wilhelm. 
 "May I look at the page?" 
 
 "Oh," she said, somewhat confused, "my will is of 
 the best, but I can do so little," and she hesitatingly 
 gave him her album. He took it and also the pencil, 
 looked alternately at the mountains and on the page of 
 the book, and without asking leave began to improve 
 upon it, strengthening a line here, lightening a shadow 
 and giving greater, breadth, and then growing deeplj' 
 interested in his work, he sat down without ceremony on 
 the mossy bank, took a piece of india-rubber, and eras- 
 ing here, adding lines there, sometimes laying in a 
 shadow, giving strength to the foreground and lightness 
 to the background, he ended by making a really pretty 
 and artistic sketch. 
 
 The girl had watched him wonderingly, and said as he 
 returned the album, "But you are a great artist," and 
 without letting him speak she went on, "and by your 
 appearance I had taken you for a student ! But you are 
 not in the least like a student, nor in fact like a German 
 either. I have often met Indian princes in society in 
 London, and I think you are very much like them." 
 
 Wilhelm smiled. "There is a grain of truth in what 
 you say, although you overrate it a little. A great artist 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 13 
 
 I certainly am not, nor even a little one, but I have 
 always observed much and painted a good deal myself, 
 and originally I thought of devoting myself to an artist's 
 career; and if I have nothing in common with Indian 
 princes, and am merely a plebeian German, I very likely 
 have a drop of Indian blood in my veins." 
 
 "Eeally," she said, with curiosity. 
 
 "Yes, my mother wasaEussian German living in Mos- 
 cow, and whose father, a Thuringian, had married a Eus- 
 sian girl of gypsy descent. Through this grandmother, 
 whom I never knew, I am related by remote genealogical 
 descent to Indians. But you do not look like a German 
 either, with your beautiful dark hair and eyebrows." 
 
 She took this personal compliment in good-part as she 
 answered quickly : 
 
 "There is some reason for that too. Just as you have 
 Indian, I have French blood in my veins. My father's 
 mother was a Colonial, her maiden name was Du 
 Binache. " 
 
 So they gossiped on like old acquaintances. Young 
 and beautiful as they were, they found the deepest pleas- 
 ure in one another, and the cold feeling of strangeness 
 melted as by a charm. They were awakened to the con- 
 sciousness that half an hour earlier neither of them had 
 an idea of the other's existence, by the appearance of a 
 girl in the gap in the wall, who seemed very much sur- 
 prised at the sight of their evident intimacy. The 
 young lady stood up rather hastily and went a few steps 
 toward the newcomer, a servant-maid, who had brought 
 a cloak for her mistress, and took charge of her album, 
 sunshade, and large straw hat. 
 
 "Is it so late already?" she said, with a na'ive surprise, 
 "which left no room for doubt even to "Wilhelm's modestj'. 
 
 "Certainly, fraulein," said the maid, pointing with her 
 
14 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 hand to the distant mountain, whose peaks "were already 
 clothed with the orange hue of twilight; then she looked 
 alternately at her young mistress and the strange gentle- 
 man, whose handsome faoe she inwardly noted. 
 
 "Do you think of making any stay here?" asked the 
 young lady of Wilhelm, who followed slowly. 
 
 "Yes, certainly," he answered at once. 
 
 "Then we may become good friends. My parents will 
 be glad to make your acquaintance. I did not tell you 
 before that my father is Herr Ellrich. " 
 
 As Wilhelm merely bowed, without seeming to recog- 
 nize the name, she said rather sharply, and slightly rais- 
 ing her voice : 
 
 "I thought as you came from Berlin you would be sure 
 to know my father's name — Councilor . Ellrich, Vice- 
 President of the 'Seehandlung. ' " 
 
 The name and title made very little impression on "Wil- 
 helm, but his politeness brought forth an "Ah!" which 
 satisfied Fraulein Ellrich. They left the ruins by an 
 easy path which Wilhelm had not noticed before, and 
 walked together to the entrance of the hotel, where she 
 took leave of him by an inclination of her head. He 
 betook himself to his room in a dream, and while he 
 recalled to his mind the picture of her beautiful face, and 
 the clear ring of her voice, he thought how grateful he 
 was to this chance, that not only had he become ac- 
 quainted with the girl, but that he had avoided in such 
 a glorious fashion the discomfort of a formal introduc- 
 tion. Also Wilhelm knew himself well, and felt sure 
 that, badly endowed as he was for forming new acquaint- 
 ances, he could never have become friends with Fraulein. 
 Ellrich apart from the accident of his fall in the fcastle 
 yard. 
 
 Dinner was served at separate tables where single guesta 
 
TUE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 15 
 
 might take it as they pleased, and Wilhelm was absent- 
 minded and dreamy when he sat down. He scarcely 
 glanced at the large, cool dining-room, ornamented with 
 engravings of portraits of the Grand Dukes of Eaden and 
 their wives. Six large windows looked into the valley 
 of the Gutach with its little town of Hornberg, and the 
 mountains Ij'ing beyond. He hardly noticed the rather 
 silent people at the other tables, in which the English 
 element predominated. He had come in purposely late 
 in the hope of finding Fraulein Ellrich already there. 
 She was not present; but he was not kept long in sus- 
 pense before a waiter opened the door, and the lovely 
 girl appeared accompanied by a stately gentleman and a 
 stout lady. They seemed to be known to the servants, 
 for as soon as they appeared the headwaiter and his sub- 
 ordinates rushed toward them, and with many bows and 
 scrapes took their wraps from them and ushered them to 
 their places. 
 
 "Wilhelm, who possessed very little knowledge of 
 society, was somewhat at a loss. Ought he to recognize 
 the young lady? If he followed his inclination, he cer- 
 tainly would do so. But her parents! They seemed to 
 be cold and reserved-looking. Happily all fell out for 
 the best. The Ellrichs walked straight to the table 
 where he was sitting, and in a moment Wilhelm was 
 greeting his lovely acquaintance with a low bow. Her 
 quick eyes had already recognized him from the door- 
 way. She returned his greeting smiling and blushing, 
 and as her father nodded kindly, the ice was broken. 
 Wilhelm introduced himself, and the councilor gave him 
 the tips of his fingers and said : "If you have no objection 
 we will sit at j^our table." His wife, who gazed at Wil- 
 helm through a gold ''pince-nez" with hardly concealed 
 surprise, took her place next to him ; on the other side 
 
16 TEE MALADY OF TEE CENTURY. 
 
 sat her husband, and opposite the daughter's face smiled 
 at him. 
 
 The councilor was a well-preserved man of about fifty, 
 of good height, dressed in a well-made gray traveling 
 suit, with a light gray silk tie adorned with a pin of 
 black pearl. His closely-cut hair was very thin, and 
 had almost disappeared from the top of his head. His 
 chin was clean-shaven, but his well-brushed whiskers and 
 closely-cut mustache' showed signs of gray. His light 
 blue eyes were cold and rather tired-looking, at the cor- 
 ners of the mouth were evident signs of indolence, and 
 his whole appearance gave an impression of self-con- 
 sciousness mixed with indifference toward the rest of 
 mankind; his wife, stout, blooming, and tranquil, ap- 
 peared to be a kindly soul. 
 
 The conversation opened trivially on the circumstances 
 of Wilhelm meeting with Fraulein Ellrich, and on the 
 beauty of the neighborhood, which Herr Ellrich glorified 
 as not being overrun. 
 
 "I would much rather recommend it for quiet than 
 Switzerland with its crowds," he said. 
 
 Wilhelm agreed with him, and related how he was 
 induced by the romantic aspect of the place to give up 
 his original plans, and to anchor himself here. "When 
 they questioned him, he gave them some information 
 about Heidelberg and his journey to Hornberg. Frau 
 Ellrich complimented him on his sketch, and while he 
 modestly disclaimed the praise, she asked him why he 
 had not devoted himself to art. 
 
 "That is a peculiar result of my development," 
 answered Wilhelm thoughtfully. "While I was stillat 
 the gymnasium I sketched and painted hard, and after 
 the final examinflition I went to the Art Academy for .two 
 years; but tift 'iurther I went into the study of art, and 
 
TBB MALADY OF TSE GENTURY. Vt 
 
 the more attentively I followed in the beaten track of art- 
 studies, the clearer it was to me that he who would 
 secure an abiding success in art must be a blind copyist 
 of nature. Certainly the personal peculiarities of an 
 artist often please his contemporaries. It is the fashion 
 to do him honor if he flatters the prevailing direction of 
 taste. But those of the race who follow after, scorn what 
 those before them have admired, and exactly what those 
 of one time have prized as progressive innovations, they 
 who come after reject as mere aberration. What the 
 artist has himself accomplished, I mean his so-called per- 
 sonal comprehension or his capricious interpretation of 
 nature, passes away; but what he simply and honorably 
 reproduces, as he has truly seen it, lives forever, and the 
 remotest age will gladly recognize in such art-work its 
 old acquaintance, unchanging nature." 
 
 Fraulein Ellrich hung on his words in astonishment, 
 while her parents calmly went on eating their fish. 
 
 "So," went on "Wilhelm, speaking chiefly to his oppo- 
 site neighbor, "so, I tried when I drew or painted to 
 reproduce nature"with the greatest truth; but at a certain 
 point I became conscious of a perception that a hidden 
 meaning in an unintelligible language lay written there. 
 The form of things, and also every so-called accident of 
 form, appeared to me to bo the necessary expression of 
 something within, which was hidden from me. The wish 
 arose in me to penetrate behind the visible face of 
 nature, to know why she appears in such a way, and not 
 in another. I wanted to learn the language, the words 
 of which, with no understanding of their sense, I had 
 been slavishly copying; and so I turned to the study of 
 physical science." 
 
 "So your two j-earsatthe Art School were not wasted, " 
 remarked Herr Ellrich. 
 
ig TUB MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 "Certainly not, for to an observer of natural objects it 
 is most -valuable to have a trained eye for form and color." 
 
 "Yes, and beside, drawing and painting are such 
 charming accomplishments, and so useful to a young 
 man in society." 
 
 "Playing the piano and singing are still more so," put 
 in Frau Ellrich. 
 
 "But dancing most of all," cried Fraulein Ellrich. 
 "Do you dance?" 
 
 "No," answered Wilhelm shortly. 
 
 The words jarred upon him, and a silence ensued. 
 The councilor broke this with the question : 
 
 "Then you are a doctor of physical science?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "What is your particular department? Zoology, 
 botany?" 
 
 "I have principally studied chemistry and physics, and 
 I think of devoting myself to the latter." 
 
 "Physics, oh yes. A wide and beautiful sphere. So 
 much is included in it. Electricity, galvanism, magnet- 
 ism^those are all new faculties "very little known ; and 
 as regards submarine telegraph the knowledge cannot be 
 too useful." 
 
 "These sides of the question have not hitherto inter- 
 ested me. I ask of physics the unlocking of the nature 
 of things. It has not yet given me the key, but it is 
 something to know on what insecure, weak, and limited 
 experiments our vaunted knowledge of the existence of 
 the world of energy, of matter and their properties, 
 depend." 
 
 Frau Ellrich looked at him approvingly. 
 
 "You speak beautifully, Herr Eynhardt, and it must 
 be a great enjoyment to hear you lecture." 
 
 "You will soon have a professorship, I suppose?" 
 
MM MAZAl)t OF I'itS CWTun'T. 19 
 
 remarked Herr Ellricb, turning around to the blushing 
 Wilhelm. 
 
 "Oh, no!" said he quickly, "I do not aspire to that; 
 I believe in Faust's verse : 'Ich ziehe . . . meine 
 Schiiler an der Nase herum — Und sebe dass wir nichts 
 wissen konnen ;' and I also bilde mir nicht ein, Ich 
 konnte was lehren.' I wonder at and envy the men who 
 teach such things with so much influence and conviction, 
 and I am very grateful to them for initiating me into 
 their methods and power of working properly. But there 
 has never been a likelihood of my venturing to approach 
 young men and saying to them, 'You must work with me 
 for three years earnestly and diligently, and I will lead 
 you to knowledge, so that at last, through the contents 
 of a book, you may get a flying glimpse of the phantom 
 which has so often eluded you.' " 
 
 "Your opinions are very interesting," said Herr 
 Ellrich; "but a professorship is still the one practical 
 goal for a man who studies physics. Forgive me if I 
 express my meaning bluntly; there is money to be made 
 in physics through a professorship." 
 
 "Happily I am in a position which makes it unneces- 
 sary for me to work for my bread." 
 
 "That is quite another thing," said the councilor in 
 a friendly way, while his wife cast a quick glance over 
 Wilhelm 's clothes, unfashionable and rather worn, but 
 scrupulously clean. 
 
 "One can see that this idealist neglects his outward 
 appearance,", her good-natured glance, half-apologetic, 
 half-compassionate, seemed to say. 
 
 Herr Ellrich changed the conversation to the manage- 
 ment of the hotel ; discussing for a time the Margrave's 
 ■wineg, the south German cookery, the Black Forest tour- 
 ists, and a variety of other minor topics. He then asked 
 his daughter: 
 
^0 TS^ Malady OF TEE CENTURY. 
 
 "Now, Loulou, have you made a programme for to- 
 morrow yet? HheisouTC mattre deplaisir,"he explained 
 to Wilhelm. 
 
 "A frightfully difficult post, " exclaimed Loulou. "Papa 
 and mamma love quiet ; I like moving about, and I 
 endeavor to harmonize the two." 
 
 Wilhelm thought that the opposing tasks would very 
 soon be harmonized if Loulou subordinated her inclina- 
 tions to her parents' comfort; but he kept his thoughts 
 to himself. 
 
 "I vote that to-morrow morning we go for a little 
 drive. As to the afternoon, we can arrange that later. 
 
 Perhaps Dr. " She stopped short, and her mother 
 
 came to her help and completed the invitation. 
 
 "It would be very kind of you to join us." 
 
 "I am only afraid that I might be in the way." 
 
 "Oh, no; certainly not," said the mother arid daugh- 
 ter together, and Herr Ellrich nodded encouragingly. 
 
 Wilhelm felt that the invitation was meant cordially, 
 and his fear of obtruding himself overcome, he accepted. 
 
 Circumstances at the castle very greatly favored Wil- 
 helm 's intercourse with the Ellrich 's, or rather with 
 Loulou. In this house on the summit of the hill they 
 met constantly in close companionship. Frau Ellrich 
 enjoyed nothing better than walking on the arm of this 
 handsome young man up and down the wooded slopes, as 
 till now she had been obliged to go without such escort. 
 Herr Ellrich liked to take his holiday in a different way 
 from the ladies. If he felt obliged to tak« exercise he 
 would borrow the landlord's gun and dogs and shoot. 
 At other times he would lie down anywhere on a plaid on 
 the grass, smoke a cigar, and read foreign papers like the 
 Times from beginning to end. The afternoon was taken 
 up by a nap, and in the evening he would be ready to 
 
THE MALADY OF THE OENTURT. 31 
 
 ' hear an account of how his family had spent the day — 
 perhaps in a long carriage excursion through the neigh- 
 boring valleys. 
 
 Frau Ellrich was in the habit of appearing at the first 
 table d'hote, and then doing homage to the peaceful cus- 
 tom of afternoon sleep. In the first cool hours of • the 
 morning she walked a little in the perfumed air of the 
 pine woods, and the rest of the time she devoted to a 
 voluminous correspondence, which seemed to be her one 
 passion. Thus Loulou was alone nearly always in the 
 morning, and frequently in the afternoon as well, and 
 quite contented to ramble with AVilhelm through the 
 woods, or to sit with him in the ruins, where they 
 learned to know each other, and chattered without ceas- 
 ing. 
 
 The subject of conversation mattered not. They had 
 the story of their short lives to relate to one another. 
 Loulou 's was soon told. Her narrative was like the 
 merry warbling of birds, and was from beginning to end 
 the story of a serene dream of spring. She was the only 
 child of her parents, who in spite of outward indifference 
 and apparent coldness adored her, and had never denied 
 her anything. The first fifteen years of her life were 
 spent in her charming nest, in the beautiful house in the 
 Lennestrasse, where she was born. ""When we return to 
 Berlin you shall see how pleasant my home is. I will 
 show you my little blue sitting-room, my winter garden, 
 my aviary, my parrots and blackbirds." A heavy trial 
 had befallen her— the only trial that she had yet experi- 
 enced. She had been sent to England for the completion 
 of her education, and had to suddenly part from all her 
 home surroundings. She stayed there for three years 
 with an aunt who had married an English banker. The 
 viBit proved delightful, and she grew to love England 
 
22 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 enthusiasticallj'. She drove and rode, and even folloveed 
 the hounds. In winter there 'wiis the pantomime at 
 Drury Lane, the flights to St. Leonard^, Hastings, Leam- 
 ington, the mad rides across country through frosted 
 trees behind the hounds in full cry; in summer during 
 the season there were parties, balls, the opera, the park ; 
 then in the holidays splendid travels with papa and 
 mamma, once to Belgium, France, and the Ehine, another 
 time to Switzerland and Italy, then to Heligoland and 
 Norway. No, she could never have such good times 
 again. In the following year she went back to Berlin, 
 and had spent a very agreeable winter, a subscription 
 ball, several other balls, innumerable soirees, a. box at the 
 opera, lovely acquaintances, with naturally many suc- 
 cesses — the envy of false friends, but she did not allow 
 herself to be much disturbed by them. 
 
 Wilhelm listened to this chatter with mixed feelings. 
 If she seemed superficial, he reconciled himself by a 
 glance at her beautiful silken hair, at her laughing brown 
 eyes, at her roguish dimples, and instantly he pleaded 
 
 with his cooler reason for pardon for the lovely girl he 
 
 for nineteen years had had other things beside pleasuie 
 to think of! These charms seemed enough to work the 
 taming magic of Orpheus over the wild animals of the 
 woods. 
 
 "And you were never," he asked timidly as she 
 paused, "a little bit in love?" 
 
 "I can look after myself," she answered, with a silvery 
 laugh, and Wilhelm felt as if an iron band had been 
 lifted from his heart, like the trusty Henry's in the 
 story. 
 
 "That points to marvelous wisdom in a child of society 
 —seeing so many people— so attractive! You are in- 
 different then to admiration?" 
 
TBi! MALAD Y Off TSE OElfTUR Y. 23 
 
 "I did not say that. My fancy has been often enough 
 touched, but " 
 
 "But your heart has not?" 
 J "No." 
 
 "Eeally not?" continued he, in a tone of voice in 
 which he himself detected the anxiety. 
 
 She shook her head, and looked down thoughtfully. 
 But after a short pause she raised her rosy face and said, 
 "No — better die than speak untruths — I was rather in 
 love with our pastor who confirmed me. He was thin 
 and pale with long hair, much longer than yours. And 
 he spoke very beautifully and powerfully — I felt senti- 
 mental when I thought of him. But I soon got to know 
 his wife, who was as pointed and hard as a knitting 
 needle, and his children, whose number I never could 
 count exactlj', and my youthful feelings received a severe 
 chill." She laughed, and Wilhelm joined her heartily. 
 
 It was now his turn to relate his story. He was as to 
 his birthplace hardly a German, but a Russian, as he 
 first saw the light in Moscow, in the year 1845. 
 
 "So you are now twenty-four?" 
 
 "Last May. Are you frightened at such an age, 
 fraulein?" 
 
 "That is not so old, twenty -four^particularly for a 
 man," she protested with great earnestness. 
 
 His father, he went on, was from Konigsberg, had 
 studied philology, and when he left the university had 
 become a tutor in a distinguished Russian family he 
 was the child of poor parents, and had to take the first 
 opportunity which presented itself of earning his living. 
 So he went to Russia, where he lived for twenty years as 
 a tutor in private f am ilies, and then as a teacher in a 
 Moscow gymnasium. He married late in life, an only 
 child of German descent, who helped her middle-aged 
 
24 THE MALAD 7 OP THE CENtUR 7. 
 
 husband by a calm observance of duty and a mother's 
 love for his children. "My mother was a remarkable 
 ■woman. She had dark eyes and hair, and an enthusiastic 
 and devoted expression in her face, which made me feel 
 sad, as a child, if I looked at her for long. She spoke 
 little, and then in a curious mixture of German and Rus- 
 sian. Strangely enough, she always called herself a Ger- 
 man, and spoke Eussian like a foreigner ; but later, when 
 we went to Berlin, she discovered that she was really a 
 Eussia, and always wished she were back in Moscow, 
 never feeling at home amid her new surroundings. She 
 was a Protestant like her father, but had inherited from 
 her Eussian mother a lingering affection for the orthodox 
 faith, and she often used to go to the Golden Church of 
 the Kremlin, whose brown, holy images had a mystical 
 effect on her. She loved to sing gypsy songs in a low 
 voice. She would not teach them tons. She was always 
 very quiet, and preferred being alone with us to any 
 society or entertainment." 
 
 "When Wilhelm was four years old there came a little 
 sister, a bright, light-haired, blue-eyed creature after 
 her father's heart. She was named Luise, but she was 
 always called Blondchen. She was his only playfellow, 
 as the irritable father in Moscow cared for no acquaint- 
 ances. His father's one wish was to return to his home, 
 but for a long time the mother would not have it so. At 
 last, in the year 1858, he accomplished his wish. He 
 was then sixty-three years old, and he represented to his 
 wife that after his life of unremitting work, now in its 
 undoubted decline, he had a right to spend the last few 
 years in peace in his native land. He possessed enough 
 for his family to live on ; the children would grow and 
 get a better education than in Eussia, and above all he 
 wished to keep his Prussian nationality. The mother 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 26 
 
 yielded, and so they came to Berlin, where the father 
 bought a modest house near the Friedrich-Wilhelm gym- 
 nasium. This house was now "Wilhelm's property. 
 "We children liked Berlin very much. I soon became 
 independent and self-reliant, after school hours wander- 
 ing in the streets as much as I pleased, and used to make 
 eager explorations in all directions, coming home enrap- 
 tured when I had found a beautiful neighborhood, a 
 stately house, a statue of some general in bronze or mar- 
 ble. I used to take Blondehen by the hand, and show 
 her my discovery. The Friedrichstadt with its straight 
 streets interested us very much ; I had a fancy that the 
 houses were marshaled in battalions, as if by an .officer on 
 parade, and that when he gave the word 'March,' they 
 would suddenly walk away in step, like the soldiers on 
 the parade ground. I explained this to my sister, and 
 often when we were in our own street she would call out 
 'March!' to see if the long row of houses would not begin 
 to move. However, we liked the old part of Berlin better, 
 where the streets, with their capricious and serpent-like 
 windings, reminded us of the crooked alleys of Moscow. 
 The streamlets of the Spree exercised a powerful attrac- 
 tion over us. Blondehen thought they played hide-and- 
 seek with children, who would run through the streets to 
 search for them. They came suddenly into sight where 
 one would least expect to see them, in the yard of a 
 house in the Werderschen Market, behind an apparently 
 innocent archway on the Hausvogtei Platz, at the backs of 
 houses whose fronts betrayed no existence of any water 
 near. My sister so often longed to catch sight of the 
 oily satiny sheen of the river's light in unsuspected 
 places that she would drag me off to note her discoveries. 
 She wanted all the varying sights of the Spree, which 
 showed itself at the ends of alleys, or in courtyards or 
 
26 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 behind houses, suddenly to appear to her, so that she 
 might have the right to first name her discovery." 
 
 He was silent awhile, deep in memories of the past. 
 Then he said: "If I hare lingered over these childish 
 reminiscences it is because I have not my Blondchen any 
 longer. On one of our wandering excursions we were 
 caught in a heavy shower of rain, and became wet 
 through. My sister was taken ill with rheumatism, and 
 eight days afterward we buried her in the churchyard." 
 
 The mother soon followed Blondchen. Sorrow over 
 the child, and homesickness, combined with weak 
 health, proved too great a strain. Wilhelm remained 
 alone with the dispirited and sorrowful old father, whom 
 he never left except for his three years' military service 
 in the field. Then the father, to shorten the time of 
 separation, accompanied the army (in spite of his seventy 
 years) as an ambulance assistant. The following year 
 he died, and "Wilhelm was left alone in the world. 
 
 Loulou was not wanting in heart, and she had as much 
 feeling as it is proper for an educated German girl to 
 show. By an involuntary movement, she held out her 
 hand, which Wilhelm caught and kissed. They both 
 grew very red, and she looked wistfully at him with her 
 eyes wet. Had he understood the look, and been of a 
 bold nature, he would have clasped the girl to his breast 
 and kissed her. Her red lips would have made scarcely 
 any resistance. But the confusion of mind passed 
 quickly, the light afternoon sunshine and the sight of 
 the people passing through the breach in the castle wall 
 brought him to full consciousness, and the dangerous 
 step was not taken. Loulou recovered her sprightliness, 
 and going back to his story asked him, "So you have 
 been in a campaign?" 
 
 "Certainly," 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTUR T. %1 
 
 "Did you become an officer?" 
 
 "No, fraulein, only a 'vize-Feldwebel. ' " 
 
 "Have you fought in a battle?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, at Burkersdork, Skalitz, Koniginhof, and 
 Koniggratz. " 
 
 "That must have been frightfully interesting. And 
 have you ever killed one of the enemy?" 
 
 "Happily not. It does not fall to the lot of every 
 soldier to kill a man. He does his duty if he stands up 
 in his place ready to be killed." 
 
 "Have you any photographs of yourself in uniform?" 
 
 He looked at her surprised and said : 
 
 "No, why?" 
 
 A roguish smile, which at the last question had curled 
 at the comers of her mouth, broke into a merry laugh. 
 
 "I wanted to know whether you marched into battle 
 with your curls, or whether you sacrificed them to the 
 fatherland?" 
 
 Wilhelm was not offended, but said simply : 
 
 "Dear young lady, appearances give you the right to 
 make fun " 
 
 "Ah, don't be angry, I am ill-mannered." 
 
 "No, no, you are quite right; but, believe me, I only 
 wear my hair long so as to save myself the trouble of 
 going to the hairdresser's. If I dared imagine that I 
 should be less insupportable with a tonsure' " 
 
 "For heaven's sake, don't think of it, the curls suit 
 you very well. " She said this with a frivolity of man- 
 ner which she immediately perceived to be unsuitable, 
 and to get over her embarrassment, she jumped at 
 another subject of conversation. "So you live quite 
 alone? That strikes me as being very dreary. Still you 
 must have many friends?" 
 
 "Yes, SQ-Qalled frieads — cgmrades from the gymnt^- 
 
28 THE MALAD Y OF THE GENTUB T. 
 
 sium, from the academy, and the university. But I do 
 not count much on these superficial acquaintances — I 
 have really only one friend." 
 
 "Who ia she" 
 
 "He is called Paul Haber, and is Assistant of Chemis- 
 try at the Agricultural College." 
 
 "A nice man?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 "How old is he?" 
 
 "About a year older than I am." 
 
 "What is he like?" 
 
 Wilhelm smiled. 
 
 "I believe he is very good-looking, strong, not very 
 tall, with a fair mustache, otherwise closely shaved, and 
 with short hair, not like me ! He thinks a good deal of 
 appearance, and always knows what sort of ties are worn. 
 He dances well, and is very pleased if people take him 
 for an officer in civilian's clothes. But he is a true soul, 
 and has a heart of gold. He is clever too, practical, and 
 would do for me as much as I would do for him with all 
 my heart." 
 
 "Hardly one unpleasant word for an absent friend. 
 That is scarcely as my friends speak of me," and she 
 quietly added : "Nor as I speak of my friends. You 
 
 make me curious about Herr " 
 
 • "Haber." 
 
 "You must introduce him to us." 
 
 "He would be most happy." 
 
 Lonlou now knew more about Wilhelm than she had 
 hitherto known of any man in the world. Only on one 
 point was she unenlightened, and this she hastened to 
 clear up on the following day, when they were looking 
 for berries in the wood. 
 
 "Yqu asked me if my heart had beep touched yet. 
 
TBE MALAD Y OF THE CBNTVR t. 2§ 
 
 Would it be right if I were to ask you the same ques- 
 tion?" 
 
 "The question seems very natural to me — I can truth- 
 fully assure you I have never been in love, not even with 
 a pastor with long hair." 
 
 "And has no one been in love with you?" 
 
 Wilhelm looked at the distance, and said dreamily ; 
 
 "No; yet once " 
 
 She felt a little stab at her heart, and said : 
 
 "Quick, tell me about it." 
 
 "It is a wonderful story — it happened in Moscow." 
 
 "But you were only a child then?" 
 
 "Yes, and she who loved me was a child too. She was 
 four years old." 
 
 "Ah," said Loulou, with an involuntary sigh of relief. 
 
 "When I was about ten years old I was sitting one 
 sunny autumn afternoon in the yard of our house on a 
 little stool, and was deep in a story of pirates. Suddenly 
 a shadow fell on my book. I looked up, and saw a won- 
 derfully beautiful child before me, a long-haired, rosy- 
 cheeked little girl, who looked at me with deep shining 
 eyes, half-timidly, and shyly held her hand before her 
 mouth. I smiled in a friendly way, and called to her to 
 come nearer. She sprang close to me, at once threw her 
 arms joyfully round my neck, kissed me, sat down on my 
 knee, and said, 'Now tell me-what your name is. I am a 
 little girl, and my name is Sonia. I am not going away 
 from you. Let me go to sleep for a little. ' An old serv- 
 ant who had followed her came up and said in astonish- 
 ment, 'Well, young sir, you may be proud of yourself, 
 the child is generally so wild and rough, and with you 
 she is as tame as a kitten.' I learned from her that little 
 Sonia lived in the neighborhood, and that her aunt had 
 come to look for her in our house. She would not go 
 
30 THE MALADY OP TBE CENTURY. 
 
 away from me, and the old servant had to call her mother, 
 who only persuaded her to return home with great 
 diflSculty. She wanted to take me with her, and she was 
 miserable when they told her that my mamma would not 
 allow me. The next morning early she was there again, 
 and called to me' from the threshold, 'I am going to stay 
 with you all day, Wilhelm, the whole day.' I had to go 
 to school) however, and I told her so. She wanted to go 
 with me, and cried and sobbed when they prevented her. 
 Then her relations took her home, and I did not see her 
 again. Later I heard that the same afternoon she was 
 taken ill with diphtheria, and in her illness she cried so 
 much for me that her mother came to mine to beg her to 
 send me to her. My mother said nothing to me about 
 it, fearing I might catch the disease. Sonia died the 
 second day, and my name was the last word on her lips. 
 I cried very much when they told me, and since then I 
 have never forgotten my little Sonia." 
 
 "A strange story," said Loulou softly; "such a little 
 girl to fall in love so suddenly. Yes," she went on, "if 
 she had grown up " 
 
 She could not say more, as Wilhelm, who had come 
 near her, looked at her with wide-open, far-seeing eyes, 
 and suddenly threw his arms round her. She cried out 
 softly, and sank on his breast. "Loulou," "Wilhelm," 
 was all they said. It had happened so quickly, so uncon- 
 sciously, that they both felt as if they were awaking 
 from a dream, as Loulou a minute later freed herself 
 from his burning lips and encircling arms, and Wilhelm, 
 confused and hardly master of his senses, stood before 
 her. They turned silently homeward. She trembled all 
 over and did not dare to take his arm. He inwardly 
 reproached himself, yet he felt very happy in spite of it. 
 Then, before they had reached the summit of the castle 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 31 
 
 hill, he gathered all his courage together and said 
 anxiously : 
 
 "Can you forgive me, Loulou? I loye you so much." 
 
 "I love you too, Wilhelm," she answered, and 
 stretched out her hand to him. 
 
 "Dare I speak to your mother, my own Loulou?" 
 ■whispered he into her ear. 
 
 "Not here, "Wilhelm," she said quickly, "not here. 
 You do not know my parents well enough yet. "Wait 
 till we are in Berlin." 
 
 "I will do as you like," sighed he, and took leave of 
 her with an eloquent glance, as they reached the hotel. 
 
 On this evening a quantity of curious things happened, 
 , which "Wilhelm so far had not observed in spite of his 
 studies in natural science. He could not touch his 
 dinner, and Herr and Frau Ellrioh's voices, against all 
 the laws of acoustics, seemed to come from the far dis- 
 tance, and several minutes elapsed before the sounds 
 reached his ears, although he sat close to the speakers. 
 The waiters and hotel guests looked odd, and seemed to 
 swim in a kind of rosy twilight. In the sky there 
 seemed to be three times as many stars as usual. "U'hen 
 the EUrichs had withdrawn he went toward midnight 
 alone into the fir woods, and heard unknown birds 
 sing, caught strange and magic harmonies in the rustling 
 . of the branches, and felt as if he walked on air. He 
 went to bed in the gray of early dawn, after writing from 
 his overflowing heart the following letter to his friend 
 Haber in Berlin : 
 
 "My Deabest Paul: I am happy as I never thought of 
 being happy. I love an unspeakably beautiful sweet 
 brown maiden, and I really think she loves me too. Do 
 not ask me to describe her. No words or brush could 
 do it. Tou will see her and worship her. Oh, Paul, I 
 
32 THE MALAD T OF TEE CENTUB Y. 
 
 could shout and jump or cry like a child. It is too 
 foolish, and yet so unspeakably splendid. I can hardly 
 understand how the dull, stupid people in this house can 
 sleep so indifferently while she is under the same roof. 
 If only you were here! I can hardly bear my happiness 
 alone. I write this in great haste. Always your 
 
 "WlLHBLM. 
 
 ]Four days later the post brought this answer from his 
 friend : 
 
 "Well, you are done for, that is certain, my dear "Wil- 
 helm. Confound it, you have gone in for it with a 
 vengeance! I always thought that when you did catch 
 fire, you would give no end of a blaze. So all your phi- 
 losophy of abnegation, all your contempt for appearance 
 go for nothing. What is your sweet brown maiden but a 
 charming appearance! Nevertheless you have fallen 
 completely in love with her, for which I wish you happi- 
 ness with all my heart. I do not doubt that she loves 
 you, because I should have been in love with you long 
 ago if I had been a sweet brown maiden, you shockingly 
 beautiful man. One thing is very like you ; you say no 
 word on what would most interest a Philistine like 
 myself, viz., the worldly circumstances of the adored one. 
 I must know her name, her relations, her descent. For 
 all this you have naturally no curiosity. A name is smoke 
 and empty sound. Now don't let your love go too far — 
 sleep, and take care of your appetite, and keep a corner 
 in your perilously full heart for your true 
 
 "Paul." - 
 
 Wilhelm smiled as he read these lines in the strong 
 symmetrical handwriting of his friend, and hastened to 
 send him the news he desired. In the meanwhile his 
 happiness was continual and increasing, and nothing 
 troubled it but the thought of the coming separation. 
 These two innocent children could hide their love as 
 little as the sun his light. They were always together, 
 
TMB MALADY OF TEE CENTUBT. 33 
 
 their eyes always fixed on one another, their hands as 
 often as possible clasped in each other's. All the people 
 in the hotel noticed it, and were pleased about it, so 
 natural did it seem that this handsome couple should be 
 united by love. The chambermaid, rosy Bertha, saw 
 what was going on with her sly peasant's eye, and by 
 way of making herself agreeable used to whisper to him 
 where he could find the young lady when she happened 
 to meet him on the staircase. Wilhelm good-naturedly 
 forgave the girl her obtrusiveness. Only Herr Ellrich 
 saw nothing. In his foreign newspapers, in the blue 
 smoke from his cigars, in the clouds of powder from his 
 gun, he found nothing which could enlighten him as to 
 the two young people's beautiful secret. 
 
 Frau Ellrich certainly had more knowledge than that. 
 In spite of her. correspondence and her long afternoon 
 naps, she retained enough observation to see the condi- 
 tion of things pretty clearly. She waited for a confes- 
 sion from Loulou, and as this did not come soon enough 
 for the impatience of her mother's heart, she tried a 
 loving question. After a warm embrace from the girl, a 
 few tears, a great many kisses, the mother and daughter 
 understood each other. Wilhelm had pleased Frau Ellrich 
 very much, and she had no objection to raise, but she 
 could make no answer on her own responsibility, as she 
 knew the views of her husband on the marriage of his 
 only child, and after a few days she made him a cautious 
 communication. Herr Ellrich did not take it badly, but 
 as a practical man of the world he wished to give the 
 feelings of the young people opportunity to bear the 
 trials of separation, and for the present thought a decis- 
 ion useless. The projected visit to Ostend was hastened 
 by some ten days. At dinner he made his decision 
 known, adding, "You have pleased yourselves for three 
 
34 THE MALADT OF TEE CENTURY. 
 
 weeks, and now I want you to wait so long to please me. " 
 Wilhelm felt bitterly grieved that no one invited him to 
 go to the fashionable watering-place, and Loulou even 
 did not seem particularly miserable. The fact was, that 
 at the bottom of her not very sentimental nature, she did 
 not take the leaving of the Schloss hotel as a matter of 
 great importance, and Ostend with its balls and concerts, 
 its casino and lively society, was not in the least alarming 
 to her. She found the opportunity that evening of con- 
 soling Wilhelm, and promised him always to think about 
 him, and to write to him very often, and said she could 
 not be very miserable about their separation, as she felt 
 so happy at the thought of meeting him again in Berlin. 
 The following morning they made a pilgrimage to the 
 castle, the woods, the neighboring valley, to all the places 
 where thej"- had been so happy during the last fortnight. 
 The sky was blue, the pine woods quiet, the air balmy, 
 and the beautiful outline of the mountains unfolded itself 
 far away in the depth of the horizon. Wilhelm drank 
 in the quiet, lovely picture, and felt that a piece of his 
 life was woven into this harmony of nature, and that 
 these surroundings had become part of his innermost 
 "ego," and would be mingled with his dearest feelings 
 now and ever. His love, and these mountains and val- 
 leys, and Loulou, the mist and perfume of the pine trees, 
 were forever one, and the pantheistic devotion which he 
 felt in these changing flights of his mind with the soul of 
 nature grew to an almost unspeakable emotion, as he said 
 in a trembling voice to Loulou : 
 
 "It is all so wonderful, the mountains and the woods, 
 and the summer-time and our love. And in a moment it 
 will be gone. Shall we ever be so happy again ? If we 
 could only stay here always, the same people in the 
 midst of the same nature!" 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 35 
 
 She said nothing, but let him take her answer from 
 her fresh lips. 
 
 They left by the Oflenberg railway station in the after- 
 noon. Loulou's eyes were wet. Frau Ellrioh smiled in 
 a motherly way at Wilhelm, and Herr Ellrich took his 
 hand in a friendly manner and said : 
 
 "We shall see you in Berlin at the end of September." 
 
 As the train disappeared down the Gutach valley, it 
 seemed to Wilhelm as if all the light of heaven had gone 
 out, and the world had become empty. He stayed a few 
 days longer at the Schloss hotel, and cherished the remem- 
 brance of his time there with Loulou, dreaming for hours 
 in the dearly-loved spots. In this tender frame of mind 
 he received another letter from Paul Haber, who wrote 
 thus: 
 
 "Deahest Wilhelm: Your letter of the 13th astonished 
 me so much that it took me several days to recover. 
 Fraulein Loulou Ellrich, and you write so lightly! 
 Don't you know that Fraulein Ellrich is one of the first 
 'parties' in Berlin? That the little god of love will make 
 you a present of two million thalers? You have shot 
 your bird, and I am most happy that for once fortune 
 should bring it to the hand of a fellow Jike yourself. In 
 the hope that as a millionaire you will still be the same 
 to me, I am your heartily congratulatory 
 
 "Paul." 
 
 Wilhelm was painfully surprised. What a mercy that 
 the letter had not come sooner. It mi ght have influenced 
 his manner so much as to spoil his relations with Loulou. 
 Now that the Ellrichs were gone, it could for the moment 
 do no harm. 
 
36 TEE MALADY OF THE GENTUBT. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 VANITIES 9F VANITIES. 
 
 A BEiLLiANT Company filled the Ellrichs' drawing- 
 rooms. These lofty rooms, thrown open to the guests, 
 were more like the reception-rooms in a great castle than 
 those of a bourgeois townhouse in Berlin. 
 
 The councilor's drawing-rooms occupied the first floor 
 of the largest house in the Lannestrasse. The carpeted 
 staircase was decorated with plants and candelabra, and 
 the guests were shown into a well-lighted anteroom, and 
 on through folding doors into the large square drawing- 
 room. The walls were covered with gold-framed mirrors 
 reflecting the great marble stove, with its Chinese bronze 
 ornaments; the Venetian glass chandelier, the painting 
 on the ceiling representing Apollo in his sun-chariot, 
 while the rows of pretty gilt chairs in red silk, the palm 
 trees in the corner, and the wax candles in the brass 
 sconces on the walls were repeated in endless perspective. 
 On the right was a little room not intended for dancing, 
 thickly carpeted, with old Gobelin tapestry on all the 
 walls and doors; inlaid tables, ebony tables, and silk, 
 satin, and tapestry in every conceivable form. A glass 
 door, half-covered by & portiere, gave a glimpse into a 
 well-lighted winter garden, full of fantastia plants in 
 beds, bushes and pots. On the left of the large drawing- 
 room was the dining-room, with white varnished walls 
 divided into squares by gold beading, and decorated by 
 a number of bright pictures of symbolic female figures 
 
TMS! MAlADt OS' TSE CENTURY. 37 
 
 representing various kinds of wine. A gigantic porcelain 
 stove filled one end of the room^ and a sideboard tbe 
 other. Through the dining-room was a smoking-room 
 furnished with Smyrna carpets, low divans, chairs in 
 mother-of-pearl, and from the ceiling hung a number of 
 colored glass lanterns. This was intended for old gen- 
 tlemen who wished to enjoy the latest scandal, and a 
 card table was arranged for them with an open box of 
 cigars. 
 
 The decoration of these rooms was handsome without 
 being overloaded, and tasteful without being odd or ob- 
 trusive, qualities which one does not often find in Ger- 
 many, even in princes' palaces. A fine perception would 
 perhaps have felt the want of smilarity in style in the 
 numerous rooms, giving them the character of a museum 
 or curiosity shop, rather than that of the harmonious 
 dwelling of educated people of a particular period, and 
 in a certain country. Herr Ellrich was, however, quite 
 innocent of this imperfection. He had not chosen any- 
 thing himself. Everything had come from Paris, and 
 was the selection of a Parisian decorator, and one of the 
 proudest moments in the councilor's life was on the oc- 
 casion of the ball he gave on his daughter's return from 
 England, when Count Benedetti, the French ambassador, 
 said to him : "One would imagine oneself in an historical 
 house in the Faubourg St. Germain, c'est tout a fait 
 Farisien, llonsieur, tout a fait Parisien." 
 
 The Ellrichs' party was to celebrate the New Tear. 
 Even the richest of the members of the German bour- 
 geoisie is obliged to be educated gradually to the cul- 
 tured usages of society, and are still far from accom- 
 plished in the art of easy familiarity. It finds in its 
 homely culture no hard-and-fast traditions by which it 
 can regulate its conduct, and by a deficiency of observa- 
 
38 TBE MALADY OF TUB CBNTUBY. 
 
 tion, or by the want of development of the finer feelings, 
 is only imperfectly helped by foreign or aristocratic 
 manners. Herr EUrich, who loved splendor and expense, 
 felt that the New Tear must be celebrated by rejoicings, 
 and he had therefore invited his whole circle of acquaint- 
 ances to this New Tear's party to rejoice with him. 
 
 In the third room the councilor's wife sat near the 
 fireplace in a claret-colored silk dress, ostrich feathers 
 in her hair, and resplendent with diamonds. Neverthe- 
 less there was nothing stiff in her demeanor, and she was 
 friendly and good-natured as ever. Grouped around her 
 in armchairs were several ladies, who in their own judg- 
 ment had passed the age of dancing. Among them were 
 the wives of civil officers, in whose dresses a practiced 
 and capable eye might detect a simplicity and old-fash- 
 ioned taste, while the wives of certain financiers were 
 gorgeous in their fashionable costumes and the brilliancy 
 of their ornaments. The former felt compensated by the 
 consciousness of their rank and worth for any deficiency 
 in mere outward signs of grandeur, the latter tried by 
 the glitter of their pearls, diamonds, silks, and laces to 
 appear easy and fearlessly familiar. Among the men, the 
 soldiers had everything in their favor. The orders which 
 the civilians wore fastened on the lapels of their dress 
 coats were hopelessly thrown in the shade by the epau- 
 lettes of the officers, and the medals decorating their 
 colored uniforms. 
 
 Herr Ellrich made a good host, passing quickly but 
 quietly from one group to another. His bright blue 
 eyes were cold and tired-looking as ever, and took no 
 part in the rather hanal smile which played over his lips 
 as if the accustomed expression of indifference could 
 never be obliterated. The indolent lines about his mouth 
 were not those of temperament, because if he spoke to a 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 39 
 
 Finance Minister or other notability, although there was 
 no arrogance in his manner, it might be noticed that the 
 instinctive consciousness of his own millions never left 
 him. He had a naturally honorable disposition, which 
 showed itself in every line, and made any cringing an 
 impossibility. The guests praised everything, especially 
 the costly refreshments handed by the servants in fault- 
 less liveries. 
 
 The dancing-room was a cheerful sight. Girls and 
 young married women flew round over the polished floor 
 on the arms of well-dressed men, mostly officers, spinning 
 and whirling round to Offenbach's dance music, led with 
 bacchanalian fire by a small but distinguished conductor 
 from a red covered platform. It was exciting to watch 
 the rows of couples as they waltzed wildly round, and to 
 the dazzled sight it seemed like a glimpse in a dream into 
 Mohammed's Paradise; as if in his wonderful mirror he 
 had reflected the slim figures of the dancers, with their 
 flashing blue or black eyes, their burning cheeks, their 
 parted lips, their bosoms rising and falling, the scene 
 moving in ever-changing perspective; a sight gaj- and 
 wonderful as the freakish games of a crowd of elves. 
 
 The untiring energy of the dancers was wonderful. 
 During the pauses a girl could hardly sit for a moment 
 to rest, but a strong arm would whirl her away again in 
 the vortex of the dance. A few old gentlemen stood in 
 the recesses of the windows and in the doorways, with 
 the quiet enjoyment of those who look on, and among 
 them was Wilhelm Eynhardt. He stood with his back 
 against a window-frame, almost enveloped in the flowing 
 red silk curtain, so that s_carcely any one noticed him. 
 His curls had been shorn, and his thick dark hair only 
 just waved, otherwise nothing was changed in his appear- 
 ance since the Hornberg days. His black eyes wandered 
 
40 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 thoughtfully over the changing picture before him. The 
 expression on his face, now slightly melancholy, bore 
 more resemblance to that of a young Christian devotee 
 than to that of the beautiful Antinous, and the intoxica- 
 tion of the gayety around him appealed so little to him, 
 that not once did he beat his foot, nod his head, or move 
 a muscle in time to the satanic music of the Parisian 
 enchanter. 
 
 For the first time in his life Wilhelm found himself in 
 fashionable society, and for the first time he wore even- 
 ing dress. Certainly to look at him no one would have 
 guessed it, for there was no awkwardness in his manner, 
 not a trace of the anxiety and inability to do the right 
 thing, which in most men placed amid new surroundings 
 and in unaccustomed dress would have been so apparent. 
 He wore his evening dress with the same natural self- 
 possession as one of the gray-haired diplomats. The 
 secret of this demeanor was the sense of equality he felt 
 toward the others. It never occurred to him to think, 
 "How do I look? Am I like everyone else?" and so he 
 was as free from constraint in his dress coat as in his 
 student's jacket. He had even the gracefulness which 
 every man has in the flower of his age, if he allows the 
 unconscious impulses of his limbs to assert themselves, 
 and does not spoil the freedom of their play by confusing 
 efforts to improve them. The company did not discon- 
 cert him either, in spite of their epaulettes and orders, 
 and titles thick as falling snowflakes. An impression 
 received in his boyhood came back to him, in which he, 
 among strange people in a foreign land, had been accus- 
 tomed by his father to consider himself as an onlooker. 
 In Moscow he had often met aristocratic people, with as 
 thick epaulettes, and more orders than these, but at the 
 sight of them he had always thought, "They are only 
 
tSE MALAbt OF THE GENTTTRt. 41 
 
 barbarous Bussians, and I am a German, although I have 
 no gold lace on my coat." From that time he had 
 always in his mind connected the use of uniforms, as out- 
 ward signs of bravery, with the conception of an ostenta- 
 tious and showy barbarism which a civilized European 
 might afford to laugh at. He had gone further; he 
 regarded rank and titles as only a kind of clothing of cir- 
 cumstances, which the State lends to certain persons for 
 useful purposes, just as the wardrobe-keeper at a theater 
 gives out costumes to the supers. He was so convinced 
 on this point that he felt sure it was only the stupid 
 yokel at the back of the gallery who could look with any 
 admiration on a human being merely because he struts 
 about the stage in purple and gold tinsel. 
 
 Wilhelm did not give the impression of a man who was 
 enjoying himself. His discontented gaze persistently 
 followed one dark head adorned with a yellow rose. 
 
 Loulou, for of course it was she, wore a cream-colored 
 silk crepon dress. Her little feet in pale yellow satin 
 shoes played at hide-and-seek under her skirt. She 
 looked charming, and seemed very happy. She danced 
 with a magic lightness and gracefulness, and she showed 
 an endurance which had elicited applause and acknowl- 
 edgments from her partners. People were delighted with 
 her, and she hardly allowed herself time to breathe, for 
 as the privileged daughter of the house, she wandered 
 from one partner to another, trying hard to offend as few 
 of her admirers as possible by a refusal. But "Wilhelm 
 had no cause for jealousy, as her sparkling eyes continu- 
 ally sought his, and as often as she danced near him she 
 gave him an electrifying glance and a sweet smile, telling 
 him that he might now hold his head high like a con- 
 queror, or humble himself with languishing sentiment, 
 that for her there was only one man in the room, one 
 
42 TBE MALADY OP THE CENTURY. 
 
 man in all the mirrors, the handsome youth in the win- 
 dow recess between the red silk curtains. In the short 
 pauses she came over to him and spoke a word or two, 
 always the same sort of thing: "Ah! how So-and-so wor- 
 ries me. What a pity that you don't dance, it would be 
 
 so lovely. Oh! if only you knew how Fraulein S 
 
 admires you, and how angry all the ladies are that you 
 won't be introduced to them." And Wilhelm thanked 
 her with the same quiet smile, took her fingers when he 
 could and pressed them, and stayed in his window corner. 
 Presently Loulou went toward some one in the room, 
 who looked back at the same time toward Wilhelm. It 
 was his friend Paul Haber, for whom he had obtained an 
 invitation. Paul looked at him proudly and gayly. His 
 short hair was beautifully cut' and brushed, his thick 
 blonde mustache curled in the most approved fashion. 
 In his buttonhole he wore the decoration of the 1866 war 
 medal, and when he saw himself in the glass he could say 
 with perfect self-satisfaction, that he looked just as much 
 like an officer as the men in uniform, not even excepting 
 those of the Guard. Since the campaign of 1866, in 
 which Paul had served in the same company as "Wilhelm, 
 they had been firm friends, and on this evening he wished 
 to offer his respects before the manifest possessor of her 
 heart, to one of the greatest heiresses in Berlin, also his 
 gratitude for his introduction to this splendid house, 
 and his tender feelings for his comrade. In spite of 
 being occupied with his partners he had time to observe 
 "Wilhelm, and the sight of him standing alone in the win- 
 dow recess immediately cooled the nervous excitement 
 wrought by the crowd of strangers. These society 
 gatherings were what he delighted in, and he thought it 
 his duty to try to model his friend in the same way. It 
 was not without a struggle with himself that he let a 
 dance go by and went over to where "Wilhelm stood. 
 
TSB MALAUT OF TBE CENTURY. 4:J 
 
 "What a great pity it is that you don't dance. " 
 
 "Fraulein Ellrich has just said the same thing, " an- 
 swered Wilhelm, smiling a little. 
 
 "And she is quite right. You are like a thirsty man 
 beside a delicious spring, and are not able to drink. It 
 is pure Tantalus." 
 
 "Your analogy does not hold good. What I am look- 
 ing at does not give me the sensation of a delicious 
 spring, and does not make me thirsty." 
 
 Paul looked at him surprised. "Still you are a man of 
 flesh and blood, and the sight of all these charming girls 
 must give you pleasure." 
 
 "You know I am engaged to only one girl here, and 
 her I have seen under more favorable circumstances." 
 
 "Well! She probably does not always wear such beau- 
 tiful dresses, and if she were not excited by the music 
 and dancing her eyes might possibly not sparkle so 
 much ; that is what I mean about its being a pity that 
 you don't dance." 
 
 "That is not it. I have seen this beautiful girl on 
 other occasions engaged in the highest intellectual occu- 
 pation, and I am sorry to see her sink to this sort of 
 thing." 
 
 "Now the difference is defined. I was silly enough 
 till now to think that even in a drawing-room one saw 
 something of the highest form of humanity, and that 
 aristocratic society is the flower of civilization." 
 
 "Those are opinions which are spread by clever men of 
 the world to excuse their shallow behavior in their own 
 eyes and in the eyes of others. What these people come 
 here^for is to satisfy their lower inclinations — you must 
 see this for yourself ; if you do not allow yourself to be 
 influenced by these pretentious, ceremonious forms, at 
 least try to discover the reality that lies beneath them. 
 
44 THE MALAD 7 OF THE CENTUS. T. 
 
 What you call the height of civilization seems to me the 
 lowest. Do you understand ? I feel that cultured people 
 in their drawing-room society are in the condition of 
 savages, and even allied to animals." 
 
 "Bravo, Wilhelm! go on; this is most edifying." 
 
 "You may jeer, but in spite of you I believe that this 
 is so. Try to discover what is going on in the brains of 
 all these people at this moment. Their highest power of 
 activity of mind, which makes men of them, slumbers.' 
 They do not think, they only feel. The old gentlemen 
 enjoy themselves with cigars, ices, the prospect of sup- 
 per; the young men seek pleasant sensations in dancing 
 with beautiful girls. The ladies seek in their partners 
 and admirers to kindle feelings and desires — vanity, self- 
 seeking, pleasure of the senses, gratification of the palate, 
 in short, all the grosser tastes. All that is not only like 
 savages, but like animals. They are merry and con- 
 tented at the prospect of a savory meal, and they are 
 fond of playing tricks on each other — both sexes chaff 
 and tease constantly. I believe that the development of 
 our larger brain is the intellectual work of man during 
 hundreds and thousands of years, and it would gratify 
 me to see it raised to a still greater state of activity." 
 
 "I am listening to you so quietly that I don't inter- 
 rupt you — even when you talk absurd nonsense. How 
 can one look doleful and disagreeable if honest, highly 
 constituted men indulge in conversation with each other 
 for a few hours after hard work? I delight in this harm- 
 less enjoyment, in which people forget all the cares of 
 the day. Here people shake off the burdens of their 
 vocation and the accidents of their lot. Here am I, a 
 poor devil enjoying the society of the minister's friends, 
 and admiring the same beautiful eyes as he does." 
 
 "The harmless enjoyments of which you speak are 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 45 
 
 exactly the signs by which one may recognize the vegeta- 
 tive lives of the savage and the animal. A serene enjoy- 
 ment is what naturally appertains to the lower forms of 
 life when they are satiated, and in no danger of being 
 tracked for their lives. The oldest drawings on the sub- 
 ject always represent men with a foolish serene smile. 
 So the privilege of development is to rejoice in a satisfied 
 stomach and untroubled security, and all through his life 
 to know no other care or want but comfort of body." 
 
 "At last I understand you. The artist's ideal is the 
 'Penseroso,' and in order to recognize the highly devel- 
 oped man he must be furnished with a proof of his 
 identity, so that the meaning of the creature may not be 
 lost to sight for a moment. " 
 
 "You may put it in the joking way, but I really mean 
 it. I don't forget how much of the animal is still in us. 
 Of course one wants relaxation. But I don't want to look 
 on while animals feed. Eecovery after hard intellectual 
 work means, in your sense, the return for some hours to 
 animal life. Now I prefer the painful ascent of mankind 
 to the comfortable, backward slide into animal nature. 
 If I wished to pose as a statue for you it would have to 
 be 'Penseroso' while eating or drinking, or with a foolish, 
 smiling mask indicating animal contentment." 
 
 "Very well. Let us also abolish the public announce- 
 ment of eating, drinking, dancing and other perform- 
 ances, as the remnants of barbarism or of original animal 
 nature, and let us introduce the universal duty of philos- 
 ophy. A soiree of Berlin bankers — sub specie csierni- 
 tatis — that would do very well, and you must take out a 
 patent for it." 
 
 "Students' jokes, my friend, are not arguments. I 
 am quite in earnest in what I say, and I feel melancholy 
 when I see Loulou and the others playing about like 
 thoughtless animals." 
 
46 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 "I am going to speak seriously about the joke now. 
 and show you another side to the question. Is it not in 
 the highest degree foolish of a young man without posi- 
 tion, to set against him men who carry the sign of recog- 
 nition from their king, and the esteem of their fellow- 
 citizens? Cannot the example of the consideration they 
 enjoy spur us to endeavors to attain the same? Cannot 
 your acquaintance with them be made useful?" 
 
 Wilhelm shook his head. "No, I prefer all these dis- 
 tinguished men when they are doing their own work. 
 They do not interest me here, because thej' have laid 
 aside all the characteristics which make distinguished 
 people of them. I think they lower their dignity when 
 I see these statesmen, heroes of campaign, representatives 
 of the people, laughing, joking, and playing together like 
 any little shopkeeper after closing hours." 
 
 Paul could not give an immediate answer, and he had 
 not time to think of one; as the music stopped the dance 
 ended, and many people moved toward them, making 
 further conversation impossible. The gentlemen came 
 out of the drawing-room and smoking-rooms and mingled 
 with the dancers. Paul made his way neatly through 
 the crowd toward a fresh, pretty, but otherwise insignifi- 
 cant-looking girl, to whom he had paid a great deal of 
 attention, and with whom he wished to dance again. 
 "Wilhelm looked for Loulou, whom he found near her 
 mother. Frau Ellrich spoke to him in a friendly way. 
 "Are you enjoying yourself?" she asked, with a kind, 
 almost tender expression on her melancholy face. AYil- 
 helm would not have grieved her for worlds, so for all 
 answer he took her soft hand and kissed it. To keep him- 
 self from speaking the truth he was silent. From the 
 four doors of the room servants now appeared bearing 
 large silver trays covered with glasses of champagne. 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 47 
 
 Loulou stood by the chimney-piece and gave several 
 forced and absent-toinded an'swers to the young man. 
 She followed with her eyes the minute-hand on the clock, 
 and at a slight sign from her little hand a servant came up 
 to her. She took the glass in which the wine sparkled, 
 and at the same moment, the hands of the clock pointing 
 to twelve, she cried loudly like a child, "Health to the 
 New Year! Health to the New Year!" Every guest 
 took a glass, crying joyfully, "Health to the New 
 Year!" and clinked his glass against his neighbor's. 
 Loulou went in search of her father to drink with him; 
 after he had given her a friendly kiss on her rosy cheek, he 
 regarded her with fatherly pride. She went to her mother, 
 taking her in her arms and kissing her on both cheeks. The 
 third person whom she sought was Wilhelm. They could 
 not exchange words, but her eyes sought his and they both 
 flashed a mutual and joyous recognition. Her brown eyes 
 had said to his black ones, "May this be a year of happi- 
 ness for us," and the black eyes had understood the brown 
 ones in their flight and thanked them. The gay tumult 
 lasted for several minutes, the buzz of talking, the clatter 
 of glasses, and the coming and going of servants. Then 
 suddenly an invisible hand seemed to lay hold of the gen- 
 eral disorder, ruling and directing it, dissolving groups 
 who had chanced together, here driving them forward, 
 there arranging them backward. According to some fixed 
 law, without delaying or waiting, an orderly procession 
 was formed into the dining-room. The invisible spirit 
 hand which possessed all this power was thrice-holy eti- 
 quette; the law which brought order out of confusion, 
 and gave to everyone his place, was that of precedence. 
 Paul and "Wilbelm, these strangers to drawing-room cus- 
 toms, were new to the performance. A smile flitted over 
 Wilhelm's face, over Paul's came a reverent expression. 
 
48 TUE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 What he saw made a distinct impression of wonderment 
 on him. The constraint ceased immediately the guests 
 had taken their places at the table. The scent of the 
 flowers vied with the perfumes worn by the women and 
 could not overcome them. The crystal glasses sparkled 
 in the light of the wax candles, the jewels, and the bright 
 eyes round the table. The servants poured out the noble 
 Ehine wine, the celebrated Burgundy, the elegant Bor- 
 deaux, and the mischievous Champagne, whose colored 
 embodiment was reflected on the white hands of the 
 guests, and carried their imaginations away in its flight ' 
 from gray reality to the immortal land of rosy dreams. 
 
 The meal lasted a long time, then a few of the guests 
 rose; the older ones, who had principally chatted, 
 played, and smoked before midnight, now withdrew, if 
 they had no daughers to chaperon; the young people, 
 however, went back to the dancing-room, the musicians 
 fiddled anew as if thej' were possessed, and an hour's 
 cotillion was begun, the pretty quick-moving figures be- 
 ing led by a lieutenant of the Guards, who seemed as 
 proud of the honor as if he were commanding on a battle- 
 field. Loulou, who had gone back to the dance, had 
 begged Wilhelm in vain to take part at least in the 
 cotillion, where he need not dance much. She had assured 
 him that he would be more decorated than any other man 
 in the room, and would have more orders, ribbons, and 
 wreaths given him than all the lieutenants put together; 
 but even the prospect of such a triumph could not make 
 him ambitious, and for the first time this evening the 
 beautiful excited girl left him looking out of humor, and 
 glanced at him in a way which was not merely sorrowful 
 but reproachful. Paul, on the other hand, was happy. 
 He kept more than ever near the pretty insignificant girl 
 With wiom he had danced so much, and the good-hearted. 
 
TSE MALAD t OF TSe CEMTtTR t. 4d 
 
 fellow did not feel in the least jealous when, in the long 
 pause of the cotillion, his partner went to apeak to his 
 friend who had stood lonely for so long, and had hardly 
 enjoyed himself at all. Paul was suflBciently decorated; 
 he got a sufficient number of glances from girls' bright 
 eyes to be quite contented, he paid a sufficient number of 
 compliments, great and small, for which he was thanied 
 by sweet smiles, and perhaps with tiny sighs, and he had 
 the feeling that he had lived in every fiber of his being, 
 and that his time had been marvelously well employed. 
 He could have stayed for several hours longer, and was 
 quite astonished when toward four o'clock the tireless 
 young people's parents put an end to the evening by 
 their departure. 
 
 As Wilhelm came up to Loulou she had ceased to look 
 cross. Near her stood the hero of the cptillion, the lieu- 
 tenant of the Guards, covered with the little favors the 
 ladies had given him. But that did not prevent her say- 
 ing in quite a tender voice, "I shall see you soon again, 
 shall I not?" and Wilhelm pressed her little hand 
 warmly. 
 
 In the hall Wilhelm and Paul had to distribute gratui- 
 ties to the waiting servants, a custom (unknown in 
 France and England) which dishonors German hospital- 
 ity, and a minute later they found themselves outside in 
 the starlit night. It blew icy cold over the Thiergarten; 
 across the darkness the snow-laden trees and the closely- 
 cropped grass looked feebly white. Wilhelm, shivering, 
 wrapped himself in his fur coat. Paul, on the other 
 hand, did not seem to mind the cold; he was still too hot 
 with the excitement of the evening. The waltz rang so 
 clearly in his ears that he could have danced over the 
 snow-covered pavement, and the lights and mirrors of 
 the ballroom shone so clearly before his eyes, and 
 
50 TUB MALADY OF TEE CMNTUBT. 
 
 enveloped the dancers with such reality that the desert 
 of the silent, faintly-lit Koniggratzer Strasse was alive 
 as if by ghosts. He recalled to his mind the whole even- 
 ing, and in the fullness of his heart exclaimed, "Wilhelm, 
 I hope never to forget this New Year's Eve." Wilhelm 
 looked at him astonished. "I do not share in your feel- 
 ings. How can a glance at such vanity in thinking men 
 give one any feeling except that of pity?" 
 
 "I am not hurt at the hardness of your judgment, be- 
 cause you don't understand what I am saying. You 
 know very well I am not frivolous, and that I have 
 learned long ago the seriousness of life. But at the same 
 time I value the entree into the best society of Berlin for 
 what it is worth. Now the opportunity has come, and I 
 shall make it useful." 
 
 "Paul, you grieve me. A tuft-hunter talks like that." 
 
 "What do you call a tuft-hunter? — if you mean a man 
 who does not want to hide his light under a bushel, I say 
 yes, I am one, and I think that is entirely honorable. I 
 don't want to get on by means of any false pretenses, but 
 by honest work. What is the use of capability if no one 
 notices it? If I can inspire the right people with this 
 conviction, lam in luck. There is no injustice in that." 
 
 "I thought you had more pride." 
 
 "Dear Wilhelm, don't speak to me of pride. That is 
 all right for you. If my father had left me a house in 
 the Kochstrasse, I would snap my fingers at everyone, 
 and go my own waj^ as it pleased me best. Or put it 
 the other way round, if you were the middle son in a 
 Brandenburg family of nine, I tell you that you would 
 attribute a certain importance to seeking the favor of in- 
 fluential people. You would become as frivolous as I, " 
 added he after a little pause, in which he gave a gentle 
 clap on Wilhelm's shoulder. 
 
THE MALADt OF THE CENTURY. 51 
 
 "Tou ought not to throw my father's house in my 
 teeth; you know how I live." 
 
 Paul tried to interrupt him. 
 
 "Let me finish. A raaia of your capability can nowa- 
 days allow himself the luxury of independence and manly 
 self-reliance, even if he is one of the nine children of a 
 poor farmer; if one has few wants, one is rich whatever 
 one's fortune." 
 
 "That is all very well. I know your philosophy of 
 abnegation, audit is a matter of temperament. I am not 
 in favor of starving myself when there is a steaming dish 
 before me. The world is full of good things, and I have 
 a taste for them; why should I not reach out my hand?" 
 
 "And so you would dance in the present for what it 
 would win you in the future." 
 
 "Why not? It is a very usual way to gain a usual 
 end." 
 
 "And the modern society household is the result." 
 
 "What would become of a poor fellow without these 
 merciful arrangements for introductions to nice girls? 
 Is one to advertise?" 
 
 "So you thought of this in the midst of your poetical 
 soiree?" 
 
 "Certainly. You are provided for. Don't think ill 
 of me if I follow your example." 
 
 Wilhelm felt the blood flow to his cheeks. He per- 
 ceived his friend's evident meaning. 
 
 "Paul! A fortune-hunter!" 
 
 "You may talk. Luck flew to you without your lifting 
 a finger to attract it. Other people must help them- 
 selves. Fortune-hunter! That name was invented by 
 hysterical girls whose heads are turned by silly novels. 
 These absurd creatures wish in their childish vanity to 
 be married merely for their beautiful eyes. I should like 
 
53 i'JBSl MAJLADt Op THE cmttfkT. 
 
 to ask such a girl whether she would marry a man merely 
 for his beautiful eyes! I have no patience with such 
 nonsense. Suppose a poor man, who is capable and 
 clever, acknowledges in a straightforward way that he is 
 trying to win the hand of a rich woman. He need not 
 upbraid himself about anything, for he gives as much as 
 he receives. What do people want from the world? 
 Happiness. That is the aim of my life, just as it is the 
 aim of the rich woman's. She has money, and for happi- 
 ness she lacks love ; I have love, and for happiness I lack 
 money. We make an equal exchange of what we own. 
 It is the most beautiful supplement to a dual incomplete- 
 ness. " 
 
 "It is in this way then that you would offer what you 
 call love to a rich girl! A love cleverly conducted, care- 
 fully mapped out— a love which one could control, and on 
 no account offer to a poor girl. " 
 
 "Eubbish! The love of every man who is in his right 
 mind is carefully planned. Would you be in love with a 
 king's daughter? It is to be hoped not. You could keep 
 out of the way of the king's daughter. Why can I not 
 keep out of the way of the poor girl?" 
 
 "That means that the princess' rank is as much a 
 hindrance to love as the poverty of the work-girl." 
 
 "I swear to you, Wilhelm, that if I were as rich, or as 
 independent as you, I would not think of a dowry. But 
 I am a poor devil.. If I were so unfortunate as to fall in 
 love with a poor girl, I would try to get the better of the 
 feeling. I would say to myself, better endure a short 
 time of unhappiness and disappointment than that she 
 and I should be condemned through life to the keenest 
 want, which, with prosaic certainty, would smother 
 love." 
 
 While Paul argued with such ardor and earnestness, he 
 
THE MALADY OF TEE GENTUBT. 53 
 
 was thinking all the time of Fraulein Malvine Marker, 
 the pretty girl with whom he had danced so often, and 
 he fondled tenderly with his right hand the ribbon and 
 cotillion order hidden under his waistcoat. He did not 
 notice that "Wilhelm's expression of face was painfully 
 distorted, nor that his words wounded him deeply. They 
 had come to the Brandenburger Thor, and were walking 
 over the Pariser Platz. Under the lindens they were sur- 
 rounded at once by noise and bustle. The streets were 
 full of rowdy bands of men who sang and shouted all 
 together, now pushing one another in violent rudeness, 
 now shouting "Health to the New Year," here knocking 
 off an angry Philistine's hat, there surrounding and em- 
 bracing some honest man who was wearily making his 
 way homeward; insulting the police by imitating their 
 military ways, laying hold of their sticks, talking pom- 
 pously to the night-watchman, and otherwise playing the 
 fool. After the silence of the Koniggratzer Strasse, the 
 drunken turmoil of this nois.y mob was doubly unpleas- 
 ant, and the two friends hastened to escape into the 
 Schadowstrasse. At Wilhelm's doorstep they took leave 
 of each other; Paul went off humming a snatch of Offen- 
 bach up the Friedrichstrasse to his home near the Wei- 
 dendamme. 
 
 Wilhelm was tired, but much too excited to sleep. He 
 lived over again in thought the last few months, and, as 
 often happened lately, he lapsed into painful meditation 
 on his relations to Loulou. After her departure from 
 Hornberg she had not written to him for eight days. 
 Then came a letter from Ostend, in which she called Wil- 
 helm "Sie." She said she was very sorry for this, that 
 it would be painful if she called him "Du" and he did 
 not return it, but it would be safer not to do so, as his 
 answer would certainly be read by her mother, and per- 
 
5i THE MALADY OF THE CENTUBT. 
 
 haps by her father also, and they would not wish them to 
 say "I)ii" to each other. Already this change of tone 
 between them cut Wilhelm to the heart, but almost 
 more still the contents of Loulou's letter. She spoke a 
 little of the sea, whose breakers continually sounded in 
 her soul, and her thoughts, which accompanied them like 
 an orchestra; she seldom mentioned the delightful time 
 in the mountains of the Black Forest, which remembrance 
 he carried always with him ; but a great deal about the 
 Promenade, the concerts, the Casino balls, her own 
 charming bathing and society toilettes, and those of ex- 
 travagant Parisians, who tried by incredible mixtures of 
 colors and style to outstrip each other. She wrote par- 
 ticularly about her acquaintances with celebrated people, 
 and her personal following, and for the rest she hardly 
 missed expressing in any of her letters her regret that he 
 was not with her, and enjoying her varied life. Often in 
 the letter there was a flower, or a piece of wild thyme, 
 which betrayed an undercurrent of feeling beneath the 
 shallowness of the words, and once she sent him her pho- 
 tograph with the words "Loulou to her dearest Wil- 
 helm." So he gathered from her frivolous letters much 
 that was unspoken, and through signs and indications 
 believed that her feeling for him was there and gained 
 strength. His answers were short and rather com- 
 pressed. The knowledge that they would be seen by her 
 prosaic parents, and that Loulou herself would hardly 
 trouble to read anything in the midst of her whirl of 
 gayety, deprived him of words, stopped the flow of his 
 feelings, and turned his expressions into mere Philistin- 
 isms. But, on the other hand, Loulou 's mother was 
 delighted to have another correspondent, and so she 
 wrote to him often. These perfumed letters from Ostend 
 refreshed him by the remembrance of the lovable face 
 
THE ItALADT OF THE OENTtTBT. 55 
 
 with the dimples, bringing back again the •whole charm 
 of the Hornberg days. 
 
 At the end of September came the announcement that 
 the Ellriohs had left Ostend, and were going to pay a 
 visit for a fortnight to friends in England, and toward 
 the middle of October a letter, bearing the Berlin post- 
 mark, arrived in Loulou's handwriting. It said : 
 
 "Deakest Wilhem: We came home to-day. I cannot 
 sleep until I have written to you. Come to -see me quite 
 soon. "Will you not? How glad I ami Are you glad 
 too? A thousand greetings. Loulou. " 
 
 He would like to have gone directly to the Lenne- 
 strasse, but etiquette stood between him and his fiancee, 
 and showed him in its cold fashion that they were now in 
 the city and not in the forest, that nature had nothing to 
 do with them here, and had handed them over to the 
 laws of society. However, as soon as he dared venture, 
 he went and rang at the door-bell. This first visit was a 
 combination of painful feelings for Wilhelm, for while his 
 heart beat, that now he was near the dearest one on 
 earth, he was conscious that here he was a stranger. A 
 servant dressed in black who opened the door did not 
 seem to expect him, and asked him whom he wanted. 
 When Wilhelm asked for Frau Ellrich, he said shortly 
 that she was not at home. In spite of this Wilhelm took 
 out his card, and holding it out said, "Will you kindly 
 announce me, as I am expected." The man left him in 
 an anteroom, and after a short pause took him into the 
 drawing-room. He soon returned, with a manner en- 
 tirely changed, and submissively asked Wilhelm to follow 
 him to a little blue boudoir, where Loulou received him 
 with a joyful exclamation, but the first greetings, owing 
 to the servant's presence, were exchanged without an 
 
o6 THE MALADt Off TBE CENTURY. 
 
 embrace, and when they were alone Wilhelm only found 
 sufficient courage to Jsiss her hand. 
 
 It was quite different now from the old times at the 
 Schloss hotel, and in the woodland paths at Hornberg. 
 "Wilhelm had to keep to visiting hours, and was seldom 
 alone with Loulou. He took courage then to say "Du," 
 but it was forbidden before other people. To kiss her in 
 those drawing rooms with their betraying mirrors, and 
 iheiv portieres, and carpets was hardly possible. He was 
 frequently asked to lunch or dinner, and he often went 
 with Frau Ellrich and Loulou to the opera or theater, 
 but all these opportunities were not favorable for young 
 lovers. Loulou wore beautiful frocks, which made her 
 much admired; the people were formal, and tolerated 
 nothing that was not ultra polite and polished, in short. 
 It was impossible to be true and natural as things had 
 been in the forest, where the birds and the happy little 
 squirrels served for playfellows. 
 
 Loulou was the first to have pity on Wilhelm's discom- 
 fort, and to find means to give their intercourse in Berlin 
 at least a little of the beautiful unconstraint of the old 
 times. Under the pretext that she wished to improve 
 herself in drawing, she obtained many precious hours 
 spent in the blue-room or in the winter garden, where 
 their hands often found opportunities to clasp, and their 
 lips to seek each other's. On- the strength of Louloa's 
 English education, which had made her independent and 
 self-reliant, and had freed her from any affectation of 
 shyness, she often walked with Wilhelm to parts of the 
 town which she did not know, or which she had only 
 seen from the windows of a carriage. On one of these 
 voyages of discovery, as she called them, she saw Paul for 
 the first time. He met them in the Konigstrasse, as 
 they stood on the Konigsmauer, Loulou looking half- 
 
THE MALAD Y OF TEE CENTURY. 5? 
 
 fearfully down the narrow street. Paul looked very much 
 astonished, and seemed as if he were not going to notice 
 the pair of lovers, but Wilhelm nodded and asked him to 
 join them. So he went home with them, and as soon as 
 he was alone with his friend he fell into rapturous admi- 
 ration of the lovely girl, as Wilhelm had predicted in bis 
 letter from Hornberg. One thing Paul could not under- 
 stand, and he said so : why had not Wilhelm formally 
 asked for Loulou's hand, why he was not properly en- 
 gaged to her, and how could an impulsive man bear such 
 a constrained position, which would cease the instant 
 that he was Fraulein Ellrich's declared _/fonee.^ 
 
 Wilhelm had at first no explanation to give his friend, 
 but he knew very well that he delayed, and that he put 
 off from day to day going to Loulou's parents. His was 
 a sensitive, dreamy nature, and much too thoughtful to 
 allow himself to act from passion. He was accustomed 
 to make his impulses subordinate to his reason, and to ask 
 himself severe questions as to the where, how, and why 
 of things. He was not clear himself as to the condition . 
 of things between him and Loulou. Did she love him ? 
 There were many answers to that. She seemed pleased 
 when she saw him, and displeased if he appeared to for- 
 get her for a day. But what ■ he could not understand 
 was that her head seemed as full as ever of her usual ac- 
 quaintances, and that she was capable of spending soma 
 time in theaters, concerts, and society without looking 
 for him. Full too of talk of her frocks and neighbors, 
 without wishing to interrupt the empty gossip with a 
 look or a kiss to let him know that she was conscious of 
 his presence, and in the middle of her idle talk to say 
 nevertheless that her heart was with him. On the other 
 hand, she showed the tenderest sympathy for him. She 
 longed for a picture of his rooms in the Dorotheen- 
 
58 TEE MALADY OP THE OENTURT. 
 
 strasse, where he lived and thought of her. She had 
 been to see his house in the Koohstrasse from the out- 
 side. She was apparently proud of him, and repeated to 
 him all the flattering remarks which people made on his 
 appearance and cleverness, with as much satisfaction, as 
 if she spoke of one of her own people. Still all this was 
 only on the surface, and he often had the impression that 
 her feeling for him was weakened at its foundation both 
 by her cold intelligence, and by her pleasure in worldly 
 things. 
 
 And he? Did he love her as he should, before he had 
 the right to bind her to him for life? His earnestness 
 and exalted morality looked upon marriage as a r'ash 
 adventure full of alarming secrets. Was it possible that 
 their two lives should be so blended together that they 
 should withstand every accident of fate? He meant to 
 give himself entirely, to keep nothing back, and to be 
 true in body and soul. Was he sure that he could keep 
 the vow, and that no sinful wishes should come to break 
 it? Already he was thinking that he might not be always 
 happy with her. Certainly her beauty, her wit, the 
 attraction of her fresh, healthy youth charmed him, and 
 when she spoke to him with her sweet voice, he had to 
 shut his eyes and hold himself together, not to fall at her 
 feet and bury his head in her dress. But he feared for 
 himself, for his honor, that a sensual attraction should 
 hardly outlast possession. His innermost being was 
 painfully troubled. Never an elevated word from her ! 
 Never a deep and serious thought! Often he reflected 
 that the faults of her upbringing were the inevitable 
 results of her life in the midst of idle people, and that it 
 would be possible to deepen and widen her mind and sen- 
 sations. If he could only go with her to a desert island, 
 alone with the loneliness of nature, and could live be- 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 59 
 
 tween the heavens and the sea! How soon then could he 
 inspire her thoughts and bring her to his own stand- 
 point. Then the fear would take hold of him that she 
 could not do without theaters, frocks, soirees, and balls, 
 and under the recent impression of the New- Year's party 
 he became despondent, and said to himself, "No. The 
 life of show tod appearance has too great a hold on her, 
 and I shall never be able to give her what she wants, and 
 what seems necessary to her happiness." Paul's opin- 
 ion, which he gave on the way home, struck him sorrow- 
 fully. One of the richest "parties" in Berlin! Would 
 not people say he was marrying her for her money? 
 "What people said was really nothing to him, and he con- 
 sidered himself free to act as his innermost judgment 
 counseled. But might not Loulou herself believe that 
 her father's money added something to her attractions? 
 He recognized that this feeling indicated a weakness, a 
 want of self-reliance, but the idea that she might be capa- 
 ble of such a thought made him angry. Her money did 
 not attract him! On the contrary, it was an obstacle 
 between them. Why was she not a Moscow gypsy girl ? 
 Just as young, and pretty, and charming, but unculti- 
 vated, and therefore ready for cultivation and capable of 
 it ; poor as a beggar, and therefore free from pretensions, 
 but without knowledge of the world, and therefore with- 
 out desire for it. How happy they might both be then! 
 Such thoughts ran riot in his brain, and he fell asleep 
 only when the late winter sun shone through the curtains 
 on his tired white face. 
 
 The winter went quickly by under amusements of all 
 kinds. Loulou had never known it so pleasant. The 
 theater season was brilliant, the weather for skating 
 lasted longer than usual, and balls succeeded each other 
 in her father's and friends' houses in rapid succession. 
 Wilhelm only went once or twice, and then he firmly 
 
60 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 declined any more, to the great astonishment of Frau 
 Ellrich, and the vexation of Loulou, whose pretty face 
 always lit up with pleasure when she saw his dark eyes 
 watching her from the doorways or window recesses 
 while she danced. He said that the sight of social frivol- 
 ity bored him, and she thought in her naive way, "It is 
 always like that. Men must have some fad! " Paul was 
 just the other way. He accepted every invitation, and 
 he had a great many. He had always some new ac- 
 quaintances to tell Wilhelm of, and often spoke of Prau- 
 lein Malvine Marker, who appeared to be Loulou's 
 dearest friend, and no feeling of jealousy prevented him 
 from repeating to Wilhelm that the pretty girl had often 
 inquired about him, always regretting his absence from 
 the Ellrichs' dances. 
 
 The beautiful time of the year drew near. Outside the 
 gates of the city, where open places were free to her, the 
 spring triumphed in the budding trees of the Thiergar- 
 ten. Arrangement of plans for the summer was the 
 chief occupation with most people. The Ellrichs talked 
 of Switzerland, and Wilhelm thought timidly of the 
 charms of the Black Forest. He longed to be back at 
 Hornberg, and he spoke often of being there together in 
 the near future. He did not mention marriage, how- 
 ever, and his formal offer had not yet been made. Lou- 
 lou thought this very odd, and one day she spoke to her 
 mother about it. Frau Ellrich, however, caressed her 
 pretty child, and kissing her on the forehead said : 
 
 "It is nothing but modesty. I think it is very nice of 
 him to leave you in freedom for the whole season." 
 
 "I am not free, however." 
 
 "I mean before the world, dear child. You are both 
 so young that it would not matter if you did not take 
 the cares of marriage upon you for another year," 
 
 And to Loulou tha,t w£^a evident. 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURt. 61 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 HEROES. 
 
 All over Germany the corn stood high in the fields, 
 ripe for the sickle. Then suddenly the threatening 
 shadow of war rose in the west like a black thundercloud 
 in the blue summer sky, filling the harvest gatherers 
 with anxious forebodings. For fourteen days the people 
 waited in painful suspense, not knowing whether to take 
 np the sword or the scythe. Then the cry of destiny 
 came crashing through the country, terrifying and reliev- 
 ing at the same time: "The French have declared War!" 
 
 That was on July 15, 1870, on a Friday. Late in the 
 afternoon the dismal news was spread in Berlin that the 
 French ambassador at Ems had insulted the king, who 
 had retired to the capital, and that a combat with the 
 arrogant neighbors on the Ehine was inevitable. Before 
 night the street Unter den Linden, from the Branden- 
 burger Thor to the Schlossbrucke, was packed with men 
 overflowing with intense excitement. Without any pre- 
 conceived arrangement, all the inhabitants decorated 
 their windows with banners and lights, and the streets 
 assumed the festal appearance of rejoicings over a vic- 
 tory. The crowd looked upon this spectacle not as an 
 undecided beginning, but a glorious conclusion. There 
 was no fear in any face, no question as to the future in 
 any eye, but the certainty of triumph in all ; as if they 
 had seen the last page turned in the book of fate, with 
 victory and its glorious results written thereon. 
 
62 THE MALADY OF TEE GBNTUBT. 
 
 Toward nine o'clock a thunderbolt broke over the 
 Brandenburger Thor, and rolled like the breaking of a 
 ■wave to the other end of the street. The king had left 
 the Potsdam railway station a quarter of an hour ago, 
 and the crowd greeted him with a tremendous shout as 
 his carriage appeared. The people wished by this ac- 
 clamation, springing from the depths of their hearts, to 
 show their ruler that they were prepared to follow him 
 even to death. But the king was so much absorbed in 
 thought that he scarcely seemed to hear or notice the 
 enthusiasm of the crowd. He saluted and bowed to right 
 and left as a prince is accustomed to do from his child- 
 hood, but it was a mechanical action of the body, and 
 his mind had little part in it. His eyes were not looking 
 at the sea of uncovered heads, but seemed fixed, under 
 knitted brows, on the distance, as if they endeavored to 
 decipher there some indistinct, shadowy form. Did the 
 king perceive in this moment the responsibility of one 
 human being to carry such a load? Did he wish in his 
 innermost heart that he might share the weight of the 
 decision with others — the representatives of the people — 
 and not alone be forced to throw the dice deciding the 
 life or death of hundreds and thousands? Who can say? 
 At all events the powerful features of the king's face 
 betrayed no such uneasy doubt — only a deep earnestness 
 aud an immovable steadiness of expression. Belief in 
 the divine right of his kingship gave him power over the 
 minds of men, and he took his duties on him in this hour 
 without weakness or failing, grasping with his human 
 hand the obscure spiritual web of man's destiny, and 
 with his limited intelligence trying to unravel the dark 
 threads here and there, on which hung the healing and 
 destruction of millions. In such moments a whole people 
 will become united into one being, swayed by the mas- 
 
THE MALAD T OF THE CENTTIR Y. 63 
 
 tery of a single mind, and await the commands of a 
 single will. It comes, no one knows from whom — all 
 blindly follow. In spite of the superficial differences 
 which men find in one another under similar conditions, 
 the powerful effect of unconscious imitation is surpris- 
 ingly apparent, and under its operation personal pecu- 
 liarities disappear. 
 
 Wilhelm and Paul that same evening sat at one of the 
 windows of Spargnapani's, looking on the Lindens. 
 The small rooms were filled to overflowing, and the 
 guests were crammed together in the open doorways, or 
 on the stone staircase, where their loud talking mingled 
 with the noise of the people in the street. The king's 
 carriage had hardly passed, when several young men 
 sprang shouting into the room, threw a quantity of 
 printed leaflets, still damp from the press, on the nearest 
 table, and rushed out again. These were the proofs of 
 an address on the war to the king. No one knew who 
 had written it, who had had it printed, who the people 
 were who had distributed it, but everyone crowded ex- 
 citedly round it, and begged for pens from the counter to 
 add their signatures to it. A few specially enthusiastic 
 souls even put a table with inkstands and pens out on 
 the pavement, and called to the passers-by to sign the 
 paper. Paul was among the first to fulfill this duty of 
 citizenship, and then handed the pen to his friend. But 
 "Wilhelm laid it down on the table, took Paul's arm, and 
 drew him out of the crowd into the quiet of the 
 Priedrichstrasse. 
 
 "Are you a Prussian?" cried Paul angrily. 
 
 "I am as good a Prussian as you are," said "Wilhelm 
 quietly, "and ready to do my duty again, as I have done 
 it before, but these silly effusions don't affect me at all." 
 
 "Such a manifesto gives the government the moral force 
 for the sternest fulfillment of duty. ' ' 
 
64 THE MALADY OP TBE CENTURY. 
 
 I hope you are not in earnest when you say that, my 
 dear Paul. The government does what it has to do with- 
 out troubling itself about our manifestoes. It is repug- 
 nant to me to have my approval of the war dragged from 
 me without being asked for it. I may not appear to say 
 'yes' willingly, but at the same time may not have the 
 right to say 'no.' " 
 
 Paul followed silently, and Wilhelm went on : 
 "You deceive yourself as to your duty like all these 
 people, who imagine that they are still separate individ- 
 uals, and that they can sanction or forbid as they will 
 the declaration of war. I, however, know and feel that I 
 have no longer a voice in the matter. I have only to 
 obey. I am no longer an individual. I am only an 
 evanescent subordinate unit in the organism of the State. 
 A power over which I have no control has taken posses- 
 sion of me, and has made my will of no avail. Is there 
 still a part of your destiny which you have the power to 
 guide as you will? Is 'there such forme? We shall be 
 forced to join simply in the united destiny of one people. 
 And who decides this ? The king, no doubt, thinks that 
 he does; the Emperor Napoleon thinks he does. I say 
 that these two have no more influence over the capabili- 
 ties of their people than we two have over the capabilities 
 around us. The State commands us, the whole evolution 
 of mankind from its beginning commands them. All of 
 the race which has gone before holds them fast, and com- 
 pels them as the wheels of the State compel us. The 
 dead sternly point out the way to them, as the living do 
 to us. "We all of us know nothing, kings and ministers 
 as little as we, of the real forces at work. What these 
 forces will do, and what they strive to attain to, is hid- 
 den from us, and we only see what is nearest to us, with- 
 out any connection with its causes and final operation. 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURT. 65 
 
 That is why it seems to me better to do what one sees as 
 one's duty at the moment, rather than to give ourselTes 
 the absurd appearance of being free in our movements, 
 and certain as to our goal." 
 
 Paul pressed his hand at parting, and murmured : 
 "Theoretically you are right, but practically I do not 
 see why the tyrant at the Tuileries need begin with us. 
 He could at least leave us in peace." 
 
 The order for mobilization was issued. Wilhelm was 
 surprised to receive his appointment again as second 
 lieutenant, and was nominated to the 61st Pomeranian 
 Begiment. His duties during the next few days took 
 up the whole of his time, and left him hardly a moment 
 to himself. He was free only for a few hours before the 
 march to the frontier, and then he made all the haste he 
 could to say good-by at the Lennestrasse. His heart 
 beat quickly as he hurried along, and now that the time 
 of separation was near, he reproached himself for the ir- 
 resolution of the last few weeks. He was going to the 
 front without leaving a clear understanding behind him. 
 He tried to convince himself that perhaps it was better 
 so — ^if he fell she would be free before the world. But at 
 the bottom of his heart this reasoning did not satisfy 
 him, and he lingered over the idea of taking his weeping 
 betrothed to his heart before all the world, and kissing 
 the tears off her cheeks, instead of bidding farewell to 
 her at the station, and holding her to him from a dis- 
 tance by an acknowledged tie. Was not their love alone 
 enough ? No, he knew that it was not, and he felt with 
 painful surprise that his contempt for outward appear- 
 ances, his impulse after reality, were vigorous in him as 
 long as he followed his inmost life alone; but when he 
 came out of himself, and wished to unite another human 
 destiny with his own, these things had become a painful 
 
66 TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 weainess. Through this other life, the world's customs 
 and friTolities began to influence him, and his proud 
 independence must be humbled to the dust, or he must 
 painfully tolerate his own weakness. These reflections 
 brought another with them — it was quite possible that 
 an opportunity might occur at the last moment. He 
 painted the scene in his own imagination ; he found Lou- 
 lou alone, embraced her fervently, asked her if she would 
 be his for life; she said "Yes;" then her mother came 
 in, Loulou threw herself on her neck; he took her hand 
 and asked her in due form if she would accept him as a 
 son-in-law, as he had already gained Loulou's consent. 
 If the councilor was at home, his consent was also given, 
 if not they must wait until he came, and the time could 
 not seem long, even if it lasted an hour. He did not 
 doubt that they would all consent. Things might very 
 likely have happened just as he dreamed of, if he had 
 only come to his determination at the right time, and 
 had not hazarded success on the decision of the last 
 moment, when there was hardly time for a weighty 
 decision. 
 
 As he approached the red sandstone house, with its 
 sculptured balconies, and its pretty front garden, he had 
 a disagreeable surprise. At the iron gate two cabs were 
 standing, evidently waiting for visitors at the house. 
 He was shown, not into the little blue-room, but into the 
 large drawing-room near the winter garden, and found 
 several people there in lively conversation. Beside 
 Loulou and Frau Ellrich there were Fraulein Malvine 
 Marker, with her mother, and also Herr von Pechlar, the 
 lieutenant of hussars of cotillion fame. 
 
 "Have you come too to say good-by?" cried Loulou, 
 going to meet Wilhelm. 
 
 Her face looked troubled, and her voice trembled, and 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 67 
 
 yet Wilhelm felt as if a shower of cold water had 
 drenched his head. The insincerity of their relations, 
 her distant manner before the others, but above all the 
 unfortunate word "too," including him with the lieu- 
 tenant, put him so much out of tune that all his previous 
 intentions vanished, and he sank at once to the position 
 of an ordinary visitor. 
 
 Herr von Pechlar led the conversation, and took no 
 notice of the new guest's presence. He oppressed Wil- 
 helm, and made him feel small by the smartness of his 
 uniform, his rank as first lieutenant, and his eyeglasses. 
 Wilhelm tried hard to fight against the feeling. After 
 all, he was the better man of the two, and if human 
 nature alone had been put in the scale — that is to say, 
 the value both of body and mind — Herr von Pechlar 
 would have flown up light as a feather. But jusfc now 
 they did not stand together as man to man, but as the 
 bourgeois second lieutenant in his plain infantry uniform, 
 against the aristocratic first lieutenant — the smart hussar, 
 and the first place was not to be contested. 
 
 In Fraulein Malvine's kind heart there lurked a vague 
 feeling that she must come to Wilhelm's help, and over- 
 coming her natural shyness, she said to him : 
 
 "It must be very hard for you to tear yourself away 
 under the circumstances." 
 
 She was thinking of his attachment to Loulou, which 
 in her innocence she quite envied. 
 
 Oppressed and distracted as his mind was, he found 
 nothing' to say but the hanal response : 
 
 "When duty calls, fraulein." But while he spoke he 
 was conscious of the kindness of her manner, and to 
 show her that he was grateful he went on, "My friend 
 Haber wishes to say good-by to you before he leaves 
 Berlin. He thinks a great deal of you, and is very 
 happy in having made your acquaintance," 
 
68 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 Malvine threw him a quick glance from her blue eyes 
 and looked down again. 
 
 "What a good thing that I was here when you came," 
 he said softly; "I might certainly not have seen you but 
 for this chance." 
 
 "The fact is, gnadiges Fraulein," he stammered, "our 
 duties demand so much of our time." 
 
 "Is Herr Haber in your regiment?" she asked. 
 
 "No; he has remained with our old Fusilier Guards." 
 
 "Ah, what a pityl It would have been so nice for you 
 to be side by side again, as in 1866." 
 
 "How much she knows about us," thought 'Wilhelm, 
 wondering. 
 
 "I often think of Uhland's comrades. It must be a 
 great comfort in war to have a friend by one." 
 
 "Happily one makes friends quickly there." 
 
 "On that point we are better off than the poor reserve 
 forces, " remarked Herr von Pechlar, not addressing him- 
 self to the speaker, but to Frau and Fraulein Ellrich. 
 "We regular officers pull together like old friends in 
 danger and in death, while the others come among us 
 unknown. I imagine that must be very uncomfortable." 
 
 Wilhelm felt that he had no answer to make, and a 
 silence ensued. Loulou broke it by moving her chair 
 near Wilhelm, and began to chatter in a cheerful way 
 over the occurrences of the last few days. How dread- 
 fully sudden all this was ! Just in the midst of their prepa- 
 rations to go away. That was put aside now. They 
 must stay behind and do their duty. Mamma had pre- 
 sided at a committee for providing the troops with 
 refreshment at the railway station; she herself and 
 Malvine were also members. There were meetings every 
 day, and then there was running about here, there, and 
 everywhere, to collect money, enlist sympathy, make 
 
TBE MALADY OF TEE GENTUBT. 69 
 
 purchases, and finally to see to the arrangements at the 
 departure of the troops. 
 
 "It is hard work," sighed Frau Ellrich; "I have 
 dozens of letters to write every day, and can hardly keep 
 up with the correspondence." 
 
 Herr von Pechlar said he regretted that he was obliged 
 to take to the sword ; he would much rather have helped 
 the ladies with the pen. 
 
 Wilhelm felt that the moral atmosphere was intoler- 
 able. He had nothing to say, and yet it was painful to 
 him to be silent. .Nobody made any sign of leaving, so 
 at last he rose. Herr von Pechlar did not follow his ex- 
 ample, merely giving him a distant bow. Malvine put 
 out her hand quickly, which Wilhelm grasped, feeling it 
 tremble a little in his. Frau Ellrich went with him to 
 the door. She seemed touched, and said with motherly 
 tenderness, while he kissed her hand : 
 
 "We shall anxiously expect letters from you, and I 
 promise you that we will write as often as possible." 
 
 Loulou went outside the door with "Wilhelm, in spite 
 of a glance from her mother. She thought they could 
 bid each other good-by with a kiss, but two servants 
 stood outside, and they had to content themselves with 
 a prolonged clasp of the hand, and a look from Wilhelm's 
 troubled eyes into hers, which were wet. She was the 
 first to speak : 
 
 "Farewell, and come back safely, my Wilhelm. I 
 must go back to the drawing-room." 
 
 Yes, if she must! and without looking back, he de- 
 scended the marble staircase, feeling chilled to the bone, 
 in spite of the hot sunlight in the street. He had the 
 feeling that he was leaving nothing belonging to him in 
 Berlin, except his own people's graves. 
 
 In the evening he left by one of the numberless roads 
 
70 TEE MALAD T OF TEE CENTUR T. 
 
 ■which at short distances traverse Germany toward the 
 west like the straight lines of a railway. The quiet of 
 the landspcape was disturbed by the fifes, rattle of 
 wheels, and clanking of chains, and to all the villages 
 along the road they brought back the consciousness, for- 
 gotten till now, that Germany's best blood was to be shed 
 in a stream flowing westward. A time was beginning 
 for Wilhelm of powerful but very painful impressions, 
 not, it is true, to be compared with those which the 
 battlefields of 1866 had made on him when an unformed 
 youth. The war unveiled to him .the foundations of 
 human nature ordinarily buried under a covering of cul- 
 ture, and his reason marveled over the reconciliation of 
 such antitheses. On the one hand one saw the wildest 
 struggle for gain, and love of destruction ; on the other 
 hand were the daily examples of the kindest human 
 nature, self-sacrifice for fellow-creatures, and an almost 
 unearthly devotion to heroic conceptions of duty. Now 
 it appeared as if the primitive animal nature in man were 
 let loose, and bellowing for joy that the chains in which 
 he had lain were burst, and now again as if the noblest 
 virtues were proudly blossoming, only wanting favorable 
 circumstances in which to develop themselves. Life was 
 worth nothing, the laws of property very little ; whatever 
 the eyes saw which the body desired, the hand was at 
 once stretched out to obtain, and the point of the bayonet 
 decided if anything came between desire and satisfaction. 
 But these same men, who were as indifferent to their own 
 lives, and as keen to destroy the lives of others as 
 savages, performed heroic deeds, helping their comrades 
 in want or danger, sharing their last mouthful with 
 wounded or imprisoned enemies, who returned them no 
 thanks ; and after the battle, in the peasant's hut, crad- 
 ling in their arms the little child, whose roof they had 
 
TBE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 71 
 
 perhaps destroyed, and possibly whose father they might 
 have slain. These impulses, as far apart as the poles, 
 occurred hour after hour before Wilhelm's eyes. He was 
 not a born soldier, and his nature was not given to fight- 
 ing. But when it was necessary to endure the wearisome 
 fulfillment of duty, to bear privation silently, and to look 
 at menacing danger indifferently, then few were his 
 equals, and none before him. This quiet, passive hero- 
 ism was noticed by his comrades. The o£Scers of his 
 company found out that he did not smote, and never 
 drank anything stronger than spring water. They 
 noticed also that dirt was painful to him, even the ordi- 
 nary dust of the country roads, and that he was dissatis- 
 fied if his boots and trousers bore the marks of muddy 
 fields. They thought him a spoiled mother's darling, a 
 "molly-coddle," and their instructive knowledge of 
 human nature found a name for him, the same name his 
 schoolfellows had already given him. They called him 
 the "Fraulein." 
 
 But in the day of battle, when Wilhelm with his com- 
 pany stood for the first time in the line of fire, the 
 "Fraulein" was perhaps the firmest of them all. The 
 hissing balls made apparently no more impression on him 
 than a crowd of swarming gnats, and the only moment 
 his courage left him was when he thought he might be 
 thrown into a ditch, which the rains had turned into a 
 complete puddle. He remained standing when all ths 
 others lay down, and the captain at last called out to 
 him, "In the devil's name, do you want to be a target 
 for the French?" making him seek shelter behind a lit- 
 tle mound, which left him nearly as uncovered as he was 
 before. And after hours of solid exertion, straining 
 nerves and muscles to the utmost, when peace came with 
 night, Wilhelm began a tiring piece of work with sticks 
 and brushwood, cut of pity tax a> weary comrade. 
 
72 TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 On the strength of these first days before the enemy 
 his position- as a soldier was established. A few harm- 
 less jotes were made on the march and in the camp on 
 Wilhelm's anxiety as to the removal of mud on his 
 clothes, and on the example he set in going out at night 
 to save the dead and wounded enemy from plunder, but 
 the whole company loved and admired the "Praulein. " 
 
 The officers, however, did not entirely share this feel- 
 ing. This lieutenant was not smart enough. They did 
 full justice to his courage, but thought that he was want- 
 ing in alertness and initiative. He lacked the proper 
 campaigning spirit, and they found it chilling that he 
 should be so distant in his manners after so long a time 
 together. Another said that Lieutenant Eynhardt went 
 into action like a sleep-walker, and his calmness had 
 something uncanny about it. The captain was not 
 pleased with him, because he had no knowledge of busi- 
 ness ; as far as example went he was the worst forager in 
 the whole regiment. If a peasant's wife complained to 
 him, he would leave empty-handed a house whose cellars 
 were stocked with wine, and larders with hams one could 
 smell a hundred yards off. It was all the more provok- 
 ing as he could speak French perfectly, an accomplish, 
 ment which no one else in the regiment could, to the 
 same extent, boast of. It came even to a scene between 
 him and the captain, who said angrily to him after a 
 fruitless search in a new and well-to-do village in Cham- 
 pagne: "A good heart is a fine thing to have, but you 
 are an officer now, and not a Sister of Mercy. Our men 
 have a right to eat, and if you want to be compassionate, 
 our poor fellows want food just as much as those French 
 peasants. Deny yourself if you like, but take care that 
 the soldiers have what they need. If ever you get back 
 to Berlin, then in God's name you can please yourself by 
 
TBB MALAbf OF T£[B CBNTuAt. 73 
 
 distributing alms, and buy a place for yourself in 
 heaven." 
 
 "Wilhelm was obliged to admit that the captain was 
 right, but he could not change his nature. Capturing, 
 destroying, giving pain, were not to his taste. From 
 that time he left other people's property alone, and let 
 the French run if they fell into his hands. He was ex- 
 cellent on outpost and patrol duties, for then his brains 
 and not his hands were at work — then he could think and 
 endure. He could go for twenty-four hours on a bit of 
 bread and a draught of water better than any one, and 
 without a minute's sleep, stand for hours at a stretch 
 holding a position ; he was always the first to explore 
 dangerous roads, signing to his companions if he could 
 answer for their safety, and all this with a natural, quiet 
 self-possession as if he were taking a walk in town, or 
 reading a newspaper at Spargnapani's. 
 
 "Weeks and months went by like a dream, in constant 
 excitement, and the exhausting strain of strength. 
 Christmas passed at the outposts without gifts and with 
 few good wishes, and the thunder of the guns took the 
 place of church bells. January came in with a hard 
 frost, trying the field troops bitterly, and^ bringing with 
 it hard work for Wilhelm's regiment. The 61st belonged 
 to General Kettler's brigade, which strategically kept the 
 Garibaldi and Pelissier divisions in check. By the mid- 
 dle of January the brigade was in full touch with the 
 enemy. On the 21st the troops broke out from the St. 
 Seine, dashed into the Val Suzon, and after an hour's 
 conflict with the Garibaldians, drove them out and estab- 
 lished themselves on the heights of Daix toward two 
 o'clock. Before them were the rugged summits of Talant 
 and Fontaine, the last spurs of the Jura Mountains seen 
 in the blue distance, both of them crowned by old vil- 
 
*!i TEE MALAD T OF THE CENTUB t. 
 
 lages, whose outer walls looked down a thousand feet 
 below. The gray walls, the rhomboid towers of the 
 mediseval churches, brought to one's mind the vision of 
 robber knights rather than the modest homes of peasants. 
 Between these two mountains was a narrow valley, 
 through which one caught a glimpse of Dijon, with its 
 red roofs and numbers of towers, and its high Gothic 
 church above all, St. Benigne, well known later to the 
 German soldiers. 
 
 There lay before them the great wealthy town, looking 
 as if one could throw a pebble through one of its win- 
 dows, so near did it seem in the clear ^winter air. The 
 smoke went straight up out of its thousand chimneys, 
 exciting appetizing thoughts of warm rooms and boiling 
 pots on kitchen fires. There were the sheltered streets 
 full of shops, friendly cafes, houses with beds and lamps 
 and well-covered tables — but the soldiers stood outside 
 on the cold hillside, chilled to the bone by the north 
 wind, so tired that they could hardly stand, and often 
 sinking down in the snow, where they lay benumbed, 
 without energy to rouse themselves. They had gone for 
 twenty-four hours without food, and had only some 
 black bread remaining for the evening, worth a kingdom 
 in price. Between their misery and the abundance 
 before their eyes lay the enemy's army, and this army 
 they must conquer, if they would sit at those tables and 
 lie in the soft beds. The general wanted to take Dijon 
 in order to remove a danger menacing to South Germany, 
 and to secure the advance of the German army toward 
 Paris and Belfort — the soldiers had the same desire, but 
 their longing for Dijon was for comfort, satisfaction of 
 hunger, and rest. 
 
 The German battalion kept on pressing forward. 
 This mistake was hardly the fault of the officers, who on 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 75 
 
 this occasion strove to keep the men back rather than 
 encourage them to advance. The Garibaldian troops had 
 the advantages of superior forces, a greater range of artil- 
 lery, and sheltered position in the hills, and they pressed 
 ■with increased courage to the attack. The Germans did 
 not await them quietly but threw themselves on them, so 
 that in many cases it came to a hand-to-hand fight, and 
 serious work was done with bayonets and the butt-ends 
 of rifles. At length the French began to retreat, and the 
 Germans with loud "Hurrahs!" flung themselves after 
 them. But the pursuit was soon abandoned, as they had 
 to withdraw under the fire from the Talant and Fontaine 
 positions; and then, after a short rest, the French again 
 advanced. So the fight lasted for three hours, the snow- 
 flakes dispersed by the balls, the men stamping their 
 half-frozen feet on the ground, stained in so many places 
 with blood, but the distance between the German bat- 
 talion and beckoning, mocking Dijon never diminished. 
 The right wing of the brigade made a strenuous attempt, 
 pressed hard toward Plombieres, forced the Garibaldians 
 back at the point of the bayonet, and took possession of 
 the village, which already had been stormed from house 
 to house. The sight of the slopes before Plombieres 
 covered with the enemy running, sliding, or rolling, 
 acted like strong drink ; the whole German line threw 
 itself on the yielding enemy before it had time to regain 
 breath, and amid the thunder of artillery, with the balls 
 from the French reserves on the heights rattling like 
 hailstones, it gained at last a footing on the hill. Some 
 of the troops sank down exhausted in the shelter of the 
 little huts which were strewed over the vineyard, while 
 others followed the division of the enemy which had 
 forced itself between the mountain and the narrow valley 
 behind the French line of defense. 
 
76 TBE MALADt Of TBM GENTUBt. 
 
 It was now night, and very dark, and to follow up the 
 hard-won victory was not to be thought of, so the Ger- 
 man troops halted to rest if possible for an hour. It was 
 a terrible night, and the cold was intense. Campfires 
 were almost useless. The men's clothes were insufficient 
 and nearly worn out. During the last few days, on the 
 march and in the camp, every one had huddled together 
 whatever seemed warmest, and in the pale moon or star- 
 light, figures in strange disguises might be seen. One 
 wore the thick wadded cloak of a peasant woman over 
 woefully torn trousers, another whose toes till now had 
 always been seen out of noisy boots, stalked in enormous 
 wooden shoes, the extra room being filled up with hay 
 and straw. Overcoats from the French and German dead 
 had been taken, and were useful for replenishing outfits 
 ■ — particularly when a German soldier wore red trousers, 
 and the braided fur coat of the fantastic Garbaldian uni- 
 form. Many others had bed-clothing and horse-cover- 
 ings, carpets and curtains, one even went so far as to 
 wear an altar-cloth from some poor village church over 
 his shoulders, and those who still had pocket-handker- 
 chiefs in their possession wore them tied over their ears. 
 Many, however, had nothing but their own torn uni- 
 forms, and these tried hard to get warm by rolling them- 
 selves close against one another like dogs. The dark 
 masses lay there all among the trodden and half-frozen 
 snow stained with blood, sand, and clay, huddled 
 together one on the top of the other, and if their labored 
 breathing had not been heard, one could hardly have told 
 whether one stood by living men or dead — the dead in- 
 deed lay near, many hundreds of them, singly and in 
 groups, scarcely more cramped and huddled together 
 than the sleepers, nor more quiet than they. "When the 
 cold, even to the most warmly dressed, became intoler- 
 
THE MALAD Y OF TSE CENTVBT. 77 
 
 able, they would spring up and stagger about, stumbling 
 over heaps of dead and living men, the latter cursing 
 them loudly. 
 
 The dreadful night passed, and at most a third only of 
 the German troops had rested. The gray dawn began to 
 appear in the sky, bugles sounded, and cries of command 
 were heard, but it was hard for the poor soldiers to rouse 
 themselves, to stir their benumbed limbs, which at last 
 were beginning to get a little warm. One after another 
 the ridges of the Jura Mountains became suffused with 
 pink as the sun rose, but the fissures in the hills and the 
 valleys were still dark and filled with thick mist, behind 
 which the enemy's position and the town of Dijon were 
 still invisible. The soldiers soon forced their stiffened 
 limbs into position, the last remaining rations were 
 quickly distributed, and a picked number of the freshest 
 of the men, i.e. those who had had no night duty, went 
 out doggedly against the enemy, with trailing steps and 
 gray, tired-out faces. The crackle of their lively firing 
 aroused the French from sleep, and perhaps from dreams 
 of conquest and fame, put them to confusion, and drove 
 them back toward Dijon. The Germans followed, this 
 time without shouting, and as the fog gradually dis- 
 persed, they saw the first skirmishers of the batteries on 
 Talant and Fontaine, apparently far distant against the 
 Porte Guillaume (the old town gate of Dijon, built to 
 imitate a Eoman arch of victory), were really quite near 
 them. One more tug and strain and the goal was near. 
 A fresh swing was put into the attack, but the French 
 had found time with the advancing day to gather them- 
 selves together, and to be aware of the inferior numbers of 
 the attacking party, and they threw themselves in column 
 formation down the hill, which the German division 
 threatened to attack in the fear. Fresh troops cama 
 
78 TEE MALADY OF THB CENTURY. 
 
 marohing out of Dijon, and the Germans, to avoid being 
 between two fires, drew back again through the valley 
 behind the mountain. The French pressed after them, 
 but were received by the German reserves with such a 
 firm front, that they paused and slowly retreated. 
 
 General von Kettler knew that in spite of his moment- 
 ary success, be could expect no further advance from his 
 half-starved, cold, and weary brigade, and therefore he 
 ordered them half a mile to the rear. The Garibaldian 
 troops, who thought victory could be gained by one 
 strenuous effort, tried to arrest the departing troops, en- 
 deavoring to bring them back to another advance. When 
 they were at last distributed in the villages, the ex- 
 hausted Germans found rest and refreshment for the first 
 time for forty-eight hours. They had lost a tenth part 
 of their powers of endurance in those dreadful two days 
 spent on the hills in sight of Dijon. 
 
 The brigade had retreated, as one who jumps goes a 
 step or two backward to obtain more impetus. The 
 next morning, January 23, they were again on the march 
 to Dijon. This time, however, they chose another way to 
 a.void the batteries of Talant and Fontaine, and ap- 
 proached the town from the north instead of from the 
 west. Following the road and the railway embankment 
 from Langres to Dijon, the German troops pressed for- 
 ward without halting. The French outposts and breast- 
 works soon fell before the advancing Germans, and made 
 no stand till they got to the Faubourg St. Nicholas, the 
 northeast suburb of Dijon. The greater number of the 
 Germans stationed themselves on the embankment, but 
 the walls of the vineyard, plentifully loopholed, pressed 
 them hard with shot. Toward evening the second bat- 
 talion of the 61st, to which Wilhelm belonged, received 
 the order to advance. Over pleasure-gardens and vine- 
 
THE MALADY OF THE GENTURT. 79 
 
 yards they went, through poor people's deserted houses 
 the four companies of skirmishers worked their way to 
 the entrance of the Eue St. Catherine, a long, narrow 
 street. Just at the end stood a large three-storied fac- 
 tory, whose front, filled with large high windows, looked 
 like a framework of stone and iron. At every window 
 there was a crowd of soldiers; the whole front bristled 
 with death-dealing weapons. Sixteen windows were on 
 each floor, and at every window at least three rows of 
 four soldiers stood. It was therefore easy to reckon the 
 total number at six hundred at the very least. 
 
 As the points of the German bayonets came round the 
 corner in sight of this fortress a terrible change took 
 place : in the twinkling of an eye all the openings blazed 
 out at once, and the building seemed to shake from its 
 foundations ; forty-eight red tongues of flame blazed out 
 suddenly to right and left, as if so many throats of Vul- 
 can or abysses into hell had been opened, and soon the 
 whole building was wrapped in a thick white smoke, 
 through which the men were invisible. Then a fresh 
 roar and fresh bursts of flame, and fresh puffing out of 
 white smoke, and so it went on, flash after flash, roar 
 after roar came from that awful wall, whose windows were 
 every now and then visible between the volleys of smoke. 
 Hardly one of the soldiers within the line of fire was left 
 standing, numbers were crushed, many more lying dead 
 or wounded — and the furious firing took on a fresh im- 
 petus. If the whole battalion was not to be destroyed, 
 it must speedily get under cover. So, running some 
 hundred and fifty yards to the right, they threw them- 
 selves into an apparently deep sandpit, and. there they 
 lay directly opposite to the factory. During these few 
 minutes the facade, still vomiting fire, bellowed and 
 poured out bullets like hailstones against the sixty men 
 in the sa&dpit, doing murdejfous work. 
 
80 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 Hardly giving themselves time to take breath, the 
 brave men began to fire steadily at the factory, which iip 
 till now appeared, in spite of its nearness, to be very 
 little damaged. The enemy were there completely en- 
 veloped from sight, and a lurid red flame through the 
 cloud of smoke was the only guide for the German shot. 
 So the fighting lasted for some time, till an adjutant 
 sprang from over the field behind, which he had reached 
 by a circuitous way, bringing from the commander-in- 
 chief the questions as to what was going on, and why 
 were they there. The major pointed with his sword at 
 the factory, and said : 
 
 "We must have artillery against this." 
 
 "There is none here to have," answered the adjutant. 
 
 The major shrugged his shoulders, and gave the com- 
 mand for the Fifth company to storm the factory. "While 
 they prepared themselves to leave the sandpit the Ger- 
 man firing stopped, and almost at the same time, the 
 French. The enemy could now see what was going on 
 outside, for at this moment the cloud of smoke became 
 less dense. The company broke out of the sandpit, and 
 with the fiag of the battalion gallantly waving over them 
 rushed madly toward the door of the factory, while the 
 men who were left behind tried by a furious fire to sup- 
 port their comrades and to confuse the enemy. The 
 strange silence had lasted forty or fifty seconds, probably 
 till the Germans had given some idea of their intentions. 
 This bit of time allowed the storming party to gain, 
 without loss, the middle of the space which separated 
 them from their object; the intoxication of victory began 
 to possess them, and they gave a cheer which rang with 
 the exultant sound of triumph. Again the crashing din 
 began, as terribly as before; it was an uninterrupted 
 sound like the howling of a hurricane, an which no single 
 
tSE MALAB t OF THB OBNTUB f. 81 
 
 report or salvo could be distinguished ; the whole build- 
 ing seerned to flame at once from the top to the bottom in 
 one red glow, and the bullets flew and whistled in such 
 a confusing mass, that it seemed as if the heavens were 
 opened and it rained balls, a dozen for every four square 
 foot of earth, and the men felt that they must be prepared 
 for repeated attacks of the same description, one after 
 the other without stopping. In but a few seconds half 
 of the company lay on the ground, and the colors had 
 disappeared among the fallen. Those who remained 
 standing seemed for a short time as if stunned. A few, 
 acting on the instinct of self-preservation, fled almost 
 unconsciously. Among the greater part, however, the 
 fighting Prussian instinct prevailed, impelling the 
 soldiers forward and never back, and so with renewed 
 shouts they pressed on. But only for a few minutes. 
 The colors flew upward again, raised by hands wearied 
 to death, only to fall again at once. Three times — four 
 times the flag emerged, sinking again and again, and 
 each flutter meant a new sacrifice, and each fall the death 
 of a hero. Soon there was no one left standing, no man 
 and no standard, nothing but a gray heap of bodies, 
 whose limbs palpitated and moved like some fabulous sea 
 creature, making groaning, ghostly sounds. Ten or 
 twelve poor fellows wounded by stray shots sheltered 
 themselves in the sandpit without weapons, with staring 
 eyes and distorted features. That was all there was left 
 of the Fifth company. 
 
 There was deathly silence in the sandpit; the firing 
 had ceased for some minutes. The soldiers looked at 
 one another, and at the mountain of human bodies before 
 them in the evening twilight, and threw doubtful glances 
 at the handful of men just returned, lying exhausted on 
 the ground. Suddenly the major called out: 
 
82 TSB MALAD T Of TEE CMNTtTB Y. 
 
 "The colors!" 
 
 "The colors!" murmured several men, while others 
 remained silent. 
 
 "We must search for them under the -wounded," said 
 the major sadly. 
 
 His glance strayed right and left, and seemed to invite 
 volunteers among the twenty or thirty who were nearest 
 to him. The little band cautiously left their shelter, and 
 set diligently to work on the hill of dead bodies. But in 
 spite of the growing darkness they were observed by the 
 French, who began their fire anew, and a few minutes 
 later no living soul was left on the field. 
 
 The captain and Wilhelm were now the only remaining 
 officers of the battalion. The former cried: "Who will 
 volunteer?" and was surrounded by a dozen brave fel- 
 lows. Wilhelm was not among them. He stood leaning 
 on his sword against the half-frozen side of the pit, ob- 
 serving with sorrowful expression what was going on 
 around him. The captain threw him a strange look, in 
 which contempt and reproach were mingled, then he 
 drew out his watch, as if to note the last moment of his 
 life, and with the cry "Forward!" disappeared in the 
 evening light. He did not reach the spot where the 
 corpses lay thickest. The factory went on spitting fire, 
 and crashing everything down over the heap. The shots, 
 however, came more slowly, and pauses came between 
 them. A shriek was heard, not far distant. Evidently 
 it was one of the wounded who lay on the ground. At 
 the same time a form could be distinguished raising 
 itself up and then sinking again. Heedless of the balls 
 which whistled round his ears, Wilhelm raised his head 
 out of the sandpit and looked over the fiel d. Then he 
 worked himself out on his hands and knees, and to the 
 astonishment of the soldiers in the pit moved away 
 
TSB MALADY OF TME CMNTURY. 83 
 
 toward the wounded, alone and without hurry or excite- 
 ment. Over there on the other side they saw him, and 
 although the artillery did not fire on him, he received a 
 brisk volley of single shots without, however, being hit, 
 and he reached the first group of wounded. A hasty 
 glance showed him only stiffened limbs and stony faces. 
 He went on searching, and then he heard close by him a 
 feeble voice saying: "Here!" and a hand was stretched 
 out to him. With one bound he was near the wounded 
 man, and recognized the captain. 
 
 "Are you seriously hurt?" he asked, while as quickly 
 as possible he raised the wounded man on his shoulder, 
 who answered almost inaudibly : 
 
 "A ball through the chest, and one in my foot. I am 
 in awful pain." 
 
 As "Wilhelm went slowly back with his burden, he 
 looked so fantastic in the growing darkness, that the 
 French did not know what to make of the strange appari- 
 tion, and began to fire afresh. Wilhelm, however, 
 reached the sandpit safely, where friendly arms were 
 stretched out to help him, and relieve him of the cap- 
 tain. He stayed to breathe a moment, and then said : 
 
 "If any one will come with me, we might bring in one 
 or two more poor devils who have still life in them." 
 
 He was soon surrounded by five or six figures, and he 
 was going with them to search for wounded in the rain 
 of balls which was falling, when with a sudden cry of 
 pain he sank backward. A ball had struck his right 
 leg. His volunteers put him back into the sandpit, and 
 no one thought any more either of the colors or the 
 wounded who lay out there under the fire from the fac- 
 tory. At this moment too an adjutant brought the com- 
 mand to retreat, which the remains of the wearied bat- 
 talion slowly began to obey under the command of a sub- 
 officer. 
 
84 tHE kALAD T OF THE CMNTUR f. 
 
 The captain, who could not be moved, was left in a 
 peasant's hut in the village of Messigny, but as Wil- 
 helm's injury was only a flesh wound, and he was merely 
 exhausted from loss of blood, he was sent with the others 
 to Tonnerre, where he arrived the next day, after a jour- 
 ney of great suffering. 
 
 The schoolhouse was turned into an infirmary, many 
 of the rooms holding nearly a hundred and twenty beds. 
 Wilhelm was put into a little room, which he shared with 
 one French and two German officers. A Sister of Mercy 
 and a male volunteer nurse attended to the patients in 
 this as well as in the four neighboring rooms. Wilhelm 
 exercised the same influence here as he did everywhere, 
 by the power of his pale thin face, which had not lost all 
 its beauty; by the sympathetic tones of his voice, and 
 above all by the nobility of his quiet, patient nature. 
 His fellow-sufferers were attracted to him as if he were a 
 magnet. Some occupants of the room gave up their 
 cigars when they noticed that he did not smoke. The 
 Frenchman declared immediately that he was Ze Prussien 
 le plus charviant he had ever seen. The Sister took him 
 to her motherly heart, and the doctor was constantly at 
 his bedside. He was able to give him a great deal of 
 attention without neglecting his duty, as there were few 
 very severe cases under his care, and no new ones came 
 in — Paris had surrendered and a truce was declared. 
 
 At first Wilhelm's wound was very bad. It had been 
 carelessly bound up at first, and in the long journey to 
 the infirmary had been neglected, but owing to antisep- 
 tic treatment the fever soon abated and then left him en- 
 tirely. He took such a particular fancy to the doctor 
 that after a few days they were like old friends, and knew 
 everything about each other. 
 
 Dr. Schrotter was an unusual type, both in appearance 
 
THE MALADY OF TEE CENTURY. gS 
 
 and .character. Of middle height, extraordinarily broad- 
 shouldered, and with large strong hands and feet, he gave 
 the impression of having been intended for a giant, 
 whose growth had stopped before reaching its fulfillment. 
 The powerful, nobly -formed he ad was rather bent, as if 
 it bore some heavy burden. His light hair, not very 
 thick, and slightly gray on the temples, grew together in 
 a tuft over the high forehead. The closely-cropped 
 beard left his chin free, and the fine mustache showed a 
 mouth with a rather satirical curve and closely com- 
 pressed lips. A strong aquiline nose and narrow bright 
 blue eyes completed a physiognomy indicating great re- 
 serve and a remarkable degree of melancholy. It is no 
 advantage to a man to possess a Sphinx-like head. The 
 pretty faces apparently full of secrets offer easy decep- 
 tions, and one expects that the mouth when open will 
 reveal all that the eyes seem to mean. One is half-angry 
 and half-inclined to laugh when one discovers that the 
 face of the Sphinx has quite an everyday meaning, and 
 utters only commonplaces. But with Dr. Schrotter one 
 had no such deception. He spoke quite simply, and 
 when he closed his lips he left in the minds of his lis- 
 teners a hundred thoughts which his words had conveyed. 
 He was born in Breslau, had studied in Berlin, and had 
 started a practice there when his student days were 
 over. The Revolution of '48 came, and he at once threw 
 himself head over ears into it. He fought at the barri- 
 cades, took part in the storming of the Arsenal, became 
 a celebrated platform orator, and relieved a great deal of 
 distress during the reactionary policy which followed, 
 leaving soon afterward, however, to travel abroad. He 
 went to London almost penniless, and at first, through 
 his ignorance of the language, he was barely able to 
 maintain himself, but he soon had the good fortune to 
 
86 TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 obtain an appointment in the East India Company. In 
 the spnng of 1850 lie went to Calcutta, where he helped 
 to manage the School of Medicine, and some years later 
 was sent to Lahore, where he also established a medical 
 school. After twenty years' service he was discharged 
 with a considerable pension. His return to Europe fall- 
 ing in with the outbreak of the war, he hastened to offer 
 his voluntary services to the army as surgeon. Owing 
 to temperate habits and a strong physique, he had kept 
 in good health, and no one would have dreamed that 
 this strong, fifty-year-old man had passed so many years 
 in an enervating tropical climate. The only signs it had 
 left on his face were the dark, yellowish color of his skin, 
 and the habit of keeping the eyes half-closed. The long 
 years in India bad also made a deep impression on his 
 character, and many things about him would have ap- 
 peared strange and odd in a European. They amounted 
 to sheer contradictions, but their explanation was to be 
 looked for in the environment of his life. Physically he 
 was still young, but his mind seemed very old, and had 
 that appearance of dwelling quietly apart which is the 
 privilege of wise minds who have done with life, and who 
 look on at the close of the comedy free from illusions. 
 His eyes often flashed with enthusiasm, but his speech 
 was always gentle and quiet. In his relations with other 
 men he had the decided manner of one who was accus- 
 tomed to command, and at the same time the kindness of 
 a patriarch for his children. He was a moderate sceptic, 
 nevertheless he combined with it a mysticism which a 
 superficial judge might have denounced as superstition. 
 He believed, for instance, that many persons had power 
 over wild animals; that they could raise themselves into 
 the air; that they could interrupt the duration of their 
 lives for months, or even for years, and then resume it 
 
TEE MALAD 7 OF THE CENTUB T. 8? 
 
 again; that they could read the thoughts of others, and 
 communicate without help the speech of others over 
 unlimited distances. All these things he averred he had 
 himself seen, and if people asked him how they were pos- 
 sible, he answered simply, "I can no more explain these 
 phenomena than I can explain the law of gravitation, or 
 the transformation of a caterpillar into a moth. The first 
 principles of everything are inexplicable. The difference 
 in our surroundings is only that some things are fre- 
 quently observed, and others only seldom." 
 
 His philosophy, which he had learned from the Brah- 
 mins, attracted Wilhelm greatly; it made many things 
 clear to him which he himself had vaguely felt possible 
 ever since he had learned to think. "The phenomenon 
 of things on this earth," said Dr. Schrotter, "is a riddle 
 which we try to read in vain. We are borne away by a 
 flood, whose source and whose mouth are equally hidden 
 from us. It is of no avail when we anxiously cry, 
 '"Whence have we come, and whither are we going?' 
 The wisest course for us is to lie quietly by the banks 
 and let ourselves drift — th« blue sky above us, and the 
 breaking of the waves beneath us. From time to time 
 we come to some fragrant lotus-flower, which we may 
 gather." And when Wilhelm complained that the phil- 
 osophy of the world is so egoistic. Dr. Schrotter an- 
 swered, "Egoism is a word. It depends on what meaning 
 is attached to it. Every living being strives after some- 
 thing he calls happiness, and all hapiiiness is only a spur 
 goading us on to the search. It belongs to the peculiar 
 organism of a healthy being that he should be moved by 
 sympathy. He cannot be happy if he sees others suffer- 
 ing. The more highly developed a human being is the 
 deeper is this feeling, and the mere idea of the suffering 
 of others precludes happiness. The egoism of mankind 
 
§8 TBB MALAD T Of TSE CtJNtm t. 
 
 is seen in this ; he searches for the suffering of others, 
 and tries to alleviate it, and in the combat with pain he 
 insures his own happiness. A Catholic would say of St. 
 Vincent de Paul or St. Charles Borromeo, 'He was a great 
 saint.' I would say, 'He was a great egoist.' Let us 
 render love to those who are swimming with us down the 
 stream of life, and without pricking of conscience take joy 
 in being egoists. ' ' 
 
 Wilhelm was never tired of talking about the wonder- 
 land of the rising sun, of its gentle people and their wis- 
 dom, and Dr. Schrotter willingly told him about his 
 manner of life and experience there. So the peaceful 
 days went by in the quiet schoolhouse at Tonnerre, the 
 monotony being pleasantly relieved by visits from com- 
 rades, and letters from Paul Haber and the Ellrichs. 
 Paul was going on very well. He was at Versailles, mak- 
 ing acquaintances with celebrated people, and had 
 nothing to complain of except that, in spite of the trace, 
 he had no leave of absence to come and see his friend. 
 Prau EUrich complained of the irregularity of their cor- 
 respondence during the war. Loulou wrote lively lettess 
 full of spirit and feeling. She had been frightened to 
 hear of his wound, but his convalescence had made her 
 happy again. She hoped that it would not leave him 
 with a stiff leg, but even if it did it would not matter so 
 much, as he neither danced nor skated. What a dreary 
 winter they were having in Berlin! No balls, no parties, 
 nothing but lint-picking, and their only dissipation the 
 arrival of the wounded and the prisoners at the railway 
 station. And that was quite spoiled by the abominable 
 newspaper articles on the subject — presuming to criticize 
 ladies because they were rather friendly to the French 
 officers! The French, whom one had known so well in 
 Switzerland, must be of some worth, and it was the 
 
TEE MALAD Y OF THE CENTUR T. 89 
 
 woman's part to be kind to the wounded enemy, and to 
 intercede for human beings even in war, while the men 
 defended them by their courage and strength. Some of 
 these Frenchmen were charming, so witty, polite, and 
 chivalrous, that one could almost forgive them had they 
 conquered us. One's friends were suffering so much — 
 one heard such dreadful things. Herr von Pechlar had 
 escaped without a hair being injured, and he already had 
 an Iron Cross of the first class! She hoped thatWilhelm 
 would soon get one too. 
 
 Up till now "Wilhelm had not been able to answer this 
 question decidedly. One morning, toward the end of 
 February, as he was limping about the room on a stick, 
 the adjutant came in and said : 
 
 "I have brought you good news. You have won the 
 Iron Cross." As Wilhelm did not immediately answer 
 he went on : "Your captain has the first class. He is 
 now out of danger. He has naturally surpassed you. I 
 may tell you between ourselves that it did not seem quite 
 the thing, your being so cool about the colors ; but the 
 way in which you fetched the captain out was ripping. 
 Don't be offended if I ask you why you exposed yourself 
 for the captain when you refused for the flag?" 
 
 "I don't mind telling you at all. The captain is a 
 living man, and the flag only a symbol. A symbol does 
 not seem to me to be worth as much as a man." 
 
 The adjutant stared at him, and he repeated con- 
 fusedly : 
 
 "A symbol!" 
 
 "Wilhelm said nothing in explanation, but went on : 
 
 "I regret very much that I was not asked before I was 
 proposed for the Iron Cross. I cannot accept it." 
 
 "Not take it? You can't really mean that!" 
 
 "Yes, I dp. In trying to fulfill my duties as a man and 
 
90 TEE MALAB T OF THE GENTUB T. 
 
 a citizen, I cannot hang a sign of my bravery on me for 
 all passers-by to see. ' ' 
 
 "You speak like a tragedy, my dear Herr Eynhardt," 
 said the adjutant. "But just as you like. You can have 
 the satisfaction of having done something unique. It is 
 hardly a usual thing to refuse the Iron Cross." 
 
 As he went out with a distant bow. Dr. Schrotter came 
 in, and said, smiling : 
 
 "What the adjutant said about the tragedy is very 
 true. Decoration appears very theatrical to me, but you 
 might take it quietly and put it in your pocket. I have 
 got quite a collection of such things which I never wear." 
 
 "But do you blame the men who despise these outward 
 forms in order to give an example to others?" 
 
 "My friend, when one is young one hopes to guide 
 others, as one grows older one grows more modest." 
 
 This objection struck "Wilhelm, and he grew confused. 
 Dr. Schrotter laid his hand quietly on his shoulder, and 
 said: 
 
 "That does not matter. "We really mean the same 
 thing. The difference is only that you are twenty-five 
 and I am fifty." 
 
 As Wilhelm was silent and thoughtful, Schrotter went 
 on: 
 
 "There is a great deal to be said about symbols. 
 Theoretically you are right, but life practically does not 
 permit of your views. Everything which you see and do 
 is a symbol, and where are you to draw the line? The 
 flag is one, but without doubt the battle is one too. I. 
 believe, in spite of the historian who is wise after the 
 event, that the so-called decisive battles do not decide 
 anything, and that it is the accidental events which have 
 the permanent influence on the destiny of peoples. 
 Neither Marathon nor Cannse kept the Greeks or Cartha- 
 
THE MALADY OF THE OENTURT. 91 
 
 ginians from destruction ; all the Koman conquests did 
 not prevent the Teutonic race from overrunning the 
 world; all the Crusader conquests of Jerusalem did not 
 maintain Christianity, or Napoleon's victories the first 
 French Empire; nor did the defeats sustained by the 
 Eussians in the Crimea influence their development. 
 And finally, I am convinced that Europe to-day would 
 not be materially difEerent, even if all the decisive vic- 
 tories of her people could be changed into defeats, and 
 their defeats into victories. So you see that a battle is 
 a symbol of the momentary capabilities of a people, and 
 a very useless symbol, because it tells nothing of the im- 
 mediate future, and yet you will sacrifice your life for 
 this symbol, and not for another! It is not logical." 
 
 "You are right," said Wilhelm, "and our actions in 
 cases like this are not guided by logic. But one thing I 
 am sure of, if everything else is a symbol, a man's life 
 is not. It is what it appears to be; it signifies just 
 itself." 
 
 "Do you think so?" said Schrotter thoughtfully. 
 
 "Yes, although I understand the doubt implied in your 
 question. A living man is to me a secret, which I re- 
 spect with timidity and reverence — who can tell his pre- 
 vious history, what things he does, what truths he be- 
 lieves in, what happiness he is giving to others? There- 
 fore when I see him in danger I willingly risk my life to 
 save his. I know myself, and I estimate my value as a 
 trifling thing." 
 
 Schrotter shook his head. 
 
 "If that were right, an adult must in all cases give his 
 life to save a child, because he might grow to be a New- 
 ton, or a Goethe, and above all, because the child is the 
 future, and that must always taken precedence of the 
 past and the present. But to a mature man that is not 
 
92 TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 practicable. There are no more secrets. Mankind 
 knows that the probable is planted within his own being. 
 Do not seek to find additional reasons for a fact which 
 has already sprung up from unknown forces. It waa 
 sympathy which impelled you, the natural feeling for a 
 fellow-creature. And that is right and natural." 
 
 Wilhelm looked at Schrotter gratefully as he affection- 
 ately grasped his hand. 
 
4!ffB MaZAD 7 dp fsS CMTlTS. K 93 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IT WAS NOT TO BE. 
 
 The sun streamed down on Berlin from a cloudless sky, 
 and all the life of the town gathered in a confused, rest- 
 less throng in Unter den Linden ; but the bustle on this 
 hot summer day, June 16, 1871, had quite a different 
 character from that of eleven months before. And if 
 any one could have listened to it all with closed eyes, he 
 might have distinguished a joyful excitement in the air, 
 in the laughing of children and girls, in the lively gossip 
 of the men ; and from all these sounds of joy and chatter 
 he might have detected the signs that overstrained nerves 
 were now relaxed after long hours of weary suspense. 
 What hundreds of thousands had wished and hoped for 
 on that Friday in July had now come to its glorious fulfill- 
 ment, and Berlin, as the proud capital of a newly-estab- 
 lished empire, was giving a welcome home to the army. 
 They had at last found the answer to Arndt's ill-natured 
 question about the German Fatherland, and had set the 
 great Charles' imperial crown on the head of their bold 
 Hohenzollern king. 
 
 On one of the raised platforms near the Brandenburger 
 Thor were Wilhelm and Dr. Schrotter. The former had 
 renounced the privilege which belonged to him, as officer 
 in the Reserves, and moreover, as an example, had not 
 claimed his position among those who were wounded in 
 the war, still however wearing his uniform. Had he con- 
 sulted his own inclinations, he would not have come to 
 
94 THE MALADY OP THE CENTURY. 
 
 see this triumphaHt entrance, as he took very little pleas- 
 ure in the noisy enthusiasm of crowds. A great deal of 
 actual vulgarity is always exhibited on these occasions, 
 mingled with some real nobility of feeling. Counter- 
 jumpers and work-girls secure comfortable positions from 
 which to see the processions, groups of calculating 
 shopkeepers with advertisements of pictures and medals 
 of hateful ugliness speculate on the generosity of the 
 crowd, and others push with all the force of their bodily 
 weight to obtain and keep the front places for themselves. 
 Frau EUrich had sent Wilhelm two tickets, hoping that he 
 would make use of them. Dr. Schrotter wished to see 
 the spectacle, so Wilhelm asked his new friend to go with 
 him. 
 
 Near where they sat was the platform for the ladies 
 who were to crown the victors with wreaths. Among 
 them was Loulou. All the emotions and force of char- 
 acter of which she was capable had been brought out by 
 her position. Through the influence of her father, who, 
 in all the difficult and responsible business of the French 
 indemnity had found time to intercede for his little 
 daughter with the burgomasters and magistrates, Lou- 
 lou's dream was realized ; a dream which all the prettiest 
 girls in the best society in Berlin had also shared during 
 the last week. Her enrollment in this troop of beauties 
 was regarded by her less successful friends with envy, 
 but the vexation of disappointed rivals was naturally the 
 sweetest part of her triumph. 
 
 The young girls were dressed all alike in mediaeval 
 dresses like the well-known pictures of Gretchen in 
 Faust, with long plaits of hair, puffed and slashed 
 sleeves, and senseless and theatrical-looking little hang- 
 ing pockets. All were nevertheless conscious of the pro- 
 priety of their appearance, and felt quite heroic. It 
 
THE MALADY OF TEK OENTUBT. 95 
 
 really was heroic to sit there hour after hour in the 
 burning sun bareheaded, until all were gathered into one 
 great picture, and a documentary proof could be handed 
 down to their grandchildren in the shape of a large-sized' 
 photograph, showing that their grandmothers had been 
 chosen as the official beauties of Berlin in the year 1871. 
 The satisfaction of vanity, involving such a sacrifice, 
 almost deserves admiration. 
 
 It was nearly midday when a sudden stir took place in 
 the crowd. Every one on the platforms sprang up and 
 began to wave hats and handkerchiefs. In the windows, 
 on the roofs, in the spaces between the platforms, wher- 
 ever men could be packed, suddenly all the heads turned 
 to one side, just as a field of corn bends before a breeze. 
 Then uprose a roar of shouts and cheers, deafening and 
 almost stunning in intensity. It was impossible any 
 longer to distinguish tone, but only a tumult, such as a 
 diver in deep water might hear of the surface waves above 
 him. The senses were bemused by the continual succes- 
 sion of heads set close together like a mosaic, and cover- 
 ing the whole surface of the great street, and by the roar 
 which went up, cheering everything which made its ap- 
 pearance ; whether it were the struggling activity of the 
 crowd moving in the center of the street, the sudden fall 
 of foolhardy boys who had climbed into trees or up lamp- 
 posts, or the short and sharp fights which went on 
 between spectators for the best places, nothing escaped 
 recognition. 
 
 Now between the firing of cannons was heard a more dis- 
 tant sound of a warlike fanfare of trumpets, and between 
 the pillars of the central Brandenburg Gateway came the 
 Field-Marshal Wrangel, recognizing all the arrangements 
 with a pleasant smile, and with a radiantly happy expres- 
 sion on his withered face, as the first enthusiasm of the 
 
96 THE MALADY OP THE CENTURY. 
 
 people burst upon him, though he had demanded no part 
 of the triumph for himself. A group of generals followed 
 him in gorgeous uniforms, decorated with shining medals 
 and stars ; all bore famous names, attracting the keenest 
 interest and centering the enthusiasm of the crowd. 
 Endless and numberless seemed the ever-changing and. 
 richly-colored procession — Moltke, Bismarck, and Eoon 
 side by side, all statuesque figures, their eyes with stately 
 indifference glancing at the rejoicing people. They 
 seemed in the midst of this stormy wave of excitement 
 like stern, immovable rocks, standing firm and high 
 above the breaking surf at their feet. Many people had 
 at the sight of them an intuitive feeling that they were 
 not mortal men, but rather mystical embodiments of the 
 power of nature, just as the gods of the sun, the sea, and 
 the storm were the conceptions of the old religions. 
 They passed on, and at a short interval behind them 
 came the Emperor Wilhelm. His supreme importance 
 was emphasized by the space left before and after him. 
 Wreaths covered his purple saddle, flowers drooped over 
 the glossy skin of his high-stepping charger, his helmeted 
 head and his gloved hand saluted and bowed, and on his 
 face shone a mingled expression of gratitude and emo- 
 tion, which, after the hard, cold bearing of his fellow- 
 workers, was doubly impressive and affecting. Mani- 
 festly this conqueror was not like his Eoman prototype 
 who had the words, "Think of death," whispered in his 
 ear, while he tolerated the idolization of the people. 
 
 The monarch had to hear long speeches from the 
 ofScials and verses from the trembling lips of the young 
 girls who surrounded him before he could ride further. 
 The train of individual heroes ended with him. The 
 principle of massing together was now the order, in which 
 individuality is no longer recognized. 
 
THE MALAD Y OF THE OBNTURT. 97 
 
 Battalion after battalion and squadron after sqnadren 
 in endless lines passed by, until the tired eyes of the 
 spectators could hardly after a time distinguish whether 
 the lines were still moving, or had come to a standstill. 
 The helmets and weapons of the soldiers were garlanded 
 with flowers and foliage, the horses' legs were twined 
 with wreaths, and their feet trod on a mass of trampled 
 flowers and leaves. The strength of the German army 
 seemed to be decked and curled out of it; the lines of 
 marching soldiers had women's faces: here and there a 
 man had a patriotic admirer on his arm, who let it be 
 seen that she had taken possession of his weapon and 
 carried it for him. The officers, as much bedecked as 
 their men, managed nevertheless to preserve their dignity. 
 
 The crowd was gradually becoming stupefied by the 
 spectacle, throats were sore with shouting and cheering, 
 and the oppressive heat took the freshness out of the 
 people's enthusiasm. Once more, however, they broke 
 out again, just as when the emperor and his paladins 
 appeared, and this was when the French field-trophies 
 were carried past. Eighty-one standards and flags were 
 there, from the battlefields of Eussia, Italy, and Mexico, 
 soaked through with men's blood, gloriously decom- 
 posed, torn, blackened with powder, and riddled with 
 bullets. Now the strong arms of German non-commis- 
 sioned officers carried them in the sultry heat of the mid- 
 summer afternoon, these miserable remnants hanging 
 heavy and limp without a flutter, without a spark of trem- 
 bling life in the silken folds ; thej' looked like imprisoned 
 kings, who with heads bowed down, and despair in their 
 eyes, walked in chains behind the triumphant Roman 
 chariots. 
 
 "Look," sad Dr. Schrotter to Wilhelm, when a short 
 pause c,%mft in the shouting, and in the rain of wreaths 
 
()8 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 and flowers — "Look what makes the deepest impreBsion 
 on the people, next to the great representative figures. 
 There is the sj'mbol which yoti despised." 
 
 "What does that prove?" answered Wilhelm. "I 
 never doubted that the crowd was roused by appearances., 
 and not by the reason of things. The ideal results of 
 victory one cannot see with. one's eyea or applaud with 
 one's hands, but a dismantled banner one can." 
 
 "That does not explain everything. Atavism comes 
 into it. The inhabitants of towns in ancient times used 
 to rejoice and cheer in the same way when their victori- 
 ous troops brought home the tutelary gods of their 
 enemies. It is the same idea, the same superstition, 
 after an interval of three thousand years." , 
 
 "Yes, it is curious. I was thinking the whole time 
 that one had a picture of ancient civilization before one. 
 The wreaths of flowers, these swaggering figures with 
 their trophies of war, this gay crowd, distributing food 
 and drink, these young girls with their crowns, is it not 
 all esactly the manner in which the people of the Stone 
 Age or the savages of to-day would feast their heroes? 
 Cannot one understand in this that at the beginning of 
 civilization war was the highest object in state and 
 society, an opportunity of enrichment by booty, and a 
 festival for youth ? Nowadays we ought to have got far 
 enough to see in war only a weary fulfilling of duty, a 
 barbarous waste of labor, of which we are inwardly 
 ashamed ; and we should keep away from this noisy festi- 
 val as from the execution of a criminal, which may be 
 necessary, but is painful to witness. The progress from 
 barbarism to civilization is frightfully slow." 
 
 "It is true; we are still carrying ancient barbarism 
 round our necks, and without a great deal of rubbing 
 you will easily find the primitive savage under the skin 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 09 
 
 of our dear contemporaries who are able to construe Latin 
 beautifully. And tbese are not. the only gloomy 
 thoughts which this spectacle gi^es me. Look there! 
 over yonder at the other end of the street they are un- 
 veiling a momument to Friedrich Wilhelm III., and the 
 festival of victory is spoiled by homage paid to a despot 
 who during twenty-seven years never redeemed his pledge 
 to give the people a constitution. I am forty-eight years 
 old, and yet I have not forgotten my youthful ideas. 
 My generation looked forward to a united as well as to a 
 free Germany, and hoped that unity would not come out 
 of a war, but rather from the freewill of the German 
 people. It is now with us through other means, but I 
 fear not better ones. The aristocracy and the Church 
 will assert themselves again, and the military system will 
 lay its iron hand over the life of the whole nation. 
 People say already that it is the o£Bcer and not the 
 schoolmaster who has made Germany great. These 
 changes put my thoughts in a ferment. One has yet to 
 see whether such a society of officers can produce a 
 people, and if its thinkers and teachers could not lead it 
 to a richer ciiltivation, and its poets to a higher ideal of 
 duty. I am afraid, my friend, that the higher souls in 
 our new empire will not find this an easy time." 
 
 "And yet you left your dreaming in India to come 
 home to discomfort," said "Wilhelm. 
 
 "My longing for Germany never left me all the twenty 
 years I was there. And then I confess that I secretly 
 reproached myself for going away. It is comfortable to 
 turn one's back on the Fatherland, and to find more 
 agreeable conditions in 'a foreign country. But after- 
 ward one tells oneself that only egoists leave their own 
 people fighting against darkness and oppression, and 
 that one has no right to play the traitor to home and 
 
100 THE MALADY OH' THE CENTURY. 
 
 belongings, while those left behind are striving bitterly 
 to better their condition." 
 
 The procession of troops was still passing, but the 
 young girls had already left their posts; the stands were 
 beginning to empty, and Wilhelm and Dr. Schrotter tried 
 to break through the crowd and go homeward. After a 
 short silence Schrotter again went on : 
 
 "Don't misunderstand me," he said; "in spite of 
 thinking this triumphal procession barbaric, and ray 
 ideal being different from that of most people, I was 
 deeply moved to-day with sympathy and admiration. 
 This generation has achieved something colossal. My 
 eyes fill with tears when I see these men. For six or 
 seven j'ears they have shed their blood in these wars 
 without a murmur, they have fought in a hundred battles 
 without taking breath, they have neither counted the 
 cost nor spared their labor, and one feels astounded at 
 living amid such heroes, who seem to belong to a fairy 
 tale. This generation has done more than its duty, and 
 if now it is weary and will rest for thirty years in peace, 
 surely no one can reproach it." 
 
 Schrotter spoke with emotion, and Wilhelm who would 
 not grieve his friend by a contradiction, repressed a 
 retaliation which rose to his lips, and silently took leave 
 of him. 
 
 The life of the community, as of single individuals, 
 went back gradually into its old channels, and so it did 
 with Dr. Schrotter. He had lived hitherto in an old- 
 fashioned quarter of the town, and now, to be as near as 
 possible to Wilhelm, he rented a house in the Mittel- 
 strasse. He established a private hospital in the old 
 Schonhauserstrasse, in the midst of artisans and very 
 poor people, and there he spent daily many hours, treat- 
 ing for charity ^U those wlio came to hirq fpr help, fj^ 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE OMNTUBT. 101 
 
 Boon had a larger attendance than was comfortablej and 
 had to extend the work, without which he could not have 
 lived. He found endless opportunities of relieving 
 misery and distress in this poor quarter of the town, and 
 as he was a rich man, and independent of his own creat- 
 ure comforts, he could put his philosophy of compassion 
 into practice to his heart's content. "Wilhelm took up 
 his , work again at the Laboratory, and also resumed his 
 visits to the Ellrichs, but it was with an increasing dis- 
 comfort. The councilor, who had been distinguished 
 for his services in the financial transactions with the 
 French Government, had heard the story of the refusal of 
 the Iron Cross. He thought it very ridiculous, and his 
 early friendship for AYilhelm became markedly cooler. 
 Even Frau EUrich's motherly feeling for him received a 
 check, and modesty and shyness no longer seemed a 
 sufficient explanation of the unaccountable delay in his 
 love-making. Only Loulou was apparently the same 
 whenever he came, always lively and friendly, but when 
 he left she was affectionate without any display of emo- 
 tion, grateful for tender glances, not withholding quiet 
 kisses, but not offering them — her calm manner almost 
 mysterious, as if love were simply something superficial 
 and of small import. Wilhelm could no longer deny 
 that his first love, which had stirred his being to the 
 depths, was a mistake, but he could not bring himself to 
 definitely end the existing conditions. Hundreds of 
 times he was on the point of saying to Loulou that he did 
 not think the tie between them would secure their happi- 
 ness, 9,nd offering her her freedom, but as soon as he 
 began his courage would fail him. If people were pres- 
 ent he was confused; if they were alone, her personal 
 appearance had the same charm for him, or rather it 
 awoke in him the remembrance of the delight and enthu- 
 
102 TEE MALADY OF THE OBNTtTBT. 
 
 siasm he had felt in the past, and prevented him taking a 
 step toward what -would do grievous injury to her girlish 
 vanity, if nothing more. 
 
 Would this suspense and these fears, which made him 
 so restless and unhappy, always last? He might write a 
 letter to Loulou, as he was unable to say what he wished 
 to in the light of her beautiful brown eyes. Then he 
 threw this idea aside as unworthy of consideration; he 
 could not simply dismiss a girl whom he loved by means 
 of the post. The simple thing to do seemed to wait,until, 
 on the other side, they should grow disgusted with him, 
 and would tell him to go. This agreed with his passive 
 character, which was timidly inclined to draw back before 
 the rushing current of events, and preferred to be carried 
 along by them, just as a willow leaf is borne along on the 
 surface of a stream. Wilhelm could not help noticing 
 that Herr von Pechlar was now a favorite guest at the 
 EUrichs', that he made himself very fussy about both 
 mother and daughter, and that he had a very impertinent 
 and slightly triumphant air when he met him. He would 
 only have to leave the coast clear for Pechlar and all 
 would be at an end. 
 
 Paul Haber, who was in Berlin again, and paying a 
 great deal of attention to Fraulein Marker, was grieved 
 and really angry at the turn his friend's romance had 
 taken. He knew through Fraulein Marker how Herr 
 von Pechlar was trying to supplant Wilhelm, and that he 
 took every opportunity of making abominably false repre- 
 sentations about him. There ought to be no more fool- 
 ish loitering about. It was unpardonable to let the 
 golden bird fly away so easily. Once open the hand, and 
 she might be off. If Fraulein Ellrich was beginning to 
 flirt with Pechlar, it was quite excusable, as Wilhelm 's 
 coolness might well drive her to it. But if he stuck to 
 
TEE MALADY OF TEE CENTURY. 103 
 
 his absurd whim, that she was too superficial for him! — 
 as if every girl were not superficial, and as if a man can- 
 not educate her to whatever level he pleases— then in 
 heaven's name let him mate an end of it all, or the affair 
 ■would become ridiculous and contemptible. But other 
 considerations had weight with Wilhelm. 
 
 Through Paul and the officers of his acquaintance he 
 heard very unfavorable things of Pechlar. He was only 
 moderately well off, and had more debts than hairs on 
 his head; perhaps for a son-in-law of Herr Ellrioh's that 
 was a venial offense. He was also a common libertine, 
 whose excesses were more like those of a pork-butcher 
 than of a cultivated man. His companions were not dis- 
 inclined for little amorous adventures- — a joke with a 
 pretty seamstress or restaurant waitress were their capi- 
 tal offenses. But the manner in which Pechlar carried 
 on his amours was such as did not commend itself to 
 either the easygoing or cautious among the officers. 
 
 Wilhelm clearly saw that Pechlar did not love Loulou 
 — he was probably incapable of loving, and only wanted 
 her dowry. Without a thought of jealousy, and out of 
 compassion for an inexperienced and guileless creature 
 •who was dear to him, he thought it his duty to warn 
 her before she sullied herself by becoming bound to such 
 a man. To save Loulou he at last took the step which 
 no respect for his own peace or honor had allowed him to 
 take before. 
 
 He went to the Ellrichs' house the next day at the 
 usually early hour of eleven o'clock, and asking for the 
 young lady, he was shown into the little blue boudoir, 
 where he hoped to find Loulou alone. But he was pain- 
 fully surprised. Herr von Pechlar sat there, and ap- 
 peared to be in the middle of a conversation with Loulou. 
 She smiled at Wilhelm, and beckoned to him to come and 
 
1C4 THE MALADT OF TUB CENTURY. 
 
 sit near her, without embarrassment. Wilhelm stayed a 
 rjoment at the door irresolute, then he went forward, 
 and howing to her without looking at the hussar, said 
 earnestly : "I came in the hope of speaking to you alone, 
 gnadiges Fraulein. Perhaps I may be so fortunate 
 another time." 
 
 At these unexpected words Loulou opened her eyes 
 wide. Herr von Pechlar, however, who since Wilhelm's 
 arrival had been tugging angrily at his red mustache, 
 could contain himself no longer, and said in a harsh 
 voice, which trembled with passion : 
 
 "That is the coolest thing I have ever heard. May I 
 ask first of all why you cut me on entering the room?" 
 
 "I only recognize people whom I esteem," said Wil- 
 helm over his shoulder. 
 
 "You are a fool," flashed back Pechlar 's answer. 
 
 Perfectly master of himself, "Wilhelm said to Loulou, 
 "I am extremely sorry that I have been the cause of an 
 outbreak of bad manners in your presence," then he 
 bowed and left the room, while Loulou sat there motion- 
 less, and Herr von Pechlar gave him a scornful laugh. 
 
 With all his retirement from the world, and his in- 
 difference to the usages of society, Wilhelm felt never- 
 theless a sharp stab of pain, as if he had been struck 
 across the face with a whip. As he walked down the 
 Koniggratzer Strasse it seemed to him as if a bright, fiery 
 wound burned on his face, and the passers-by were star- 
 ing at this sign of insult. His powerful imagination 
 formed pictures unceasingly of violent deeds of revenge. 
 He saw himself standing with a smoking pistol opposite 
 the offender, who fell to the ground with a wound in his 
 forehead; or he fought with him, and after a long strug- 
 gle he suddenly pierced the hussar through the breast 
 with' his sword. By degrees his blood cooled, and with 
 
Mff MALAiyr OF THB CENTtTtit. lOo 
 
 all the strength of his will he fought against the feelings 
 which he knew formed the brute element in man, and 
 which with his philosophy he believed he had tamed, 
 and he said to himself, "No, no fighting. What good 
 would it do? I should either kill him, or be killed 
 myself. His insulting words really do me no more harm 
 than the yelping of this little dog who is running past 
 me. I will not let a remnant of prejudice be stronger 
 than my judgment." 
 
 Although he had come to this resolution, his nerves 
 were still so unstrung that he could not quiet them alone. 
 He felt he must unburden himself to some one, so he has- 
 tened toward Dr. Schrotter's. The doctor, however, had 
 not yet returned from his hospital. Wilhelm soon found 
 the inmates of his friend's household, an old Indian 
 man-servant and a housekeeper, also an Indian of about 
 thirty-five, with a yellow face already wrinkled and 
 withered, large dark eyes, and a gold-piece hanging from 
 her nostrils. The old man maintained a respectful atti- 
 tude toward her, which pointed to a great difference of 
 caste between them. The woman showed by her small 
 hands and feet, and the nobility of her expression, the 
 modest and yet dignified character of a lady, rather than 
 of a person in a subordinate position. Both wore Indian 
 dress, and attracted great attention when they showed 
 themselves in the street.- They hardly ever went out, 
 however, and were always busily employed in service for 
 Dr. Schrotter, to whom they were very devoted. 
 
 The old man, who spoke a little English, opened the 
 door to him, and told him that Schrotter Sahib would 
 soon be in. The woman also appeared, and beckoned to 
 him to go and wait in the drawing-room, opening the 
 door as she did so. As he went in she crossed her arms 
 on her breast, bowed her kead with its golden-colored silk 
 
1 06 TEE Ma LAD t OP THS CMTUB T. 
 
 turban, and vanished noiselessly. She only spoke Hin- 
 dustani, and always greeted "Willielm in this expressive 
 raanner. 
 
 The drawing-room, in -which Wilhelm walked restlessly 
 up and down, was full of Indian things; oriental carpets 
 on the floor, low divans along the walls covered with gold 
 embroidery and heaped with cushions, rocking-chairs in 
 the corners, punkahs hanging from the ceilings — no heavy 
 European furniture anywhere, but here and there a little 
 toy-like table or stool made of sandalwood or ebony, 
 inlaid with silver or mother-o'-pearl. Everything 
 smelled strangely of sandalwood and camphor and un- 
 known spices, everything seemed to spring and shake 
 under a heavy European foot, everything had such an 
 unaccustomed look, that one felt as if one were in a 
 foreign land, where Western prejudices and standpoints 
 were unknown and inadmissible. These surroundings 
 spoke to Wilhelm dumbly yet intelligibly, and he felt 
 their persuasive power almost immediately. He had 
 recovered his equanimity when, a quarter of an hour 
 later, Schrotter came in. 
 
 "What a pleasant surprise!" he cried from the door- 
 way. "Will you stay to lunch with me?" 
 
 W^ilhelm accepted gratefully, and then related his 
 morning's experiences. Schrotter had made bim sit on 
 a divan siirrounded by cushions, and listened attentively, 
 while his half-closed eyes, full of fire, rested on his 
 friend's uuhappy face. Wilhelm had never mentioned 
 his engagement to Fraulein Ellrioh to many of his old 
 friends, but Dr. Schrotter had been told of it in all its 
 circumstances by Paul Haber. Now, however, Wilhelm 
 could not avoid the subject in his mind, and to make his 
 last visit to the Ellrichs, and his behavior with regard to 
 Herr von Pechlar intelligible, he told Dr. Schrotter, in 
 
TBE MALADY OF THE GENTURT. lot 
 
 short, concise language, the beginning and subsequent 
 development of his love-affair, and by the confession of 
 his consideration of Loulou's nature, gave a clew to his 
 delay, coolness, and final renunciation. 
 
 When Wilhelm had finished, and raised his eyes ques- 
 tioningly to Schrotter, the latter said, after a short 
 silence : 
 
 "I congratulate you on the quiet way in which you 
 have told me all this. For a young fellow of twenty-six 
 with deep feelings it is little short of a wonder. But the 
 question is, what do you intend to do?" 
 
 "Nothing," answered Wilhelm simply. 
 
 "You will not call out Herr von Pechlar?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And if Herr von Pechlar challenges you?" 
 
 "He challenge me?" 
 
 "Certainly; for although he is the direct offender, we 
 can't overlook the fact, dear Eynhardt, that you first in- 
 sulted him, which by a nice point of honor would justify 
 him in taking the first steps. The man is evidently 
 bent on a quarrel, so we have to consider the possibility 
 that he may send his second with a challenge." 
 
 "Jn that case I would make it clear that I do not de- 
 mand satisfaction, but neither will I give it." 
 
 There was another pause. 
 
 "You are undertaking what may involve serious conse- 
 quences," remarked Schrotter. 
 
 "It appears to me easy enough," said "Wilhelm. 
 
 "You could not thick of an academic career in Ger- 
 many after it." 
 
 "You know I do not aspire to that." 
 
 "Beside that, the episode will become an insurmount- 
 able barrier in a hundred circumstances of life." 
 
 Wilhelm was silent. 
 
108 THE MALADY bf TEE GBNTURT. 
 
 "Don't misunderstand me. I have not a -word to say 
 in favor of the regulation of duels. I abhor them. It 
 is as stupid and brutal as the offering of human sacrifices 
 to appease angry gods. I myself have never fought in a 
 duel. But I — I am already on the shadowy side of life. 
 I want nothing more from the world. But those still on 
 the sunny side have other things to consider. I think 
 war is a horrible barbarism, still I would not advise any 
 one to hold back from his duty in time of war. Men are 
 often compelled to take part in the foolishness of majori- 
 ties. I know your heart is in the right place, and that 
 you don't place anj' exaggerated value on your life. You 
 are content to stand alone in the world, and have no 
 mortage of obligation on your life. Why will you not 
 fight?" 
 
 "Simply because I think as you do about duels. I 
 agree that one must often take part in the folly of the 
 crowd, but I see a difference there. I go and fight in 
 battle because the State compels me. I can struggle 
 against these laws with my feeble forces, and I can exert 
 myself to bring about their alteration; but so long as 
 they exist I must submit to them, or else exile myself or 
 commit suicide. If the duel were a written law, I would 
 fight; but the law as a matter of fact forbids it, and my 
 opinions are in accordance with the law." 
 
 "But there are laws of society as well as laws of the 
 State. There are customs which prevail over opinion. and 
 prejudices." 
 
 "That is not the same thing. If the folly of the 
 majority form itself into laws of the State, the gendarmes 
 see to their enforcement. No judge or jailer compels 
 obedience to the laws of society." 
 
 "Something like it, however. It is unspeakably bitter 
 to live without the respect of one's fellow-creatures." 
 
THE MALADY OH' THE CENTURY 109 
 
 "I am coming to that point. But please do not think 
 me overbearing and conceited. The respect of my fel- 
 low-men I hold far more lightly than self-respect. If I 
 despised myself it would be no compensation if every 
 one saluted me, and if I respect myself, it does not trou- 
 ble me if others hold me lightly. When I am not forci- 
 bly compelled I cannot let my own actions be guided by 
 the caprices and fads of other people. So long as it is 
 possible my actions shall be guided by my own judg- 
 ment. Tou say j'ou want nothing more of the world — I 
 require nothing more either. The only thing I demand 
 is the freedom of the soul." 
 
 "Yes — yes," murmured Schrotter as if to himself, "I 
 know this direction of thought better than you think. 
 It has been brought before me a hundred times by the 
 word and action of Indian fakirs. It seems to me that 
 false freedom of the soul is a chimera. Our most unfet- 
 tered resolves are called forth by unknown, often by out- 
 ward conditions, by our own peculiar qualities, by the 
 state of our bodily health, by unknown nervous sources 
 of energy through what we see, hear, read, learn. You 
 make your judgment the sole guide of your actions, but 
 your judgment itself is the result of forces and influences 
 unsuspected by yourself and depending on them. "Well! 
 you want to lead the life of a fakir, to unloose the ties 
 binding you to other men, that is one of several ways to 
 secure peace and happiness, which to me also is an object 
 in life. The principal thing is not to be superficial, but 
 to consider both what one requires and what one gives 
 up before turning into a fakir. I respect you in any 
 case." 
 
 The drawing-room door opened noiselessly, and the 
 Indian woman appeared, and with a pleasant inclination 
 of her head spoke a word to Dr. Schrotter. He got up 
 
no THE MALADY OP THE CENTUBT. 
 
 and said, "Lunch is ready." They went into the 
 adjoining dining-room, furnished like any brdifiary 
 room. On the table was a beautiful silver bowl of Indian 
 work filled with flowers, the sole luxury of this bachelor's 
 table, neither wine nor anything else to drink being vis- 
 ible. Schrotter drank nothing but water, and he knew 
 that Wilhelm's taste was similar. Bhani, as the Indian 
 housekeeper was called, stood close behind her master's 
 chair, never taking her eyes off him. The dishes were 
 brought in by the white-bearded servant, and handed 
 with a deep reverence to Bhani. She placed the dishes 
 before Schrotter, changing them for a fresh course, and 
 poured water into his glass. It was a silent, attentive 
 service, almost giving the impression of adoration. 
 Bhani appeared not to be waiting on a mortal master, but 
 taking part in a sacrifice in a temple, so much devotion 
 was expressed in her noble, warmly-colored face. 
 
 A dish of curry spread its oriental scent through the 
 room, and Schrotter continued : 
 
 "Tell me, dear Eynhardt, in what way you mean to ac- 
 complish your fakir's contempt of the world?" 
 
 "Pardon me," interrupted "Wilhelm, "the expression 
 does not strike me as quite fair. I don't despise the 
 world, I consider it merely as a phenomenon, valueless to 
 my way of thinking, and in which I fail to find any real 
 actuality." 
 
 "I understand quite well; we are not debating on a 
 platform, but chatting over our lunch. I am not trou- 
 bling either to talk in the correct jargon of school philos- 
 ophy, and therefore I am at liberty to call your longings 
 after the essence of things, contempt of the world. Now 
 this occurs in two places — either among inexperienced 
 young men of strong, noble natures, instinctively con- 
 scious of their OY<ni vitality, and intoxicated by their own 
 
TSE MALADY OF THE CENTUliT. HI 
 
 strength, who feel so overcome by the phenomenon that 
 they undervalue it, and believe that they are able singly 
 to fight against it. Or there are the weak natures, who 
 think that they are capable of changing the phenomenon 
 to suit themselves. As they are not in a position to 
 strive against it they retire sullenly defeated. The story 
 of the fox and the grapes would just express their case, 
 and also an excess of the consciousness of their 'ego.' 
 Those are, I think, the resources from which spring con- 
 tempt of the world : neither of these cases coincide with 
 yours; you are not young and inexperienced enough for 
 the one, and you are too useful for the other. You are 
 healthy and sound, of average powers and energy, un- 
 commonly well made in body and mind ; of the poetical 
 age, comfortably off, and I should like to know how you 
 have come to despise the world?" 
 
 "I hardly know. The first impulse came perhaps in 
 Eussia in early childhood, where I got into the habit of 
 regarding people around me as barbarous — neither use- 
 ful nor valuable." 
 
 Schrotter shook his head. 
 
 "I have lived for twenty years among a subdued and 
 so-called inferior race, but I have learned to love them 
 instead of despising them." 
 
 "Very likely I have inherited the feeling from my 
 mother, who was very timid of other people, and given 
 to mysticism." 
 
 "Is it not rather your reading? The unhappy Scho- 
 penhauer?" 
 
 VVilhelm smiled a little. 
 
 "I am above all things an admirer of Schopenhauer, 
 although his explanation of the mysteries of the world 
 through the will is a joke. What he has written about 
 the main teachings of Buddhism has influenced me very 
 much." 
 
113 THE MALADY OF THE CEN^URT. 
 
 "I see where you have got to— 'Maja Nirvana ' " 
 
 "Wilhelm nodded. 
 
 "That is all a fraud," Schrotter broke out, so that 
 Bhani, who never saw him violent,'looked up frightened. 
 '*! know Indians who have talked endlessly to learned 
 pandits on these questions, and have explained the real 
 ideas of Maja Nirvana to me. It is incomprehensible 
 that people can misuse words on this subject as they do 
 in Europe. Nirvana is not what European Buddhists 
 appear to believe — an absolute negation — a cessation of 
 consciousness and desire ; but, on the contrary, it is the 
 highest consciousness, the expansion of individual being 
 into universal existence. Here is the Indian seer's con- 
 ception : the most limited individuality cares only for his 
 own 'ego. ' But in the same measure that he transcends 
 his limitation, the circle of his interest is widened; more 
 actualities and existing phenomena are admitted, and 
 come into sympathy with himself. All things mingle 
 with and extend his own 'ego;' and that can be so wid- 
 ened as to embrace the interests of the whole world, until 
 man can be in as much sympathy with a grain of sand, or 
 the most distant star, and take as much share in the ant, 
 and in the dwellers on Saturn, as in his own stomach and 
 toes. In this way the whole universe becomes a constitu- 
 cent part of his 'ego;' thus his desires cease individually 
 to exist, and are assimilated with the entire phenomenal 
 Tvorld, and he longs for nothing beyond this. The 'ego' 
 ceases because nothing is left outside the individual 
 'ego;' but this Nirvana, this highest step in the perfec- 
 tion of humanity, is, as you can see, not the negation of 
 everything, but the absorption of everything ; not some- 
 thing immovable, but rather the wonderful, ceaseless 
 movement of the world's life. Men will not attain to 
 Nirrana through quiet and indifference, but through 
 
TSB MALAb t OF Tills GMTtTRt. Il3 
 
 strenuous labor, not by withdrawing into their 'ego,' but 
 by going outside it. The true Nirvana of the pandits is 
 the exact opposite of your Schopenhauer's Nirvana." 
 
 "But how can this conception of the seer's Nirvana 
 coincide with their inactivity and renunciation of the 
 world?" 
 
 "People misunderstand the fakir's belief. The Indian 
 wise men think that the work of perfection is performed 
 by the spirit alone, and that the activity of the body dis- 
 turbs it ; therefore the body must rest while the soul ac- 
 complishes its full measure of work, while it widens the 
 circle of its interest, and absorbs into itself the phenome- 
 nal world. The clumsy understanding of the crowd 
 thereupon comes to the conclusion that to become holy 
 and attain to Nirvana, one must not stir a finger, not 
 even to support oneself." 
 
 Wilhelm thought over this new point of view, but 
 Schrotter went on : 
 
 "Believe me, true wisdom is neither that of the fakir 
 nor of the man of the world ; but as it appears to me, it 
 neither despises the world nor admires it. One must not 
 depend on oneself too much, neither on others. One 
 must always be saying to oneself that one has no lasting 
 importance in the world, but that in this transitory state 
 eternal forces are at work, the same forces which drive 
 the earth round the sun, and which operate on all men 
 and things. Do not let us individualize too much ; we 
 are only a piece of the whole, to which we hang by a 
 thousand unknown threads. Let us not either be too 
 arrogant in our bearing toward our fellow-men, in whose 
 company we are the involuntary puppets of unknown 
 laws of development which are leading humanity on to a 
 given epoch." 
 
114 THU MALADY OP TMB OSNTURT. 
 
 Tbis conversation had taken Wilhelm's mind off his 
 misfortune, and he had almost forgotten hia adventure 
 ■with Pechlar. He was reminded of it, however, on 
 reaching home ahout three o'clock, by finding Paul, who 
 always came to see him at that hour. 
 
 "What's the news?" cried he, coming cheerfully to 
 meet him. 
 
 "I went to-day to see Fraulein Ellrich, to set things 
 right between us." 
 
 "Bravo." 
 
 "Yes; I went, but I have not done it." And then he 
 related the incident again. 
 
 Paul seemed quite stunned while Wilhelm was speak- 
 ing, and then sprang up in great excitement from the 
 sofa, and cried : 
 
 "You will fight the scoundrel, of course!" 
 
 "No," said "Wilhlem quietly. 
 
 "What!" shouted Paul, taking hold of Wilhelm's 
 shoulder and shaking him. "Surelj'' you are not in 
 earnest? You are an officer — you have been a student^ — • 
 you will never let that fool of a fellow place you in a false 
 position!" 
 
 Wilhelm freed himself, and tried to speak reasonably ; 
 but Paul would not listen, and went on, his face red with 
 anger : 
 
 "Not only for yourself; you owe it to the girl's honor, 
 if not to your own, to punish the fellow. You won't 
 appear like a coward in a woman's eyes." 
 
 "That is an odd kind of logic." 
 
 "Do be quiet with your logic and your philosophy, and 
 the lot of them. I am not a logician, but a man, and I 
 feel a mortal offense like a man, and want to settle with 
 the offender." 
 
 "Do stop a minute and let me speak a word, I will 
 
i'ilB MALADY OV THM GSNTtJRT. 115 
 
 break off my relations with Fraulein Ellrich, and then I 
 shall not be in a position to fight for her." 
 
 "That is very ehivalrous!" 
 
 "That is silly! Just think of this situation: suppose 
 I Tvound or kill the offender — come back from the duel, 
 and find the young girl, who is the cause of the quarrel, 
 ready to offer me the prize. I answer: 'Many thanks, 
 fair lady, I do not now wish for it,' and straightway 
 leave her, like the knight in the old ballad." 
 
 That seemed to satisfy Paul. 
 
 "Very well; then it must not be on her account. But 
 fight you must," and he stopped suddenly, and then 
 burst out: "If you will not fight him, I will." 
 
 "Are you mad?" 
 
 Paul began to explain that he had the right to do it; 
 he worked himself into a fury, he stuck to his ideas, and 
 it took Wilhelm an hour to bring him to a more reason- 
 able frame of mind. He spared no pains in explaining to 
 him his views of the world's opinion, and that the real 
 cowardice would be to fear the foolish prejudices of 
 society; but it was all in vain, and Paul's angry objec- 
 tions were only silenced when Wilhelm said with great 
 earnestness : 
 
 "If nothing that I say convinces you, I can only act in 
 one way with the painful knowledge that our friendship 
 is not equal to such conditions, but only to ordinary oc- 
 casions. " 
 
 "Oh! if it comes to giving up our friendship, as far as 
 lam concerned, I must wink at the whole thing; but 
 what I can't stand is your calling the opportunity which 
 allows one to silence a fool, a mere disease." 
 
 The crisis was not long in coming. The next morning 
 before Wilhelm went out, a lieutenant of one of the 
 Uhlan regiments stationed at Potsdam called, and said 
 
116 MB MALADf oP fHM CMttlBf. 
 
 he had come with a challenge from Herr von Pechlar; he 
 declined to sit down, giving his message as shortly as 
 possible, with the least suspicion of contempt in his 
 voice. 
 
 Herr von Pechlar had waited the whole afternoon; but 
 as Herr Eynhardt had sent him no message, he could no 
 longer put off demanding satisfaction. The ctuestions as 
 to who was the offender, and what weapons should be 
 used, might now be decided by the seconds. Wilhelm 
 looked calmly into the officer's ej'es, and explained that 
 he had nothing further to do with Herr von Pechlar. 
 
 "You are an officer in the Eeserve?" asked the lieu- 
 tenant haughtily. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I hope you understand that we shall bring the case 
 before the notice of the regiment?" 
 
 "You are perfectly free to do so." 
 
 The lieutenant stuck his eyeglass into his right eye, 
 looked hard at Wilhelm for several seconds, then, with 
 an expression of deep disgust, he spat on the floor, 
 noisily turned round, and without a word or sign, re- 
 tired, his sword and spurs clanking as he went. 
 
 Oh, how hard it was to overcome the instinct of the 
 wild beast! How furiously it tugged at its chain! 
 How it tried to spring after the lieutenant, and clutch 
 his throat in its claws! — but Wilhelm conquered the new 
 cravings of his instinct and stood still. He experienced a 
 great self-contentment at last, and admitted to himself 
 that he would not have been nearly so glad if he had 
 wounded a dozen of the enemj' in single combat. 
 
 Three days later he received in writing, an order to 
 present himself at eleven o'clock the morning but one 
 following to the Commandant of the 61st Eegiment. He 
 took the journey the following evening, and at the ap- 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTVRT. 117 
 
 pointed hour he was shown into the commandant's pri- 
 vate room, where he found also his old captain, raised to 
 the rank of major. He spoke kindly to Wilhelm and 
 held out his hand, while the commandant contented him- 
 self with a nod, and a sign to be seated. 
 
 "I suppose you know that you have been ordered to 
 come here about the affair with Lieutenant von Pechlar?" 
 he said. 
 
 "Certainly, sir." 
 
 "Will you relate what occurred?" 
 
 Wilhelm answered as he was desired. His recital was 
 followed by a short silence, during which the command- 
 ant and the major exchanged glances. 
 
 "And you will not fight?" asked the first. 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because my principles do not allow me." 
 
 The commandant looked at the major again and then at 
 Wilhelm, and went on : 
 
 "If I take the trouble to discuss the matter with you 
 quite unofficially, you have to thank the major, who has 
 spoken warmly in your favor." 
 
 Wilhelm thanked the major by a bow. 
 
 "We know that you are not a coward. You showed 
 great bravery on the battlefield. It is because of that, 
 I feel sorry. You are a faddist, j'ou proved that by your 
 refusal of the Iron Cross, which is the pride of every 
 other German soldier. We are not willing to condemn a 
 mode of procedure, the meaning of which you evidently 
 do not understand, and which all your views of life tend 
 to destroy. I am not speaking now as your superior 
 officer, but as a man — as your father might speak to you. 
 Believe what I say. Fulfill your duty as a man of honor. " 
 
 "I cannot follow your advice," answered Wilhelm 
 gentle, but firmly. 
 
118 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 He was painfully conscious that his answer sounded 
 more roughly and harshly than he intended, but he knew 
 it was impossible to go into a long philosophical discus- 
 sion, kind and well-meaning as the commandant was. 
 
 "We have more than fulfilled our promise, major," 
 said the commandant, and turning to Wilhelm, "Thank 
 you, Herr — — " 
 
 The major looked out of the window, and Wilhelm had 
 to go without being able to thank him by a look. He 
 felt, however, that this time things had been easier for 
 him to bear, and that the only painful feeling he had 
 experienced during the interview was the vexation he 
 was giving the major. 
 
 The Militar Wochenhlatt published a short account 
 of his discharge. It made no personal impression on 
 him; but he felt that he was branded in the eyes of 
 others. It, however, seemed to draw Paul Haber nearer 
 to him. He avoided talking on the subject, but every 
 one noticed the quiet way in which he behaved to Wil- 
 helm, his little attentions, his long and frequent visits, 
 as if he were under the impression that he must console 
 his friend in this great misfortune, and stand by him as 
 firmly as possible. Wilhelm knew him as he did himself 
 — how cautious and practically clever he was, and how 
 dangerous it was for him in his own position as Eeserve 
 oflSoer to keep up this confidential intercourse with one 
 who had been turned from a hero to a judicially dis- 
 missed officer; how perilous for the connection he had 
 with celebrated and influential people, and for the ap- 
 pearance he must keep up in society. Wilhelm valued 
 and appreciated all Paul's heroism in remaining so true 
 and stanch to him ; he did not ask for these things, but 
 they were freely given by one who ran the risk of becom- 
 ing poor, so he was deeply grateful to him. _. 
 
TBE MALADY OP THE GENTURT. 119 
 
 He considered himself under an obligation to go once 
 more to the Ellrichs', to formally take leave of them; 
 but when he rang at their door he was told that the 
 family had gone away to Heringsdorf. As this had oc- 
 curred, Paul did not think it necessary to tell his friend 
 what he had heard through Fraulein Marker, namely, 
 that the Ellrichs were very angry about the afifair of the 
 duel, and had given orders before they went away that 
 Wilhelm was not to be admitted if he called. Wilhelm 
 now wrote to Loulou (he had avoided doing so earlier), 
 a short, dignified letter, in which he begged her forgive- 
 ness for having been so long in finding out the state of 
 his feelings, as the struggle had been hard and painful, 
 but he could now no longer conceal the fact that- their 
 characters were not sufficiently in harmony to insure 
 happiness together for a lifetime. He thanked her for 
 the happiest week in his life, and for the deepest and 
 sweetest feelings he had ever experienced, and which 
 would always remain the dearest memory of his life. 
 His photograph was shortly afterward sent back to him 
 from Ostend; but his letter remained unanswered. He 
 did not learn therefore, that it had made an exceedingly 
 bad impression, and that Frau Ellrich had only been 
 restrained with difficulty by her daughter from writing 
 to tell him how impertinent she thought it of him to 
 appear to take the initiative, when her daughter had first 
 refused to receive him. Herr von Pechlar obtained a 
 long leave, which he spent at Heringsdorf. In Septem- 
 ber the Kreuzzeitung announced his betrothal to Frau- 
 lein Ellrich, which was followed in the winter by their 
 brilliant wedding. 
 
 The breaking of "Wilhelm 's relations with Loulou left 
 a great blank in his life. Up till now he had had in 
 pleasant, hopeful hours, an object to which all the paths 
 
120 The MALADY OF TEE CENTURY. 
 
 in his life led him, to which his thoughts were drawn aS 
 a ship steers for a distant yet secure harbor; now the 
 object was gone, and when he looked forward to his 
 future it seemed like the gray surface of the sea at dusk, 
 formless, limitless, without meaning or interest. Even 
 the painful doubt he had been in, his hesitation between 
 the resolve to persevere in the engagement, or to renounce 
 it, the fight between his intelligence aiad his inclinations, 
 had become familiar to him, and had filled his thoughts 
 by day and his dreams by night. These must now all be 
 renounced. If for the last half-year his love had been 
 only a quiet happiness, or a hardly-defined desire, it was 
 at any rate an occupation for his mind, and he missed 
 the employment very greatly. 
 
 He became quieter than ever; his face lost its youth- 
 ful, healthy color, and he appeared like the typical lover 
 famed in classic story. But his friends did not laugh at 
 him ; they bore with him, treated him gently, as if he 
 had been a disappointed girl. Paul, who was filling the 
 place of an invalided professor of agricultural chemistry, 
 and working hard after the college term began, found 
 time to come every day for a long walk in the Thiergar- 
 ten, and resigned himself to long philosophical discus- 
 sions which so far had not been at all to his taste. Dr. 
 Schrotter seldom had any spare time during the day; 
 but Wilhelm always took tea with him in the evenings. 
 
 Did Bhani know anything of his story ? 
 
 Had her womanly instinct guessed that his careworn, 
 melancholy expression betraj-ed an unhappy love story — 
 a subject so sympathetic to women? Anyhow she antici- 
 pated every means of serving him, and her glance be- 
 trayed an almost shamefaced sympathy. 
 
 One November evening they were sitting at the little 
 drum-shaped table in the Indian drawing-room ; the tea- 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 131 
 
 urn steaming, and Bhani standing near, ready to obey 
 her master's slightest wish. Schrotter touched on the 
 wound in Wilhelm's heart hitherto so tenderly avoided. 
 
 "My friend," he said, "it is time that you came to 
 yourself. It is obvious that you are still grieving, in- 
 stead of fighting against your dreams ; you give way to 
 them without a struggle." 
 
 Wilhelm hung his head. "You are right. It is fool- 
 ish ; for I see that I do not love the girl deeply enough 
 to spoil my life." , 
 
 ' ' Come now. You were more in love than you thought ; 
 but it is always so ; even in pure and passionless natures 
 human nature is very strong, and the first young and 
 pretty girl who comes near enough to you brings out all 
 the dormant feelings, and reason disappears. People 
 often do the maddest things in this period of unrest, 
 which they repent all their after life. I have always mis- 
 trusted a first love. One must be quite satisfied that it 
 is for an individual, and not merely the natural inclina- 
 tion for the other sex asserting itself. Your first love, 
 my poor Eynhardt, certainly belongs to this class. Your 
 youthful asceticism has had its revenge ; now that your 
 reason has got hold of the reins again, the rebellion of 
 your instinct will soon be subdued." 
 
 "I hope so," said Wilhelm. 
 
 "I am sure of it. There is no doubt about the end of 
 crises like these, and it really is difficult to take the 
 misery they cause seriously, although it is bad enough 
 while it lasts. It is the most overpowering and yet the 
 least dangerous of diseases. The patient gives himself 
 up for lost, and the doctor can hardly help smiling, 
 because he knows that the malady will only run its 
 course, and will stop like a clock at its appointed time. 
 He can, however, hasten the cure, if he Qan bring thq 
 patient to bis Q'wni cgnviction," 
 
123 THB MALxiDT OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 He was silent, and seemed sunk in thought. Then he 
 began again suddenlj- : "I will read you a story about 
 this; nothing is more instructive than a clinical picture." 
 
 Bhani sprang to her feet and hastened toward him, but 
 he put her aside with a word, and going into his study 
 he appeared again bearing a folio bound in leather and 
 with the corners fastened with copper. 
 
 "This is my diary," he said. "I have had the weak- 
 ness to keep this since I was sixteen. There are three 
 volumes already, and I began the fourth when I returned 
 to Germany. Listen now, and don't put yourself under 
 any constraint. I will laugh with you." 
 
 He opened the folio, and after a short search began to 
 read. It was the romance of his early life, written in the 
 form of a diarj', simply told at some length. Quite an 
 ordinary story of an acquaintanceship made with a 
 pretty girl, the daughter of a bookseller, who sat next to 
 him in a theater. Meetings out of doors, then the intro- 
 duction to her parents' house, and then the betrothal. 
 The Revolution of 1848 broke out, and the many demands 
 on the j'oung doctor turned his thoughts away for the 
 time from plans of marriage. His fiancee greatly ad- 
 mired the fiery orator and fighter at barricades, and told 
 him so, in enthusiastic speeches and letters. The father, 
 however, had no sympathy with reactionaries, and soon 
 conceived a violent antipathy for his future single-minded 
 son-in-law. As long as the democratic party held the 
 upperhand, he kept his feelings in the background, 
 making nevertheless endless pretests for delaying the 
 marriage. The party of reactionaries broke up, how- 
 ever, and the bookseller declared war; he forbade the 
 young democrat to enter his house, and even denounced 
 him to the police. The young lovers were, of course, 
 dreadfully unhappy, and vowed to be true to one another. 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 123 
 
 He determined to go away, and tried to persuade her to 
 go with him. She was frightened, but he was audacious 
 and insisted. They would go to London, and be mar- 
 ried there; he could earn his living, and they would defy 
 the father's curse. All was arranged; but at the last 
 moment her courage failed, and she confessed all to the 
 tyrant, who set the police on the young man's track, and 
 sent the girl away to relations in Brandenburg. The un- 
 fortunate lover's letters were unanswered. He left Ger- 
 many, and heard after some weeks that his betrothed was 
 married to a well-to-do jeweler, apparently without any 
 great coercion. 
 
 This storj' was disentangled from letters, conversations, 
 accounts of opinions in the form of monologues, inter- 
 views, visits, and descriptions of sea-voyages; all 
 sufficiently commonplace. But what excitement these 
 daily effusions showed! What boundless happiness 
 about kisses, what cries of anguish when the storm broke! 
 Would it not be better to commit suicide and die 
 together? Was it possible that this quiet man with his 
 apathetic calm could ever have been through these stormy 
 times? It did not seem credible, and Schrotter seemed 
 conscious of the immense difference between the man 
 who had written the book and the man who now read it. 
 His voice had a slightly ironical sound, and he parodied 
 some of the scenes in reading them, by exaggerating the 
 pathos. But this could not last long. The real feeling 
 which sighed and sobbed between the pages made itself 
 felt, and carried him back from the cold present to the 
 storm-heated past; he became interested, then grave, and 
 if he had not suddenly shut the book with a bang when 
 he came to the place where his faithless love was mar- 
 ried, who knows 
 
 At all events, Wilhelm had not smiled once ; his eyes 
 
1 24 THE MALAD 7 OF THE CENTUR T. 
 
 even showed signs of tears. Schrotter took the book into 
 the other room, and when he came back every trace of 
 emotion in look and manner had vanished. 
 
 "So you see," he began, "a sensible boy like I am has 
 behaved like an ass in the past. But I did not shoot my- 
 self after all, that was so far good, and I am ashamed to 
 tell you how soon I got over it. I often go past her shop 
 in Unter den Linden, and see her through the window 
 beyond all her brilliants and precious stones. She is 
 still very pretty, and seems happy, much happier no 
 doubt than if she had been with me. She would certainly 
 not recognize me now, and I can look at her and my heart 
 beats no whit the faster. Dwell on my example." 
 
 "I am not sure that you are not slandering yourself." 
 "You can feel easy about that," said Schrotter earn- 
 estly. "The disenchantment was quick and complete, 
 and very naturally so. Just get Schopenhauer's 'objec- 
 tivity' out of your head; I don't believe in Plato's 
 theory of the soul divided into two halves which are for- 
 ever trying to join again. Every sane man has ten thou- 
 sand objects which are able to awaken and return his 
 love. All he has to do is not to go out of their way." 
 "Ought not there to be an individual one?" 
 "I venture to say no. The story of the pine trees of 
 Eitter Toggenburg, which love the palm trees, is the 
 creation of a sentimental poet. Lawgivers in India to 
 all appearance believe in faithfulness unto death; and 
 the widow or even the betrothed follows her husband to 
 the grave of her own free will. This free-will offering 
 only comes, however, by aid of the sharpest threatening 
 of punishment. I have known fourteen-year-old widows 
 who offered themselves miserably to be burned. If they 
 had known how soon they would be consoled, and new 
 love sprang up, they would have violently resisted such 
 suicide! Bhani there ia ^ living example of this," 
 
tEE MALADY OF TEE CENfttBt. 125 
 
 As she heard her name she looked up, and Wilhelm 
 intercepted a look between her and Dr. Schrotter, which 
 all at once made clear to him what he had vaguely sus- 
 pected before. He turned his head sadly toward the 
 window, and looked out into the foggy autumn evening. 
 He felt almost as if he had committed a crime, in having 
 discovered a secret which had not been freely revealed to 
 him. 
 
136 TBE MALADY OF THE CENTUli 2 ". 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A LAY SERMON. 
 
 " Es ist eine Lust, in deiser Zeit zu leben!" cried Paul 
 Haber, as he walked -witli "Willielm and Dr. Schrpt- 
 ter on the ilrst sunny day the following April. They 
 walked under the lindens full of leaf through the Thier- 
 garten, and home over the Charlottenburger Briicke. 
 
 The spirit in which he uttered Hutten's words was at 
 that time dominant and far-reaching. It seemed as 
 though people were all enjoying the honeymoon of the 
 new empire ; that they breathed peace and the joy of life 
 with the air, as if the whole nation inhaled the pleasure 
 of living, the joy of youth and brave deeds, and that they 
 stood at the entrance of an incomprehensibly great era, 
 promising to everyone fabulous heights of happiness. 
 
 A sort of feverish growth had sprung up in Berlin, an 
 excitement and ferment which filled the villas in the west 
 end, and the poor lodging-houses of the other end of the 
 town : was found too in councilors' drawing-rooms, and 
 in surburban taverns. New streets seemed to spring up 
 during the night. Where the hoe and rake of kitchen- 
 gardens were at work yesterday, to-day was the noise of 
 hammers and saws, and in the middle of the open fields 
 hundreds of houses raised their walls and roofs to the 
 sky. It seemed as if the increasing town expected 
 between to-day and to-morrow a hundred thousand new 
 inhabitants, and were forced to build houses in breath- 
 less haste to shelter them. 
 
THE MALADY OF THE GENTURT. VZI 
 
 And as a matter of fact the expected throng arrived. 
 Even in the most distant provinces a curious but power- 
 ful attraction drew people to the capital; artisans and 
 cottages, village shopkeepers, and merchants from small 
 towns, all rushed there like the inflowing tide. It made 
 one think of a number of moths blindly fluttering round 
 a candle, or of the magnetic rock of Eastern fairy tales, 
 irresistibly attracting ships to wreck themselves. It 
 recalled to one the stories of California at the time of the 
 gold fever. People's excited imaginations saw a verita- 
 ble gold-mine in Berlin. The French indemnity flew to 
 people's heads like champagne, and in a kind of drunken 
 frenzy every one imagined himself a millionaire. Some 
 had even seen exhibited a reproduction of the hidden 
 treasure. The great heap of glittering pieces was certainly 
 there, a tempting reality, piled up mountains high, mil- 
 lions on millions, craftily arranged to glitter in the flar- 
 ing gas-light before their covetous eyes. The real treas- 
 ure must be at least as substantial as its counterfeit. 
 People began to see gold everywhere; red streaks of gold 
 shone through the window-panes, instead of the warm 
 spring sun; they heard murmuring chinking streams of 
 gold flowing behind the walls of their houses, under the 
 pavements of the streets, and every one hastened to fill 
 their hands, and thirsted for their share in the subter- 
 ranean gold whose stream was concealed fronj their eyes. 
 While their lips were being moistened by the stream of 
 gold, they were, as a matter of fact, drinking the trans- 
 formed flesh and blood of the heroes who had sacrificed 
 themselves on the French battlefields, and in this in- 
 famous travesty of the Christian mystery of the Lord's 
 Supper the devil himself took part and possession of 
 them. They followed new customs, new views of life, 
 other ideals. The motto of their noisy and obtrusive 
 
128 THE MALADT OP TJSE CENTtflif. 
 
 life seemed to be, "Get rich as quickly and with as little 
 trouble as possible, and make as much as possible of your 
 riches -when you have secured them, even by illegitimate 
 means." So the splendid houses rose up in an over- 
 loaded gaudy irregular style of architecture, and the 
 smart carriages ■with india-rubber tires rolled by, yield- 
 ing soft and soothing riding to their occupants. 
 
 Berlin, the sober economical town, the home of honor- 
 able families, extolled for respectability almost to affecta- 
 tion, now learned the disorderly ways of noisy cafes, the 
 luxury of champagne suppers, in over-decorated restua- 
 rauts, became intimately acquainted with the theaters — 
 gaining doubtful introductions to expensive mistresses. 
 Mere upstarts set the fashion in dress, in extravagance, 
 and all who would be elegant, followed, leading the 
 v^ay to barbaric vices. The old-established inhabitants 
 •were many of them weak or silly enough to try to outdo 
 the newcomers, and degraded the quiet dignity of their 
 patriarchal manner of life by speculations on the Stock 
 Exchange. The intelligent middle classes, whose eyes 
 and ears were filled with this bluster of the gold-orgy, 
 found that their former way of living had now grown un- 
 comfortable ; their houses were too small, their bread too 
 dry, their beer too common : and their views of life began 
 to climb upward in a measure which, whether they were 
 willing or equal in talent to it, forced from them harder 
 work and more dogged perseverance. Political econo- 
 mists and statisticians were drawn into excitement by 
 their knowledge of figures. They extolled the sudden 
 crisis in the money market, the easy returns, the great 
 development of consumption in goods. They quoted tri- 
 umphantly the amount of importations; the great in- 
 crease in 'silk, artistic furniture, glass, jewelry, valuable 
 wines, spices, liqueuers, was called a splendid develop- 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 139 
 
 ment of trade ; wonderful evidence of the prosperity of 
 all classes, and an elevation of the manner of life of the 
 German people. And if moralists failed to see in these 
 heated desires and idle display, the presence of progress 
 and blessing, they were called limited Philistines, who 
 were too feeble-minded to recognize the signs of the 
 times. 
 
 The position of the workingman profited by the new 
 condition of things. Berlin seemed insatiable in her 
 demands for able-bodied workmen. Hundreds and thou- 
 sands left the fields and the woods, and taking their 
 strong arms to the labor market of the capital, found 
 employment in the factories and the workshops; and the 
 mighty engines still beat, sucking in as it were the stream 
 of people from the country. Berlin itself could not con- 
 tain this influx. The newcomers were obliged gypsy 
 fashion to put up as best they could in the neighborhood. 
 In holes and caves on the heaths and commons, in huts 
 made of brushwood, they bivouacked for months, and 
 these men who lived like prairie dogs in such apparent 
 misery were merry over their houseless wild existence. 
 As a matter of fact they experienced no actual want, as 
 there was work for every one who could and would labor. 
 The rewards were splendid, and the proletariat found 
 that its only possession, viz., the strength of its muscles, 
 was v/orth more than ever before. The workingman 
 talked loudly, and held his head high. "Was it the result 
 of having served in one or more campaigns? Had he in 
 the background of his mind a vision of dying men and 
 desolate villages, seen so often on the battlefield? How- 
 ever it was, he became violent and quarrelsome, indifferent 
 alike to wounding and death, and learned to make use of 
 the knife like any cutthroat townsman. 
 
 "With this returq to barbarism (an unfailing result with 
 
130 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 the soldier after every time of war) went a degree of ani- 
 mal spirits, which made one ask whether the workman 
 had learned something of epicurean philosophy. He had 
 the same excited love of tattling as a thoughtless girl, 
 and the animal love of enjoyment of a sailor after a long 
 voyage. His ordinary life seemed to him so uninterest- 
 ing, so dull, that he tried to give color and charm to it 
 by taking as many holiday's as possible, and making his 
 work more agreeable with gambling and drinking, and 
 going for loafing excursions about the neighborhood. 
 Visits to wine and beer-houses and dancing-rooms were 
 endlessly multiplied, and everything had the golden 
 foundation which the proverb of an age of simplicity 
 hardly attributed to honorable handicraft. Profits were 
 squandered in drink ; life was a rush and a riot without 
 end. 
 
 But curiously, in the same degree in which the op- 
 portunities of work were increased and wages became 
 higher, life everywhere easier, and the ordinary enjoy- 
 ments greater; just so did the workman grow discon- 
 tented. Desires increased with their gratification, and 
 envy measured its own prosperity by the side of the 
 luxury of the nouveaux riches. 
 
 The hand which never before had held so much money, 
 now learned to clinch itself in hatred against the owner 
 of property, the company promoter; against all in fact 
 who were not of the proletariat. The Social Democrat 
 had sprung up ten years before from the circle of the 
 intelligent political economists and philosophers of the 
 artisan classes. Since the war they numbered thousands 
 and ten of thousands, and now began to grow and widen 
 like a moorland fire, at first hardly perceptible, then 
 betraying through the puff of smoke the fire creeping 
 along the ground ; then a thousand tongues of flame leap 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE GENrURT. 131 
 
 upward, and suddenly sooner or later the whole heath is in 
 a blaze. Innumerable apostles preaching their turbid 
 doctrines in all the factories and workshops, found 
 hearers who were discontented and easily carried away. 
 The social democracy of the workmen was neither a 
 political nor economical programme which appealed to 
 the intellect, or could be proved or argued about, but 
 rather an instinct in which religious mysticism, good and 
 bad impulses, needs, emotional desires were wonderfully 
 mingled. The men were filled with enmity against those 
 who had a large share of money; the new faith dogmatic- 
 ally explained possession of property as a crime — that it 
 was meritorious to hate the possessor and necessary to 
 destroy him. They were made discontented with their 
 limited destiny by the sight of the world and its treas- 
 ures; the new faith promised them a future paradise in 
 the shape of an equal division of goods — a paradise in 
 which the hand was permitted to take whatever the eye 
 desired. They were disgusted by the consciousness of 
 their deformity and roughness, which dragged them 
 down to the lowest rank in the midst of school learning 
 if not exactly knowledge ; of good manners if not good 
 breeding; the new faith raised them in their own eyes, 
 declaring that they were the salt of the earth, that they 
 alone were useful and important parts of humanity; all 
 others who did not labor with their hands being miser- 
 able and contemptible sponges on humanity. 
 
 The whole proletariat was soon converted to Social 
 Democracy. Berlin was' covered with a network of socie- 
 ties, which became the places of worship of the new faith. 
 Handbills, pamphlets, newspapers, partly polemical, 
 partly literary, in which the mob made their statements 
 and professed their faith stoutly; these, although written 
 ■very badly, yet by theiv monotony, their angry ve- 
 
132 THE MALADY OF THW CENTURY. 
 
 preaches, their invocations, reminded one of litanies and 
 psalms. 
 
 Wilhelm felt a certain sympathy with the movement. 
 It was first brought to his notice by a new acquaintance, 
 who had worked with him in the physical laboratory 
 since the beginning of the year. He was a Russian, who 
 had introduced himself to the pupils in the laboratory as 
 Dr. Barinskoi from Charkow. His appearance and be- 
 havior hardly bore this out. His long thin figure was 
 loosely joined to thin weak legs. Light blue eyes looked 
 keenly out of a warm grayish-yellow face; add to these a 
 sharp reddish nose, pale lips, a spare, badly grown mus- 
 tache and beard of a dirty color, and slight baldness. 
 His demeanor was suave and very submissive, his voice 
 had the faltering persuasiveness which a natural and rea- 
 sonable man dislikes, because it warns him that the 
 speaker is lying in wait to take him by surprise. Barin- 
 skoi, beside, never stood upright when he was speaking 
 to any one. He bent his back, his head hung forward, 
 his eyes shifted their glance from the points of his own 
 boots to other people's, his face was crumpled up into a 
 smiling mask, and working his hands about nervously he 
 crammed so many polite phrases and compliments into 
 his conversation that he was a terrible bore to all his 
 acquaintances. Barinskoi, who was an accomplished 
 spy, intended by his entrance into the laboratory to learn 
 all he could in a circuitous way of persons and conditions. 
 
 After a short observation he noticed that "Wilhelm 
 seemed isolated in the midst of the others, and was 
 treated coldly by every one except the professor. He 
 learned that this coolness of the atmosphere was on ac- 
 count of the refusal of the duel. After that he tried 
 every possible means to get nearer to him. Wilhelm was 
 working in some important researches, and it was possi- 
 ble that the results wou-ld destroy some existing theories. 
 
TME MALADY OF THE OENTUBT. 133 
 
 The professor followed the experiments with great at- 
 tention, and many times spoke of him as his best pupil 
 in difficult work. That was Barinskoi's excuse for asking 
 "Wilhelm if he would initiate him into his work, and ex- 
 plain to him his hypotheses and methods. He added, 
 with his submissive smile and nervous rubbing of the 
 hands, that the Herr Doctor might be quite easy about 
 the priority of his discoveries, as he was quite prepared 
 to write an explanation that he stood in the position of 
 pupil to the Herr Doctor, and had only a share in his 
 discoveries in common with others. Wilhelm contented 
 himself by replying that priority was nothing to him, 
 and that he did not work . for fame, but because he was 
 ignorant and sought for knowledge. 
 
 Thereupon Barinskoi said he was very happy to have 
 found Bome one with the same views as himself; he also 
 thought that fame was nonsense, that knowledge was the 
 only essential thing, that it gave power over things and 
 men, that the ideal was to proceed unknown and un- 
 noticed through life, making the others dance without 
 knowing who played on the instrument. That was not 
 what "Wilhelm meant, but he let it go without denying it. 
 Barinskoi also tried to claim him for a fellow-country- 
 man, but Wilhelm stopped him, explaining that he was 
 a German, although born beyond the frontier of his 
 fatherland. This slight did not disconcert Barinskoi; 
 he endeavored to produce an impression on Wilhelm, and 
 if one shut one's eyes to his ugliness and fawning ways he 
 was a well-informed man; harshness was not in Wil- 
 helm's nature, so he held out no longer against Barinskoi's 
 importunity — who very soon accompanied him home 
 from the laboratory, visited him uninvited in his rooms, 
 invited him to supper at his restaurant, which Wilhelm 
 twice declined ; the third time, however, he had not the 
 
134 TEE MALAD T OF THK CENTUB T. 
 
 courage to refuse. In spite of this Barinskoi vrould not 
 see that his invitation was only accepted out of polite- 
 ness. There were many things reserved and unsociable 
 about Barinskoi; for example, he never invited any one 
 to his rooms. He called for his letters at the post office. 
 The address he gave, and under which he was entered at 
 the University office, described him as a newspaper cor- 
 respondent, which agreed with his daily readings and 
 writings. He frequently disappeared for two or three 
 days, after which he emerged again, as it were, dirtier 
 than before, with reddened, half-closed eyelids, weak 
 voice, and general bloodless appearance. A conjecture 
 as to where he was during this time was suggested by a 
 smell of spirits, beside the fact that students from the 
 laboratory had often seen him late at night at the corner 
 of the Leipziger and Priedrichstrasse in earnest con- 
 sultation with some unhappy creature of the streets, and 
 that he was often, seen haunting remote streets in the 
 eastern districts in the company of women. 
 
 Barinskoi declared he was the correspondent of a large 
 St. Petersburg paper, and that he made great efforts to 
 remove the prejudices of Eussia against Germany, and to 
 give his readers a respect for their great neighbors. By 
 chance one day "Wilhelm read the page of Berlin corre- 
 spondence, and found that from first to last it was full of 
 poisoned abuse, insult, and calumination of Berlin and 
 its inhabitants. At the nest opportunity he put it before 
 Barinskoi's eyes without a word. He started a little, 
 but said directly, quite calmly : Yes, he had read the 
 letter too; naturally it was not by him; the paper had 
 other correspondents, who hated Germans, he could do 
 no more than put a stop to their lies, and find out the 
 reality of their misrepresentations. 
 
 Early in this short acquaintance it was clear that 
 
THE MALADY OF THE OENTUBT. 135 
 
 Barinskoi was in constant money di£Sculties. By his 
 own representations the paper paid him very irregu- 
 larly, and the most curious accidents constantly occurred 
 to prevent the arrival of the expected payments. Once 
 the money was sent by mistake to the Constantinople cor- 
 respondent, and it was six weeks before the oversight 
 was cleared up. Another time a fellow-writer who was 
 traveling to Berlin undertook to bring the money with 
 him. On the way he lost the money out of his pocket- 
 book, and Barinskoi had to wait until he went back to 
 St. Petersburg, to inquire into the case. By such fool's 
 stories was Wilhelm's friendship put to the proof. 
 Barinskoi did not stop at borrowing money occasionally, 
 with sighs and groans, but every few days, often at a 
 few hours' interval, a new and larger loan would fre- 
 quently follow. 
 
 All this was a dubious method of consolation, and yet 
 Dr. Schrotter, or rather Paul Haber, decided that though 
 further contact with Barinskoi must be avoided, he was 
 an object of increasing interest to Wilhelm. Barinskoi 
 had many ideas in sympathy with his, which ho did not 
 find in others, and their views of society and practical 
 maxims of life were so much in common that Wilhelm 
 was often puzzled by this question: "How is it possible 
 that people can draw such completely different conclu- 
 sions from the same suppositions by the same logical 
 arguments? Where is the fatal point where one's ideas 
 separate — ideas which have so far traveled together?" 
 
 Barinskoi thought as Wilhelm did, that the world and 
 its machinery were mere outward phenomena, a decep- 
 tion of the senses, whose influence acted as in a delirium. 
 All existing forms of the common life of humanity, all 
 ordinances of the State or society appeared to him as 
 foolish 01* ei-iminal, aa<J at any i'ate objectionable. He 
 
138 THM MALAD T OF THE CENTUBT. 
 
 considered that the object of the spiritual and moral de- 
 velopment of the individual was the deliverance from the 
 restraint, and the complete contempt of all outward 
 authority. 
 
 So far his opinions agreed with Wilhelm's, and then 
 he disclosed the laws of morality which he had evolved 
 from them. 
 
 "The whole world is only an outward phenomenon, and 
 the only reality is my own consciousness, " said Barin- 
 skoi; "therefore I see in the world only mj'solf, live only 
 for myself, and try only to please myself; I am an ex- 
 treme individualist. My morality allows me to gratify 
 • my senses by pleasant impressions, to convey to my con- 
 sciousness pleasant representations, so as to enjoy as 
 much as possible. Enjoyment is the only object of my 
 existence, and to destroy all those who come in the way 
 of it is my right." 
 
 Wilhelm wondered whether this frightful code could 
 possibly belong to the same views of life which, in 
 despising the enjoyment of the senses, denied desires, 
 demanded the sacrifice of individuality for the sake of 
 others, and found happiness in the enjoyment of love for 
 one's neighbors, and in the struggle for human reason 
 over animal instinct? 
 
 Barinskoi understood Wilhelm's character and saw that 
 he could quite safely trust to his forbearance and his 
 single-mindedness, so he made no further secret of the 
 fact that he was a Nihilist and an Anarchist. When 
 Wilhelm asked him if he imagined what the realization 
 of his theories meant, he had the answer ready : 
 
 "We demand unconditional freedom. Our will shall 
 not be confined by the will of others, or by oppressive 
 laws. The Parliament is our enemj' as well as the mon- 
 arch, the tyranny of the autocrat as well as that of the 
 
THE MaLABT of TAb VENtURf. 137 
 
 majority, the coercion of laws of the State, as 'well as 
 those of society. We will gather together groups accord- 
 ing to their free choice and inclination out of the frag- 
 ments of annihiliated society, that is, if we can manage 
 to procure our enjoyment as well in groups as alone. 
 These groups will unite into larger groups if the happi- 
 ness of all demands a larger undertaking than a single 
 group can secure, such as a great railway, a submarine 
 tunnel, and the like. In some cases it may be necessary 
 that a whole people, or e^en the whole of humanity, 
 should be in one group, but only up to a certain point, and 
 only until this point is reached. Naturally no individual 
 is bound to a group, nor one group to another; binding 
 and loosing go on perpetually, and with the same facility 
 as molecules in living organisms unite and separate." 
 
 Barinskoi. occupied himself particularly with the labor 
 questions. Not that the distress and want of the very 
 poor, the economical insecurity, the general misery, 
 troubled him at all. He was cynically conscious that he 
 was as indifferent to the laborer as to the capitalist ; the 
 laborer's inevitable brutalization, his hunger, his bad 
 health, and short term of life touched him as little as the 
 gout of the rich gourmand, or the nerves of fine ladies. 
 He saw, however, in the proletariat a powerful ai-my 
 against prevailing conditions. He could trace among 
 the discontented masses the possession of the crude vigor 
 which the Nihilists wanted, to crush the old edifices of 
 the State and society, and it was this which interested 
 him in the movement and its literature. He knew the 
 last accurately, and initiated Wilhelm into it, and so the 
 latter learned all about socialism, its opinions of the phi- 
 losophy of production, its theories and promises. He 
 learned also that sects had already been formed within 
 this new faith, which the revelations of the socialistic 
 
138 TUB Mala J) T of tbjb cbntur Y. 
 
 prophets explained differently ; and that they furiously 
 hated each other, and were as much at enmity as if they 
 ■were a State Church with a privileged priesthood, bene- 
 fices, property and power. 
 
 The complaints of the proletariat appeared to Wilhelm 
 of doubtful value. In every age there were economic 
 fevers, which were not caused by misery, but by discon- 
 tent and wastefulness, and if he saw a workman stagger- 
 ing through the streets, his legs tottering beneath him, 
 he guessed that his weakness was not caused by hunger, 
 but by beer or spirits. He understood that mankind 
 believed in an unbroken work of development within 
 nature, and in their own self-cultivation. The theory of 
 socialistic teaching, namely, the conditions of production 
 and distribution, could be constantly remodeled just as 
 other human institutions, i.e. the customs of governments 
 and societies, the laws, ideas of beauty and morality, 
 knowledge of nature, and views of society. His sym- 
 pathies went out to those who were convinced that the 
 present economical organization had lived out its time, 
 and were endeavoring to remove it. 
 
 Wilhelm's friends interested themselves warmly in this 
 new sphere of thought. Paul was a member of the 
 National Liberal Election Society, and was enthusiastic 
 about Bennigsen and Lasker, who possessed enough 
 statesmanlike wisdom to surrender fearlessly to the op- 
 position, and determine to go with the government. To 
 these present experiences Dr. Schrotter joined the half- 
 forgotten training of '48, and agreed to belong to a 
 society of the district; he had soon an ofScial appoint- 
 ment, and placed his experience and knowledge at the 
 disposal of the sick and poor of the town. He did not 
 interest himself at first in political strife. He was very 
 uneasy about the turn things were taking, and considered 
 
T3M MALADY Olf TEE CENTURY. 139 
 
 that it was not right to rebel against the existing condi- 
 tions of tilings, -which to the majority of people were 
 agreeable enough. 
 
 "Yoii have fought and bled for the new empire," he 
 said"; "I left it while I was in India to get on as best it 
 could ; if the others think themselves well off, I don't see 
 why they should not have the satisfaction of the results 
 of their work, just because of the sulky temper of 
 criticism." 
 
 Wilhelm had often taken one or other of them to his 
 society, but without their being much interested in the 
 meetings. One day he asked his friend whether he would 
 not go with him to a social democratic meeting. Schrot- 
 ter was quite prepared, as he saw that Wilhelm was really 
 in earnest, and was trying to come in contact with the 
 realities of life. Paul abominated the social democrats, 
 but he sacrificed himself to spend an hour there with 
 ■Wilhelm. 
 
 The meeting they were to attend was at the Tivoli. It 
 was a disagreeable evening in April, with gusts of wind 
 and frequent showers. The sky was full of clouds chas- 
 ing each other in endless succession, the flames of gas 
 flickered and flared, and the streets were covered with 
 mud which splashed up under the horses' feet. The 
 three friends went in spite of bad weather to the Tivoli 
 on foot. In the Belle Alliance Strasse they came upon 
 groups of workmen going in the same direction as them- 
 selves, and as they reached the place in the Lichterf elder 
 Strasse, they were accompanied by a long stream of 
 people. At the entrance to the club they found them- 
 selves in the midst of a crowd, and could only advance 
 Tery slowly unless, like the others, they pushed and 
 elbowed their way. Mounting a few steps they reached 
 an enormous garden, lighted by the fitful beams of the 
 
140 THE MALADY OP TMB CBNTUBY. 
 
 moon as slie emerged from the clouds, and a few gas- 
 lamps. On the right was a Gothic building, which would 
 have been sufficiently handsome if built in stone, but 
 with barbarous taste had been executed in wood. At the 
 end of the garden some more steps led to a broad, four- 
 cornered courtyard, on the right of which the iron spire 
 of the National Memorial was dimly visible, while to the 
 left was a large building of red and yellow brick with a 
 four-square tower at either end, a pavilion projecting 
 from the center, and a number of large windows. Over 
 the entrance in the center of the building was the in- 
 scription in gold letters on a blue ground: 
 
 "Geniesst im edeln Gerstensaft 
 Des Weines Geist, des Erodes Kraft." 
 
 In the little anteroom a few sharp-looking, rather con- 
 ceited young men were standing, either the instigators 
 or organizers of the meeting. They eyed the people who 
 came in with a quick look of assurance, offering a pam- 
 phlet, which nearly every one bought. Through this 
 anteroom was the hall, large enough to hold a thousand 
 people comfortably. Several tables for beer stood be- 
 tween red-covered pillars which supported the ceiling, 
 and on the right was a platform for the speakers. Wil- 
 helm, Schrotter, and Paul Haber found places not far 
 from this, although the hall was soon filled up after they 
 came in. 
 
 Wilhelm's first impression was not favorable. He had 
 bought a pamphlet at the door, and in it he read foolish 
 jokes, clumsy tirades against capitalists, and drearily 
 silly verses. If the party possessed quick and cultivated 
 writers, they had certainly not been employed on this 
 leaflet. His finer senses were as shocked at the meeting 
 as his taste was at the pamphlet. Mingled odors of 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE OBNTUBT. 141 
 
 tobacco-smoke, beer, human breath, and damp clothes 
 filled the air; the people at the tables had an indescrib- 
 ably common stamp, unlovely manners, harsh, loud 
 voices, and unattractive faces. They gossiped and 
 laughed noisily, and coarse expressions were frequent. 
 The earnest moral tone, the almost gloomy melancholy 
 ■which Wilhelm had found so attractive in socialistic writ- 
 ings, was absent, and it seemed to him as if the new doc- 
 trine in its removal from the enthusiast's study to the 
 beer-tables of the crowd had lost all nobility, and had 
 sunk to degradation. 
 
 Paul took no trouble to conceal the disgust which 
 "this dirty rabble" gave him. He gazed contemptuously 
 about him, and every time that one of his neighbors' 
 elbows came near his coat he brushed the place angrily, 
 and muttered half-aloud : 
 
 "Well, if I were the government I would jolly soon 
 stop your meetings." 
 
 Dr. Schrotter, on the other hand, found the sight of 
 the crowd rekindle in him all the feeling of sentiment he 
 had had for the old democrats ; he felt his heart overflow 
 with pity and tenderness. "With his physician's eyes he 
 pierced through the brutal physiognomies, and observed 
 them with kindness and sympathy, making his friends 
 attentive too. 
 
 "One of the martyrs of work," he said gently, indicat- 
 ing a haggard man sitting at the next table who had lost 
 one eye. 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 "He must be a worker in metal, and has had a splinter 
 in one of his eyes. He had the injured eye removed to 
 save the other." 
 
 Here was a baker with pale face and inflamed eyelids, 
 coughing badly — consumptive, in consequence of the dust 
 
142 THE MALADY OF TUE OENTUBT. 
 
 from the flour — his eyes affected by the heat of the oven. 
 Here wa^ a raau who had lost a finger of his left hand — 
 the victim of a cloth loom; and here a pallid-looking 
 man, showing when he spoke or laughed slate-colored 
 gums — a case of lead-poisoning, with a painful death as 
 the inevitable result. And it seemed as if over all these 
 cripples and sickly people the Genius of Work hovered 
 as the black angel of Eastern stories, tracing on their 
 foreheads with his brush^ — on this one mutilation, on this 
 one an early death. Schrotter's observations and ex- 
 planations placed the whole meeting in a different light 
 to "Wilhelm. The coarseness of the men, even the dirt on 
 their hands and faces, touched him like a reproach, and 
 in their jokes and laughter he seemed to hear a bitter 
 cry. '^ 
 
 A reproach, a complaint against whom ? Against the 
 capitalists, or against inexorable fate? Wilhelm asked 
 himself whether the conditions of labor were attributable 
 to men, or were not the result of cruel necessity? Could 
 the capitalist be responsible for the accidents of 
 machines, the dust from flour, the splitting of iron ? If 
 these workmen had not been one-eyed or consumptive 
 could they have performed their work for the common- 
 weal ? "Was it not true that if mankind would not re- 
 nounce its claims to bread and other necessities, it must 
 pay for the satisfaction of wants with the tribute of health 
 and life? that every comfort, every pleasure added to 
 existence was paid for by human sacrifice? that the 
 masks of tragedy worn at this meeting were merely the 
 corporate expressions of a law which united development 
 and progress with pain and destruction? In this case the 
 whole socialist programme was manifestly wrong, and 
 the sum of the workman's grievances was not the result 
 of the feconomjcal arrangeraents ©f society, but of the 
 
THE MALADY OP THIS OENTURT. 143 
 
 eternal conditions of civilization, that the theory of the 
 methods of labor and their amelioration was not the ex- 
 pectation of an equal division of property, but rather of 
 the contrivances of the. inventor. 
 
 While Wilhelm was absorbed in these reflections the 
 first speaker of the evening appeared on the platform, a , 
 little dapper man, restless as quicksilver, with long hair, 
 large mouth, and a shrill voice. He opened the meeting 
 with an extraordinary volubility, in a whirl of panto- 
 mimic gesture and excitement, violently denouncing the 
 capitalists; "infamous bloodsuckers" as he called them. 
 He painted hopelessly confused pictures, with constant 
 faults of grammar — of the hard fate of the workingman, 
 and the black treachery of the property-owning classes. 
 They were slaveowners who paid them their daily wages 
 by shearing the wool ofi their backs, and enjoyed riotous 
 luxury themselves while the poor destitute ones were en- 
 gulfed in a chasm of misery. The workman must possess 
 the fruit of his labor himself, like the bird in the air, or 
 the fish in the water. He who produced nothing was 
 a parasite, and deserved to be extirpated ; he was only a 
 drag, consequently a poison for the rest of mankind. 
 The Commune in Paris was the first signal of warning 
 for the thieves of society. Soon the great flood would 
 burst forth which would carry away all thieves aud 
 tyrants, usurers and bloodsuckers, and the workingmen 
 must be united and get their weapons ready. Unity 
 was strength, and to allow themselves to be fleeced by 
 these hyenas of capitalism was an insult to any free, ^ 
 thoughtful man. 
 
 He went on in this style for about half an hour, during 
 which time the words came out in a constant stream 
 without a moment's pause. Schrotter's expression be- 
 came sad^ while Paul baaged the table with his? mug and 
 
344 TUE MALADY OF THE GBNTXIBT. 
 
 cried "Bravo" at every grammatical mistake, or every 
 false analogy. Angry glances -were cast at him from 
 neighboring tables, as in his applause was recognized 
 contempt for the speaker whom they admired so much. 
 No one laughed or joked, all were silent to the end; at 
 every violent expression of the long-haired Saxon, eyes 
 flashed, heads nodded approval, and feet stamped ex- 
 citedly. So eagerly did the meeting drink in this ex- 
 cited orator's words that they quite forgot to drink their 
 beer, and the waiter, bringing in a fresh supply, had to 
 go out again with an exclamation of surprise. 
 
 "When the speaker had finished and resumed his seat, 
 Schrotter and Paul, to their immense surprise, saw "Wil- 
 helm spring to his feet in the midst of all the stamping 
 and applause and go to the platform. What was that 
 for? He went up and began to speak in an undertone to 
 the organizers of the meeting. They put their heads 
 together, looking at the card Wilhelm had given them ; 
 then one of them rose, and coming to the front of the 
 platform, shouted so as to be heard above the clamor: 
 
 "True to our principles of listening to opponents, we 
 are going to allow a guest to speak : it is not part of the 
 programme, but no citizen shall have cause to complain 
 that his mouth has been stopped." 
 
 Any one could understand what this meant, as Wilhelm 
 stood alone in the middle of the platform and waited with 
 folded arms lor silence and attention. His dark eyes 
 looked straight at his audience, and he began in his clear, 
 quiet voice : "What you all feel in this meeting is discon- 
 tent with your fate, and a wish to improve it. I do not 
 believe, however, that the honored speaker before me has 
 shown you a way which will bring you any nearer to your 
 desires. You wish that the State shall nurse you in sick- 
 ness, and provide for you in, old age. What is the State? 
 
TBE MALAD¥ OF fHM CMNfXTRt. 145 
 
 It is yourselves. The State has nothing but what you 
 give it. If it provides for you in sickness and old age, 
 it takes the money out of your own pockets. You do not 
 v/ant the State for that. In days of health and strength 
 you could yourselves lay aside spare money for bad times 
 ■without the services of gendarmes, or assistance of execu- 
 tors. The last speaker spoke of hatred for the owners of 
 property, hatred of profit. Hatred is a painful feeling. 
 It adds to the pain of existence another, and very likely 
 a greater one. A soul in which the poison of hate is at 
 work is heavy and sad, and can never feel happiness. If 
 you would not burden your lives with hatred it might be 
 possible that you would become happy." 
 
 A murmur arose in the meeting, and a voice in opposi- 
 tion called out loudly : "The fellow is a Jesuit. " "Par- 
 son's talk," cried another from the corner of the room. 
 Wilhelm took no notice of the interruption, but went on : 
 
 "Why do you object to the owners of property? On 
 account of their idleness? That is not just. Many of 
 them work much harder than all of j-^ou, and bear a 
 weight of responsibility which would kill most of you. 
 But suppose we grant that many rich people waste their 
 lives doing nothing. Instead of envying these unhappy 
 people, I pity them from the bottom of my heart. I 
 would prefer death a thousand times to life without duty 
 and work." 
 
 The murmur grew stronger and more threatening. 
 
 "I wish," cried "Wilhelm, raising bis voice, "I wish I 
 were rich and powerful. Then I would invite those who 
 scorn vay words now, to live quite idly for a year or six 
 months. I would take care that no employment was pos-' 
 sible for them, that their days and weeks should be quite 
 empty. Then they would see how soon they would raise 
 imploring hands to those who had condemned them to 
 
146 THE MALAD Y Of TS^ CMNTUR Y. 
 
 idleness. Neither guards nor walls would keep them to 
 the softly-cushioned golden-caged prison of indolence, 
 they would fly as if for their lives, and go back to the 
 place where their work was, which they had previously 
 thought like hell." 
 
 "Let us see if we would," cried some with contemptu- 
 ous laughter. 
 
 "In what has the rich man the advantage of you? He 
 lives better, you say. He can procure more enjoyments 
 for himself. Are you sure that these so-called enjoy- 
 ments bring happiness? Your healthy hunger makes 
 your bread and cheese taste better than the rich dishes 
 at noblemen's tables, and the suffering which fills every 
 life is more bitter in the western villa than in the work- 
 ingman's back room, because there they have more lei- 
 sure to endure it in, and every fiber of the soul has its 
 own torture." 
 
 "What do you get for defending the rich man?" 
 called a voice from the hall. 
 
 "I am telling you the penalty of property. You must 
 be just in everything. Granted that the rich man is a 
 criminal; granted his idleness is an ofiense to your 
 activity; granted that his roast meat and wine make your 
 potatoes taste insipid; it is in the order of things that 
 you should envy him. But what comes out of this envy? 
 Let us admit that you could carry through anything you 
 undertook. The rich man would be plundered and even 
 killed, and his treasures divided between you. "We for- 
 get that the rich man is human; we deny him the mercy 
 which the poor man claims from his fellowmen; we take 
 up the position that to reduce a rich man to beggary is 
 not the same injustice as to profit by the work of a poor 
 man; we enjoy the idea of the rich man, hungry and 
 shivering, when at the same time the hungry shivering 
 
ms maladt oP tSM oentvr r. ui 
 
 poor man has become our pretext for robbing the other. 
 Do you believe that you -would then have improved your 
 lot in life? Do you think that you would be any hap- 
 pier? Just think it over for a moment. The rich people 
 are exterminated, their goods are divided among you; 
 you are already making a discovery, viz., that the wealthy 
 people are in a very small minority, hardly one in two 
 hundred, and that the division of their whole property 
 amounts to very little for each of you. But suppose, for 
 the sake of argument, that you all become rich. What 
 then? You throw away your working clothes and dress 
 yourselves in silk; you deck yourselves with silver and 
 gold ornaments, and you sit on soft-cushioned sofas. 
 Think how long these luxuries would last — a month per- 
 haps, at the most a year. Then the rich man's wine ia, 
 all drunk, and his larder empty, the silk clothes are worn 
 out, and the sofas torn ; you cannot eat precious stones 
 and gold, and if you do not mean to starve you must be- 
 gin working again, and after the extermination of the 
 rich man and the division of his property you are exactly 
 in the position you were in before." 
 
 He paused a moment or two, in which there was silence 
 for the first time, and then went on : 
 
 "This all means that your bondage is not laid on you 
 by man, but by Nature herself. Life is hard and weari- 
 some, and no laws or orders of State or society can make 
 it otherwise. The simple minds of men understood this 
 a thousand years ago, and they diJ not rest until they 
 had found out a reason for everything, so they sought 
 through the authors of the Jewish Bible for a reasonable 
 explanation of our mournful destiny on this earth, and 
 comforted themselves with the assertion that mankind 
 was atoning for the sins of its forefathers. You, the sons 
 of the nineteenth century, do not believe in this any 
 
148 i'SE MAtAbf OF THE CENtUkf. 
 
 longer, but see in the system of profits and the injustice 
 of our social conditions the causes of your misery. Your 
 explanation is, however, fully as much a fabrication as 
 the Biblical one. Pain and death are the conditions of 
 our existence, and for that reason cannot be done away 
 with. If a miracle could happen, and" you could all be 
 happy in the way you wish, namely, living your life 
 without work, without suffering, and with a great deal of 
 enjoyment, what would happen then? The race would 
 increase so fast that after one or two generations there 
 would hardly be elbow-room, and bread would be as 
 scarce as it is now. It is the difficulty of providing for 
 children which limits the population, and this difficulty 
 fixes the limit. Understand this too, do what you will, 
 you can only procure momentary relief, and every relief 
 procured means an increase of population. Whatever 
 your methods of labor are, however the fruits of it are 
 distributed, you will never produce up to the satisfaction 
 of your wants ; and the sweat of your brow will always 
 be in vain if you set yourself against the hostile forces of 
 nature. ' ' 
 
 Wilhelm paused a moment in the deep stillness which 
 now reigned in the hall, and then went on : 
 
 "I do not deny that your lives are troublesome and 
 hard, but I believje that you make your pain unneces- 
 sarily difficult to bear, and add to it by imagination. 
 You feel your lot to be hard because you see rich people, 
 who in the distance appear to you to be happy. I have 
 already told you that the rich are an exception, and that 
 the world cannot guarantee the existence of a millionaire 
 of to-day for long. At most you can make the few rich 
 men poor, but you cannot make all the poor men rich. 
 But why compare yourselves with such people? Why 
 not with those who have gone before us ? Look back, 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 149 
 
 and you will find that your lives are not only easier but 
 very much richer than the generations who have gone 
 before you. The poorest among you live better, quieter, 
 and pleasanter lives than a well-to-do man a thousand 
 years ago, or than a prince of primitive times. You 
 complain that your labor is hard and unhealthy? You 
 live longer, in better health, and freer from anxiety than 
 the huntsman, fisherman, or warrior of the barbarous 
 ages. What you most sufEer from is your hatred, not 
 your need ; your ambitions, your envy. Men can live 
 healthily and happily on water, but you will have beer 
 and brandy. You earn enough to buy meat and vege- 
 tables, but you will have tobacco for yourselves and finery 
 for your wives, and that cannot goon. Your daily bread 
 might taste well enough, but it becomes bitter in your 
 mouths when you think of .the millionaire's roast meat. 
 Struggle then against this envy which spoils the smallest 
 enjoyments for you, and which in point of fact rules your 
 lives, and do not try to find happiness in the satisfaction 
 of requirements artificially created. Do not live for the 
 satisfaction of your palates, but rather for the improve- 
 ment of intellect and feeling. There is enough pain and 
 misery in the world ; do not add hatred to it. Have the 
 same mercy for other creatures which you expect for 
 yourself. Trouble and danger are common to all. 
 Things are only bearable if all combine to pull together, 
 if the strong join hands with the weak and the hopeful 
 with the timid. You will not be healed by envy and 
 hatred, or by the goading on of your desires, but by 
 love, by forbearance, by self-sacrifice, and renunciation." 
 This closing sentence was not to his hearers' taste. 
 Disapprobation and ominous sounds greeted him as he 
 came down from the platform. "Amen," said one scorn- 
 fully; "A Psalm," said another; "Get thee to a nun- 
 
150 THE MALADY OF THE CENTUBY. 
 
 nery, Ophelia," cried a wit; while loud cries of "Turn 
 him out," were heard. "Pearls before swine, " muttered 
 Paul; while Schrotter pressed his hand and said : "You 
 are right." 
 
 The noise grew louder, and then a new speaker ap- 
 peared on the platform, this time evidently a cultivated, 
 thoughtful man and an adroit speaker. The organizers 
 of the evening were unwilling to allow the meeting to re- 
 tain the impression of Wilhelm's speech, and had placed 
 a clever opponent to follow him, who said clearly and con- 
 cisely that the speaker before him might be a friend of 
 mankind, but he was certainly an enemy of culture, be- 
 cause the progress of civilization was always the result of 
 new requirements and the seeking of their fulfillment,and 
 if men limited their wants or denied them altogether, 
 mankind would be brought back to the condition of sav- 
 ages or wild beasts. The progress of culture depended 
 on the awakening of requirements and their satisfaction, 
 and not in limiting or renouncing them. The love of 
 mankind might be a very beautiful thing, but the speaker 
 ought not to come and preach to the poor, who held 
 together and helped each other without his advice. Let 
 him go and preach to the rich, for whom he seemed to 
 feel so much pity and tenderness. Why should the 
 minority attract to itself the existing means of life, and 
 leave the majority to starve, as the capitalists did now? 
 why should the provisions not be divided between all, so 
 that the whole community should have a part? 
 
 Paul had wished to leave when Wilhelm had finished, 
 but the latter waited out of politeness to hear his oppo- 
 nent speak, and when the speaker had ended in a storm 
 of applause, the three friends left the meeting. "When 
 they were outside. Dr. Schrotter said to Wilhelm: 
 
 *'Do you know that you are a first-rate speaker? You 
 
THE MALADT OF THM CENrtTRY. 151 
 
 have eTerything that is necessary for moving a crowd in 
 the highest degree." 
 
 "Hardly that, I think." 
 
 "Certainly, I mean it: a noble appearance, a voice 
 which goes to the heart, remarkable calmness and assur- 
 ance, uncommon command of language, and an idealistic 
 earnestness which would move all the better spirits 
 among your audience. You have shown us to-night the 
 road you ought to take. You must devote your gift to 
 speaking in public, you must endeavor to become a 
 deputy. If you fail in this, you will sin against our 
 people." 
 
 "Bravo! I had already thought of that," cried Paul. 
 
 "A deputy — never," said Wilhelm. "If I spoke well 
 to-day it was because I was sorry for the poor, ignorant 
 men who listened to the silly talk of a fool as if it were a 
 revelation from Mount Sinai, but I could never presume 
 to have any influence in Parliament or in the fate of 
 governments." 
 
 "And BO you call what is every citizen's duty 'pre- 
 sumption.' " 
 
 "Forgive me, doctor, if I say I do not believe that. 
 Only those who are acquainted with the laws and their 
 development should have anything to do with the 
 nation's destiny. But only a few isolated individuals 
 know these laws, and I am not one of them." 
 
 "Do you think that the government know them?" 
 
 "Oh, no." 
 
 "And yet the government does not hesitate to rule the 
 people's destiny according to their intelligence." 
 
 "It reminds me of the poet's expression, ' Du glaubst 
 zu schieben und du wirst geachohen.' " 
 
 "What is the movement that you mean?" 
 
 "An unknown inner organic force which defines all the 
 
l53 THE MALADY OF TtiE CBl^TVUt. 
 
 expressions of life, of single individuals and united socie- 
 ties alike. It develops as a tree grows. No single in- 
 dividual can add anything to it or take away from it, no 
 single individual can hasten or retard the development 
 or give it any direction." 
 
 "In one word — the philosophy of the Unknown." 
 
 "That is so." 
 
 "Very good, and if a government oppresses a people, 
 robs them of their freedom, perpetually finds fault with 
 them and ill-treats them, they must bear it quietly, and 
 comfort themselves by the thought that the government 
 is controlled by the infallible, all-powerful Unknown." 
 
 "Eob them of their freedom? No government can rob 
 me of my spiritual freedom. Freedom rules continually 
 in my mind, and no tyrant has the power of subduing 
 my thoughts." 
 
 "You make a great mistake there," said Dr. Schrotter 
 gravely. "From you. Dr. "Wilhelm Eynhardt, no gen- 
 darme certainly can take away your freedom, because you 
 are mature, and your opinions of things are settled. But 
 a tyrannical government can hinder your children from 
 succeeding to your freedom of mind. It can teach lies 
 and superstitions in the schools, and compel you to send 
 your children there. It can set an example of public 
 morality which can demoralize a whole people. It can 
 draw uj) manifest examples of miserable intentions and 
 conduct of life, through whose imitation a people volun- 
 tarily mutilates itself or commits suicide. No, no; it 
 does not do to limit oneself to oneself, and to struggle 
 upward for one's individual spiritual freedom. One 
 must go out of oneself. What does it njatter if one 
 makes mistakes? It is true, as you say, that no single 
 individual knows the whole of truth; but every individ- 
 ual possesss a fragment of it, and altogether we have the 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE GENTUBT. 153 
 
 ■whole. Look at India; there you have existing what we 
 should become if we all followed your philosophy; they 
 live in their owp spiritual world, and are indifferent to 
 any other; they endure first the despotism of their own 
 government, then a foreign conqueror, and finally lose 
 not only freedom and independence, but civilization, and 
 become not exactly slaves, but ignorant, superstitious 
 barbarians. ' ' 
 
 "The German people will not get to that, " said Wil- 
 helm, smiling. 
 
 "Thank the men for that," cried Schrotter, "the men 
 who think it their duty to take part in the welfare of 
 their country, and to exert themselves for the spiritual 
 freedom of others. An energetic sympathy with public 
 affairs is a form of love for one's neighbor. Say that 
 constantly to yourself, without letting yourself be de- 
 ceived by the hypocrite who handles politics as others 
 do the Stock Exchange, merely to make profit out of 
 them." 
 
 While they talked they had arrived at Schrotter's 
 house door. It was nearly midnight, and had stopped 
 raining, and all the houses except Schrotter's were dark. 
 Light shone from the two windows of his Indian draw- 
 ing room, and one of the curtains was drawn aside a 
 little, leaving a face clearly visible. It was Bhani, who 
 was waiting patiently for Schrotter's return, and gazing 
 eagerly down the street. As the three friends stopped at 
 the door the head disappeared, and the curtain fell back 
 again into its place. 
 
164 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 AN IDYLL. 
 
 The feverish pulse of a city is not felt in the same 
 degree in all parts of it. There are places from which all 
 circulation seems shut out, and where the rapid stream 
 of life hardly shows a ripple. Quiet houses are there, 
 only separated from the noisy street by the thickness of 
 a wall. They seem to be many miles from the heated 
 movement of life, and their inhabitants complacently 
 gaze from their windows with the same unconcern as they 
 would look at a picture on their own walls — a view per- 
 haps of violence or excitement, a storm at sea, or a battle. 
 
 The Markers' house in the Liitzowstrasse was just such 
 a peaceful island in the tossing sea of the city. It was 
 only a few steps from the Magdeburger Platz — the first 
 story in a stately house with a round arch over the door. 
 Three generations of women — grandmother, mother, and 
 daughter — lived there, without a single man to take care 
 of them, attended only by an old widowed cook and her 
 daughter, who had grown up into the position of a wait- 
 ing maid. A dreamy, monotonous life they lived here, 
 like that of the sleepers in the palace of the Sleeping 
 Beauty behind their hundred-year-old hedge of thorns. 
 
 The grandmother was the head of the house — Frau 
 Brohl, a lady of over sixty years, and a widow for the 
 last twenty. She was a small thin woman, her figure 
 very much bent, with snow-white hair, a narrow, pale 
 face, and pretty brown eyes, gh^ moved slgwly and ■^Jtb 
 
THE MALADY OF THE OENTUBT. 155 
 
 great exertioD, spoke softly and with shortness of breath, 
 and seemed weary and sad. She looked as if she had 
 some hidden sickness, and as if her feeble lamp of life 
 might soon flicker out. As a matter of fact she had never 
 had a day's illness; her appearance gave the impression 
 of weakness, and increasing age made her neither better 
 nor worse. Even now she was the first to rise in the 
 morning and the last to go to bed ; had the best appetite 
 at table; and, in her occasional walks, was the least 
 tired. 
 
 Her late husband — Herr F. A. Brohl, of the firm of 
 Brohl, Son & Co. — had been one of the largest ship- 
 brokers in Stettin. They had lived together for a (juar- 
 ter of a century in peace and happiness, and her eyes 
 filled with tears when she remembered that part of her 
 life. It was a beautiful time, much too good for a sinful 
 human being. They had a house to themselves, with 
 large high rooms, and every day she received visits from 
 the richest women of the town, and visited them in 
 return. There was never a betrothal, marriage, or chris- 
 tening in a well-known family to which she was not 
 invited; every child in the street knew her and smiled at 
 her; and the suppers in her hospitable house were re- 
 nowned as far as Eussia and Sweden. 
 
 The marriage was blessed by one daughter, who grew 
 up to be a rather pretty, well-mannered, and well-grown 
 girl. Her horizon stretched from the storeroom to the 
 linen-press, and from the flatiron to her book of songs. 
 She felt a high esteem for her father — just as everyone 
 does for a rich man — and for her mother, if hardly love, 
 at least a boundless respect. She regarded her as almost 
 more than human, and the care with which she listened 
 to her mother's instructions into the secrets of the 
 kitchen, the market, and the linen-ropm, wa^ ^ilrno^t 
 
156 THE MALADY OF TEE CENTURY. 
 
 unnatural. She was afraid she would never attain to the 
 fluctuations of price in the fish market in different seasons 
 of the year, the starching of muslins, the time it took to 
 cook a pudding, and how much sugar went to a pot of 
 preserved fruit; and her mother destroyed the last 
 remnant of self-confidence when half-pityingly, half-con- 
 temptuously she told her that she was not sufficiently 
 developed to understand such things. 
 
 When Fraulein Brohl was old enough, her parents mar- 
 ried her to Herr Marker. It was hardly a love match, 
 but in Brohl, Son & Company's house such folly as love 
 was not considered. Herr Marker was the son of a 
 wholesale cofEee-merchant, and was neither handsome nor 
 distinguished-looking; he was small, thin, bandy-legged, 
 with an unwholesome complexion, a peevish expression, 
 and almost bald-headed. 
 
 Herr F. A. Brohl soon found that he had made a mis- 
 take, and been in too great a hurry. The old Marker 
 lost his fortune in an unlucky speculation during the 
 Crimean "War, and was only saved by Brohl from the 
 shame of bankruptcy. He died soon afterward of grief, 
 and left his son nothing but debts. The young Marker 
 showed no special genius for the coffee business, but an 
 uncomfortable ambition for speculation in stocks. He 
 opened an exchange office, and entered into transactions 
 with the Exchanges of Berlin, Frankfort, and Amster- 
 dam, and after a short time the last penny of his wife's 
 dowry disappeared. His father-in-law dipped into his 
 pockets and renewed the dowry, but stipulated that 
 Marker in the future should ask his advice before any 
 undertaking. This Marker felt as a deep humiliation, 
 and rather than submit to Brohl 's tyranny, preferred to 
 loaf all day with his hands in his pockets at the Ex- 
 change, and shortened the evenings by going to the club, 
 
iw MALADY OF THE CENTURY. Ihl 
 
 and boring people with endless stories of the meanness 
 and thick-headedness of his cad of a father-in-law, who 
 in his old-fashionedj narrow-minded Philistinism had not 
 the least capacity for any great undertakings. 
 
 Brohl died soon after, and Marker experienced a new 
 and painful sensation. His wife did not inherit a penny 
 by her father's will, his whole property under limited 
 conditions going to the widow. This was specially 
 arranged for by Brohl to prevent Marker from laying his 
 hands on more capital. He shook his fist at the opening 
 of the will, and broke out into unseemly abuse; he went 
 all over Stettin, and cried out that he was robbed, that 
 the old rascal iad plundered him. To his wife and 
 mother-in-law he also talked day after day and night 
 after night, saying how shamefully he had been treated, 
 and that it was his mother-in-law's duty to make good 
 the mistake. Frau Marker could not endure this per- 
 petual grumbling and badgering, and Frau Brohl became 
 weak with not only her son-in-law but her daughter con- 
 stantly at her ear. She consented to give him a large 
 sum to put him into a new business, which he described 
 as having a brilliant and unfailing future, and after a 
 great deal of begging and worrying she at length brought 
 herself to the far greater sacrifice of a removal to Berlin, 
 that Marker might have a greater sphere for his energies. 
 So the stately house in the Frauenstrasse with its lofty 
 rooms was abandoned, and exchanged for the small flat 
 in Berlin. 
 
 The departure from Stettin was a miserable one. It 
 was desperate work packing the thousand things which 
 had gathered together during the quarter of a century in 
 careless prof usion. It was heart-breaking to be obliged 
 to leave behind the stores of wood, coal, and potatoes in 
 the cellar, the cranberry jam in the storeroom, which the 
 
158 TSE MALADY OF TSE CENTURY. 
 
 Markers, in their grandeur of ideas, did not think worth 
 the trouble of taking with them! And the farewell visits 
 to the rich friends, in whose family festivals she would 
 never more take part; and the last visit to the Jacob- 
 kirche, where she would never more go on Sundays and 
 meet her intimate friends, for whose benefit she wore the 
 family ornaments, and the stiff silk dress. There were 
 many tears and sobs, but the cup was drained like the 
 others; and Marker began his new life in the Lutzow- 
 strasse with his wife, his mother-in-law, and the little 
 Malvine, who was the only child of their marriage. 
 
 At first things went on pretty well. Frau Brohl often 
 had tears in her eyes when looking at the familiar furni- 
 ture in her room, which had been designed for a house 
 three times as large, and she would rather have sacrificed 
 one of her hands than one of her old sofas or tables. 
 But Marker was gay as he had never been before, and 
 full of wonderful stories of the future importance of his 
 firm, astounding both the women, and even making them 
 respect him, which feeling had never before influenced 
 them. He had an office in the Burgstrasse, near the Ex- 
 change, shared by other young men, and came home 
 every day with new reports of the wonderful business be 
 was doing. 
 
 A day came, however, when he had no news to tell 
 them, when his complexion was as yellow as ever, his 
 eyes avoided the questioning glances of bis mother-in- 
 law, and after playing at concealment for a whole week, 
 he was at last forced to tell them that he had again lost 
 all his money. He hastened to add, however, that every 
 thing could be saved if the mother would once more set 
 him on his feet; in every new undertaking one had tv. 
 pay something for learning; he had hardly understood 
 his position so far, but now he knew what he was about, 
 
TME MALAD 7 OF THE CENTUB. 7. 159 
 
 he must be contented with modest profits. Frau Brohl 
 made a fresh sacrifice, giving Marker his position in 
 business again after six months. He had hardly the 
 courage to come home with new plans, but used to steal 
 in quietly like a shadow on the wall, sit down at table 
 with a heart-breaking sigh, sulked with the women, and 
 often was heard talking to himself in this fashion: "This 
 is no sort of life. If women hold the cards, stupidity is 
 trumps. The woman in the kitchen, the man in busi- 
 ness," and so on. Finally the thing happened which 
 Frau Brohl had foreseen with anxiety — Marker came 
 with a new project, for which he wanted fifty thousand 
 thalers. It was an entirely new idea, unheard of before ; 
 it couldn't miscarry, it must bring in a hundred thou- 
 sand; with one stroke all the former losses would be 
 retrieved. Then he stopped talking, and showed yards 
 of figures, read aloud letters of advice, and went on read- 
 ing and talking and crackling papers for an hour to Frau 
 Brohl, following her from the drawing-room into the 
 kitchen, from the kitchen back to the drawing-room ; and 
 when she took refuge in her bedroom, he read to her 
 threugh the door. However, it was no good, and Frau 
 Brohl stood firm. Then Marker tried a new method. He 
 was argumentative before, now he became tragic; he 
 threatened to throw himself out of the window, to 
 become dangerously ill, to go away and never be heard of 
 again. He left half-finished letters on his writing-table, 
 in which he announced his death to his acquaintances, 
 laying the blame on his wife and mother-in-law ; in short, 
 poor Frau Brohl, whose existence had become a veritable 
 "hell, with a heavy heart put her hand once more into her 
 pocket, and gave Marker what he wanted. 
 
 Everything now went on as smoothly and merrily as 
 before. After a few weeks Marker again lost everything. 
 
160 THE MALAD Y OF TEE OENTUR T. 
 
 and seemed so upset that he stayed away all day without 
 coming home. At last he appeared again, and hesitat- 
 ingly, with a timid expression, begged for forgiveness. 
 "Very well," said Frau Brohl, "only I hope you will not 
 begin all over again." Her hopes were not realized. 
 The spirit of speculation had too strong a hold over 
 Marker to be kept back. After he had remained quiet 
 for about a year, he actually had the effrontery to ask his 
 mother-in-law for more capital. But this time she was 
 like a rock. "Not a penny," said Frau Brohl, and kept 
 her word. Marker wept, and she let him weep; he 
 talked of suicide, and she advised him to use a rope^ as 
 he did not understand the use of firearms. He had run 
 through half her money, and the other half she meant to 
 defend like a lioness. The specter of poverty rose up 
 before her ; she reflected that rich people would cast her 
 out of their society, and look upon her as a weak woman 
 without any self-respect, conquered by Marker's tenacity. 
 There were no more storms after this, and peace 
 reigned in the tightly-crammed flat in the Liitzowstrasse, 
 but it was peace which concealed a great deal of grum- 
 bling and sulkiness. Marker very seldom spoke, and his 
 obstinate silence was made easy for him, for the women 
 at last hardly ever spoke to him. Every week he had a 
 certain sum given him for pocket-money; Frau Brohl 
 paid his tailor's and bootmaker's bills, and he was 
 treated in fact as if he had done with tiis world. His 
 business was to take the little Malvine to school and fetch 
 her home again, and on the way he grumbled incessantly 
 to the child about her mother and grandmother. The 
 former he called "she, " and the latter "the old lady." 
 He never mentioned their names. Malvine had noticed 
 that at home they never spoke to her father; in her child- 
 ish way she imitated this contemptuous silence. The 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 161 
 
 only bright spot in his existence was a visit to some old 
 business friends, where ho unburdened his overflowing 
 heart, and complained by the hour together of the 
 tyrants in his house, who trod him under-foot, and ill- 
 treated him now that he was unfortunate. He was the 
 victim of two silly women, but he would show them one 
 day of what he was capable. "She" and "the old lady" 
 were too stupid to understand him, but he hoped he 
 would not die until he had seen them on their knees 
 before him. In this way he ceaselessly kept up the 
 smouldering rage within him ; his face became more and 
 more yellow, he grew thinner, he lost his appetite, he 
 looked as if he were suffering from some dreadful malady. 
 He said nothing, however, about his health, but seemed 
 to find a comforting satisfaction in the reflection that 
 "she" and "the old lady" would one day be surprised to 
 see him lying there, and that would be his revenge. And 
 so it came to pass — one morning he was too weak to leave 
 his bed. At luncheon Frau Brohl and Frau Marker 
 noticed his absence, and went to look for him; as they 
 had taken no notice of him for so long, they were not 
 aware how shriveled and emaciated he had grown, and 
 were now shocked and astonished to see how miserable 
 and frail he was. They sent for a doctor ; Frau Brohl 
 made some elder tea ; Frau Marker sat up all night by 
 the sick-bed, but nothing could be done. A few days 
 later he died, with a look of hatred at his mother-in-law, 
 and a movement of aversion from his wife. 
 
 Nothing was changed in the household; there was 
 another place at table and a room at liberty, which was 
 soon filled with the things overflowing from the drawing- 
 room. Frau Brohl still had a passion for preserving and 
 pickling, which had descended to her daughter and her 
 granddaughter, and also a passion for needle-work. 
 
162 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 Year in and year out the three sat at the window of their 
 drawing-room over embroidery, lace-making, and such 
 like, working as if they had to earn their daily bread. 
 They were mistresses of all kinds of fancy work, and 
 invented many more. 
 
 Fran Brohl was unequaled in her inventions of new 
 kinds of work. Such things as book-markers and slip- 
 pers, paper-baskets, bed-quilts and tablecloths, card- 
 baskets, and chair-cushions were all too simple — the mere 
 a b c of the art. Wonders like embroidered pictures for 
 the walls, various kinds of fringes for the legs of pianos, 
 fireplace hangings, gold nets for window-curtains, mot- 
 toes for the canary's cage, silk covers for books, were the 
 order of the day. When any one came in he was first 
 struck with surprise, which quickly changed to bewilder- 
 ment. Wherever he looked his eye fell on some piece of 
 work, with no repose or unadorned space. Here a row 
 of family portraits, in plush and gold frames, all looking 
 stiff and uninteresting — on inspecting them at close quar- 
 ters, they were seen to be not painted but embroidered 
 in colored silks. There hung a melon, the outside of the 
 fruit represented by yellow, green, and brown satin, the 
 stalk by gold thread, the little cracks and roughnesses by 
 gray silk applique, the whole thing fearful and absurd in 
 its exuberance. And wherever one went or stood, sat 
 down or laid one's hand, there wandered a huge wreath" 
 of flowers in Berlin wool, or the profile of a warrior in 
 cross-stitch sneered at one, or a piece of hanging tapestry 
 of pompous pattern and learned inscriptions flapped at 
 one, and everything was rich and tedious and terrifying 
 and shocking in taste ; and when one's tired eyes looked 
 out of the triply be-curtained windows into the street, 
 one felt convinced that little angels would come down out 
 of the sky clad in what was left over of the rococo furni- 
 ture draperies, bordered with gold. 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTUBT. 163 
 
 This unsightly museum of useless things was the occu- 
 pation of Frau Brohl and Frau Marker's lives, and here 
 Malvine grew up to be the pretty girl to whom we have 
 been introduced at the Ellrichs'. Her mother was a sort 
 of elder sister to h«r, and the only authority in the 
 house was the grandmother. She ordered the servants, 
 and her daughter paid her the same timid reverence as in 
 the time of her short frocks. Frau Marker seldom opened 
 her lips except to eat^ or to answer her mother in a 
 parrot-like sort of echo. Frau Brohl's energetic spirit 
 stirred even in these narrow boundaries. She did not 
 feel at home in Berlin; she met no one she knew in the 
 streets, and in fact knew no one, and this feeling of 
 being among strangers, as if at some out-of-the-way fair, 
 made her so uneasy that she hardly ever went out. Often 
 since Marker's death she had thought of returning to 
 Stettin, but when she reflected how dreadful it would be 
 to pack up and unpack again all the thousand pieces of 
 work, her courage failed her. All the same she lived 
 with her heart and soul in Stettin. A local paper from 
 Stettin was her only reading. She kept up a regular cor- 
 respondence with all her old acquaintances, who gave 
 her news of all the engagements, marriages, births, and 
 deaths of the rich people she had known. If Stettin 
 people of good standing came to Berlin she called on 
 them and invited them to dinner, when her former cele- 
 brated triumphs in cookery were repeated. If she found 
 out that any wealthy inhabitants of Stettin had been in 
 Berlin without informing her of the fact, she took it so 
 much to heart that she had to go to bed for a week. A 
 few Stettin families, who in the course of the year emi- 
 grated to the capital, constituted her circle of visiting 
 acquaintances, enlarged later by Malvine's school friends, 
 and introductions at their houses. The gonnection with 
 
164 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 the Ellrioha was through the Stettin circle. Frau Brohl 
 gave a large soiree twice ia.the course of the winter, when 
 the invitations they had received were returned. Since 
 Malvine was grown up there had been dancing, although 
 the small size of the drawing-room, and the displacement 
 of all Frau Brohl's needlework, set everything in great 
 confusion. 
 
 This kind of life and its surroundings naturally could 
 not develop Malvine's mind and character in any high 
 degree. She missed any stimulus from her mother or 
 from her grandmother ; she only learned to respect rich 
 people, to fathom the mysteries of the kitchen, and to 
 cultivate a taste for peculiar and original fancy work ; she 
 was, however, a good-tempered, rather slow-witted girl, 
 of well-balanced mind, without a trace of capriciousness 
 or the nervous temperament so common to city life; 
 within her limited view of things she had a good, honest 
 intelligence, and with her plump figure and her round, 
 rosy face, which bore witness to her grandmother's 
 kitchen, she was very comely in men's eyes. 
 
 Paul Haber had already become acquainted with the 
 flat in the Liitzowstrasse during the winter before the 
 war, and he liked the quiet he found in the corners of 
 the little rooms, and in the muffled voices of these three 
 women. The friendship was continued during the war 
 by means of frequent letters, and on his home-coming 
 Paul renewed his visits with pleasure. By cautious in- 
 quiries he had gathered that Malvine had sixty thousand 
 thalers in cash as her dowry, and would inherit double 
 that sum. Her modest, quiet, amiable disposition made 
 him drift into a strong attachment ; her appearance was 
 sufficiently womanly and charming, and her steady, prac- 
 tical views on things, utterly unromantio and unenthusi- 
 ftstio, harnjonized entirely with his own, It wag refresh- 
 
THE Malady of tee centuby. ig5 
 
 ing for him to hear her chatter about people and things 
 ■with the calm good sense of a Philistine, especially in a 
 society where the bombastic and exaggerated talk of 
 original, poetically minded young ladies had repelled 
 and bored him. At his first meeting with Malvine 
 Marker he had thought that she was the wife for him, and 
 since he had become friendly with her and her circle, he 
 said to himself, "This one and no other." 
 
 The three ladies liked him immensely. Frau Brohl 
 took him at once to her heart, and that was the chief con- 
 sideration. His appearance made a good impression on 
 her. He was strongly built, not too thin, in fact, show- 
 ing signs of a respectable probable stoutness in later life ; 
 his face was full, and his complexion healthy, his mus- 
 tache carefully trimmed, and his hair closely cropped; he 
 certainly dressed well. The young men of her former rich 
 acquaintances were of the same type, so also was the late 
 F. A. Brohl- when she first met him. He was gentle- 
 manly, without a doubt, and he must be well off to em- 
 ploy such a good tailor and friseur. She also noticed, 
 with an immense satisfaction, that he had a due apprecia- 
 tion of fancy work. He did not, like some superficial 
 people, regard these housewifely creations as merely 
 pretty or useful things, but appreciated them as works of 
 art, and wondered at the difSculty of these marvelous 
 fabrications. Complicated lace-work, or embroidered 
 pictures, filled him with amazement, even if applique had 
 no effect on him. When Frau Brohl noticed these marks 
 of distinction in him, she did not hesitate to invite him 
 to dinner on Sunday ^ — at first occasionally, and afterward 
 regularly, and with increasing pleasure she noticed that 
 in other ways he also reached the ideal she had imagined 
 in him. He had a good appetite, and it was not neces- 
 sary for him to say in words how much he enjoyed the 
 
166 THE MALAB T OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 dishes set before him, every look and gesture showed it 
 plainly. He evinced a -warm sympathy for family events, 
 even when they did not concern him in any way, and he 
 had the same genuine esteem for rich people, which had 
 been handed down for three generations in the Brohl- 
 Marker families. She thought that he showed no disin- 
 clination to be her granddaughter's husband, only at 
 first she pondered over his calling in life. She knew 
 perfectly well that the highest professorship could only 
 earn in a year what an ordinary ship-broker made in a 
 month. At the same time she reflected that even a mer- 
 chant made a bad job of it sometimes, as her son-in-law's- 
 example had shown her only too plainly; that the title 
 "Professor" sounded very well, and if he did not make 
 very much money at most, at least he could not lose it, 
 and she came to the conclusion that in the circumstances 
 a professor could make his wife very happy. Frau 
 Marker had nothing to say about the matter, and was 
 quite prepared to accept a son-in-law from her mother's 
 hand, as she had formerly accepted a husband, so the 
 fact that Paul had not made a very favorable impression 
 on her did not matter very much. 
 
 There remained only Malvine — but just there lay the 
 difficulty. The girl was always kind and friendly to 
 Paul, she took his homage without any coquetry or ap- 
 parent disinclination; when they went out walking she 
 took his arm quite unaffectedly ; when they were invited 
 to meet in society, by a tacit agreement he took her in to 
 dinner, had the privilege of the greater part of the 
 dances, and was her partner for the cotillion. But 
 whether they were alone or in company, whether they 
 danced or talked, whether he came or went, she showed 
 a perfect unconcern and freedom of manner to which he 
 longed to put an end. She was much too cold and col- 
 
THE MALADT OF THE CENTUMY. 167 
 
 lected even for his unsentimental nature. He would have 
 forgiven some agitation, some confusion, a few blushes 
 now and then, perhaps a sigh, but these signs of the 
 heart's fluttoriiigs were nowhere forthcoming. As they 
 were out one day alone together, something happened 
 which filled Paul with doubt and trouble. Malviue had 
 been attracted to "VVilhelm when first she saw him, and 
 since then she had incessantly thought and talked of 
 him. He was so handsome, bespoke so charmingly! She 
 thought it astonishing that any one should not love him, 
 just because his admiration was mingled with so much 
 shyness. She herself was much too insignificant a person 
 to think of loving him, and beside, he was not free, and 
 it would have been a sin to think of the man who was 
 engaged to her friend. This enthusiasm for Wilhelm 
 naturally did not escape Paul's notice, but it did not 
 disquiet him, because he took into account Malvine's 
 nature. "It is a harmless fancy," he said to himself, 
 "the sort of fancy girls take sometimes for princes whose 
 photographs they see in shop-windows, or for actors 
 whom they fcave admired as Don Carlos or Eomeo ; later 
 on they laugh over their childish folly, and these fancies 
 never prevent the pretty enthusiast from marrying and 
 being happy." 
 
 Nevertheless, things became suspiciously different after 
 the breach between Wilhelm and Loulou. In Malvine's 
 somewhat narrow but well-regulated mind a brave ro- 
 mance had been mistakenly built up. Now Wilhelm was 
 free ; now she need have no feeling of duty on account of 
 that superficial, pleasure-seeking Loulou, who had never 
 been worthy of him. Was it impossible that he might 
 notice her? would be grateful for her sympathy? and 
 perhaps — who knows — later— he might seek consolation 
 from heT'^^ko was so ^eady to give it ? The coneluding 
 
1G8 ' I'UB MALADY OIP THE CENTURY. 
 
 chapter of tliis girlish romance remained her own secret, 
 but the beginning she boldly declared. She explained 
 to her grandmother, as well as to Paul, that now Dr. 
 Ej'Uhardfc was in need of being comforted, it was the duty 
 of his friends to try to overcome his sorrow. She pro- 
 posed that Paul should bring him as often as possible, 
 and she obtained from Prau Brohl the unwonted permis- 
 sion of inviting him to the Sunday luncheon. Wilhelm 
 had little pleasure in going into ordinary society, espe- 
 cially to strangers, but this invitation was so warm and 
 pressing that he could not bring himself to refuse it. 
 
 When "\yilhelm was there Paul was put completely in 
 the background. Malvine had no words or glances for 
 any one but "Wilhelm, and if she spoke to Paul it was 
 only to thank him for having brought Dr. Eynhardt to 
 the Liitzowstrasse. If Paul came alone he was mortified 
 to see a shadow pass over Malvine 's face, and he was 
 forced to listen to a string of inquiries after his friend. 
 He had been conscious for a long time that he must try 
 to reconcile himself to this condition of things, and if he 
 felt himself rebelling, he reminded himself he must have 
 patience and wait, trying to console himself with the 
 thought that Malvine's enthusiasm was only on her side — 
 "NVilhelm's demeanor seemed to show that he did not 
 guess what was going on in the girl's mind. His man- 
 ner was courteous and friendly, but there was really no 
 difference between his demeanor toward Frau Brohl and 
 toward the young girl. "While Malvine blushed and be- 
 came confused when he entered the room, Wilhelm, on 
 his side, spoke to the grandmother, mother, and daughter 
 with exactly the same pleasant smile, and his hand rested 
 not a moment longer in Malvine's than in that of her 
 grandmother. On his side there was evidently nothing 
 to dread. He felt he bad a defender and support iu 
 
fSn MAtAt)Y OF TEE CENTURY. 169 
 
 Prau Brohl. The old lady kept a sharp lookout on her 
 little world with her dim-sighted eyes. She noticed that 
 Malvine was unable to withstand the charm which Wil- 
 helm exercised o-ver her, and she could not bring herself 
 to be angry with the girl. She herself liked the young 
 man extremely, admired his handsome face, his fine voice, 
 his modest, unassuming manners, but she felt instinct- 
 ively that he belonged to quite a different world from 
 herself, and that in a sense they would always be stran- 
 gers. When he spoke she could not follow his thoughts, 
 although she felt that they were very profound ; when she 
 spoke he listened with the greatest politeness, but 
 nothing more came of it. He tried to be attentive to her 
 stories about engagements and separations, he was en- 
 tirely uninterested in rich people, he did not praise the 
 best dishes at table, and he even went so far as not to 
 conceal his aversion for the design of the horrible knight 
 in cross-stitch. Beside all this, his clothes were bad, 
 and although he had a house of his own, it was only a 
 little one. No, Wilhelm as a relation was not to be 
 thought of. He was not of their own flesh and blood, 
 like that good, delightful Paul Haber. 
 
 It was not in Paul's nature to wait patiently in sus- 
 pense, and he determined to put an end to bis uncer- 
 tainty. Malvine seemed to him as desirable as ever, and 
 he had built up in his mind a future, of which Malvine 
 and her sixty thousand thalers were the foundation. He 
 must know whether she were for him or not; in the one 
 case to transform his castle in the air into reality without 
 loss of time, and in the other case not to waste the best 
 years of his life in aimless disappointment ; not to let 
 other opportunities slip by. He was not quite clear, 
 however, on one point. To whom should he make bis 
 proposal? To Frau Brohl? That would be the most 
 
I'J'O TEE MALADT OF THE CENTtTBt. 
 
 practicable way, no doubt, as the bent, pale old lady, 
 witli the soft, sighing voice, ruled everything in the 
 house, and if she promised -the hand of her grand- 
 daughter, she would certainly keep her word. But it 
 went against the grain to put any constraint on the girl, 
 and he felt that he would be ashamed to answer "No," if 
 Prau Brohl were to ask him if he had already spoken to 
 Malvine. Then if he were to go in a straightforward way 
 to Malvine, and say, "I can no longer hide from you that 
 I love you, and that I want you to be my wife, will you 
 consent?" there was a great deal of risk in that, for if she 
 misjudged her own feelings, and said that she loved some 
 one else, and so could not listen to him, the rupture be- 
 tween them would be accomplished, and it would be no 
 use to him if later she found out that she had been mis- 
 taken in her feelings. There could be no secure step for 
 him, on that he was quite decided. 
 
 If he could approach neither Prau Brohl nor Malvine, 
 there was one way clearly open to him, and he took it 
 without further delay. 
 
 One sunny afternoon in May, a few weeks after the 
 Labor meeting at the Tivoli, Paul came to see Wilhelm, 
 and asked him to go for a walk with him in the Thier- 
 garten. Wilhelm was soon ready, and while they were 
 walking Paul was astonishingly quiet, and seemed sunk 
 in deep thought. He suddenly broke the silence, and 
 when they were under the trees, without anj' beating 
 about the bush, asked his friend : 
 
 "Wilhelm, do you love Malvine?" 
 
 Wilhelm stood still, as if rooted to the ground, and in 
 boundless astonishment he said : 
 
 "Are you off your head, Paul?" 
 
 "I implore you, Wilhelm," said he in an anxious way, 
 "just answer 'yes' or 'no, ' because the happiness of my 
 Jife depends on your answer." 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE GBNTXJ'R T. 171 
 
 "But I never thought of it," cried "Wilhelm, grasping 
 Paul's hand. "What put such an idea into your 
 head?" 
 
 "Then you are not in love with Malvine?" asked Paul 
 obstinately. 
 
 "No, I am not in love with Malvine, if you vpill have 
 the answer in that precise form." 
 
 "I thought as much, but I wished to have the answer 
 from your own lips;" and as they walked, he continued, 
 "Do you see, "Wilhelm, if you had loved Malvine, I would 
 have got out of your way ; I would have submitted to 
 fate without any struggle or opposition." 
 
 "Have I been injudicious? Perhaps too intimate? 
 Forgive me, Paul, if it is so. It happened quite unin- 
 tentionally. I only thought of her as my iviend's fian- 
 cee, and believed her also to be a friend of mine." 
 
 "I don't mean than, Wilhelm ; you have always be- 
 haved awfully well — with great tact, and all that. But 
 you have not seen how it has been with Malvine ; she is 
 quite mad about you, especially since you have been 
 free." 
 
 "You imagine these things." 
 
 "Be quiet, you impatient baby, and hear what I have 
 to say. I believe it is not love Malvine has for you, but 
 it only wants a word or a look from you to turn it into 
 love. If she were convinced that you feel only as a 
 friend for her, she would be contented to admire you 
 from a distance, and begin to care a little more for an 
 inferior specimen of mankind like myself." 
 
 "I feel quite in despair about it. How could I be so 
 blind, so stupid?" 
 
 "Never mind; it is not all over yet. I know Malvine. 
 She is a simple-minded girl, without a bit of sentiment in 
 her, mentally and morally healthy. If she knew she had, 
 
172 T3E MALADY OF TBE CENTURY. 
 
 nothing to expect from you, I am perfectly certain that 
 nothing would stand in the way of my happiness." 
 
 "I will do whatever you wish — and first of all, I must 
 put a stop to my visits there." 
 
 "I must ask more from you than that, my poor Wil- 
 helm. Merely staying away is too passive. You must 
 act. I want you to talk to Malvine, and somehow ex- 
 plain to her that you don't love her." 
 
 "How can I possibly do that?" cried "Wilhelm, really 
 startled. "I should have no right! If she laughed in 
 my face and called me a fool and a lout, I should feel I 
 deserved it." 
 
 "You ought to know that she would not do that. I 
 know I am asking a very unusual thing, and a very diffi- 
 cult thing, but I feel I can ask such a sacrifice from your 
 friendship. ' ' 
 
 As Wilhelm did not immediately answer, Paul said, 
 seizing his hand : 
 
 "Once more, Wilhelm, if you have any thought of 
 Malvine, I will not stand in your way." 
 
 "But, Paul " 
 
 "And perhaps I ought to wish it for you; Malvine is a 
 good, dear girl, and will make the man who marries her 
 happy all his life." 
 
 "Don't say any more; I -have already told you that she 
 is sacred to me as your fiancee, and beside, I should 
 have no claim on her, even if I did not know how you 
 stand with regard to Jier. " 
 
 "Well, then, you must help me to reclaim her from her 
 mistake. You alone can do it, and I am sure that later 
 — very soon, in fact, she will be grateful to you." 
 
 Wilhelm was silent, looking at Paul in anxious sus- 
 pense. At last, with a deep sigh, he said: 
 
 "Well, if I must " 
 
THE MALADY OF THE OENTUBT. 173 
 
 "You are a brick," cried Paul, and embraced him be- 
 fore the passers-by, who turned round to look at them 
 with astonishment. 
 
 On the next day, at twelve o'clock, Wilhelm rang at 
 the Markers' flat in the Lutzowstrasse. Through the 
 little peephole he caught a glimpse of some one, then 
 the door flew open, a maid ushered him into the drawing- 
 room, and without waiting for him to speak, said : 
 
 "Frau Brohl is in the kitchen; I will fetch her." 
 
 "Thank you," said Wilhelm, rather feebly; "there is 
 no hurry. Is — is — the Fraulein at home?" 
 
 The girl was already at the door, and turning round, 
 stared at Wilhelm with astonished eyes. 
 
 "Yes; shall I say that you would like to speak to her?" 
 
 Wilhelm nodded, and the girl went out. After a short 
 pause Malvine stood before him, offering him her white 
 hand, with its short fingers, while her face flushed to the 
 roots of her hair. 
 
 "Might I speak to you, Fraulein?" he said, in a low, 
 constrained voice. 
 
 Malvine went very white, all the blood seemed to leave 
 her heart, and she almost gasped for breath. After a 
 short silence she whispered, "Certainly, Herr Doctor," 
 and took him into the little room next the drawing-room, 
 which contained a modest bookcase, a writing table, and 
 chairs in red damask. She sat down, and Wilhelm took 
 a chair near; they were silent for a minute or two, 
 while she, with eyes downcast, went alternately red and 
 white, and could scarcely breathe. There was no pretense 
 this time about her agitation. It seemed as if suddenly 
 a flash of lightning had illuminated his mind, showing 
 him a picture of this trembling, pretty girl clasped to 
 his heart, and he with his arms round her. It only 
 lasted for a second, but it struck him like aa electric 
 
174 THE MALADY OF THE GMNTUBY. 
 
 shock, and left in his mind a mingled feeling of trouble, 
 shame, remorse and vexation. He had a consciousness of 
 danger, and he felt that he must make a great effort to 
 become master of the situation and of himself. 
 
 "Gnadiges Fraulein, " he began, "what I want to say 
 to you will seem odd, and perhaps audacious, but I beg 
 you in spite of that to hear me to the end." 
 
 Malvine sat motionless, breathing quickly. 
 
 "I do not know," he went on, "in what position you 
 and my friend Haber are with regard to each other, but 
 you must have noticed, without any explanation, that he 
 loves you." 
 
 At the mention of Paul's name, Malvine for the first 
 time raised her eyes, and looked at Wilhelm with such a 
 troubled expression that he felt still further alarmed. 
 He had broken the ice, however, and he made a coura- 
 geous effort to regain his asssurance. 
 
 "Dear Fraulein," he said impressively, "1 am afraid 
 there has been some misunderstanding between us, which 
 it is my duty toward you, toward my friend, and toward 
 myself, to explain. My behavior has perhaps aroused an 
 impression which it should not have done. There is no 
 doubt that I ought not to have shown you how warm vay 
 friendship is for you — for you, a good and beautiful girl, 
 who have inspired my best friend with such a love ; but 
 really I considered that so long as the engagement be- 
 tween you and Paul was not clearly arranged, that you 
 would understand my position. If I seemed happy to be 
 near you, it was because I told myself how happy my 
 friend would be when he could call you his own ; if you 
 seemed to read warmth and tenderness when I looked at 
 you, it was because I was and am so grateful to you for 
 so happily influencing Paul." 
 
 While he was Speaking Malvine had Stink back ia her 
 
THW MALAD Y OF THE CENTURY. 175 
 
 corner, and had closed her es'es with a deep sigh. A few 
 large tears began to roll down her cheeks. Wilhelm 
 touched her hand, which was cold as ice. She made a 
 feeble effort to draw it away, but he held it fast and went 
 on : 
 
 "Dearest, best Malvine, do not bear me any grudge for 
 this abominable half-hour, and believe me that it is only 
 out of consideration for your life's happiness. I quite 
 understand how it has all happened. Your kind heart 
 was filled with pity for me, and in your innocence you 
 gave the pity another name. It was quite natural that 
 you should be uncertain of yourself, while you thought 
 you were loved by two men, and that the confusion pre- 
 vented you seeing clearly with your own heart. Now 
 you know that Paul loves you, and that the day on which 
 he dares call you his will be the first happy one I have 
 had for a year. You will be able to come to a determina- 
 tion more easily, as it concerns your own happiness 
 equally with Paul's. Paul is a good fellow, and worthy 
 of the woman who will bear his name." 
 
 He bent over her hand and pressed his lips to it. Mal- 
 vine sobbed aloud, and putting her arms on his shoulders 
 kissed his hair, then sprang away and flew to her room. 
 Wilhelm hurried away in great confusion, thankful that 
 he had been spared meeting either Frau Brohl or Frau 
 Marker. He only breathed freely when he found himself 
 in the street. 
 
 Paul was informed the same afternoon of the conversa- 
 tion which had taken place, Wilhelm delicately passing 
 over Malvine 's outburst of feeling, and he hurried at 
 once to the Liitzowstrasse to take by storm the fortress in 
 which his friend had already made a breach. He was 
 received by Prau Brohl, who nodded in mysterious man- 
 ner, AiaS ieok him inte ber bedroom, at the back of the 
 
Ite I'HE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 flat, through the dining-room. In her soft, feeble voice 
 she mildly reproached him for not having more confi- 
 dence and coming to speak to her sooner. She then re- 
 lated to him what had happened. She had heard with 
 great surprise that Dr. Eynhardt had come and gone 
 away again, without saying good-day to her. As she was 
 going to ask what the visit meant, Malvine came and em- 
 braced her grandmother, crying bitterly, to the old lady's 
 great distress. With many tears she had given a con- 
 fused and broken account of the interview with "Wilhelm, 
 begging Frau Brohl to comfort her and foretell that it 
 should end well. Frau Brohl explained that Malvine 
 was now in her room, meaning that Paul must not try to 
 see her just at present. Such a silly, inexperienced 
 creature must have time given her to learn to be reason- 
 able, beside, she (Frau Brohl) would take care of every- 
 thing, and Herr Haber could call her grandmamma now if 
 he liked. He kissed her hand, deeply moved and grate- 
 ful, and her eyes filled with tears. She then explained 
 the situation to Frau Marker, who, after looking very 
 much surprised, also embraced her son-in-law. It was a 
 dignified scene, tender, and, as befitted an honorable 
 family, without any overdisplay of feeling; if all the 
 wealthy people of Stettin had been assembled there, they 
 could have expressed nothing but admiration. 
 
 On the next day Frau Brohl spoke to her grand- 
 daughter. She made her understand that there were no 
 real objections to be made, that she was silly and was 
 acting against her own happiness. Paul was much the 
 better match of the two, was more chic and practical 
 than Wilhelm, had better prospects in life, and was really 
 better-looking than his friend. Above all she liked Paul, 
 and did not like Wilhelm, and that ought to be taken 
 iu.to account. Malviue was not inaccessible to such 
 
THE MALAD t OF THE QENTUR T. lit 
 
 arguments, as Paul was really sympathetic to her. Soon 
 her tears ceased to flow, and her sighs became fainter 
 , and fainter. In two days' time she regained her appe- 
 tite, signs which Frau Brohl noticed, and quickly im- 
 parted to Paul. At their first meeting he showed a little 
 anxiety, and she, a good deal of constraint, but that soon 
 passed off, and as they were constantly together, she 
 found a great deal of pleasure in his manly good looks 
 and honorable qualities. Beside, it was spring! the sun 
 shone, the sky was blue, her room was full of the fra- 
 grance of flowers, which Paul brought every day with the 
 regularity of a postman, and fourteen days later they 
 were engaged, and his first kiss was given in the presence 
 of her grandmother, mother, and Paul's parents. Her 
 heart felt very warmly toward him, and she would have 
 felt dreadfully confused had not Wilhelm, with character- 
 istic good feeling, declined the invitation to be present. 
 
 Frau Brohl arranged for the wedding to take place 
 after Whitsuntide. At the Zwolf-Apostelkirche she wore 
 her heavj' silk dress and all the family ornaments, as on 
 the Sundays at church at Stettin. Her bent figure was 
 straighter than usual, and a smile of proud satisfaction 
 lighted up her pale, melancholy face. Several rich 
 friends from Stettin had come over to Berlin for the wed- 
 ding. She leaned on the arm of the bridegroom's father, 
 Herr Haber, a dignified old gentleman with a long beard. 
 Paul wore his uniform and a Japanese order, which had 
 been conferred on him by a Japanese pupil at his lectures 
 on agricultural chemistry. Several officers in uniform 
 were in the church, and a large number of professors, 
 councilors, etc. Paul's round face beamed with happi- 
 ness, his blond mustache looked triumphant, his hair 
 was mathematically cut, and a field-marshal might have 
 sworn that he was a regular officer. The bride was rosy, 
 
1 ^8 TSE MAIAD r OP TSM CMNTUR Y. 
 
 and looked happy. Her veil and wreath were made by 
 the family, and her satin dress covered with their em- 
 broidery. "Wilhelm was one of Paul's witnesses. "When 
 he went to congratulate the happy pair after the cere- 
 mony, Malvine looted at him ; a gentle glance, with per- 
 haps a mild reproach in it. Paul, however, grasped his 
 hand, and whispered into his ear : 
 
 "Your friend for life, Wilhelm, for life." 
 
TMB MAZAiyy OF tMe cmftTRT. l-^f) 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 SYMPOSIDM. 
 
 Paul had hardly returned from his wedding .trip to 
 Paris when he surprised his friends by a series of quite 
 unexpected business engagements. He gave up his post 
 as lecturer, in spite of the fact that the appointment as 
 professor for the next six months depended on it; he left 
 his young wife for three weeks, during which nothing 
 was heard of him, except an occasional letter bearing the 
 postmarks of Hamburg, Altona, or Harburg, then he 
 appeared again, and told Malvine that they were to 
 remove from Berlin, to spend in future a portion of the 
 year in Hamburg, but to live chiefly on some property 
 near Harburg. He had decided to leave his academic 
 profession and become a practical landowner, and accord- 
 ingly had taken a large leasehold estate. He gave Wil- 
 helm and Sohrotter further particulars of his plans. 
 The place he had bought was hardly to be called an 
 estate, but a wild desert bit of moorland called "Friesen- 
 moor," growing only a kind of marsh grass. This piece 
 of land, from which nothing but peat could be obtained, 
 was worthless, and he had bought it for a few thalers. 
 After many years of study on the subject, and without 
 saying a word to any living soul, Paul had come to the 
 conclusion that this arid moor could be made into rich 
 arable land by proper cultivation, and seeing money was 
 to be made out of this possession, he decided without 
 loss of time to put his theories into practice. There was 
 
IgO fSE MALADf OP tSs CUNtUkf. 
 
 always the risk that he mi ght lose his money, but he had 
 great confidence in his science, and "nothing venture, 
 nothing have. " He considered it quite unnecessary to 
 explain everything about his speculation to Malvine and 
 the old lads'. He knew, too, that merely the word 
 "speculation" would frighten them to death. 
 
 The separation from Malvine dissolved her grand- 
 mother and mother into sighs and tears, but during the 
 short time that they had known Paul, his quiet, deter- 
 mined character had made such an impression on the two 
 women that they submitted without a word to whatever 
 he arranged. Frau Brohl packed up several boxes for 
 her granddaughter, filled with the work of her hands, 
 gave her various recipes for preserving fruits and for fish 
 sauces, and let her go. She withstood bravely the temp- 
 tation to fill up the empty room with the overflow furni- 
 ture from the drawing-room, and spoke on the contrary 
 of leaving the room free, so that the young couple might 
 make it their headquarters when they came to Berlin. 
 Paul hypocritically invited Frau Brohl and Frau Marker 
 to come and live on his estate — he did not even fear two 
 mothers-in-law. Grandmother and mother, though 
 pleased with his attachment for them, declined with 
 thanks. The cunning dog had reckoned on that refusal. 
 He would have been in a terrible dilemma had they 
 accepted. He would then have had to reveal the whole 
 truth, and tell them that his so-called "property" was a 
 mere swamp, where there was no place for one's feet to 
 tread unless clad in waterproof boots; hardly a fit place 
 for townspeople, accustomed to comfort. Before the 
 changes on the Friesenmoor could be brought about one 
 fell into pools, one's feet got fast in boggy earth, and the 
 only inhabitants at present were waterfowl, frogs and 
 toads. He did not even take Malvine to his property, 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 181 
 
 but lived in Hamburg, going to Harburg every morning 
 and returning in the evening. 
 
 In a short time the neighborhood betv?een the Seeve 
 and the Siiderelbe wore a different appearance. Hun- 
 dreds of laborers were to be seen on the moor, which 
 hitherto had reflected only the sky in its silent pools. 
 Dams were thrown up, trenches dug, a dwelling house 
 was raised on piles, numbers of business ofSces, and quite 
 a village for workmen, all mounted and secure on piles of 
 wood, stakes, and stone foundations. Flatboats floated 
 on the pools, the houses were roofed in, windmills 
 flapped their sails, and Paul, who had ordered and built 
 everything, came every day to see how the workmen were 
 getting on. In the autumn he took Malvine for the first 
 time to Harburg, and leaving the carriage at the ofiice 
 brought her by boat to the border of the Friesenmoor, to 
 show her the picture all at once. The men stood on each 
 side of the new house with their shovels and pickaxes, 
 and greeted the young wife with such a hearty cheer 
 that her eyes filled with tears. The broad flat surface of 
 the marsh was now arranged in regular lines where the 
 water was being drawn off, all so well superintended and 
 orderly, that Malvine could not help thinking of a chess- 
 board. The windmill moved its long restless arms, as if 
 to welcome her as mistress here ; the one-storied dwell- 
 ing house, raised on stone steps, lay there hospitably 
 built on a raised terrace, with its number of large well- 
 lighted rooms opening a vista of peace and happiness to 
 Malvine, and she thought it all so delightful that she 
 would have liked to send for her furniture from Hamburg 
 and stay there. Paul, howevei-, reflected what danger 
 there might be to her in her condition to stay through 
 the winter in a house not yet dry, and so she gave in to 
 his wishes. 
 
182 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURT. 
 
 At the end of March a telegram from Hamburg an- 
 nounced the birth of a fine boy, to whom Wilhelm was to 
 stand godfather. He was to be named Paul Wilhelm, 
 and to be known by the latter name. When the warm 
 weather came, Paul and his family were to go to the 
 moor, and during the removal Malvine went with her 
 mother and grandmother, who had both nursed her ten- 
 derly, to Berlin for a visit. Paul went through a great 
 deal of worry and anxiety this summer. He had every- 
 thing at stake in waiting for the results of his undertak- 
 ing. All his money was in the buildings, the earth- 
 works, and waterworks; if the barren swarnp did not 
 yield twice the sum intrusted to it he was a ruined man. 
 But as July drew near, and Paul looked at the thick 
 standing ears of barley and wheat, he felt the weight of 
 his anxiety lifted, and in August he proclaimed in letters 
 to his friends that the battle was won, the harvest more 
 abundant than he had dared to hope for, and the remain- 
 ing half-year would complete the transformation of the 
 worthless moorland into a veritable Australian gold mine. 
 He regarded his property now with a parental tenderness, 
 as if it were some living being whom he had trained and 
 educated. The first harvest had given him experience, 
 and opportunity for new work, and he stayed through 
 the autumn and winter in his house in the midst of his 
 workmen, whom he felt inclined to canonize. The men 
 now formed a little colony with their wives and children, 
 and Paul was as happy as possible within the limited 
 boundary of his horizon, between the Siiderelbe and the 
 Seeve. 
 
 These two years had been outwardly uneventful for 
 Wilhelm. In the mornings he worked in the Physical 
 Institute, in the afternoons he worked at home, in the 
 sve&ings he gossiped with Sehrotter — a a'eui^&e^ to Ham^ 
 
mSl MALADY OP TEE OEKTVbT. 183 
 
 burg and a fortnight's visit to the house on the.Friesen- 
 moor had given him change. Paul came pretty often to 
 Berlin, and found in the society of his old friends the 
 enjoyment of his early years renewed, and Wilhelm with 
 his girlish face, his enthusiastic eyes, and his unworldly 
 manner did not seem a year older. The professor of 
 physics, who had frequently been invited to go abroad to 
 direct the teaching in other European and foreign 
 schools, asked Wilhelm to go with him to Turkey, Japan, 
 and Chili — as professor. He had the highest opinion of 
 Wilhelm, and deeply regretted that his misadventure 
 with Herr von Pechlar made an appointment in Germany 
 impossible. Wilhelm, however, declined, on the ground 
 that he did not feel an aptitude for teaching, only for 
 learning. 
 
 He had scarcely any intercourse now with Barinskoi, 
 whose immoral views at last became unbearable ; he rarely 
 saw him except when be came to borrow money. Of late 
 a new acquaintance had come into his limited social 
 circle. This was a man of about thirty-five, called 
 Dorfling, an overgrown thin creature, with long, straight 
 gray hair, and deep intellectual eyes in his thin face. 
 He came from the Rhine, and was the son of a rich mer- 
 chant, into whose business he should have gone. How- 
 ever, when he was twenty-six he boldly told his 
 father that the world outside was of deeper and wider in- 
 terest to him than account books. The father died, and 
 Dorfling hastened to put the business into liquidation, 
 and devote himself to philosophical studies. For a year 
 he drifted from one school to another, sitting at the feet 
 of the most celebrated teachers and plunging himself into 
 their systems. In the autumn of 1872 he appeared sud- 
 denly in Berlin, and renewed his old acquaintance with 
 Wilbelm. Since then he had become a frequent guest at 
 
184 ^liE MALADY Of tUM CMtURY. 
 
 Dr. Schrotter's dinner table, and a companion to Wilhelm 
 in his afternoon walks. 
 
 Dorfling was the most wonderful listener that any one 
 could wish to have, though he himself was rather silent. 
 If the talk turned on great questions of knowledge, mor- 
 ality, the object of life, Dorfling's share in the conversa- 
 tion consisted in the following half-audible remark : 
 "Yes, it is a powerful and interesting subject. I have 
 just been working at it, and you will find my opinions in 
 my book. " If he were asked to give his opinions now, 
 or at least to indicate them, he shook his head and gently 
 said, "I am not good at extempore speaking. My 
 thoughts only come out clearly when I have a pen in my 
 hand." Not a day passed by without an allusion to 
 "the book," to which he devoted his nights, and of which 
 he always spoke, with emotion in his voice, as the work 
 of his life. 
 
 It was impossible to get more information out of him, 
 either about its title, scope, or contents. It was a philo- 
 sophic work, no doubt, as he always said on speaking of 
 such subjcts, "I have mentioned that in my book. " But 
 that was all that could be got out of him. Schrotter and 
 Wilhelm were too good to tease him much about it, though 
 the former, with a suspicion of a smile, would say that 
 he hoped this and that would have a place in the book, 
 so that one might at least know his opinion on it. Paul, 
 who always saw him when he came to Berlin, used to 
 ask whether the book was not yet ready. Dorfling gave 
 no answer, but his pale face grew paler, and an expres- 
 sion of pain came to his ej^es. 
 
 Barinskoi, who now sponged on Dorfling just as he 
 had previously done on "Wilhelm, giving them in fact 
 turn and turn about, had the bad taste to make jokes con- 
 tinually about the book, at one time calling it the Holy 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTVBT. 185 
 
 Grail, another time comparing it to the diamond country 
 of Sindbad's tale, and in a hundred ways making vulgar 
 and sceptical jokes. On one of his outbreaks of dissi- 
 pation he had disappeared far longer than usual, and on 
 his return he looked more miserable than ever. Dorfling 
 made some kindly inquiries, and learned that he was re- 
 covering from an attack of inflammation of the lungs, and 
 Barinskoi, by way of showing gratitude, remarked, 
 "The doctors gave me up, but I held out, as I do not 
 mean to die until I have read your book." Dorfling, 
 with a contemptuous look, turned his back on him. 
 
 One day, soon after the Easter of 1874, Dorfling 
 brought his friends a great piece of news. The book was 
 ready, it was even in the press, and would be published 
 in a few days by a large firm, but he wanted to present 
 them with copies before the book appeared at the shops. 
 He therefore invited them to a little festival to celebrate 
 the occasion. He had been thinking over the book for 
 seventeen years, had been eight years in writing it, and 
 as it had taken such an important place in his life, he 
 must be pardoned a little vanity about it now. Paul had 
 a written invitation sent him, and he thought the occa- 
 sion was sufficiently important to come to Berlin on pur- 
 pose. 
 
 On the appointed evening they all met at eight o'clock 
 at Borchardt's in the Franzosischen Strasse. A dignified 
 waiter, who in appearance and manner looked more like 
 an ambassador, received the guests, and took them into a 
 private room on the left side of the large room above the 
 ground floor. This little room was all lined with red like 
 a jewel case, thick red portieres were over the doors, and 
 the amount of gas with which it was lighted made it 
 rather warmer than was comfortable. A large table with 
 4iv^ns OB three sides of it nearly filled the room ; it was 
 
186 THE MA LAD Y OF THE GENTUB T. 
 
 beautifully decorated and covered with flowers. Numer- 
 ous wineglasses were placed before each guest, and 
 champagne was cooling in an ice-bucket near the door. 
 
 Dorfling was there, and received his guests as the 
 waiter lifted the heavy portiere. He was in evening 
 dress, and his slightly flushed face beamed with pleasure. 
 His friends regretted keenly that they had come in 
 ordinary morning clothes, and expressed their apologies. 
 He interrupted them, saying they must overlook one of 
 his little whims.and not say anything more about it. 
 
 Then they sat down to table, impressed by his charm- 
 ing manner. Dorfling put Schrotter on his right hand, 
 and Wilhelm and Paul on his left; near Schrotter was 
 Barinskoi and a friend of Dorfling's, named Mayboom. 
 This man was, like Dorfling, a Ehinelander, he combined 
 a successful career as a writer of comic verses with a 
 confirmed pessimism. When he had written one of his 
 merriest couplets, he would stop his work and sigh with 
 Dorfling over the tragedy of life. The papers treated his 
 farces as rubbish, but the public adored them. The 
 earnest critic would hardly touch his name with a pair of 
 tongs, but the theatre managers fought for possession of 
 his work. He had a beautiful wife who worshiped him, 
 two wonderful children, and the appearance and bearing 
 of Timon of Athens. 
 
 At Dorfling's summons two waiters came in ; one of 
 them put a large dish of oysters on the table, while the 
 other placed a thick octavo volume before each guest. 
 
 "The last of the season," cried Barinskoi gayly, and 
 helped himself to oysters. 
 
 "The book! Bravo!" said Paul, and held out his hand 
 to Dorfling. 
 
 There was a short silence, while they all, even the 
 cynical Barinskoi, contemplated the book before them, 
 On the pearl-gray cover they read ; 
 
TES MALAD T OF THE CENTURY. 187 
 
 "The Philosophy of Deliverance, by X. Eheiuthaler. " 
 
 "What an expressive title," said "Wilhelra, breaking 
 the silence first. 
 
 "Admirably adapted for a comic song," remarked May- 
 boom, with a melancholy air. Barinskoi laughed loudly, 
 ■while Dorfling looked blandly at him. The comic poet 
 sighed deeply and began to eat. 
 
 "But why Eheinthaler?" asked Paul. 
 
 "I at first wanted the book to appear anonymously; 
 but the public is accustomed now to see a proper name 
 on the title-page. If it does not find one, its curiosity is 
 excited, and what I particularly wished to avoid comes 
 to pass, namely, the diversion of attention from the 
 essential to the unessential." 
 
 "That does not explain why you have not put your 
 own name to it, ' ' said Paul. 
 
 "My own name? What for? What is a name? What 
 is an individuality, which a name symbolizes? The 
 thoughts which I have put down in this book are not 
 from me, the transient accident called Dorfling, but from 
 the absolute everlasting thing which thinks in my brain. 
 I am merely the carrier of the truth, appointed by it. 
 What would you say if a postman put his name on all the 
 letters he delivers?" 
 
 "I should not be capable of such self-effacement," said 
 Paul. "If I had deVoted the best years of my life to any 
 work I should be unable to renounce the recognition I 
 had earned." 
 
 "Eecognition, Herr Haber. What sort of word is 
 that? One does what one does, not because one wills, 
 but because one must ; not on account of an operation 
 aimed at, but because of a compelling cause. He who 
 reckons on any kind of reward for his works is on the 
 same footing as a silly woman who claims men's appro- 
 
188 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 bation because she is pretty or an unreasoning child, who 
 wants to be praised and petted because he has eaten his 
 dinner. A mature perception arrives at this idea of the 
 duty which one must fulfill, and in no hope of the gratifi- 
 cation of individual vanity or self-seeking. Eecognition ! 
 Does the wind hope for recognition from the ships it 
 helps to sail? Is it blamed if it dashes the ship to 
 pieces? It blows, as it must, and is perfectly indifferent 
 about what men say, and as to its effect on trees, and 
 chimney-pots, and ships. My brain is now thinking 
 just as the wind blows. There is no difference between 
 my organism and what goes on in the atmosphere. Both 
 obey the laws of nature, and I merely fulfill these when I 
 write a book." 
 
 "I quite agree with you, "said Wilhelm. 
 
 The oysters had been eaten, and some wonderful Mar- 
 kobrunner drunk. The waiter now brought some Prin- 
 taniere soup. The conversation halted, as everyone had 
 involuntarily opened his copy of the book, some of them 
 perhaps really curious to read, the others out of sym- 
 pathy for the writer. 
 
 "Please don't read it now," said Dorfling, "the book 
 will be just the same to-morrow, but the soup will be 
 cold." 
 
 "That is the remark of a philosopher," said Barinskoi, 
 and poked his pointed red nose in the savory steam from 
 his soup. 
 
 "It is difficult to tear oneself away, " said Schr&tter; 
 "it would be very friendly of you to give an idea of the 
 thoughts at the foundation of your thesis." 
 
 "How could I explain a whole system intelligibly in a 
 few words?" said Dorfling. ' 
 
 "You could leave out all the proofs and the develop- 
 ment, we can read thgse presently in your book. You 
 
TSE MALAD T OF THE GBNTUR T. 189 
 
 need only just give us the main ideas of your 'Philosophy 
 of Deliverance.' " 
 
 All the guests joined in Schrotter's request, Paul the 
 most eagerly, for the idea of having to read through that 
 thick, dry book had frightened him, and now he saw 
 the possibility of knowing its contents in an agreeable 
 and comfortable way. 
 
 Dorfling objected at first, but as his friends insisted he 
 began. 
 
 "The phenomenal world, in my opinion, is the foun- 
 dation of a single spiritual principle which you can call 
 wTiat you like — strength, final cause, will, consciousness, 
 God. This eternal principle separates part of itself from 
 its own being — and this is the soul of mankind. Every 
 soul perceives clearly that it is a part of an eternal whole ; 
 it feels itself unhappy and uneasy in its fragmentary ex- 
 istence, and yearns to go back again to the whole from 
 whence it came. Individual life means removal from that 
 all-embracing whole; individual death is the complete 
 union of finite parts with the infinite whole. Thus, al- 
 though life is a necessity, it is a continual pain, and 
 ceaseless yearning ; death is the freedom from pain and 
 the fulfillment of that yearning. The only aim of life is 
 death at the end of it, and death is the goal toward which 
 every activity of the living organism eagerly strives." 
 
 Paul looked at "Wilhelm and Schrotter, but as they 
 were silent he said nothing. Schrotter after considera- 
 tion, said: 
 
 "Why do you separate a part of the eternal principle 
 from itself?" 
 
 "To make its unity manifold through divisibility, to 
 arrive at the consciousness of the 'ego,' through the 
 creation of an absolute negation." 
 
 "Your eternal principle then," said Schrotter, "ap- 
 
1% TBE MALAD Y OP TBE 0ENTUR7. 
 
 pears to you like some lord or master, who is lonely be- 
 cause he is by himself in the world, and wishes to have 
 the society of others." 
 
 "Over this, however, is placed the creation of the 
 negation ariving at the consciousness of its own 'ego,' in 
 addition to the knowledge of the object it has in view; 
 thus consciousness precedes the rest," said "Wilhelm. 
 
 Dorfling shook his head. 
 
 "These objections are close reasoning. You will find 
 them answered in the book." 
 
 "You are right," said Schrotter, "it is unfair to criti- 
 cize before we have read the book. I only want to make 
 one remark, not in the sense of criticism, but rather to 
 confirm a fact. Your "Philosophy of Deliverance" is no 
 other than a form of Christianity which looks upon the 
 earth as a vale of tears, on life as a banishment, and on 
 death as going home to the Father's house. The theol- 
 ogy of the Vatican would not find a hitch in your system. " 
 
 "Forgive me, doctor," answered Dorfling. "I see a 
 great difference between my system and Christianity. 
 Both of them hold that life is a misery, and death is tho 
 deliverance. But Christianity does not explain why God 
 creates men, and sends them to the misery of earth, in- 
 stead of leaving them in peace in heaven. I, on the con- 
 trary, claim that I explain the creation of living and con- 
 scious beings" 
 
 "Your assertion then means that the eternal principle 
 of phenomena creates organisms, with the object of 
 ariving at the consciousness of itself?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "Now, we have already answered you as to that," said 
 Schrotter, "and I will not keep back my objection any 
 longer. Let me get away for a moment from your sys- 
 tem, and say that between metaphysics and theology I do 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 191 
 
 not see the least difference. A metaphysical system and 
 a religious dogma are both attempts to explain the in- 
 comprehensible secret to human reason. The negro 
 solves the riddle of the musical-box, believing that a 
 spirit is inside it, which gives forth musical sounds at the 
 white man's command; and that is precisely what priests 
 and philosophers do when they explain the great work- 
 ings of the universe by a God, or a principle, or whatever 
 they call their fetich. Human nature always wants to 
 know the why and wherefore of things. When we are 
 not sure of our ground, we help ourselves by conjectures, 
 or even by imagination. These conjectures are senseless 
 or reasonable, according to whether our knowledge is 
 insufficient or comprehensive. Men are satisfied in their 
 childhood with stories as explanations of the world's 
 mysteries, in their maturity they advance to plausible 
 hypotheses : the stories yield to theology, hypotheses to 
 philosophy. Religion presents a fictitious solution to 
 the riddle in a concrete form, and metaphysics in an ab- 
 stract form ; the one relates and asserts, the other argues 
 and avoids the improbable. It is only a difference of 
 degree, not of character." 
 
 "That is just so," cried Wilhelm. "Metaphysics are 
 as incapable as religion of disclosing what lies behind the 
 phenomenal world, and I cannot conceive (forgive me, 
 Dorfling, if I saj' straight out what I mean), I cannot 
 conceive how a philosopher can really take his own sys- 
 tem in earnest. He must know that his explanation is 
 only a conjecture, a possibility at the best, and he actu- 
 ally has the temerity to preach it as a fixed truth. No, 
 my friend, I do not expect anything from metaphysics. 
 It only interests me as a means for studying psychology. 
 The history of philosophical systems is a history of the 
 development of the mind of humanity. The systems are 
 
193 TBE MALADf Op TSE CENTTlkt. 
 
 only valuable as testimonials to the endless extent and 
 possibility of human thought. All the systems put to- 
 gether do not contain a spark of objective truth." 
 
 "That is upon the whole the difference between 
 natural science and metaphysics," said Schrotter. 
 "Science regulates the boundary between what is known 
 and what is not known, and declares when the limit is 
 reached. Our knowledge has attained to a certain point, 
 and beyond that we'know and understand nothing, abso- 
 lutely nothing. Metaphysics will not stop at that limit. 
 It confuses knowledge and dreams together, and manu- 
 factures out of the two something quite worthless. It 
 explains things which it does not understand, and which 
 cannot be understood, and offers us detailed descriptions 
 of countries into which it has never traveled, and where 
 mankind probably never will travel." 
 
 "May I say a word in defence of your metaphysics?" 
 said Dorfling, with a slight smile. 
 
 "Yes, go on," cried Barinskoi. He had drunk more 
 than all the rest put together, and the serious conversa- 
 tion seemed to afford him great amusement.. 
 
 "Look here, Eynhardt. I cannot possibly uphold your 
 statement that metaphysics do not contain a spark of 
 objective truth. To be certain of that, one must also be 
 certain what objective truth is. But you are not certain, 
 as you very well know, and so logically you must admit 
 the possibility that metaphysics can hold a spark of ob- 
 jective truth. I am of an entirely different opinion on 
 this point.. I believe that the science of the actual con- 
 tent of things, the foundation of all appearances, the laws 
 of the universe, in short, everything which you call ob- 
 jective truth, is the property peculiar to the atoms of 
 which the world formerly existed. Absolute science, I 
 say, is inherent matter, like motion and gravitation. 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 193 
 
 Matter does not learn of them, it possesses them. A cell 
 has not studied chemistry, but with unfailing accuracy 
 it executes its wonderful chemical operations. "Water 
 knows nothing of physics and mathematics, but it flows 
 from the spring, just as high as the laws of hydraulic 
 pressure command." 
 
 "Bravo," interrupted Mayboom, "that explains at last 
 something I never understood; and that is, v?hy a flower- 
 pot should fall off a window straight on the heads of 
 people in the street, with unfailing accuracy." 
 
 "Please, Mayboom, no bad jokes to-day," saidDorfling 
 gently. 
 
 The comic songwriter sighed and again sank into deep 
 thought, and the philosopher went on : 
 
 "The science of truth, to which every atom adheres, 
 dwells in men. We must not forget that man is a collec- 
 tion of countless millions of atoms ; the collected con- 
 sciousness of mankind can know just as much of what 
 each atom knows, as a whole people can understand of 
 Greek or Sanscrit because one or other of its members 
 can read those languages. Only through intercommuni- ■ 
 cation can the knowledge of the few become the knowl- 
 edge of the many. The development of the living being 
 I regard in this way, that the atoms at first only hang 
 loosely, gradually becoming more closely knit together, 
 until they make a subtstantial organism. The single 
 atoms in the course of this process of development step 
 over the boundary toward consciousness. At first it is a 
 trembling; insecure foreboding, like the sensation of 
 light to one nearly blind, then the outlines of truth be- 
 come clearer, and all at once grow sharp and clearly 
 defined. The different attempts at explanation of the 
 secrets of the world are the expression of these forebod- 
 ings of truth. So every one of the religious and philosoph- 
 
194 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 ical systems is to my mind a grain of the truth, and 
 the whole of it ■will be found in the great unity ■which 
 ■we shall reach in a higher development." 
 
 "As charming as a pretty story," said Schrotter, "but 
 — it is only a story after all. You conjecture that the 
 thing is so situated, but you are not in a condition to 
 prove it; and if I deny it, you have no means of compell- 
 ing me to believe, as I can compell you to believe that 
 t^wice two makes four. No, no; nothing can come of 
 these metaphysical speculations. The whole philosophy 
 is not worth psychological treatment. We are no further 
 to-day than the old Greeks, whose knowledge led to the 
 formula, 'Know thyself.' "We can hope to know our- 
 selves some day, to know what goes on in our brains. I 
 hardly believe, however, that science will ever arrive at 
 it." 
 
 "The study of natural science has brought me to the 
 same conclusion," said Wilhelm. "We know nothing 
 to-day of the nature of phenomena — we knew nothing 
 yesterday, and we shall know nothing to-morrow. The 
 great advance in thought has only brought us to the 
 point of no more self-deception, and exactly knowing 
 what we do know, whereas yesterday men deceived them- 
 selves, and imagined that the fables of religion and meta- 
 physics were positive knowledge. The history of physi- 
 cal science is in this respect very interesting. It teaches 
 that every step forward does not consist of a new expla- 
 nation, but rather goes to prove, that the earlier explana- 
 tions were untrustworthy. The sphere of the exact 
 sciences does not grow wider, but narrower. It would be 
 very instructive to study the history of natural science at 
 the point it has reached." 
 
 "Why do you not write such a history?" asked 
 Schrotter. 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE GENTURT. 195 
 
 "Why? It would be foolish to add another book to the 
 millions of books already written. All that one can say 
 about it is soon said. Anything really new is written 
 once in a thousand years, all the rest is repetition, dilu- 
 tion, compilation. If everyone who writes on a subject 
 were to read first everything which has been written on 
 that subject, he would very soon throw his pen out of the 
 window." 
 
 "I must again differ from you," said Dorfling. "I 
 think it is best, that we so seldom know all that has been 
 thought and written oh a subject. It is best that we 
 write new books without wearying to read the millions of 
 others. I grant that most books are only repetitions of 
 earlier ones. But it is unconscious repetition, and it is 
 exactly that which gives it a wonderfully new meaning. 
 It proves unity of mind, identity of science. Thousands 
 of men daily discover gunpowder. Many of them laugh, 
 because gunpowder was first discovered two hundred 
 years ago. I do not laugh. I see in it the manifestation 
 of the eternal unity of phenomenal principle. So many 
 men could not arrive at the same thought if they were not 
 fragments of a whole ; now you know why I have written 
 a book, and also, why I have not put my individual name 
 on the title-page. ' ' 
 
 From the next room they heard a woman laugh in a 
 wild, excited way, glasses chinked together, and a man's 
 voice was just distinguished in conversation. Barinskoi 
 pricked up his ears and winked at Paul ; the others paid 
 no attention. 
 
 "Do not misunderstand me," said Wilhelm, answering 
 Dorfling 's last remark. I do not mean to say that your 
 book is superfluous. You had every right to it, having 
 made it the object of your life." 
 
 "Not the object of my life," interrupted Dorfling, 
 
196 TUE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 "The only object I have in life is death, which I call 
 deliverance." 
 
 "Very good; I will say then, when you conceived it 
 your duty to write it." 
 
 "Duty! yes, I will allow that word to pass. Let us 
 rather say impulse, or instinct. If one has a perception 
 one also feels an impulse, which one calls a feeling of 
 duty to share it with others." 
 
 Wilhelm smiled. 
 
 "You believe even in perception. That proves above 
 all what you mean by your duty. I know, to my regret, 
 that I have no perceptions to share with others, and the 
 duty of my life is only toward my own moral education 
 and greatest possible perfection." 
 
 "That is not enough, " Paul broke in; "this self-cul- 
 ture in one's own study does no one any good. For that 
 reason I do not mind if I appear unphilosopbical. One 
 has duties toward one's fellowmen. One must be useful 
 to the State, as a good citizen. One must make money, 
 to add to the national wealth." 
 
 "Bravo, Herr Haber, " said Mayboom gravely. "You 
 speak like a town-crier;" and after a short pause he 
 added: "That is a great compliment from me." 
 
 "We express the same meaning in different forms," 
 answered Wilhelm. "How can you add to the national 
 wealth? By making yourself a rich man. And I trj' to 
 be useful to the community by educating m3'self in the 
 greatest possible morality, and the highest ideal of a 
 citizen. No one can work outside of himself when every 
 individual strives to be good and true, then the whole 
 people will be good and noble. " 
 
 "Now you are disputing as to your life's duty," cried 
 Barinskoi, whose eyes glowed, and whose face was red 
 ■^"ith the alcohol h§ had imbibed. "Prove first that it i§ 
 
TiSB MALAD T OF tHM CMNTUR T. 197 
 
 a duty. I deny without exception every duty to others. 
 Why should I trouble myself about the world? What 
 are my fellow-creatures to me ? Dinner is trumps, and 
 long live wine!" and he drank a glassful. 
 
 "It is an instinct born with us," said Wilh elm, -with- 
 out any vexation, "to care for one's fellow-creatures, and 
 to feel a duty in sympathy for others." 
 
 "But suppose I have not got this instinct?" answered 
 Barinskoi. 
 
 "Then you are an unhealthy exception." 
 
 "Prove it." 
 
 "The best proof is the continuance of mankind. If 
 the instinct of sympathy with others were to fail among 
 men, humanity would long ago have ceased to exist." 
 
 Barinskoi laughed. 
 
 "That is a convenient arrangement. Instinct then is 
 the only foundation for your duty, and the continuance 
 of humanity is the only sanction of your instinct. I will 
 leave you to listen to your instinct, and sympathize as 
 much as you like, but "for my part I joyfully renounce 
 this duty; the only punishment I should be afraid of is 
 the destruction of mankind, and that is not likely to 
 happen in my lifetime." 
 
 "There is another punishment," said Mayboom 
 solemnly, "that I take this bottle of champagne away 
 from you on account of — your bad behavior." 
 
 While he spoke he took away the bottle, and Barinskoi 
 tried to get it back again; a little struggle ensued. 
 Dorfling put an end to it by an emphatic "Please don't 
 do that." Turning to Wilhelm he went on : 
 
 "I do not believe in your idea of duty; you place in- 
 stinct at the foundation. I use another word. I call 
 your instinct the foreboding that each has of its being, 
 and its outflow toward the eternal phenomenon of prin- 
 
198 TEE MALADY OF TEE CENTURY. 
 
 ciple. At all events, that seems to suffice for a founda- 
 tion. But I conceive duty to be quite a different thing. 
 You limit your view to self-culture, and have love for 
 your fellow-creatures, but no desire to instruct them. 
 Now, I think that culture should begin with oneself, but 
 end with, others. That is my idea of love for humanity. 
 One need hardly go out of oneself to do this. One can 
 influence things remote without disturbing oneself. Just 
 think of the magnet; it is an immense source of influ- 
 ence, called example. It sets an astonishing example 
 without moving out of itself — an example which cannot 
 be overlooked, and powerfully affects the imagination. " 
 
 "One illustration for another," said Schrotter, who 
 had shown his interest in the converstion by nodding his 
 head now and then. "Tou wish man to play the part of 
 a magnet; that is not enough, I want him to play the 
 part of a cogwheel. He must catch hold of his sur- 
 roundings while he moves, he must also move all those 
 round him. Everyone cannot be a magnet; we are not 
 all made of the same stuff. But one can make a cogged 
 wheel out of whatever one will — and beside, a magnet 
 onlj"- influences certain substances. It will draw iron, 
 but cannot attract copper, wood, or stone; but the cog- 
 wheel takes hold of anything near it, of whatever material 
 it is made. I will not work the illustration to death. 
 You can see bj' this what I mean. I think a far-reaching 
 activity is the first business of mankind. Our nerves are 
 not so much those of sensation as of movement; we do 
 not only take in impressions from the outside, we are 
 provided with organs which give out impressions re- 
 ceived from within. Every sensation of movement which 
 nature sends through us is a summons to be answered by 
 an action, not only self-culture, not example, not passive 
 good-will toward others, but by the intention an object 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 199 
 
 of activity toward the world and humanity. The Middle 
 Ages summoned up the business of life in the words, ' Ora 
 et Labora. ' They are beautiful words, and after this 
 lapse of time we take the meaning out for ourselves, in 
 other words, 'Think and Act.' " 
 
 The woman's laughter from the next room became 
 louder, and then they heard chairs pushed back, and the 
 noise of departure. The rustling of a silk dress, with the 
 clinking of spurs and sword, passed the door, became 
 fainter, and then ceased. It was near midnight, and 
 Schrotter rose to go. He was thinking of Bhani, who 
 was sitting up for him at home. The dinner must have 
 been paid for beforehand, for the guests were spared the 
 sight of a money transaction to chill the end of their 
 pleasant evening. The cool night air felt refreshing 
 after the heat of the small room. Dorfiing declined the 
 offers his friends made to accompany him home. They 
 all wished him "Farewell." 
 
 "Die well, would be a better wish," replied Dorfling, 
 and with these strange words in their ears they left him. 
 
 Schrotter and Wilhelm went a part of the way with 
 Paul, who had the furthest to go. For a little while he 
 was silent, then he broke out : 
 
 "I declare this is beyond my comprehension. The 
 whole time I was there I felt as if I were in a vault with 
 a lot of ghosts. You, Herr Doctor, were the only living 
 being among them ; I breathed again when I heard you 
 talking. If I had not head the sounds from next door, 
 and had not had the realities of our dinner before me, I 
 should have thought I was dreaming." 
 
 ""What has put you out so, my dear Paul?" said 
 Wilhelm. 
 
 "What! Are you men of flesh and blood? Are you 
 really alive ? There we sat for four mortal hours, and the 
 talk was! wearisome to a degree, uever one seusibls word. " 
 
200 TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 "Not?! now!" protested Schrotter. 
 
 "Herr Doctor, forgive me, but I must repeat it, never 
 one sensible word. Do you call Dorfling's "Philosophy of 
 Deliverance" sensible? or, Wilhelm, your philosophy of 
 self-culture, which, with all deference to you, I call 
 philosophical onanism? Only six men, two of them 
 under thirty-five, and the whole blessed evening not one 
 word about either pleasure or love." 
 
 They had come to the place where Friedrichstrasse and 
 Leipzigerstrasse cross each other; and Schrotter signed 
 to them to look toward the left corner. There under a 
 gas lamp they saw Barinskoi in earnest conversation with 
 a woman. 
 
 "Yes, look at him ! That brute is still the most rea- 
 sonable among all your philosophies. He has his method 
 of sponging, and enjoys himself according to the cate- 
 gory of Aristotle. But your metaphysics " 
 
 "What do you really want, Paul?" 
 
 "Well, I want you all to have to do for once with 
 practical life, with two hundred workmen to pay and ten 
 thousand acres of land to see after; and artificial manures 
 and the price of corn to worry you ; then perhaps you 
 would take a little less interest as to whether the soul was 
 a phenomenon or an india-rubber ball, or whether men 
 were magnets or cogwheels." 
 
 Wilhelm only smiled. He had long ago given up try- 
 ing to bring his practical friend to ideal views. At the 
 corner of the Kochstrasse they separated, and Paul con- 
 tinued his way to the Liitzowstrasse, while Wilhelm and 
 Schrotter turned back. 
 
 Twenty minutes later, as Wilhelm entered his bedroom, 
 his eyes fell on a letter for him in Dorfling's handwrit- 
 ing. He opened it, greatly surprised, and read as fol- 
 lows: 
 
i'EB MalAdy OP TllE OEkTunt. §01 
 
 "DearFeiend: When you read this I shall be free 
 from all trouble and all doubt. I have accomplished 
 ■what I'set myself to do, and I am going back to eternity 
 from this limited sphere. May you be as happy as I shall 
 be in a few hours! Keep a friendly thought for me as 
 long as you stay in this world of misery, and believe 
 that he who writes this had the warmest friendship for 
 you. 
 
 "L. DOKPLING." 
 
 Wilhelm stood as if thunderstruck. Was it by any 
 chance a dreadful joke? No; Dorfling was incapable of 
 that. It must be a grim reality. He ran quickly out of 
 the house to seek Schrotter. The old Indian servant 
 opened the door, and in his broken English informed him 
 that Schrotter Sahib had found a letter when he reached 
 home and had immediately gone out again. 
 
 Wilhelm could now doubt no longer, and running 
 swiftly, he reached the street where Dorfling lived, 
 waited in agonizing suspense for the door to be opened, 
 flew up the stairs, and through the open door to his 
 friend's bedroom. There he found Schrotter; May boom 
 was also there sobbing, and a tearful old servant. In an 
 arm chair near the bed was Dorfling, still in his dress 
 coat and tie, his head sunk on his breast, his face hardly 
 whiter than in life, his arms hanging down, and in the 
 middle of the white shirt-front a great red stain. On the 
 floor lay a revolver. 
 
 Wilhelm, horrified, took his friend's hand. It was 
 still quite warm. His agonizing look sought Schrotter's, 
 who answered in a hushed voice, "He is dead." 
 
 Then his tears broke out, and his trembling fingers 
 had hardly strength to close the lids over his friend's 
 eyes, those eyes which looked so strangely quiet and 
 peaceful, as if they now knew the answer to the Great 
 Secret. 
 
SOS TME MaLABT OP TSe CEMTtJBt 
 
 CHAPTEE Vni. 
 
 DABK DAYS. 
 
 Doefling's suicide made a profound impression on 
 Wilhelm, and for months he was haunted by the vision 
 of that motionless form ■with its white face and blood- 
 stained breast. It had a weird fascination for him, 
 causing him to revert constantly to that tragical May 
 night that had begun with a cheerful dinner, and ended 
 in a fatal pistol shot. Paul's comment on the occurrence 
 was short and concise. "The poor chap was mad," he 
 said, and there the matter ended as far as he was con- 
 cerned. Mayboom revered his friend's memory as he 
 would a sainf, and erected a kind of chapel to him in his 
 house, in which Dorfling's portrait, his book, and 
 various objects belonging to him, thrown up in relief 
 against draperies and surrounded by a variety of sym- 
 bolical accessories, were set forth for the pious delecta- 
 tion of the master of the house and his visitors. Schrot- 
 ter held aloof from this cult. He appreciated Dorfling's 
 character, his consistency, his strength of will and high- 
 mindedness as they deserved, but he was never tired of 
 preaching and demonstrating to Wilhelm that all these 
 admirable qualities had been turned out of their proper 
 course by a disturbing morbid influence. It was mon- 
 strous, he contended, that a system of philosophy should 
 arm you for suicide. What if the premises should prove 
 false? Then your voluntary death would be a frightful 
 mistake which nothing could retrieve. One has no right 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 203 
 
 to risk mating such a mistake. -He believed in develop- 
 ment, in the progress of the organic world from a lower 
 to a higher stage. Progress and development, however, 
 were conditional upon life, and he who has recourse to 
 self-destruction sets an example of unseemly revolt against 
 one of the most beautiful and comforting of all the laws 
 of nature. Moreover, suicide was a waste of force on 
 which it was' simply heartrending to have to look. 
 There were so many great deeds to be done which called 
 for the laying down oi life. In a thousand different ways 
 one might benefit mankind by Winkelried-like actions. 
 If one was determined to die, one should at least render 
 thereby to those left behind one of those sublime services 
 which demand the sacrifice of a life. 
 
 In their frequent conversations upon this subject, he 
 was so earnest, so eloquent, so markedly intentional, that 
 Wilbelm finally gave him the smiling assurance that he 
 was preaching to a convert. It was true, he had the 
 highest respect for a man who did not hesitate to cast 
 life from him when his whole mind and thought led him 
 to the conviction that death was preferable to life; and 
 unprincipled as suicide might be from an objective point 
 of view, subjectively considered, there surely was an 
 ideal fitness in making one's actions agree to the utter- 
 most point with one's opinions? Nevertheless,. he him- 
 self did not approve of Dorfling's deed, and would cer- 
 tainly never imitate it, for one could never know what 
 intentions the unknown powers might not have with re- 
 gard to the individual; by committing suicide he maybe 
 threw up some possible mission, or by his premature 
 departure disturbed the action of the great machine in 
 which he — as some small screw or wheel — doubtless had 
 his modest place and function. 
 
 As if to prove to Schrotter that he was no disciple of 
 
•ZOi THE MALADY Off TEE CENTURY. 
 
 the "Philosophy of Deliverance," he turned his attention, 
 more than he had overdone before, to the realities of life. 
 Dorfling left a remarkable vpill. He bequeathed his for- 
 tune — most advantageously invested in a house in Dus- 
 seldorf and in public funds — yielding a yearly income of 
 about thirty-five thousand marks, to his two friends. Dr. 
 S(^rotter and Dr. Eynhardt, with the sole charge that 
 out of it they should provide a sufficient competency for 
 his old servant, dating from his father's time, who had 
 attended him literally from the cradle to the grave. The 
 fortune was to be theirs conjointly and indivisibly, and 
 should one of them die, to devolve to the survivor, who 
 in his turn was to make such arrangements as he thought 
 best to insure its being applied, after his death, in ac- 
 cordance with the testator's views. He expressed the 
 hope that his two heirs would use the income derived 
 from the property in alleviating the misery inseparable 
 from human existence, of which throughout life they 
 must be witnesses. Dorfling's only near relative was 
 herself very wealthy and generous-minded, and did not 
 dispute the will ; it was accordingly proved. 
 
 "Wilhelm declared from the first that he understood 
 nothing of the management of a fortune, of business 
 papers, and so forth, and wanted to hand over the admin- 
 istration of the whole to Schrotter. Schrotter, however, 
 would not hear of it, and after vying with one another 
 in generous self-disparagement .and mutual confidence, 
 they finally agreed that Schrotter, being a practical man, 
 and conversant with the ways of business and the world, 
 should take the management of the fortune upon himself, 
 but that Wilhelm should receive a monthly sum of fifteen 
 hundred marks out of the income to apply as he thought 
 best to the relief of the needy. The other half of the 
 income was at Schrotter's disposal, who put it, of course, 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 205 
 
 to the same use. In his capacity as member of the depu- 
 tation for the poor, and also as parish doctor, he came in 
 contact with much poverty and misery, and was able to 
 direct Wilhelm's charity into the right channels It 
 became Wilhelm's regular afternoon employment to visit 
 the homes of those mentioned to him as in need of relief, 
 that he might the better judge for himself of the true 
 state of the case, make personal inquiries about the peo- 
 ple, and step in where help was necessary and deserved. 
 
 Only now did he learn what life really was, and what 
 he saw neither increased his pleasure in being alive nor 
 made him proud to be a man among men. Needless to 
 say, it was not long before the news reached the circles of 
 the professional beggars that there was a gentleman in 
 the Dorotheenstrasse who had a considerable yearly sum 
 of money to give away. The result was that his modest 
 apartment was so besieged by petitioners that his old 
 landlady, Frau Miiller, the widow of a post-ofBce official, 
 with whom he had boarded and lodged for seven years, 
 was goaded to desperation, and declared that if the dis- 
 graceful rabble was encouraged she would be obliged to 
 part from "Wilhelm, though it would be her death, she 
 being so fond of him and so used to his ways. Wilhelm 
 was wise enough to admit the justice of her complaint, 
 and empowered Frau Miiller to turn away ruthlessly all 
 such visitors whose names were unknown to her, or who 
 came without recommendation, which orders she carried 
 out with such virulence and relentlessness, that the wor- 
 shipful company of professional beggars rapidly came to 
 the conclusion that it was useless trying to gain admit- 
 tance to Dr. Eynhardt as long as he was guarded by the 
 tall, bony old lady who opened the door but would not 
 leave hold of it. So the unceasing tramp of dirty boots 
 on the echoing stair was hushed, and Wilhelm saw no 
 
206 THE MALADY OF rilTS GENTURT. 
 
 more of tine crape-clad widows of eminent officials wlio 
 required a sewing niaohine or a piano to save them from 
 starvation; the gentlemen who would be forced to put a 
 bullet through their brains if they did not procure the 
 money to pay a debt of honor; or the unemploj'ed clerks 
 who had eaten nothing for days, and who all had a sick 
 wife and from sfx to twelve children (all small) at home 
 crying for bread ; or the foreigners who could find no 
 work in Berlin, and would return to their native coun- 
 tries if he would give them a few thalers to pay their 
 fourth-class railway fare; and similar interesting persons, 
 the endless diversity of whose life-histories had kept him 
 in a chronic state of surprise for months. In place of 
 the visitors he now received letters, as many as if he had 
 been a cabinet minister. It was the same old story,only 
 less affecting, because generally deficient in style, and 
 faulty as to spelling, and no longer illustrated by tearful, 
 vigorously mopped eyes, abysmal sighs, and bauds 
 wrung till they cracked. For a time "Wilhelm went to 
 every address given in these letters, in order to see and 
 hear for himself, but after awhile his powers of discrim- 
 ination were sharpened, and he learned to distinguish 
 between the impositions of swindlers and professional 
 beggars, and the real distress which has a claim to 
 sympathy. 
 
 By degrees, it is true, he became convinced, even in 
 the chill dwellings of real poverty, that this was hardly 
 ever entirely unmerited. Where it had not been brought 
 gjyout by laziness, frivolity, or drink, its source was to be 
 found in ignorance or incapacity, in other words, in an 
 inefficient equipment for the battle of life. He judged 
 all these circumstances, however, to be the outward and 
 visible signs of obscure natural laws, and that to interfere 
 with ra&h and ignorant hands in theiv workings was as 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 307 
 
 useless as it was unreasonable. He therefore pondered 
 seriously whetlier, by denying to a portion of mankind 
 the qualities indispensable to success in the struggle for 
 existence, Nature herself did not predestine them to mis- 
 ery and destruction ; whether the irredeemable poor — ■ 
 those who after each help upward invariably fell back in 
 the former state — were not the offscourings of humanity, 
 the preservation of whom was a fruitless task, and alto- 
 gether against the design of Nature ? 
 
 Fortunately, he did not allow his deeds of brotherly 
 love to be darkened by the shadow of these and kindred 
 thoughts. He brought forward reasons which always 
 ended by triumphing over his cold doubts. Misery was 
 possibly the outcome of inexorable natural laws, but then 
 was not compassion the same? The poor were poor 
 under the pressure of some irresistible force, but did not 
 the charitable act under the same pressure? Moreover, 
 was Wilhelm so sure that he himself was better equipped 
 for the race of life than those unfortunates who went 
 under because they chose a trade for which they were 
 neither mentally nor physically competent, or because, 
 froiH laziness or obstinacy, they insisted on remaining in 
 Berlin, where nobody wanted them, when a few miles off 
 they might have found all the conditions conducive to 
 their prosperity? How could he know whether he would 
 have been capable of earning his living if his father had 
 not left him a plentifully-spread table ? In the rooms 
 that contained so little furniture and so many emaciated 
 human beings, into which his charitable zeal led him 
 every day, he pictured himself, pale and thin, without 
 food, without books; and although he had the harmless 
 vanity to believe that privation and penury would affect 
 him less deeply than the poor devils he visited, the idea 
 that he saw his own face before him, as it might have 
 
208 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 been had he not had the good luck to be his father's heir, 
 opened his hand still wider, and added to the money 
 words of sympathy and comfort, which afforded the re- 
 cipients — unless they were utterly hardened — as much 
 pleasure as the donation itself. 
 
 Beside his almsgiving, he now had another occupa- 
 tion which took up all his surplus time. Schrotter had 
 not let the suggestion drop which he made at Dorfling's 
 dinner-party, and had persuaded "Wilhelm so long that he 
 finally rouse himself to attempt an account of the ways 
 and means by which the human mind has freed itself of 
 its grossest errors. It was to be entitled "A History of 
 Human Ignorance, " and promised to be a most original 
 work. He would endeavor to show what idea people had 
 had of the universe at various periods, how they ex- 
 plained the phenomena of nature, their connection, their 
 causes and effects. He would begin with the childish 
 superstitions of the savages, and continuing tlirough the 
 so-called learned systems of the ancients and of the Mid- 
 dle Ages, would bring his history up to the theories of 
 contemporary scientists. He would demonstrate the 
 psychological causes of the fact that man, at a certain 
 stage of intellectual development, must necessarily fall 
 into certain errors, and by the aid of what experiments, 
 experiences, and conclusions he had come gradually to 
 recognize them as such. How the fresh interpretation 
 of a single phenomenon would overturn, at one blow, a 
 number of other phenomena hitherto considered entirely 
 satisfactory; how prevailing scientific theories, instead 
 of assisting the fearless observer or discoverer, invariably 
 hindered him and turned him from the right path ; in 
 proof of which assertion he brought forward such strik- 
 ing examples as Aristotle's convulsive endeavors to make 
 each of the senses correspond to one of the four elements 
 
tbe Malady of tse oenturT. ao9 
 
 in which they believed in his day, and Kepler with his 
 fantastic efforts to prove the supremacy oJE the Pytha- 
 gorean seven in the solar system. The object of the book 
 was to show that the history of human knowledge is a 
 history of false inferences'and the erroneous interpreta- 
 tions of correctly observed phenomena ; that the increase 
 of knowledge always means the destruction of existing 
 opinions ; that of all the scientific systems up to the 
 present day, only those retained their position which 
 proved the futility of earlier theories — never those which 
 built up new structures on the foundations of the old 
 house of cards that had been blown down. In a word, 
 that progress means not the acquisition of fresh knowl- 
 edge, but an ever-extended consciousness of the futility 
 of the knowledge we thought to possess. 
 
 Wilhem spared himself no pains with this work. He 
 brought all the thoroughness and industry of his honest 
 nature to bear upon it, would accept no statement at 
 second-hand, but went for every information to the foun- 
 tain head. It would cost an immense amount of time, 
 but after all he had that at his disposal. There was no 
 need for him to hurry, seeing that he did not write from 
 ambition or for any material advantage, but simply for 
 his own gratification. He began by rubbing up his 
 school Greek sufficiently to enable him to read the ancient 
 philosophers with ease, which he achieved in a few 
 months, and then set to work to learn Arabic, that being 
 the chief language of science in the Middle Ages. 
 Schrotter was seriously alarmed at these extensive prepa- 
 rations, and hastened to procure, through his pandit 
 friends, some English extracts from the scientific litera- 
 ture of India, lest "Wilhelm might think fit to study 
 Sanscrit, and decades would pass before he came to writ© 
 the first word of his book. 
 
aiO THE MALADY Of TBE CENTtTRT. 
 
 Thus four years went by, years full of work, though 
 they left no visible traces. Meanv/hile the aspect of 
 things in the new Empire had become very different. 
 Men breathed the oppressive air with laboring breasts ; 
 the bright dawn which promised so glorious a day had 
 been followed by sullen mists, and the blue sky had dis- 
 appeared behind heavy, leaden-gray clouds, through 
 which no comforting ray of sunshine pierced. Where 
 was all the glowing enthusiasm, the rapture of hope and 
 ioy that, in the first years after the great war, had 
 flushed every German cheek and lit up every eye? 
 Throughout the length and breath of the land the oppos- 
 ing factions confronted one another like armed antago- 
 nists preparing for a duel to the death. Town and vil- 
 lage rang with execration and satire, with howls of rage 
 or satisfied revenge vented by German against German. 
 The Eoman Catholic shook his clinched fist at the Prot- 
 estant, the liberal at the conservative, the protectionist at 
 the free-trader, the partisan of absolute government at the 
 defender of the people's rights. Everywhere hatred and 
 malice, everywhere a mad desire to gag, to maltreat, to 
 tear limb from limb; this unfettering of the basest 
 human passions giving meanwhile such an impetus to 
 bribery, corruption, and unprincipled advancement for 
 party purposes as to resemble the loathsome luxuriant 
 growth of mildew in the damp corners of some neglected 
 storeroom. 
 
 The high tide of the foreign millions had ebbed away, 
 showing itself to have been no fructifying Nile but a de- 
 structive lava stream, leaving the country charred and 
 desolate after its passage. The gold that only yesterday 
 had poured through greedy fingers, had turned to-daj"- to 
 ashes and withered leaves like the goblin gold of a fairy 
 tale. Diminished inclination for work, an insanely 
 
Mb malady of the gentubt. sii 
 
 increased demand for the luxuries of life, the accepted ' 
 ideas of morality shaken to their foundations by scandal- 
 ous examples of triumphant vice and villainy — these were 
 the blessings that remained after the so-called impetus 
 following on the "Downfall." Work was scarcer, wages 
 lower, but the flood of country people seeking work con- 
 tinued to roll toward the capital, overcoming with' irresis- 
 tible force the backward wave of unfortunates who could 
 find no employment in the building yards, the factories 
 or the workshops, trampling blindly over the bodies of 
 the fallen, like a herd of buffaloes which marches ever 
 straight ahead, which nothing can turn out of its course, 
 and when it arrives at a precipice over which the leaders 
 fall, presses onward till the last one is swallowed up in 
 the depths. The misery and privation became heartrend- 
 ing to witness. Each morning you might see in the 
 working quarters of the town and suburbs hundreds of 
 strong men, their hands — perforce idle — buried in their 
 torn and empty pockets, going from factory to factory 
 asking for work, while the overseers would wave them off 
 from afar to avoid a useless interchange of words. If, in 
 the years of the French milliards, the workingman had 
 turned socialist out of sheer envy and wantonness, be be- 
 came so now under the sting of adversity, and in all the 
 length and breadth of Berlin there was hardly one of the 
 proletariat who was not a fanatical disciple of the new 
 doctrine, with its slashing denunciations against all that 
 was, and its intoxicating promises of all that was -to be. 
 "Wilhelm had many opportunities of intercourse with the 
 unemployed. He gave help as far as his fiftj' marks a 
 day would reach, and kept the wolf from many a door. 
 But the miraculous loaves and fishes of the gospel would 
 have been necessary to successfuly alleviate even the 
 distress which he saw with his own eyes, and although 
 
Sl^ i'ilB MALAD 7 OF THE CBNTVIi 7. 
 
 much of the preaching of the social democrats still seemed 
 to him mere phrase-making and altogether mistaten, he 
 yet came gradually to the conclusion that somewhere — 
 he did not precisely know where — in the construction of 
 the social machine there must be a flaw, seeing that there 
 were so many people who could and would work, and yet 
 were doomed to despair and ruin for lack of employment. 
 
 The spring of 1878 came round, and brought with it 
 two attempts on the life of the emperor within three 
 weeks. Scarcely had the people recovered from the 
 horror caused by Hodel's crime when it was shaken to its 
 depths by Nobiling's murderous shot. 
 
 On that terrible Sunday, June the 2d, "Wilhelm had 
 dined with Schrotter, and about three o'clock they 
 started for a walk. In the few steps that separate the 
 Mittelstrasse from the Linden they saw what was going 
 on in the town. In Unter den Linden, however, they 
 were received by the yells of the newspaper men calling 
 out the first special editions, and found themselves in the 
 stream of people pouring toward the Palace or to No. 
 18, where they pointed out the window on the second 
 floor from which the too-well-aimed shot had fallen. 
 
 From the special editions, from the confused remarks 
 and exclamations of the crowd in which the two friends 
 found themselves, and the information they obtained 
 from the grim-looking policemen, rougher and less com- 
 municative than ever, they learned all that was necessary 
 of the bloody deed which had taken place an hour ago. 
 "VVilhelin could scarcely control his horror, and even 
 Schrotter, though calmer, was deeply moved and down- 
 cast. All pleasure in their walk was gone, and thej' 
 decided to return to Schrotter's house. 
 
 "It is simply hideous," said Wilhelm, as they turned 
 into the Friedrichstrasse, "that we have such brutes liv- 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 313 
 
 ing among us! We know, of course, that there is a great 
 deal of distress, but a man -who can revenge his own 
 trouble on the person of the emperor must be lower than 
 the beasts of the field. And men who at this time of day 
 have such ideas on State organization are electors!" 
 
 "Good heavens!" cried Schr otter, with unconscious 
 vehemence, "you are surely not going to make the pop- 
 ular mistake of drawing sweeping conclusions from these 
 outrages? Such occurrences have no outside importance. 
 They are the acts of madmen. Their following so closely 
 upon one another is the very surest proof of that. There 
 are in Germany thousands — perhaps tens of thousands — 
 of unhappy creatures whose minds are more or less un- 
 hinged, though their inexperienced surroundings do not 
 know it. Some exceptional event will suddenly put the 
 entire population in a state of ferment, the imagination 
 of the already morbidly inclined will be particularly 
 strongly affected thereby ; they picture the occurrence to 
 themselves till it takes hold of them, and drives out every 
 other thought from their minds, becomes a nightmare, a 
 possession, and finally an irresistible impulse to do the 
 same. After every event of the kind, you hear that a 
 whole number of people have gone mad, and that their 
 insanity is somehow connected with it. No such thing. 
 They were mad before, and the insanity which had lain 
 dormant in them only waited for a chance shock to give 
 it definite form and character." 
 
 They had reached Schrotter's door by this time, and 
 were on the point of entering, when a policeman stepped 
 up to them, and touching Wilhelm's arm, said: 
 
 "Gentlemen, you will have to come with me." 
 
 "Why, what do you mean?" thej' exclaimed, very 
 much taken aback. 
 
 "Better make no fuss, but come quietly with me," 
 
214 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 answered the policeman. "This gentleman accuses you 
 of making insulting remarks against his majesty." 
 
 Only now did they become aware of a man standing 
 behind the policeman and glaring at them in fury. 
 
 "Are you mad?" Schrotter burst out angrily. 
 
 "That is for the magistrate to decide," exclaimed the 
 man, in a Toice trembling with rage; "and you, police- 
 man, do your duty." 
 
 Passers-by began to gather round the group, so,. to 
 bring a disagreeable scene to a close, Schrotter said to 
 Wilhelm : 
 
 "We had better go with the policeman; I suppose we 
 shall be enlightened presently." 
 
 A short walk brought them to the police o£5ce in the 
 Neue Wilhelms Strasse, where they were taken before the 
 lie.utenant of police. The policeman deposed in a few 
 words that he had been standing at the corner of the 
 Friedrich and Mittelstrasse, the two gentlemen passed 
 him in loud conversation; the third gentleman, who was 
 following them, then came up to him, and told him to 
 arrest them because they had spoken insultingly of bis 
 majesty, and here they were. He had neither seen nor 
 heard anything further. 
 
 The lieutenant of police began by asking their names. 
 When they told him— "Dr. Schrotter, M.D, one of the 
 members for Berlin and Professor Emeritus," and "Dr. 
 Eynhardtj Doctor of Philosophy, householder," he 
 offered them chairs. The informer introduced himself 
 as "non-commissioned officer Patke, retired, member of 
 a military association, and candidate for the private con- 
 stabulary. " " 
 
 "What have you to bring forward against the gentle- 
 men?" 
 
 "I walked behind the two gentlemen from the Linden 
 
TBE MALADT OF J.nE GENTUR7. 215 
 
 to the Mittelstrasse. They were conversing loudly about 
 the attempted assassination, and I naturally listened." 
 
 "It does not appear to me so very natural," com- 
 mented the lieutenant dryly. 
 
 The informer was a trifle disconcerted, but he soon 
 recovered himself, and proceeded in a declamatory- 
 manner : 
 
 "The younger gentleman — the dark one — expressed 
 himself in very unbecoming terms with regard to his 
 majesty the emperor, and said among other things, that 
 the outrage was of no real importance. I am a patriot, I 
 have served his august majesty; if his majesty " 
 
 "That will do," the lieutenant broke in, ruthlessly 
 interrupting the retired non-commissioned officer's flow 
 of language,' which he accompanied with a dramatic 
 waving of the right arm. "Can you repeat the 'unbecom- 
 ing terms' of which, according to your account, this 
 gentleman made use?" 
 
 "I cannot remember the exact words. I was too ex- 
 cited. So much, however, I remember distinctly — he 
 declared the attempt upon his majesty's life to be an 
 occurrence of no importance." 
 
 Wilhelm now broke in. 
 
 "Not a word of that is true," he said quietly. 
 "Neither of us said one word which could justify this 
 inconceivable charge." 
 
 "The remark which this informer seems to have taken 
 hold of," Schrotter observed, "was not made by my 
 friend. Dr. Eynhardt, but by me. I did not say either 
 that the occurrence was unimportant, but that it had no 
 general significance — that it was not a proof of the pre- 
 vailing feeling at large." 
 
 "It comes to the same thing whether you say it has no 
 importance or no significance," interrupted the informer. 
 
S 1 g i'ME MALAi) t t)P TSE GENi-un t. 
 
 "That gentleman may have made the remark, but I cer- 
 tainly heard it, and as a loyal servant of his majesty " 
 
 "That is quite enough," said the lieutenant of police 
 authoritatively. Then turning to the two friends — "I 
 am very sorry, but as things stand at present, I must let 
 the law take its course. Do you persist in your charge?" 
 he asked the informer. 
 
 "Yes, Herr Lieutenant; my duty to my sovereign " 
 
 "Silence. Gentlemen, I shall be obliged to notify the 
 matter to the proper authorities. I expect you will be 
 called upon to clear yourselves before the magistrate, 
 which I have no doubt you will be able to do success- 
 fully. I need not detain you any longer." 
 
 "Wilhelm and Schrotter bowed courteously and with- 
 drew, without vouchsafing a glance at the informer. The 
 latter lingered, as if he would have liked to continue the 
 conversation with the lieutenant of police, but an em- 
 phatic "You may go!" sent him rapidly over the thresh- 
 old of the office. 
 
 Five days afterward, on a Friday, Schrotter and Wil- 
 helm were summoned to appear in the Stadtvogtei* 
 before the magistrate, a disagreeable person with a bilious 
 complexion, venomous eyes behind his spectacles, and 
 the unpleasing habit of continually scooping out his ear 
 with the little finger of his left hand. The two friends, 
 the informer, and the policeman were present. The 
 magistrate could not have received them differently if 
 they had been accused of robbing and murdering their 
 parents. To be sure, he behaved no better to the in- 
 former. His expression of unmitigated disgust was per- 
 haps a freak of nature, and no indication of the true state 
 of his feelings. 
 
 * A certain prison in Berlin. 
 
THE MALADY OF THE GENTUBY. %Vi 
 
 He had a bundle of papers before him, in which he 
 searched for some time before opening his mouth. 
 
 "You are accused of having made use of offensive 
 expressions regarding his majesty," he said to Schrotter. 
 
 "On a preposterously unfounded charge," he retorted. 
 
 "And you too," he turned to Wilhelm. 
 
 "I can only repeat Dr. Schrotter's answer." 
 
 "Give your evidence," he ordered the policeman. 
 
 The man did so. 
 
 "Could you understand what the gentleman said?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "How far was Patke behind them?" 
 
 "A few steps." 
 
 "You must be more exact." 
 
 "I can't say more exactly than that, for I paid no at- 
 tention to the gentlemen till I was told to arrest them." 
 
 "Is it your opinion that Herr Patke could have heard 
 distinctly what the gentlemen were saying to one 
 another?" 
 
 "I dare say he might have understood if they spoke 
 very loud, but I can't say for certain." 
 
 "Herr Patke, what have you to say?" 
 
 The former non-commissioned officer, who had donned 
 his 1870 medal for the occasion, hereupon assumed a 
 strictly military bearing, fixed his eye firmly on the mag- 
 istrate, and began in a sing-song voice : 
 
 "I happened to be in the street last Sunday when the 
 infamous wretch lifted his murderous hand against the 
 sacred person of our august monarch. My heart bled; I 
 was beside myself; I could have torn everybody and 
 everything to pieces. As I walked along I noticed these 
 two gentlemen, who looked to me suspicious from the 
 first " 
 
 "Why?" asked the magistrate. 
 
218 THE MALAVY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 "Well — the one with his black hair, and the other with 
 his hooked nose — I said to myself, 'Those are Jews!' " 
 
 The magistrate suddenly bent over his papers, and gave 
 a kind of grunt. Even the policeman, in spite of his 
 wooden ofiScial air, could not repress a smile. Patke 
 continued : 
 
 "Then I heard the j'ounger gentleman say, 'It serves 
 his majesty the emperor quite right.' " 
 
 "Did he actually say, his majesty the emperor?" 
 interrupted the magistrate. 
 
 "No," answered Patke eagerly, "I say that." 
 
 "You are only to repeat the gentleman's actual words. " 
 
 "He actually did say that it served the emperor 
 right." 
 
 "This is beyond a joke," Schrotter burst out. "Why, 
 man, I wonder the lie does not stick in your throat and 
 choke you!" 
 
 "I must beg you not to address the witness," said the 
 magistrate brusquely. Then' to Patke severely — "That is 
 not what you said in your first charge." 
 
 "I was confused then; I did not recollect distinctly. 
 But later on it came back to me." 
 
 "That is very improbable. What have you to answer. 
 Dr. Eynhardt?" 
 
 "Simply, that the man's statement is absolutely un- 
 true. I never uttered or thought words bearing the re- 
 motest resemblance to those he quotes." 
 
 "What m.v friend does not say is," broke in Schrotter, 
 "that, on the contrary, he expressed the deepest and 
 most painful emotion at the crime." 
 
 The magistrate shot a venomous glance from under his 
 spectacles at Schrotter, but quailed before those flaming 
 half-closed blue eyes fixed so sternly upon him. 
 
 "Well, and what have you to bring forward against 
 the other gentleman?" 
 
THE MALAD T OF THE CENTUB T. 219 
 
 "That gentleman said the outrage was of no great 
 importance." 
 
 "In your first account you said the outrage had no real 
 significance, and that Dr. Eynhardt made the remark." 
 
 "Whether he said 'no importance' or 'no significance,' 
 it is all the same thing, and one cannot so easily distin- 
 guish the speaker when one is walking behind. I may 
 have been mistaken on that point. ' ' 
 
 "You do not repudiate the remark?" asked the magis- 
 trate of Schrotter in his most biting tones. 
 
 "Your expression is not very happily chosen. By re- 
 pudiating I understand the declaring of a fact to be false 
 when we know it to be true. I am not in the habit of 
 doing that, nor should I suppose it of you, Herr Staat- 
 sanwalt. " 
 
 "I need no instruction from you," the other returned 
 angrily. 
 
 "It would seem so, however" Schrotter calmly rejoined. 
 
 The magistrate grunted several times and then asked, 
 after a pause, during which he was particularly busy 
 with his ear : 
 
 "You admit the statement, then?" 
 
 "Not altogether. It is true that I said the attempt on 
 the emperor's life had no general significance, but I 
 meant by that and the rest of what I said, that if the 
 political parties should make this isolated crime (com- 
 mitted by an undoubtedly insane person) the excuse for 
 adopting measures inimical to the liberty of the public 
 in general, they would be doing something both unjusti- 
 fiable and reprehensible." 
 
 "Can he have said that?" asked the magistrate, turning 
 to Patke. 
 
 "I don't know. I only know what I said just now." 
 
 Renewed grunting, renewed digging in the ear and 
 
220 THE MALADY OF THIS CENTURY. 
 
 turning over of papers. "Hm — hm, " he muttered to him- 
 self testily, "that is not enough. It is too indefinite, in 
 spite of strong grounds for suspicion." Then he looked 
 up, and in a tone which was meant to convej' as much 
 scorn as possible, he asked Sohrotter — "You played a 
 part in the political events of 1848?" 
 
 "Yes, and the recollection of it is the pride of my life. " 
 
 "I did not ask you about that. And you are at present 
 the chairman of a district society of progressive 
 opinions?" 
 
 "1 have that honor. " 
 
 "There is nothing further against you. And you, Dr. 
 Eynhardt, you refused the Iron Cross in the late cam- 
 paign?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You were discharged from the army without com- 
 ment?" 
 
 " 'Yes." 
 
 "For declining a duel," observed Schrotter. 
 
 "Dr. Eynhardt is of age, and can answer for himself. 
 You have attended Socialist meetings?" 
 
 "Only once." 
 
 "And made speeches?" 
 
 "One speech?" 
 
 "And that was directed against Socialism," said 
 Schrotter again. 
 
 The magistrate grew lobster-red in the face. 
 
 "It is really scandalous," he cried, quivering with 
 rage, "that I am repeatedly obliged to remind a man of 
 your position that he is only to answer when spoken to. 
 Why didn't you say yourself, Dr. Eynhardt, that you 
 had spoken against the Socialists?" 
 
 "Because you did not ask me," answered Wilhelm, 
 with a gentle smile. 
 
'rkE MALADY OF TME CEirttJRY. 221 
 
 After a slight pause the magistrate resumed — "You are 
 on friendly terms with a Eussian named Dr. Barinskoi?" 
 
 "You can hardly call it that. I did know him, though 
 not exactly in a friendly way, but for two years I have 
 quite lost sight of him." 
 
 "Did you know that Dr. Barinskoi was a Nihilist?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you did not let that make any difference to you?" 
 
 "I was not afraid of infection," said Wilhelm, and 
 smiled again. 
 
 "Perhaps not, but of being compromised," growled the 
 magistrate. 
 
 "That idea has not troubled me as yet." 
 
 "You inherited from a friend who committed suicide a 
 large fortune, which you use chiefly for the benefit of 
 Socialist workmen?" 
 
 "I use it for the benefit of the poor, and those I cer- 
 tainly find more frequently among the Socialist workmen 
 than among factory owners and householders." 
 
 "I'll thank youto remember that this is not the place 
 for making bad jokes!" roared the magistrate. 
 
 "You are quite right," Wilhelm answered serenely. 
 "I know nothing more unpleasant than bad jokes." 
 
 Schrotter looked as if he were going to embrace his 
 friend. He had never seen him from this side. 
 
 "Did it never occur to you to put yourself in communi- 
 cation with the clergymen of your district, these gentle- 
 men having far greater facilities for finding out deserv- 
 ing objects of charity than a private person?" 
 
 "I will answer that question when you have had the 
 goodness to explain to me what connection it has with 
 this man's denunciation." 
 
 The magistrate glared at him in a manner calculated to 
 wither him on the spot, but only met a quiet, smiling 
 face which he was incapable of intimidating. 
 
223 THS MALADY OF TUB CENTURY. 
 
 "May I request you bow," said Schrotter in his turn, 
 "to ask the witness Patke if for the last few weeks he has 
 not been a candidate for a post as detective on the politi- 
 cal police staff?" Schrotter too had made a variety of 
 inquiries since last Sunday, and had learned this fact. 
 
 "That is so," stammered Patke, turning very red. 
 "In these terrible times, when the Socialists and the 
 enemies of the country — — " 
 
 "Silence, Herr Patke," interrupted the magistrate 
 angrily; "that has nothing to do with the business on 
 hand." He reflected for awhile, and then said with the 
 most deeply grudging manner — "The statement of the 
 one witness — seeing too that it is indefinite in some im- 
 portant points — is not sufficient to warrant me in passing 
 a sentence, in spite of many good grounds for suspicion 
 afforded by your past history and known opinions. I 
 will therefore dismiss the charge, if only to avoid the 
 public scandal of a Member being accused of lese 
 majeste. ' ' 
 
 Schrotter was boiling with rage, and had the greatest 
 difficulty in restraining his naturally passionate temper. 
 "Many thanks for your kindness," he said in a choking 
 voice, "and for this scoundrel you have no reprimand?" 
 
 "Sir," screamed the magistrate, springing out of his 
 chair with fury, "leave this room instantly; and you, 
 Herr Patke, if you wish to bring an action for libel 
 against the gentleman you may call upon me as a 
 witness." 
 
 Patke was too modest to avail himself of this friendly 
 offer. Wilhelm dragged Schrotter out of the office as 
 fast as he could, and even outside they still heard the 
 magistrate's grunts of wrath. 
 
 Dark days followed, in which Schrotter seemed to live 
 over again the worst hours of the "wild year." A 
 
TEE MALADY OF TEE OENTURT. 223 
 
 moral pestilence — the craze for denunciation — spread 
 itself over the whole of Germany, sparing neither the 
 palace nor the hut. No one was safe, either in the 
 bosom of the family, at the club table, in the lecture 
 room, or in the street, from the low spy who, from fanat- 
 icism or stupidity, from personal spite or desire to make 
 himself conspicuous, took hold of some hasty or impru- 
 dent word, turned it round, mangled it, and brought it 
 redhot to the magistrates, who seldom had the courage 
 to kick the informer downstairs. Such unspeakable 
 depths of human baseness came to light, so full of cor- 
 ruption and pestilence, that the eye turned in horror 
 from the incredible spectacle. The newspapers brought 
 daily reports of denunciations for "Zese majeste," and 
 when Schrotter read them he clasped his hands in hor- 
 rified dismay and exclaimed, "Are we in Germany? are 
 these my fellow-countrymen?" He became at last so 
 disgusted that he gave up reading the German papers, 
 and derived his knowledge of what was going on in the 
 world from the two London papers which, from the habit 
 of a quarter of a century, he still took in. He wished to 
 hear no more about denunciations by which, with the aid 
 of police and magistrates, every kind of cowardice and 
 vileness, social envy and religious hatred, rivalry, spite, 
 and inborn malevolence, sought a riskless gratiiication, 
 and usually found it in full measure. But it took away 
 all pleasure in social intercourse. One learned to be 
 cautious and suspicious. One grew accustomed to see 
 an enemy in every stranger, and to be upon one's guard 
 before a neighbor as before some lurking traitor. 
 Hypocrisy became an instinct of self-preservation ; every 
 one carefully avoided speaking of those things of which 
 the heart was full, and Berlin afforded an insight into 
 the mental condition of the people of Spain during the 
 
224 ^SS MALAD t OF THE CEKTUR t. 
 
 most flourishing period of the Inquisition, or of Venice 
 in the days when anonymous denunciations poured into 
 the yawning jaws of the Lions of St. Mark's square. 
 
 The Keichstag was dissolved, the people of Germany 
 must choose new representatives, and the chief, if not 
 the sole question to be decided by the election was. Are 
 the Socialists to be dealt with under a special act, or to 
 come under the common law? Schrotter now felt it 
 justifiable, nay, that it was his duty, to throw off the 
 reserve he had maintained since his return to the Father- 
 land, and come forward as a candidate for the Eeichstag, 
 though for a suburban district, as the city district to 
 whose poor he had been an untiring benefactor as phy- 
 sician and friend, with help, counsel, and money, was 
 not available. 
 
 At a meeting of his constituents he laid down his con- 
 fession of faith. A special act, he explained, was in no 
 •way justified, would indeed be ineffectual, and lead away 
 from the object they had in view. The government 
 •would be guilty of libel if it made the Socialists answer- 
 able for a crime committed by two half or whollj' insane 
 persons; it was the duty of the government to prove 
 that these attacks were the work of the Socialists : that 
 proof, however, it had been unable to discover. More- 
 over, no special act in the world could hinder people of 
 unsound mind from committing insane deeds — the crimes 
 of a Hodel or a Nobiling could not be predicted, but 
 neither could they be prevented by aaffe' kind of pre- 
 cautionary measure. The sole result of a special act 
 would be to make the Socialists practically outlaws in 
 their own country. That would constitute not only a 
 terrible severity against a large class of their fellow-citi- 
 zens, but a frightful danger to the State. In hundreds 
 and thousands of hearts it would destroy the sense of 
 
THE MALADT OF THE CENTURY. 235 
 
 fellowship with the community m which they lived; 
 they would look upon themselves as outcasts, and become 
 the enemies of their pursuers. It would be exactly as if 
 some thousands of Frenchmen were set down in the 
 midst of the German population — in the army, in the 
 cities, the factories, the arsenals and railways, where 
 they would only wait for a favorable opportunity to re- 
 venge themselves on their conquerors. That would be 
 the inevitable result if the Socialists were deprived of the 
 security of the common law. He considered the Social- 
 ist doctrines- false and mischievous, and their aims sense- 
 less and — fortunately — unattainable, and for that very 
 reason he did not fear them. But deprive the Socialists 
 of the possibility of expressing themselves freely in word 
 and print, and their grievances, which now found vent in 
 harmless speechifying, would assume the form of prac- 
 tical violence. 
 
 His speech made an impression, but that of a rival 
 candidate a still greater, for he succeeded in rousing the 
 deepest and most powerful emotions of his hearers, by 
 the plain statement that whoever refused the govern- 
 ment the right of adopting such measures as it thought 
 necessary for the safety of the public, simply delivered 
 the life of their aged and beloved sovereign into the 
 hands of assassins. At the election, Schrotter Jiad on 
 his side only a . small number of independent-minded 
 voters, who were able to remain unmoved by sentimental 
 arguments. The workingmen would not vote for him, 
 knowing him to be an opponent of Socialism. The rival 
 candidate was returned by a large majority. 
 
 The Eeichstag assembled, the Socialist Act was passed, 
 Berlin declared to be in a state of semi-siege, and a great 
 number of workmen dismissed from the citj'. It was 
 November, and winter had set in with unusual severity. 
 
236 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURT. 
 
 On a dark and bitterly cold afternoon, old Stubbe, ^110 
 had been agent in the Eynhardts' house for twentj' years, 
 entered "Wilhelm's room. 
 
 "What is the news. Father Stubbe?" cried "Wilhelm, 
 as he came in. 
 
 "No good news, Herr Doctor. "Wander the locksmith 
 — you know the man who rents the second floor of the 
 house in our court — has been turned out by the police. 
 It seems he's a very dangerous customer; I must say I 
 have never noticed it. He was always very decent; the 
 children were a bother, certainly — always running about 
 the court and getting between your feet. Well, we all 
 have our faults; and then, too, he didn't pay his rent in 
 October. ' ' 
 
 Wilhelm, who was well acquainted with Father Stubbe's 
 flow of language, and did not greatly admire it, inter- 
 rupted him at this point. 
 
 "Well, and what is the matter?" 
 
 "What's the matter, Herr Doctor? Why, the wife is 
 there now with the five children, and there's no earning 
 anything, and yesterday she took away a cupboard to 
 turn it into money somewhere — not that she can have 
 got much for it, it was all tumbling to pieces. The rest 
 of the furniture will take legs to itself soon, I dare say, 
 for six mouths must be fed, and where is food to come 
 from? There will be no removal expenses anyhow, for 
 there will soon be nothing but the bare walls. There's 
 no question of paying the rent, and never will be, as far 
 as I can see ; so I thought I had better ask what was to 
 be done with the poor things." 
 
 "What can we do?" 
 
 "We could seize the bits of sticks they still have, 
 though that would not cover the rent that is owing. The 
 best thing, perhaps, would be to tell Frau Wander just 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTITBT. 237 
 
 to take her things and clear out; then at least we could 
 relet the rooms." 
 
 "Frau Wander does not work?" 
 
 "How can she? — five children, and the youngest still 
 at the breast." 
 
 "I will see to it myself, and let you know what is to 
 be done." 
 
 "Very good, Herr Doctor, " said Stubbe, much relieved. 
 He had a kind heart and it was only his strict sense of 
 duty that led him to mention the case of the Wanders, 
 and particularly the unpermissible selling of the furni- 
 ture, to the owner of the house. 
 
 Stubbe had barely reached home before Wilhelm ap- 
 peared in the Kochstrasse. His house lay between the 
 Charlotten and Markgrafenstrasse, and was an old and 
 unpretentious structure, looking, among the stately 
 houses of a later period which surrounded it on all sides, 
 like a poor relation at a rich and distinguished family 
 gathering. During the "milliard years," building 
 speculators had offered him considerable sums for the 
 ground, but he was not to be prevailed upon to sell the 
 house left him by his father. It was only seven windows 
 wide, and had consisted originally of one story only, but 
 a low second story had been added, recognizable instantly 
 as a piece of patchwork. A great key hanging over the 
 entrance announced the fact that there was a locksmith's 
 workshop inside. The courtyard was very low and nar- 
 row, and roughly paved with cobblestones, between 
 which the grass sprouted luxuriantly. At the further 
 end of this court stood the "Hinterhaus, " likewise two- 
 storied, on the ground floor of which the locksmith car- 
 ried on his resounding trade. 
 
 Accompanied by Stubbe, Wilhelm mounted the worn 
 wooden staircase leading to the second floor. The flat 
 
328 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 consisted of a kitchen and a room with one window. 
 Even when the sun was most lavish of his rays, it was 
 none too light there; now, in the early-falling dusk of a 
 dull late autumn day, Wiihelm found himself in a dim 
 half-light as he opened the door. There was no fire in the 
 stove, no lamp upon the table. In the cold and darkness 
 he could just distinguish among the sparse furniture a 
 slim, wretched-looking woman sitting on a chair by the 
 table, nursing a baby wrapped in an old blanket; a tall, 
 large-boned man in workman's clothes, with a bushy 
 beard and gloomy eyes, leaning against the wall beside 
 the window, and some fair-haired children, unnaturally 
 silent and motionless for their age, crouching side by 
 side on the bed, only swinging their legs a little from 
 time to time. 
 
 At Wiihelm 's entrance with a friendly "Good-even- 
 ing," the woman rose from her seat and gazed at the 
 intruder with hostile eyes, the children ceased swinging 
 their legs, and the workman shrank away from the win- 
 dow into the deeper shadow of the corner. 
 
 "The landlord," Stubbe announced solemnly. 
 
 Frau Wander threw up her head. "Now then, what 
 do you want now?" she said hurriedly, her bitter tone 
 beginning on the ordinary pitch, but rising rapidly to a 
 shrewish scream. "It's the rent, I suppose; and I sup- 
 pose we're to have notice to quit? It's all one to me. 
 I've got no money and so I tell you; but what's here you 
 can keep, and you can have the skin off my back too, and 
 I'll throw in the children beside. Thej' can drag a 
 milk-cart as well as dogs. Why don't you cut my 
 throat at once and have done with it?" 
 
 "But, my good woman," cried Stubbe, horror- 
 stricken, "what are you thinking of? The Herr Doctor 
 only means well by you," 
 
THE MALADY OF TEE GilNTVBT. 23d 
 
 Wilhelm had come quite close to the poor thing, who 
 had worked herself up into such a state of excitement that 
 she was trembling from head to foot, and said in that 
 gentle voice of his that always found its way to the 
 heart : 
 
 "You are worrying yourself unnecessarily, Frau "Wan- 
 der. I have not come about the rent, and nobody is 
 going to turn you out of your home. Herr Stubbe here 
 has been telling me about your troubles, and I came to 
 see if we could not give you a little assistance." 
 
 She stared at him speechless, with wide-open eyes. 
 The children on the bed began to whisper to one another. 
 Wilhelm took advantage of the pause to say a few words 
 in Father Stubbe's ear, whereupon the old man vanished. 
 
 "Why don't you offer the gentleman a chair?" said 
 the workman, coming out of his dark corner. 
 
 The woman slowly drew forward a chair, round the 
 torn seat of which the straw stood up raggedly on all 
 sides. Wilhelm thanked her with a wave of the hand. 
 
 "Do not be afraid of me, dear Frau Wander," he went 
 on. "Tell me something of your circumstances." 
 
 "What was there to tell?" answered the woman, still 
 somewhat ruffled. He could see for himself how things 
 stood with her. Her husband had been turned out of 
 Berlin ; but much the police cared if she and her five 
 children starved or froze to death. It would have come 
 to that already if some of her husband's fellow-workmen 
 had not given them a little help in their distress, like 
 her present visitor, the iron-worker, Groll. But what 
 could they do? They had not anything themselves, and 
 the police were always after them like the devil after a 
 poor soul. What did they want of them after all? Her 
 husband had held with the Socialists certainly, but he 
 had done nobody any harm by that. Ever since Wander 
 
230 TEE MALADT of THE OMNTURT. 
 
 had gone over to the Socialists he had left o£E drinking — 
 not a drop — only coffee, and sometimes a little beer; and 
 he was always good to his wife and children, and he had 
 no debts as long as he had been able to earn anything. 
 The locksmith downstairs had discharged him after the 
 second attack on the emperor, although he was a clever 
 workman ; but the master was afraid of the police, and 
 none of the others would risk taking him on. That was 
 bad enough, but it was not so hard to bear in the sum- 
 mer, and the Socialists held faithfully together, and now 
 and then there was a penny to be earned. But now — 
 now that he had to go away, and winter was at the 
 door 
 
 She could keep up no longer, and burst into tears. 
 
 "Wilhelm seated himself cautiously on the broken 
 chair, and asked, "Where is 'your husband now? and 
 what does he think of doing?" 
 
 "He is trying to get through to the Ehine, and get 
 work at Dortmund, or somewhere in that neighborhood," 
 she answered, while the tight sobs caught her breath, 
 and she wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. 
 "If he can't get any work he will go to France, or Bel- 
 gium, or even America, if he must. But that takes a lot 
 of money, and where is one to get it without stealing? 
 We are to come to him when be has found work, and can 
 send us the money for the journey. Till then " 
 
 With the free arm that was not holding the child she 
 made a hopeless gesture. 
 
 At that moment the door opened and Father Stubbe 
 came in, carrying in one hand a lighted candle, and in 
 the other a great, fresh-smelling loaf of bread. He 
 placed both upon the bare table, and then discreetly 
 withdrew. 
 
 "Bread! bread!" cried the children, awakened to sud- 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 331 
 
 den life, and jumping off the bed they gathered round 
 the table with greedy eyes, clapping their hands. There 
 were four of them — the youngest a mite of two or three, 
 who only babbled with the others; the eldest, a pale 
 little girl of seven or eight years. 
 
 "Children! Just let me catch you!" scolded the 
 mother; but her voice shook with nervous excitement. 
 
 "Please, Frau "Wander, won't you cut the children 
 some bread first? We can talk afterward." 
 
 In a twinkling the eldest girl had fetched a knife from 
 the kitchen, the children continuing to clap their hands 
 delightedly, and Frau Wander cut them large slices, and 
 while she was so engaged, "We have never had anything 
 given us, Herr Doctor," she said; "we have always 
 earned our living with honest work. It is hard to have 
 to come to this ; but what can you do when the police 
 put a rope round your neck?" 
 
 "You must not worry any longer, dear Frau Wander," 
 said Wilhelm, "but you must not speak like that of the 
 police. You do yourself no good by it, and perhaps a 
 great deal of harm. We will do what we can for you. 
 Never mind about the rent. You will stay on quietly 
 here, and allow me to assist you with this trifle." He 
 pressed two twenty-mark pieces into the half-reluctant 
 hand so unused to accepting alms. "And Herr Stubbe 
 will give you the same sum every month till you are able 
 to join your husband." 
 
 He held out his hand, which she grasped in silence, 
 incapable of finding suitable words to thank him, and be 
 hurried to the door. The mechanic hastily snatched up 
 the candle from the table, ran after him and lighted him 
 downstairs, murmuring with real emotion : 
 
 "Thank you a thousand times, Herr Doctor, and may 
 God bless you 1" 
 
233 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 And all the way downstairs "WilLelm was followed by 
 the children's jubilant song of "Broad! bread!" 
 
 One morning a few days later — it was December the 
 2d — as Wilhelm was sitting at his writing-table engaged 
 in mating notes from a thick English book of travels on 
 the Australian savage's ideas on nature, he heard a sound 
 of quarreling going on in the hall. He could distinguish 
 Frau Miiller's irate tones, and then a man's voice men- 
 tioning his name. He gave no further heed to the dis- 
 pute, thinking it was doubtless some importune person 
 in whom worthy Frau Miiller had detected the profes- 
 sional beggar, and was therefore driving awaj'. But it 
 did not leave off, and grew louder and louder, Frau 
 Miiller's voice rising at last to an exasperated scream — ■ 
 there even seemed to be something like a hand-to-hand 
 fight going on — till "Wilhelm thought it behooved him to 
 see what was happening, and, if need be, come to the 
 rescue of his faithful house-dragon. He opened the door 
 quickly and received Frau Miiller in his arms. If he 
 had not caught her, she would have fallen backward into 
 the room, for she had leaned — a living bulwark' — against 
 the door, defending the entrance with her body against 
 two men, one of whom was trying to push her away, 
 while the other, standing further back, was restraining his 
 companion from grasping Frau Miiller all too roughly. 
 In the daring man who did not shrink from laying 
 sacrilegious hands upon the furious and snorting land- 
 lady, "Wilhelm instantly recognized the mechanic whom 
 he had seen at Frau "Wander's. At sight of him the man 
 raised his hat politely, and before the gasping Frau 
 Miiller, who was simply choking with excitement, could 
 find her tongue, he said : 
 
 "Beg pardon, I am sure, Herr Doctor, for disturbing 
 you ; but we really must speak to you. I knew from 
 
fBE Malady OF TES CEJ^fUBY. 2^:3 
 
 Herr Stubbe that you are always at home at this hour, bo 
 I would not let the lady send us away." 
 
 "The lady indeed!" Frau Miiller managed at last to 
 exclaim. "Now he talks about ladies, and a minute ago 
 he had the impudence " 
 
 "You must excuse us, madam," said the workman with 
 the utniost civility; "we meant no harm, and we simply 
 must speak to the Herr Doctor." 
 
 "Come in," said Wilhelm curtly, and not overwarmly, 
 while he pressed the still angrily glaring Frau Miiller's 
 hand gratefully. 
 
 The second visitor now mentioned his name — it was 
 that of one of the most prominent leaders of the Social 
 Democrats in Germany. Wilhelm signed to the two men 
 to be seated, and asked what he could do for them. 
 
 "I heard through the mechanic Groll here," answered 
 the stranger, pointing to the other man, "what you did 
 for Frau Wander. That encouraged us to come to you 
 with a request." 
 
 At a sign from Wilhelm he continued : 
 
 "You have seen one of our cases for yourself, and that 
 not by any means the worst. We have dozens of such 
 cases, and there will probably be hundreds more. Our 
 union does what it can. Every member gives up part of 
 his week's wages for the unfortunate victims, and thereby 
 we perhaps save the government from the crime of hav- 
 ing condemned innocent women and children to death 
 by starvation. But our people are poor, and have to fight 
 against want themselves. We cannot expect any greater 
 sacrifice from them. What we want is a considerable 
 lump sum to enable us to send on the families of the 
 exiled workmen to join their respective bread-winners. 
 So we go round knocking at the doors of our wealthy 
 associates, who, though in consideration of the times they 
 
S34 T'BE MALADr OP TbB CENTURY. 
 
 do not care to declare themselves openls' for us, neverthe- 
 less have a feeling heart for the workingman's distress." 
 
 All the time he was speaking he looked "Wilhelm straight 
 in the eyes. Wilhelm bore his gaze quietly, and 
 answered : 
 
 "If you think I share your opinions you are much mis- 
 taken. I consider that you are pursuing a false course, 
 that you make assertions to the workingman which you 
 cannot prove, and promise him things you cannot fulfill, 
 and I frankly confess that I do not env3' you the respon- 
 sibility you have taken upon your own shoulders." 
 
 The leader stroked his short beard with a nervous 
 movement, and the mechanic twisted his hat awkwardly 
 between his hands. Wilhelm went on after a short 
 pause : 
 
 "But that does not prevent me from sympathizing with 
 the distress of women and children, and I shall be very 
 glad to do what I can if you will give me a detailed 
 account of the state of affairs." 
 
 In a few plain words the visitor gave a sketch of the 
 circumstances, all the more heartbreaking for its very 
 unpretentiousness. So many men dismissed, so many 
 wives, so many children, so many parents and near rela- 
 tives unable to support themselves. Of these so many 
 were sick, so many women lately confined, so many 
 cripples- So many had prospects of better circum- 
 stances if they could get away from Berlin. For that 
 purpose such and such a sum was necessary. So much 
 was already in hand. He stated the amount of certain 
 large donations, and added — "I will not mention the 
 names of the subscribers, as it might happen that it 
 would be to your advantage not to know them." 
 
 Wilhelm had listened in silence. He now opened a 
 drawer of his writing-table, took out a yellow envelope 
 
TBE MALADY Of TBE CENTVRY. 235 
 
 in which Schrotter was in the habit of giving him, on 
 the first of every month, fifteen hundred marks out of 
 the Dorfling bequest, and handed the sum which he had 
 received the day before, and was still unbroken, to the 
 workingmen's leader. The man turned over the three 
 five-hundred-mark notes, and then looked up startled. 
 "Wilhelm only nodded his head slightly. 
 
 The leader rose. "It would be inadvisable to give you 
 a receipt. You have no doubt, I think, that your noble 
 gift will be used for its proper object. Thank you a 
 thousand times, and if you should ever stand in need of 
 faithful and determined men, then think of us." 
 
 A week later, to the very day, early in the morning a 
 police officer brought Wilhelm an official document sum- 
 moning him to appear that afternoon before the head 
 police authorities in the Stadtvogtei. He presented him- 
 self at the appointed hour in the office, and handed the 
 document to an official, who, after glancing at it, asked : 
 
 "You are Dr. Wilhelm Eynhardt? 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He took up a paper lying ready at hand, and said dryly : 
 "I have to inform .vou that, in accordance with the 
 Socialist Act, you are ordered out of Berlin and its pur- 
 lieus, and must be out of the city by to-morrow at mid- 
 night at the latest." 
 
 "Ordered out of Berlin!" cried Wilhelm, utterly taken 
 aback. "And may I ask what I have done?" 
 
 "You must know that better than I," answered the 
 official sternly. "However, I have no further informa- 
 tion to give you, and can only advise you to address your- 
 self to the Committee of Police, in case you require a day 
 or two more to regulate your affairs." 
 
 At the same time he handed him the paper, which 
 proved to be the written order of banishment, and dis- 
 missed him with a slight bend of the head. 
 
:J36 TlilS MALADt OP THB! OElfTURT. 
 
 Wilhelm went without a word. Naturally he turned 
 his steps almost unconsciously to Schrotter, to whom he 
 held out the police paper in silence. Schrotter read it, 
 and struck his hands together. 
 
 "Is it possible?" he murmured; "Is it possible?" He 
 paced the room with long strides, then suddenly stood 
 still before his friend, and laying his hands on Wilhelm's 
 shoulder, he said intones of profound emotion: "I never 
 thought I should live to see such things in my own 
 country. I am nearly sixty, and it is late in the day for 
 me to begin a new life. But really I find it difficult to 
 breathe this air any longer. "Where shall you go?" 
 
 "I do not know yet myself. I must collect my 
 thoughts a little first." 
 
 "Whatever you decide upon, I have a very good mind 
 to go with you. There is nothing left for me to do in 
 ray old age but emigrate again." 
 
 "You will not do that!" answered "Wilhelm hurriedly. 
 "Men like you are more badly needed here than ever. 
 You must stay. I implore you to do so. Eemember 
 how you reproached yourself for twenty years, because 
 you were not there when the people were struggling 
 against the Manteuiiel reaction. And then — your 
 patients, your poor, the hundreds who have need of you." 
 
 Schrotter did not answer, and seated himself on the 
 divan. His massive face was gloomy as midnight, and 
 the fiery blue eyes almost closed. After awhile he 
 growled: "But why — why?" 
 
 "Oh, I suppose because of the fifteen hundred marks 
 for the families of the dismissed workmen." 
 
 "Of course!" cried Schrotter, clapping his hand to his 
 forehead. 
 
 "Dorfling's gold does not come from the Ehine for 
 nothing," Wilhelm smiled sadly. "Like the Nibleungen 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 337 
 
 treasure, it is doomed to bring disaster on all who pos- 
 sess it." 
 
 As Schrotter did not answer, Wilhelm resumed : 
 "And as we are on the subject, we may as well settle that 
 matter at once. Of course you will use the whole income 
 now for your poor?" 
 
 "Not at all!" cried Schrotter. "Why should things 
 not remain as they are? "Wherever you may take up 
 your abode, the poor you have always with you." 
 
 Wilhelm shook his head. "I may possibly go abroad, 
 and you see, Herr Doctor, I am prejudiced in favor of 
 my own country. I think we shall carry our Dorfling's 
 intentions best by using his money for the relief of Ger- 
 man necessity." 
 
 Schrotter made no further objection. That Wilhelm 
 would not, under any circumstances, use a penny of the 
 money for himself he knew perfectly well, and in the end 
 it was all the same whether the poor received it from his 
 hand or Wilhelm's. He merely wrote down some ad- 
 dresses which Wilhelm gave him of people to whom he 
 gave regular assistance, and whom he recommended to 
 Schrotter to that end. 
 
 When toward evening Wilhelm returned home, and, as 
 was inevitable, told Frau Muller the news, she nearly 
 fainted, and had to sit down. She was struck dumb for 
 some time, and then only found strength to utter low 
 groans. Her lodger turned out of Berlin like a vagrant. 
 A householder too! Such a respectable, fine young 
 gentleman, whom she had watched over like the apple of 
 her eye for seven years — dreadful — dreadful. But it was 
 all the fault of the low wretches who had forced their way 
 in. last week. She had thought as much at the time. If 
 she had only called in the police at once! The police — 
 oh yes, she had all due respect for the police, she was 
 
238 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 the widow of a government official, and she loved her 
 good old king certainly- — but that they should have 
 banished the Herr Doctor — that was not right — that 
 could not possibly be right! Frau Miiller could not rec- 
 oncile'herseif to the thought of parting. She would go 
 to her friend and patron the "Geheimer Oberpostrath, " 
 and he would use his influence in the matter; and at last, 
 seeing that Wilhem only smiled or spoke a few soothing 
 words to her, she burst into tears and sobbed out: "I am 
 so used to you, Herr Doctor, I don't know how I am 
 going to live without you. " She only composed herself 
 a little when "Wilhelm told her that, for the present at 
 any rate, he was going to leave his books and other 
 goods and chattels where they were, for he might per- 
 haps be allowed to return after a time, and meanwhile a 
 young man, whom she knew, and who was studying at 
 "Wilhelm's at Schrotter's expense, should board and 
 lodge with her, and she would receive the same sum as 
 Wilhelm had always paid. 
 
 With night came counsel. Wilhelm decided to go 
 first to Hamburg, where Paul lived during the winter, 
 wait there till the spring, and then arrange further plans. 
 He visited the grave of his father and mother, gave 
 Stubbe orders as to the management of the house, took 
 leave of a few friends, visited one or two poor people 
 whom he was in the habit of looking after, and then had 
 nothing further to keep him in Berlin. The rest of the 
 day he passed with Schrotter, who found the parting 
 very hard to bear. Bhani, whom thej' had acquainted 
 with the matter, had tears in her beautiful dark eyes — 
 the last remnant of youth in the withered face. And as 
 he left the dear familiar house in the Mittelstrasse she 
 begged him — translating the Indian words plainly enough 
 by looks and gestures— 'to accept an aiaulet of cold green 
 jade as ft remembi^nce of hers 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 239 
 
 That niglit at eleven o'clock a slow train bore Willielm 
 away from Berlin. 
 
 At the station he caught sight of the face of his old 
 friend Patke, whom he had come across more than once 
 during that day. The former non-commissioned officer 
 had apparently reached the goal of his ambitions and 
 become a private detective. 
 
 Schrotter had stood on the step of the carriage till the 
 very last moment, holding his friend's hand. Now Wil- 
 helm leaned back in his corner and closed his eyes, and 
 while the train rattled along over the snow-covered plain, 
 he asked himself for the first time whether after all Dor- 
 fling had been quite such a fool as most of them con- 
 sidered him to have been ? 
 
240 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 RESULTS. 
 
 On alighting next morning at the station in Hamburg, 
 Wilhelm found himself clasped in a pair of strong arms 
 and pressed to a magnificent fur coat. Inside this warm 
 garment there beat a still warmer heart, that of Paul 
 Haber, who had received a letter from Wilhelm the day 
 before, telling him of his dismissal from Berlin, and that 
 he was leaving for Hamburg by the last train before mid- 
 night, and whom neither the cold and darkness nor the 
 extreme earliness of the hour could restrain from meeting 
 his friend at the station. 
 
 Their greeting was short and affectionate. 
 
 "A hearty welcome to you!" cried Paul. "Wewill do 
 our best to make a new home for you here." 
 
 "You see, I thought of you at once when I had to look 
 about me for some resting-place in the wide world." 
 
 "I should have expected no less of you. Keep your 
 ears stiff, and don't let the horrid business worry you." 
 
 Wilhelm 's bag was handed to an attendant servant, and 
 the two friends walked off arm in arm toward an elegant 
 brougham lined with light blue, with a cqnspicuously 
 handsome long-limbed chestnut and a stout, bearded 
 coachman, which stood waiting for them. 
 
 Wilhelm mentioned the name of the hotel where he 
 intended to stay, but Paul cut him short. "Not a bit of 
 it! Home, ECans, and look sharp about it!" And before 
 Wilhelm could offer any remonstrance, he found himself 
 
TSE MAlaD Y op the CElfTURT. 241 
 
 pushed into the carriage, Paul at his side. The door 
 banged, the footman sprang on to the box, and off they 
 went as fast as the long legs of the chestnut would carry 
 them. 
 
 For the last two years Paul had owned a villa on the 
 Uhlenhorst, in the Garlstrasse, and there the fast trotter 
 drew up. Wilhelm had said but little during the drive, 
 and Paul had confined the expression of his feeling of 
 delight to clapping his friend on the shoulder from time 
 to time, and pressing his hand. Bather less than half an 
 hour's drive brought them to their destination. Paul 
 would not hear of Wilhelm making any alteration in his 
 dress, but drew him as he was into the smoking room on 
 the ground floor, where Malvine came to meet him, and 
 received him in her hearty but quiet and uneffusive man- 
 ner. She was the picture of health, but had grown per- 
 haps a little too stout for her age. She wore a morning 
 wrap of red velvet and gold lace, and looked, in that 
 costly attire, like a princess or a banker's wife. 
 
 "You must be very cold and tired," she said; "the 
 coffee is ready, come at once to breakfast — that will put 
 some warmth into you — you can dress afterward. She 
 hurried before them into the next room, where they 
 found an amply spread table over which hovered the 
 fragrant smell of several steaming dishes. It was a 
 lavish breakfast in the English .style; beside tea and 
 coffee there were eggs, soles, ham, cold turkey, lobster 
 salad, and several excellent wines. A servant in the livery 
 of a " Jager" waited at table. 
 
 Wilhelm shook his head at the sight of all this 
 splendor. "But, my dear lady, so much trouble on my 
 behalf!" 
 
 "You are quite mistaken," Paul answered for Malvine, 
 and not without a smile of satisfied pride; "it is our 
 usual breakfast — we have it so every day." 
 
S43 TBE MALAD T Of TSE CMNTURY. 
 
 "Wilhelm looked at him surprised, and then remarked 
 after a short pause : "I would never have written to you, 
 if I had dreamed that you would get up before daybreak, 
 and upset your whole household in order to fetch me 
 from the station." 
 
 "Why, what nonsense! We are quite used to getting 
 up early. At Friesenmoor we have to be still earlier." 
 
 "But that is in the summer." 
 
 "So it is, but then our broken res.t is not made up to 
 us by the sight of a friend." 
 
 While they devoured the good things, and Paul, who 
 despised tea and coffee, sipped his slightly warmed claret, 
 he remarked, between two mouthfuls, "I was struck all 
 of a heap by your letter. You turned out! the most 
 harmless, law-abiding citizen I ever heard of! What in 
 the world did you do? You need not mind telling me." 
 
 "I cannot say that I am aware of having committed 
 any crime, Paul." 
 
 "Come now, something must have happened, for the 
 police does not take a step of that kind without some 
 provocation — it's only your beggarly Progressives who 
 think that, but nobody who knows the fundamental 
 principles of our government and its officials would 
 believe it." 
 
 "You seem to have become a warm admirer of the 
 government." 
 
 "Always was! But, upon my word, when I see the 
 way the oppposition parties go on I am more so than 
 ever— positively fanatical." 
 
 "Then I have no doubt that you will consider that I 
 did commit a crime." 
 
 "Ah! so there was something after all?" 
 
 "Yes, I contributed fifteen hundred marks to a collec- 
 tion for the distressed families of the Social Democrats 
 who had been dismissed from Berlin " 
 
fMs! Malady oS' tme cwnturt. 243 
 
 "You did?" cried Paul, dropping his knife and fork, 
 and staring at "VVilhelm in amazement. 
 
 "And that seems so criminal to you?" 
 
 "Look here, Wilhelm, you know I'm awfully fond of 
 you, but I must say you have only got what you deserve. 
 How could you take part in a revolutionary demonstra- 
 tion of the kind?" 
 
 "I did not, nor do I now see anything political in it. 
 It was a question of women and children deprived of their 
 bread-winners, and whom one cannot allow to starve or 
 freeze to death." 
 
 "Oh, go along with your Progressionist phrases! No- 
 body need starve or freeze in Berlin. The really poor are 
 thoroughly well looked after by the proper authorities. 
 The supposed distress of these women and children is a 
 mere trumped-up story on the part of the Eevolutionists 
 — a. means of agitation, a weapon against the govern- 
 ment. The beggars simply speculate on the tears of 
 sentimental idiots. They- get up a sort of penny-dread- 
 ful, whereon the one side you have a picture of injured 
 innocence in the shape of pale despairing mothers and 
 clamoring children, and on the other, villainy triumphant 
 in the form of a police constable or a government official. 
 And to think that you should have been taken in by such 
 a swindle!" 
 
 "I suppose you do not see how heartless it appears to 
 speak so lightly of other people's hunger, sitting oneself 
 at such a table as this?" 
 
 "Bravo, Wilhelm! Now you are throwing my pros- 
 perity in my teeth like any advocate of division of prop- 
 erty. I trust you have not turned Socialist yourself? 
 you who used not to have a good word to say for the lot. " 
 
 "Never fear- — I am not a Socialist. Their doctrines 
 have not been able to convince me yet. But for years I 
 
2U TSe MALADY Off TSE OENTtittT. 
 
 have seen the distress of the -working people with my 
 otvn eyes, and I know that every human being with a 
 heart in his body is in duty bound to help tliem." 
 
 "And who says anything against that? Don't we all 
 do our duty? Poverty has always existed and always 
 will to the end of time. But, on the other hand, that is 
 what charity is there for. "We have hospitals for the 
 sick, workhouses and parish relief for the aged and in- 
 capable, for lazy vagabonds who won't work, it is true, 
 only the treadmill." 
 
 "That is all very fine, but what are you going to do 
 with the honest men who want to work but can find 
 none?" 
 
 "Wilhelm, I have always had the highest respect for 
 you, your wisdom, your intellect, but forgive me if I say 
 that, in this case, you are talking of things you do not 
 understand. Everybody who wants work finds it. I 
 hope j-ou will be at my place next summer. Then you'll 
 see how I positively sweat blood in harvest-time trying 
 to get the necessary number of laborers together, and 
 what I have to put up with from the rascals only to keep 
 them in good humor. Don't try on any of these windy 
 arguments with a landowner — people that want work and 
 can't find it indeed! Let me tell you, my son, neither 
 I nor any one of my country neighbors can scrape to- 
 gether as many people as we need." 
 
 "But everybody cannot work in the fields." 
 
 "There, at last, you have hit the bull's eye — that is 
 where the shoe pinches. Agriculture offers a certain 
 means of livelihood to all who can and will work properly. 
 But that does not suit the lazy beggars. The work is too 
 hard, and, more particularly, the discipline on an estate 
 is too strict for their fancy. They would rather be in 
 the town, rather starve in a workshop, or ruin their 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 245 
 
 lungs in a factory, because there they have more freedom 
 — that is, they can go on the spree all night and shirk 
 their work all day, if they like — they can play the gen- 
 tleman, and think themselves as good as any general or 
 minister. Under these circumstances, it is no v^onder 
 that they soon come to want, and instead of admitting 
 that it is entirely the fault of their own pigheadedness 
 and perversity, they go and turn unruly against the 
 government. They should be turned out neck and crop, 
 the whole pack of them." 
 
 "Don't excite yourself so, Paul," warned Malvine 
 gently, as her husband grew crimson in the face and 
 ceased to eat. 
 
 Wilhelm remained unruffled. "So you think the 
 Socialist Act was quite justified?" 
 
 "Justified! Why, my only objection to it is that it is 
 much too mild. A State has a right to use every means 
 it can — even the sharpest — to defend itself against its 
 deadly enemies. To deal mildly with the enemies of 
 society is to be unjust to us, the orderly and industrious 
 members of ths community, who work hard to get on, 
 and who don't want to be for ever trembling for their 
 well-earned possessions, because thieves and vagabonds 
 — as is the way of all robbers^ — ^would like to enjoy the 
 good things of this life without working for them." 
 
 "My good Paul, that is the language of fanaticism, 
 and, of course, it is useless to try to reason against that. 
 Only let me tell you this. I do not believe that the 
 Socialists want to rob anybody ; I do not believe that 
 they are enemies to the State and to society. They too 
 desire a State and a society, but different from the exist- 
 ing ones; they too have an ideal of justice, but it is not 
 the one that has become traditional with us. Under the 
 new order of things, as they have arranged it in their 
 
246 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 minds, there should be room for every individual, every 
 opinion, all sorts and conditions of men. What the rul- 
 ing classes say against them to-day has been said against 
 the adherents of all new ideas since the beginning of time. 
 Whoever tried to mate the slightest alteration in the 
 existing order of things was always considered, by those 
 who derived advantages therefrom, to be a foe to the 
 State and to society in general — a robber and a revolu- 
 tionist. The early Christians enjoyed exactly the same 
 reputation as the Socialists to-day. They were looked 
 upon as enemies of the whole human race, and were torn 
 to pieces by wild beasts, though — doubtless to your 
 regret — it has not come to that with the Socialists. And 
 nevertheless, though lions and tigers are a good deal 
 worse than police officers, the principles of Christianity 
 have triumphed, and there is nothing to prove that the 
 principles of Socialism will not triumph in their turn." 
 
 "Prophet of evil omen!" cried Paul. 
 
 "Not necessarily so. Where would be the misfortune? 
 I am firmly persuaded that a Socialist State would not 
 differ in any important point from the accepted forms of 
 government of the day. The administrative power would 
 merely be transferred from the hands of the military 
 and the landed aristocracy to another class. To those who 
 do not want a share in the governing power, it is all the 
 same who wields it. You see, human nature remains the 
 same, and its organization alters only very gradually, 
 almost imperceptibly, though it sometimes changes its 
 name. Christianity promised to be the beginning of the 
 thousand years' reign, but in the main, everthing has 
 gone on just as it was before. A Socialist State would 
 not be able to make the sun rise in the west, or do away 
 with death any more than we can. They would have 
 jninisfcers, custom-heuee officers, policemeiij virtue, vice 
 
TBS MALAD 7 OF TBE CBNTUR T. 247 
 
 and ambition, self-interest, oppression and brotherly love 
 just as we do, and if the Socialists come into power, they 
 will soon pass special acts and prosecute the followers of 
 other opinions just as they are being prosecuted to-day. 
 That is all upon the surface, and does not touch the root 
 of things. Why excite yourself about a mere shadow- 
 play?" 
 
 "In practical matters," answered Paul, laughing, "I 
 consider I am the better man, but you certainly beat me 
 at metaphysics. Prophecy decidedly comes under the 
 heading of metaphysics, so I strike my colors before you. ' ' 
 
 "The sooner the better," said Malvine; "especially as 
 it is quite unpardonable of you to start off on a long dis- 
 cussion when our poor friend must be so tired and 
 sleepy." 
 
 It was eight o'clock by this time, and Wilhelm really 
 felt the want of rest. But before going to his room he 
 asked after his godson, little "Willy. Malvine was evi- 
 dently expecting this, she ran to the door and called into 
 the next room: "Come here, Willy^ — ^come quick — Uncle 
 Eynhardt is here and wants to see you." Whereupon the 
 boy came bounding in, and threw himself with a shout 
 of delight upon Wilhelm's neck. Willy was still his 
 mother's only child. He was nearly six years old, not 
 very tall for his age, but a fine, handsome, thoroughly 
 healthy child, with firm legs, a blooming complexion, the 
 dark eyes of his grandmother, and long fair curls. He 
 was charmingly dressed in a sailor suit with a broad 
 turned-back collar over a blue-and-white striped jersey, 
 long black stockings, and pretty little patent leather 
 shoes with silk ties. Wilhelm lifted up this young 
 prince, kissing him, and asked, "Well^Willy, do you 
 remember me?" He had not seen him for eighteen 
 months. 
 
248 THE MALADY 6P TSE GMNTUBT. 
 
 "Of course, I do, uncle, we talk about you every day," 
 cried the child in his clear voice. "Are you going to 
 stay with us now?" 
 
 "Yes, that he is!" his father answered for the friend. 
 
 "How jolly! how jolly!" cried Willy, clapping his 
 hands with glee. "And you will teach me to ride, won't 
 you, uncle? Papa has no time." 
 
 "But I don't know how to ride myself," returned Wil- 
 helm with a smile. 
 
 Willy looked up disappointed. "What can you do 
 then?" 
 
 "Be a good boy now," Malvine broke in, "and leave 
 uncle in peace and go back to the nursery. Tou shall 
 have him again later on." 
 
 After more kisses and caresses Willy ran off, and Paul 
 led his guest to the room prepared for him, where at last 
 he left him to himself. 
 
 Wilhelm had visited Paul on his estate during the pre- 
 ceeding summer, but since then had only seen him in 
 Berlin. The house on the Uhlenhorst was new to him, 
 and he marveled at the solid sumptuousness that met the 
 eye at every turn. The visitor's room was not less 
 splendidly furnished than the smoking and breakfast 
 rooms he had already seen, and when he looked about 
 him at the great carved bedstead with its ample draperies, 
 the silk damask-covered chairs, the thick rugs, the marble 
 washstand, and the toilet table with its array of bottles 
 and dishes of china, cut glass, and silver, he could not 
 . help feeling almost abashed. His friend Paul had be- 
 come a very great gentleman apparently ! 
 
 And so in point of fact he had. The Friesenmoor had 
 proved itself a v^ry gold mine, and in the district round 
 about they calculated that it yielded a clear return of a 
 hundred or a hundred and twenty thousand marks a year. 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 249 
 
 Paul had long ago been in a position to make use of his 
 right of purchase on the estate, and had acquired about 
 two thousand acres of adjoining marsh lands beside, 
 though at a considerably higher price, and was now the 
 owner of a well-rounded estate of twelve thousand acres, 
 the admiration and pride of the whole neighborhood. He 
 had converted the cultivation of the marshland, which 
 six years ago had been but a bold theory, into an estab- 
 lished scientific fact, and his methods, the excellence of 
 which was amply proved by his almost tropically luxu- 
 riant harvests and uninterruptedly increasing wealth, were 
 assiduously imitated on all sides. Paul Haber was 
 acknowledged far and wide to be the first authority on 
 the management of marsh land. The government had 
 long since taken note of his success and kept an eye upon 
 his doings, and was furnished by the Landrath with 
 regular accounts of his agricultural progress. Young 
 men of the best county families contended for the privi- 
 lege of being under him for a year's practical farming. 
 Foreign governments sent professors, lecturers, and 
 practical agriculturists to him, partly to inspect his ar- 
 rangements, partly to study his methods under his per- 
 sonal supervision, in order to adopt them in their own 
 countries. Paul was more than a landed proprietor, he 
 was a kind of professor holding his unpretentious lecture 
 in the open air or in the appropriately decorated smok- 
 ing-room of the Friesenmoor house, always surrounded 
 by a troop of eager and admiring listeners of various 
 nationalities, and mostly of high rank. 
 
 Of course, under these circumstances there was no 
 lack of outward marks of distinction. Two years before 
 he had been promoted to a first lieutenancy of the Land- 
 Wfihr. A row of foreign decorations adorned his breast, 
 and last year, when he 'was visited by the Minister for 
 
)loO THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 Agriculture, accompanied by the Landrath, the Kronen 
 Order of the fourth class was added to the rest. Paul 
 was on the District Committee and County Council, and 
 if he was not deputy of the Landtag and member of the 
 Keichstag, it was only because he considered all parlia- 
 mentary work a barren expenditure of time and strength. 
 He stood in high repute in the county, which was proved 
 by his election to be the president of the Society for the 
 Cultivation of Moors and Marshes, a society founded by 
 his followers and admirers, and which counted among its 
 members some of the most important landowners of the 
 whole of Northern German.r. 
 
 These circumstances could not fail to react on Paul's 
 character. He no longer tried to look as much as possi- 
 ble like a smart officer, but rather like a country gentle- 
 man of ancient lineage. The thick fair mustache had 
 abandoned its enterprising upward curl, and now hung 
 down straight and long. The model parting of the hair 
 was in any case out of the question, a distinguished bald- 
 ness having taken the place of the old luxuriance, and 
 his figure had fulfilled all the promises of his youth. In 
 his dress Paul still cultivated extreme elegance, only that 
 it partook more of the bucolic now in style than of the 
 drawing-room as in former days. He wore high patent 
 leather boots with small silver spurs, well-fitting riding 
 breeches, a gray coat with green facings and large buck- 
 horn buttons, a blue-and-white spotted silk necktie tied 
 in a loose knot with fluttering ends, an artistically 
 crushed soft felt hat, and in his dog-skin gloved hand a 
 small riding-whip with a chased gold head. With all its 
 dandyism it was a model of good taste, and in no single 
 detail smacked of the parvenu; and that for the very 
 good reason that Paul was no parvenu, but a man who 
 was conscious of having attained to a position which was 
 
THE MALAD Y OF THE CENTUB T. 351 
 
 his by nature and by right. He had never suffered from 
 undue diffidence, and his success had naturally increased 
 his sense of his own value, which, however, he did not 
 display in any bumptious or aggressive manner as one who 
 would force reluctani; acknowledgment of his merits, but 
 quietly and naturally, seeing that he received full and 
 voluntary recognition from all sides. He believed in 
 himself, and was quite right to do so, for everybody else 
 believed in him too. He spoke with authority, for there 
 was no one about him who did not hang upon his lips 
 with respect, and mostly with admiration. He made 
 assertions and gave his opinion with the assurance of 
 superior knowledge, but he had a right to do so, for it 
 always referred only to matters about which he knew, or 
 was fully persuaded that he knew, more than most peo- 
 ple. Even his wealth did not go to his head, but acted 
 on him like a moderate amount of drink upon a man who 
 can stand a great deal. He enjoyed to the full the com- 
 forts and amenities of life which his large income enabled 
 him to procure, but he did it for his own pleasure, not 
 for the sake of what others would think; for his own 
 comfort, and not for show. He liked to keep good horses 
 and dogs, an admirably appointed table and cellar, and a 
 large staflE of well-drilled servants. On the other hand, he 
 avoided anything approaching to display, was never seen 
 at races, went to no fashionable baths, gave no grand 
 entertainments, nor had a bos at either theatre or opera- 
 house, belonged to no club, and never played high. His 
 wife wore perhaps rather more jewelry and followed the 
 newest Paris fashions a trifle more closely than was abso- 
 lutely necessary at Friesenmoor or even the Uhlenhorst, 
 but as she remained as simple and unaffected as before, 
 nobody could think any the worse of her for this small 
 inherited weakness. 
 
352 THE MALAD Y OF THE CENTUR 7. 
 
 Toward his own family Paul had behaved in a most 
 exemplary manner, affording thereby the strongest proof 
 that though he had risen he was no upstart. The numer- 
 ous members of his family and the men who had married 
 into it nearly all had to thank him for their advancement 
 or actual support. Some were employed on his estate, 
 others he had trained in his particular branch of agricul- 
 ture, after which, and with his recommendation, they 
 had found no difficulty in obtaining brilliant positions as 
 stewards or lease-holders of estates, and two of his 
 brothers had appointments on royal domains. He had, 
 therefore, every right to self-congratulation, as having 
 fulfilled all the duties of a model man and citizen far be- 
 yond what necessity demanded. 
 
 Tor Wilhelm, Paul still retained the affection and 
 friendship of his early days, only that, unconsciously to 
 himself, it had taken on a certain fatherly tone; although 
 there was a difference of but one year between them, 
 there was a touch of protecting consideration and pity 
 about it, such as strong men feel toward a weaker and 
 less perfectly developed creature-. 
 
 The first day Paul left his friend to have a thorough 
 rest, but the nest morning early he knocked at his door 
 and asked if he might come in. 
 
 "Certainly," was the answer, and opening the door at 
 the same moment, Wilhelm appeared fully dressed and 
 ready for inspection. 
 
 "You have kept up your old habit of early risings— that 
 is right," said Paul, and clapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 "So have you," returned Wilhelm with a smile. 
 
 "I — oh, that's different. I am a farmer, and you 
 know the proverb — 'The master's eye makes the cattle 
 fat. ' But your books don't require to be fed and watered 
 at break of day. As you are ready, come down now, and 
 we can have a chat over breakfast." 
 
TBE MALAD 7 OF TSM CENTUR f. 253 
 
 Malvine met him downstairs with a friendly smile and 
 shake of the hand. This morning she wore a long blue 
 morning gown with gay colored embroidery at the throat 
 and wrists and a little lace cap with blue ribbons. The 
 breakfast was as elaborate as on the day before. , 
 
 "I want to take you over to my place to-day, Wilhelm. 
 "We have a shooting party, the weather is Iwvely, and it 
 will be a nice change for you." 
 
 "Thanks, Paul, but I would much rather you left me 
 here. I am no sportsman, as you know very well." 
 
 "We'll soon make you into one. Nobody is born a 
 sportsman, or rather we are all born sportsmen, but for- 
 get it in our wretched town life, and afterward have to 
 set to work and learn laboriously the art that came so 
 naturally to our forefathers. Not, however, that you 
 need fire a single shot, it is more for the healthy out-of- 
 door exercise, and to show you Friesenmoor in its winter 
 dress, and for the society which will interest you. They 
 are neighbors of mine — nearly every one of them a char- 
 acter — old Baron Hiining, who fought in the Crimea as 
 an English ofiScer, Count Chamberlain von Swerte, 
 crammed with curious court stories, Graf Olderode, who, 
 in spite of his gout, will jump for joy when I introduce 
 you as the best friend I have in the world, and add that 
 you have just been banished from Berlin under the 
 Socialist Act. And then there are my pupils — I've got a 
 Russian prince among them, and a very near neighbor, a 
 young nobleman from the Marches, an officer in the Red 
 Hussars. Now don't be a slow coach, come along." 
 
 "You are very kind, but I should be very sorry to 
 make your gouty Graf jump, even for joy." 
 
 "Dr. Enyhardt is quite right," Malvine now joined in. 
 "What an idea too to carry him off from me before he 
 has had time to settle comfortably. You stay with me, 
 
3S4 TBE MALAD t Off THE CENTUM T. 
 
 Herr Doctor; this is my day, and you shall make the 
 acciuaintance of some charmingly pretty girls this after- 
 noon. That will interest you more than Paul's old 
 Chamberlains. ' ' 
 
 "All right," laughed Paul; "but you had better look 
 out, Wilhelm, I smell a rat. Malvine has designs upon 
 you, she wants to get you married. If you came with 
 me you would be the hunter, but if you stay here you 
 will find yourself in the position of the game." 
 
 "And if he is," retorted Malvine, "it is surely the 
 better part to let yourself be caught by a pretty girl than 
 to go and shoot poor hares and wild ducks." 
 
 Paul did not press his in-vitation, and drove off a min- 
 ute or two later, not to return till the following day. 
 Malvine, however, put her threat into practice, and per- 
 suaded Wilhelm with gentle insistence to join her after- 
 noon coffee party, and be introduced to all her lady visi- 
 tors and take part in the conversations. The introduction 
 caused Malvine a little embarrassment. Only now did she 
 fully realize the fact that her guest was nobody in partic- 
 ular. She was painfully conscious of the baldness of 
 his name and his simple title of Dr., and the absence of 
 any sort of distinguishing mark by the addition of which 
 she might recommend him to the special notice of her 
 circle of friends. He was not a landed proprietor, nor a 
 professor, not even a master. Nor could she conscien- 
 tiously say, "the celebrated Dr. Eynahrdt. " He had no 
 military title, and to introduce him as "the handsome 
 Dr. Eynhardt" would hardly do. Fortunately she had 
 no need to mention the latter adjective. The ladies ob- 
 served without further assistance how remarkably hand- 
 some this gentleman was with his girlish complexion, 
 silky, raven-black hair and beard, and lustrous dark eyes. 
 Charming lips drew him constantly into the conversation, 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 255 
 
 ■which, cultivated aad many-sided, ranged from the 
 weather to the recently-closed Paris Exhibition, from 
 Sarasate to Vischer's last novel. "Wilhelm had not a word 
 to say on these important subjects, and so spoke in 
 monosyllables, or not at all, till the ladies, who were 
 most of them very animated, came to the conclusion that 
 he was as stupid as he was handsome, "as is usually the 
 case, my dear." 
 
 At supper Malvinewas indefatigable in asking "Wilhelm 
 how he liked this dark girl, and what he had said to that 
 fair one, and what impression the piquaute little one 
 with the boyish curly head had made upon him ? When 
 he frankly confessed that he had paid very little atten- 
 tion to any of the young ladies, and could scarcely 
 remember one from another, she was very much discour-' 
 aged. It was decidedly no easy task to help this clumsy 
 person along. All three girls of whom she had spoken 
 were heiresses, and beautiful and well-educated beside 
 — what more did he want ? 
 
 Alas ! he did not want anything at all, but to be left in 
 peace, and that was the aggravating part of it. Mal- 
 vine had set her heart on marrying him, and marrying 
 him well. Her sentiment for him had long since given 
 place to other and less agitating feelings, as beseemed a 
 model wife, mother, and landed proprietress. She was 
 grateful to him for having recognized and set right the 
 mistaken impression of her girlish heart. She was seized 
 with discomfort at the thought of what might have been. 
 "Where would she be now if she had become Frau Dr. 
 Eynhardt? A woman without fortune, of no position or 
 importance, and at the present moment even homeless and 
 a wanderer. As things had turned out she was wealthy 
 and distinguished, the best people in Hamburg and the 
 whole of Liineburg came to her house, and she ruled 
 
256 THE MALADT OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 like a small queen over a large settlement of dependents. 
 And all this she owed to her dear Paul, who, during the 
 seven years of their married life, had never given her 
 one moment's pain, never cost her eyes a single tear. 
 Out of her grateful acknowledgment that Wilhelm had 
 materially assisted in the founding of her agreeable 
 destiny, and the unconscious lingering remains of her 
 former attachment, there had sprung up a very tender 
 friendship for him, the unusual warmth of which would 
 have at once betrayed its hidden origin to the experi- 
 enced analj'st of the heart. She wanted to see him 
 happy, she considered earnestly what was lacking to him 
 to make him so, and was sure that it could only be a rich 
 and pretty wife. This happiness then she determined to 
 procure for him, an easy enough task, as her set con- 
 tained a large selection of "goldfish.'" 
 
 If he would only meet them halfway! The young 
 ladies, obviously very well disposed toward him, could 
 not make the first advances. And yet on the following 
 Thursday he sat there in the midst of the gay chatter 
 just as quiet and wooden as on the first occasion, made 
 no advances to any of the girls, singled out no one from 
 the rest. After that Malvine was obliged to make a 
 pause in her well-intentioned maneuvres, for the third 
 Thursday was Christmtas Eve, and her time was taken up 
 in preparations for the Christmas-tree. 
 
 For this festive occasion Frau Brohl and Frau Marker 
 came over from Berlin, as had been their custom ever 
 since Paul had taken the house on the Uhlenhorst. Frau 
 Marker had grown very stout, and her hair showed the 
 first silvery threads, otherwise she was blooming and as 
 silent as ever. Old Frau Brohl was simply astounding. 
 She had not changed in the smallest degree, time had no 
 power over her, she was just as doubled up and colorless, 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 257 
 
 and her movements just as slow as ever, her brown eyes 
 had the same tired droop, and her low, complaining voice 
 the old tone of suffering. But her appetite had grown, 
 if anything, rather larger, and, apart from one or two 
 colds in the winter, she had not known an hour's illness 
 during the whole time. 
 
 Needless to say, the grandmother did not come empty- 
 handed. She brought two cases with her, one of which 
 contained a large quantity of excellent bottled fruit, 
 which Malvine still preferred to any her own highly-paid 
 cook coul'd prepare, while the other was filled with a 
 choice collection of fancy work. On these treasures 
 being unpacked, it was discovered that the inventive 
 genius of the old lady of seventy was still undiminished. 
 For the master of the house there was a game-bag made 
 of interwoven strips of blue and red leather, somewhat in 
 the Indian manner, very curious, and of course, impracti- 
 cable. Malvine received a silklace veil, the pattern in 
 large marsh-mallows — a graceful play upon her name. 
 Frau Brohl had worked at this masterpiece for a year and 
 a half. For little Willy, in consideration of the aristo- 
 cratic propensities one might expect, or at any rate en- 
 courage, in the heir to a large estate, there was a Flobert 
 rifle, the strap of which was ornamented after an entirely 
 new method by cutting out thin layers of the leather and 
 inserting gilt arabesques and figures. For the house in 
 general there were some ingenious arrangements in fir 
 cones and small shells. 
 
 The Christmas-tree was set up in the great drawing- 
 room on the ground floor and reached almost to the ceil- 
 ing. It was a beautiful young fir, so fresh and fragrant of 
 pine that the breath of the woods seemed to cling to it 
 still. A large party had gathered for the lighting-up. 
 Beside the relatives of the aristocratic pupils, who had 
 
358 THE MALADY OF THE GENTURT. 
 
 come over from the estate, there •were some neighbors 
 from the Uhlenhorst, with five or six little children, and 
 the Chamberlain von Swerte with his high-born wife. 
 The couple were childless, and not wishing to spend 
 their Christmas alone, had accepted Paul's invitation, 
 and come all the way from their little castle near Konne- 
 burg to the Ulhenhorst. 
 
 The chamberlain was the lion of the evening. Paul 
 took an opportunity of whispering to Wilhelm, "Herr 
 von Swerte is of the House of Hellebrand — one of the 
 first families in the county — tremendously ancient lot!" 
 Old Frau Brohl had observed the little gold tab on his 
 coat tail- — the chamberlain's sign of ofBce, and manuevered 
 skillfully in order that she might frequently obtain a 
 back view, and so gaze upon the proud badge in silent 
 awe and admiration. The children had no eye for such 
 matters, but rushed shrieking with delight round the 
 tree, whose branches shed such gorgeous presents on 
 them. "Willy got a hussar uniform, with sword, knot, 
 boots and spurs all complete, and would not rest till he 
 had been taken to his room and dressed in it, and then 
 appeared before the company in this martial attire. His 
 mother's eye grew dim with pride and joy when Herr 
 von Swerte lifted up the little warrior to kiss him, and 
 said heartily: "Well, my dear Herr Haber, he will make 
 a smart cavalry officer some day!" 
 
 At dinner "Wilhelm found himself beside Frau Brohl. 
 The old lady was still fond of him, and never forgot how 
 well he had behaved at a critical moment, and with what 
 modest self-perception he had acknowledged that he was 
 not the husband for her granddaughter. 
 
 Searching about for something agreeable to say to him, 
 or for a subject that would be sure to interest him, she 
 suddenly remembered one, and said, between the fish 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 259 
 
 and the roast, "Have you heard the story about your old 
 flame, Prau Von Pechlar?" 
 
 Wilhelm started and changed color. 
 
 Frau Brohl never noticed, and continued in her soft 
 complaining voice: "Your guardian angel saved yon 
 there, Herr Doctor. You would have come off nicely if 
 you had married Fraulein Ellrich. There have been all 
 sorts of rumors for years, but now it has come to an open 
 scandal. She has left Herr von Pechlar and gone off 
 with a count, who has been hanging about her for some 
 time. They say she has gone to Italy with him." 
 
 Wilhelm made no reply, but he was surprised himself 
 to feel how deeply the information affected him, so that 
 he could not breathe freely all the evening, and although 
 it was late before he got to bed, he could not sleep for 
 hours, thinking of the girl he had once loved, who was 
 now rushing blindly down the path of ditihonor. Why 
 should the thought pain him so much? Do heart wounds 
 heal so slowly and imperfectly that a rough touch can 
 make the scar burn and throb after long years? Or was 
 it regret at the besmirching of a picture which till now 
 had shone so purely and been so sweetly framed in his 
 memor.v ? He did not know, but for days it depressed 
 him to the verge of melancholy. 
 
 In return for the hospitality he had received New 
 Tear's Eve was spent at Herr von Swerte's. The whole 
 Haber family, with Frau Brohl and Frau Marker — the 
 white grandmamma and the brown grandmamma, as 
 Willy called them, to distinguish them from one another 
 — drove over in the afternoon to Eonneburg by way of 
 Harburg, but Wilhelm could not be prevailed upon to 
 accompany them. Paul took him severely to task; Mal- 
 vine represented to him, with an eloquence unusual to 
 her, the horrors of a. lonely New-Tear's Eve; Frau Brohl 
 
260 THE MALADY OF TEE CENTUR7. 
 
 pointed out the advantages of celebrating the festive 
 occasion in a company composed entirely of rich people; 
 and even "Willy entreated, "Do come, Onkelchen, you 
 can take care of me on the road." All their persuasion 
 proving fruitless, they finally left him to his fate, and he 
 remained behind alone. 
 
 Night found him at the writing-table in Paul's study, 
 his head in his hand, lost in thought. At last he shook 
 himself out of his deep brooding and vcrote the following 
 letter to Schrotter : 
 
 "My Eeveeed Feiend : I will not now break the habit 
 of eight years, but will spend my New Years' Eve with 
 you, the person who stands nearest to me in all the world. 
 I am alone in this grand villa ; the servants seem to be 
 enjoying themselves downstairsover their roast goose and 
 punch; Paul has taken his family and gone into the 
 country to the castle of a neighboring estate owner by 
 whom he is evidently very much impressed, and I can 
 chat with you undisturbed. 
 
 "I wish you could live for a time in close contact with 
 Paul, as I am doing; you would be surprised and pleased. 
 His development has been wonderfully logical, and he 
 now affords the spectacle, so intensely interesting to the 
 observant eye, of a person whose every capacity, under 
 the influence of the most favorable combination of cir- 
 cumstances imaginable, has attained to the utmost limit 
 of growth which is possible to it. Paul has become the 
 ideal type of our North German landed proprietor. He 
 is ultra-conservative, and considers the Socialist Act too 
 mild. He loathes parliamentarianism, but would wish 
 that the Landrath had not the power to appoint even a 
 police constable without the consent of the estate owners 
 of the district, and raves about local police prerogative. 
 His only newspaper, beside the little local one, is the 
 Kreuzzeitung ; he is learned in the Army List, and the 
 writing-table at which I am sitting is strewed with vol- 
 umes of the Almanac de Golha. He looks after his sub- 
 jects — -for I think he calls his workmen his subjects — in 
 
TBE MALADY OF THE OENTUBT. 261 
 
 a truly fatherly or feudal maimer, but I do not doubt 
 that he would drive the best of them off the estate with 
 dogs, if, even in the depth of winter, they did not stand 
 hat in hand the whole time they were talking to him. 
 The sole problem of the universe which has any sort of 
 interest for him is the outlook of the weather for the 
 harvest. The course of human or superhuman events 
 arouses his wonder, his doubts, or his anxiety only in 
 proportion as it affects the price of corn. He cannot 
 grasp that one should have any other aim in life than to 
 become a successful agriculturist. He finds full satis- 
 faction in his work, and what between a charming wife 
 and an adored child he would afford an example of what 
 the fables and proverbs tell us does not exist — a perfectly 
 happy man; if one thing were not lacking, the little 
 word 'von" in front of his name. I trust he may not die 
 without obtaining it, and then the world will have con- 
 tained one mortal who has known absolutely boundless 
 happiness. 
 
 "But in writing to you in this strain my conscience 
 pricks me. Is it not unkind toward Paul, whose attacji- 
 ment to me is positively touching? Is it not churlish to 
 exercise such cold criticism upon a friend whose faithful 
 affection has never for one moment wavered? He sur- 
 rounds me with endless proofs of his affection, and is 
 alwaj's on the lookout for something which may give me 
 pleasure. He is a passionate sportsman- — ^his only pas- 
 sion as far as I can see^ — ^and worries me twice a week to 
 join him on his shooting expeditions. He is a masterly 
 'skat' player, and is most anxious to enrich my existence 
 by the joys which, according to him, this intellectual 
 game affords to its adepts. When I venture timidly to 
 propose that I should leave him and live by myself, he 
 looks so honestly hurt and grieved that I have not the 
 courage to insist further. And Frau Haber, kind soul, 
 who is so set upon getting me married and thereby in- 
 suring mj' happiness! I and marrying! What have I to 
 offer a woman? Love? I am too poor in illusions. 
 Amusements — society — the theater? All that is a horror 
 to me. And moreover, I question if I have a right to 
 bring a being into the world, over whose destiny I have 
 
^62 THE MALADf Off TEE OBm'UBT. 
 
 no control, and whose existence would most certainly be 
 richer in pain and misery than in happiness; and I inow 
 unquestionably that I have no right to teach a light- 
 hearted girl to think, and force her to exchange the art- 
 less gayety of a playful little animal for my own fruitless 
 speculations and never-to-be-satisfied yearnings. 
 
 "In face of all this, serious doubts arise in my mind. 
 Is it for me to speak with superciliousness and superiority 
 of Paul, or to look down upon him? I ask you, as I 
 have been asking myself every day these three weeks — 
 is he not the wise man and I the fool? He the useful 
 member of society, and I the mere hanger-on? His life 
 the real, mine the shadow? That he is happy I have 
 already said ; that I am not, I know. His system there- 
 fore leads to peace and contentment, mine does not. He 
 has set a child into the world, and though, of course, he 
 does not know what its ultimate fate will be, he sees for 
 the present, as do I and everybody else who is not blind, 
 that it fills his home with sunshine and warmth. He 
 provides hundreds with their daily bread. That is, I 
 know, of no moment to the universe; it is of very little 
 importance whether a few more obstruse human creatures 
 walk the face of the earth or not. But meanwhile, the 
 creatures in question enjoy more agreeable sensations, 
 if, thanks to Paul's exertions, they have a comfortably 
 spread table every day. I cannot boast of any such 
 achievements. The only good I ever did my fellow-men 
 did not proceed from me but from our friend Dorfling, 
 who simply used my hand as an instrument for carrying 
 out his charitable designs. My personal compassion, my 
 love for my companions in ignorance and suffering bears 
 no fruit, benefits no one, and it frequently seems to me 
 that, if the truth were known, I am an egoist of the 
 deepest dye. 
 
 "If I could at least act consistently with the philoso- 
 phy which directs my views of life! But I am not even 
 capable of that. Systematically, I concede no impor- 
 tance to outward forms. Maja does not count me among 
 her devotees. What are houses? What are the phan- 
 toms who inhabit them? A transient semblance, a de- 
 lusion of the senses! And yet, I am conscious that I 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 263 
 
 miss just those houses which happen to stand, in Berlin 
 and that I feel an unspeakable longing for the phantom 
 called Dr. Schrotter. Once again it has been proved to 
 me that I am an unconscious plaything in the hands of 
 unknown powers, for again, as more than once in my 
 life, and always at decisive moments, some outside 
 agency has interfered in my fate, and disposed of me 
 contrary to my own intentions, by sending me out of 
 Berlin and away from you. But, nevertheless, my appre- 
 ciation of this fact does not give me the strength to 
 accept the inevitable in silence and without repining. 
 
 "Enough — I will not pain you. Only this much I 
 should like to add that life is really harder to bear than 
 I had thought for. 
 
 "Farewell, dear and honored friend; remember me 
 affectionately to Bhani, who, I trust, does not suffer too 
 severely from this hard winter, and always believe in the 
 faithful friendship and devotion of your 
 
 "WlLHELM EyNHAEDT. " 
 
 Three days later Wilhelm received the following 
 answer from Schrotter : 
 
 "Dearest Friend: Your long and welcome New Tear's 
 letter troubled me much on account of the state of mind 
 I see revealed in it. I think, however, that it is ex- 
 plained b.v the fact of your being rooted up out of your 
 accustomed surroundings that you are oppressed by 
 Haber's hospitality, and that you have as yet made no 
 plans for the future, and I trust that your spirits will 
 improve when these three circumstances are altered. 
 
 "I have always considered Haber, with all his good 
 qualities of heart and character, a thoroughly common- 
 place man, and your observations verify my opinion to 
 the full. And yet I quite understand that the sight of 
 his prosperity and self-satisfaction should give you food 
 for thought, and raise the question in your mind whether 
 his philosophy — if I may use the word — or yours, is the 
 right one. That is a great question, and I do not pre- 
 sume to answer it, either in general or for your particu- 
 
264 THE MALADY OF THE CENTUBT, 
 
 lar case; and all the more, for the very good reason that 
 your life is only really beginning now. You are not yet 
 thirty-fonr, you may yet do something great, something 
 pre-eminent, and who knows if those very qualities which 
 have made your life unproductive hitherto, may not 
 enable 3'ou later on to do things beside which the achieve- 
 ments of a Paul Haber shrink into insignificance? On 
 the other hand, I am persuaded — quite apart from your 
 respective ways of life — that you have chosen the better 
 and higher part. 
 
 "Human nature is like a tower with many stories; 
 some people inhabit the lower, others the higher ones. 
 The inhabitants of the cellars and ground floor may, in 
 their way, be good, decent, praiseworthy people, but 
 they can never enjoy the same amount of light, the same 
 pure air and wide view as those who live on the upper 
 stories. Now you, my dear_ young friend, live several 
 floors higher up than our good Paul Haber, whom, how- 
 ever, I value and am very fond of. But there are people 
 living over our heads too. I have known Indian sages 
 who looked down upon all we strive after and with 
 which we occupy ourselves with the same pitying wonder 
 as you do on Haber 's passion for sport and 'skat,' and 
 Lis loDgiug for a title; who have difficulty in under- 
 standing that we should earn money, be ambitious, enter- 
 tain passions, conform to outward rules of custom, and,^ 
 under the pretext of education, laboriously study rows of 
 empty phrases. These Brahmins have still higher inter- 
 ests and a yet wider view than the noblest-minded and 
 wisest of us, and the knowledge that such pure and all- 
 embracing spirits do exist ought to teach us to be 
 humble, and not despise those who may still cling to 
 some vain show that we have overcome, and attach im- 
 portance to matters which no longer possess any in our 
 eyes. 
 
 "One thing I have in my heart to wish for you, my 
 dear friend — that you could take life with a little of the 
 unreflecting simplicity of those who accept what the 
 moment offers without troubling themselves as to the why 
 and the wherefore. You bow to those high powers who, 
 for- instance, have caused you to be banished from Berlin ; 
 
TMM MALADY OF THE OEifrOMt. 2Go 
 
 then submit yourself to those still higher ones, who let 
 you iive and feel and think. Do not fight against the 
 natural instincts which lead you to cling to life and love. 
 Tour fears that you have nothing to offer a wife are 
 groundless. There are women who do not seek their 
 happiness in the vanities which you very properly detest. 
 Do all you can to find such a woman. Bestow life as you 
 have received it, and leave your offspring cheerfully to. 
 the care of those powers who rule over your own life 
 and destiny. For my part, I should be very sorry to see 
 your race die out. 
 
 "And why reproach yourself that you provide no one 
 with daily bread? Man does not live by bread alone; 
 and by simply being what you are, you supply many 
 people — myself for instance — with a pleasure in life and 
 a belief in your future career that is worth more than 
 daily bread. 
 
 "Bhani thanks you for your kind message. She in- 
 closes two verses for you, of her own composition. Here 
 you have them in prose translation — 'Mj' beloved master 
 and his humble handmaid miss the dear friend with the 
 soft eyes and gentle voice. We live as in a bungalow in 
 the season of rains — clouds and ever clouds, and no sun. 
 When will the sky be blue, and the sunshine come again? 
 and when wilt thou eat rice once more at the table of my 
 lord?' In the original it certainly sounds much prettier. 
 
 "Let me know soon what you think of doing, and be 
 assured of the hearty affection of your old 
 
 ' ' SCHEOTTEB. 
 
 "Postsckipt: Just read the enclosed extract from my 
 to-day's Times. That man's development was as logical 
 as Haber's. " 
 
 In the letter Wilhelra found, beside Bhani 's poem, 
 written in delicate Sanscrit characters on yellow paper, a 
 cutting from an English newspaper, in which he read 
 that a Nihilist of the name of Barinskoi, in St. Peters- 
 burg, had for some time excited the suspicions of his con- 
 federates by his luxurious and showy style of living. In 
 
S66 TtiE MALABt OP THE CENTtfBt. 
 
 order to discover the source from wliich he drew the 
 money for it, they appointed one of their female members 
 to be his mistress. She had shared in his extravagances, 
 and soon obtained proofs that he was in the service of 
 the police, and sold his fellow Nihilists. A secret court 
 condemned him to death, and a few days ago he had 
 been found dead in his rooms, his throat cut, and his 
 body literally hacked to pieces. 
 
 In January "Wilhelm received an unusual visitor. It 
 was a leader of the workingmen of Altona, who told him, 
 without further circumlocution, that the Socialists had 
 kept their eye upon him, had found out where he was 
 living, and now sent him, the Altona man, to see if any- 
 thing could be made of him. 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" asked Wilhelm in as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 "I mean," returned the visitor, who had introduced 
 himself as Stonemason Hessel, "whether you could not be 
 persuaded to join us openly." 
 
 As Wilhelm did not answer at once, Hessel resumed — 
 "Our party needs men like you, who are independent 
 and bold, have a university education, and speak well. 
 You are all that, as we know. By banishing you from 
 Berlin they have, in point of fact, made you one of us. 
 So go a step further, Herr Doctor; defend yourself, take 
 up the fight the government has forced upon you. You 
 have a million of determined workmen at your back, who 
 will gladly accept you as their leader." 
 
 "Excuse my frankness," said Wilhelm at last, "but I 
 really cannot think you are serious in your proposal." 
 
 "It is a very serious matter to us," cried Hessel. "I 
 speak in the name of the heads of the party, and have 
 means of convincing you of the reality of my proposal if 
 you have any doubts about it." 
 
TUB MALADY OP rina CMTUllT. 367 
 
 "But how do you come to know about me?" 
 
 "That is very simple. You are not, perhaps, aware 
 how well organized we are, and how we follow up every- 
 thing that may be of use to us afterward. We know 
 what you did for our party in Berlin, and that you are 
 suffering for it now. "We know your circumstances, and 
 that you have a considerable sum of money at your dis- 
 posal, and, I repeat, we want educated men. Most of us 
 have not had the means to get much schooling. The 
 struggle for our daily bread uses up all our time, and all 
 the brains we have. Look at me, Herr Doctor, for years 
 I never had more than five hours' sleep, and always used 
 half the night to learn the little I know. There are 
 plenty of people among us who — more's the pity — are 
 distrustful of the better educated — call them upstarts, 
 and won't have anything to do with them. Their idea is 
 that the proletariat should be led by proletariars. But 
 that is nonsense. No oppressed class has ever yet been 
 emancipated by its own members. It was always by 
 high-minded men of wider views out of the upper classes. 
 Catilina was an aristocrat, and put himself at the head 
 of the populace. Mirabeau belonged to the Court, and 
 overthrew the monarchy. Wilberforce, the defender of 
 the negro, was not black himself." 
 
 Wilhelm now for the first time looked more attentively 
 at this stonemason, who talked so glibly of Cataliua, 
 Mirabeau and Wilberforce, and the thought passed 
 through his mind that, at any rate, there was one good 
 thing about Social Democracy — it brought education 
 into circles to which it otherwise would never have 
 penetrated. 
 
 "And so," Hessel wound up, "we workmen too must 
 be led to victory by educated men" 
 
 "You overlook one point, however," remarked Wil- 
 
•ZQ8 THE MALAbt OP THE CENTURt. 
 
 helm. "To be your leader, one must before all things 
 share your convictions." 
 
 "It is quite impossible that an educated and thought- 
 ful man should not see the injustice of the present social 
 system. The government, which oppresses us, sees it as 
 clearly as we do ourselves. It is not fighting for a con- 
 viction, but for the supremacy of a certain class." 
 
 " 'It is impossble, is no argument In point of fact, I 
 do not hold with your doctrines. I know that the work- 
 ing-classes suffer, but I do not know why, and I do not 
 believe your theorists when they say it is all because the 
 workingman is ground down by the capitalist. Further- 
 more, you speak of leading — where am I to lead you to?" 
 
 "To victory against the plundering feudalism of the 
 State." 
 
 "That is a mere phrase. I know of no plan which will 
 sweep povertj- and distress from the face of the earth. 
 Even if you raise a revolution and it succeeds, even if 
 you destroy the feudal State and build up a working- 
 man's State upon the ruins, you will thereby only have 
 improved the condition of a select few, not of the whole 
 ■ — not even of the many. I would not like to be in the 
 shoes of your present leaders, preachers and prophets, 
 when you have conquered, and your followers demand to 
 see the results of your victory. How little they will then 
 be able to fulfill of the promises they have made to-day." 
 
 "So it is your opinion that there is nothing to be done 
 for us, and that we ought calmly to be left in want, and 
 slavery, and ignorance?" Hessel asked angrily. 
 
 "I think," returned Wilhelm, "that it is the bounden 
 duty of every man to love his neighbor, and help him 
 where and when he can." 
 
 "Oh yes," said Hessel with a sneer, "that is the stand- 
 point of the Church — the standpoint of the Middle Ages, 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 269 
 
 You would give us alms. No, thank you, we accept no 
 presents. We demand our rights, not charity." 
 
 Wilhelm thought to himself that he had not always 
 found the Socialists so proud, biit kept the thought to 
 himself, not wishing to hurt Hessel's feelings, who 
 seemed to be an honest fanatic. 
 
 "Do not let that be your last word," Hessel went on. 
 "You are probably but slightly acquainted with our 
 doctrines and writings. Come nearer to us. Come to 
 our meetings — talk to our workmen. You will find that 
 many of us have very clear heads, and know exactly 
 what we want, although the majority do still cling a good 
 deal to phrases. You will assuredly soon begin to inter- 
 est yourself in the emancipation of the proletariat. And 
 what a future to look forward to! You might be another 
 Lassalle, famous powerful, adored by thousands, received 
 as a savior wherever you show yourself — make a trium- 
 phal progress through all Germany, perhaps through the 
 world. And over and above, the consciousness of having 
 rendered such mighty service to your fellow-men." 
 
 Wilhelm rose. 
 "I seem to myself to be playing a rather ridiculous 
 part in this scene," he said; "it is a parody of the Gos- 
 pel story of the Temptation. Unfortunately, I have not 
 the smallest particle of ambition, and have no desire to 
 be either famous or mighty, or to make triumphal prog- 
 resses. If I could really do anything for you, believe 
 me, I would do it gladly. But I assure you I possess 
 neither the philosopher's stone, nor a prescription for a 
 universal panacea. I do not believe either that the 
 remedies they recommend so highly to you are very 
 effectual, so I am much obliged to you for your confi- 
 dence in me, and beg you to leave me in my obscurity." 
 
 Hessel gave him a dark look, stood up, turned slowly 
 
270 1"BE MALADY OP THE CENTURY. 
 
 away, and left him without one word, or even offering 
 him his hand. 
 
 Wilhelm had sent to Berlin for a box of books, and 
 tried to go on with his work, but found no real pleasure 
 in it. A deep despondency had come upon him, and the 
 idea that his life was wholly purposeless took more and 
 more hold upon him. Often, after studying earnestly 
 for a day or two, and making extracts for his book, he 
 would ask himself, ""Why take all this trouble? "Who is 
 going to be made wiser or happier by this rigmarole?" 
 and his pleasure in the work was gone again for days. 
 The consciousness of exile, instead of being blunted by 
 time, weighed ever more heavily upon him. He never 
 realized till now what an absolute necessity it was to his 
 nature to lean upon a kindred spirit, for he had never 
 before been without one. Since the death of his father 
 he had first had Paul, and then Dr. Schrotter, whom he 
 had seen daily, and thus had always had some one to share 
 his mental life. Now he was separated from Schrotter by 
 distance, and from Paul by the great change in their 
 views, and found no sufficient support when left to him- 
 self. If at times the sight of Paul's perfect self-content 
 and happiness roused in him the wish to follow his 
 example, it was quickly overruled by the conviction that 
 neither Paul's commonplace, practical occupations, nor 
 his worldly success, would afford him, Wilhelm, the 
 smallest satisfaction. 
 
 He passed his days and weeks in self-communings and 
 spiritual loneliness, in spite of Paul's and Malvine's 
 endeavors to interest him in men and things. He allowed 
 himself to be drawn into Malvine's afternoon receptions, 
 and the two or three parties they gave during the winter; 
 but refused to accompany them to other people's balls and 
 dinners. He was happiest of all with Willy, who was 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 271 
 
 very fond of Uncle Eynbardt. He took him for walks, 
 told him stories, was never tired of ans-\vering his endless 
 questions, amused him with little chemical experiments, 
 and in default of the riding lessons let him ride upon his 
 knee. And as he passed his fingers through the child's 
 long curls, he often thought, in spite of all his philo- 
 sophic doubts, how wonderfully pleasant it must be after 
 all, to bring forth some such sweet golden-haired mystery 
 that would cling to its parent and break away from him — 
 a continuation and yet a wholly new departure that had its 
 roots in the past, and yet struck out boldly into the 
 future, and whose bright gaze would be trying to pene- 
 trate the riddle of the universe when he himself had long 
 since sunk into oblivion. Had Malvine been something 
 more than good-natured and commonplace, had she pos- 
 sessed a little more tact and insight into the human 
 heart, she would have seen that in Wilhelm were now 
 combined all the conditions necessary for predisposing 
 him for marriage — the sense of a spiritual void, the long- 
 ing for love and companionship, a consciousness of 
 being alone in the midst of a cheerful, peaceful family 
 circle, and the desire to see his own life renewed in that 
 of a child. What he needed was that some one should 
 franklj' make the first advances, and overcome his natural 
 shyness and diffidence by a bold and saucy attack. With 
 a little tact and diplomacy, a clever woman would have 
 had no difficulty in putting up a bright girl to attempt 
 so easy a fight and victory. But Malvine never thought 
 of such a thing. Social etiquette withheld the various 
 young ladies on whom the Habers' quiet guest had made 
 no small impression from taking those first steps, which 
 are considered unwomanly and humiliating, although in 
 most cases they invariably bring about the desired 
 results, and so Wilhelm continued to sit in his corner. 
 
272 THW MALADY OF THE CENTUBT. 
 
 and the group of pretty heiresses in theirs; the winter 
 passed, and Malvine's darling wish was still unfulfilled. 
 
 Easter came round, and with it the migration of the 
 family to Friesenmoor House. Wilhelm would hare liked 
 to seize this opportunity for withdrawing himself from a 
 hospitality which weighed heavily on him, but Paul put 
 down his timid revolt with a high hand. 
 
 "None of that now. "You. are coming with us, and can 
 see what country life is like for a whole summer, " he 
 declared, and there the matter rested. 
 
 The estate and its surroundings possessed no pictures- 
 que charms. " The land stretched in uniform flatness from 
 the sluggish Siiderelbe to the equally sleepy Seeve, and 
 the Fuchsberg at Eonneburg, with its height of two 
 hundred feet, was a giant of the Alps or Cordilleras, 
 compared to the floor-like evenness of the country round 
 about. From the platform of the tower which Paul had 
 built on to his house, giving it quite a baronial appear- 
 ance, one could see for miles across country, almost to 
 Hamburg, the spires of which were plainly visible on a 
 clear day. But far and near one saw nothing but corn- 
 fields and meadows, that had the regularity of a carpet 
 pattern, intersected by clay-colored dikes, straight 
 ditches full of stagnant brown water, here and there a 
 busy windmill, and in the distance the smooth-flowing 
 watercourses which bounded the landscape. The picture 
 was laid on from a meager palette; a few browns and 
 greens, slightly relieved and enlivened by the vigorous 
 tones of the whitewashed walls of the laborers' cottages, 
 some standing apart, some collected together like a little 
 village. 
 
 And yet, though the view from the tovcer might not 
 seem very attractive, a walk through the country revealed 
 many a peculiar charm to the observant and divining eye. 
 
MB MalAD r OP TJElH CSNTm f. 273 
 
 Here one stood upon ground where man had wrestled with 
 Nature and subdued her. At every step one encountered 
 I the marks of that struggle and victory, reminding one of 
 Jacob's mysterious encounter with the angel. The 
 waters of the marsh were now forced within the pre- 
 scribed limits of a system of drains and canals. Luxur- 
 iant crops triumphed over reeds and rushes, which were 
 now only ijermitted to fringe the edges of the ditches. 
 Sleek, mild-eyed cows grazed and ruminated where form- 
 erly the wildfowl built her nest. Chaos was vanquished, 
 and had to own man for her lord and master. 
 
 Here, upon the scene of his labors, Paul's figure as- 
 sumed a certain epic dignity. As a stern lord with a 
 handful of armed followers keeps down a subjugated 
 people, so Paul, at the head of a few hundred workmen, 
 held sway over the unruly forces of Nature always more 
 or less ready to revolt. There were always dikes to be 
 repaired, ditches to be deepened, drain-pipes to be laid 
 or improved, or artificial manure to be carted, and Paul 
 was active from break of day till nightfall, either on foot 
 or on horseback, hurrying from one end of the estate to 
 the other, everywhere ordering or giving a helping hand, 
 and always leading his troops himself to fresh onslaughts 
 against the resisting elements. He did it all quietly, 
 without any fuss or attempt to reflect credit on himself, 
 and left it to others — ^to strangers, poetically inclined 
 pupils or students on their travels — to say that his con- 
 quest of the Friesenmoor was a Faust-like achievement. 
 
 He had built a whole village for his laborers, to right 
 and left of the highroad leading to Friesenmoor House. 
 The cheerful, clean, whitewashed cottages, with their 
 green-painted window-frames, were thatched with rushes 
 and surrounded by gardens in which young fruit trees, 
 not yet sufficiently strong to forego the support of poles, 
 
2^4 TllS MALADY OP TSlS CENIVRT. 
 
 already gave promise of their first harvest of apples and 
 pears. The village hall and the school-house were dis- 
 tinguished by superior size and green-glazed tile roofs; 
 nor was a church, with a pointed belfry and ■weather- 
 cock, missing. For Paul was a model landowner, who 
 took ample thought for the welfare of his dependents, 
 and as soon as his means permitted it, had hastened to 
 build a church and appoint a pastor, providing thereby, 
 at the same time^ for one of his numerous relatives. In 
 his ardent loyalty to his king, he had expressed the wish 
 to call his village Kaiser-Wilhelm's Dorf, and had 
 received the desired permission. 
 
 In Kaiser-Wilh elm's Dorf, it was evident, content and 
 comparative prosperity reigned supreme. Behind every 
 house was a pigsty, behind nearly every one a cowshed. 
 The men looked strong and hearty ; the women, carrying 
 dinner to their husbands in the fields, or sitting knitting 
 on the benches in front of their doors, all presented 
 bright and cheerful faces, and the school would hardly 
 contain the crowd of flaxen-haired, blue-eyed children, 
 whose rounded cheeks gave evidence of a never-failing 
 and amply spread dinner-table. 
 
 In the beginning, all this made a vast impression on 
 Wilhelm. As the struggle with nature is man's real and 
 normal task, he instinctively feels an emotion almost 
 amounting to joy wherever he comes upon evidences of 
 victory. But, as usual with Wilhelm, this first instinc- 
 tive emotion was followed by the usual fatal speculations, 
 and he said to himself, "Paul has converted swamps into 
 cornfields, has enriched himself thereby, and supports 
 some hundreds of families. Good! but what further? 
 This great achievement has as its primary result, that 
 people are fed who otherwise perhaps would not eat so 
 much or so well, or merely would not feed on this spot 
 
fHE MALADY OF TSE CMNTURt. %1b 
 
 at all. But is the filling of one's own and other people's 
 stomachs the first and highest aim of life?" 
 
 Paul tried hard to interest him in the details of farm- 
 ing. He took him about, showed and explained every- 
 thing to him, and finally brought out his pet scheme — ■ 
 that he should sell the house in Berlin, and buy instead 
 some marshland near by, which was to be had for a 
 moderate sum ; he would give him a helping hand at first, 
 and as property of that kind could very well afford a 
 steward, he could easily get him a first-rate one. They 
 would be neighbors, TVilhelm would have a larger income 
 and fewer wants, and live in peace and comfort. Wil- 
 helm was profoundly touched by the affection which was 
 manifest in Paul's every word and thought, but the pros- 
 pects he opened up before him offered him no attrac- 
 tions. 
 
 In July, when the harvest was ripening for the sickle, 
 and man had nothing to do but leave the sun to its work 
 of brooding on the fields, Paul went one day to a com- 
 mittee meeting in the town. When he came home he 
 remarked to Wilhelm at supper : 
 
 "What do you think? They have discovered that I am 
 harboring a dangerous Social Democrat. The Landrath 
 actually remonstrated with me on the subject in a dis- 
 creet and well-meaning way. I can't tell you how the 
 man amused me, " and he laughed again as he recalled 
 the conversation. But all his amusement vanished when 
 Wilhelm answered : 
 
 "The Landrath was quite right. A political outlaw is 
 very doubtful company for a man in your position, and I 
 cannot think how I came to overlook the fact myself." 
 
 In vain did Paul endeavor to turn the matter into a 
 joke ; in vain that he showed himself inconsolable at his 
 stupidity in having told the story. Wilhelm declared 
 
^76 J'^^ kALADT OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 firmly that he must leave his friend, and bringing his 
 whole force of will to bear upon it, carried his intention 
 through. 
 
 The next day Paul's carriage took him to Harburg. 
 The parting was trying to all of them. Paul's leave- 
 taking was prolonged, and he made his friend promise he 
 would return next year for some weeks at least to Prieseu- 
 moor House. Malvine had tears in her eyes as she said, 
 "No one will care for you so much as we do." Even 
 little Willy was downcast, and gazed with a reproachful 
 look at the friend who could find it in his heart to desert 
 him. As the train moved off he called out to Wilhelm, 
 in his ringing, childish voice, "Come back soon, Onkel- 
 chen, and bring me something nice." 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 277 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A SEASIDE EOMANCB. 
 
 Wilhelm's immediate destination was Ostend. He 
 hardly knew himself how he came to fix on that particular 
 place. Since those days, long past, when his thoughts 
 had hovered for weeks round the Belgian watering-place, 
 the name had remained in his mind, and now, with his 
 desire to spend some months in company with the sea, 
 Ostend was the first place that occurred to him. 
 
 It was the middle of July, and watering places not very 
 full as yet, nor were there many people staying at the 
 Ocean Hotel where he stopped. Two Americans, who 
 had begun a summer tour on the Continent by a short 
 stay at Ostend, made friends with him on the first day 
 after his arrival, when they found he could speak Eng- 
 lish. They invited him to join them on their walks, and 
 made him give them information about Germany, and 
 especially about Berlin, which they intended visiting ; in 
 return they told him all about the north coast of France, 
 with its watering-places, big and little, which they had 
 "done" last year from Cherbourg to Dunkirk. 
 
 Strolling the next afternoon with his new acquaint- 
 ances along the Digue, a few steps in front of them he 
 saw a lady, plainly and darkly but most elegantly dressed 
 leaning on the arm of a tall man. They walked slowly, 
 and were evidently lost in contemplation of the softly 
 rolling sea. At first he paid but little attention to the 
 couple, and would not have noticed them at all had not 
 
278 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 the Digue been very empty of visitors just tten. But, 
 strange to say, his gaze kept vyandering from the oily 
 surface of the sea, and the steamers and fishing-smacks 
 plowing their way through it, to the slender figure of 
 the lady, who looked small beside her tall companion ; 
 and there gradually dawned upon him a dim idea that 
 that slight figure reminded him of somebody — that he 
 had seen those delicate contours, those graceful propor- 
 tions, that light and gliding gait before. "Without has- 
 tening his steps he soon overtook them, and recognized 
 at the first glance that it was Loulou. She too turned 
 her head involuntarily to look at the passing trio. As 
 she caught sight of Wilhelm a sudden pallor overspread 
 her face, and with an unconscious movement of terror she 
 dropped her companion's arm. Both stood stockstill, as 
 if suddenly deprived of the power of motion, and gazed 
 at one another wide-eyed. The silent encounter only 
 lasted a few seconds, but the play on both sides was so 
 marked that it could not fail to excite the attention of 
 the lookers-on. Loulou's attendant cavalier looked in 
 surprise from her to him, and evidently thought the pro- 
 ceedings most extraordinary. But before he had time to 
 ask for an explanation, "Wilhelm had turned on his heel 
 and was walking rapidly back to the hotel. The two 
 Americans followed him in silence. Nothing in the scene 
 had escaped them, but as true Anglo-Saxons the.y had 
 too much native reserve to ask for a confidence which was 
 not offered them. 
 
 "Wilhelm was most painfully affected by the encounter, 
 and not for worlds would he risk the possibility of meet- 
 ing again with the unfortunate woman and the man to 
 whom she now was bound in sinful union. That same 
 day he took leave of his Americans, and left Ostend early 
 the next morning, at once fearful and relieved, as though 
 
TB£1 MALAD Y OIP TSE CENTUS, T. 379 
 
 fleeing successfully from the scene of a dark deed of his 
 own committing. 
 
 After a long and tiresome journey, not made pleasanter 
 by having to change four or five times, he arrived late in 
 the evening at Eu, where he spent the night. The next 
 morning, an hour's drive in a hotel omnibus brought him 
 to Ault, a small market-town in the department of Somme, 
 which the Americans had recommended to him as the 
 quietest, cheapest, most unpretending, and at the same 
 time picturesquely situated of any of the seaside places 
 on the north coast of France, at least as far as Dieppe. 
 
 Wilhelm found Ault to be all it had been described. 
 The little place presented a well-to-do, self-respecting 
 appearance. The High Street, at right angles with the 
 shore, and rising gently toward the higher, billowy 
 country beyond, was wide and straight as a dart, and 
 scrupulously clean ; the roadway was macadamized, and a 
 flagged pavement ran along the two rows of houses. At 
 its upper end, broad and defiant, was a wonderful med- 
 iseval church in the earliest Gothic style, with high 
 pointed windows, a severely beautiful west door, and a 
 mighty square tower. The church blocked the way, and 
 forced the street to make a bend in order to pass round 
 it. This building, which would have adorned a capital, 
 stood there haughty and arrogant like a gigantic knight 
 in full tilting armor in the midst of the common people, 
 and seemed to wave the simple, unpretentious provincial 
 houses to right and left with a lordly gesture so that 
 nothing might intercept his view of the sea. Beside the 
 High Street there were a few little side alleys, mostly 
 inhabited by locksmiths, who worked with untiring 
 industry from morning till night, keeping up a cheerful 
 but far from unpleasing din which, mingled with the roar 
 of the breakers below, reached the ear as a soft musical 
 
380 ^3S MALAt) Y OV TEE CENTUR 7. 
 
 ring of metal. The only prominently ugly features in 
 the charming picture were the few villas on the neigh- 
 boring heights, built by retired Paris grocers and haber- 
 dashers; liliputian, pretentious, with blatant, highly- 
 colored fa9ades, ludicrous imitations of baronial fort- 
 resses, Venetian palaces, or Eenaissance chateaux. 
 
 The inhabitants of Ault were a peaceable, sober- 
 minded people. No one was ever drunk, nor was the 
 sound of quarreling ever to be heard. There were few 
 public-houses ; several places, however, dignified by the 
 name of cafes. The natives were so far accustomed to 
 summer visitors that they did not take much notice of 
 them, but happily not so much as to direct their whole 
 thought and energy to fleecing them. It seemed as if the 
 people of Ault had merely arranged a bathing place for 
 the purpose of deriving a little amusement out of the 
 strangers, not in order to make a living out of them, that 
 being quite unnecessary, as their comfortable figures, 
 good clothes, and well-filled shops could testify. 
 
 Wilhelm took up his quarters in the Hotel de France, 
 situated just where the High Street swept round the side 
 of the church. As the house was separated from the sea 
 by the whole opposite row of houses, one only caught a 
 glimpse of it as a narrow, glittering streak across the in- 
 tervening roof s from the second-floor windows. The view 
 from the front windows was the more remarkable. They 
 looked out upon the churchyard which lay behind the 
 Gothic cathedral. Not that there was anything depress- 
 ing in the sight; it made, on the contrary, a cheerful 
 impression, with its carefully tended flower beds and 
 magnificent old trees, which almost hid the modest head- 
 stones they overshadowed, and in whose branches count- 
 less singing birds had built their nests, while noisy 
 troops of children played under them at all hours of the 
 day. 
 
THE MALADY OF THE GENTUBT. 281 
 
 Wilhelm directed his steps at once to this churchyard, 
 ■where, beside the modern iron crosses, there ■were marble 
 headstones showing dates that -went back to the seven- 
 teenth century. In the oldest as ■well as the ne'west in- 
 scriptions the same name occurred over and over again, 
 speaking well for the settled habits of the population. 
 And, according to the inscriptions, most of those buried 
 here had lived to be eighty or ninety years of age. Had 
 Ault been a professedly fashionable bathing place, one 
 might have been tempted to think that this churchyard, 
 with its cheering records in stone and iron of the longevity 
 of the natives, had been set down in the very center of 
 the town to encourage the visitors. 
 
 The Hotel de France recommended itself by extreme 
 cleanliness, but otherwise it was very simple. The 
 rooms contained only such furniture as was absolutely 
 necessary, the dining-room was bare of decoration, and 
 therefore happily free of those, gruesome colored prints 
 which the commercial traveller delights to sow broadcast 
 over the unsuspecting country towns. Only the so-called 
 salon boasted the luxury of a cottage piano, a prolished 
 table, a few cane chairs, and a looking-glass over the 
 chimneypieoe, on which lay a box of dominoes and a 
 backgammon board, eloquently suggestive of mine host's 
 ideas as to the most suitable occupation for his guests. 
 
 The hotel proprietors were as simple and homely as 
 their house. The man wore a seaman's cap and a blue 
 coat with brass anchor buttons, and was more than de- 
 lighted if you took him for a seafaring man. He had, in 
 fact, been to sea once, as ship's cook, or steward, or 
 something of the sort. Now he sat most of the time in 
 the cafe of the hotel, supplied the neighbors with little 
 drams of cognac, and told the visitors endless stories of 
 the buying and selling of property in the little town. 
 
282 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 His wife ■was the soul of the establishment. She pos- 
 sessed the gift of omnipresence. At one and the same 
 moment you might see her in the kitchen and in the 
 outhouses, in the hotel and in the cafe. The servants, of 
 whom there was a considerable number, answered to a 
 loot, a beck of her finger. You could hear her clear 
 voice from morning till night in the courtyard or on the 
 stairs. Everywhere she lent a helping hand, and her 
 busy fingers accomplished as much as all the men and 
 maids put together. With it all she was never out of 
 temper, always had a word or a smile for every passer-by, 
 took a personal interest in each of her guests, took in- 
 stant notice of a diminished appetite or a pale cheek, and 
 always sent up lime-flower tea to anybody who happened 
 to come rather later than usual to breakfast. 
 
 The hotel was pretty full when Wilhelm arrived, but 
 he made no attempt to mix with the company he met 
 twice a day at the table d'hote. His French had grown 
 somewhat rusty for want of practice, and he did not 
 trust himself to join in the exceedingly lively and general 
 conversation till he had regained something of his old 
 fluency in long daily talks with the landlord. Beside 
 which, he did not feel greatly drawn toward his fellow- 
 guests. Their high-sounding and pompously-expressed 
 platitudes bored him, their absurd views on politics, 
 their parrot-like and yet self-satisfied remarks on litera- 
 ture and art filled him with compassion. One guest in 
 particular, who sat at the head of the table, and gen- 
 erally led the conversation in the loudest tones, succeeded 
 in making him very impatient, in spite of the mildness 
 with which Wilhelm usually judged his fellows. He did 
 business in sewing machines in Paris, but here gave him- 
 self out as an "ingenieur constructeur," and belonged to 
 that class of persons who cannot endure not to be the 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 283 
 
 center of observation wherever they happen to be. It 
 has been said of a man of that stamp, that if he were at 
 a wedding he would wish to be the bridegroom, and if at 
 a funeral to be in the place of the corpse. At the dinner 
 table of the Hotel de Prance he reigned supreme. His 
 strong point lay in the perpetration of the most ghastly 
 puns, which he would discharge first to the right and 
 then to the left, and finally, with a roar of laughter, over 
 the whole table. In his outward appearance, too, he 
 sought to create a sensation. He was not dressed, he 
 was costumed. He wore long stockings, knickerbockers 
 and a tight-fitting jacket, and when he stood up, tried to 
 produce effects with his calves, spread his legs wide apart 
 as if, like the Colossus of Ehodes, ships were to pass be- 
 neath, and affected sporting and athletic attitudes gen- 
 erally. He was accompanied by a lady who had at first 
 roused the horrified disgust of the others by her appetite, 
 which surpassed every known human limit, and then pro- 
 ceeded to make herself still more hateful by a frequent 
 change of costume. 
 
 Wilhelm's immediate neighbor was a lady of somewhat 
 exuberant outline, but extremelj' plainly dressed, and 
 without a single ornament, of whom at first he took no 
 more notice than of the rest of the company. She re- 
 turned his silent bow at coming and going, and acknowl- 
 edged the little attentions of the dinner table — the hand- 
 ing of salt or entrees, of bread or cider (the table bev- 
 erage) — with & lo-w " Merci, monsieur," accompanied by 
 a pleasant smile and an inclination of the head. The 
 acquaintance began with a look. It was after a more 
 than usually exasperating pun from the man in the 
 knickerbockers, and involuntarily their eyes met, after 
 which they exchanged glances each time he came out 
 with a particularly blatant piece of idiocy. They could 
 
284 ^'SE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 not long remain in doubt that their opinion on the pre- 
 vailing conversation was identical, and the tinanimity of 
 their tastes was still further demonstrated by the fact 
 that the lady was as silent during the meals as Wilhelm. 
 
 The interchange of looks was presently followed by 
 words. It was the lady who broke the ice by alluding 
 to a somewhat peculiar incident. It happened to be 
 market day, and Wilhelm had been watching with inter- 
 est the cheerful bustle in the High Street, and the new 
 tj'pe of country people : the men with their carts bring- 
 ing in calves, pigs, and grain, fine-looking fellows, with 
 tall sturdy figures, and shrewd, clean-shaven faces above 
 the blue cotton white-embroidered blouses and severely 
 sti£E snow-white shirt collars; and the women in round 
 dark-brown cloaks reaching to their feet; the drum-beat- 
 ing, yelling tooth-drawers and patent medicine venders 
 praising their remedies against tapeworm and ague with 
 incredible volubility, and the couple of majestic gen- 
 darmes in their imposing uniforms, with yellow leather 
 belts and cocked hats, who found no occasion to exhibit 
 their stern official side to the noisy, laughing, but well- 
 behaved crowd. After strolling for awhile among the 
 carts and people, "Wilhelm had caught sight of a large 
 and handsome donkey, had gone up to him and stroked 
 him, and said a variety of friendly things to him. 
 
 At dinner, noting that his neighbor was looking about 
 in search of something, he asked politely : 
 
 "Madame is in want of something?" 
 
 "The water, if you please," said she. 
 
 He handed her the carafe, which was out of her reach ; 
 she thanked him, and, not to let the conversation drop, 
 added with a pleasant smile : 
 
 "Monsieur seems fond of donkeys?" 
 
 "Indeed!" he answered, surprised. 
 
THE MALADt Of THE GeI^TURT. 285 
 
 "I saw you this morning patting and stroking a splen- 
 did donkey." 
 
 He had not thought of it again. 
 
 "Yes,no'wIremein'ber, "he answered; "it was a charm- 
 ing beast, with wonderfully wise, thoughtful eyes." 
 
 "Do you think so too?" she cried, delighted. "You 
 must know, I have a special weakness for donkeys, and 
 consider that, next to dogs, they are by far the most 
 intelligent of our domestic animals. They have such a 
 look of profound wisdom, such stoical philosophy and 
 resignation, that I feel they are quite a lesson to me." 
 
 Wilhelm could not repress a smile at her lively tone. 
 
 "I should like to think," he said, "that our agreeing 
 in a good opinion of the donkey is a sign that the un- 
 grateful world has at last come to a proper appreciation 
 of this ugly fellow-laborer." 
 
 "Ugly?" she exclaimed. "I don't think so at all! 
 Look at his delicate hoofs, his elegantly-tufted tail, the 
 soft, silvery gray of his coat with the velvety, black 
 markings; and his ears are very becoming to him. It is 
 such an injustice always to compare him with the horse. 
 He is altogether a different type, but quite as handsome 
 in his way." 
 
 "Then you would whitewash Titania in 'Midsummer- 
 Night's Dream?' " 
 
 She laughed. "Well, Titania might have done worse. 
 But how is it that the donkey has come to be the symbol 
 of stupidity?" 
 
 "Perhaps because of his want of spirit, and his per- 
 versity. " 
 
 "No, I believe it is something else. People found a 
 great, strong animal that could, if it liked, be just as 
 difficult to manage, and resist just as well as a horse, and 
 yet was quite content with the worst of food, required 
 
286 TBB MALADY OF TBE GBNTUttT. 
 
 neither stable nor grooming, worked till it dropped, and 
 never bit or kicTjed. So they said, an animal that is 
 strong enough to hurt us, and yet puts up with any kind 
 of treatment, must necessarily be deadly stupid. That 
 is how it was. People cannot believe that one may be 
 good-tempered and uncomplaining and yet have any 
 brains. With them to be wicked and violent and preten- 
 tious is to be clever. If the donkey would refuse to eat 
 anything but oats and barley, and turned and rent any- 
 body who annoyed him in the slightest degree, you 
 would see how people would immediately have the high- 
 est respect for his intellect." 
 
 "You seem to have a low opinion of your fellow-crea- 
 tures, madame?" 
 
 "It is their own fault then," she replied, gazing 
 through the window into the courtyard. 
 
 After this conversation "Wilhelm looked for the first 
 time more attentively at his neighbor. He -had a general 
 impression of her being tall and stout, with a remarkably 
 clear, bright complexion. Now he took in the details. 
 In spite of the fullness of her figure she was slender about 
 the waist, and her small slim hands, with their tapering 
 fingers and pink nails, retained the purity of their out- 
 line, and had by no means degenerated into mere cush- 
 ions of fat. The proudly-poised head was crowned by a 
 wealth of heavy, pale brown hair with dull gold reflec- 
 tions in it, waving in soft, downy locks round her fore- 
 head. The cheeks were very full but firm, and the well 
 shaped, boldly modeled nose stood in exactly the right 
 proportion to the rather large face. The light brown 
 eyes with their remarkably small pupils were conspicu- 
 ously lively, and flashed and sparkled incessantly on all 
 sides. Their expression was extremely intelligent and 
 generally mocking, and if you looked long at them you 
 
THE MALADY OF THE OENTURT. 287 
 
 gained the somewhat -uncomfortable impression that that 
 cold clear glance could, on occasion, stab a heart as 
 cruelly as would a dagger. But her most striking feature 
 was her mouth — a sudden dash of -violent coral-red in the 
 opalescent white of her face. This brutal effect of color 
 exercised a peculiar fascination and riveted the attention. 
 The eye lingered upon those lips — so voluptuously, so 
 sinfully full, so burning, blood-red that in the chastest 
 mind, even a woman's, they must suggest the image of 
 vampire -like kisses. Take her for all in all, she was a 
 magnificent creature, this woman of thirty, overflowing 
 with health and life, in all her triumphant display of 
 full-blown womanly beauty. Not a man in the hotel but 
 had looked at her in undisguised admiration, and if they 
 had not yet ventured to make advances to her, it was 
 becau&e she intimidated them by her cold hauteur, 
 or by the mocking twinkle of her eye. 
 
 Only for Wilhelm, now that she had really taken notice 
 of him, did those eyes begin to grow soft and gentle, and 
 when they met his turned meek and harmless, and, in 
 their apparent innocence, seemed to plead to him for 
 notice, confidence, instruction. He did not remain im- 
 pervious to their influence. It afforded him distinct 
 pleasure to sit at table beside this beautiful woman and 
 show her small attentions. On his long walks he caught 
 himself thinking deeply about her, while the blood 
 coursed with unwonted heat through his veins. He 
 marked her entrance into the dining room or salon by his 
 heart stopping suddenly and then racing on in wild, 
 irregular beats, and if he looked at her the indecorous 
 thought came to him that it would be a joy to stroke 
 those firm, round cheeks, to pass one's fingers gently over 
 those swelling lips, but more especially to bury one's 
 hands in that flood of silken hair. These various ais- 
 
288 THE MALADY OF TEE CENTUBt. 
 
 coveries rather took him abaci, and resulted in increas- 
 ing his reserve almost to the point of rudeness. He still 
 only met her at the table d'hote, and never attempted to 
 approach at any other time, although she had asked him 
 repeatedly if he did not take walks or make excursions 
 into the country. 
 
 One morning, soon after the conversation about the 
 donkey, he went down to the beach, where, it being the 
 bathing hour, the whole visiting population of Ault was 
 assembled. The coast met the sea at this point as a per- 
 pendicular wall of rock a hundred and fifty feet high, 
 stretching away to the west in an endless line, but on the 
 east side, sloping gradually do\vn, till about two miles 
 further on, it lost itself in the flat line of the shore. 
 Where the sweep of the bare, gra5' cliff made a slight 
 backward curve, the sea had washed the shingle together 
 to form a little beach covered with pebbles from the 
 largest to the smallest size. Here two rows of modest 
 wooden cabins were erected, which served as bathing 
 houses ; and beside these, a great wooden structure on 
 wheels, not unlike the enormous house-caravans in which 
 the owners of shows and menageries and such-like wan- 
 dering folk travel about from fair to fair. The French 
 flag fluttering from a pole on the top of the caravan drew 
 attention to it, and on closer inspection one read above the 
 entrance— which was approached by a movable wooden 
 staircase — the proud legend "Casino d'Ault. " Yes, Ault 
 actually boasted a casino, with an entrance fee of ten 
 centimes a head, and in the single room, which occupied 
 the whole structure, you found a jeu de course, and other 
 games of hazard, exactly as they had them in the most 
 renowned and elegant dens of thieves of the fashionable 
 watering places. 
 
 Here, however, nobody went to the dogs. Life on the 
 
THE MALADY OF THE GBNTURT. 389 
 
 shore was prim and patriarchal. Whole families sat or 
 lay about on camp stools or on traveling rugs, the wives 
 in morning wraps, the husbands smoking in linen suits; 
 the former occupied with needlework, the latter reading 
 ■ the newspapers or novels. The young people ran about 
 barefoot and in bathing costume, or lay at the edge of the 
 water fishing for shrimps, which they rarely or never 
 caught. ' There were merry, noisy groups of bathers in 
 the shallow water near the shore, splashing one another, 
 shrieking at the approach of the larger waves, bobbing 
 up and down, and shouting encouragement to the new- 
 comers, who only ventured timidly and by degrees into 
 the chilly waters. As verj" few of the bathers could 
 swim, this all took place in the close vicinity. 
 
 At first Wilhelm had been rather shocked to see the 
 two sexes bathing together, and that the girls and mar- 
 ried women — ^ooming out of the sea with their legs and 
 arms bare, and their clinging, wet bathing dresses reveal- 
 ing the outline of their forms with embarrassing distinct- 
 ness — should calmly stroll back to the bathing houses 
 under the open gaze of the men. For that reason he 
 even refrained from going to the shore at the bathing 
 hour, or bathing there himself. By degrees, however, he 
 grew accustomed to it, seeing that nobody thought any- 
 thing of it, and that the almost nude figures disported 
 themselves among their equally unconcerned parents, 
 relatives, and friends with the naive unconsciousness of 
 South Sea Islanders. 
 
 As he made his way, not too easily, over the rolling 
 shingle between the chattering, lazy groups, he saw his 
 neighbor of the table d'hote sitting, a little apart, on a 
 camp stool under a large dark sunshade, an open book 
 on her lap, and her eyes fixed on the smooth, bright 
 surface of the ocean. She noticed "Wilhelm, and smiled 
 
290 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 and nodded pleasantly, almost before he could bow to 
 her. There was something of invitation in her nod, 
 which, however, he did not follow, he could not have said 
 exactly why. Confused, and a prey to all sorts of unde- 
 fined emotions, he continued his walk till he reached the 
 point where the waves, breaking at the very foot of the 
 cliff, prevented his going any further. As he turned, he 
 remembered that he would have to pass her again, and 
 considered if he could not avoid it by keeping close to 
 the cliff and so get behind her. But why go out of his 
 way to avoid her? That was driving shyness to the 
 verge of churlishness. She was friendly toward him, 
 why repay her kindness by such foolish and uncalled-for 
 reserve? And ashamed, almost indignant at himself, he 
 came to a sudden determination, and directed his steps 
 straight toward the lady. She had watched him all the 
 time, and now smiled to him from afar, as she saw him 
 making for her. 
 
 "When he got up to her he stood still and raised his 
 hat. She saved him the embarrassment of making a 
 beginning by saying at once in the most natural tone in 
 the world : 
 
 "How nice of you to come and keep me company for a 
 little while! Won't you sit down on this plaid?" 
 
 He thanked her, and did as he was bid, seating himself 
 on the thick, soft rug. His head was shaded by the 
 great parasol, the sun warmed his knees. 
 
 "Are you a great admirer of the sea?" asked the lady. 
 
 "I hardly know myself yet. I must make its nearer 
 acquaintance first," answered Wilhelm. 
 
 "I confess that it leaves me quite unmoved. No, not 
 that exactly, for I am rather vexed at it for giving so 
 many idiots an excuse for ranting and absurd sentimen- 
 tality. Now just look at all these people on the beach. 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURT. 291 
 
 In reality they are bored to extinction, and enjoy the 
 Boulevards infinitely more than this expanse of water, 
 ■which is quite meaningless, to them. And yet you have 
 only to mention the word — the sea — and they will in- 
 stantly turn up their eyes and utart oiiE repeating the les- 
 son they have learned by rote about their rapture and 
 enthusiasm, just like a musical box which grinds out a 
 tune when you press a button at the top. The sea was 
 invented by a few romantically inclined poets. But I 
 deny that there is any truth in their rhapsodies ; the sea 
 is hopelessly monotonous, and monotony excludes the 
 possibility of beauty or charm. One has at most the 
 same feeling for it as for a mirror in which one sees one- 
 self reflected. The sea is a blank page, which each one 
 fills up with whatever he happens to have in his own 
 mind, or, if you like it better, a frame into which one 
 puts pictures of one's own imagining. I grant that .you 
 can dream by the side of the sea, for it does nothing to 
 disturb your dreams or give them any particular bent or 
 coloring. But can it give the impulse to thought and 
 emotion like the ever-changing outlines of mountain and 
 forest? Never! People with unsophisticated minds 
 know that well enough. The population of the coast 
 always builds its houses with their backs to the sea. 
 
 "As a defence against the storms," "Wilhelm interposed. 
 
 "That may be. But that is not the only reason. It is 
 because the sight of that eternal waste of waters, without 
 a boundary line, without the variety or movement of life 
 upon it, bores them, and they prefer to look out upon the 
 country with all its expressive and varying outlines." 
 
 "But the expression which you see in a landscape — ■ 
 you put that into it yourself, by an effort of your own 
 imagination. Forests and mountains are in themselves 
 as inanimate as the sea," 
 
392 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 "Quite so; but the landscape has features which re- 
 mind us of something else, which play, as it were, upon 
 the keyboard of our associations, and it thus calls up the 
 pictures with which we proceed to enliven it. The sea 
 does nothing of this, and the.best proof of that is, that 
 no painter has ever yet used the sea by itself for his 
 model. Did yoa ever know of an artist who painted 
 nothing but the sea?" 
 
 "Yes, Aiwasowky. " 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 "A Eussian who paints extraordinary sea pieces." 
 
 "What! Only water — without shore, or people, or 
 ships?" 
 
 "I remember a picture with absolutely nothing but 
 water, only a spar, or a mast floating on it." 
 
 "There, you see!" she cried in triumph. "That 
 broken mast is a trick of the artist. There lies the story. 
 You instantly think of a wrecked ship ; you see men, 
 catastrophes, weeping widows and sweethearts; the spar 
 becomes the central point of the picture, and you forget 
 all about the sea. Moreover, the ancients, who surely 
 had an eye for all that is grand and beautiful, they did 
 not know either what to do with the sea. They were a 
 magnificent race, healthy-minded realists — and kept 
 strictly to the evidences of their senses without adding 
 anything transcendental. The sea only appealed to their 
 ear. Homer's adjectives for the sea are only expressive 
 of sound — the resounding, the jubilant, the loud-rushing; 
 hardly more than once does he allude to the gloomy or 
 the wine-colored sea." 
 
 "You have your classics at your fingers' ends, like any 
 philologist." 
 
 "That need not surprise you. With regard to the 
 really beautiful, I have neither pride nor prejudice. 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTUBt. 293 
 
 Even the fact that the common herd of the reading public 
 has made a point of praising him for a hundred years 
 does not prevent me from enjoying a true poet." 
 
 "But if you dislike the sea so much why do you come 
 here?" 
 
 "Oh," laughed the handsome lady, "that is the fault 
 of my doctors. They sent me to the sea to thin me 
 down, and by their orders I -was to choose a very dull, 
 very remote bathing place, where I should be sure not to 
 meet any acquaintances. For directly I have friends 
 about me, I enjoy myself, laugh, talk, and then I get 
 stout again. Now to-day, for instance, I have acted con- 
 trary to my medical orders — Ii have had a very pleasant 
 chat with you." 
 
 "Tou are too kind. You have given everything and 
 received nothing in return." 
 
 "That is exactly what I like — always to give, never to 
 receive." 
 
 "That is not woman's way usually. But you are very 
 exceptional. Pardon a possibly indiscreet question — do 
 you write?" 
 
 "Good gracious! Do I look like a blue-stocking?" 
 
 "I never made a distinct picture of that type." 
 
 "You need not be afraid, I am not an authoress. The 
 most I have ever done in that way was to give a novelist, 
 or a comedy-writer of my acquaintance, a little help now 
 and then. When they want a lady's letter, they like me 
 to write it. But you — I suppose you are an author?" 
 
 "No,''madame; I study natural science."" 
 
 "A professor then?" 
 
 "No, only an amateur." 
 
 "Ah! And you are French?" 
 
 "I am German." 
 
 • 'Impossible!" exclaimed the lady. 
 
ii94 THE MALADY OF TEE CENTURY. 
 
 "Why impossible?" asked Wilhelm, smiling. 
 
 "You have no accent, and you look " 
 
 "You probably think that every German has light blue 
 eyes, flaxen hair, and a long pipe?" 
 
 "That is certainly pretty much how we picture Ger- 
 mans to ourselves in Spain." 
 
 It was his turn to be surprised. "You a Spaniard?" 
 
 "And how had you pictured a Spanish lady? Of 
 course with jet black eyes and hair, and a mantilla?" 
 
 Wilhelm nodded. 
 
 "There are fair Spaniards, however, as you see. In 
 fact, it is very common in our best families — an 'inheri- 
 tance perhaps from our Gothic ancestors." 
 
 "I suppose, like all Latins, you despise the Germans?" 
 
 "I beg, monsieur, that you will not class me with the 
 mass.'' I wish to be regarded as an individual. What- 
 ever the prejudices of the Latins may be, I have my own 
 opinion. Your nationality in a matter of indifference to 
 me. I only consider the man," and she gave him a look 
 that sent the blood flaming to his cheek. 
 
 The hotel meals were always announced by a bell which 
 could be heard quite well on the shore. In the heat of 
 their conversation, however, they did not notice the 
 signal. A lady's maid whom Wilhelm had often seen at 
 the hotel — a midle-aged, female dragoon with a mus- 
 tache and a very stiff and dignified deportment — now 
 came up to the lady and said : 
 
 "Madame la Comtesse did not hear the dinner bell?" 
 
 She rose and took Wilhelm 's arm without further ado. 
 The maid followed with the rug and the camp stool. The 
 beach was quite deserted, everybody having gone to din- 
 ner. The tide was rising, and had nearly covered the 
 strip of beach. The thunder of the waves, mingled with 
 the rattle of the pebbles which they sucked after thenT as 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 295 
 
 they receded, followed the couple as they slowly made 
 their way bank to the hotel. 
 
 On the road home they passed the post office. The 
 .maid, whose gentle name of Anne hardly matched her 
 martial appearance, had hurried on in front to fetch her 
 mistress' letters and newspapers. She handed them to 
 the lady, who smilingly tore off the wrapper from her 
 Figaro and gave it to Wilhelm, saying: "You do not 
 know my name yet?" Wilhelm read on the slip of paper: 
 "Madame la Comtesse Pilar de Pozaldez — -nee de 
 Henares." "My father," she added in explanation, "was 
 Major-General Marquis de Henares." 
 
 "And here is my very plebeian name," returned Wil- 
 helm, pulling out his card and handing it to her.. 
 
 "There are no such things as plebeian names — only 
 plebeian hearts," said the countess, as she glanced at the 
 card, and then put it away in her own elegant tortoise- 
 shell case, which bore her monogram and crest in gold 
 and colored enamel. 
 
 The acquaintance was now fully established, and after 
 dinner the countess invited Wilhelm, in the most natural 
 manner possible, to accompany her on a walk into the 
 country. 
 
 The surroundings of Ault were very pretty. Emerald- 
 green meadows alternately with a few cornfields decked 
 the gentle billowy uplands, which sloped away abruptly 
 toward the sea. Trees stood separately or in groups 
 reaching to the edge of the cliff, over which many of 
 them bent their storm-disheveled heads and gazed into 
 the waves below. Here and there were small inclosed 
 woods, and it was at the edge of one of these, about a 
 quarter of a mile walk from the town, that the countess 
 seated herself on a mossy bank in the shade. Wilhelm 
 sat down beside her on the gnarled root of a tree ; Anne 
 
296 THE MALADY OF TSE CENTURY. 
 
 was sent home, to return in two hours' time, but Fido 
 was allowed to remain. He was a silvery-white sheep- 
 dog with a sharp muzzle, stiff little pointed ears, and a 
 bushy tail curling tightly over his back. He had 
 attached himself to Wilhelm from the first moment, and 
 gave vent to his delight when caressed by having a severe 
 attack of asthmatic coughing, puffing and blowing. 
 
 "You live in Paris, do you not?" asked the countess 
 after they had exchanged remarks on the scenery. 
 
 "No," returned Wilhelm, "up till now I have lived in 
 Berlin, but I had to leave for political reasons, and now 
 I am a sort of vagrant without any actual home. 
 
 "Ah — a political refugee!" cried the countess. "How 
 charming! Of course you will take up j'our abode in 
 Paris now — that is the sacred tradition with all political 
 exiles. Yes, yes — you must; beside, how horrid it 
 would have been to part after a few weeks and go our 
 separate ways — you to the right, I to the left- — and with 
 only the consoling prospect of meeting again some day 
 beyond the stars! So you will come to Paris, and if you , 
 have any intention of getting up a revolution in Ger- 
 many, I beg that you will count me among your confed- 
 erates. You need not laugh — Paris is swarming with 
 Spanish refugees of all parties, and I have had plenty of 
 opportunity of gaining experience in the planning of 
 conspiracies." 
 
 "I have no such ambition," answered Wilhelm, smil- 
 ing, "and am, in any case, no politician, although I 
 enjoy the distinction of being an exile." 
 
 "Shall you take up any profession in Paris? I have 
 connections — ■ — " 
 
 "You are very good, Madame la Comtesse. You will 
 perhaps think less of me, but I have no actual profes- 
 sion. " 
 
THM Hal AD Y of TSa CENT out. 297 
 
 "Think less of you. On the contrary, to have no pro- 
 
 sion is to be free —to be one's own master. Any one 
 who is forced to earn his living must, of course, have a 
 profession. But it is never anj'thing but a necessary 
 evil. It is only pedantic people who look upon it as an 
 object of life. At most, it is a means to an end." 
 
 "And what do you consider to be the real object of 
 life?" 
 
 "Can you ask? Why, happiness of course!" 
 
 "Happiness — certainly. But then each one of us has 
 a different conception of happiness. To one it is knowl- 
 edge, to another the fulfilling of duty, to lower natures 
 wealth and worldly honors. Therefore, it is possible to 
 imagine that some one may find happiness in pursuing a 
 profession." 
 
 "Oh, no, my dear Herr Eynhardt, those are the mis- 
 taken views of gloomy and limited natures who are inca- 
 pable of rcognizing the true object of life. There are no 
 two ideals of happiness — there is but one." 
 
 "And that is?" 
 
 "To wish for something very, very much— and get it." 
 
 "Even if it is something foolish?" 
 
 "Even then." 
 
 "And even if one should lose if afterward?" 
 
 She gazed for a while into the distance in silence and 
 then said firmly — "Yes, even then." And after a pause 
 she added — "You have, at least, had a moment of abso- 
 lute happiness^ — -when you found your wish fulfilled. 
 And what more do you want? One only lives to expe- 
 rience such moments." 
 
 "Unfortunately, your theory of happiness does not fit 
 every case. Where is the happiness to come from for 
 one who has no wishes at all, or who wishes for some- 
 thing unattainable — perfect understanding, for instance ? 
 
^98 i'SE MAtAbt OF T6E OENTffRf. 
 
 "A human being without a wish — is there such a 
 thing?" 
 
 "Yes, Madame la Comtesse, there is." 
 
 "You perhaps?" she asked quickly. 
 
 "Perhaps," Wilhelm returned. 
 
 "Then you are not in love?" she said, and let her 
 brilliant eyes rest upon his melancholy face. 
 
 He shook his head gently without looking at her, as if 
 ashamed of the want of gallantry in such a confession. 
 
 "But at least you were once?" she persisted eagerly. 
 
 "Have I ever really been in love? Perhaps — Or no, I 
 do not know myself." 
 
 "Thankless creature! You hesitate — you are not sure! 
 How shameful of you to deny the gods you have once 
 worshiped ! But that is the way with you men. If you 
 cease to love, you will not admit that you ever had loved. 
 Tell me, was there ever a moment in your life when you 
 could have answered my question — 'Are you in love?' — 
 with an unqualified Yes?" 
 
 "Yes, I have known such a moment. But, looking 
 back upon it now ■" 
 
 "No, no, you were quite right then and you are wrong 
 now. That is just j'our great mistake. You imagine 
 that one can only love once, and that love, to be real, must 
 last forever. My poor friend, nothing lasts forever, and 
 the truest love is sometimes as perishable as the loveliest 
 rose — the most exquisite dream. But it is not to say that 
 because it is over we are to deny that it ever existed. 
 You may not feel anything now, but that is no reason for 
 declaring that you did not feel it then. You thought 
 you were in love, and therefore you were. It is sophistry 
 to try to persuade oneself of the contrary in after 
 days." 
 
 "You are a brilliant advocate of your views, Madame 
 
TBW MALADY OF THE GENTUBT. §99 
 
 la Comtesse, but nevertheless may one take a momentary 
 delusion " 
 
 "Delusion ! And who shall say, my German philosopher, 
 if our whole existence may not be a delusion?" 
 
 "Ah, there you drive my philosophy very hard," mur- 
 mured AVilhelm. 
 
 "Never been in love?" exclaimed the countess, and 
 her lustrous hazel eyes flashed; "w,hy you would be a 
 monster. I suppose you are nearly thirty?" 
 
 "Nearly thirty-five." 
 
 "I congratulate you, Herr Eynhardt, I should have 
 taken you for at least five years less. But whether thirty 
 or thirty-four, it would be culpable to have reached that 
 age without having been in love. For you surely are not 
 — a disciple of Abelard. " 
 
 At this point-blank question Wilhelm reddened and 
 cast down his eyes like the boy he really was in some 
 respects. She observed his embarrassment, not without 
 secret amusement. 
 
 "But seriously," she went on, "your little bit of love 
 is the best there is about you men. No, it is the only 
 good thing, the only thing that makes your bluntness, 
 your selfishness, your want of sentiment bearable." 
 
 "Yes, so the women say. They see nothing in the 
 whole world or in life but love. They judge men solely 
 according to their capacity for, or their zeal in, loving. 
 And yet it takes more strength and manliness to resist 
 love than to give way to it. They only care for men who 
 are slaves to that passion. I admire those chaste and 
 saintly men who have been able to cast ofE the bonds of 
 the flesh. The highest point of the human mind is only 
 reached by him who has never suffered himself to be 
 dragged down by his senses. Christ taught the denial 
 of the flesh both in precept and example. Newton never 
 knew a woman." 
 
SOO 2'ir;^ IfALADT of THE OENTURY. 
 
 "I know nothing about Newton," she retorted, "but 
 Christ had a feeling heart for the Magdalen and the adiil- 
 teress. Beside, Christ was a God, and I am speaking of 
 ordinary mortals, and it is only through woman, through 
 your love of woman, that you become heroes and demi- 
 gods. " 
 
 "No, " Wilhelm answered bluntly, "it is woman who 
 drags man down to the level of the beasts. We have a 
 German fairy tale in which a bear becomes human as 
 soon as he embraces a woman. In real life it is just the 
 opposite. The knowledge of woman, the lust of the flesh, 
 transforms man into a beast. You know the classics so 
 well and are so fond of them — there is no apter allegory 
 than thestory of Semele, who desired once to see her lover, 
 Jupiter, without the weaknesses and infirmities of the 
 flesh — as the Lord of High Heaven — and perished at the 
 sight." 
 
 "Very well," said she softly, "you may despise me 
 and say I am like Semele. I prefer a warm-hearted, lov- 
 ing bea'st to an icy-cold and proud philosopher. Any- 
 how, I am very fond of animals," and, lost in dreamy 
 thought, she stroked Fido, who began to gasp and choke 
 with delight, and eagerly licked the caressing hand. 
 After a pause she resumed slowly — "I should never have 
 thought you were such a desperate woman-hater. You 
 have heaped insult on my sex and consequently on me. 
 I expect you to make reparation for that by — being very 
 nice to me." 
 
 She looked him deep in the eyes and stretched out her 
 hand, which he seized in confusion and pressed. Sud- 
 denly he let it drop. The countess looked up in sur- 
 prise, and following Wilhelm 's gaze, she caught sight of 
 the hotel wit and his lady coming along the deep path- 
 way that ran round the foot of the wooded hill, on the 
 slope of which they were sitting. 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 301 
 
 "Oh, what do these common people matter?" exclaimed 
 the countess in a tone of vexation. "And what is the 
 harm, if they do see us? Thej' will only boast, when they 
 get back to their shop in Paris, that they saw a great 
 lady in Ault. " 
 
 But for all that, the dangerously sweet spell of the 
 moment was broken, and did not return before Anne ar- 
 rived, whom Fido ran sneezing and wriggling to meet. 
 
 For the rest of the day Wilhelm was silent and thought- 
 ful, seeming to awake from a dream each time the count- 
 ess spoke to him at dinner. She was perfectly aware of 
 what was going on in him, and sought by looks, words, 
 and manner to increase the effects of the afternoon's con- 
 versation. When the meal was over she took Wilhelm 's 
 arm again and asked — totally unconcerned that the rest 
 of the company exchanged glances — "What are you 
 going to do this evening?" 
 
 "I thought of taking a little walk on the shore," he 
 stammered shyly. 
 
 "Oh, selfish creature ! — and leave me all alone, though I 
 might be bored to death? No, come up to my room. 
 You have never paid me a visit yet. Anne will get us 
 some tea, and we can talk." 
 
 The countess had two rooms on the first floor, most 
 plainly furnished, without a carpet or a single decoration 
 on the walls. One of the rooms served as bedroom, the 
 other as salon. At least it contained no bed, but a chaise 
 longue instead, a rocking chair, and a table with a jute 
 cover. The countess was inwardly much amused at Wil- 
 helm's timorous hesitation in crossing her threshold. She 
 relieved him of his hat and gave it to Anne, who hung it 
 on a nail with the utmost gravity, but could not refrain 
 from easting a curious glance at Wilhelm from time to 
 time. 
 
303 TRK MALADY OF TRE GENTUBT. 
 
 "When the tea was on the table, and Anne had discreetly 
 retired into the bedroom, closing the door behind her, 
 the countess began: "As we are to become friends — no, 
 ■we are friends already ; tell me, you are my friend, are 
 you not?" — she held out her hand, which he pressed 
 warmly and retained in his — "you ought to know who I 
 am and how I live. I will tell you the whole truth — I 
 never lie, it is so vulgar and cowardly. The worst that 
 can be said of me, you shall hear out of my own mouth. 
 And still I hope that, after you have heard all, you will 
 not feel less kindly disposed toward me than before." 
 
 She moistened her blood-red lips in the tea without 
 leaving hold of his hand. 
 
 "I am married. My husband, Count Pozaldez, is 
 Governor of the Philippine Islands. I have lived for years 
 in Paris. The count had the post given to him in order 
 to put a few thousand miles between him and me. "We 
 have no divorce in Spain, and that was the only way of 
 insuring to me a little peace and freedom." She took 
 another little sip. "From this you will understand," 
 she went on, "that I am not happily married. You must 
 know that I am an only child. My father, the Marquis 
 de Henares, idolized me. He was a soldier through and 
 through, very stern and reserved toward everybody, even 
 my mother, who never really understood his rare nature. 
 Only to me he showed his heart of gold, his high and 
 noble character, his deep feeling — a prickly pear, outside 
 rough and inside honey-sweet. He brought me up as if 
 I was to be a cabinet minister, and treated me like a be- 
 loved comrade from the time I was twelve, so that my 
 mother was often jealous of me. When I grew up, he 
 would sometimes say, 'Whoever wants tomarry my Pilar 
 will have to fight with me first.' And he meant it. You 
 probably know that we develop early ia Spain. At six- 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 303 
 
 teen I was not very different from what I am now. Count 
 Pozaldez was a young lieutenant of cavalry, and my 
 father's adjutant. Of course we saw a good deal of one 
 another, and he soon began to behave as if he were madly 
 in love with me. I was not averse to him, for he was 
 young, handsome, and aristocratic. And what else does 
 a girl of sixteen look for? I naturally had no difficulty 
 in understanding his glances and his sighs, but it went 
 on for months without his making me a formal proposal. 
 One day he wrote me a letter eight pages long, in which 
 he informed me that, as he possessed nothing in the 
 world but his sword, he dared not venture to lift his 
 eyes to the heiress of the richest landowner in Old Cas- 
 tile; beside that, he was not worthy of me, only a king 
 could be that — the wretch ! But I will come back to that 
 later on. On the other hand, however, he could not live 
 without me, and if I did not return his love he was re- 
 solved to put a bullet through his brain. Of course I 
 instantly saw him with a bullet-hole in his forehead, and 
 shed tears for the poor young man. I did not want any- 
 body to die for my sake. I pictured to myself how 
 beautiful it would be to make a young man, without for- 
 tune or position, with nothing but his love for me, happy, 
 rich, and great by the gift of my hand. T showed the 
 letter to my mother, and asked her what was to be done. 
 She at once took up the young man's cause. My soul 
 would most assuredy fall a prey to the devil if I let poor 
 Pozaldez kill himself. He was of good family, and would 
 soon make his way as the son-in-law of the Marquis de 
 Henares. I must unquestionably do something to raise 
 his spirits. My mother's advice coincided with my own 
 feelings. I allowed the count a secret interview, and he 
 bad permission to ask my father for my hand. He did 
 BO in l^%t and trembling. He was dismissed with scorn 
 
304 THE MALADY OF THE CENTUBt. 
 
 and contumelj'. My mother and I then used all our in- 
 fluence to turn my father, and — I was married to Count 
 Pozaldez before I was seventeen." 
 
 She was silent for a little while, and then went on: "I 
 will make my story short. One year afterward, when I 
 was in bed with my first child, he brought his mistresses 
 to the house. I was determined to leave him on the spot. 
 My mother brought about a reconciliation. Soon aftqr 
 that he began to ill-treat me. I suffered that in silence 
 too, to avoid a public scandal, and more particularly for 
 my father's sake. He would have killed him if he had 
 known. Later — later — I must tell it you, so that you 
 may grasp the whole situation — the villain did all he 
 could to direct King Amadeo's attention to me — he had 
 just come to Madrid. When I noticed his base schemes 
 — as I could not fail to do — that put the finishing touches. 
 I gave him the choice between a scandalous lawsuit, 
 which would have deprived him of my fortune, and vol- 
 untary banishment by accepting some government post 
 across the sea with half my income. He finallj' chose 
 exile and the money, and I was free. I left Madrid and 
 settled in Paris. You can imagine the circumstances — ^a 
 young woman of twenty-three — alone, whose life could 
 not possibly be filled by the care of two little children." 
 
 "Two children?" asked Wilhelm. 
 
 "Yes," she answered, and hung her head. 
 
 "There is cowardice of which even a courageous woman 
 will be guilty when, out of consideration for public 
 opinion, she continues to live under one roof with the 
 father of her first child. And then — you must take me 
 as I am, with all my imperfections, for which some good 
 qualities may perhaps make up." 
 
 She looked at him humbly, with the eyes of an implor- 
 ing child, and continued in a low voice : 
 
THE MALADY OP TtiE CENTUBf. liOS 
 
 "The Spanish colony in Paris received me with open 
 arms. There was no end to the entertainments, soirees 
 and theaters. But can that satisfy a young and em- 
 bittered woman thirsting for happiness? Of course I 
 received a great deal of attention. An attache of our 
 embassy succeeded in attracting me. I swear to you 
 that I struggled long with him and myself, but his pas- 
 sion was stronger than my powers of resistance." 
 
 Wilhelm would have drawn away his hand, but she 
 held it fast, and went on hurriedly : 
 
 "I have finished. For four years I shared his life, and 
 then discovered that I had deceived myself a second 
 time, and put an end to a connection which had lost the 
 excuse of sincerity. For two years now I have been free 
 — for two years my heart has been at rest. Tell me, can 
 you condemn me now that you know all?" 
 
 "It is not for me to judge you," said Wilhelm sadly. 
 "All I think is that you have had a great deal of misfor- 
 tune in your life. " 
 
 "Yes, have I not?" cried the countess eagerly. 
 
 "Do not misunderstand me. You had the misfortune 
 to make a mistake in thinking you loved Count Pozaldez." 
 
 "How should a sixteen-year-old child know? The 
 first passably good-looking, well-bred man who flatters her 
 wins her heart." 
 
 "That is only too true. But if a young girl throws 
 away her heart so lightly, she has no right to complain if 
 - she has to repent of it for the rest of her life." 
 
 "But that is a terrible theory!" exclaimed the count- 
 ess, and dropped his hand. "What? One wakes to a 
 knowledge of the world and of life^ — one is wretched, one 
 sees that there is such a thing as happiness, and how it 
 may be obtained, and one is not to stretch out a hand to 
 grasp, it? You would reall-y be so cruel as to say to a 
 
306 THE MALADY OP TUB CMNTITRT. 
 
 woman — young, and in need of love — in childish igno- 
 rance and folly you were guilty of a mistake, all is over 
 for you, abandon all claims to love and hope, sunshine and 
 life, pass your years in mourning, and bury yourself 
 alive, you have no further right to share in the joys of 
 life?" 
 
 Wilhelm left her string of passionate (juestions unan- 
 swered, and continued the thread of his former discourse: 
 
 "But most certainly an older and more sensible 
 woman, who should have learned wisdom from a first 
 error, has no right to be guilty of a second one." 
 
 "Oh, how hard you are!" murmured the countess. 
 
 "What would you have?" said Wilhelm. Then with a 
 sudden inspiration : "A woman has every right to love; 
 but then you have loved — twice." 
 
 "No, no, not even once. I thought so perhaps, 
 but " 
 
 "But, according to your own assertion this afternoon, 
 one has been in love really if only one seriously believes 
 one is. And it is thankless to deny one's love later on. 
 Do not contradict yourself." 
 
 " KnA yon, monsieur le pMlosophe," she reurned, rais- 
 ing her head, and her burning gaze encompassed him as 
 with a circle of fire, "do you not contradict yourself 
 too? A little while ago you were demonstrating to me 
 that you were a part of nature, and that unknown natural 
 forces were at work within you, directing all you did, 
 and to-day you extol the mortification of the flesh, which 
 certainly has nothing to do with your unknown natural 
 forces. ' ' 
 
 He was going to reply, but she laid her soft hand upon 
 his mouth. 
 
 "Oh, please, monsieur le philosophe, do not prove to 
 me that I am wrong. Be indulgent to my inconsisten- 
 
tS^ MaLaDT OP TBB CMNTVRY. SO? 
 
 cies, as well as to everything else. I know I am full of 
 contradictions. I am no German philosopher. But 
 nature too is full of contradictions— first day, then 
 night — now summer, now winter. But in spite of it all 
 I can be very consistent and true to myself in a question 
 of reaL importance. " 
 
 Wilhelm drew away from the hand that caressed his 
 lips and cheet, and said, averting his eyes : 
 
 "You are a beautiful woman, and have a most excep- 
 tional mind, and it must be happiness indeed to be loved 
 by you, but in order that that happiness might be full, 
 one would have to love you in return, and there are men 
 — I do not know whether to call them too proud or too 
 fastidious — who can only love with their whole heart or 
 not at all, and who cannot endure that the woman they 
 love should treasure another image or other memories in 
 her life." 
 
 "Stop, my friend, stop!" cried the countess. "You 
 do not realize what you are saying. That comes of your 
 pride and vanity. You always want to be the first — to 
 write your names at the head of a blank sheet. Why? 
 Is the conquest of a silly, ignorant girl more flattering 
 than that of a woman of sense, who can compare and 
 judge? Is not your triumph a thousand times greater 
 when a disappointed, deeply-skeptical woman lays her 
 heart at your feet, and says^ — ^'You I will trust, you will 
 bring me healing and happiness' — than when a young 
 girl gives you her love because you happen to be the first 
 man who asks for it? Other images! — other memories! 
 Do you know so little of a woman's heart? Do you 
 imagine that the past exists for us when real true love 
 comes upon us? We see nothing in the whole world but 
 the one man, we cannot believe that our heart has not 
 always beat for him, and we are firmly persuaded that we 
 have always known and always loved him and him alone." 
 
308 i'lIE AlALAiiT Op THE OENTVBY. 
 
 The eyes that gazed at him gloXved with msenad-like 
 desire, and bending suddenly she covered his hand with 
 lingering, burning kisses. 
 
 "Wilhelm passed his hand soothingly over the masses of 
 her silky hair, and it flashed across him iiow much he 
 had once wished to be able to do so, and now his wish 
 was fulfilled. Was fulfilled desire really happiness, as 
 this beautiful woman asserted? His heart beat loud and 
 fast; he was conscious of emotions long unfelt, and — yes, 
 these emotions were pleasant ones. 
 
 He moved as if to rise, but she clung to his arm to 
 hold him back. He pointed to the door of the room from 
 which Anne might appear at any moment. 
 
 "Do have a little more pride of spirit, " said the count- 
 ess; "one does what one likes, without caring what the, 
 servants think." 
 
 "Let me go," he entreated, and stroked her beautiful 
 hair. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "It is late, and the air in here is close. I should like 
 to take a turn by the sea. Please — ■ — " 
 
 She looked at him, and a mysterious smile played 
 about her full lips; she dropped his arm. 
 
 He hastened away toward the shore, where the waves 
 were rolling in, rattling the pebbles and striking the cliff 
 with dull, heavy thuds. The August night was mild and 
 full of stars, and there veas scarcely a breath of wind. 
 The tide was rising, wave after wave rolled in, fell over, 
 and swept up the beach in a thin white sheet of foam. 
 Further out the sea was calm and deserted, only in the 
 extreme distance the lights of some passing steamer 
 crept over the smooth dark waters like tiny glowworms. 
 
 Wilhelm's mind was in a tumult. This woman — what 
 a strange, terrifying creature. Why was she throwing 
 
THE MALADY OF THE GENTUBT. 309 
 
 herself at bis head? And who knows if only at his? 
 And then — what need to tell him her story? Perhaps it 
 was a wild, insane flare of passion ; but how could he 
 have roused it? There was nothing in him to account 
 for it. And she did not know him — ^knew nothing about 
 his life or his character. She was beautiful certainly — 
 beautiful and alluring, and clever and original — a most 
 exceptional woman. She might well be able to disarm a 
 man of his self-control, and paralyze his will. But after 
 that — what then? How would it end? Better not begin 
 — not begin. That would be the wisest ending. 
 
 He left the shore and returned to the hotel. The view 
 before him was remarkable. At the further end of the 
 street rose the church, its Gothic flourishes outlined 
 sharply against the lighter background of the sky. Just 
 behind it stood the full moon, tracing — as if for its 
 amusement — the silhouette of the roof of the church 
 tower upon the ground. Where the shadow of the 
 church ended, the moon poured its silvery light in a 
 broad flood over the street, and further off painted, with 
 a bold stroke of the brush, a glittering streak of white 
 light across the sea, awaj' to the semi-transparent mists 
 on the horizon. 
 
 Passing first through the shimmering light, and then 
 through the black shadow of the church, Wilhelm reached 
 the hotel, where the lights were already extinguished. 
 Without lighting the candle, which he found ready for 
 him at the foot of the stairs, he mounted to his room. 
 He was surprised, on reaching the door, to find Fido 
 lying in front of it, his nose resting on his ontstretched 
 paws. 
 
 "I suppose they have shut you out, and you veant a 
 night's lodging with me," said Wilhelm; "very well, I 
 won't refuse you my hospitality — come in." 
 
310 THE MALADT OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 He opened the door and let the dog pass in before him, 
 then followed, pushed the bolt, and put the candlestick 
 down on the table. Suddenly two cool, bare arms were 
 laid about his neck, and his startled cry was smothered 
 by the pressure of two burning lips upon his own. 
 
TBE MALADY OV TEE CMNTURT. 311 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IN THE EOBSELBKBO. 
 
 The good landlady of the Hotel de France was not a 
 little surprised next morning when Wilhelm came down 
 to the kitchen and informed her that he must leave that 
 forenoon. And when very soon afterward Anne ap- 
 peared, and announced in her stifEest, most impenetrable 
 manner that Madame la Comtesse desired two places, for 
 herself and her maid, in the hotel omnibus which went to 
 the station at Eu, the landlady remarked, "Indeed!" and 
 there was a liberal interchange of meaning glances in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 At no price would Wilhelm remain at Ault. The 
 countess, who liked the place well enough, begged, en- 
 treated, and pouted in vain. He was not to be per- 
 suaded. He protested that he knew himself too well to 
 think that he would be capable of keeping up the appear- 
 ance of reserve toward her which decency demanded. 
 And he need not, she declared ; she considered herself 
 free to do as she pleased, and so was he; their love did 
 not interfere with their duty toward anybody, and so it 
 was immaterial it people found it out and talked about 
 it. 
 
 Her utter disregard for the trammels of convention, 
 her cool contempt for the opinion of others, filled him 
 with horror. 
 
 "No, no, I could not look one of them in the face 
 again." 
 
313 TESI malady Off fHM CBlSTURT. 
 
 "But do you suppose ihat these people are any better? 
 You surely don't imagine that the man with the calves 
 and his ravening wolf are married?" 
 
 "How can you say such things!" 
 
 "Why, you big baby, one can see that at a glance. 
 He is far too nice to her for her to be his legitime." 
 
 "That may be. At all events he has had so much con- 
 sideration for outward appearance as to pass the person 
 of£ as his wife. But we made our acquaintance here, 
 under their very eye. " 
 
 "Wilhelm!" — from her lips the name sounded more 
 like Gwillem — "I should not know you for the same 
 person. "Why, where is your boasted philosophy and 
 stoicism to which you were going to convert me? Is 
 that your indifference to the world and its hypocritical 
 ways, its prejudices and its sneers?" 
 
 She was quite right. He was untrue to his principles, 
 but he could not do otherwise. He had had the courage 
 to decline the duel with Herr von Pechlar, but he had 
 not the boldness to let the foolish gossips of the table 
 d'hote be witnesses of his new love-making. Why ? For 
 the very simple reason that, in his heart of hearts, he 
 disapproved of his liaison with Pilar. 
 
 As he would not give in, the countess resigned herself 
 to what she called his "schoolgirl crotchet," and they 
 traveled together to St. Valery-en-Caux, another little 
 seaside place several hours' journey from Ault. 
 
 Here they took rooms together at a hotel, and wrote 
 themselves down as man and wife. The countess' letters 
 were forwarded by the postmistress at Ault under cover 
 to Anne. The only thing that disturbed Wilhelm 's peace 
 of mind was the presence of Anne. Her manner was just 
 as impassive, her face as solemn as before, and she never 
 showed that she noticed any change in her mistress way 
 
THW MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 313 
 
 of life. But it was just this cold-blooded acceptance of 
 facts which must at the very least excite her remark that 
 upset him so much, and every time Anne came into the 
 room and found him with Pilar, he was as much ashamed 
 as if she had surprised him in some cowardly and wicked 
 deed. Did he happen to be sitting beside her on the 
 sofa, he started as if to jump up; if he had hold of her 
 hand, he dropped it on the spot. Pilar noticed it, of 
 course, and thought it an excellent joke. She was her- 
 self perfectly unconcerned before Anne, and put no con- 
 straint on herself whatever in her presence. On the 
 contrary, she thought it great fun to throw her arms 
 round Wilhelm when the maid came and he attempted to 
 move away, or she would tutoyer him and kiss him to her 
 face, and was intensely amused at his embarrassed and 
 miserable air as he suffered her caresses, though not 
 without a stolen gesture of objection. His shyness was 
 not unobserved by Anne's quick though furtive eyes, and 
 she owed him a grudge for wishing to exclude her from 
 his secret. 
 
 But with the exception of the discomfort caused him 
 by this silent witness, his happiness was unalloyed. He 
 lived in a constant rapture of the senses, and Pilar took 
 good care that he should not awake from it. She never 
 left him to himself, except during the two hours in the 
 morning which she devoted to her toilette. It was her 
 peculiar habit to steal away in the early morning while 
 Wilhelm was still asleep, and repair noiselessly to the 
 dressing-room, where Aune was already waiting, and 
 where she gave herself up into the skilled hands of the 
 maid, who kneaded her, washed and rubbed her, and 
 treated her hands, feet, and hair with consummate art, 
 and the aid of an army of curious instruments and an 
 exhaustive collection of cosmetics. She would then 
 
314 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 appear to wake Wilhelm with a kiss. On opening his 
 eyes it was to see her in the full glory of her beauty, 
 ■with the flush of health upon her cheeks, with rosy fin- 
 gers, her skin cool, soft and perfumed, her eyes bright, 
 her lips smiling, and her magnificent hair in order. But 
 from that moment onward she was always about him, 
 nestling close to him when they were alone, her eyes on 
 his when they walked arm in arm through the streets. 
 
 In the morning she bathed in the sea while Wilhelm 
 sat on the shore and watched her. She swam like a fish ; 
 he could not swim at all. She pledged her word to make 
 him equally proficient in a few days, but her superiority 
 made him feel small, and he would not accept her ofiEer. 
 For twenty minutes she practiced her art in the water, 
 lay on her back and on her side, turned somersaults, 
 dived, trod the water and finally came out, like Venus 
 newly risen from the waves, and joined Wilhelm, who 
 was waiting for her with her bath-mantle. He enveloped 
 her in its soft folds, she roguishly shook the drops of 
 water off her rosy finger-tips into his face and hurried to 
 her bathing house without a glance for the spectators 
 who had been watching her graceful play in the water, 
 and devoured her with their eyes when she came on dry 
 land. 
 
 The rest of the day was filled up by long walks broken 
 by delightful rests under the shade of cornricks on grassy 
 hillslopes beside some purling brook. Then Pilar would 
 sit on the rug or the camp stool, while Wilhelm la.v at 
 her feet with his head in her lap caressed by the little 
 hands that played with his hair or wandered softly over 
 his face, resting fondly on his lips for him to kiss. If 
 there were -flowers within reach, she would pluck a 
 quantity and strew his head and face with the fresh 
 petals, while he gazed alternately into the blue summer 
 
TIIE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 315 
 
 skj' and the bright brown eyes above him, or even closed 
 his own for quarters of an hour of delicious dreaming. 
 Then everything outside his immediate surroundings 
 would fade from hia mind, and he would be conscious 
 only of what was nearest to him, the faint scent of ylang- 
 ylang that hovered round the beautiful woman, her 
 smooth, caressing fingers, and the low sound of her deep, 
 regular breathing. 
 
 "You are so handsome," she whispered in his ear on 
 one such occasion, and bending over him to kiss him; 
 "do you know, I shall draw your portrait." 
 
 "Can you draw?" he asked, raising himself on his 
 elbow. 
 
 "I hardly know whether I ought to say yes," she re- 
 turned, with an arch, self-conscious smile that belied the 
 humility of her tone. "But you shall see." 
 
 "Very well," said he, "and while you are drawing my 
 portrait I shall draw yours." 
 
 "Bravo!" she cried, and wanted to go home at once, 
 so that they might begin. 
 
 As was his custom, Wilhelm had all that was 
 needful in his big trunk, and could supply Pilar with 
 materials. The next afternoon they set to work. 
 They established themselves in the middle of a great 
 meadow, committing thereby an extreme act of trespass, 
 and making their way to it over a ditch, a low wall, and 
 through a blackberry hedge. Here no prying eye would 
 annoy them, their sole and most discreet spectator being 
 Fido, and he was generally asleep. 
 
 Pilar had a drawing-block and used a pencil, Wilhelm 
 sketched his picture on a page of a large album in colored 
 chalks like a pastel. She kept trying to peep at his 
 work, but he would not allow it, and insisted on their 
 making a compact not to look at one another's work of 
 art till it was finished. Two sittings sufSced, however, 
 
316 THE MALADY OF THE GENTURT. 
 
 and the portraits could be exohanged. Pilar gave a crj' 
 of surprise when Wilhelm handed her his picture. 
 
 "How strange that we should have had almost the 
 same idea." 
 
 She was represented as a Sphinx, after the Greek rather 
 than the Egyptian conception. A voluptuous, soft, 
 round, feline body, graceful, cruel paws, a wonderful 
 bosom as if hewn out of marble, and above it all Pilar's 
 regally poised head with its crown of shimmering gold 
 hair, shrewd eyes, and blood-red vampire lips. Between 
 her forepaws she held a little trembling mouse in which 
 Wilhelm 's features were cleverly indicated, and she 
 looked down upon her victim with a smile in which there 
 was something of a foretaste of the joy of tearing a 
 quivering creature to pieces and sucking its warm blood. 
 
 Pilar's drawing was a very good likeness of Wilhelm 
 as Apollo in Olympian nudity, handsome, slender and 
 vapid, in its resemblance to school copies of the antique. 
 A charming little cat with Pilar's features was rubbing 
 herself against his leg. The pussy blinked up at the 
 young Greek god with an expression of adoration, half- 
 comic, half-touching, while he bent his head and gazed 
 down at her thoughtfully. Pilar took the sheet from 
 Wilhelm's hand and compared it with hers. 
 
 "Thej' are exactly the same," she said at last, "only 
 that they are entirely the opposite of one another. Do 
 you really feel that I am as you have drawn me?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered in a low voice. 
 
 "How unjust you are to yourself and to me — I a 
 Sphinx and you a frightened mouse! To begin with, the 
 Sphinx-cat did not condescend to mice, but occupied 
 herself with men, and humbled herself before the right 
 one when he came." 
 
 "You are decidedly too learned for me," laughed Wil- 
 helm. 
 
TME MALADY OF THF! OENTURT. SlY 
 
 "No, no, seriously; it hurts me that you should regard 
 our relations in that light. Am I not at your feet? Am 
 I not your slave, your chattel, your plaything, what you 
 ■will ? Have I not chosen you to be lord and master over 
 me? Am I a riddle to you? My love for you is the 
 solution of any mystery you may find in me. Or do you 
 accuse me of cruelty? That could only be in fun, you 
 bad man." 
 
 "You take a mere playful idea too tragically, dearest 
 Pilar. The character of your head suggested it to me, 
 that was all. And then " 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "Well, if you must know it, the fearless, what shall I 
 say, Amazon-like manner in which you, seized upon a man 
 and took possession of him, body and soul." 
 
 "Did I do that?" 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 "And you are mine?" 
 
 He nodded again. 
 
 "Tell me so, dearest, only love — say it." 
 
 He did not say it, but he kissed her. 
 
 "It is quite true," she remarked after a short pause, 
 "I did take possession of you. That was unwomanly, 
 but I could not help it. Tfou are a cold-blooded German, 
 and different from any man I ever knew before. You 
 did not know how to appreciate the good fortune that 
 befell you when chance set you down at my side in that 
 dreary little hole. You abominable creature, for a whole 
 fortnight you took not the slightest notice of me; you sat 
 there beside me like a block, and never so much as looked 
 at me. For a long time I did not know what to make of 
 you. At first I tried to think you as ridiculous as the 
 other idiots round the table, but I could not, try as I 
 ■would. Your ugly owlish face had made too great an 
 
318 THE MALAD Y OH' THE OENTUB T. 
 
 impression on me. And then I was annoyed by your 
 reserve, and when I used to see you stalk in, looking so 
 haughty, and you bowed so coldly to me and remained 
 so distant, I thought to myself — just wait, monsieur the 
 iceberg, some day you will be at my feet begging for 
 love, and then it will be my turn to be proud, and I shall 
 be triumphant." 
 
 "There you see the Sphinx and the mouse." 
 
 "Oh, but it all happened quite differently. I spoke 
 first, I made you every sort of advance; and what did 
 you do? You held forth to me on the mortification of 
 the flesh. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. And 
 even when I saw that love was burning in your eyes, 
 you remained stiff-necked and tried to run away from 
 me. If I was set upon happiness, I found I must take it 
 by force. I know you better now. You were capable of 
 never confessing your love to me, of never asking any- 
 thing of me. Am I right or not, tell me?" 
 
 "You are right," he murmured. 
 
 "But that would have been a sin — a deadly sin, a 
 capital crime against the High Majesty of Nature. "What! 
 Fate takes the trouble to think out the most improbable 
 combinations, sets the most complicated machinery in 
 motion to bring us together; it drags you out of the 
 depths of Germany, and me from Castile, and brings us 
 to a little hotel in a little village in Picardy, the very 
 name of .which was unknown to either of us a short time 
 before; we instantly feel that we are made for one another 
 and are certain to be happy together, and yet all these 
 exertions on the part of Fate are to have been in vain? 
 Never! Our paths crossed each other at a single point, 
 for a moment they were united, it depended on us 
 whether they should always remain so. And I was to let 
 you go, never to meet again on this side of eternity? It 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTUHY. 319 
 
 was not possible, and as you were so clumsy, or so timid, 
 or so self-torturing " 
 
 She finished the sentence with a long kiss, at which he 
 closed his eyes once more, and shut out everything but 
 its flame. 
 
 Was it calculation, was it her natural instinct? — suffice 
 it to say that Pilar never by any chance alluded in their 
 conversations to her past. She was fond of talking, and 
 talked a great deal, and her conversation was always 
 startling, original and vivacious ; her power of imagina- 
 tion as lively as her sparkling eyes, springing from the 
 nearest object to the furthest, from the ordinary to the 
 sublime, but never one word escaped her which might 
 remind Wilhelm that she had gone through confessed and 
 unconfessed experiences of every kind, and reached the 
 turning-point of her existence without him. Her life, it 
 would appear, had only begun with the moment at which 
 he had risen upon her horizon. What went before that 
 was torn out of the book of memory — one scarcely 
 noticed the gaps where the pages were missing. She did 
 all she could to make him forget that she Was a stranger 
 to him, and to strengthen in him the delusion that she 
 belonged to him, that she was one with him,^ that it had 
 always been so. She took possession of his past, she 
 crept into his ideas and sentiments ; she wanted to know 
 everything about him, down to the smallest details. He 
 must tell her about every day, every hour of his existence; 
 she made the acquaintance of his entire circle of friends; 
 she loathed Loulou, she adored Schrotter, she went into 
 raptures over gentle, refined Bhani, she smiled at Paul 
 Haber and his well-dressed Malvine, and her inventive 
 grandmamma; she determined to send good Prau Miiller 
 (who had looked after Wilhelm for ten years like a mother) 
 a beautiful Christmas present. She could make personal 
 
320 TUB MALADY OF TUB CBiTTtTttf. 
 
 remarks on all his friends and acquaintances, and her 
 only trouble was that she knew no German. "What would 
 she not have given to be able to read the letters he wrote 
 or received, to converse with him in his mother-tongue! 
 She loved and admired the French language, which, al- 
 though she retained the ineradicable accent of her 
 country, she spoke as fluently as Spanish ; but now, for 
 the first time, she felt something akin to hatred against 
 it for being the one remaining barrier — certainly a very 
 slight and scarcely perceptible one — between herself and 
 Wilhelm, which forever drew his attention to the fact 
 that she was not naturally a part of his life, and prevented 
 their absolute union, the growing together of their souls. 
 She therefore determined to learn German as soon as she 
 returned to Paris, and, if need be, to stay for some 
 length of time in Germany in order to master the lan- 
 guage quickly and thoroughly. 
 
 She thought and spoke much of the future, and in all 
 her dreams, plans, and resolves Wilhelm was always, and 
 as a matter of course, the central figure and sharer of her 
 life. In him her life found its consummation she had 
 him fast, and would never let him go. 
 
 Her love was a curious mixture of ardent passion and 
 melting, sentimental tenderness. At one moment the 
 Bacchante, drinking long draughts of love and life from 
 his lips, at another, the innocent girl who sought and 
 found a chaste felicity in the mere rapturous contempla- 
 tion of the man she adored. The longer she knew him, 
 the deeper she penetrated into his character, the naore 
 did the Bacchante recede and yield her place to the 
 Psyche. The allegory of "VVilhelm's pastel seemed wrong, 
 her own drawing right. She was no bloodthirsty Sphinx 
 revelling in human victims, but a harmless little cat pur- 
 ring against the side of the young god. She was diffi- 
 
THE MALADY OF TUB CENTURY. 331 
 
 dent, eager to learn, slow to contradict. She broke her- 
 self of her paradoxes, and concealed her originality. She 
 lited best to listen while he talked. He must explain 
 everything to her, enlarge her experience, correct and 
 improve her judgment. Her favorite words were, give 
 mCj show me, tell me! From morning till night he must 
 give, tell, show. The sea washed up a medusa to the 
 shore — give it me! They surprised a crab in the act of 
 shedding his armor — show me! A ride on donkeys to a 
 neighboring villaga reminded him of a students' picnic 
 at Heidelberg — tell me about it! Such of his peculiar- 
 ities of temper as she did not understand, she guessed at 
 and felt with her fine womanly instinct. If at Ault she 
 had been extremely simple in her dress, here she was 
 almost exaggeratedly so. She banished the "kohl" with 
 ■which she had underlined her brilliant eyes, and strewed 
 the violet powder to the four winds, as soon as she dis- 
 covered that he preferred to stroke her full, firm cheeks 
 when they v?ere guiltless of powder. She dropped her 
 former freedom of speech, gave up- the telling of highly- 
 spiced anecdotes, and checked her roving glances and the 
 frolicsome imps — somewhat too deeply versed in Boccac- 
 cio — that haunted her lively brain, when she saw that he 
 took umbrage at anything the least risky. Her cigarettes 
 horrified him, so she threw them out of the window, and 
 never smoked again. She even quelled the sensuality of 
 her self-surrender, and veiled it with a show of shame- 
 faced backwardness and the adorable ingenuousness of a 
 schoolgirl on her honeymoon. She strove to obliterate 
 the remembrances of the heathenish abandonment of the 
 first days, with their unrestrained impulses, testifying all 
 too plainly to the fact that she was a woman well versed 
 in all the arts of seduction. At first this was dissimula- 
 tion, the maneuvers of a shrewd reader of character, but 
 
323 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 it soon came to be instinct and second nature ; she de- 
 ceived herself honestly, and returned, in her own mind, 
 to the pristine virginity of her soul and body, finally 
 coming to look upon herself as a simple-minded girl, 
 ignorant of the world and of life, and conscious only of 
 her boundless love for this one glorious man, and to whom 
 the memories of a less harmless past seemed like wicked 
 dreams sent by the Tempter to molest her chastity. This 
 self-deception, or rather retrogression of her instincts, 
 led her into touches of mysticism. The story of little 
 Sonia who had fallen in love with the ten-year-old Wil- 
 helm at first sight, to die shortly afterward with his name 
 upon her lips, made a deep impression on her, and set 
 her dreaming. "When sweet little Sonia died I was 
 born." Now this was not quite accurate, as Pilar must 
 have been at least two or three years old at the time, but 
 mystic raptures take no count of time. "My life is a 
 continuation of hers. Tour Spanish love inherited the 
 soul of your little Eussian. Thus I have been yours 
 since my birth — and before. I Joved you before ever I 
 knew you. I have had a presentiment of you, have felt 
 and expected you from the beginning. Hence my 
 troubled seeking all the time, hence my horror and shud- 
 dering when I discovered that I was mistaken, that it 
 was not the one I yearned for whose image I bore secretly 
 in my heart. Now I see why I was so irresistibly drawn 
 to you from the first moment I set eyes on you. The 
 man of my dreams stood in bodily shape before me. 
 Here at lastAvas my heart's dear image in flesh and blood. 
 I had no need to get to know you ; I knew you already. 
 My own, my Wilhelm. " 
 
 Eeal tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke, and 
 "Wilhelm was not sufficiently hlase to scofE at the doting 
 norjsease of a, Jove-sick wonaan, IjQve has enorojQy^ 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 323 
 
 power, and at its heat all firmness, all resistance, melts 
 away. Pilar's affection filled Wilhelm with heartfelt 
 emotion and gratitude. He denied himself the right of 
 judging her, suspecting or doubting her, or of discover- 
 ing dark spots upon her shining orb. As she was for- 
 ever at his side, and made it her sole care to occupy him 
 entirely, body and soul, his whole world was soon filled 
 by her and her alone. Wherever he looked his eyes fell 
 upon her ; she intercepted his view on all sides. Her 
 shadow fell even upon his past, as far back as his child- 
 hood. He failed to notice that whole days passed now 
 without his giving a thought to Schrotter or Paul, and 
 he was quite surprised when he discovered that he had 
 left a letter from the former unanswered for a week. 
 His former life began to fade and grow dim, and, com- 
 pared to the sun-flooded, glowing present, looked like the 
 dark background of a courtyard beside an open space in 
 the full blaze of a summer day. 
 
 The whole society of the place was deeply interested 
 in the handsome couple, who took so little trouble to 
 conceal their love. The young people thought it most 
 affecting, the older ones, especially the ladies, turned up 
 their noses, with the remark that even people on their 
 honeymoon might put some restraint upon themselves on 
 the beach, or in the street. Wilhelm and Pilar were 
 quite unconscious of the talk for which they furnished 
 the material. They had no eyes for anybody but each 
 other. They were unconscious of the flight of time. 
 Their lives passed as in a morning dream, or a wondrous 
 fairy-tale, where two lovers wander in a sunny garden 
 among great flowers and singing birds, or rest, sur- 
 rounded by attendant sprites, who fulfill each wish before 
 it is uttered. 
 
 Xbejr -were disagreeably brought back to the realities 
 
324 THB MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 of life when one day Anne asked, with her most impas- 
 sive air, when Madame la Comtesse thought of leaving, 
 for if she were going to stay any longer, they must pro- 
 vide themselves with winter clothing. They had reached 
 the end of September; it rained nearly everj' day, the 
 streets of the village were impassable, sitting on the 
 shore out of the question, the equinoctial gales howled 
 across the country from the tempestuous sea; all the 
 world had gone h"Dme, and Wilhelm and Pilar were the 
 last guests in the desolate hotel, spending most of the 
 day in their room, where an inadequate fire spluttered on 
 the hearth. For a fortnight past Anne had boiled with 
 silent rage, which she sometimes let out on poor, snort- 
 ing, asthmatic Fido. She had been absent from Paris 
 since the middle of July, and had counted on being back 
 by the beginning of September at the latest, and here was 
 October coming upon them in this God-forsaken little 
 hole, and her mistress showed no signs of returning home. 
 Anne's question came like a rough hand to shake Pilar 
 out of sleep. Like a drowsy child who does not want to 
 get up, she kept her eyes closed for awhile. Another 
 week! Four days more ! Two days more! But then she 
 had to pack, for Anne exaggerated a slight cold, and at 
 short intervals let off a dry cough with the suddenness 
 and force of a pistol-shot, tied her head up in a white 
 shawl, and begged to be allowed to send to Paris for 
 warm underclothing and her fur cloak. In the hotel, too, 
 from which all the servants had been dismissed, and only 
 the landlord, his wife, and a half-grown daughter re- 
 mained, the neglect became conspicuous. The rooms 
 were not put in order till late in the evening, and even 
 then the landlady would come and grumble that she 
 could not manage so much work, and that was the reason 
 everything was late. A leg of mutton appeared upon the 
 
TEB MALADY OF TEE OENTURt. 325 
 
 table three days running, till nothing was left but the 
 bone. In short, it was not to be misunderstood that the 
 hotel family wished to be alone. 
 
 At last, at the beginning of the second week of October, 
 the return to Paris took place. During the five hours' 
 railway journey Pilar was silent and moody. She felt 
 that an enchanting chapter of her love-story had come to 
 an end, and a fresh one beginning, the unforeseen possi- 
 bilities of which filled her with alarm. She held fast to 
 "Wilhelm, and would not let him go free; but what form 
 was their life together going to take in Paris? Not that 
 she cared for the opinion of the world — far from it; but 
 other difficulties remained which menaced her happiness. 
 At the seaside all the circumstances had combined to aid 
 and befriend them. Surrounded by people to whom she 
 and "Wilhelm were alike strangers, they were thrown 
 entirely upon one another, and even his scruples could 
 find nothing to prevent him treating her openly as his 
 wife. In Paris, on the other hand, all the circumstances 
 became disturbing and inimical. Pilar had her circle of 
 friends, and her accustomed way of life, to which "Wil- 
 helm would have to adapt himself. "Would that occur 
 without opposition on his part? Would not many a ten- 
 der sentiment be wounded beyond the power of healing 
 in that struggle? But of what avail were all these tor- 
 menting questions? She had to look the future in the 
 face, and prepare to engage in a struggle in which he was 
 determined to come off victorious. 
 
 From time to time she glanced at "Wilhelm, and always 
 found him deep in thought. He was reviewing, with a 
 touch of self-mockery, the latest development of his 
 affairs. Here he was on his way to Paris. He had not 
 chosen this destination. Once again another will than 
 his own had determined his path for him. He resigned 
 
336 TBE MALADt OS' TSE CBNTUBT. 
 
 himself without a struggle; he allowed himself to be 
 taken along like an obedient child. "Was it weakness? 
 Perhaps. Possibly, however, it was not. Possibly he 
 did not think it worth the trouble to call his will into 
 play. Why should he, after all? As long as he might 
 not live in Berlin, what did it matter where he lived? 
 and Paris was as good a place as any other. To have 
 resisted Pilar's persuasions would not have been an evi- 
 dence of strength, but simplj' the obstinacy of a con- 
 ceited fool, who wants to prove to himself that he is 
 capable of setting somebody else at defiance. So that after 
 all he was going to Paris because he wished it, or rather, 
 because he saw no reason for not doing so. But as he 
 spun the web of these thoughts in his mind, he heard all 
 the time a still small voice, which contradicted him, and 
 whispered: "It is not true. You are not your own mas- 
 ter; you are going you know not whither; you are doing 
 you know not what. Two beautiful eyes are your guid- 
 ing star, and in following their magic beckoning your 
 feet may slip at any moment, and you may be hurled into 
 unknown depths." 
 
 Pilar must have divined that Wilhelm's thoughts were 
 enemies to her peace, and must be dispersed. They were 
 alone in the carriage, and she could give free rein to her 
 feelings. She took his hand and kissed it, and laying 
 her arm round his neck, she said fondl.v : 
 
 "Don't be so depressed, Wilhelm. Of course it is 
 only natural that one should be afraid of any change 
 after one has been so happy, but j'ou shall have no cause 
 to regret St. Valery. You will see, it will be still nicer 
 in Paris. "We remain the same as we were before, and 
 surely my little home is a more fitting frame for our love 
 than the bare room at the hotel!" 
 
 "Wilhelm started ba-ck. 
 
THE MALADY OF TBE GENTUBT. 337 
 
 "You surely do not imagine that I am going to live in 
 your house?" he cried. 
 
 "But there can be no question about it!" she answered 
 in surprise. 
 
 "Never!" Wilhelm declared, with a determination that 
 frightened Pilar, it was so new to her. "How could 
 you think of such a thing?" 
 
 "But, Wilhelm," she returned, "what else could we 
 do? I should not like to think that it was your plan we 
 should part at the station and each go our different ways. 
 If I believed that, I would throw myself under the wheels 
 of the train this very instant. We have not been indulg- 
 ing in a little summer romance, entertaining enough at 
 the seaside, but which must die a natural death as soon 
 as we return to Paris. My love is a serious matter to 
 me, and to you too, I hope. You are mine forever, and 
 as long as there is life in this hand, it will hold you 
 fast," and she cast herself passionately upon his breast, 
 and clung to him as if he were going to be torn from her. 
 
 "I never said I would leave you," he returned gently, 
 and trying to disengage himself; "but it is quite incon- 
 ceivable that you should have thought you would simply 
 bring me back with you from the journey and present 
 me to your people." 
 
 "My people! You are my all, and nobody else exists 
 for me. ' ' 
 
 "One says that in the heat of the moment, but you 
 have relations — you told me so yourself. What will they 
 think of us if I calmly settle down in your house?" 
 
 "Think? — always what people will think. That is the 
 only fault you have, Wilhelm. How can you do people 
 the honor to take them into consideration when it is a 
 question of my life's happiness? Let them think what 
 they like. They will think you are the master and I am 
 yovx slate, who only lives in and for you." 
 
328 THE MALAD T OF THE CENTUB T. 
 
 "VVilhelm only shook his head, for he "was unwilling to 
 ■wound her by saying what he thought of such an un- 
 worthy connection. She hung trembling on his looks, 
 and asked, as he still did not answer: 
 
 "Well, darling, is it to be my way? We will drive 
 quietly home and pretend we are at St. Valery?" 
 
 "No," be answered firmly, "that is impossible. I 
 shall go to an hotel. No, do not try to dissuade me, for 
 it would be useless." 
 
 "And you can let me go from you?" 
 
 "Only for a few hours. We shall be in the same town, 
 and can see one another as often as we like." 
 
 "And you would be satisfied with that?" 
 
 "It will have to be so, as the circumstances will not 
 permit of anything else." 
 
 She broke into a storm of tears, and sobbed, "You do 
 not love me." 
 
 He soothed and comforted her; he kissed her eyes, he 
 pressed her head to his heart, and tried to calm her aa 
 he would a child, but it was long before he brought her 
 round. At last she raised her head and asked : 
 
 "You are determined to go to an hotel?" 
 
 "I must, dear heart." 
 
 "Very well; then I shall go too." 
 
 He had nothing to say against this and so it was settled. 
 
 It was close upon midnight when the train ran into the 
 St. Lazare station. Anne came hurrying from the next 
 carriage. 
 
 "You can drive home," said Pilar to her. "Take the 
 large boxes with you. You can leave the small one and 
 the portmanteau with me. I am going with monsieur. 
 I shall come round to-morrow and' see if things are in 
 order." 
 
 Anne opened her eyes in astonishment, but her face 
 
TSVl MALADY Oir THE GmTVUf. 329 
 
 did not betray any further emotion, and she answered 
 calmly : 
 
 "Very good, Madame la Comtesse. Auguste is here 
 ■with a cab. Does madame desire to use it?" 
 
 "No, Auguste can get us another. You take his." 
 
 Auguste, the man-servant, had come up meanwhile and 
 greeted his mistress. He shot a quick glance at the 
 strange gentleman on whose arm she leaned, but it was 
 more expressive of curiosity than surprise ; he then hur- 
 ried away to carry out the remarkable orders Anne had 
 dryly transmitted to him. Soon after he reappeared, and 
 announced that the other fiacre was there. Fido, re- 
 leased from the captivitj' of the dog-box, sprang upon tlie 
 countess with short-breathed barks that soon degener- 
 ated into a cough, and wagged his tail and frolicked 
 madly about. "When Pilar and.Wilhelm entered their 
 cab, Anne and Auguste remaining outside, the dog 
 seemed undecided as to which party he was to follow. 
 Chancing to catch Wilhelm's eye, he made up his mind, 
 jumped into the cab, regardless of Anne's angry call, and 
 licked Wilhelm's hand delightedly, accepting his friendly 
 pat as an invitation to stay. 
 
 By Pilar's direction the cab took them to an hotel in 
 the Eue de Eivoli. As they drove along Pilar leaned 
 silently in her corner, only heaving a deep sigh from 
 time to time; and Wilhelm, too, found nothing to say, 
 oppressed as he was by the consciousness of being in an 
 untenable situation, the eventual end of which he could 
 not foresee. Arrived at the hotel, they retired at once to 
 their rooms and to rest, scarcely touching the supper 
 which Pilar had ordered rather for Wilhelm than herself. 
 She lay awake for hours, and it was daybreak before she 
 got any sleep. 
 
 It was nearly midday when she opened her eyes. 
 
350 'FHTS MALAbt OF THU CtlNTtTRt. 
 
 "Wilhelm was sitting fully dressed at the ■window that 
 faced the Tuileries, gaziug down upon the dreary- 
 autumnal park with its trees half-bare, the paths covered 
 with dead leaves — its marble statues and silent foun- 
 tains. She stretched out her arms to him, and he has- 
 tened over to kiss her fondly. As her eye fell upon her 
 tiny jeweled watch, she gave a cry of dismay. 
 
 "Twelve o'clock! Oh, go away — quick — and send the 
 chambermaid to me. I will do my best to be ready 
 soon. Wait for me in the salon. You can read the 
 papers or write letters. But whatever you do, you must 
 not leave the hotel — do you hear?" 
 
 An hour later she appeared in the salon to fetch him to 
 lunch, which was served in their room. Pilar was nerv- 
 ous and put out. The chambermaid's assistance had not 
 been all that she could have wished. The slow waiting at 
 lunch vexed her. Whatever trifle she might require she 
 was obliged to go into the untidy bedroom herself and 
 search in her boxes. Her head was full of schemes and 
 plans, to none of which, however, she gave expression. 
 Never had she had such an uncomfortable meal with Wil- 
 helm. 
 
 "What are you going to do now?" asked Wilhelm, 
 when the waiter had cleared the table. 
 
 "I think we had better go and have a look at our 
 house," answered Pilar, trying hard to assume a per- 
 fectly unconcerned tone. 
 
 "Of course," said Wilhelm; "and while you go home, 
 I will take a look at the streets of Paris." 
 
 "What — you are not coming with me?" 
 
 "I think it better you should go by yourself the first 
 time. You have no doubt got a good deal to set in order, 
 and I should only be in the way." 
 
 "Wilhelm," she said very gravely, "you are deter- 
 mined to hurt me. Have I deserved that of you?" 
 
TBE MALADt OlP TUB GbNWbY. 331 
 
 'But, dearest Pilar- 
 
 "I want proofs that I am your dearest Filar. I have 
 given myself to you — -body, soul and spirit. If you 
 want my life as well, then say so. I should be overjoyed 
 to give it you. And you? Since yesterday your every 
 word and look tells me plainly that you regard me as a 
 stranger, and want to have nothing more to do with me. 
 Oh, yes, you do it- all in a very delicate and considerate 
 manner, that is your way, but there is no need to speak 
 more plainly to me" 
 
 "Do not excite yourself. Pilar, I assure you that you 
 are entirely wrong." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "I am not a child. Let us talk it over seriously. I 
 told you yesterday I would not let you go. Of course 
 you understand what I mean by that. I will not keep 
 you if you want to be free. But then be honest, and tell 
 me frankly that .you are tired of me, and want to be rid 
 of me. I shall at least know what I have to do. Do not 
 be afraid, I shall not make a scene, I shall not cause you 
 any annoyance, not even reproach you. I shall receive 
 my sentence of death in silence, and kiss the hand that 
 inflicts it on me." 
 
 She buried her face in her hands, and tears trickled 
 down between her fingers. 
 
 "And all this," said "Wilhelm, "because I thought it 
 better not to accompany you to-day. The whole affair is 
 not worth one of your tears. " 
 
 "Then you will come with me?" she cried excitedly, 
 lifting her face to his. 
 
 "I suppose I shall have to, since you talk about death 
 sentences and terrible things of the kind." 
 
 She embraced him frantically, rang the bell, threw the 
 things that lay about anyhow into the box, and when the 
 
332 THE MALADY OF TBE OENTURT. 
 
 waiter came, ordered a carriage. As they went down- 
 stairs she gave a hurried order in the ofiSce, and with a 
 beaming and triumphant face, passed through the hall on 
 Wilhelm's arm to the carriage. 
 
 Their destination was a small house on the Boulevard 
 Pereire, of two stories, three windows wide, and a bal- 
 cony in front of the first-floor windows. At Wilhelm's 
 ring the door was opened by Anne, who made him a 
 careless courtesy, but greeted her mistress respectfully. 
 Wilhelm was going to let Pilar precede him, but she said : 
 "No, no; you go first. It is a better omen." 
 
 Assembled in the hall they found Auguste, an old 
 woman with a red nose, and a man not in livery, who ex- 
 pressed their satisfaction at their mistress' return, and 
 complimented her on her improved appearance, but were 
 in reality chiefly engaged in taking stock of Wilhelm 
 while they did so. Pilar gave the man some direction in 
 Spanish, and then drew Wilhelm into the salon, which 
 opened into the hall. 
 
 "Welcome, a thousand times, to this house, "she said, 
 clasping him in her arms; "and may your coming bring 
 happiness to us both. I will take off my things now, 
 and say a word to my servants, and be with you again 
 directly. '' 
 
 With that she hurried away, and Wilhelm found him- 
 self alone. He looked about him. The salon w'as luxur- 
 iously, if, according to Wilhelm's taste, somewhat 
 gaudily furnished. The walls were draped in yellow 
 silk, the portieres, window-curtains, and gilt-backed 
 chairs being of the same brilliant hue, though its mon- 
 otony was fortunately broken by numerous oil paintings, 
 forming, as it were, dark islands in a sea of sulphur. 
 Opposite to the window hung two life-sized portraits of a 
 lady and an oflacer. The lady wore a Spanish costume 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CBNTURT. 333 
 
 ■ith a mantilla, tbe gentleman a gorgeously embroidered 
 eneral's uniform, with a quantity of stars and orders, 
 Qd the ribbon of the Grand Cross. In another life- 
 ized picture this personage figured in the robes of some 
 nknown military order, and appeared a third time as a 
 ronze bust in a corner, on a black marble pedestal. The 
 himney-piece was adorned by a strange and wonderful 
 lock, a painfully accurate cop.v in gilt and colored 
 Qamel of the Mihrab of the Mosque in Cordova. Be- 
 iveen the windows, on a high buhl cabinet, stood a mar- 
 ie bust of Queen Isabella, a gift, according to an in- 
 sription on the base, to her valued Adjutant-General 
 larquis de Henares. A charming pastel under glass 
 bowed Pilar as a very young girl. As Wilhelm gazed at 
 le dewy freshness of this sixteen-year-old budding 
 eauty, the dazzling complexion of milk and roses, the 
 parkle of the merry, childish eyes, an immense tender- 
 ess came over him, and he thought to himself that 
 jrely nature had not sufficiently protected all these 
 barms against the desire they must necessarily awaken 
 1 the beholder. Such a ravishing creature might well 
 e excused if her heart led her astray. How could she 
 hoose aright when her beauty roused men's passion be- 
 )re she had had time to gain experience or judgment 
 Qough to defend herself? 
 
 There were a thousand other attractions in this room. 
 . picture, or rather a sketch, by Goya, with all the 
 mtastic want of finish, the gorgeous dabs of color that 
 lake so many of that master's works like the visions of 
 elirium ; on an inlaid table, a little Moorish casket, 
 irough the crj'stal lid of which one saw a collection of 
 Id Spanish coins of astounding dimensions; a small 
 abinet on the wall, containing stars and orders, with 
 leir chains, on a white satin ground; a trophy formed 
 
334 TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 of a sword, gold spurs, epaulettes, and a gold-fringed 
 Bcarf ; here and there great Catalonian knives with open 
 blades, daggers in rich sheaths and with engraved han- 
 dles, and even an open velvet-lined case with a pair of 
 chased ivory pistols. Some photographs on the chimney- 
 piece and on the gold brocade-covered piano arrested 
 "VVilhelm's attention. First of all, Pilar in two different 
 positions, then the pictures of three children, a girl and 
 two boys, and finally the full-length portrait of a gentle- 
 man in the embroidered dress coat and sword of the 
 diplomatic service, and the handsome, vacuous, carefully 
 groomed head of a fashion plate. 
 
 Wilhelm was enagaged in studying this face, with its 
 fashionably twirled mustache, when Pilar entered the 
 room. 
 
 "You have changed your dress?" cried Wilhelm, sur- 
 prised ; for she had donned an emerald-green velvet tea- 
 gown, with a long train, and her hair was hanging down. 
 
 "Yes," said she, as she kissed him fondly, "for we are 
 not going away again just yet. You will stay and dine 
 with me — I have given the necessary orders. You must 
 be quite sick of the monotonous hotel meals. For my 
 part, I simply yearn to eat at my own table with you." 
 
 So saying, she took his hat out of his hand, coaxingly 
 relieved him of his greatcoat, then rang and ordered 
 Auguste to take them away. Taking advantage of this 
 distraction of Wilhelm 's attention, she rapidly snatched 
 up the photograph he had been examining when she eame 
 in, and hid it under the piano-cover. She then opened 
 the piano, seated herself, and gazing passionately over 
 her shoulder at Wilhelm standing behind her, she began 
 playing the Wedding March out of "Midsummer Night's 
 Dream." The melodious sounds rushed from under her 
 fingers like a flight of startled doves, and fluttered about 
 
THE! MALADY OF THE OENTUJRT. 335 
 
 her, joyous and exultant. She went on with immense 
 power and brilliancy till she came to the first repetition 
 of the triumphant opening motif, with its jubilant blare 
 of trumpets, then stopped abruptly, and jumping up and 
 throwing her arms round Wilhelm : 
 
 "Isn't it that, my one and only Wilhelm?" she said, 
 with a beaming look. 
 
 "My sweetest Pilar," he answered, and clasped her to 
 his breast. His heart was really full to overflowing at 
 that moment She took his arm and proceeded to lead 
 him about the room, showing and explaining the various 
 objects to him. "This is my mamma as she looked 
 twenty-five years ago, when she went to the Feria at 
 Seville. That is a sort of fair at Easter, and one of the 
 most famous popular festivals of Spain. We must go to 
 it some day together. And that is my late father as 
 major-general. Here he is in the robes of a Knight of 
 San lago, one of our highest military orders. It has 
 existed siiice the twelfth century, and, strangely enough, 
 one of my ancestors was among its first members. These 
 are my father's decorations and badges of office. Come 
 and look at this clock, it is quite unique. The province 
 of Cordova had it made, and presented it to my father 
 when he gave up his command there. I suppose you 
 recognized this pastel. It is a very good likeness. Do 
 you think it pretty?" 
 
 "Pretty! The word is a gross injustice. Say rather 
 exquisitely, ravishingly beautiful." 
 
 "Thanks, my Wilhelm. And if you had known me 
 then, you would have loved me and wanted to marry me, 
 would you not?" 
 
 "But you would hardly have wanted to marry me, a 
 poor devil of a plebeian, who was badly dressed and did 
 not ev@a knew how to daaee." 
 
336 TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 "Do not make fun of me, 3'ou sweet, bad creature; if I 
 had had as much sense then as I have now, I should have 
 loved you then as I love you now, and I would have be- 
 longed to you, even if it had cost me my father's love." 
 She gazed thoughtfully at the picture in which her inno- 
 cent past confronted her in so angelic a form, and con- 
 tinued in tones of indescribable tenderness: "Why did 
 I not know you sooner? Is it my fault that you who 
 were made for me should live so far away and wait so 
 long before you came to me ? How I should have re- 
 joiced to be able to offer you the pure young creature of 
 this picture! But I can but give you all I have — my first 
 real love, the virginity of my heart — surely that is some- 
 thing?" 
 
 Her hazel eyes pleaded for a great deal of compassion, 
 and her full scarlet lips for a great deal of love, and only 
 a heart of cast iron could have refused her either. 
 
 Beyond the salon was a roomy dining-room, hung with 
 magnificent Cordova leather, and from this a glass door 
 led into a pretty little garden with an arbor in the cor- 
 ner, and some old trees. High, ivy-clad walls inclosed 
 the square green spot of nature. Up the stairs, on the 
 walls of which hung many valuable pictures, for which 
 there was no place in the rooms. Pilar and Wilhelm 
 mounted to the second floor. They entered first a red 
 salon with windows opening on to the balcony and in 
 which the all-pervading scent of ylang-ylang betrayed 
 that it was the favorite apartment of the lady of the 
 house. She did not keep Wilhelm long in this dainty 
 bower, but drew him into the large bedroom adjoining. 
 The walls were draped with Japanese silk, patterned 
 with strange landscapes, fabulous flowers, gay-colored 
 birds on the wing, and a network of twining creatures, 
 and drawn together at the ceiling like the roof of a tent. 
 
tMS! MalAD t OP THE CMNTUS, f. 337 
 
 Out of the soft folds of the center rosette hung a lamp 
 with golden dragons on its pink globe. There was a 
 wardrobe with looking-glass doors, a toilette table, an 
 immense bed of carved ebony inlaid with scenes from the 
 antique in ivory, and chairs covered with Persian stuffs. 
 Beside all this there was an old oak Gothic priedieu, a 
 small altar draped in rose color and white lace, a mass of 
 flowers, and numerous crucifixes and Madonnas of various 
 sizes in silver, ivory and alabaster. 
 
 "Are you so devout? That is news to me," exclaimed 
 Wilhelm, surprised. He little knew that the first thing 
 Pilar had done on entering the house was to hasten to 
 her bedroom, kiss the holy silver Madonna del Pilar with 
 deepest devotion, and kneel for a few moments on her 
 priedieu. 
 
 "Oh, no, I am not at all devout. I am just the pagan 
 you have always known. But — que voulez-vous f — one 
 has old habits. I regard the Blessed Virgin chiefly in 
 the light of Our Lady of Sorrows, whose heart is pierced 
 with seven swords, and Christ as the eternal type of sub- 
 limest love. You are a heretic, but I know that pictures 
 and symbols are not as offensive to you as to certain vul- 
 gar free-thinkers." 
 
 Going up to the bed, she clung still more fondly to 
 Wilhelm, and murmured in coy and halting tones — 
 "Perhaps you have not noticed that everything in this 
 room, except the altar and the priedieu, is new; I had 
 this fresh little nest arranged for us while we were in St. 
 Valery. I hope our rest may be sweet and our dreams 
 happy ones." 
 
 He sought nervously for some appropriate answer, but 
 she gave him no time, and opening a door in the wall 
 beside the fireplace, she went on — "And this is your 
 room. Tell me, have I guessed your taste?" 
 
3S8 TBE MALAD T Of TBB cmTXTB T. 
 
 Without even glancing into the cozy, one-windowed 
 room, he said, taking Pilar's hand in his: "Why torture 
 me, Pilar? — you know it cannot be." 
 
 "Wilhelm!" her voice was firm, and she looked him 
 full in the eyes, "do you love me?" 
 
 "You know it." 
 
 "Do we belong to each other?" 
 
 "Yes— and no." 
 
 "That is not a straightforward answer. We do belong 
 to one another. You know perfectly well that if I were 
 free you would marry me, and then you certainly would 
 have no scruples in coming into this house as its master. 
 Where is the difference?" 
 
 "You know where the difference lies." 
 
 "It is enough to drive one crazy! Is a paltry prej- 
 udice to triumph over our right to be happy? We are 
 both of age. We are accountable to no one on earth for 
 our actions. An insurmountable obstacle, for the 
 moment, prevents us making our relations respectable in 
 the eyes of the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick- 
 maker by paying a few francs to a registry-office and a 
 priest. Has the mumbling of a priest so much meaning 
 for you? Must you first enjoy the edifying spectacle of 
 a maire in a fringed scarf before you can feel like my 
 husband? Or do you want any one else's consent? My 
 father is dead, but my mother would adore you and do 
 anything in the world for you, if I told her you made her 
 only child unspeakably happy. What more do you 
 want?" 
 
 "I could not reconcile myself to such a position. 
 There is nothing to be said against your arguments. 
 But for me to live on you '" 
 
 "For shame!" she cried, and tapped him lightly on 
 the cheek with her forefinger. "Ah, you see I love you 
 
ms MALADY OP TEH! OENTtTRt. 339 
 
 etter than you love me. If you were very rich and I 
 ad not a penny, I vpould not hesitate for an instant to 
 ccept everything from you. I trust my heart is of more 
 alue to you than this paltry little house and its sticks of 
 arniture. You have my heart — what is all the rest com- 
 ared with that?" 
 
 He still shook his head unconvinced, but she knelt be- 
 }re him and said imploringly : "Wilhelm, you will not 
 urt me so. Even if it costs you a great deal, make this 
 acrifice for my sake. Give it a trial. You will see how 
 Don you will get accustomed to it. And if not, then I 
 m ready to go with you to the ends of the earth — to the 
 Slack Forest — wherever you will. Only try it, Wilhelm 
 -have pity on me." 
 
 He stooped to lift her up, but reading in his eyes that 
 e was yielding, she sprang to her feet and threw her- 
 elf, gleeful as a child, upon his breast. Her victory 
 lied her with such joy she could have shouted it out of 
 be windows. She coaxed and fondled Wilhelm, called 
 im by every endearing name, drew him over to the long 
 lirror that he might see how handsome he was, dragged 
 im into his room and then back into the bedroom, and 
 squired a considerable time to recover her self-control. 
 
 Meanwhile it had grown dark. She did not notice it 
 ill now, and rang for Anne to bring lamps. 
 
 "Has Don Pablo come back?" she asked of the maid. 
 
 "Half an hour ago, madame. " 
 
 "Then send up the boxes at once." 
 
 "You have sent for the luggage already?" was Wil- 
 elm's astonished inquiry when Anne had left the room. 
 
 "Naturally, my darling. I was certain, you know, 
 lat you would not break your Pilar 's heart. " 
 
 Auguste and the man whom Pilar called Don Pablo 
 ow carried np the one small box and two large ones Wil- 
 
SiO TM MALAbr Op TME OENTITRY. 
 
 helm always took about with him. Pilar asked him for 
 the keys, and proceeded to put away his belongings in 
 the various receptacles of the room. She would not suffer 
 him to help her. Only his books she allowed him to 
 pile up in a corner for the present ; their orderly arrange- 
 ment in the bookcase was put off till the daylight. 
 
 At dinner Pilar was in the seventh heaven, and more in 
 love than ever before. In her wild spirits she threw all 
 her glasses into the garden, and would only drink out of 
 Wilhelm's. It was a real banquet: costly Spanish wines, 
 red and white, rough and sweet, from her well-stocked 
 cellar, accompanied by choice dishes, and finally cham- 
 pagne, of which Pilar partook valiantly. After dessert 
 she skipped into the salon, put the champagne glass 
 down on the piano, and between sips and kisses played 
 and sang Spanish love-songs that drove the flames to her 
 cheeks. That evening she was all Bacchante. In the 
 bedroom she tore off her clothes with impatient fingers, 
 and held out her small, high-bred feet for Wilhelm to 
 pull off her silk stockings. He knelt and kissed the little 
 feet, while she gazed down at him with burning mistj' 
 eyes, and between the blood-red lips slightly parted in a 
 wanton smile gleamed pearly teeth that looked as if they 
 could bite with satisfaction into a quivering heart. It 
 was the Sphinx and the poor trembling mouse in the 
 dust before her to the life. 
 
 When Wilhelm awoke next morning, he saw Pilar 
 standing all fresh and ready at the bedside to greet him 
 with a happy smile. With her iron nerves and super- 
 abundant animal strength, she required but little sleep, 
 and had at once resumed her old habit of stealing away 
 early to perform the rites of her toilette while he still 
 slept. 
 
 He dressed quickly, she being occupied meanwhile in 
 
THE MALADT OF THE OENTUUT. 341 
 
 ampleting the coquettish adorBment of his room with 
 nots of ribbon, bouquets of flowers, Japanese fans, pio- 
 ires and bronzes which she arranged with unerring taste 
 a the walls beside the mirror, over the doors and win- 
 ow, or strewed about the secretaire, the tablB, or the 
 best of drawers, in studied negligence. They had 
 reakfast in the red salon, after which she led him to her 
 ■)udoir, which he had not yet seen, and that looked like 
 
 pink silk-lined jewel box. She drew up an armchair 
 eside the crackling wood fire, begged Wilhelm to sit 
 own put a little inlaid rosewood table before him, and 
 ut of a cabinet she fetched a large Eussia leather pocket- 
 ook with a gold lock and laid it on the table. 
 
 "Let us settle these details once for all," she said to 
 i^ilhelm, who had watched her proceeding with surprise, 
 so that we need never refer to them again. You are my 
 usband, and must relieve me now of all my business 
 axes. Here — " she opened the pooketbook and spread 
 ut some formidable-looking papers, with stamps and 
 sals attached, before him: "This is my check book, 
 ere the deposit receipts for my government stock and 
 onds." 
 
 "What do you mean?" cried Wilhelm. "I understand 
 othing of such things; I have never had anything to do 
 ith them, and I am certainly not going to begin now, 
 ad with you." He gathered up the papers impatiently, 
 irust them back into the pocketbook, which he closed 
 ith a snap, and seeing Pilar standing there like a disap- 
 ointed child balked of a surprise, he added: "How- 
 fer, I am grateful for the suggestion, as it helps me out 
 I a dilemma. I was at a loss in what form to put what I 
 lust say to you — you have helped me in the nick of time, 
 ilar," he drew her on to his knee and kissed her, "at 
 16 seaside the matter was very simple, we had only to 
 
343 TBE MALADY OF TEE CENl'UBT. 
 
 divide the bill between us. That ■will not do here. I 
 am not well enough off to defray half the expense of such 
 an establishment as yours." 
 
 "Oh, Wilhelm!" she exclaimed, horror-stricken, and 
 attempted to jump down, but he held her fast and con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "I know this subject is painful to you, so it is to me; 
 but, as you said yourself, it must be settled once for all. 
 You must allow me to defray my own expenses as I would 
 in a good family pension. I will put the trifling sum 
 in your pocketbook once a month, and you will have a 
 little more for your poor — one cannot have too much for 
 them." 
 
 "I am simply petrified," murmured Pilar, "that you 
 can take such a thing into consideration?" 
 
 "It is the one condition on which I stay here," re- 
 turned Wilhelm firmly. 
 
 ""What a dreadful proud boy you are! You will not 
 accept a thing from me, and I told you yesterday that I 
 would never be too proud to share your possessions with 
 you. And if you had married me, you would no doubt 
 have scorned to touch my dowry, and wanted to pay me 
 for your board too." 
 
 "Dear heart, I imagine the question is settled between 
 us, and never to be discussed again. I simply cannot 
 live free of expense in the house of my " 
 
 "Your wife," she broke in hastily. 
 
 "Of my— wife." 
 
 "Very well," she said, resigning herself, "you must 
 have your own way, I suppose. But explain to me, my 
 Teutonic philosopher, how comes it that so high-bred a 
 body and so noble a mind can contain a corner holding 
 such a tradesman's idea? How can one make these com- 
 monplace calculations when one is in love? Are you 
 
THE MALADt OF TEW CBHTTURT. 343 
 
 Germans all like that, or is it an inherited weakness in 
 your family?" 
 
 "In my family," he answered simply, and without a 
 trace of bitterness, "as far back as I know of (though that 
 is certainly not anything like as far as your ancestor, the 
 first knight of San lago), we have always worked for our 
 living, and owed all to our own industry. I am the first 
 who found the table ready spread for him, and who 
 knows if it has been an advantage to me." 
 
 "Now you are making fun of my ancestors, you dis- 
 agreeable man — when did I ever say such a silly thing?" 
 
 "I never said you did, but you asked an explanation of 
 the German philosopher, and the German philosopher 
 has done his best to give you one." 
 
 She locked her pocketbook in the cabinet again, and 
 there the matter ended between them. 
 
 The rest of the household, which seemed to accept the 
 establishing of the new guest without the faintest sur- 
 prise, consisted, beside Anne, of the man-servant Au- 
 guste, a young, knowing-looking southern Frenchman, 
 with a clean-shaven, lackey's face, the old Spanish cook 
 Isabel, a colossal, 'unwieldly, hippopotamus-like person 
 with a red nose, watery, bloodshot eyes, and a strident 
 voice, and Don Pablo, who seemed to be a mixture of 
 servant, major-domo, and the confidential attendant of the 
 old plays. Pilar esteemed him highly, and always spoke 
 of him in terms of respect. According to her, he came of 
 a good Catalonian family, had served with the Carlists 
 and received titles and orders of distinction from Don 
 Carlos. After the downfall of the cause for which he had 
 fought he had come to Paris like so many of his com- 
 patriots and Pilar had rescued him from terrible want. 
 He did not live in the house, but had an attic somewhere 
 in the town. Every morning he appeared at the Boule- 
 
Ui THE MALABY OV TBE GENTtTRT. 
 
 vard Pereire to receive Pilar's orders, was occupied dur* 
 ing the whole day in going on errands and doing shop- 
 ping of every description, and his work over returned late 
 in the evening to his lodging. He was a tall, thin, mid- 
 dle-aged man with a long leathery face, a long pointed 
 nose, long oily hair, and long gray mustache. The entire 
 loose, bony figure looked like a reflection in a concave 
 glass — all distorted into length. Don Pablo had a deeply 
 melancholy air, never smiled and spoke but little. Dur- 
 ing the few spare hours which the countess' service — in 
 which his legs were chiefly in demand — permitted, he 
 might be seen in a back room on the ground floor, 
 engaged in manufacturing pictures out of gummed hair 
 — an art in which he was a proficient. He had even 
 achieved a portrait of Pilar in blonde, brown, and red 
 hair. It looked like the queen in a pack of cards, but 
 Don Pablo was very proud of the masterpiece, and never 
 forgave Pilar for not hanging it in one of the salons, but 
 in quite another place. It was this accomplishment of 
 his which led Auguste to declare firmly and with convic- 
 tion that he was nothing more nor less than a common 
 hairdresser. The relations between the two were alto- 
 gether very strained. Auguste was annoj'ed by the 
 Spaniard's high-and-mighty airs, and his French instincts 
 of equality revolted against Don Pablo's pretensions to 
 be better than the rest of the servants. They had their 
 meals in common, but Don Pablo occupied the seat of 
 honor and demanded to be waited upon, while Auguste, 
 Anne and Isabel had to be content to wait upon them- 
 selves. As ill-luck would have it, Auguste had once got 
 a sight of Don Pablo's uniform and great order; where- 
 upon he instantly cut out a monstrous tin star out of the 
 lid of a sardine box and wore it at meals. Don Pablo 
 was so furious that he spoke seriously of challenging 
 
THE MALADY OF THE GENTUBT. 345 
 
 uguste to a duel to the death, and it required a stern 
 rder from the countess to make him give up his blood- 
 jirsty design and Auguste his practical joke. 
 
 The sharp-tongued Anne and noisy old Isabel were on 
 similar warlike footing. The maid was jealous of the 
 3ok because she had long, secret confabulations with the 
 Duntess, who let her do exactlj^ as she pleased, and even 
 )rgave her her pronounced liking for her excellent Val 
 e Pefias, of which she — ^Isabel — drank at least a barrel a 
 ear to her own account. One day Wilhelm, coming un- 
 spectedly into the boudoir, surprised Pilar and the red- 
 osed cook together, the latter engaged in telling her 
 listress' fortune by the cards. This was the secret of 
 sabel's influence. She hurriedly took herself off with 
 er cards, but Wilhelm shook his head : "I should not 
 ave believed it of my clever Pilar." 
 
 "What would you have?" she returned, half-laugh- 
 ]g, half -ashamed ; "we all of us have some little remnant 
 f superstition in some dark corner of our minds. And 
 fter all, it is very odd that ever since our return she is 
 Dntinually turning up the knave of hearts." And as 
 l^ilhelm was obviously still unenlightened, she explained. 
 Barbarian, don't you know that that always means a 
 weetheart?" 
 
 Pilar arranged their life as if they were on their honey- 
 loon. Every midday and evening meal was a banquet 
 ■ith flowers, choice dishes, and champagne, till Wilhelm 
 jrbade it; every day a drive in an elegant coupe; every 
 vening to some theater in a half-concealed stage box, in 
 hich Pilar hid herself in the dim background. Wil- 
 elm did not care for the theater, but Pilar insisted that 
 e should become acquainted with the French stage, 
 he showed him about Paris as if he were a schoolboy 
 Uowed to come to town in the holidays as a re'ward for 
 
346 THE MALADY OF THE OENTUBY. 
 
 having passed his examination well. And she was such 
 an interesting, entertaining guide! She was thoroughly 
 acquainted with the history or the anecdotes connected 
 with the various streets and buildings, and on their way 
 from the Column of July to the Opera House, from the 
 Madeleine to the Arc de Triomphe, from the Odeon to the 
 Pantheon, she unrolled a sparkling picture of Paris, past 
 and present; now showing him the seething crowds of 
 the lower classes and their customs and doings in good 
 and bad hours, now describing well-known contempora- 
 ries with all that was absurd or commendable in them. 
 Stories, scandals, traits of character, encounters she had 
 had, adventures that had befallen her, all flowed from 
 her lips in a gaj', babbling, inexhaustible stream, and 
 initiated her hearer into all the intricacies of Parisian 
 life. She was as familiar with the galleries as with the 
 famous buildings, and in front of the works of art in the 
 one and ihefagades of the other she fired off a rocket-like 
 shower of original remarks, paradoxes, and brilliant 
 criticisin. She knew exactly where to scoff and where to 
 be enthusiastic; jeered with all the ruthless slang of the 
 Paris gamins at the pompously mediocre sights recom- 
 mended to the tourists' admiration by Baedeker, and 
 gave evidence of deep and true comprehension of all that 
 was really beautiful. 
 
 At the very beginning she dragged Wilhelm to a 
 photographer's studio and disclosed to him, when it was 
 too late to beat a retreat, that he was to be photographed. 
 V>^hat for ? A fancy of hers- — ^she wanted to have his like- 
 ness. Half-length, full-length, full-face, profile. Only 
 when the pictures were sent home did he discover, that 
 she did not want them for herself, but to send to her 
 mother. It was high time she should see what the man 
 YTfis lik§ who ailone mad? life worth living foj: h^x only 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CBNTUBT. 347 
 
 child. That she should draw her mother into an affair 
 of the kind of •which women do not, as a rule, boast to 
 their families, seemed to him peculiarly bad taste. 
 "What," he cried, "you have told your mother the 
 whole story?" 
 
 "My mother is a Spaniard, she will guess what one 
 leaves unsaid." 
 
 "And you are not ashamed that she should know?" 
 
 "That is why I am sending her your likeness; she will 
 then understand that, on the contrary, I have every rea- 
 son to be proud." 
 
 What she did not consider it necessary to explain to 
 him was, that she had palmed off a complete romance 
 upon the Marquise de Henares, to the effect that Wilhelm 
 had saved her life at Ault while bathing, that he was a 
 celebrated German revolutionist, and the future Presi- 
 dent of the German Republic, to whom she was affording 
 a refuge in her house because, for the time being, he was 
 obliged to be in hiding from the German secret police, 
 and so forth, and so forth. 
 
 The marquise believed every word. In her answer, 
 she certainly reproached her daughter gently for having 
 anything to do with foreign conspirators, but otherwise 
 praised her evidence of gratitude toward her preserver, 
 and frankly expressed her admiration for the handsome 
 person of this interesting German. She even inclosed a 
 note to him, in which she thanked him from her over- 
 flowing mother's heart for all he had done for her only 
 child, and adjured him to be very prudent. He could 
 make nothing out of it, and Pilar declared that she was 
 equally in the dark. "I only see this much," she said 
 in an off-hand manner, "that mamma loves you already, 
 and will do still more so when she gets to know yoq per-i 
 gon^Uy, ^nd tta|t is ^H that pjatters," 
 
348 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 It was on the second Sunday after tlieir arrival in 
 Paris that the children came to visit their mother. Pilar 
 looked forward with some uneasiness to Wilhelm's first 
 meeting with them, and he too felt far from comfortable 
 when Pilar brought a half-grown girl and a ten-year old 
 boy to him, and addressing herself to them said, "Em- 
 brace Monsieur le Docteur, and look at him well. He is 
 the best friend your mother has on earth. You must 
 love him very much, for he deserves it." 
 
 The girl was fair like her mother. She was alreadj' 
 dressed with conspicuous elegance, and her manner be- 
 trayed extreme self-consciousness. She glanced at Wil- 
 helm with sly and wanton eyes, in which it was easily to 
 be read that she had a very good idea of the real state of 
 the case. She offered her forehead for his kiss, bestowed 
 a few cold and perfunctory caresses on her mother, and 
 slipped away to Anne, with whom she spent the whole 
 afternoon in eager whispered conversation, till the gover- 
 ness came to take her back to the fashionable boarding 
 school where she was being trained to be a perfect great 
 lady, and to make some enviable man happy in thefuture 
 by the bestowal of her hand. 
 
 The boy, who was accompanied by a priest, and was 
 being educated at a fashionable Jesuit institution, was of 
 a better sort. He gave his hand to "Wilhelm shyly but 
 heartily, while his innocent eyes looked frankly and 
 openly into his, and then hung over his mother with a 
 tenderness that had a touch of chivalry in it — half-funny, 
 half-affecting. Wilhelm felt decidedly drawn to the 
 slender, healthy-looking boy. 
 
 But in the course of the afternoon another — a third 
 child — appeared upon the scene; a lovely, brown, four- 
 year-old boy, with bold black eves and long raven curls, 
 whom a maid-servant brought to Pil^r that he might kiss 
 his mamma, 
 
I'tiE MALADf OP tME! CENttrnf. 349 
 
 Wilhelm was much surprised. "Three? You never 
 told me that," he whispered. 
 
 "This is little Manuel, my sweet little Manuelito," she 
 answered in a low voice, and buried her face in the 
 child's black curls that she might not have to look at 
 Wilhelm. She covered little Manuelito with kisses, and 
 then pushed him gently over to "Wilhelm, in whom the 
 most conflicting emotions were struggling for the mastery. 
 It was impossible to feel any ill-will toward this capti- 
 vating mite with the dark Bronzino face, and yet to Wil- 
 helm he seemed to represent a distinct act of treachery. 
 How could she have been so underhand as to hide the 
 fact from him that her connection with the fashion-plate 
 diplomat had not been without results! He made as if 
 to draw away from the boy, who stood staring nervously 
 at him, but the next moment his natural love of children 
 prevailed, and he clasped the sweet little fellow to his 
 breast. 
 
 "Such a lovely child!" he said, "and so young, and 
 in need of a mother's care. Why does it not live with 
 you?" 
 
 "He lives with a sister of his father," she answered, 
 hardly above her breath. 
 
 "And you let it go?" 
 
 "The father would not let me keep it. And I could 
 not do anything against it because — it is not registered 
 as my child, and does not bear my name." 
 
 The past, to which Wilhelm and Pilar had closed their 
 eyes till now, presented itself that afternoon in incontest- 
 ably lively form before them. Dispelled was the arti- 
 ficial fabric of their dream of a love that was as old as 
 life itself — dispelled the poetic figment that they were in 
 the honeymoon of a young pure union of the heart! 
 These three children told a tale of Pilar in which Wil- 
 
350 THM MALADY OF THE CMNTUR T. 
 
 helm bore do part, and the chapters of that etory bore 
 different names, as did the children themselves. 
 
 Pilar divined easily enough what was passing in "Wil- 
 helm's mind at sight of the children. She never let them 
 come to the house again, but henceforth went to see them 
 at their respective homes. He was sure that they liked 
 coming to the Boulevard Pereire, and was sorry that 
 they should miss this pleasure on his account. Pilar 
 begged him, however, not to allude to the subject again 
 —he was dearer to her than her children, and there was 
 nothing she would not do to spare him a moment's un- 
 pleasantness. 
 
 The first visitor whom Wilhelm saw in Pilar's house 
 was a little tubby gentleman with a clean-shaven face and 
 a rosette in his buttonhole, composed of sixteen different 
 colored ribbons at the very lowest computation. He 
 enjoyed the privilege of coming at any hour of the day, 
 and being instantly admitted to the boudoir. He was 
 introduced to "Wilhelm as Don Antonio Gorra, and Pilar 
 explained afterward that Don Antonio was a lawyer, an 
 old friend of her family, and that he conducted her 
 business affairs for her. For a time she had long daily 
 consultations, to which Wilhelm was not invited. As 
 soon as he left, she would come to Wilhelm with a signifi- 
 cant and mysterious air, evidently expecting that he 
 would ask what all this putting together of heads might 
 mean. As he did not evince the slightest curiosity, she 
 grew impatient at last, and asked with assumed light- 
 ness : 
 
 "Are you not at all jealous, you fish-blooded German ?" 
 
 "Jealous? No, I certainlj- am not. Besides which, 
 you give me no cause." 
 
 "Indeed! and what about my tete-d-tetes with Don 
 Antonio?" 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 351 
 
 "Oh, Don Antonio!" laughed Wilhelm. 
 
 "You are quite right, sweetheart, but it aggravates me 
 lat you should not want to know what he and I are 
 rewing. You do not take nearly so much interest in 
 ly affairs as you ought." 
 
 "But you told me that Don Antonio was your man of 
 usiness. " 
 
 "Well, then — no — this time it is not a matter of busi- 
 ess. I wanted to prepare a surprise for you." She 
 sated herself on his knee, and laying her cheek to his, 
 ie whispered: "I have been trying to have myself 
 aturalized in Belgium, and then, as a Belgian subject, 
 et a divorce from Count Pozaldez. In that way I might 
 ave become your wife before the law as well." 
 
 He looked at her with a face expressive rather of alarm 
 Qd astonishment than joy, and she went on with a sigh. 
 However, Don Antonio has just told me I must give 
 p that pleasant dream — it cannot be realized." 
 
 He kissed her lips and brow, and stroked her silky 
 air. She laid her head on his shoulder, and remained 
 )ng in silent thought. Presently she rose, walked up 
 Qd down the room once or twice, and finally seated her- 
 alf on a footstool at "Wilhelm 's feet. "But something I 
 lust do to bind you to me," she said. "I shall not rest 
 ill there is some written bond, something legal between 
 s. I shall alter my will, and give you the place in it 
 ou occupy in my life." 
 
 "Pilar," exclaimed "Wilhelm, "if you love me, and if 
 ou wish that we should remain what we are to one 
 uother, never say such a word again. If I ever find out 
 liat you have mentioned me in your will, all is at end 
 etween us." She drooped her head disconsolately, and 
 e continued in a milder tone — "Dorfling's will has not 
 rought me so much luck that I should ever wish to 
 iherit money again." 
 
352 THE MALADt Olf THE OENTURY. 
 
 The idea to which she had given expression did not 
 leave Pilar, however. There should be something in 
 writing — some document with stamps and seals to testify 
 that Wilhelm belonged to her. This wish assumed the 
 proportions of a superstition with her, and she never 
 rested till it was satisfied. 
 
 One morning the inmates of the house on the Boule- 
 vard Pereire saw the arrival of three carriages, which 
 discharged eight persons at the door. A well-dressed 
 gentleman rang the bell, marshaled his seven companions 
 in the hall, and desired to be shown up to the countess. 
 She was expecting him, and received him in the red 
 salon. After a short conversation, she went downstairs 
 with him to the yellow salon, where Wilhelm, at her re- 
 quest, followed them. The visitor was the Spanish con- 
 sul in Paris. He produced a casket ornamented with 
 mother-o '-pearl, broke a seal with which it was fastened, 
 unlocked it with a small silver key, and took out a docu- 
 ment in a closed envelope, and handed it to Pilar. He 
 then opened the door, and permitted his followers to 
 enter. They came in in single file, and ranged them- 
 selves silently along the wall. They were tall, lean men 
 in great circular Spanish cloaks of brown or bottle-green, 
 defective in the matter of footgear, and with shapeless 
 greasy hats in their ungloved hands. Their deportment 
 was as dignified as if they had been the chapter of a 
 religious order, and every face was turned with an air of 
 contemplative solemnity toward the countess. With 
 nervous haste she wrote a few lines at the foot of the 
 document, read it over three or four times and altered a 
 word here and there ; she then folded the paper, returned 
 it to the envelope, and handed it back to the consul. 
 She sealed it with her seal and wrote something on it, the 
 seven men then advanced one by one to the table, and 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 353 
 
 ith extreme gravity and precision put their signatures 
 a the envelope. The casket was then relocked and re- 
 saled, and the company withdrew with a ceremonious 
 ow, not, however, without leaving behind them such a 
 ieroing smell of garlic that the yellow salon was still full 
 f it nest day. 
 
 When Pilar found herself alone with Wilhelm, she 
 3ked: "I suppose you would like to know what all this 
 leans?" 
 
 "Well, yes.;' 
 
 "We have in Spain what we call mysterious wills, the 
 ontents ,of which may be kept secret. A will of that 
 ind is valid if an ofScial person and seven witnesses 
 ouch for it by their signatures on the envelope that it 
 as been written or altered in their presence. To-day 
 have added something to my secret will." 
 
 He made a movement, but she would not give him time 
 3 speak. 
 
 "Do not be afraid, I have not acted against your 
 'ishes nor wounded your pride. On our Vega de Henares 
 1 Old Castile, we have a family tomb where my ancestors 
 ave been laid to rest since the sixteenth century. It is 
 be Eenaissance mausoleum of the picture hanging in 
 our room. The marble tomb stands in the middle of an 
 ak wood, not far from a little brook, and it is cool and 
 till there. I shall lie there some day, wherever I may 
 ie, and I have assigned you a place beside me. Promise 
 le, Wilhelm, that you will accept it. Promise me that 
 ou, in your turn, will make the necessary arrangements 
 )r your remains to be brought at last to our vega. I do 
 ot know if I may ever belong to you as your wife in my 
 fetime, but in death I want to have you forever at my 
 ide. Grant me this consolation. Give me your hand 
 pon it." 
 
354 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 Great tears welled elowly into the hazel eyes, and it 
 was plainly of such sacred and earnest import to her 
 that Wilhelm had not the heart to smile at her strained 
 and sentimental idea. Moved and touched, he clasped 
 her to his heart in silence. 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 355 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 tannhadsee's flight. 
 
 "To be as much alone with you in great Paris as if we 
 were on a desert island in the Pacific — in the midst of the 
 crowd> yet having no part with it;, spectators of its 
 amusing doings, and yet unnoticed by it. You all my 
 world, and I yours — what a sweet and perfect dream!" 
 Thus Pilar as she went out in fine weather, thickly veiled, 
 on Wilhelm's arm into the crowded streets, and she did 
 her utmost to prolong the charming delusion as far as 
 possible. She paid no visits, invited no one to the house, 
 avoided every familiar face in the street. Through the 
 consul and Don Antonio, however, her more immediate 
 circle got wind by degrees of her return to Paris, and 
 visitors began to call at the little house on the Boulevard 
 Pereire who would not submit to being sent away. With 
 the versatility of mind peculiar to her,Pilar soon adapted 
 herself to the new position of affairs, and tried to make 
 the best of it. Of course it would have been infinitely 
 more agreeable, she said to "Wilhelm, to have been able 
 to remain longer in their delicious seclusion, but, sooner 
 or later, social life would haVe to be resumed, and it was 
 best he should make a beginning now. "Do not be > 
 afraid," she added, "that I shall ask you to make the 
 acquaintance of all the asses and parrots that have chat- 
 tered and gesticulated round me for years. You shall 
 only know a really select few, who are fond of me, and 
 who can offer you friendship and appreciation," 
 
356 TEE MALADY OF THE GENTUBY. 
 
 And so the march past of the elect began, most of them 
 being invited either to lunch or dinner. Wilhelm found 
 them very peculiar and uncongenial, and, on the whole, 
 derived but little satisfaction from their acquaintance. 
 Pilar had a small weakness; according to her account, 
 each one of her more intimate friends was a striking and 
 original character, the possessor of the rarest qualities. 
 It was the only touch of snobbishness of which one could 
 havfi accused her. She announced the arrival of an old 
 Spanish general, "a hero of quite the antique, classic 
 type, one of the most remarkable figures in the history 
 of modern warfare," and there entered to them a little old 
 man, shuffling in with the flurried, dragging gait of a 
 paralytic, unable to lift his feet from the ground, stam- 
 mering out a few commonplaces, who could not keep his 
 gold eyeglasses on his nose, and who, when he was 
 informed that Wilhelm had fought in the Franco-Prussian 
 War, frankly admitted that, though he had commanded 
 at many a grand review, he had never been in real action. 
 
 Another time a Great Thinker was to appear, a pro- 
 found sage, with whom Wilhelm would be delighted, 
 thoroughly versed in German philosophy, a critic of 
 immense and independent spirit. But what Wilhelm 
 really saw was a slovenly, pock-marked man, with a very 
 arrogant manner, who smoked cigarettes without inter- 
 mission, and preserved an obstinate silence, behind which 
 one was naturally free to imagine the profoundest 
 thoughts, if one wished it; and who, when Pilar tried to 
 lead him on to air his opinions on German philosophy, ' 
 answered sententiously : "I do not care for Kant; his 
 was not a republican spirit." A man who was said to be 
 famed for his wit perpetrated such atrocious puns that 
 even Pilar was forced to admit after he left that he had 
 had a, surprisingly bad day. An aristocra,tic member qf 
 
TSE MALABT Off TSB CENTURY. 35? 
 
 the Jockey Club, "a truly distinguished being" — 'when 
 Pilar wished to give any one the highest praise she 
 always alluded to them as "a being" — "and not super- 
 ficial like the most of his class," talked for two consecu- 
 tive hours of the coming elections to the Jockej' Club, 
 and of the attempt to bring in the wearing of bracelets as 
 a fashion among gentlemen. The only figure in this 
 gallery which made anything like a favorable impression 
 on Wilhelm was a Catalonian, naturalized in Prance, a 
 professor at a Paris lycee. He had simple, winning 
 manners, spoke and looked like an intelligent person, and 
 met Wilhelm with much friendliness. He was to learn 
 later on that this amiable, frank, unfailingly good-tem- 
 pered acquaintance had made the most ill-natured, not to 
 say defamatory remarks about him, before Pilar and her 
 whole circle of friends. 
 
 One afternoon Anne announced that "the consumptive 
 poet was below, and begged to be allowed to pay his 
 respects to Madame la Comtesse." "Another great man, 
 no doubt," thought Wilhelm, sadly resigned to his fate. 
 To his surprise Pilar turned furiously red, and said 
 angrily: 
 
 "I am not at home!" 
 
 Anne retired, but came back again immediately. 
 
 "He sent to ask, " she said, in a tone of studied in- 
 difference, which ineffectually concealed her inward sat- 
 isfaction, "what he had done to deserve madame's dis- 
 pleasure, and why he should be treated like a stranger?" 
 
 "Anne," cried Pilar, her voice quivering with rage, 
 "how dare you bring me such a message! If the man 
 does not go instantly, then order Don Pablo and Auguste 
 to see that he does." 
 
 The maid withdrew, and Pilar, without waiting for 
 Wilhelm 's question, muttered resentfully: 
 
358 TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 "A man I was kind to out of pity, because he was such 
 a poor •wretch, an unknown poet, and bound to die soon 
 ■ — and now he is impudent and intrusive. But that is 
 just what one may expect when one is kind-hearted." 
 
 Wilhelm thought no more of this episode, and had 
 almost forgotten that it had ever occurred, when one day 
 soon afterward a friend of Pilar's, the Countess Cuerbo, 
 came to call. She was the wife of a fabulously rich 
 Spanish banker, whose house, racing-stables, picture 
 gallery, carriages, and dinners were among the marvels 
 of Paris. This lady's most striking characteristic was a 
 vulgar boastfulness, such as is seldom met with even 
 among the worst upstarts of the Bourse. It was said 
 that she bad originally been a washerwoman or a cigar- 
 ette maker in Seville, but this was perhaps an exaggera- 
 tion. So much, however, was certain, that her husband 
 had begun in a very small way, and had received his title 
 at the accession of King Alfonso, in return for financial 
 services which had materially helped toward the re-estab- 
 lishment of the throne. The Countess Cuerbo could now 
 give points as to pride of station to the bluest-blooded 
 grandee. She associated exclusively with persons of 
 title, and strove, in every possible way, to play the 
 "grande dame. " She was always bedizened with the 
 most costly diamonds, and so shamelessly rouged that 
 she must have been mobbed had she gone through the 
 Boulevards on foot. She was not actually plain, but so 
 affected that she did not know what to do with herself, 
 and made such frightful grimaces that one was afraid to 
 look at her. Nor could she be called stupid, for she had 
 the inborn natural wit of the Andalusians, and when she 
 spoke Spanish, could give very droll turns to her remarks. 
 Her French was calculated to induce toothache in her 
 hearers, and in the unfamiliar language the wit evapo- 
 
rni-: jIaladt gf the century. 359 
 
 rated and left only the vulgar behind. She was the terror 
 of her female friends, for she considered absolute freedom 
 of speech to be the privilege and badge of nobility, and 
 thought herself every inch an aristocrat -n-hen she alluded, 
 without the faintest regard for decency, not only to her 
 own numerous affairs of gallantry, but to those of her 
 friends to their faces. Her tactlessness had been the 
 cause of many a disaster, but she remained incorrigible, 
 in spite of repeated and severe snubbings and even bitter 
 insults. 
 
 No sooner had she entered the room than "Wilhelm re- 
 ceived a sample of her peculiar style. Anne announced 
 the Countess Cuerbo. Wilhelm rose, prepared to leave 
 Pilar aloae, but the visitor had followed on the heels of 
 the maid, and rustled into the red salon, exclaiming in 
 her strident voice and horrible Spanish accent as she em- 
 braced Pilar : 
 
 "This is your German friend, I suppose, about whom 
 I have heard so much. Oh, please don't go away, I am 
 so curious to know you. " 
 
 "Wilhelm was dumfounded. Such calm insolence he 
 had never yet encountered. Pilar shot a glance of fury 
 at the countess, to which she did not pay the slightest 
 attention, but examined "Wilhelm insolently through her 
 gold eyeglasses, and went on with a vulgar laugh : 
 
 "General Taron told me about you, and described you 
 to me. He thinks you very nice, and I must say I think 
 he is right." 
 
 Pilar's patience gave out. 
 
 "Madame," she said very dryly, "if Monsieur le 
 Docteur Eynhardt feels himself honored by your astound- 
 ing familiarities that is his affair. I do not disguise 
 from you that I think them in verj* bad taste." 
 
 "Oh, my dear countess," i-eplied the lady, in no way 
 
360 THE MALADY OF TEE CENTURY. 
 
 discomposed by this snub, "don't be so severe upon me. 
 I have no designs upon your friend, and you need not be 
 prudish with me. Surely ladies of our rank have no need 
 to be particular like any little grocer's wife." 
 
 That was Pilar's own creed, and before any other audi- 
 ence she would smilingly have agreed with the Countess 
 Cuerbo. But she pictured to herself what an effect this 
 tone would have upon "Wilhelm's German, middle-class 
 sense of propriety, which she knew so well, and was in- 
 dignant at her visitor's cool cynicism. 
 
 "Madame," she returned, still more icily, "you force 
 upon me the opinion that there are circumstances under 
 which it would be well to take an example by the grocer's 
 wives whom you despise so much." 
 
 This remark, in which the Bourse-countess did not fail 
 to hear the ring of the real aristocrat's disdain, touched 
 her in her tenderest point. She tried to smile, but turned 
 livid under her paint, and determined to return the stab 
 on the spot. 
 
 "Don't be angry, dearest countess, I was only joking, 
 and you know as well as anybody that we Andalusians 
 do not weigh our words too carefully. By the bye, your 
 French poet — you know — the one before you went to the 
 seaside — is simply beside himself. You have thrown him 
 over, it seems. He comes to me every day, imploring me 
 to say a good word for him to you. He talks of challeng- 
 ing his fortunate successor, and goodness only knows 
 what nonsense beside." 
 
 Pilar turned very white. She sprang to her feet. 
 "Shall I give a name to what you are doing?" she 
 cried, her voice shaking. 
 
 "Don't trouble," returned her visitor, perfectly de- 
 lighted, and rising as she spoke. "I see, dearest coun- 
 tess, that you have one of your nervous days, Sft I had 
 better come again another time> " 
 
TSE MALAD T OF TtiS OBNTUR Y. 3G1 
 
 So saying she swept out of the room, throwing an 
 ffensively friendly nod at Wilhelm as she passed. To 
 be grinning Anne, who was waiting in the hall to see her 
 3 her carriage, she said : 
 
 "Well, it looks serious this time — the countess is over 
 ead and ears. But it is quite true, he is much better- 
 joking than any, of the others." 
 
 "Looks are not everything," returned Anne sagely, 
 nd her contemptuous shrug conveyed plainly enough 
 bat she did not share her mistress' taste. 
 
 Upstairs Pilar had rushed over to Wilhelm as soon as 
 be countess disappeared, and hid her face on his breast. 
 
 Wilhelm pushed her gently away, and said sadly : 
 
 "I have no right to reproach you, or, if I did, it would 
 nly be for not having been open with me, although you 
 oast of your extreme truthfulness." 
 
 "Wilhelm," she entreated, clasping his hand in both 
 f hers, "do not judge me hastily. I might excuse 
 lyself, I might even deny it, but I am not capable of 
 bat. When I told you the story of my life, I believed 
 onestly that I had made you a full confession. You 
 bake your head ? Is it true — I swear it is 1 This man 
 ad entirely escaped my memory. Why, I never loved 
 im! It was in some part a childish folly, but princi- 
 ally pity and perhaps little caprice on the part of a 
 ored and lonely woman. My heart had not the smallest 
 art in it. He was given up by the doctors, they thought 
 e might die any day — in such a case one gives oneself 
 3 one would offer him a cup of tisane — the action of a 
 rood Samaritan." 
 
 "Your defense," he said grimly, as he freed himself 
 •om her grasp, "is far worse than any reproach I might 
 ring against you. You never loved him? Your heart 
 ad no part in this childish folly ? That makes it all the 
 
363 THE MALADT OP TSE GENTUltt. 
 
 uglier— then it becomes unpardonable. Love alone could 
 extenuate such a fault to some degree." 
 
 He turned to leave the room, but she threw herself 
 upon him and clung to him. 
 
 "You are right — quite right, darling," her voice half- 
 choked vpith terror and excitement; "but forgive me — 
 forgive me for the sake of my love to you. That story 
 belongs to the past, and the past is buried — buried 
 forever. I cannot believe myself that it is not all 
 a hideous dream — that it should be really true! It vyas 
 not I — it v?as another woman, a stranger whom I do not 
 know — with whom I have nothing in common. I was not 
 alive then — I have only lived since you were mine. Oh, 
 why did you come so late?" And her wild, passionate 
 words sank into heartrending sobs. - 
 
 He could not but be sorry for her. Was it wise, was 
 it fitting to rake up the past? Had he any right to call 
 her to account for faults which were not committed 
 against him ? She was good and pure now. She had 
 not broken faith with him — not even in her thoughts — 
 for she had no eyes for anybody in the world but him! 
 He held out his hand to her. 
 
 "I will forget what I heard to-day," he said, "and do 
 not let us ever speak again of what has been." 
 
 He was quite sincere in saying this, for he really 
 wished to forget. But our memory is not subject to our 
 will. Do what he would, he could not banish the con- 
 sumptive poet from his mind, nor the diplomat with the 
 silly, handsome face, and other figures more shadowy 
 than these two, but none the less annoying. He learned 
 to know that most torturing form of jealousy — the jeal- 
 ousy of the past — against which it is hopeless to struggle, 
 which will not be dispelled, and which, in its unalterable 
 steadfastness, mocks at the despair of the heart that is 
 
THE MALADY OP TSE CENTURY. 363 
 
 brover searching after new grounds for torment, and yet 
 :ries aloud when it finds what it sought. His imagina- 
 ion ■wandered perpetually from the lovely pastel in the 
 '■ellow salon to the new ebony bed, with its inlaid ivory 
 icenes in the bedroom, and saw or guessed things between 
 hese two points that made him shudder. 
 
 Thus, New Year's night found him in a very gloomy 
 'rame of mind, and the letter he wrote to Schrotter ex- 
 aresaed a still deeper dejection than that of the year 
 before. Since recounting the conversation about the 
 Jonkey in Ault, he had never again mentioned Pilar to 
 lis friend, nor betrayed by a single word the circum- 
 itances in which he had lived since the middle of August. 
 Such disclosures would have necessitated a moral effort 
 )n his part, for which even his friendship for Schrotter 
 ?ould not supply him with sufficient force. He knew 
 ihat Schrotter's views on morality were neither narrow 
 lor Pharisaical, that to him virtue did not consist in the 
 )utward observance of social rules, but in self-forgetful, 
 srotherly love and a strict adherence to duty. It would 
 lave afforded him unspeakable relief to have been able to 
 30ur out his heart to his friend, to give him an insight 
 nto his turbid love-story and the conflict in his soul. 
 3ut a sense of shame — the outcome, no doubt, of his own 
 lisgust at the unsavory accessories of his love — had 
 vithheld him from making these confidences. He made 
 lone now, complained only in a general way of the emp- 
 iness of his life, to which neither desire nor hope bound 
 lim any more; especially that he had no future, and 
 ooked forward to each new day with horror and shrink- 
 ng. 
 
 Schrotter's answer was, as usual, full of faithful affec- 
 ion and wise encouragement. He chid him gently for 
 lis want of spirit, and then went on to say ; 
 
Se4 'i'HS MALAirf of TBB CBNTURf. 
 
 "Zou have no future! I am amazed at such a remark 
 in the mouth of a man of thought. "Which one of us can 
 say he has a future? To say we have a future is simply 
 to say that we wish for something, strive after something, 
 set some aim before us. That which we call a man's 
 future does not lie outside of him, but in himself. I 
 would have you observe that events rarely or never hap- 
 pen as we expect, and that the plans which we have 
 worked out most zealously are scarcely ever carried out. 
 And yet we firmly believe, all the time, that we have a 
 future. Nature permits us no outlook into Time. A wall 
 rises before our eyes to hide what is coming. But the 
 cheerless nakedness of that wall being unbearable to us, 
 we paint it over with landscapes of our own devising. 
 And that is what the unthinking mind calls the future. 
 Any one can paint these pictures on the wall, and to 
 complain of its bareness is to acknowledge the poverty of 
 one's own imagination : wishing for something — never 
 mind what. The higher, the more unattainable, the 
 better. Only desire earnestly, and you will feel yourself 
 alive, again. Your misfortune, my friend, is that you 
 have not to work for your daily bread. A settled income 
 is only a blessing to those to whom the attainment of the 
 trifling and external pleasures of life seems worth the 
 trouble of an effort. You are wise enough to set no value 
 on what the world can give you. You are neither vain 
 nor ambitious. Therefore you do not exercise your 
 capacities in wrestling for position, recognition, honors, 
 or fame. On the other hand, you have no need to trouble 
 yourself about the bare necessities of life, and are thereby 
 deprived of another occasion for bringing your strength 
 into play. Now, you are provided with organic forces, 
 and it is the circumstance that these forces are lying 
 fallow that affects you like a malady. It is in work 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 365 
 
 alone that you can hope to find a cure, or at least an im- 
 provement. Accordingly, if you have not sufficient 
 strength of will to set yourself some task, my will shall 
 come to your aid. I suggest, nay, I insist, that you pro- 
 ceed manfully with your 'History of Human Ignorance,' 
 about which I have heard nothing for months, and that 
 you show me at least the first volume ready for the press 
 by the end of this time next year." 
 
 "Wilhelm caught desperately at this advice, offered to 
 him by his friend in the paradoxical form of a command. 
 He got out his books and papers again, and began devot- 
 ing his mornings to work. Pilar was delighted. She 
 was far too wise not to know that honeymoons do not last 
 forever, and although she was persuaded that she, for 
 her part, would never desire anything better than to be 
 always at Wilhelm's side, passing the time in intermin- 
 able conversations about herself and himself, in kissing 
 and fondling, she quite understood that that was not 
 enough to satisfy a man accustomed to a wider range of 
 pursuits. She had looked forward with anxiety to the 
 moment when mere love-making would pall upon him, 
 and he would begin to be bored, and wish for a change. 
 She had kept a sharp lookout for the approach of this 
 ticklish moment that her ingenious mind might have 
 some fresh interest ready for him. This trouble had 
 been spared her. He himself took thought for a suitable 
 occupation to fill up his time. So much the better. He 
 had adapted himself to the circumstances, after all. He 
 no longer looked upon it as a passing liaison, but had 
 settled down permanently and finally to lead his accus- 
 tomed life with bar. 
 
 It took a weight off her mind, and gave her a sense of 
 jpeace and security such as she bad not known since the 
 ):etux'£ to Paris. She too began to come out of her shell. 
 
366 THE MALADY OF TEE CENTURY. 
 
 and to resume her former mode of life. She fulfilled her 
 social duties, and paid and received calls, which Wilhelm 
 was allowed to shirk. At the end of January the first ball 
 of the Spanish embassy took place. Pilar's whole set 
 was invited, and she could not well absent herself with- 
 out exciting remark. She therefore made the necessary 
 preparations for the festivity. A diadem of brilliants 
 was sent to be reset, a sensational gown composed, after 
 repeated conferences with a great ladies' tailor, a pattern 
 in seed pearls chosen for the embroidery of the long 
 gloves. Don Pablo galloped about like a post-horse from 
 morning till night; gorgeous vans, with liveried attend- 
 ants, from the fashionable shops stopped constantly at the 
 door to deliver parcels; there was an unceasing stream of 
 messengers, shop people, and needlewomen. But Wil- 
 helm was oblivious of it all; Pilar did not trouble him 
 with such frivolous matters. It was not till the very day 
 of the ball that she handed him the card of invitation she 
 had procured for him at the embassy, and asked, as a 
 precaution : 
 
 "You have all you require, have you not?" 
 
 Wilhelm glanced at the pink, glazed card. 
 
 "But, Pilar, do you know me so little?" 
 
 "I know that you do not care for these stupid enter- 
 tainments," she answered coaxingly, "but I thought you 
 would go to please me." 
 
 "So you are going?" he asked. 
 
 "I must," she replied. "They know that I am in 
 Paris, and !• wish to avoid the remark that would be 
 made if I stayed away." 
 
 "You are quite right," said Wilhelm, "but you will 
 have to go without me." 
 
 "Don't be a bear!" she urged. "It will interest you 
 to see this side of Parisian life. I don't say that I would 
 
THE MALADY OF THE OBNTURY. 367 
 
 k you to do it often, but yqu might — just this once, 
 iside, you have been more than three months in Paris, 
 d you do not know one real Parisian. Now, here is an 
 iportunity of meeting artists, authors, academicians, 
 nators — and there are some remarkable men among 
 em, well worth talking to." 
 
 "I am sincerely grateful," he returned, and kissed her 
 ;nd. "Please do not trouble about it. I am quite 
 re that there are many people in Paris I should like to 
 Bet, but they are scarcely likely to be present at an 
 abassy ball. And even if they were, a mere introduc- 
 )n, an interchange of society platitudes, would not bring 
 B any further. No ; go you to your ball, and leave me 
 home." 
 
 Pilar sighed, and gave up the struggle, and then re- 
 ived the jeweler, who had brought the newly-set orna- 
 ent for the hair, a miracle of taste, delicate workman- 
 ip, and splendor. 
 
 In the afternoon Monsieur Martin, the prince of Paris 
 ardressers, arrived, to compose her a coiffure for the 
 ,11. He was a little man, with a clean-shaven upper lip, 
 ,d the mutton-chop whiskers of a solicitor. He wore a 
 Qg black coat, of severe cut, buttoned up to the top, 
 d a ribbon in his buttonhole. In his very pale cravat 
 IS a breastpin with a magnificent cat's eye. Patent 
 ither boots and kid gloves completed the faultless 
 tire of this gentleman, whom one would sooner have 
 ken for a minister than a hairdresser. A liveried serv- 
 .t followed him, carrying a silver-bound morocco box, 
 lioh he took from him at the door of the boudoir, and 
 aced with his own hands on the rosewood table. 
 After an extremely ceremonious greeting, he drew off 
 s gloves, seated himself in an armchair by the fire, and 
 ade the countess describe what she was going to wear. 
 
368 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 He listened with almost tragic attention, his forehead in 
 his hand, his eyes closed. After some reflection, he 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "Where is the diadem?" 
 Pilar placed it on the table in front of him. 
 He contemplated it earnestly, and then murmured : 
 "Good, very good. But now I must see the robe." 
 "Monsieur Martin," Pilar returned reproachfully, 
 "don't you know that my tailor respects himself far too 
 much to send home one of his creations before the last 
 moment?" 
 
 "It is always the same story," he complained mourn- 
 fully; "I am to arrange a coiffure for Madame la Com- 
 tesse, the coiffure is to harmonize with the whole, and I 
 am not permitted to see the robe." 
 
 "But I have given you the general idea of it." 
 "General idea! general idea! Does Madame la Com- 
 tesse think that that will suffice?" 
 
 "For an artist like you. Monsieur Martin " 
 
 "Oh, of course — for an artist like me! lean answer 
 for myself, but how do I know if the tailor has caught 
 madame's style correctly? I am perfectly competent to 
 compose a coiffure which shall agree entirely with the 
 type of Madame la Comtesse, but what if the tailor has 
 been mistaken — what if the robe turns out a disguise 
 rather than an enhancement? In that case, adieu to the 
 harmony." 
 
 Pilar reassured the sorelj'-tried master, and exchanged 
 glances of amusement with Wilhelm. She had described 
 him to Wilhelm beforehand as a Parisian oddity, and 
 invited him to be present during the visit. While Anne 
 enveloped her mistress in the white dressing-mantle. 
 Monsieur Martin laid out the battery of combs, brushes, 
 and toi'toise-skell hair-pins provided by the maid, added, 
 
TSa MalaD f OF tUM GMJfftrit V. 309 
 
 out of his own box, two hand-glasses, and a box of gold- 
 powder, and began to loosen the counteas' abundant 
 tresses. As the golden waves flowed over the back of the 
 chair to the ground, he murmured, drawing his fingers 
 repeatedly through the silken mass : 
 
 "What a fleece, Madame la Comtesse ! It takes a Span- 
 iard to have such hair." 
 
 He now began rapidly and skillfully to comb, brush, 
 coil, and fasten, to smooth away here, loosen there, shook 
 the gold dust over it, touched the locks upon the fore- 
 head, placed the diadem/ and fell back a step to review 
 his work. A groan burst from him. 
 
 "That is not it! that is not it!" he wailed, and shook 
 his head dolefully from side to side. "I am not per- 
 mitted to see the costume of Madame la Comtesse, I am 
 not to use pads or curling-irons, and yet all is to be in 
 the grand style— only a diadem — not a flower, not a 
 feather! No, it will not do." He glared at her for a 
 moment, and then cried suddenly, "No, it positivelj' 
 will not do!" And before Pilar could prevent him, he 
 had rapidly pulled out all the hairpins, removed the 
 diadem, and disarranged with nervous fingers the whole 
 artistic edifice. 
 
 "A coiffure that bears my signature must not be 
 allowed to leave my hands like that, " he said. "And 
 yet the ground is burning beneath my feet. It is three 
 o'clock, and I have not yet lunched." 
 
 "Poor Monsieur Martin!" cried Pilar. "Will you 
 have something to eat at once? They shall serve it to 
 you downstairs." 
 
 "Madame la Comtesse is very good, but I have no time 
 to sit down comfortably at a table. I have all that is 
 necessary in my carriage, and shall take some slight re- 
 freshment there, on my way to my next client." 
 
SirO TBE MALADY OF TBE CBNTXIRY. 
 
 "Have you much to do to-day?" 
 
 Monsieur Martin drew out a little notebook, with 
 ivory tablets, and a silver monogram, and held it up 
 before Pilar's eyes. 
 
 "Eleven heads after that of Madame la Comtesse. " 
 
 "All for the embassy ball?" 
 
 "No, madame; I have another dance to-night in the 
 Faubourg, and a betrothal party in the American 
 colony." 
 
 While speaking he had not remained idle. The 
 coiffure was being built up on a different plan, and this 
 time Monsieur Martin appeared to be satisfied with his 
 creation. He walked all round the smiling countess, 
 begged her to walk slowly up and down the room once 
 or twice, touched up the front locks a little, and then the 
 back, and finally ejaculated: 
 
 "Charming! Eavishing! Our head will have a great 
 success!" 
 
 He departed, after a ceremonious leave-taking. At the 
 door of the boudoir his servant again relieved him of his 
 box, and carried it after him downstairs, and a few min- 
 utes later they heard his carriage drive away. 
 
 "You have not anything like that in Berlin yet," said 
 Pilar, laughing, when the solemn and important artist 
 had left. 
 
 "I think not," Wilhelm replied; "at least, not in the 
 circles with which I am acquainted. But I do not laugh 
 at him— on the contrary, I envy him. He takes himself 
 so seriously, and combs with his whole soul. Happy 
 man!" 
 
 It was about half-past ten when Pilar entered the red 
 salon, in full ball dress. Wilhelm was sitting by the 
 fire reading. She came up to him : 
 
 "How do you like me?" she asked. 
 
TUB MALAvy OF THE CENTiJRt. 3tl 
 
 She had on a salmon-colored broche velvet dress, with 
 ostrich feather trimmings, and a long train. Shoulders 
 and bust rose as out of pink foam from the scarf-like folds 
 of some very airy material; brilliants flashed at her 
 breast and on her arms, the diadem was in her hair, two 
 solitaires in the delicate little ears, a double row of pearls 
 round her neck, and an ostrich feather fan, with enameled 
 gold mounts, in her hand. A superb figure! 
 
 "How beautiful!" he said, and stroked her chin 
 fondly. He dared not touch her cheeks, for fear of dis- 
 turbing the pearl powder. "But you look just as regal 
 without the brilliants." 
 
 "Flatterer! Would you not like to come, after all? 
 Make haste and dress." 
 
 He only shook his head, smiling. 
 
 "But are you not a little bit jealous, when you see me 
 go off by myself to a ball? I shall talk to the men, and 
 take their arm and dance with them; the people will look 
 at me and pay me attention — does it not make any difEer- 
 ence to you?" 
 
 "No, dear heart, for I hope it will make none to you 
 either." 
 
 "Ah, yes: — you need have no fear on that score. But 
 still — in your place — you men, you love differently from 
 us. And not so well," she added with a sigh, as Anne 
 appeared with her fur-lined cloak, and announced that 
 the carriage was waiting. 
 
 Some hours later Wilhelm was startled out of a deep 
 sleep by burning kisses. He opened his dazed eyes, and, 
 blinking in the lamplight, saw Pilar standing by the 
 bed as if in a cloud. She held her great bouquet in one 
 hand, and with the other was plucking the roses and 
 gardenias to pieces, and strewing the petals over his head 
 and face, as she did in the sunny afternoons at St. Valery, 
 
37:3 TiiS MALADY Op TSe CEiTTtttlt. 
 
 She must have been engaged in this pastime for a con- 
 siderable time, for the pillows and tiuilt were covered 
 with flowers, and his hair was full of them. As neither 
 Pilar's entry with the lamp nor the shower of blossoms 
 had succeeded in wakening him, she had leaned over him 
 and roused him with a kiss. 
 
 "Oh, sleepyhead!" she cried, and continued to rain 
 flowers on his dazzled, blinking eyes. "At least you 
 have been dreaming of me?" 
 
 "To tell the truth," he returned, "I have not dreamed 
 at all." 
 
 "And I have never left off thinking about you all the 
 time, and have longed so for you. Look here!" 
 
 She tooka lamp off the chimney-piece, and held up her 
 ball programme before his eyes. The blank places were 
 filled up with pencil-writing, which looked as if it might 
 be lines of poetry: which in truth it was — Spanish im- 
 provisations breathing burning love and passionate long- 
 ing. He would have understood or guessed their mean- 
 ing even if Pilar had not translated them with kisses and 
 caresses. 
 
 "Now, j-ou see, you bad boy," she went on, "those 
 were my thoughts while I was away from you. I had 
 not thought it would be so difficult to enjoy myself with- 
 out you. It was impossible. It is only three, but I 
 could not stand it any longer. I escaped before the 
 cotillion. If you only knew how hollow and stupid it all 
 seemed to me! How dull I thought the men's conversa- 
 tion, how ludicrous the affectations of the women ! What 
 are all these people compared to you! No, I will never 
 go out again without you. Come, "Wilhelm, and help me 
 to undress. I will not have Anne about me now — 
 nobody — only you." 
 
 Had she been drinking champagne at the ball? Had 
 
THB MALADY OF THE GENTUTiY. 373 
 
 the lights, the music, the dancing, the perfumes, her own 
 verses gone to her head? Whatever was the cause, her 
 nerves were certainly very highly strung, and only 
 calmed down when the morning was well advanced, and 
 she had exhausted herself in a thousand fond extrava- 
 gances. 
 
 During the next few days "Wilhelm noticed something 
 odd in Pilar 's manner which he failed to understand. 
 She seemed strangely absent and thoughtful, by turns 
 unnaturally silent and feverishly talkative, would sit for 
 hours beside him glancing mysteriously at him from time 
 to time, as if she knew something very wonderful, and 
 were debating in her own mind whether to tell it or keep 
 it to herself. She blushed if he looked at her inquir- 
 ingly, and rushed away and locked herself into her 
 houdoir. 
 
 He watched these peculiar proceedings patiently for 
 about a week, and then asked one day, not without a 
 secret misgiving : 
 
 "Pilar, what is the matter with you latel.y?" 
 
 Probably she had only waited for this. She cast her- 
 self upon his breast, drew his head down, and whispered 
 something in his ear. He straightened himself up with 
 a jerk. 
 
 "Are you certain?" he asked, with an unsteady voice. 
 
 "Almost, I think; yes, Wilhelm, it must be so," she 
 stammered, hiding her face on his shoulder. 
 
 It was well she did not look at him at that moment. 
 Unskilled as he was in the art of dissembling, his face 
 expressed no pleasure at all, but only painful surprise. 
 For weeks, but more especially since his gloomy brood- 
 ings on New- Year's night, the anxious thought lay heavy 
 on him, "What if our connection should have results?" 
 The eitfia.t«03i would then become so complicated that he 
 
374 THE MALADY OF THE OENTURT. 
 
 saw no prospect of ever putting it straight again. The 
 idea had only hitherto been an indefinite cause of anxiety 
 — now it resolved itself into a fact which appalled him. 
 At the same time he could not but see how happy Pilar 
 was at the prospect, and it seemed to him unkind, even 
 brutal, to let her have an inkling of what he felt at her 
 news. He kissed her in silence, and pressed her hand 
 long and warmly. 
 
 "You have not said yet that you are glad," she said, 
 and raised her eyes to his in fond reproach. 
 
 "Must one put everything into words?" he returned, 
 with an uneasy smile. 
 
 "It is true," she answered; "I ought to be accustomed 
 to your German ways by this time. But your reserve is 
 quite uncanny to us Southerners. You are silent where 
 our hearts simply overflow with words quite of them- 
 selves. You . are content to think where we shout for 
 joy." 
 
 With these words Pilar depicted her own state. She 
 felt in truth that she could shout for joy, and the happy 
 words flowed of themselves from her lips. Now at last 
 the future stood clearly and definitely outlined before her 
 eyes. Now indeed she was bound to Wilhelm, as was 
 her burning desire, and that far faster than bj' any docu- 
 ments with solemn signatures and official §eals. Her 
 heart was so light, she felt as if her feet no longer 
 touched the ground and that she must float away into the 
 blue ether like the ecstatic saints in the church pictures 
 of her own country. She talked incessantly of the com- 
 ing being, and thought of nothing else waking or sleep- 
 ing. She had not the slightest doubt that it would be a 
 boy. Isabel had to lay the cards a dozen times, and the 
 knave of spades came to the top nearly every time, an 
 infallible promise of a boy. And how beautiful he would 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CNNTUST. 375 
 
 be, the son of such a handsome father, the fruit of such 
 transcendent love ! She consulted with Wilhelm what 
 name he should receive, and wanted a definite statement 
 or a suggestion, or at least some slight conjecture as to 
 the profession his father would choose for him. And 
 should he be educated in Paris? Would it not be too 
 great a strain upon the little brain to have to learn 
 French, Spanish, and German at the same time? "What 
 anxieties, what responsibilities, but at the same time 
 what bliss! She did not even let "Wilhelm see the whole 
 depth of her feelings, knowing that he would not follow 
 her in these extravagant raptures. She did not let him 
 see her kneel two or three times a day at the altar or on 
 her priedieu, and cover the silver Madonna del Pilar 
 with ecstatic kisses. He knew nothing of her having 
 sent for the priest of the diocese and ordered a number 
 of masses. She did not take him with her when — her 
 impatience leading her far ahead of events — ^she rushed 
 from shop to shop looking for a cradle, and only put off 
 buying one because she could find none in all Paris that 
 was sumptuous and costly enough. 
 
 This went on for about a fortnight, till one day she 
 tottered into "Wilhelm's room, all dissolved in tears, sank 
 sobbing at his feet, and hid her face on his knee. 
 
 "Pilar, what has happened?" he cried in alarm. 
 
 "Oh, Wilhelm, Wilhelm," was all the answer he could 
 get from her; and only after long and loving persuasion 
 did she murmur in such low and broken tones that she 
 had to repeat her words before he could understand her, 
 "My happiness was premature, I was mistaken." 
 
 She was insolable at the destruction of her airy castle, 
 and was ill for days, the first time since "Wilhelm had 
 known her. He sympathized deeply with her in her 
 grief, but he did not conceal from himself that he was 
 
gij-e TSM MALADY OF TSM CENTUnt. 
 
 infinitely relieved at the turn affairs had taken. With 
 such a morbidly analytical and yet profoundly moral 
 nature as his, no rapture of the senses could possibly last 
 for six months and more. The passion in which reason 
 plays no part was past and over long ago, and during the 
 last few weeks he had reflected upon the situation with 
 ever-increasing clearness and deliberation. At first he 
 had not been quite sure of his feelings, but earnest self- 
 examination by degrees made everything plain to him. 
 "What he was most distinctly conscious of was a sense of 
 profound disgust at his present manner of life. Things 
 could not remain as they were. Sooner or later it must 
 inevitably come to the knowledge of his friends. What 
 •would they think of him for leading such a life at Pilar 's 
 side, in her house? She had children who would some 
 day sit in judgment upon her conduct and his. And 
 how did he stand in the eyes of the servants and the 
 visitors whose acquaintance Pilar had forced upon him? 
 If at least she would give up her outside circle of friends! 
 But that she either could not or would not do, and so 
 brought ill-natured witnesses of their relations to the 
 house, and Wilhelm must needs accommodate himself to 
 an intercourse with second-rate people who inevitably 
 form the set of a woman whose domestic circumstances 
 are not clearly, or rather all too clearly defined. And 
 before these people, who appeared to him greatly inferior 
 to himself, both morally and intellectually, he was forced 
 to cast down his eyes. Eeflect as he might upon the situ- 
 ation, the result was always the same — it must be put to 
 an end to. But how? 
 
 There remained always the possibility that her husband 
 might die and she be thus free to marry him. Strange, 
 he always hurried over-this solution of the difficulty. In 
 his inner consciousness he was apparently not desiroug 
 
THE MALADY OP TBE CENTURY. 377' 
 
 of making the connection a lifelong one, even if Banc- 
 tioned by lawful formalities. Leave her. He shuddered 
 at the thought. It would be criminal to cause her so 
 great a grief, for he was assured that she loved him pas- 
 sionately, and he was deeply and fondly grateful to her 
 for doing so. She might some day grow tired of him. 
 He hoped for this, but the hope was so faint, so secret, 
 so hidden, that he hardly dared confess it to himself, 
 knowing well that it was a deadly and altogether unde- 
 served insult to her love. And even this faint hope van- 
 ished when she whispered the news of her prospective 
 motherhood in his ear; now there was no possibility of 
 a dissolution of their connection. If a human creature 
 was indebted to him for its life, he must give himself up 
 to it, and to this sacred duty he must sacrifice freedom, 
 happiness, even self-respect. But his heart contracted 
 with a bitter pang at the thought. It was as if a black 
 curtain had been drawn in front of him, or a window 
 walled up which permitted a view over the open country 
 from a dark room. 
 
 However, he had been spared this crowning addition 
 to the burden of his discomfort, and he breathed more 
 freely. But the episode had served to rend the last re- 
 maining veil that hung before his moral eye. That the 
 situation should seem so unbearable, that he was so sen- 
 sitive to the opinion of others, that his blood had run 
 cold at Pilar 's news, that he had felt the disappointment 
 of her hopes as a relief, that the idea that the danger 
 might recur should fill him with terror — this all pointed 
 to one fact, the realization of which forced |^itself upon 
 him with inexorable persistency ; he did not love Pilar, 
 or at any rate he did not love her sufficiently — not enough 
 to take her finally into his life, and, possessing her, to 
 forget himself and all the world beside. 
 
378 THE MALADY OF THE CENTUUT. 
 
 In the midst of his torturing efforts to come to some 
 conclusion he noticed that Auguste, who had come to his 
 room with a letter, lingered about in an undecided man- 
 ner, as if he had something to say but did not know 
 exactly how to say it. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Wilhelm, coming to his assist- 
 ance. 
 
 He liked Auguste, for he was always civil and atten- 
 tive to him, whereas the hostility of the rest of the serv- 
 ants was easily discerned in spite of their forced show 
 of servility. 
 
 "Monsieur le Docteur must excuse me," said the man, 
 "but I really can't listen to it any longer and keep quiet. 
 The lady's maid never stops saying the most scandalous 
 things about monsieur. She says it is not true that mon- 
 sieur is a celebrated doctor and a member of Parliament, 
 and that they are not going to make him President of the 
 German Eepublic. " 
 
 "Who has been trying to impose' upon you with such 
 stories?" 
 
 "But Madame la Comtess tells everybody so, and all the 
 world knows it. I have long wanted to ask monsieur for 
 something against the rheumatism in my left shoulder, 
 but did not like to because madame says monsieur may 
 not practice here." 
 
 What object could Pilar have in inventing these fables? 
 
 As he remained silent Auguste resumed : 
 
 "Monsieur may trust me, I am discreet, and I always 
 defend him against Anne, who is spiteful as a cat. She 
 says monsieur is a Prussian spy and a fortune-hunter, 
 and is simply preying upon madame. And she calls mon- 
 sieur something still worse, which I would not like to 
 repeat. It is a shame, for monsieur has never done her 
 any harm, and it would not be quite so bad if ehe only 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 379 
 
 let out her vile temper before us, but she slanders mon- 
 sieur to outsiders and gives him a dreadfully bad name." 
 
 "I am sorry that you should retail such gossip to me," 
 said Wilhelm, making a great effort to appear unmoved. 
 
 "I considered it my duty, as an honest man. I am not 
 saying more than the truth about the maid, and am per- 
 fectly ready to repeat it all to her face. Madame la Com- 
 tesse is really wrong in keeping the viper. There are 
 plenty of respectable and handy young women who 
 would think themselves lucky to be taken into madame's 
 service. I have a cousin, for instance, who has been in 
 the best houses — Anne couldn't hold a candle to her; if 
 monsieur would recommend her to Madame la Com- 
 tesse — — " 
 
 "I can do nothing in the matter," said Wilhelm 
 brusquely. 
 
 He turned his back upon the man and absorbed him- 
 self pointedly in his books. Auguste stood a moment, 
 but seeing that "Wilhelm would take no further notice of 
 him, shrugged his shoulders and left the room. 
 
 Wilhelm was surprised himself at the impression the 
 man's information had made upon him. Dismay, anger, 
 and shame struggled for the mastery in his breast. 
 What a suffocating air he breathed in this house ! How 
 vile and underhand and insincere were the people by 
 whom he was surrounded! But was this true that 
 Auguste told him? Did he not lie and slander like the 
 rest? Was he not doing the servant far too great an honor 
 by letting his mind dwell on the low gossip of the servants' 
 hall? He felt a kind of dim revolt against his own ex- 
 citement which he felt to be unworthy of him, and, under 
 other circumstances, he really would have been too proud 
 to allow such tale-bearing to exert the slightest influence 
 upon his thoughts or actions. But, in his present state 
 
380 'J'lIJi! MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 of mind, Auguste's words sounded to him like a brutal 
 translation of his own thoughts, condemning him for his 
 cowardice in submitting to his humiliating position, and 
 he recognized more clearly than ever that he must fight 
 his way out of this degradation. 
 
 It was not easy to carry out this resolve. When Pilar 
 came to his room and took his arm to lead him down to 
 lunch, she was as bewitching and fond as ever. At table 
 she chattered brightly about an exhibition of pictures in 
 the Cercle des Mirlitons, which she wanted to see with 
 him that afternoon, asked him about the work he had 
 done to-day, and if he had given a thought to her now 
 and then between his crusty old books, and altogether 
 gave evidence of such childlike and implicit confidence 
 in his love and faith, such utter absence of suspicion as 
 to possible rocks ahead, that that which he had it in his 
 mind to do seemed almost like a stab in the dark. His 
 mental suffering was so poignant as to be visibly reflected 
 in his countenance, and Pilar interrupted her lively flow 
 of talk to ask anxiously : 
 
 "What is the matter with you to-day, darling? Don't 
 you feel well?" 
 
 He took his courage in both hands, and answered with 
 another question : 
 
 "Tell me. Pilar, did you really trump up a story about 
 me? That I was a celebrated doctor and member of 
 Parliament, and the future President of the German 
 Republic?" 
 
 She flushed, but tried to laugh off her embarrassment. 
 "Oh, it was only a harmless little romance to amuse 
 myself. "You could be all that if you liked, I am sure, 
 you are ever so much cleverer than these puppets — " 
 She stopped short in the middle of the sentence as she 
 caught sight of the menacing frown upon his face, drew 
 
fS^ MALADY OP THM CBNTUitY. 381 
 
 er chair with a rapid movement close to his, and said, 
 a her most humble and iusiuuatiug tones, "Dearest, 
 re you vexed with me?" 
 
 "Yes, for it is a humiliating, and beside which, a 
 stally unnecessary invention, and lays me open to the 
 'orst construction." 
 
 "And who has taken upon themselves to retail it to 
 ou? That Cuerbo, I suppose?" 
 
 "It was not the Countess Cuerbo — not that it matters 
 I the actual fact is true." 
 
 "Forgive me, Wilhelm," she pleaded, "I thought to 
 ct for the best. The whole story was chiefly for my 
 mother's benefit. I wanted her to love you and be grate- 
 al to you. I wanted her to take you to her heart like a 
 on. I do not care a bit about the other people. I only 
 Did them the story to keep myself in practice. And 
 eside, you know what the world is. A man's personal 
 ^orth goes for nothing, it only cares for the outward 
 igns of success, and that is why I said you were a cele- 
 rated man and had a great future before you. That is 
 o invention, for I believe it firmly. And I told them 
 bat you had saved my life, because it is true, for life 
 •as a burden to me till I knew you, and you have made 
 ; worth living." 
 
 "But do you not see into what a degrading position 
 ou force me?" 
 
 "I hoped you would never hear about it. My inten- 
 !ons were so good. Our relations to one another must 
 e explained in some way. I wanted to shield your repu- 
 ition from these people and shut their mouths." 
 
 "You see, my poor Pilar," said Wilhelm sadly, "your 
 scuse is the bitterest criticism upon our relations. You 
 ourself feel how ugly the naked truth would look, and 
 :y to dress it up before the eyes of the world. That 
 
383 THE MALADY OlF THE CENTURY. 
 
 kind of life cannot go on. "We are doomed to destruction 
 in such an atmosphere of lies. We must return somehow 
 to truth and order." 
 
 At his last worda she let go of him and turned very 
 pale. 
 
 "Ah, then it is only a pretext," she cried; "you want 
 to get up a quarrel with me as an excuse for breaking 
 with me. That is unmanly of you, that is cowardly. Be 
 frank, tell me straight out what j'ou want. I have a 
 right to demand absolute candor of you." 
 
 Her words stabbed him like a knife. There was some 
 truth in her accusation. It was neither honest nor manly 
 to make so much of her fibs when he had something very 
 diflEerent in his mind. She appealed to his candor — she 
 should not do so in vain. 
 
 "It was not a pretext," he said, and forced himself to 
 look into her face that seemed turning to stone, "but a 
 prompting cause. You ask for the turth, and you shall 
 have it, for I owe it you. Well then, things cannot re- 
 main as thej' are. I cannot go on living as a hanger-on 
 in this house. I " 
 
 He sought painfully for words, but could find none. 
 
 Pilar breathed hard. "Well — in short — " The words 
 came out as if she were being strangled. 
 
 "In short. Pilar ^ — I must — ^we shall have " 
 
 "I will not help you. Finish — you shall say the word." 
 
 "We shall have to part, Pilar." 
 
 "Wretch!" The cry wrenched itself from her breast. 
 
 Wilhelm rose and prepared to leave the room. But at 
 the same instant she had rushed to him, and clinging 
 wildly to him, she cried, beside herself with anguish: 
 
 "Don't go, Wilhelm, don't be angry with me. You 
 don't know what I feel^ — you are torturing me to death." 
 
 Her sobs were so violent that she could not keep upon 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURT. 383 
 
 er feet, and sank on the floor in front of bim. He 
 fted her xfp and set her on a chair, and his own eyes 
 ere wet as he said : 
 
 "lam not suffering less than you, Pilar, but the cup 
 f bitterness must be drunk." 
 
 "You do not love me," she moaned. "You have never 
 )ved me." 
 
 "Do not say that. Pilar. I have loved you, but it is 
 ur ill-luck " 
 
 "You have loved me, you say. So you do not love me 
 ow? Wilhelm, speak — do you not love me any more?" 
 
 He tried to evade the question. 
 
 "You know, from the first, I did not want to come 
 ere. My weak compliance is revenging itself upon me 
 ow. You yourself only spoke of it as a trial ; if I could 
 ot accustom myself to it you would not insist on my 
 emaining. " 
 
 "You do not love me any more! So that is your 
 oasted German constancy of which you are so proud ! 
 'hese are your vows which I took for gospel truth!" 
 
 "I have no recollection of having made any vows," he 
 atorted. He was sorry for it the moment the words had 
 )ft his mouth. 
 
 "That is true," she answered bitterly; "you never 
 romised anything. You left me to do all the vowing. 
 t is unpardonable of me to reproach you, I have no 
 laim upon you. I forced myself upon you — why don't 
 ou tell me so? Shout it in my ears! Despise me, kick 
 le — I deserve no better. I have been guilty of the 
 eadly sin of loving you madly, and forgetting every- 
 iing else in the world for that. You are quite right to 
 unish me for it. And see how low I have sunk! see 
 hat my love has brought me to! You may curse me, 
 ou may ill-treat me; I love you all the same, Wilhelm— 
 o what you will, I love you all the same." 
 
384 TBE MALADt OF TME CEnTURT. 
 
 She was so distraught that she could not stay in the 
 dining room. With a sudden violent movement she 
 grasped his arm and dragged him away with her upstairs 
 to the bedroom, where she threw herself exhausted on the 
 sofa. Wilhelm stood before her, looking thoroughly 
 crestfallen, and wishing devoutly that he had the dread 
 hour behind him. The silence frightened Pilar. She 
 raised her head, and said in a weak, changed voice : 
 
 "It is all over, is it not? Tell me that it was only a 
 bad dream — tell me that you will not frighten me like 
 that again. " 
 
 "Pilar," he returned miserably, "I wish you would 
 listen to me quietly. You are generally so reasonable." 
 
 "No, no," she cried; "I am not reasonable — I willnot 
 be reasonable. I love you out of all reason. I shall 
 repeat it a thousand times, till you give up talking to me 
 of reason." 
 
 "And yet it is impossible for me to stay in this house." 
 
 She straightened herself up, looked at him for a 
 moment, and then said with unnatural calmness, as she 
 wiped the tears from her eyes : 
 
 "Very well; but if you go I shall go with you." 
 
 "What! you would leave your home, your friends, 
 your beloved Paris — give up all you have been accus- 
 tomed to, and follow me to Germany?" 
 
 "To Germany — to the Inferno — wherever you like." 
 
 "You do not mean it seriously." 
 
 "I do mean it, very seriously. I cannot live without 
 you." 
 
 "But you have duties, you have your children " 
 
 "I Lave no children, I have only you. And if my 
 children were a barrier between you and me, I would 
 strangle them v^ith my own hands." 
 
 She spoke with such savage determination that he 
 
THE MALADY OP THE CENTURY. 385 
 
 huddered. But the battle must be fought out. He 
 lust not yield now. 
 
 "There is nothing for it," he said after a pause, dur- 
 ig -which he stood with downcast eyes, fumbling ner- 
 ously with the buttons of his morning coat. "Our 
 osition would be equally wretched wherever we were, 
 'ate is stronger than we are. I do not see how we are 
 D escape it. Wherever we went, we should have to hide 
 be truth, and surround ourselves with a tissue of lies, 
 nd that I cannot stand. I would rather die." 
 
 "Die?" she exclaimed, and her eyes flamed up 
 'ierdly — "I am quite ready. That is a way out of the 
 ifficulty. Die — whenever you like; but live without 
 ou ? No, I will cling to you ; no power on earth shall 
 3ar me from you. If you want to shake me off, you will 
 ave to kill me first." 
 
 "And yet you said you would not try to hold me back 
 : I wished to leave you." 
 
 "And you remembered those foolish words! "While 
 ly heart was overflowing, you listened coolly and took 
 ote of everything, so that you might use it against me 
 fterward. I really did not think you were so noble, so 
 enerous minded, as that." 
 
 "You see that you were mistaken in me. lain narrow- 
 linded, mean-spii'ited, a thorough Philistine ; you have 
 lid so repeatedly. "What do you see in me to care for? 
 let me go." 
 
 "Oh, how j'ou fix on every word and then turn it 
 gainst me ! I am not equal to you ; you are stronger 
 lan I, because you do not love me and I love you. 
 ^hat do I care if you are narrow-minded — a Philistine? 
 f you were a highway robber I would not let you go." 
 
 She stretched out her arms to him and drew him to 
 er, and pressed him so tightly to her bosom that he 
 
386 THE MALADY OF THE GENTUBT. 
 
 could hardly breathe. Then she burst into tears, and 
 wept so bitterly, so inconsolably, from the bottom of her 
 heart, like a child who has been very deeply hurt. In 
 order to value woman's tears aright, one must have often 
 seen them flow. Wilhelm was a novice in this respect. 
 He imagined that Pilar's tears wore the outcome of the 
 same amount of pain as he must have felt to weep like 
 that, and every drop fell like molten lead upon his heart. 
 His resolutions melted like ice before the tire; he had 
 not the courage to wound this clinging, loving, sobbing 
 creature. He rocked her gently in his arms till, ex- 
 hausted by her frightful excitement, she fell asleep. 
 
 The storm was averted for this time, but her con- 
 fidence, her joyous sense of security, was gone forever. 
 The scene left her with a nervous restlessness which 
 gradually increased to morbid fear. She was haunted by 
 the idea that "Wilhelm had some plan for deserting her. 
 She could not get rid of the thought — it assumed the 
 aspect of a possession. She changed color if — as she did 
 regularly two or three times in the course of the morning 
 — she opened the door of his room unexpectedly and did 
 not see him at the writing-table, because, maybe, he had 
 gone out on to the balcony for a moment, to rest from 
 his work and cool his heated brow. Then she would 
 search the house distractedly till she found him, and 
 breathed again. In the night, she would start up, and 
 feel about her hurriedly, to make sure that Wilhelm was 
 there. She would not let him go a step out of the house 
 without her. She even accompanied him to the National 
 Library, and while he read or made notes, she sat beside 
 him apparently occupied with a book, but in reality 
 never taking her eye off him. She made no more visits 
 except to the houses where she could take "Wilhelm with 
 her. She had curious jealous fancies, examining, for 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 387 
 
 instance, with great care every letter that came for him, 
 lest the address should be in a feminine hand. Her de- 
 sire to be forever iiroving to herself that he vpas there, 
 that he still belonged to her, took the form of an insati- 
 able craving for love, admitting, so to speak, of no 
 pauses for digestion. She was a beautiful, greedy were- 
 wolf, knowing neither consideration nor restraint, her 
 vampire mouth forever draining the warm life-blood. 
 
 "She is crazy," said Anne to one of Queen Isabella's 
 ladies who had been calling on Pilar, and remarked after- 
 ward to the maid that she found the countess strangely 
 altered. Isabel, the cook with the red nose and alco- 
 holic, watery eyes, passed whole mornings with her mis- 
 tress laying the cards, till she forgot ^11 about lunch. 
 The father confessor, too, became an ever more frequent 
 guest in the house of his fashionable parishioner, and 
 received in exchange for his mild and discreet exhorta- 
 tions, donations for his church, gifts for his poor, and 
 requests for masses and prayers. But in none of these 
 distractions did Pilar find the peace she sought, and in 
 her terror of heart she telegraphed one day to her mother 
 to come at once to Paris and stay with her for a time. 
 Don Pablo had taken the message to the ofiSoe, and talked 
 about it afterward downstairs. Auguste hurried to retail 
 the news to Wilhelm, who had no difficulty in under- 
 standing the motive. In the first moment he thought he 
 was glad of the approaching arrival of the Marquise de 
 Henares. For, distasteful as the idea might be that the 
 mother should become a witness of the daughter's ques- 
 tionable relations, he hoped that her presence would have 
 a quieting effect on Pilar, and help to bring her to rea- 
 son. But, on second thoughts, he was seized with afresh 
 anxiety. He knew that Pilar 's was the stronger spirit of 
 the two, that she had a great influence over her mother, 
 
388 THE MALADY OF THE CBNrUBY. 
 
 and could induce her to adopt any opinion or feelings 
 she might choose. What if the marquise ranged herself 
 on her daughter's side? Then, instead of one, he would 
 have two women against him, and his struggle for free- 
 dom, in which he had already succumbed to one of them, 
 would be utterly hopeless. 
 
 The Marquise de Henares did not come. She wrote 
 that she was out of health, and was beside detained in 
 Madrid by a thousand social duties; but in the spring 
 or summer she would be very pleased to come and spend 
 a few weeks with her only child and her grandchildren. 
 
 Wilhelm maintained an outward show of calm. He 
 did not renew his attempt at revolt, made no resistance 
 against the fact that Pilar took entire possession of his 
 existence, and clung to him like his shadow; he only 
 grew paler, and quieter, and more despondent than 
 before. But he pondered day and night upon some way 
 of unraveling the knot, and was in despair at finding 
 none. Should he cut it? He could not. He lived over 
 again the scene in the dining room; he pictured to him- 
 self how Pilar would sob, and fling herself on the floor, 
 and clasp his knees, and tear her hair, and saw himself, 
 after a useless repetition of his torture, disarmed anew. 
 For one moment he thought of giving a cry for help, of 
 calling Schrotter to his aid, but he was ashamed of his 
 want of manliness, and put the idea from him. There 
 was nothing for it but to resign himself. He did so with 
 a gloomy, desperate relinquishment of all his principles, 
 his sense of morality, his ideals of life. He was the 
 victim of a malign fate, and there was no use fighting 
 against it. He must accept it as he would sickness or 
 death. He was untrue to himself, was a dissembler 
 before himself and others ; it lay in the inexorable logic 
 of things that he must ^uSer for it, But what », ship- 
 
THE MALAD T OF THE CENTUR T. 389 
 
 Teck! After a pure and dignified life, wholly filled up 
 y duty and a striving after knowledge, entirely devoted 
 3 warring against the animal element in man, and to 
 ducating himself up to an ideal standard of freedom 
 :om ignoble instincts, thus shamefully to choke and 
 rown in the muddy lees of a love-potion ! 
 
 Pilar, who fancied him reconciled to the situation, 
 rew easier in.her mind, and by degrees lost much of her 
 istrust. About a month later, toward the middle of 
 larch, she had so far regained her equanimity as to 
 How herself, after a steady resistance, to be persuaded 
 y a friend to attend her house-warming ha,l\—" pendre 
 I cremaillere," as they call it in Paris. The friend was 
 uite as superstitious as Pilar herself, and had vowed a 
 undred times over that she would have no luck in her 
 ew house if Pilar were absent from the opening ball. 
 
 It was not till ten o'clock in the evening that she 
 nally made up her mind. She waited till "Wilhelm had 
 one to bed, and then sent for Isabel, and shut herself 
 p with her in the boudoir. After Isabel had turned up 
 be knave of hearts eight times running, and she had 
 sen that Wilhelm was in bed, reading the newspaper, 
 be gave Anne and Don Pablo a few orders, dressed hur- 
 iedly, and went off, after many kisses and embraces, and 
 'ith the promise of not staying long. 
 
 "Wilhelm read his paper to the end, blew out the light, 
 ad turned himself to the wall. But sleep forsook him, 
 ad he stared with wide-open eyes into the darkness, 
 uddenly an odd suggestion flashed across his mind — was 
 sjected — returned again obstinately, grew stronger, and 
 nally was so imperative that Wilhelm sat up in bed 
 xcitedly and relit the candles. Don Pablo had gone 
 ome, Anne had accompanied Pilar, Isabel was in the 
 ack premises, engaged upon the Val de Penas, two fresh 
 
390 TEE MALADY OF THE OENTURt. 
 
 casks of which had lately arrived, and Augusta was prob- 
 ably in his bedroom asleep. He was as good as alone in 
 the house. Now or never ! 
 
 He sprang out of bed, and began to dress with a beat- 
 ing heart. Had it come to this with him? He was on 
 the point of committing an act of cowardice — yes, but 
 no greater, perhaps even less so, than smouldering away 
 in slavery and degradation. It was an ugly breach of 
 trust. Not really so, for he had expressed himself plainly 
 to Pilar, and she must know how matters stood between 
 them. Moreover, if you fall into the mire, you cannot 
 expect to get out of it again without besmirching your- 
 self. But what will poor Pilar's feelings be when she 
 comes home and finds him gone? At the picture he fal- 
 tered, and very near returned to bed. But no — he put it 
 forcibly from him. 
 
 He rapidly finished dressing, and went into his room 
 to collect such things as were absolutely necessary. The 
 two large trunks had been removed, and would in any 
 case have been out of the question at this juncture. The 
 portmanteau lay behind a wardrobe. Into it he stuffed 
 some linen and clothes, a few books and his manuscript, 
 cast one look round the rooms in which he had encoun- 
 tered such heavy storms of the heart, extinguished the 
 lights, and walked resolutely downstairs. 
 
 The gas was burning in the hall, the front door stood 
 half open, and on the doorstep was Auguste, talking to a 
 maid-servant from the next house. She flitted away as 
 the man turned round, and, to his astonishment, per- 
 ceived Wilhelm with a portmanteau in his hand. He 
 stepped quickly indoors. 
 
 "Ah," he said in a mulBed tones, "Monsieur le Doc- 
 teur! I understand — I understand. I would have done 
 it long ago. It really couldn't go on like that any 
 
THll! MALADY OF THE GENTUBT. 391 
 
 inger. But monsieur might have said a word to me ; 
 )r as to me — I am dumb!" 
 
 Wilhelm was crushed to the earth. So he was not to 
 e spared one humiliation, not even the patronizing 
 imiliarity of this lackey! But it could not be helped 
 ow. Eegardless of his opposition, Augusts took the 
 ortmanteau out of his hand, and asked with eager civil- 
 ly where he should carry it. 
 
 "Only to & fiacre," Wilhelm answered. 
 
 Thej' went out together into the Boulevard Pereire, 
 nd as they walked along beside the deep cutting of the 
 ircle railway, Auguste inquired: 
 
 "Monsieur is leaving Paris, no doubt?" 
 
 Wilhelm made no reply. 
 
 "Has Monsieur le Docteur left any address?" he con- 
 inued urgently. 
 
 "No," answered Wilhelm. 
 
 "But it would be better if he did so, in case any let- 
 Brs might come. And it will surely interest monsieur 
 D know how things go on in the house. Monsieur need 
 nly confide it to me. I would not tell it to a single 
 oul, not even if le hon Dieu himself came down with all 
 is saints." 
 
 Wilhelm was weak enough to form a fresh link between 
 imself and Pilar, when he had just severed the old one. 
 Te wrote Schrotter's address on a leaf of his pocketbook 
 nd gave it to Auguste, saying : 
 
 "Anything will reach me safely under that address." 
 
 They reached the cab stand in the Avenue de Villiers; 
 Vilbe4m got into one, took the portmanteau inside, and 
 ressed a sovereign into Augusta's hand, who thanked 
 im and asked where the cabman was to drive to. 
 
 "First of all, just along the avenue," answered Wil- 
 elm. 
 
393 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 Augusts grinned as he repeated this order to the 
 driver, and was just closing the door, when there was a 
 yelp of pain. 
 
 "Infamous beast!" cried Augusta, and gave Fido, who 
 had followed them unperceived, a kick. The poor ani- 
 mal had always been accustomed to going with them 
 when Wilhelm and Pilar drove ott, and now was prepar- 
 ing to jump into the vehicle, when he just escaped being 
 crushed in the door. Wilhelm stooped to give the 
 puflSng, affectionate creature a farewell pat. 
 
 "Monsieur should take him as a souvenir," said 
 Auguste, with thinly-veiled sarcasm. "Nobody will take 
 any notice of him now, in any case." 
 
 "You are quite right," said Wilhelm, and let the dog 
 come in. The fiacre moved off, and Auguste looked 
 after it for a long time, as he whistled the latest popular 
 air. 
 
TBE MALADf OF fllM OMNfU^Y. 39S 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 COKSUMMATION. 
 
 It wanted but little to midday when "Wilhelm came out 
 of a hotel on the Neuer Jungfernstieg in Hamburg, and 
 made his way toward the Alster, Fido trotting behind 
 him, whose coat, for want of its accustomed daily wash- 
 ing and brushing, looked sadly neglected. 
 
 The sky was thickly overcast, the air unusually mild, 
 on account of the prevailing west wind, and the pave- 
 ment of the Jungfernstieg damp and muddy. A thin 
 veil of yellow fog lay over the Binnen Alster, giving the 
 objects far and near the indefinite, wavering appearance 
 of a mirage. Above the dark masses of houses to the 
 right rose four sharp spires, from the points of which, 
 smoke-wreaths seemed to rise and trail away. Far away 
 in front the Lombardsbriicke was just distinguishable, 
 its three arches apparently hung with gray draperies. 
 Swans glided lazily in groups or singly over the muddy- 
 looking surface of the water, or came under the open 
 windows of the Alster Pavilion, through which late 
 breakfasting guests threw them crumbs. 
 
 The small, green-painted Uhlenhorst steamer lay 
 alongside of the second landing-place. Wilhelm stepped 
 on board, and remained on deck, staring absently into 
 the fog or at the dim outlines of the houses on the shore. 
 On the night of his escape from the Boulevard Pereire he 
 had driven to the Gare du Nord, and taken a midnight 
 train, which brought, him at about six the next evening 
 
S94 TSe MALADY OF THE CEifTUBY. 
 
 to Cologne. He was dead with fatigue when he got 
 there, stayed the night, and went on the following after- 
 noon to Hamburg. He had been there two days now, but 
 had not been able till to-day to gather sufficient courage 
 to go and see Paul. Solitude had been an absolute 
 necessity to him; he fancied that he who ran might read 
 upon his brow the story of how he had lived and of what 
 he had been guilty. His thoughts were incessantly in 
 Paris. During the journey, in Cologne, since his arrival 
 in Hamburg, he saw nothing but Pilar's room, her return 
 from the ball, and her passionate exhibition of grief dur- 
 ing the hours and days that followed. He only lived in 
 these imaginings. There seemed as yet no immediate 
 connection between his natural surroundings and his 
 mental life. He felt as if a few steps would bring him 
 again to Pilar's side, and more than once the desire came 
 over him to return to her, and lay himself at her feet, 
 there to vegetate luxuriously henceforth, without a will 
 or thought, to the end. He resisted this impulse, but he 
 was powerless against the tyranny of his imagination, 
 which ceased not to call up before him the scenes that 
 were being enacted in the house in Paris. 
 
 After a minute or two the boat started. The shores 
 receded and spread apart, and the lines of houses came 
 and went like dissolving views upon a white wall. The 
 boat shot under the dark and clammy arch of the bridge, 
 where the echo increased the splashing of the steamer 
 waves and the thump of the machinery to a roar. The 
 noise subsided suddenly, as when a damper is laid over 
 a resounding instrument; the steamer had passed the 
 bridge, and floated out on to the broad waters of the 
 Aussen Alster, which widened apparently into a great 
 bay, the mist having wiped out the boundary lines 
 between its oily surface and the flat shores which barely 
 
rose above it. The boat described bold curves from side 
 to side, touching at the different landing-places, and 
 , presently — dimly at first and then more distinctly — -the 
 square tower and ponderous, castle-like structure of the 
 Fahrhaus Hotel came in sight. The steamer had reached 
 the furthest point of its journey. 
 
 Wilhelm found himself once more at the familiar spot 
 which had so often been the goal of his short v^alks with 
 "Willy. Scarcely ten months had elapsed since he had 
 looked at it for the last time, but his morbid mental 
 vision prolonged that time to an eternity. He felt like 
 the sultan of the Eastern legend, who fancied he had 
 lived an entire lifetime, while, in reality, he sank for one 
 moment into his bath in sight of his whole court. He 
 overcanie a strange attack of shyness, and rang at the 
 door in the Carlstrasse. The liveried servant opened it, 
 gave an exclamation of surprise, and hurried before him 
 to the smoking room. Wilhelm followed closely on his 
 heels, and only left him time to open the door and call 
 loudly into the room : 
 
 "'Herr Dr. Eynhardt!" 
 
 "What! Is it you or your ghost? Well, I must 
 say — " cried Paul, overjoyed, receiving him with open 
 arms. 
 
 The first tempestuous greetings over, he pressed him 
 down upon the sofa, seated himself beside him, and 
 rained down a torrent of questions upon him — Where had 
 he come from? How had he fared all this time? What 
 were his plans? And, above all things, where was his 
 luggage? 
 
 "At the hotel," Wilhelm answered, a little nervously. 
 
 "At the hotel? Are you in your right senses? There 
 is only one hotel for you in Hamburg, and that is the 
 hotel Haber. Were you so uncomfortable there before 
 that you have withdrawn your custom from it?" 
 
§96 THE MALADT op the dEiTTURt. 
 
 "Don't try to persuade me, my good Paul. Believe 
 me, it is best so. Your hospitality oppresses me." 
 
 "Is that the remark of a friend?" grumbled Paul. 
 
 "It is a fault in me, I know, but I do beg of you to 
 let me have mj' own way." 
 
 "Just wait till I send Malvine to you — you will have 
 to lay down your arms before her." 
 
 "No, Paul, I really cannot live in your house again. I 
 will come and see you — so often that you will get tired 
 of me " 
 
 "Never!" 
 
 "But let me live here as I am accustomed to in Berlin, 
 especially as it will probably be for a long time." 
 
 "Then you are going to stay in Hamburg? That is 
 splendid!" 
 
 "For the present at least. I see nothing else to be 
 done." 
 
 "But in the summer you will surely come and spend 
 some weeks at Friesenmoor?" 
 
 "That is more likely." 
 
 The door opened and Malvine hurried in, and ran up 
 to Wilhelm as he rose to meet her. 
 
 "To think of you falling from the clouds like this!" 
 she cried, and shook both his hands warmly. "Not a 
 letter, not a telegram, nothing! Well, you knew, at any 
 rate, that you would always be welcome." 
 
 Again he had to make a determined stand against hav- 
 ing their hospitality forced upon him, and kind, persist- 
 ent Malvine would not give up the struggle as easily as 
 Paul. As Wilhelm, however, was equally persistent in 
 his refusal, and would not even divulge the name of his 
 hotel till they had sworn to leave hirn his independence, 
 they finally gave up the fight. 
 
 "And now tell us all that has happened to you," said 
 
THE MALADY OF TEE CENTUHT. 397 
 
 Paul, patting him on the shoulder. "You must have had 
 a very good time, for you either did not write at all or 
 only in a flash — like this : 'Dear friend, am quite well — 
 how are you all? Best love — always yours.' Well, I 
 don't think any the worse of you. In gay Paris one has 
 something better to do than to think of dull old fogies 
 on the TJhlenhorst. " 
 
 "You don't think that seriously," answered Wilhelm, 
 pressing his hand. 
 
 "I should rather be inclined to think that the doctor 
 had been ill," said Malvine, whose woman's eye had 
 instantly remarked the pallor and weariness of Wilhelm's 
 thin face. 
 
 "Eeally — have you been ill?" cried Paul, concerned. 
 
 "No, no, there is nothing the matter with me," Wil- 
 helm hastened to answer, with a forced smile. 
 
 The awakened anxiety of his friends would not be dis- 
 pelled, however, till he had repeated his assurance many 
 times, and reinforced it by additions and enlargements. 
 
 Paul then returned to his question as to Wilhelm's ad- 
 ventures, the latter doing his best to get out of it by a 
 few vague remarks on the uneventful character of his 
 life during the last few months, and then hurried to 
 descant on Paris, describing the town to them with the 
 volubility of a guide-book. On his inquiring in return 
 about their affairs, Paul and Malvine vied with one 
 another in the redundancy of their account. All was 
 well, so far. At the last distribution of Orders Paul had 
 received the Order of the Red Eagle, and beside that, 
 during the course of the winter, two new foreign decora- 
 tions. There were all sorts of innovations on the estate, 
 which he described in detail. At present he was hard at 
 work on an entirely new scheme: the founding of a 
 colony on the moor, composed of discharged prisoners. 
 
398 THE MALADY OF THE CENTUBT. 
 
 tramps, and such like ne'er-do-weels; where, by supply- 
 ing them with agricultural labor, they might be brought 
 back to a decent and remunerative way of life. 
 
 Malvine had much to tell of the autumn and winter 
 festivities, both at her own and other houses, and also, 
 that of the three heiresses whom she had i)icked out for 
 Wilhelm, one was married, another engaged, and there 
 remained only the third, the one with the curly hair, 
 who still asked after him from time to time. 
 
 Meanwhile the news of "Wilhelm 's arrival had pene- 
 trated as far as Willy, who now came rushing in. 
 
 "Onkelchen, Onkelchen! have you come back?" he 
 shouted, long before he reached Wilhelm, and stretched 
 out his little arms to him. He had not grown much, but 
 was plump and rosy as a ripe apple. Wilhelm kissed 
 him, and stroked the soft, fair curls that felt so much 
 like Pilar 's silky hair. 
 
 "Have you been a good boy all this time?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes, very good— haven't I, father?" the boy 
 cried eagerly. "And I can read now — ^everything — the 
 newspaper too. I got a beautiful big box of bricks for 
 it at Christmas." 
 
 Wilhelm had taken him on his knee, but the lively 
 child would not keep quiet for long. He jumped down 
 and hopped about in front of his godfather and chattered 
 awaj'. 
 
 "I say, Onkelchen, you have just come in time for my 
 birthday, haven't you?" 
 
 Wilhelm had not thought of it. 
 
 "When is your birthday, my boy?" he asked, rather 
 crestfallen. 
 
 "Why, don't you know? It is the day after to-mor- 
 row. And what have you brought me?" 
 
 He olid not wait ioTc an Aiaswer, having caught sight, at 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 399 
 
 that moment, of Fido, who, shy as all dogs are in a 
 strange place and among strange people, had crept away 
 under a table, and sat there very still with his eyes firmly 
 fixed on Wilhelm. 
 
 "A dog! A spitz!" Willy shrieked with joy. "Is 
 he for me, Onkelchen?" 
 
 He rushed at Fido, took hold of him by the paw, and 
 ' dragged him out. 
 
 Malvine cried anxiously : 
 
 "Let him go, Willy!" 
 
 But Wilhelm reassured her. 
 
 "He won't hurt him, he is quite gentle." 
 
 Fido allowed himself to be dragged without much re- 
 sistance into the middle of the room, only turning his 
 head away nervously and eying the child askance, as if 
 doubtful as to his intentions. But when Willy began to 
 pat and stroke him kindly, and set him on his hind legs 
 in the first position for begging, Fido realized that no 
 harm was going to befall him, and attached himself 
 instantly to the new friend with that easy confidence 
 which was this sociable creature's great fault of char- 
 acter. He fell to wagging his bushy tail in a highly ex- 
 pressive manner, tried to lick Willy's rosy face, and was 
 altogether so overcome by pleasing emotions that he got 
 a severe attack of coughing, sneezing, and snorting, and 
 Willy exclaimed: 
 
 "My Spitz has caught a cold on the journey. We 
 must give him some black-currant tea, mother!" 
 
 The boj' took a great delight in the dog, playing with 
 him the whole time of Wilhelm's visit, feeding him at 
 dinner, and even wanted to make him drink beer, which 
 Fido steadfastly refused to do, and was much disappointed 
 when, at leaving, Wilhelm prepared to take the dog with 
 him. 
 
400 THE MALAD T OF THE CENTUR T. 
 
 "Didn't you bring him for me?" he asked withapout. 
 
 Wilhelm consoled him by promising that he should see 
 Pido every day, and solemnly transferred to him all legal 
 rights to the animal. On these conditions Willy was con- 
 tent that Fido should go on living with Wilhelm, and 
 that he should come frequently on a starring tour, as it 
 were, to the Carlstrasse. 
 
 Wilhelm's first visit to his friends on the Uhlenhorst 
 did not tend to lighten his spirit. In their home he 
 breathed a pure and wholesome atmosphere, which, it 
 seemed to him, he must contaminate by the heavy, 
 noxious perfume which still clung to him, and which he 
 could not get rid of. Their life was as transparent as 
 crystal, every moment would bear the scrutiny of the 
 severest eye. He, on the other hand, had much to con- 
 ceal. His memory recalled many a scene; he saw him- 
 self again in various situations, and thought — what would 
 they say if they knew? Paul and Malvine told him 
 cheerfully of all that had occurred to them during the laet 
 eight months; he was condemned to lock away his ex- 
 periences in the depths of his heart. His open and con- 
 fiding nature was little used to keeping a secret. It rose 
 to his lips as often as he found himself alone with his 
 friend, and his longing to unburden himself was all the 
 more intense that he had himself formed no certain judg- 
 ment on his course of action, and yearned to hear from 
 the mouth of an unprejudiced person of sound moral tone 
 and worldly experience, that he had done do great harm. 
 He carried in his own breast an accusing voice which 
 called him faithless and mean-spirited, and showed him 
 Pilar as the victim of his treachery; and he had need of 
 an advocate, seeing that he was himself unable to refute 
 these accusations with any sort of confidence. 
 
 He was to receive tha support he longed for. Soon 
 
tHS MALADY OF THE OENTURT. 40l 
 
 after his arrival in Hamburg he had written to Schrotter, 
 telling him of his change of residence, and expressing, at 
 the same time, his intense desire to see him again after 
 their long separation ; also, if it would not be asking too 
 much, to propose that he, Schrotter, should make a short 
 journey, say to Wittenberg, where they might meet and 
 spend a few days together, if it were possible for Schrot- 
 ter to get away from Berlin for a short time. 
 
 Schrotter answered by return of post. He was delighted 
 to find that "Wilhelm was so near, and promised to take 
 advantage of the first fine days of April to make his little 
 excursion to Hamburg. He would arrange it so that he 
 could at least spend a week with "Wilhelm. It was not 
 impossible that he might bring Bhani with him. 
 
 Only a fortnight had passed since Wilhelm received 
 this letter, when, on his return one afternoon from the 
 Uhlenhorst, the hotel porter informed him that a gentle- 
 man had arrived from Berlin, and had asked for him ; 
 that he was expecting him in his room, the number of 
 which he mentioned. With joyful foreboding Wilhelm 
 hurried upstairs so fast that Pido could not follow, and 
 knocked at the door. A familiar voice answered: "Come 
 in!" and the next moment he was in Schrotter 's arms. 
 
 The first greetings over, Schrotter gave his young 
 friend a long and penetrating look from under the half- 
 closed lids, and remarked : 
 
 "I suppose you are surprised that I did not wait till 
 April, but dropped down upon you unawares like this?" 
 
 "lam too delighted to be surprised, " answered Wil- 
 helm, and pressed Schrotter's large, strong hand. 
 
 He had scarcely altered at all in the year and a quar- 
 ter, and with his herculean shoulders and powerful head, 
 his fair hair, brushed into a great tuft above his fore- 
 head, only just beginning to turn gray, he was still the 
 very type and picture of ripe manhood and strength. 
 
40^ TSU MALADT OP THE CUNTtTRT. 
 
 "But I had a reason for changing my original plan,". 
 Schrotter went on. "Unwittingly I have committed a 
 breach of good manners against you, for which I must 
 personally ask you to forgive me." He drew a letter out 
 of his breast-pocket and handed it to Wilhelm. "This 
 letter came yesterday. Seeing the address, I took it for 
 granted that it was for me, and so I read it, and dis- 
 covered then that it was for you." 
 
 Wilhelm turned pale as Schrotter handed him the let- 
 ter. It bore the Paris postmark, and Schrotter's name 
 and address in a large, clumsy hand. Nothing on the 
 outside to betray that it was for Wilhelm. Auguste — • 
 Wilhelm divined at once that he was the writer of the 
 letter — had not thought of putting it in a second envel- 
 ope directed to Wilhelm, or of adding his name to the 
 original address. 
 
 Wilhelm 's hand shook as he unfolded the letter, and a 
 veil fell before his eyes. For one moment he had the idea 
 to put the letter in his pocket, and say he would read it 
 later on, for it was torture to him that Schrotter should 
 be a witness of the emotion he knew he must feel on 
 reading it. But of what use was it to dissemble? 
 Schrotter would have to know. He glanced over Au- 
 guste's stiff characters. 
 
 The man wrote in his ill-bred tone, with spelling to 
 match : 
 
 "Paris, March 26, 1880. 
 
 "Monsieur le Docteur: It is a week now since you left, 
 and time that you should know what has been going on 
 during that time. It was as good as a play ! But you 
 shall hear. 
 
 "When Madame la Comtesse came home, and I opened 
 the door to her, I said nothing, but I thought to myself — 
 what a row there will be presently. And sure enough, 
 she had hardly set foot in her room, when we heard an 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 403 
 
 awful scream. It didn't scare me, because I knew all 
 about it; but Isabel came tumbling out, and howled in 
 French and Spanish mixed : ' Is it a fire ? Are there 
 thieves in the house?' It was enough to make you die 
 of laughing. 
 
 "I was called upstairs and questioned by Anne — the 
 countess had not the strength. She was kneeling in her 
 ball-dress beside the bed, her face buried in the pillows 
 that still showed the pressure of your head, and crying 
 as if her heart would break. I know that madame cries 
 very easily — she has always been that way as long as I 
 have known her — but I really should not have thought, 
 to look at her, that she could hold such a quantity of 
 tears. Anne cross-examined me like a magistrate, but of 
 course I made an innocent face, and knew nothing at all. 
 I saw plainly that she did not really care a bit, the viper, 
 for while she was cross-questioning me she gave me a 
 look once or twice that told me quite enough. But 
 Madame la Comtesse is very sharp. She saw at once that 
 I knew more than I had a mind to tell. She turned a 
 face to me, as white as a cheese, and looked at me with 
 such eyes, that I might well have been frightened if I had 
 not — I may say it without boasting — been born in Carpen- 
 tras. At first she tried it with kindness, and then she 
 threatened to turn me out of the house that minute, and 
 then she wanted to bribe me by all sorts of promises — ma 
 foi ! it was not a very easy moment, but I stood firm, and 
 madame threw herself back on the bed, and the tap was 
 turned on full again. Would you believe it, that that 
 Anne had the face to say to madame she had better look 
 in the bureau to see if her money and jewels were safe. 
 'Silence, wretch I' cried Madame la Comtesse, so that the 
 windows rattled, and gave the person a look that made 
 her double up like a penknife. She does not come from 
 Carpentras. To make a long story short, none of us went 
 to bed that night. Madame took it into her head you 
 might have gone for a little walk in the middle of the 
 night, and would come back. Good idea, wasn't it? 
 But when the morning came, she saw that the bird had 
 really flown, and that changed the whole affair. She took 
 to her bed, and stayed there for five days with the room 
 
404 THE MALADT OF THE CEirrURY. 
 
 all darkened, ate nothing, drank nothing, was delirious, 
 had four doctors called in each at fifty francs the visit, 
 beside priests and nuns, and Madame la Marquise, her 
 mamma, got three telegrams, one longer than the other, 
 and arrived here the day before yesterday, and now they 
 are trying which can cry the most. But the daughter 
 has the best of it. Since she had her mamma with her, 
 madame seems calmer. She got up yesterday for the first 
 time, and — not to keep back anything from you — I have 
 great hopes that in a fortnight or three weeks' time we 
 shall see her going to balls again. That will do her a 
 world of good. 
 
 "She had your things taken up to ,the box -room, so 
 that she might not see them any more, and Madame la 
 Marquise has your room, but Madame la Comtesse never 
 sets foot in it. The artist in hair says that there is talk 
 of renting a new house, or even of going to Spain. I 
 should be very sorry to leave Madame la Comtesse, but to 
 Spain I would not go. 
 
 "I should be glad to know from Monsieur le Docteur 
 whether, after madame has consoled herself a little, I may 
 give her monsieur's address, that his things may be for- 
 warded. I hope you are well, and that you will write me 
 a line. You need not be anxious about madame, she will 
 soon be all right again. You were not the first, and, let 
 us hope, you will not have been the last. 
 
 "I salute Monsieur le Docteur, 
 
 "Your very obedient servant, 
 
 "AtTGTTSTE. 
 
 "Postscript. — In spite of her desperation, madame had 
 the presence of mind to try and persuade Anne you very 
 probably had to fly from your political enemies, or had 
 even been carried off and murdered by Prussian agents. 
 Anne said, 'Yes; such things have happened.' The 
 viper! You did well to take yourself off out of this." 
 
 Wilhelm was unaware that he read the letter twice or 
 three times over without a pause between. When he was 
 beginning for the fourth time, he suddenly remembered 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 405 
 
 that he was not alone, and that Schrotter was sitting 
 there ■watching him. He folded the letter in confusion. 
 He had not the courage to say anything, or even to look 
 at his friend, but dropped his hands and his head, and 
 cast down his miserable eyes. 
 
 Schrotter was the first to breat the silence. 
 
 "I must beg you once more to forgive me for opening 
 the letter. Of course, I could not have an idea " 
 
 "No," said Wilhelm in a low voice, "it is for me to ask 
 your forgiveness for not having been open with you. 
 But I had every intention of making good my fault. It 
 was for that I asked you to meet me at Wittenberg." 
 
 "Spare yourself the telling of anything that might be 
 painful to you," said Schrotter, with kindly forethought. 
 "I can guess the drift of it, and now understand your 
 last letter. I thought you would probably be in a frame 
 of mind to need a friend near j^ou, and so I came with- 
 out delay." 
 
 "I will not leave you to guess anything," Wilhelm 
 returned, and pressed Schrotter's hand. "I will tell you 
 all ; it is an absolute necessity to me, and will, at the 
 same time, be a kind of atonement." 
 
 And he began his confession in a low, dull voice, and 
 with downcast eyes, like a sinner acknowledging a shame- 
 ful deed, and Schrotter listened to him gravely and in 
 silence, like a priest before whom some poor oppressed 
 soul is casting down its burden of guilt. Wilhelm kept 
 nothing back, neither the mad intoxication of .the first 
 weeks, nor the bitter humiliation of the last. He dis- 
 closed Pilar's passion and his own weakness, the pagan 
 sensuality and the artifices of the woman's insatiable 
 love, and the unworthy part he had played in her house 
 before the servants and strangers. He spoke of his tor- 
 menting doubts as to the justice of his actions, and con- 
 cluded: "And now, tell me, shall I answer this letter?" 
 
406 2'irs MA LAD T OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 "What are you thinking of?" cried Schrotter, when 
 "Wilhelm stopped speaking, and looked at him in anxious 
 expectation. "Your only plan now is to keep dark. If, 
 notwithstanding your silence, they write to you again, I 
 would advise you to burn the letters unread. That will 
 demand a certain amount of fortitude, no doubt, but as 
 the letters will come to my address, I will do it for you, 
 if j'ou authorize me." 
 
 Wilhelm tried hard to make up his mind. 
 
 "No, do not burn them unread, " he said, after a pause ; 
 "open the letters, and then judge for yourself, in each 
 case, whether you will let me know the whole or part of 
 the contents." 
 
 "Always the same want of will power!" returned 
 Schrotter. "First you free yourself, and then have not 
 the courage to burn your ships behind you. Believe me, 
 it is best that you should have no further news from 
 Paris, and after some months you can send for your 
 things through a third person. Have you anybody in 
 Paris who could arrange that for you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then I will do it. And even if you were to let the 
 things go, it would be no great loss. Above all things, 
 no renewing of old fetters. This lackey takes a healthy 
 enough view of the matter, for all his cynicisms. You 
 must not take it too tragically. You have passed through 
 your heart crisis— it comes to most of us — only with you 
 it has happened late, and under unpropitious circum- 
 stances. That has tended to make it more severe than is 
 usually the case. But now, let it be past and over, 
 though naturally it will take some little time for your 
 mind to regain its normal balance. What I regret most 
 in the affair is, that it precludes the idea of marriage for 
 you for some time id oorae, and I had wished that so 
 
TBE MA L AD t Of THE OENTJJR Y. 407 
 
 much for you. As long as the fascinations of this siren 
 are fresh in your memory, no respectable German girl 
 will have any attraction for you, and the love she is able 
 to oflEer you will seem flat and insipid." 
 
 "You only speak of me," Wilhelm ventured to remark, 
 "but that is not the worst side of the story; what weighs 
 most heavily on my mind is, that I have broken my faith 
 with her." 
 
 "Do not let that worry you," Schrotter replied. "You 
 were in such a position as to be forced to act in self- 
 defense. It would have been inexcusable in you to have 
 stayed any longer where you were. For a liaison of that 
 kind is only conceivable when the man loves the woman 
 very deeply. You, my friend, did not love the lady at 
 all. If you have any doubts about it in your own mind, 
 you may take my word for it — had you loved her, you 
 would not have parted from her. You would, if neces- 
 sary, have carried her off from Paris, and continued to 
 live with her in some world-forgotten spot, as you did at 
 St. Valery. Or you would have gone off to the Philip- 
 pines, and fought her husband to the death, in order to 
 gain free possession of her or die in the attempt. That 
 is how love acts when it is of that elemental force which 
 alone can justify such relations before the higher natural 
 tribunal of morality. But if your love is not strong 
 enough to prompt you to do these things, then it is 
 immoral, and must be shaken off." 
 
 Wilhelm was still unconvinced. 
 
 "I surely owe her gratitude for having loved me? 
 That imposes certain duties upon me; I have no right to 
 break a heart which gave itself wholly to me." 
 
 "Your idea has a specious air of generosity," answered 
 Schrotter firmly, "but in reality it is morbid and weak. 
 Jjove accepts no alms. One gives oneself wholly or not 
 
408 '^'SE MALAl)f OF MM OENTtiRT. 
 
 at all. Do you imagine that any woman of spirit would 
 be satisfied if you said to her : 'I do not love you, I 
 should like to leave you, but I will stay on with you 
 because I do not wish to give you pain, or from pity — 
 sof t-heartedness. ' Why, she would thrust you from her, 
 and rather, a thousand times, die than live on your 
 bounty. On the other hand, the woman who would still 
 hold fast to a man after such a declaration, must be of so 
 poor a stuff that I do not consider her capable of feeling 
 any violent pain. Woman, in general, has a far truer 
 and more natural judgment in this question. Where she 
 does not love she has no scruples about want of consider- 
 ation, and the knowledge that it will hurt the man's feel- 
 ings has rarely restrained her from rejecting an unwel- 
 come suitor. There is such a thing as necessary cruelty, 
 my friend — the physician knows that better than 
 anybody." 
 
 W^ilhelm shook his head thoughtfull.y. 
 
 "Your cruelties are not for your own advantage, but 
 for that of your patient. I have no such excuee to offer. " 
 
 "Yes, you have," cried Schrotter. "You cure the 
 countess of a morbid and hysterical sentiment. This 
 Auguste is right^ — ^she will console herself." 
 
 "And if does not?" 
 
 "If not — why, what can I say? — we must simply wait 
 and see. But it would surprise me very much. The 
 worst is over. In such cases, if women mean to commit 
 some act of madness, they do it in the first moment. The 
 countess has her mother with her, she has three children, 
 she has, from all I hear, an extremely buoyant nature, 
 her despair will soon calm down. If not, it is always 
 open to you to return in a year's time and do the prodi- 
 gal son, and have the fatted calf killed for you." 
 
 As Wilhelm looked at him with suppressed reproach, 
 Schrotter laid his hand on the young man's shoulder. 
 
THE MALADY OF THE OENTURY. 409 
 
 "You no doubt think me a hard-heartefl old fogey — 
 you miss the ring of romance in what I say. That is 
 quite natural. The language of reason always sounds flat 
 to the ear of passion — and not to passion only, hut to 
 sentimentalitj- and feebleness. Let us finish. You know 
 my advice. Give no sign of life, and so give time a 
 chance to do its work. Try to forget the past, and help 
 the lady to do likewise, and do not remind her of it again 
 by letters, or any other kind of communication. And now 
 let us talk of something else. What are your plans?" 
 
 "I have none, " answered "Wilhelm, with a dispirited 
 gesture. "I have not forgotten what you wrote to me at 
 New Year. If our wishes make up our future, I have no 
 future before me, for I have no wish." 
 
 "Not even to be near me again?" asked Schrotter. 
 
 "Ah, yes," answered AVilhelm quickly, and looked him 
 affectionately in the deep-set blue eyes. 
 
 "You see now. This wandering life is no good for 
 you. You must see about getting back to Berlin." 
 
 "Yes, but you know^ — ■ — " 
 
 "Of course I know. But something must be done. 
 You must apply to the authorities to withdraw your sen- 
 tence of banishment." 
 
 "And you advise me to do this?" 
 
 "Unwillingly, as you may well suppose. But I see 
 nothing else for you." 
 
 "And how should I word such a petition? I could 
 neither acknowledge a transgression in the past, nor 
 promise amendment in the future." 
 
 "No, it would be of no use going into details. It 
 would have to be a bald petition for pardon." And see- 
 ing Wilhelm recoil involuntarily, he added : "It does not 
 do to be too proud in such a case. In the preposterously 
 unequal gtruggle between the individual and the organ- 
 
410 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 ized power of the State, it is no disgrace to declare your- 
 self beaten and ask for quarter." 
 
 "A petition ■without any gush or protestations of 
 loyalty, in which I would simply say : 'Please allow me to 
 come back to Berlin, because I prefer it to any other 
 place of residence,' would certainly be ineffectual, and I 
 should only have humiliated myself for nothing." 
 
 "We must get somebody to take up your cause. I 
 shall do all in my power to make the Oberbiirgermeister 
 put in a good word for you." 
 
 "Would you yourself do what you are advising me to 
 do?" 
 
 Schrotter was silent for a moment. 
 
 "I am not in the same case. If Berlin were as much a 
 necessity to me as it is to you I would do it — most 
 certainly. ' ' 
 
 Wilhelm looked as if he were swallowing a bitter 
 draught. But Schrotter' strongiiand lay tenderly on the 
 dark head. 
 
 "Yes, friend Eynhardt," he said; "you will send in 
 the petition, and it will, I hope, have the desired result. 
 Do it for my sake. Yes, look at me; I have need of you. 
 I miss you. I am getting to be an old man. At sixty 
 years of age one does not make new friendships. All the 
 more carefully does one keep those one has. Berlin has 
 seemed to me a desert — ^almost unbearable, without you. 
 You do not know how impossible things have become 
 there. They are misusing, without one pang of con- 
 science, the most touching and lovable characteristic of 
 our people — its sense of gratitude, which it exaggerates 
 to the point of weakness. The.y are doing all they can 
 to bind Germany hand and foot, to gag her and drag her 
 back into absolutism before her sentimentality will allow 
 her to put herself on the defensive. They are pandering 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTUBT. 411 
 
 to the lowest instincts of the people, and enervating 
 their manhood by every artifice in their power. Thus 
 they have successfully achieved the introduction into 
 Germany of that most degraded form of self-worship — 
 Chauvinism. They poison her morality by wisely organ- 
 izing that every conscience, every conviction, should have 
 its price. They debase her ideals by decreeing that 
 henceforth the officer is to be the national patron saint 
 to whom the people are to offer up their devotion and 
 worship. The press, literature, art, lecturing-room 
 — all preach the same gospel, that the highest product of 
 humanity is the olficer, and that "soldierly discipline 
 and smartness" — in other words, slavish submission, 
 self-conceit, arrogance, and the upholding of mere brute 
 force — are the noblest qualities of a man and a patriot. 
 The army is taught to forget that it is the armed popula- 
 tion of the country, and is trained to be a band of body 
 servants. And even when the soldiers return to private 
 life, the idea of servitude is carefully kept up, and he 
 finds again in the military 'Verein' the beloved barrack 
 life, with all its servile submissiveness and abnegation of 
 free will. Whichever way I look, I am tilled with hor- 
 ror. Everything is ground down, everything laid waste, 
 the governing spirit has not left one stone standing upon 
 another. Even our youth, with whom lies our hope for- 
 the future, is rotten in part. In many student circles I 
 see a want of principle, a low cringing to success, a 
 cowardly worship of animal strength, that is without its 
 parallel in our history. Instinctively, this corrupt youth 
 sides, in every question, with the strong against the 
 weak, with the pursuer against the pui'sued, and that at 
 the age when my generation exerted itself passionately, 
 without a question as to right or wrong, for everyone op- 
 pressed against every oppresser, Of course we were sim- 
 
il2 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 pletons, we of '48, and the golden youth of to-day scoffs 
 superciliously at our naive ideals. In the present order 
 of things everything has become a curse^ — even the par- 
 liamentary system. For that gives the people no means 
 of making its ■will known, and has simply become a 
 vehicle for general corruption at the elections. Our 
 officials, on whose independence of spirit we used to pride 
 ourselves so much, have sunk into mere electioneering 
 agents, and unless they pursue, oppress, and grind the 
 opponents of the government, have no chance of promo- 
 tion. It is a Police State such as we have never known, 
 not even before '48. For at least every man got his rights 
 in those days, scanty as those riglits may have been, and 
 the official was not the enemy of the citizen, but his 
 somewhat despotic guardian and protector. Shall I say 
 all? The most consoling class to me in Germany to-day 
 are the Social Democrats. They have independence of 
 spirit, self-denial, character, and idealism. Their ideals 
 are not my ideals — far from it — but what does that 
 matter? It is relief enough to find people who have any 
 ideals at all, and who are ready to suffer and die for 
 them. I fear that not till this generation has passed 
 away will the German people become once more the 
 upright, true-hearted, incorruptible idealists they were, 
 ♦who, at every turning-point of their history, were ready 
 to bleed to death for freedom of opinion, and other 
 purely spiritual advantages. I take a very black view of 
 things perhaps. If only the harm done is not perma- 
 nent, if only Germany retains sufficient virile strength to 
 throw off the poison instilled into her veins and recover 
 her former health!" 
 
 In his excitement he had risen, and was pacing the 
 room like an angry lion in a cage. Wilhelm did not like 
 to interrupt the stream of words, which seemed to he 
 
TSS MALADt OF tsE Century. 413 
 
 forced from him by some powerful inward pressure. 
 Now he said : 
 
 "I can well understand your point of view. You 
 emigrated in '48, and kept your democratic ideas fresh 
 in your heart. Twenty years of absence, and an intense 
 longing for your home, glorified the Fatherland in your 
 eyes. You come back and find a country whose histori- 
 cal development has taken a totally different turn in the 
 meantime, and the plain reality in nowise corresponds to 
 the poetical picture you had painted for yourself. 
 Naturally you are painfully disappointed. I know that 
 of old from my own father. But may I venture to remark 
 that your criticism is hard, and perhaps not altogether 
 well founded? A system of government passes — the 
 people remain. In its inner depths it is untouched by 
 official corruption, and you yourself acknowledge that 
 the aggressive boasters onlj' formed a small part of our 
 youth. I am not uneasy for the future of my country." 
 
 "You may be right, " returned Schrotter, grown calmer 
 meanwhile, and standing still in front of Wilhelm. 
 "But the present is gloomy, that is very certain. But 
 enough of this. I came to cheer you, and have instead 
 lightened my own heart. It was overflowing, and I have 
 no one in Berlin to whom I can unburden myself. You 
 see, I must have you near me. So write your petition, 
 and if it is not accepted, why then — then we will go 
 together to Switzerland or America, and love our country 
 from afar, and without any admixture of bitterness, just 
 as I did in India." 
 
 In face of this deep and unselfish concern over the con- 
 dition of the commonalty which trembled in Schrotter's 
 voice and spoke from his gloomy blue eyes, Wilhelm felt 
 half ashamed of having made so much of his own small 
 troubles. He declared himself willing to send in the 
 
414 THE MALADY OF' TEE CENTURT. 
 
 petition, and for the first time for weeks he was able to 
 think of something else than Pilar and his dealings with 
 regard to her. 
 
 Sohrotter stayed for a few days, which he passed almost 
 exclusively with Wilhelm and Paul. All three felt them- 
 selves younger by ten years in this renewal of their in- 
 timacy, and Paul said more than once, "Would it not be 
 splendid, Herr Doctor, if you two would buy some prop- 
 erty near me? Then, in the summer months at any 
 rate, we could all live together, so to speak. I am quite 
 convinced that that would be a sure way of keping our- 
 selves j'oung forever. ' ' Schrotter smiled at this proposal. 
 All he wanted was to have Wilhelm near him once more. 
 In the meantime, Bhani, his patients, his poor, recalled 
 him to Berlin, and he left in hope that Wilhelm might be 
 able to follow him ere long. 
 
 Schrotter lost no time. He did his utmost to persuade 
 influential people to exert themselves on Wilhelm 's be- 
 half, but the difficulties were greater than he had 
 imagined. Wilhelm was in very bad odor with the police 
 authorities, who would not believe that he was not a 
 Socialist, and that he did not afford that party valuable 
 support in the shape of money. 
 
 Some three weeks after Schrotter's visit to Hamburg 
 another letter came from Auguste. He was surprised, 
 he said, that Monsieur le Docteur had not answered, and 
 proceeded to inform him of a new turn in the affair. 
 They had discovered that Madame la Comtesse injected 
 herself secretly with morphine, pricked herself, Auguste 
 said, and two Sisters of Mercy had to watch her day and 
 night to prevent it. Schrotter judged it unnecessary to 
 inform Wilhlem of the contents of this letter. 
 
 Schrotter's visit had had an extremely salutary effect 
 on Wilhelm. His self-torture grew less poignant, the 
 
THE MALADY OF THE GENTURT. 415 
 
 memory of Paris receded into the background, and in 
 proportion as it paled the red returned to his cheeks and 
 the light to his dull eyes. He still held aloof from the 
 busy turmoil of the world, and was still dominated by a 
 profound consciousness of the aimlessness of his life, and 
 yet, for the first time for years, perhaps since he took 
 his degree, he entertained a desire, a hope, that he might 
 be permitted to return to Berlin. 
 
 On the last Sunday in April Wilhelm was spending the 
 afternoon at the Uhlenhorist. The family were prepar- 
 ing to remove shortly to Friesenmoor, and Paul had gone 
 over to the estate to make some arrangements. He was 
 expected back in the evening, when they were all to go 
 for a row on the Alster. 
 
 Spring was unusually early that year; the trees 
 showed gay sprigs of green already, the air was wonder- 
 fully mild and balmy, and in the exhilarating blue of the 
 sky feathery white cloudlets were floating, whose course 
 one was fain to follow with sweet dreams and fancies. 
 It was a sin to stay indoors on such a lovely afternoon, 
 Malvine declared, and so proposed that they should go 
 out to the terrace overlooking the water and sit there 
 till Paul came home. 
 
 The terrace belonged to the villa in the Carlstrasse, 
 laying on the path round the shore which bears with per- 
 fect rii^ht the name "An der schonen Aussicht" — the 
 beautiful view — and was built out in a square into the 
 Alster. A low stone parapet surrounded it on three 
 sides, the fourth — that toward the pathway — being 
 formed by an iron paling with a locked gate in it. One 
 corner of the terrace, which was otherwise paved with 
 asphalt, was laid out in a round flower bed, in which the 
 primroses and violets were just beginning to come up. 
 Near the balustrade at the waterside, under a large tent- 
 
416 TEt! MALADY OF THE CENTUnt. 
 
 like umbrella, stood a garden table and a few chairs. 
 Here Malvine and Wilhelm seated themselves, while 
 Willy played about with Fido. To the right of the ter- 
 race was a narrow little bay where the shallow boat was 
 fastened in which they were to make their pleasure trip 
 later on. The boat was tied to a wooden landing-place, 
 which inclosed the little bay on the side away from the 
 terrace, and from which a few mossy steps led down to 
 the water. The Alster was swollen with melting snow 
 and spring rains, and almost washed the foot of the 
 terrace ; only one of the steps of the landing appeared 
 above the surface of the water. Al/.lly, finding it rather 
 dull on the terrace, elected to play on the pier, and 
 began jumping in and out of the boat, into which Fido 
 refused to follow him, as he was afraid of the water. 
 
 The view was enchanting. The opposite shore gleamed 
 silvery blue in the delicate white light of a northern 
 spring day. In the distance, the masses of houses and 
 the spires of Hamburg hung upon the horizon like a 
 faintly tinted, half-washed out transparency. A light 
 breeze ruffled the broad bosom of the Alster, and the red 
 and green steamboats plowed dark furrows in its bright- 
 ness, which remained there long after the boats had 
 passed, and faded away finally in many a serpentine 
 curve. Numbers of little rowing and sailing-boats 
 floated upon the slow current, peopled by couples and 
 parties in their Sunday clothes, their talk and merry 
 laughter sounding across the water to the shore. A sail- 
 ing-boat passed quite close to the terrace on its way to 
 the Fahrhaus. A young boatman handled the sails, a 
 little boy was steering, and in the stern sat a young man 
 and a pretty rosy girl, their arms affectionately inter- 
 twined, softly singing, "Life let us cherish." Malvine 
 smiled as she caught sight of the little idyll, and turn- 
 
THE MALADY OF TME GBNTUB T. 417 
 
 ing to Wilhelm, who was gazing dreamily into the quiet 
 sunny beauty of the surrounding scene: "Can you 
 imagine any more delightful occupation on a spring day 
 like this," she said, "than to go love-making like those 
 two little people over there?" 
 
 A shadow passed over Wilhelm's face. He saw himself 
 lying in the high grass under a wide-spreading tree in 
 St. Valery, and over him there hovered a white hand 
 that strewed him with fresh blossoms. 
 
 At that instant they heard a little frightened cry, fol- 
 lowed immediately by a second one, and then a gurgle. 
 Both sprang to their feet, and Malvine uttered a piercing 
 shriek of terror. Eight in front of them, not more than 
 a step from the terrace, they saw "Willy in the midst of a 
 whirl of foam which he had churned up round him with 
 his desperate, struggling little limbs. His arms were toss- 
 ing wildly above the water, but the head with its floating 
 golden curls dipped under from time to time, and the 
 little distorted mouth opened for an agonized breath and 
 scream, only to be stopped by the in-rushing water. The 
 boat rocking violently close by explained with sufficient 
 clearness how the accident had happened. The boy had 
 clambered on to the edge of the boat to rock himself, 
 had overbalanced and fallen into the water, and in his 
 struggles had already drifted some paces from the shore. 
 Fido stood barking and gasping on the step and dipping 
 his paws into the water only to draw them out again. 
 
 Malvine stretched out her arms to the child, but her 
 feet refused their office, she stood rooted to the spot, 
 unable to do anything but uiiuer terrible inarticulate 
 screams. Only a few seconds elapsed — just long enough 
 to realize what had happened — wheB. Wilhelm sprang 
 with lightning rapidity on to his chair, and from thence, 
 with one bound, over the parapet into the water. He 
 
418 THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 disappeared below the surface, but rose again at once 
 just beside the child, who clung to him with all his 
 remaining strength. How he managed it he did not 
 know, but, although he could not swim, he managed to 
 push the boy in front of him toward the terrace, crying" 
 anxiously, "Catch hold of him! Catch hold of him!" 
 Life returned to Malvine's limbs, she leaned over the 
 parapet and stretched out her arms. "Wilhelm made a 
 supreme effort and lifted the boy so far out of the water 
 that she could grasp him, put her arms round him, and 
 drag him up, and with him apparently Wilhelm, for his 
 head and shoulders rose for a moment above the water. 
 "With a jerk she dragged the fainting boy over the para- 
 pet and held him in her arms, while she continued to 
 scream for help. People came running from the shore 
 the Carlstrasse, the Fahrhaus, and in an instant the ter- 
 race was crowded. They relieved the still half-demented 
 mother of the dripping child to carry him across to the 
 house. She was pushing her way through the closely 
 packed groups and tottering after them when a cry 
 reached her. "There is another one in the water!" Only 
 then did she remember "Wilhelm. Terrified to death, she 
 turned and flew back to the edge of the terrace. A crowd 
 stood there gesticulating wildly, all talking at once, and 
 obstructing the view. A gap opened when two or three 
 men with more presence of mind than the rest rushed 
 down to the landing, jumped into the boat, untied it, and 
 pushed off from the shore. And now, to her unspeakable 
 horror, she saw^ihat Wilhelm had disappeared, and the 
 thick muddy waters gave no clew to the spot where he 
 had gone down. This was too much, and she altogether 
 lost consciousness. When she came to herself she was 
 lying on the sofa in her husband's smoking room, her 
 dress in disorder, and the maids busy about her. She 
 
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 419 
 
 first looked round her startled, then her memory returned 
 with a flash, and she cried with quivering lips: "How is 
 Willy— and Dr. Eynhardt?" 
 
 "Master Willy has quite come round, and they are 
 putting him to bed," the servants hastened to answer. 
 
 "But Dr. Eynhardt?" 
 
 To that they had no reply. 
 
 Malvine jumped up and would have rushed out. 
 
 "Gnadige Frau!" cried the girls, horrified, "you can't 
 go out like that!" 
 
 They held her back; Malvine struggled to free herself, 
 but at that moment there was a sound of heavy footsteps 
 and a confused murmur of voices in the hall, some one 
 flung open the door, the man-servant put in his head, but 
 started back at sight of his mistress and closed the door 
 abruptly. Then he went on, and the footsteps and mur- 
 muring voices followed him. 
 
 "They are bringing him in!" shrieked Malvine, and 
 they could hold her back no longer. A moment later 
 and she knew that she was right. On the billiard-table, 
 in the room to the right of the hall, lay Wilhelm's 
 motionless form, while the people who had carried him 
 in stood round. Water flowed from his clothes and made 
 little pools on the green cloth and trickled into the 
 leather pockets of the billiard-table. His breast did not 
 move, and death stared from the glazed, half-open eyes. 
 
 A doctor was soon on the spot, the curious were turned 
 out of the house, and they began the work of resuscita- 
 tion. They had labored uninterruptedly for nearly an 
 hour when Paul burst in, crying in a choking voice : 
 "Doctor — doctor, is he alive?" The servants had told 
 him all in flying haste outside. 
 
 The doctor shook his head. "There is nothing more 
 to be done." 
 
420 27/S MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 But Paul would not believe it. He would not suffer 
 them to cease their efforts. The rubbing, the move- 
 ments, the artiiioial respiration had to be kept up for 
 another full hour. But death held his prey fast, and 
 would not let them force it out of his clutches. 
 
 Two days later, on a gray rainy day, they buried him. 
 Schrotter came over from Berlin for the funeral. He 
 looked quite broken down, and grief had aged his leonine 
 features to an appalling extent. Malvine and Willy were 
 lying ill in bed, so that Paul and Schrotter followed their 
 friend alone to his last resting-place. When the coffin 
 was carried out and lifted into the hearse, and Paul came 
 out of his house, he saw through the veil of tears that 
 obscured his vision that several hundred men were 
 standing in orderly array on the opposite side of the 
 Carlstrasse. They were young for the most part, but 
 there was a sprinkling of older men among them ; all 
 were poorly, but cleanly and decently dressed, and every 
 man had a red everlasting in his buttonhole. They 
 stood as motionless as a troop under arms, and appar- 
 ently followed the orders of a gray-bearded man who 
 paced authoritatively up and down the silent line. 
 
 Paul was surprised, and asked the undertaker, who was 
 waiting for him beside the hearse, who these people 
 were. He had not invited anybody, and did not expect 
 there would be a crowd of any kind, although the Ham- 
 burg papers had devoted whole columns to the accident. 
 
 The undertaker went over and addressed himself to the 
 man who was evidentlj' the leader of the party. He in- 
 formed Paul on his return: "They are workingmen's 
 societies from Hamburg and Altona. Their leader saj's 
 the deceased was not one of them, but they wanted to 
 show him this last mark of respect because he ha,d been 
 kind to them during his lifetime," 
 
THE MALAD T OF TEB OENTUR T. 431 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 TJDEN HORIZO. 
 
 On the first of May of the following year, which hap- 
 pened to fall on a Sunday, a long procession of carriages 
 drove along the road from Harburg to Friesenmoor. 
 They stopped at the entrance to the estate. Before them 
 rose a triumphal arch composed of branches of fir gar- 
 landed with flowers, and adorned with flags and ribbons, 
 and a gold inscription on a blue ground, which ran as 
 follows : 
 
 " A gracious Sovereign's due Reward 
 To fruitful Labour, honest Work." 
 
 A "Verein" with its banner was posted beside the arch. 
 There was a roar of cannon, the banner waved, the Verein 
 gave three "Hochs!" and its chief, or spokesman, 
 stepped up to the first carriage, in which sat a youngish 
 gentleman with spectacles, and an officer in the gorgeous 
 uniform of a Landwehr dragoon, his breast covered with 
 stars and crosses. The spectacled gentleman was the 
 Landrath of the circuit, and the cavalry officer was no 
 other than Paul Haber, now Herr Paul von Haber. For 
 he had been raised to the nobility, and celebrated his 
 auspicious event to-day in the midst of his retainers and 
 a host of invited guests, whom he had fetched in a dozen 
 carriages from the station at Harburg, supported by his 
 distinguished young pupils. 
 
 The spokesman of the Verein, a man of some fifty 
 years of age, with a grizzled beard, addressed the pro- 
 
433 TBE MALADt OF TSM CENTTfRt. 
 
 prietor in a glowing speech, in which, among other 
 things, he assured him — the man of thirty-seven — that 
 "We all look upon you as our father, and honor and love 
 you as if we were your children." Paul smiled, and 
 returned thanks in a few warm words; then renewed 
 "Hochs!" more waving of banners and firing of cannon, 
 and the procession set itself in motion again. 
 
 At the entrance to Kaiser-Wilhelm's Dorf there ensued 
 a second and more elaborate welcome. Here too there 
 was a triumphal arch and cannons, and instead of one 
 there were three Vereins with flags and banners, also the 
 schoolchildren, headed by the pastor and the school- 
 master, and the whole female portion of the communits' 
 lining the roadway on either side, or massed round the 
 base of the arch. The pastor made a speech, a fair- 
 haired schoolgirl recited a long piece of poetry com- 
 posed by the master in the sweat of his brow ; the Choral 
 Verein sang, the Young Men's Verein — who were given 
 to instrumental music — piped and blew a chorale; and 
 not till the all-prevading joy and enthusiasm had found 
 sufficient vent in the firing of cannon, in speeches, 
 poetry, and music, did the carriages move on, and finally 
 reach the steps of Friesenmoor House, where the guests 
 were received by Frau von Haber, assisted by Frau 
 Brohl and Prau Marker. At the moment of leaving the 
 carriages three flags were run up the flagstaff on the 
 tower — the black, white, and red flag of the empire, then 
 the white and black Prussian one, and finally a green, 
 white, and red banner with a large coat-of-arms in the 
 center. This third flag, somewhat enigmatical to the 
 guests, was the new family banner of the House of von 
 Haber, with the coat-of-arms of that noble race, now dis- 
 played for the first time to the admiring gaze of the 
 beholders. 
 
TBE MALADY OF THE CENrURY. 433 
 
 The designing of a coat-of-arms had been no light task 
 to Paul. From the moment — now five months ago — that 
 he knew his promotion to the nobility was a settled affair, 
 he had devoted the best part of his thoughts to this 
 weighty question. He hesitated long between mediaeval 
 simplicity and modern symbolism. An illustrative crest 
 that should be a play upon his name was out of the ques- 
 tion ; for of course it was only another of Mayboom, the 
 farce-writer's, jokes — he bad taken him into his con- 
 fidence on one of his visits to Berlin — to suggest a sack 
 of oats, g'ules on a field, vert. After devising a dozen 
 crests, each of which he thought charming, only to reject 
 it a day or two afterward as inappropriate, he finally 
 fixed on the one which now adorned his proud banner. 
 It displayed on a field, vert, three waving transverse bars 
 argeiit, and in a free quarter-purpure-dexter a medal of 
 the Franco-Prussian War in natural colors. The waving 
 bars were in allusion to the drainage canals on his marsh 
 estate, and the medal to his career in the war. He did 
 not forget that he owed the realization of his life's 
 scheme to his wife's marriage-portion, and wished to 
 show his appreciation of the fact in a delicate manner by 
 crossing the transverse bars with a marshmallow in 
 natural colors. However, he abandoned this design 
 when they pointed out to him at the Herald's office that 
 the crest would be rather overladen thereby, and at the 
 same time would betray too plainly the "newly-baked" 
 aristocrat. Paul left nothing undone. He provided 
 himself with a motto. The incorrigible Mayboom 
 recommended, "The Moor has done his duty." Paul' 
 decided on "Meinem Konige treu" — True to my king. 
 Somebody at the Herald's office suggested putting it 
 "Minem Kunege treu," but he had not the courage. 
 
 But though his promotion had oscupied him almost 
 
4M THE MALADT OF THE CENTURY. 
 
 exclusively during the last few months, necessitating 
 frequent journeys to Berlin, he did not cease to think of 
 poor Wilhelm. For a whole year he, as well as Malvine 
 and Willy, wore deep mourning for the friend who had 
 sacrificed himself for them, and Paul erected a mag- 
 nificent monument over him in the St. Georg Cemetery 
 in Hamburg, on which neither marble nor gilt nor verses 
 were spared. The monument is one of the sights of the 
 churchyard, and pointed out to visitors with great pride 
 by the sexton. Old Frau Brohl, too, kept green the 
 memory of tho departed friend. Her speciality now was 
 the manufacturing of flags and banners since Paul had 
 founded quite a number of Vereins among the settlers on 
 his estate — latterly a Military Verein, and one for Con- 
 servative electors. She was hard at work from morning 
 till night on these objects of art, which she constructed 
 out of heavy silk, and covered so thickly with symbolical 
 devices, and embroidered, mottoes and inscriptions, that 
 they were as stiff as boards, and would neither flutter 
 nor roll up. But when Wilhelm 's funeral monument was 
 to be dedicated, she put aside Paul's banner and coat-of- 
 arms, upon which she was engaged, and wove a wreath 
 of wire and black and white and lilac beads, a yard and 
 a half in diameter, on which, between laurel leaves, were 
 Wilhelm's name and the date of his death, and the words: 
 "Eternal gratitude." Nothing the least like it had ever 
 been seen in Hamburg before, and it was much admired 
 on the occasion of the ceremony. 
 
 Paul showed himself throughout as a man of feeling 
 and character. When his patent of nobility was signed, 
 and he came to Berlin to be admitted to the emperor, to 
 thank him for the honor accorded to him, he went to 
 Schrotter, and begged him, as a personal favor, to accept 
 his invitation to the festivity which should take place on 
 
ME! MALAD T OF TJUn OBNTVH f. 425 
 
 his estate on the first of May. "I look upon you as Wil- 
 helm's substitute here on earth," he said, "and our 
 friend must not be absent from my side on this joyful 
 occasion. I owe everything to him. He laid the foun- 
 dation of my prosperity, and preserved my heir to me, 
 for whom alone I am working and striving. If Wilhelm 
 were with us now, he would not refuse my request, and 
 with that thought before you, Herr Doctor, you will not 
 pain me by refusing." The words came from Paul's 
 heart, and showed that he felt keenlj' the desire to do 
 homage, in his way, to Wilhelm 's memory. Schrotter 
 could not but accept. 
 
 To all outward appearances he had recovered from the 
 terrible shock of his friend's death, in reality, however, 
 he was all the less likely to have got over his loss, owing 
 to the circumstance that he was often busied with the 
 management of Wilhelm 's affairs, and thus the wound 
 was inevitablj' kept open. 
 
 Wilhelm left no will. After mucb inquiry, it was dis- 
 covered that he had a very distant relative living at 
 Lowenhagen, near Konigsberg, married to a poor village 
 smith, and lavishly endowed with children. The house 
 in the Kochstrasse went to her — a very windfall, for 
 which the honest wife and mother was too thankful to be 
 able to simulate grief at the death .of the relative she had 
 never known. She generously handed over all Wilhelm's 
 papers to Schrotter, after having assured herself by in- 
 quiries in various quarters that they would only fetch the 
 value of their weight. Schrotter gave them to the 
 young man whom he and Wilhelm had supported in his 
 studies out of the Dorfling legacy. The recipient was 
 clever and shrewd, and justified the confidences his 
 patrons had placed in his future. He found that the first 
 volume of the "History of Human Ignorance, " treating of 
 
426 tHE MALABt OF THE GmTVSf. 
 
 the early ideas of mankind and their psychological rea- 
 sons, was completely ready for the press; and all the 
 notes and literary sources for the two following volumes 
 only needed putting together to bring the work up to the 
 end of the eighteenth century, and the experiments of 
 Lavoisier, from which the indestructibility of matter was 
 deduced. 
 
 The first volume appeared in the autumn. On the title 
 page he gave his own name as the author, but did not 
 omit, as a man of honor, to mention in the preface that 
 in compiling the work he had availed himself of "the 
 preparatorj' notes of the late Dr. Wilhelm Eynhardt, an 
 eminent scholar, lost all too early to the scientific word 
 by a tragic death." In the ensuing editions which fol- 
 lowed rapidly upon the first, the book meeting with great 
 success, this preface was omitted as unnecessary. The 
 second volume appeared in the following year; the third 
 — very prudently — not till two years later. There were no 
 more. In the two last volumes there was no more men- 
 tion of Eynhardt. After the publication of the first 
 volume, the young man whose name adorned the title- 
 page received a call to a public school, of which he now 
 forms one of the chief ornaments. To various inquiries 
 with regard to a concluding volume which should treat 
 of the nineteenth century, he replied by pointing out the 
 doubtful wisdom of a history or criticism of hypotheses 
 and opinions which were as yet incomplete and still un- 
 der discussion, and put them off with vague promises for 
 the future. Schrotter only shrugged his shoulders. He 
 knew Wilhelm's views on the subject of posthumous 
 fame, and the immortality of the individual, and con- 
 sidered it inexpedient to punish the clever young pro- 
 fessor for being a man like the rest. 
 
 About three months after Wilhelm's death Schrotter 
 
THE MALAD Y OF TEE OENTUR Y. 427 
 
 received one more letter from Augusta. He observed 
 curtly aud dryly that Monsieur le Docteur evidently did 
 not wish to have anything more to do with him; he 
 wrote, however, once more, and for the last time, in 
 order to give him his new address in case he might desire 
 to answer. He had been obliged to look for another 
 place, the game was up at the Boulevard Pereire. In 
 spite of all their watchfulness, madame had managed to 
 obtain morphine, and one night in July, when the sister 
 who shared her room was asleep, she had given herself so 
 many "pricks" that they had been unable to bring her 
 round again. Anne declared that it was on the anniver- 
 sary of the day on which Madame la Comtesse had made 
 the acquaintance of monsieur. At the breaking up of 
 the household. Monsieur le Docteur's things had been 
 handed over to him, Auguste, and he held them at mon- 
 sieur's disposal. Schrotter wrote in answer that he 
 might keep them, and sent him a small sum of money as 
 a bequest from Wilhelm. 
 
 Pilar's suicide made somewhat of an impression on 
 him. So there were women, after all, who could die of 
 love, and that not in the first moments of a mad and pas- 
 sionate grief, but after months, when the nerves have 
 had time to cool down. "She was hysterical," Schrotter 
 said to himself, endeavoring thereby to dispel various 
 uncomfortable suggestions. He did not wholly succeed. 
 
 As Paul begged him so earnestly to come to his festi- 
 val, he accepted the invitation, and found himself, on the 
 first of May, among the guests whom Malvine received on 
 the steps of Friesenmoor House. 
 
 In the great oak-paneled dining room, with its win- 
 dows looking to the west, a banquet was laid for twenty- 
 four guests. Following the country custom, they sat 
 down to table at twelve o'clock. Malvine, handsomely 
 
4;J8 fHE MALAb t OP TSE €ENTUB t. 
 
 dressed and richly adorned, sat enthroned in the middle 
 of the long side of the table, and had Chamberlain von 
 Swerte (of the House of Hellebrand) and the Landrath, 
 to right and left of her. Paul, -who sat opposite, 
 insisted against all the rules of etiquette on having 
 Schrotter beside him as his left-hand neighbor. On his 
 right, Frau Brohl, in rustling silk, sat in rapt silence. 
 The ever-modest Frau Marker was content to take a lower 
 place. 
 
 The pastor said grace before the dinner began, ■which 
 seemed to surprise the Landrath, but the Chamberlain 
 was much edified. The Young Men's Verein played 
 dance-music and marches in front of the open ■windows. 
 Paul proposed the health of the emperor, whereupon the 
 Landrath, in a carefully worded speech, drank to the 
 host and the ladies. They all clinked glasses with an 
 enthusiasm which was in no way feigned, but perfectly 
 accountable after so splendid a dinner and such well- 
 assorted wines. In the midst of the gayety and noise, 
 and while the clarionets and trumpets blared away out- 
 side, Paul turned to his neighbor, and tapping the foot 
 of his glass against the edge of Schrotter's, he whispered 
 to him, unheard by the others: "To Ms memory!" He 
 turned his head away abruptly, bent over his glass, and 
 was busily engaged in furtively passing his table-napkin 
 across his face and eyes. Schrotter put his lips to his 
 glass and closed h-is ej^es. One could positively trace 
 upon his broad brow how a thought passed over it like a 
 shadow. 
 
 The dinner lasted fully two hours, and brought Mal- 
 vine in many a fiery compliment, especially from the 
 chamberlain, which she could accept with a good con- 
 science, knowing well how much she would have to pay 
 to the great Hamburg pastry-cook who had provided it. 
 
TEE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. 439 
 
 At dessert the heir was handed round. "Willy, who was 
 really beginning to grow a little, was unquestionably a 
 well-bred child. He went with much dignity and pro- 
 priety from guest to guest, closely followed by Fido, who 
 had grown far too stout, offered his cheek politely to 
 each one, shook hands prettily, and was permitted to 
 withdraw, accompanied by his short-winded dog, after 
 they had all sufficiently admired him. 
 
 After dinner the guests amused themselves according 
 to their several tastes. Some went to enjoy Paul's excel- 
 lent cigars in the smoking room, others went down to the 
 village to look on at the rural festival arranged by the 
 master for his people, and where, between sihging, music, 
 dancing, and drinking, the fun ran high; others again 
 took a walk through the fields of the estate where the 
 young crops were just coming up, spreading a green 
 haze over the j'ellow coating of sand. It was altogether 
 a radiant picture of joy and prosperity ; and the happiest 
 of all, whether of the guests flushed with the good din- 
 ner or the villagers stamping on the green, seemed to be 
 the master of the house. He was rich, respected, full of 
 health and spirits, his family life unclouded ; he had a 
 high position, possessed numberless decorations, was a 
 captain of the Landwehr, had been promoted to the 
 cavalry, and now was even raised to the nobility. What 
 more could he desire? 
 
 "Well then, if he seemed happy appearances were decep- 
 tive. A worm gnawed at his heart. He had hoped to 
 be created Freiherr — baron — and here he was a simple 
 "Herr von." How rarely is happiness perfect here 
 below. 
 
 Pleading important business next morning in Berlin, 
 Schrotter left soon after four o'clock. He would not hear 
 of Paul's deserting his guests to accompany him to the 
 
430 THE MALA DT OF THJU GENTUR Y. 
 
 station, as he was most anxious to do, but drove alone to 
 Harburg, and took the train that left at five o'clock, 
 bringing him to Berlin by way of Uelzen. 
 
 It was nearly two in the morning when he reached 
 home. He stole on tiptoe into his room, but Bhani, 
 whose sleep was light and restless when he was not there, 
 heard him directlj'. She stretched out her arms to him 
 with a low exclamation of joy, pressed him to her bosom 
 while he kissed her on the brow, and was for jumping up 
 and attending to his wants. He would not suffer it, and 
 declared that he wanted nothing. So she remained 
 where she was, only following him with her eyes while 
 he unpacked his bag and put everything in order. He 
 then went into his study adjoining and locked the door 
 behind him. Bhani heard him walking up and down for 
 awhile, and then caught the sound of a creaking as of a 
 drawer being opened. She knew what that meant and 
 heaved a deep sigh. He was taking out the great 
 leather book with metal-bound corners; his diary, which 
 had become his sole confidant now that Wilhelm was 
 dead. Guided by the delicate tact of the Oriental, the 
 poor simple creature divined easily enough that her sahib 
 had cares which she could not understand and sorrows 
 which she might not share, and yet how happy she would 
 be if he would but deign to enlighten her ignorance, to 
 explain it all to her and disclose his heart to her fully. 
 But, proud and reserved, he scorned to acknowledge his 
 troubles to any but himself, and it was only in his diary 
 that he unburdened himself of all that weighed upon his 
 heart and mind. 
 
 And now he sat at his study table and wrote in the big 
 book. 
 
 "My poor Eynljardt! Only a year since he departed, 
 and already it is &s if he had never beea, What remains 
 
THE MALADY OF THB OENTUBT. 431 
 
 of him? A book that bears a stranger's name upon the 
 title-page; a little dog that is perhaps happier now than 
 when it belonged to him ; a child like a dozen others, 
 who will presumably grow up to be a man like a dozen 
 other men ; and a memory in my heart which will cease 
 with the day, not far hence, when this heart shall cease 
 to beat. Now if Haber were to die to-day, a flourishing 
 tract of land and a hundred people whose existence he 
 has improved would testify aloud that his term on earth 
 had not been in vain. 
 
 "And for all that, Eynhardt was a rare and noble char- 
 acter, and Haber the personification of^ all that is com- 
 monplace and work-a-day. Eynhardt's gaze was on the 
 stars, Haber's eyes fixed on the ground at his feet. "Wil- 
 helm plucked that supremest fruit of the Tree of Knowl- 
 edge, the consciousness of our ignorance ; Paul has the 
 conceit to think himself a discoverer, to have solved 
 enigmas. But the noble, soaring spirit leaves no trace 
 behind, and the dull, mediocre person plows his name in 
 deep and enduring characters in the soil of his native 
 land. What was wanting in Eynhardt to make him not 
 only a harmonious but a useful being? Obviously only 
 the will. But was this want an organic one? I do not 
 think so, for his lofty moral beauty was perfect in pro- 
 portion and balance, and this noble nature could not 
 possibly have been born incomplete, impossible that in a 
 being so perfectly formed in all other respects such an 
 important organ as the will should be missing. His 
 absence of volition was but the result of his perception of 
 the vanity of all earthly ambitions, and his absence of 
 desire the outcome of his contempt for all that was 
 ■worthless and transitory, his aversion to the ways of the 
 world a tragic foregoing of the hope of ever getting be- 
 hind it, and reaching the etertial root and significance 
 of the tliiag itsalf. 
 
433 THE MALADT OF TEE CENTURY. 
 
 "Why was this German Buddhist not endowed with 
 Haber's cheerful activity? What an ideal and crowning 
 flower of manhood would he not have been if he had not 
 only thought but acted ! But am I not desiring the im- 
 possible? J)oes not the one nature preclude the other? 
 I fear so. In order to attack unconcernedly that which 
 lies nearest to us, we must be unable to see beyond, like 
 the bull charging at the red cloak. He would not do it, 
 if behind the red rag, he saw the man with the sword, and 
 behind the man with the sword the thousand spectators 
 who will not leave the arena till the sharp steel has 
 pierced his heart. He who sees or divines behind the 
 nearest objects their distant causes, paralyzed by the 
 vision of the endless chain of cause and effect, loses the 
 courage to act. And inversely, to retain that courage, 
 to strive with pleasure and zeal after earthly things, one 
 must make use of the world and its ordinances, must 
 move the pieces on the chess-board of life with patience, 
 and, according to its puerile rules, attach importance to 
 much that is narrow and paltry, and that is what, in his 
 superior wisdom, the sage will not stoop to do. 
 
 "I always come back to this thought. If the world 
 consisted entirely of Habers the earth would flourish and 
 blossom, there would be abundance of food and money, 
 but our life would be like that of the beasts of the field 
 that graze and are happy when they chew the cud. If, 
 on the other hand, there were only Eynhardts, our exist- 
 ence' would be passed in wandering delightfully, our 
 souls full of perfect peace, through the gardens of, the 
 Academes in company with Plato ; but the world would 
 starve and die out with this wise and lofty -minded race ; 
 unless, indeed, the sun took pity on them, and brought 
 forth grains and fruits without their assistance, and un- 
 less a few flighty little women, particularly inaccessible 
 
fSB mAlad y of the cMNttrM f. m 
 
 to the higher philosophy, should surprise these trans- 
 cendental and passionless thinkers in an unguarded 
 moment, and beguile them into committing some slight 
 act of folly. 
 
 "To combine in one intelligence Haber's circumscribed 
 vision, naive self-confidence, and enterprising activity 
 with Enyhardt's sublime idealism and knowledge of good 
 and evil is outside the range of possibility. And vyhich 
 of the two is of the greater benefit to the world? "Which 
 of them raises mankind to a higher level of development? 
 Which of them best fulfills his purpose as a human being? 
 "Whose point of view of the world and of life is the more 
 correct? "Which of the two would I set up as a model 
 before the child whom Eynhardt snatched from death at 
 the price of his own body, and in whom his life as it were 
 finds its continuation? My old friend Pyrrhon, thou 
 who hearkened, two thousand two hundred years before 
 my day, to the profound wisdom of the Brahmins, I can 
 but answer in thy words, 'Uden horizo' — I' do not 
 decide." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 ANOTHER BOOK ON THE HAND BY CHEIRO 
 
 Cheiro^s Guide to the Hand 
 
 The beat V^ork on Palmistry at a lovir price. Fully illustrated and v^rrltten vtrlth 
 Cheiro's usual clear style. 
 
 Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cents. 
 
 The Hand of Fate 
 
 A Novel 
 By CHEIRO 
 
 A Strange Psychological Story Chiefly Dealing with Hereditary Laws and 
 Parental Influences. 
 
 Cloth, $i.oo ; paper, 5oc. 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent postpaid on receipt of price, by the publisher, 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY 
 
 p6 QUEEN STREET 114 FIFTH AVENUE 
 
 fcONBON NEW YORK 
 
Captain Charles King's 
 Military Novels. 
 
 Romances of army life have gained a fast hold upoa the rea<t< 
 iag public ever since Captain Charles King commenced to weava 
 his stirring tales of Western military adventure. To-day he 
 stands without a peer in his chosen field, and a, generous sale 13 
 assured for any work that is stamped with his magical name. 
 
 To those who have long been charmed with these stirring tales. 
 It is hardly necessary to say that the genius and power of a master 
 are apparent in every chapter. For years past Captain King's 
 audience has been continually growing, and he is recognized 
 to-day as the foremost writer of strictly military novels. Thero 
 is a potent power in his delineation o£ character and succession of 
 incident that charms the reader. No one having dipped into one 
 of his heroic romances is ever content to put it down tinfinisheti. 
 
 His latest work, " Warrior Gap," will be found to equal, if not 
 surpass, anything that has yet appeared undetliis name. 
 
 Warrior Gap. A Story of the Sioux Outbreak of '68. Cloth, 
 $1.25. 
 
 An Army Wife. 32 full-page Illustrations. Cloth, $1.25; paper, 
 50c. 
 
 Fort Frayne. Cloth, $1.25; paper, 50c. 
 
 A Garrison Tangle. Cloth, $1.25; paper, 50c. 
 
 Trumpeter Fred. Gilt top, 50c. 
 
 Noble Blood and a West Point Parallel. By Captain Kwa, 
 U.S.A., aad Ernst Von Wildenbruch, of the German 
 Army. Gilt top, 50c. 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price, 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New Yoric, 
 
UTOPIA. 
 
 By FRANK ROSEWATER. 
 
 Neely's Popular Library. 
 Paper, 25c. 
 
 When one ventures to write upon that puz» 
 zle of the day, a solution of the capital and labor 
 problem, together with their relations to each 
 other, it is necessary that the subject be thor« 
 oughiy studied in advance, since it presents many 
 peculiar points that demand close attention. 
 Mr. Rosewater is a journalist who has been 
 given rare opportunities for seeing beneath the 
 surface. He also possesses the gift or faculty 
 for describing what he desires to paint in glow- 
 ing language, " Utopia " may seem far-fetched 
 in many minds, but candor compels us to admit 
 that it is what we are all seeking after, though 
 with but scant hope of ever finding it. Those 
 who are interested in the labor question will find 
 much to commend in this book just as Edward 
 Bellamy's " Looking Backward " stirred those 
 ivho longed for a condition of affairs wherein 
 every man, woman, and child will pass under the 
 control of the State. " Utopia " is winning new 
 friends every day. 
 
 For sals everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher. 
 96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New Vorfe 
 
Works by the popular young American 
 writer. 
 
 Edward S. Van Zile. 
 
 Mr. Van Zile's novels are a boon to those 
 readers who delight in fresh fields, stirring scenes 
 and crisp dialogue. He has already won a place 
 among the leading American authors of the day. 
 Newspaper criticism of this work has been 
 almost unanimously favorable, and we have no 
 hesitation in recommending his books to those 
 in search of clean, yet stirring literature. Mr. 
 Van Zile is also a versatile and pleasing poet, ana 
 his latest book, "The- Dreamers," is one of the 
 most . artistic volumes published this season. 
 Mr. Van Zile's poems cover a wide range of 
 topics and bear the imprint of an assured literary 
 touch. Their popularity has been established 
 by the reception with which they^ have met upon 
 their appearance in magazines and weeklies. 
 
 THE DBSAMEBS, and Other Foems. Cloth, $1.29. 
 
 KINGS IN ADVERSITY. Neely's Prismatic Library, gUt top, 50o. 
 
 TEE LAST OF THE TAN SLACKS. Neely's Prismatic Library, Paper, 26ft 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of pries. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 96 Que«n Street, LonaoD 114 Fifth Avenue, N^w Vorlfc 
 
Novels of Willis Steefl. 
 
 In A Mountain of Gold the reader is led through 
 lany strange adventures, while a vein of love arouses 
 le interest of the fair sex. Mr. Steell has shown more 
 lan ordinary power in describing Western scenes. For 
 lany years to come the region from the Rockies to the 
 Pacific must be the home of romance. The century be 
 fore us is destined to be marked by stupendous discover- 
 ies in the treasures of the earth, and stories of mining 
 must always commend themselves to the eager public. 
 
 IsiDRA, The Patriot Daughter of Mexico. 
 The land of the Montezumas has always been invested 
 with a halo of romance ever since the days when the 
 Spanish invader, Cortez, swept over the country with 
 his conquering army of treasure seekers. This interest, 
 instead of waning as the years pass by, rather increases. 
 New knowledge of Mexico but whets our eagerness to 
 learn more of her strange people, their methods of living, 
 aird the vast treasures that lie sealed under her mountain 
 ledges. " Isidra " is written by one who is thoroughly 
 at home in his subject. It is a charming tale of love 
 and adventure under the Mexican flag, and one cannot 
 read the romance without learning many interesting 
 things in connection with our neighbors over the border. 
 
 ISIDRA. Paper, 50 cents. 
 
 A MOUNTAIN OF GOLD. Paper, 25 cents. 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sart post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 $6 Qui$en Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New Yoirlt* 
 
One of Earth's Daughters* 
 
 By ELLEN ROBERTS. 
 
 Neely's Popular Library. 
 
 Paper, 25c. 
 There have been books which secured a 
 tremendous sale through the bitter attack of 
 newspaper critics; while others succeeded 
 through the host of favorable comments that 
 greeted their appearance in the arena of public 
 estimation. Faint praise accomplishes nothing 
 —indeed, it is never deserved. The verdict 
 of these experienced critics has been unusually 
 favorable toward " One of Earth's Daughters," 
 and we feel justified in offering it to our 
 patrons as a story well worth reading, which 
 cannot be said of all the novels launched upon 
 the public these days by enterprising publishers. 
 It is a genuine pleasure to come across a book 
 so carefully and conscientiously written, and in 
 which the characters fulfil their destinies. A 
 vein of love drifting through the whole fabric 
 leavens it without any erotic tendencies. Taken 
 in all, " One of Earth's Daughters" is a very read- 
 able little volume, and shows commendable dis» 
 cernment oh the part of the publisher. The 
 world is always better for such moral books. 
 
 F'or sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F, TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New Yorib 
 
Father Stafford. 
 
 By 
 
 ANTHONY HOPE. 
 
 The Most JRemarUahle of Mr» Hope's StorieSt 
 
 Neely's Prismatic Library. 
 
 Gilt Top, 50 cents. 
 
 Minneapolis Tribune :— " This'story is in the genuine Hope style and fot 
 Aat reason will be widely read." 
 
 Public Ledger, Philadelphia:— " 'Father Stafford* is extremely clevM 
 ft bold privateer venturing- upon the high seas." 
 
 San Francisco Chronicle :—" It is a good story, the strong parts or 
 which are the conflict between love and conscience on the part of a young; Angli- 
 can priest. The charm of the book, however, lies in the briskness of the dialogue, 
 which is as finely finished as any of Hope's novels." 
 
 Nashville Banner :— " ' Father Stafford ' is a channing story. The whoie 
 book sustains the reputation that Anthony Hope has made, and adds another 
 
 groof that as a portrayer of character of sharp distinctness and individuality he 
 as no superior." 
 
 Evening Wisconsin :—" A writev of great merit. . . . Mr. Hope's 
 work has a quality of straightforward.iess that recommends it to readers who 
 have grown tired of the loaded novel." 
 
 Phillipsburgh Journal : — " This is considered by his critics to be one of 
 i stn 
 There ii 
 
 the strongest, most beautiful and interesting novels Mr. Hope has ever written, 
 ' lere is not a dull line in the entire volume.^' 
 
 Vanity, New York:— " A very interesting narrative, and Mr. Hope tells 
 the story after that fashion which he would seem to have made peculiarly his 
 own." 
 
 Kansas City Journal : — "There is something more than the romance of 
 Sie action to hold the reader's mind. It is one of the autlior's best productions." 
 
 Every Saturday, Elgin^ III. :—" Anthony Hope is a master of dialogue, 
 and to his art in this particular is due the enticing interest which leads the reader 
 on from page to page." 
 
 Hebrew Standard ; — " The strife between the obligation of a vow of ce!t 
 bacy and the promptings of true love are vividly portrayed in this little books 
 ... It contains an admirable description of English country life and is well 
 written." * 
 
 Boston Daily Globe:— "It has enough of the charm of the auther'e 
 thought and style to identify it as characteristic, and make it very pleasing," 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price, 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELV, Publisher, 
 96 Queen Street. L,ondoa. 114 Fifth Avenue. New Yodb 
 
LATE WORKS OP 
 
 OPIE READ, 
 
 1 Author of 
 
 '*A Kentucky Colonel,'' 
 
 Probably no American writer of to-day excels Opie 
 Read in the delineation of strange characters. He loves 
 to dwell upon Southern scenes, before and after the war, 
 and so vividly are these quaint pictures drawn that the 
 reader seems to see the characters of his story as plainly 
 as though the skill of an artist had painted their por- 
 traits. " Odd Folks " will please all travelers who enjoy 
 a good story, well told, and should meet with as heavy ; 
 sale as "The Captain's Romance" has enjoyed. It iv 
 peculiarly fresh and sparkling, and a sure cure for lone- 
 liness or the blues. The remarkably clever pen-drawn 
 characters will live through many editions as true types 
 of American life. 
 
 ODD F0LK5. Cloth, ;^i. 00 ; paper, 250. l 
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S ROMANCE. Cloth, ;gi.oo; paper, 2S& 
 
 For (ale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price, 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New York» 
 
Petronilla, the Sister 
 
 By Emma Homan Thayer. 
 
 Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Mrs. Thayer's art books have made for her 
 world-wide reputation as a writer, and an illustri 
 tor of the wildflowers of America. ' ' Petronilla 
 is her first novel, and we can honestly recommer 
 it as a most delightful story indeed. The gifte 
 writer paints human loves and vanities with muc 
 the same dexterity she has exhibited as an artist i 
 delineating the delicate hues of the modest wil( 
 flowers she so fondly worships. We take pleasui 
 in recommending so chaste and interesting a stoi 
 to the public. In this day of erotic literature sue 
 a book is doubly welcome, and "Petronilla" is « 
 such a character as to hold the reader's attention 1 
 the last page. The scenes are laid in New Yoi 
 City, with a bright and spicy visit on a ranch in tl 
 mountains of Colorado, a region in which the writ* 
 is evidently at home. The illustrations, some fori 
 in number, partly by the author, and ably abette 
 by the well-known artist, Remington W. Lane, ac 
 piquancy to the letterpress. 
 
 For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
 96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New Yorl 
 
\l Cornell University Library 
 
 PT 2440.N8K8 1898 
 
 Malady of »J<,e„p,SnJ,V,|!y ' 
 
 3 1924 026 313 118 
 
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 
 AUU - ' 
 
 ■ ZUU' 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 GAYIORO 
 
 
 
 PRINTED IN U&A. 
 
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