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THE FOOL 
 
 OF THE 
 
 NINETEENTH CENTURY; 
 
 AND OTHER TALES, 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 
 
 J, HEINRICH D, ZSCHOKKE. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 D APPLETON & CO., 200 BROADWAY 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 G. S. APPLETON, 148 CHESNUT-STREET. 
 
 1845. 
 
*7% 
 
 PREFATORY NOTICE. 
 
 The ensuing- delineations of European manners and senti- 
 ments are selected from the works of John Heinrich Daniel 
 Zschokke, a living- author renowned in Germany and Switzer- 
 land, whose writings are almost unknown in this country. The 
 chief part of a collection of religious and moral essays which 
 have lately been translated and published in London under the 
 title of " Hours of Devotion" are attributed to him ; and such 
 has been their unbounded popularity, which is amply merited, 
 that one hundred and fifty thousand copies have been dis- 
 persed in the German language within the last few years. 
 
 Zschokke is a native of Magdeburg in Prussia, and is now, 
 at seventy-three years of age, a citizen of Switzerland — hav- 
 ing passed through a very eventful period, and a changeful 
 life; which has enabled him to depict the social characteris- 
 tics, principles, and actions of those around him, with a no- 
 velty and interest equally racy and instructive. His parents 
 died when he was young, and he was thus bereft of their 
 guidance and restrictions. He was educated in the Gymnasi- 
 um of Magdeburg, which he was enticed to abandon suddenly, 
 by a company of theatrical strollers, for whom he prepared pieces 
 for their exhibition. But he separated from those associates in 
 disgust; and entered the University of Frankfort, where he 
 studied the belles-lettres, with history, philosophy and theolo- 
 gy ; and at twenty years of age entered upon active life, as 
 
IV. 
 
 PREFATORY NOTICE. 
 
 an instructor of youth. Notwithstanding his admitted qualifi- 
 cations, and his solicitude, he could not obtain a permanent 
 public appointment as a teacher ; and his application also for a 
 professorship in the University of Frankfort, in 1795, was un- 
 successful, as it was supposed, through the interference of the 
 Prussian government, whom he had offended. Wollner, the 
 Minister of State, entirely controlled Frederic William II., then 
 monarch of Prussia, by facilitating his profligate life, encour- 
 aging his superstitious infatuation, and intimidating him with 
 pretended supernatural appearances. Through Wollner's in- 
 stigations, the half-idiot king issued his infamous " Religious 
 Edict," which enjoined a persecuting intolerance and a dog- 
 matic mysticism, altogether incompatible both with the spirit 
 of the age, and the fundamental establishment of the Prussian 
 monarchy. Zschokke wrote and published a powerful philippic 
 against that pernicious measure ; and the narrow-minded im- 
 placable Rosicrusian minister obstructed the advancement of 
 his eloquent literary adversary. In consequence of that disap- 
 pointment, Zschokke determined to make a journey into Italy ; 
 but on his way, being invited to superintend the seminary at 
 Reichenau, he began his residence in Switzerland ; and through 
 the whole of the agitations of the Swiss Cantons, connected 
 with the changes of the French Revolution, Zschokke was a 
 prominent, indefatigable citizen, and was called by the people 
 to perform official duties of the most important character during 
 that stormy period. 
 
 Amid his numerous engagements, he published within about 
 twenty years, several valuable works, among which his Histo- 
 ries of the Grisons, of Bavaria, and of Switzerland, and his Pic- 
 tures of Switzerland, are very popular and highly esteemed. 
 A collection of his works in forty volumes appeared some years 
 
PREFATORY NOTICE, 
 
 V, 
 
 ago, including his Tales, and Biographical and Descriptive 
 Sketches — and from those delineations of Alpine life, the nar- 
 ratives comprised in this volume have been selected. 
 
 The four histories that follow, developing Incidents of Socie- 
 ty among the Swiss Mountaineers and their neighbours, must 
 not be regarded as mere fictions. They are doubtless graphical 
 displays of real events, changeless scenery, and living actors, 
 as they have passed under the observation of the perspicacious 
 author ; and that they were designed in their present form to 
 convey salutary instruction to those who delve beneath the 
 mere surface, is obvious from the character of the writer, 
 and his ascertained principles, as developed in the " Hours of 
 Devotion." 
 
 " The Fugitive of the Jura," reminds the reader of the 
 beautiful poem by our beloved poet James Montgomery, entitled 
 " The Wanderer of Switzerland" for the lyrist and the pro- 
 fessor seem to have drawn their materials from the same source. 
 Montgomery chanted the desolations of war in his own pacific 
 spirit, as intertwined with the Helvetic narrative, — and Zschokke 
 has depicted the miseries inseparable from the belligerant pro- 
 fession, in vivid portraitures, which render duelling and military 
 ravages as loathsome, as they are agonizing and criminal. The 
 history of Florian doubtless is a transcript from the life, as it 
 passed before the eyes of the Tutor of Reichenau ; and the 
 " Sybil " is the true image of the European wandering fortune- 
 telling gipsy. 
 
 " Marble and Conrad," is a very exemplary portraiture for 
 youth, by which to enforce the domestic and social virtues. 
 It is the embodiment, peradventure, in another form, of the 
 author's early wanderings ; and a picture of the results which 
 have followed the adoption of his own system of political econo- 
 
vi. 
 
 PREFATORY NOTICE. 
 
 my around the visible Alteck, where he has controlled the minds 
 and habits of his compatriots. " Mend the Hole in your 
 Sleeve ! " is one of the most useful and attractive moral de- 
 scriptions for the study of our juniors, which can be found 
 among our lighter modern literature. 
 
 "A Fool of the Nineteenth Century," is an admirable 
 satire upon the antiquated feudalism, and the aristocratic hollow- 
 ness, and lordliness, and injustice of the old European nations. 
 With the expanded observation, and the diversified experience 
 which Zschokke had gained from Magdeburg to Italy, and amid 
 his multiplied public avocations during the French Revolution ; 
 he doubtless saw many such instances of oligarchical absurdity ; 
 and possibly may have encountered one such "Fool!" as he 
 delineates — unless he himself is the living memento of that 
 transcendent wisdom, of which his " Fool of the Nineteenth 
 Century " is the speaking oracle. It is a charming picture for 
 us Republicans to contemplate ; and the combined sagacity and 
 truthfulness with which the " Fool" practically interprets our 
 own " Declaration of Independence," almost urges the desire to 
 visit Zschokke, that he might introduce us to the Baron and 
 Barony of Flyeln! 
 
 " Hortensia " is a development of another class of persons. 
 The author probably meant by it to disclose his own spiritually 
 refined views of man in his loftier relations, and thereby to 
 counteract the modern neological speculations of some of 
 his purblind contemporaries. — Or he might have designed, 
 under the covering which he has assumed, to expose the 
 pretended secrets, and the real artifices of the Rosicrusians, 
 by whom, through his persecutor, the Prussian statesman 
 Wollner, he had been obstructed in the obtaining of his desired 
 professorship. — Or he may have intended, by his description of 
 
PREFATORY NOTICE. 
 
 vii. 
 
 Hortensia's artful reveries, to demonstrate the jugglery of 
 " Animal Magnetism," with its correlate impostures. Wheth- 
 er one or all of these objects were in his view, is unimportant, 
 as he has successfully accomplished his beneficial purpose. 
 
 American citizens, however, who are not personally conver- 
 sant with European prejudices, superstitions, customs, and the 
 humiliating gradations of society, may be disposed to consider 
 the following narratives, merely as fictitious. That the appella- 
 tives are so is self-evident, — but the scenery is the landscape in 
 the actual reality — and the characters, with the exception per- 
 haps of Hortensia, are veritable portraits ; while all the rest is 
 " life as it is," and as constantly exemplified around the Eu- 
 ropean Alps. These sketches therefore are not to be deemed 
 merely amusing bagatelles, ephemeral " trifles light as air, " 
 but may be classed among the weightier specimens of that 
 complex real and decorative biography, which is " history 
 teaching by example." 
 
 New-York-, September 6, 1844. 
 
FLORIAN: 
 
 THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 The Flight. 
 
 In the year 1798, when France had deluged the mountains 
 of Helvetia with her armies for the purpose of quelling the 
 civil disturbances of Switzerland, and had destroyed the old 
 covenant of the Eidsgenossen, several of the most worthy 
 men of that country were dragged by the conquerors into the 
 interior of France, either as hostages for the payment of the 
 sums imposed on the so-called oligarchical cities, or to re- 
 move men whose influence and popularity in the cantons 
 were known, and whose decided hatred against the new 
 order of things was greatly feared. 
 
 One of those persons was a junior Swiss, who, in the 
 last week of May, 1799, was conveyed under a strict 
 guard, by Lausanne and Yverdun, toward Besangon. But 
 he was too young to have filled any office of importance in 
 his country, as he could scarcely have seen five-and- 
 twenty summers. He travelled in an ill-conditioned cart, 
 seated between two French soldiers, whose loaded mus- 
 kets were leaning against a bundle of straw, that served 
 as a seat for a peasant who seemed to be the owner of the 
 conveyance. 
 
 The prisoner's appearance excited the sympathy of all 
 who passed bv him. His finely-proportioned figure, the in- 
 2 
 
10 
 
 florian ; 
 
 telligent expression of his countenance, the prond, piercing 
 glance of his large blue eyes, and his dignified bearing, 
 marked him as a man not of the common stamp. The 
 paleness of his face excited still greater compassion, for 
 his grey coat buttoned up in front, and its green velvet 
 facings were disfigured by dark red spots ; and judging by 
 the low tone of voice in which he spoke, and by his mo- 
 tions, they gave evidence of great pain and feebleness from 
 the loss of blood, which most probably had been spilled in 
 the defence of his country. 
 
 His military companions, a corporal and a private, 
 treated him with great civility and forbearance, and en- 
 deavoured to make his lot as easy as possible. His liber- 
 ality might have availed to bring about that result, for he 
 supplied them with good wine at every place where they 
 stopped. 
 
 They passed the night at Balaiguer, a village near the 
 frontier of France. When the guards conducted their pris- 
 oner early in the morning to the cart, he was apparently 
 so overcome by weakness that he sank fainting to the 
 ground. " Let me die here," he said, with a broken 
 voice, " let me at least die on JSwiss ground ! You will 
 never take me to Besanc,on alive." 
 
 The soldiers, greatly perplexed, carried him back into 
 the inn, fearing he would die in their arms. All the peo- 
 ple in the house hastened to the unfortunate prisoner's re- 
 lief. Some would have gone for a physician who lived at 
 a distance, but the soldiers prohibited them, saying, that 
 he would soon feel better. 
 
 " Truly," said the corporal, " I am very sorry indeed, 
 but dead or alive, we must carry him to-day as far as Pon- 
 tarlier. He is placed in my charge, and I have my orders ; 
 therefore, onward. Take him up and carry him to the 
 cart." 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 11 
 
 The prisoner opened his eyes, cast at the corporal a 
 dark, significant side -glance, and asked for Kirschwasser 
 and bread. He ate a few mouthfuls of the bread, put the 
 remainder in his pocket, and then drank three or four 
 glasses of the strongest Kirschwasser, without moving a 
 muscle of his face. 
 
 " Whew-ew ! exclaimed the corporal, who had also 
 tasted of the liquor, " I cannot imitate him in that, although 
 I am as healthy as a mountain deer. He drinks like a 
 Russian!" All the servants and guests of the inn who 
 surrounded the prisoner, were not less amazed at that pro- 
 ceeding in one whom they believed at the point of death. 
 The young man then arose, paid the landlord, and request- 
 ed to be led to the cart. He was lifted into it, and placed 
 on his seat. The soldiers posted themselves, one on each 
 side of him, and went on their way across the frontier into 
 the French dominions. Having travelled a few hours they 
 reached Chaux-de-Sous, where the rocks and mountains 
 drawn closely together form the narrow pass of La Cluse. 
 There the prisoner groaned most bitterly, and seemed to 
 have lost the power of supporting himself upright. He 
 threw an arm round the neck of each of his guides, that he 
 might not sink fainting into the cart. 
 
 But the alarmed soldiers presently felt themselves in the 
 grasp of a giant. The prisoner turned their heads with 
 almost supernatural power, and smashed them repeatedly 
 with such terrific force together, that the blood gushed in 
 streams from their noses, and they both fell stunned to the 
 bottom of the cart. When the peasant saw the soldiers in 
 their blood, and the prisoner in the act of seizing their 
 muskets, he sprang terror-stricken from his seat, and fled. 
 He soon heard behind him a crash, and on looking round, 
 he saw the prisoner strike off the butt-ends of the muskets, 
 and fling them away. He then ran a considerable distance 
 
FLORIAN ! 
 
 into the mountains. The fugitive bounded from crag to 
 crag, with the agility and fearlessness of a chamois. The 
 steepest rocks, where never mortal man before had placed 
 a foot, he climbed as if he had wings. He then vanished 
 between the bushes and crags. 
 
 Neither the bewildered driver, who devoutly believed that 
 the half-dead captive was possessed by the devil, nor either 
 of the soldiers, who did not recover their recollection for a 
 considerable length of time, felt the least disposition to pur- 
 sue the escaped prisoner. 
 
 The young man, who had previously meditated upon his 
 flight, in order to lull the vigilance and suspicion of his 
 guards, had played admirably the part of a feeble man on 
 the brink of death ; but he now proceeded with light and 
 rapid strides up and down the mountains, always towards 
 the more cold and higher regions of the Jura. He never 
 deviated from the straight line he had taken, unless his 
 path brought him too near to a mountain hut, or to a human 
 form in the distance. Beaten paths were not his course. 
 He stopped not to breathe until after the lapse of two 
 hours, when he arrived at the summit of one of the highest 
 mountains that offered a clear and unobstructed prospect 
 over the whole surrounding country. 
 
 Here he stood still, far above the vales and the habita- 
 tions of men, in the noiseless wilderness, traversed but by 
 the solitary eagle. With delight he inhaled the luxurious 
 draught of pure air, the refreshing stream of which cooled 
 the fever on his brow, and flowed gratefully through his 
 light golden ringlets. Below his feet, in the vast abyss, 
 waved the tops of the lofty pines. Towards the East, stretch- 
 ed in a straight line, occasionally broken in upon by crags, 
 the long, woody mountain ridges, that enclose the uniform 
 green carpet of the vales. It seemed to be an immense 
 picture of green waves, the tops of which were black- 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 13 
 
 ened by the dark horizon. Towards the West, the moun- 
 tain gradually descended into the dusky plains of France, 
 with here and there a patch of wood, like the shadows 
 cast by clouds. Southward, far beyond the lakes, and the 
 wide extent of visible country, glittered the snow-crowned 
 Alps, lifting their frozen heads high above the clouds. 
 Thither the fugitive cast an anxious, musing, and melan- 
 choly gaze. Then his eye rambled once more through the 
 lower lands by which he was immediately surrounded, 
 that he might determine upon the course next to be pur- 
 sued. 
 
 After having refreshed himself, he proceeded along the 
 sharp ridge of the mountain, towards a crag which prom- 
 ised a more distant view, as it was considerably higher 
 than the spot where he then stood. 
 
 CHAPTER, II. 
 The Sybil. 
 
 After having plodded his way across the loose pieces of 
 the black ruins of the rock, which, as his foot touched 
 them, rolled with a tremendous crash into the abyss below, 
 he arrived at the top of the crag ; and was greatly surprised 
 to find a very aged woman sitting on a stone, with her 
 eyes immoveably fixed on the blue distance. Her bodice 
 and petticoat made of half woollen brown stuff, which from 
 long wear showed the white linen threads, bespoke pover- 
 ty ; but the whiteness of her cap, and the little blue ker- 
 chief, together with her red striped apron, manifested, not- 
 withstanding her poverty, that she was very tidy. Her 
 withered right hand was leaning upon a crutch made of 
 black thorn, while her left arm, with the elbow placed 
 
11 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 upon her knee, supported her chin. Her wrinkled, sun- 
 burnt face might have been pleasing, through an expression 
 of kind-heartedness, had not her chin and lips been shaded 
 by a soft, yellowish beard. 
 
 The fugitive looked at her for some time in silence, and 
 then saluted her with a loud voice. The old woman, thus 
 aroused from her revery, raised her head, returned his sal- 
 utation, and scanned his fine figure, without showing the 
 least symptom of surprise. He seated himself opposite to 
 her, took out his piece of bread, and made his frugal meal, 
 uttering a few words about the weather and the scene, in 
 order to draw her into conversation. The old woman, 
 without replying to him, continued to stare him full in the 
 face ; and when at length he succeeded in drawing from her 
 an answer, it was given as from a person whose mind is oc- 
 cupied with other objects, and who dreams with open eyes. 
 He however learned from her, and it tranquillized his 
 mind, that he was no longer on French ground, but in the 
 principality of Neufchatel, upon one of the heights of the 
 Gros Taureau, not far from the village of Les Verrieres. 
 
 " Whence are you ? if I may be allowed to ask the 
 question," said the old woman, after another long silence, 
 still with her eyes fixed upon his face, as if she were 
 dreaming. 
 
 He pointed with his finger to the East, and said — " My 
 dwelling is yonder, where the last Alp is scarcely visible." 
 
 " In the Grisons ?" asked the old woman abruptly. 
 The fugitive averted his face, unable to conceal, at this 
 question, a feeling of astonishment. " Thereabouts," he 
 replied. 
 
 " Do not fear me," said the old woman, " you are per- 
 fectly safe with us. Do you not come from France, from 
 Pontarlier 1 you were a prisoner, and have escaped. Is it 
 not so ? " 
 
TIIE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 10 
 
 The young man did not hesitate to confess that fact. 
 
 " That is human blood," she said, pointing to the spots 
 on his gray coat and pantaloons, " and it is quite fresh." 
 
 At those words, the fugitive remarked, for the first time, 
 the fresh stains of blood on his clothes. He related faith- 
 fully the manner in which he had escaped from the two 
 soldiers, not far from Pontarlier, and inquired whether in 
 the Neufchatel territory, he would be safe from the pursuit 
 and violence of the French. 
 
 " Most certainly," rejoined the old woman, " for Prussia 
 is at peace with France, and the King of Prussia is the 
 sovereign of the land. You need not fear any violence, 
 but you will do well to live in some sequestered part of 
 the country, in order to put yourself out of the reach of dis- 
 covery and deceit. That I might tell you so, was my pur- 
 pose in coming hither." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the fugitive, " you surely could not 
 know, mother, that you should find me here." 
 
 "You may doubt me, young man, but nevertheless, I 
 was sent hither on your account." 
 
 "That's impossible!" exclaimed the fugitive; "not a 
 human being knows me in this country, for I never set foot 
 in it until now ! " 
 
 " But you will soon love this land as well, and be able 
 to forget it as little, as your own in the higher Alps. 
 There you dwelt in a wide and large valley. I see your 
 beautiful home almost in the midst of it, shaded by high 
 trees, by the side of a wild, murmuring rivulet, that rushes 
 from the near mountain. At the side of it, the gray, rug- 
 ged walls of rock lift their heads above the clouds, while 
 in the back ground of the landsdape, the vale seems barri- 
 caded by mountains of ice and snow. It is quite different 
 here. Our mountains are but hills, when compared witk 
 yours." 
 
16 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 The fugitive stared at the old woman with distended 
 eyes, and asked with astonishment — " So, you have seen 
 my home ; will you tell me what it is called ? " 
 
 The old woman replied, " I know not its name, but I 
 think I see it very distinctly. You, young sir, I also see 
 in the high mountains, accompanied by a friend, with your 
 rifle in your hand. You are a gallant, honourable man. 
 Hold firm to your stern honesty. You meant well, but 
 you would have had less sorrow, had you been less fiery; 
 and often you should have less presumed on your bodily 
 strength. It is well for you that you are not married ; 
 though several times they tried to force you into the mar- 
 riage state. This gave rise to a great deal of disquietude 
 in your house. Now you are as free as the bird in the air. 
 You have frequently been asked, whether your heart was 
 not fettered by the affection you bore another, when you 
 refused to unite yourself to the woman who was proposed 
 to you. You spoke always the truth when you answered 
 their inquiries in the negative. But now, nobody asks 
 you ; yet a longing has taken possession of your soul. 
 Cupid's arrow has pierced your heart, and you know not 
 where to buy a balm for your secret wound. Go into the 
 temple, and ask the God of Sleep to bless you with a dream 
 of revelation." 
 
 The old woman paused, but still looked at the young 
 man with a fixed gaze. As she spoke, her eyes seemed 
 ready to start from their sockets, and the features of her 
 countenance bore a solemn, lurid expression. The fugi- 
 tive sat opposite to her, as if petrified, and seemed still, as 
 if listening, long after she had ceased to speak. 
 
 " But, mother," said he, " if you do not know me, who 
 then has told you all these things ? " 
 
 " Who could tell me, young man," she rejoined, " what 
 you have told to none 1 But you should not have interrupt- 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 17 
 
 ed me," she added, evidently displeased, rubbing her eyes, 
 and appearing as if she had just been awakened from sleep. 
 She looked first on one side, then on the other, and then 
 again at him, and said, " Now every thing passes away 
 like a mist, and yet I feel as if I ought to have told you a 
 great deal more, which would have been of benefit to you 
 hereafter ; but it is all gone from me." 
 
 "Whence did you draw your knowledge of what you 
 have told me already ? " asked the stranger. 
 
 The old woman lifted both her hands in the air, spread 
 out her fingers, waved them about at random, looked into 
 the distance, and shook her head, as if she would say by 
 that strange motion, " I have my knowledge from I know 
 not where, and if I knew, I should scarcely be permitted 
 to tell you of it." 
 
 " Can you tell me any thing more, mother ? " asked the 
 fugitive. 
 
 " It is all over. It still moves darkly after the first, as if 
 strange events were impending over you. Fortune favours 
 you, and that is the reason why you are haunted by misery. 
 More I know not." 
 
 Like a prophesying Sybil, the old woman sat before him, 
 on the top of a rock. He began to feel a secret fear creep- 
 ing over him. He almost could have believed her to be 
 one of those mysterious beings of whom superstition 
 speaks ; that they live in the bowels of the mountains, and 
 sometimes appear to the shepherd, or to the wayfarer who 
 has lost his path, sometimes in the shape of pigmies, and 
 anon of dancing elves, and other adventurous creatures. 
 Then again, he thought her to be a lunatic who roamed 
 among the mountains. But when he reverted to what she 
 had said of his domestic circumstances, of his individual self, 
 of the things which had occurred to him in his past history, 
 things which he had kept concealed in his own heart, and 
 2* 
 
16 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 other matters which were known to his family only, he 
 was almost tempted to believe in witchcraft. 
 
 "Mother," he said, "you have no doubt been a great 
 traveller in your life-time." 
 
 She laid her finger significantly upon her forehead, and 
 replied with a gentle smile, " Indeed, I have travelled very 
 far, but it was only in the spirit ; not with my feet on the 
 high road. I have been four times in Neufchatel : the last 
 time was when the royal governor was sworn in ; it was a 
 grand spectacle. I have been often at Locle, but never 
 any farther." 
 
 " Where do you live ?" inquired the fugitive. 
 
 She lifted her crutch, described a circle in the air, and 
 said, " In all these mountains. Everywhere ! At every 
 hut I find a welcome, and a place. I am well known, and 
 need but little for myself." 
 
 " But what brought you to the top of this mountain, which 
 is difficult of access even to persons much younger than 
 yourself. It could not be for pleasure," he rejoined. 
 
 "Young man," answered the sybil, "I bend my steps 
 whither I must ; although I may appear to go whither I 
 list. It is the spirit that guides the steps of men. To-day 
 I was sent hither to await your coming." At those words 
 she arose ; and drawing herself up to her full height, which 
 far exceeded that of ordinary women, she left the stranger 
 without bidding him farewell. She had not gone far, when 
 she stopped and beckoned to the fugitive with her crutch. 
 He obeyed the summons. She then pointed to a place in 
 the woods at their feet and said, " There you will find a 
 pure stream ; its spring is unknown, and its course is un- 
 seen. There cleanse the blood from off your garments ; 
 for human blood looks ill on man's attire !" 
 
 " Shall I find a human habitation any where near ?" he 
 asked. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 19 
 
 She replied, " When you descend, you will see in the 
 valley below Les Verrieres, through which passes the great 
 road to Pontarlier. But you must not tarry where your 
 pursuers may track your path ; therefore go from Les Ver 
 rieres up the mountain to Les Jeannets, or to La C6te-aux» 
 Fees." 
 
 The old woman then proceeded with long and hasty 
 strides over the ridge of the mountain. The fugitive watch- 
 ed her until her tall figure disappeared amidst the bushes. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Naturalist. 
 
 ""Nonsense !" muttered the young man, as he descend* 
 ed the height towards the woods that she had pointed out 
 to him. In that exalted solitude, a feeling which he 
 could not explain to himself, had taken possession of his 
 soul. His escape from captivity, his meeting with the mys- 
 terious sybil at the crag of the Gros Taureau, the words 
 she had spoken, and the remembrances she had called up, 
 were so entirely foreign to common experience, and alto- 
 gether so marvellous, that it seemed to him, as if with the 
 jump he had taken from the cart, he had also leaped into 
 another world. 
 
 In the valley below him, and on the side of the moun- 
 tain, he observed human dwellings scattered about in every 
 direction. He proceeded on his path along the ridge to 
 conceal in the darkness of the pine wood the stains on his 
 garments, which certainly were well calculated to arouse 
 suspicion, should any one chance to see him. He there- 
 fore sought the place which the old woman had so accu- 
 rately described to him, and after a long search, found it 
 
20 
 
 FLORI AJV .' 
 
 hidden behind some bushes. It was a hollow in the ground, 
 in which the rain water had collected, forming a pool that 
 evidently served for watering cattle. 
 
 Here, in the seclusion of the wood, he undressed him- 
 self, and first purified his pantaloons from the darkened 
 stains of blood. Although not an adept in the art of wash- 
 ing, he finished his task in an uncommonly short time. He 
 also made the discovery that the under clothes he wore 
 would be none the worse for similar treatment. His shirt, 
 through three weeks' wear, had changed its colour from 
 white almost to black ; but it was the only one of which he 
 was then owner. From his leather belt that he wore next 
 his body he drew forth a few pieces of gold, that he might 
 have the key to civility and hospitality in his hand, with 
 which a beggar or a vagrant — and he had the appearance 
 either of one or the other — seldom meets. Having thus 
 arranged his garments, he knelt down also to cleanse the 
 spots of blood from his coat. 
 
 While in the midst of this operation he was surprised by 
 a human voice exclaiming, " Halloo, friend ! I can give you 
 company, and shall do it too." The fugitive looked up, and 
 behind him stood a little man in a black dress, who depos- 
 ited carefully a large book, a hammer, and a bundle of 
 flowers under a fir-tree. He then proceeded to take off a 
 white muslin neckerchief, which was white no longer ; next 
 his dusty shoes, then a pair of hose which were not the bet- 
 ter for wear, and the whiteness of which had met with a 
 similar fate as that of the neckerchief. 
 
 " Always a salutary, although a somewhat mean occupa- 
 tion this, whenever a person has nothing better to do," said 
 the man in black, as he also knelt beside the water ; " but 
 why do you wash your coat 7" 
 
 "I slipped in walking, and soiled it on the ground," re- 
 plied the young man. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 21 
 
 "My good friend!" exclaimed the man in black, as he 
 looked attentively at the pool, " you must tell me where the 
 ground became treacherous to you. Do you not see that 
 you are giving the whole water the colour of a reddish 
 brown that comes evidently of iron ore ? Have you been 
 in the districts of Fenin ? or, perhaps, in the neighbour- 
 hood of La Brevine, where I have sought so long, and in 
 vain, for the stratum of iron which there impregnates with its 
 properties the sanative springs ? The country may have 
 to thank your disaster for a most important discovery." 
 
 " I am a stranger in these parts," replied the fugitive, 
 "and am unable to give you the name of the place." 
 
 " But you will make some stay in this country ?" inquired 
 the geologist. 
 
 "I think so," answered the Grison. "I should like to 
 become more acquainted with this principality, which is so 
 closely connected with Switzerland." 
 
 "Excellent, excellent!" said his companion. "You can 
 learn a great deal from me. I am the Professor Ojvyx. Only 
 ask for me, and I will conduct you wherever you may feel 
 inclined to go. But above all, we must first find the stratum 
 on which you had the unmatched fortune to fall. Let us 
 but bring this stratum into open day, sir, and the fortune of 
 the country is made. I will have founderies and forges 
 erected instantaneously. We have wood in plenty ; and 
 if need be, a superabundance of turf for the small fires." 
 
 The fugitive cast sidelong, scrutinizing glances at his 
 companion, who was kneeling at his side, and who, with- 
 out permitting himself to be interrupted, continued to speak 
 of the great advantages of iron-works, to calculate the cap- 
 ital which his project necessarily required, and to — wash 
 his stockings ! When at length he paused, the Grison said, 
 " Sir, you are doubtless appointed professor in one of the 
 institutions in this part of the country?" 
 
22 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 " By no means, my worthy friend," exclaimed the profes- 
 sor. "I live independently, and for myself alone. I have 
 different work to perform from that of teaching wild boys 
 Latin with cane in hand. You have no conception of the 
 barbaric ignorance of the people here. There they sit, for- 
 ever making watch-wheels, watch-springs, and watch- 
 chains, or weaving lace ; and all this time they know noth- 
 ing of the treasures of their soil, have no idea of agricul- 
 ture, and are even a century behind the times in the art of 
 breeding cattle. By this uniform, constant, and mechani- 
 cal labour these men degenerate at last into senseless ma- 
 chines themselves, and become as blind to the wonderful 
 treasures of nature, as the very oxen that live under the 
 same roof. In no state should manufactures be tolerated, 
 until the population becomes so numerous that the soil can- 
 not yield them any longer the means of subsistence. I 
 have written a treatise on this subject, and was in hopes that 
 the council would take up another notion. But the people 
 are here too free ! They will not be led, and adhere to 
 their old jog-trot ways, like ticks to a sheep. A better ex- 
 ample ought to be given them. Mere demonstration is of 
 no avail. Let us institute iron-founderies forthwith ; that 
 will stimulate them to the things that concern the forest, 
 bring turf into greater request, will dry up marshes miles 
 in length, and make them fit for agricultural purposes." 
 
 The professor continued to develop his views of political 
 economy until the washing was not only concluded, but the 
 clothes were half dried by the sunbeams which now and then 
 penetrated the thick bushes of fir, and fell on them as they 
 hung upon the stumps of some old trees. The fugitive put 
 on his coat, and as the professor was going to do the same 
 with his stockings, he discovered with surprise that they 
 were still very wet, although they had been exposed to the 
 rays of the sun nearly an hour. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 23 
 
 " See here, sir, see here !" he exclaimed ; " this is very 
 astonishing ; how can such a phenomenon be accounted for ? 
 Animal wool absorbs more water than cotton, and yet your 
 woollen coat has dried sooner than my stockings. My 
 neckerchief also is still quite wet. That is very astonish- 
 ing indeed." 
 
 The fugitive smiled, 5 and said, " In the heat of your dis- 
 course you most probably forgot to wring out the water im- 
 mediately after you had done washing them." 
 
 Mr. Onyx contracted his brow, shook his head, and re- 
 plied, " This cannot be the cause of the slow evaporation 
 of the wet in my washing. Should I have forgotten to 
 wring them out when I drew them from the water ? Nev- 
 er ; a thing of that kind does not so easily slip my memory. 
 But let us now return to our founderies," he said, as he roll- 
 ed up his wet stockings and neckcloth, and put them to- 
 gether in his black coat pocket, and thrust his bare feet into 
 his shoes, adding at the same time, " People in this part of 
 the country do not put any restraint upon themselves." 
 
 The fugitive, more anxious to find food and shelter than 
 to hear his companion discuss the natural curiosties of the 
 Principality of Neufchatel, asked the professor, " Where do 
 you reside ?" 
 
 " This summer," he replied, " I live yonder, on the heights 
 of Les Bayards ; but whither are you going, sir V 
 
 The fugitive, remembering the advice which the old sybil 
 had given him at the Gros Taureau, to seek a sequestered 
 spot in the Jeannets or La Cote-aux-Fees, mentioned those 
 places to the professor. 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed the professor, "excellent, excellent! 
 I shall accompany you as far as the village Les Verrieres. 
 Thence I take the path to the left up to Les Bayards, while 
 you will ascend the mountain to the right, to La C6te-aux- 
 Fees. I shall see you soon. I know every body there ; 
 
24 
 
 FLOllIAN : 
 
 they are all good people, but incredibly ignorant, and with- 
 out feeling, and insensible to the necessity of improving 
 their condition. I cannot even except the old hospitable 
 Staffard, who loves to read the books I generally carry him 
 in winter time. But to whose house are you going, and 
 where shall 1 be most likely to find you ? " 
 
 The fugitive did not consider ltfng, but pronounced the 
 name of Staffard, which he had just now heard for the first 
 time, and with the very commendable title of" hospitable." 
 
 " Excellent !" exclaimed the professor. " Staffard is my 
 most intimate friend. Remember me to him. I should be 
 bound to love him were he a heathen, from which state, in- 
 deed, he is not very far removed. I can, however, tell you, 
 
 Mr. How ? Did you not just now give me your 
 
 name ? I have forgotten it already ! It is really amazing 
 how treacherous my memory is growing of late. Excuse 
 me, sir, but I must request you to favour me with your name 
 once more." 
 
 " You may call me Florian," replied the Grison. 
 
 "Well then, Mr. Florian," said the professor, "you will 
 become sick and tired of this land of Hottentots before a 
 month is over." 
 
 Heavy drops of rain began to fall through the branches 
 of the firs from the darkly. overcast heavens, and distant 
 thunder announced the coming of a storm. Mr. Onyx look- 
 ed anxiously about him, gathered up hastily his books, ham- 
 mer, and herbs, exclaiming, " Let us get out of the wood, 
 every fir attracts lightning, and you may believe me when 
 I say that lightning has quite a predilection for my person. 
 It is astonishing how it pursues me. Oh that I were but 
 in my house at Les Bayards ! that at least is secured by a 
 lightning rod ; but you cannot find another house of safety 
 in the whole adjacent country." Saying this, Mr. Onyx 
 set off at full speed. Both the companions hurried out of 
 
THE FUGITIVE OE THE JUKA. 
 
 25 
 
 the wood in an oblique direction down the meadow towards 
 the valley below. The storm was close above their heads ; 
 lightning and thunder followed each other in quick succes- 
 sion. His bundle of plants becoming troublesome to the 
 professor, he discarded it. " For the preservation of our 
 lives we must sacrifice everything," he ejaculated ; and tak- 
 ing one mineral after another out of his coat-pocket, the 
 skirts of which were beating about his legs, he threw them 
 away in order to facilitate and accelerate his rapid course. 
 
 They soon reached the village Les Verrieres, along the 
 side of which ran the high road to Pontarlier. The moun- 
 tains there at the side of the valleys are not very lofty, be- 
 cause the valleys themselves are elevated several thousand 
 feet above the level of the sea. The rain fell with great 
 violence. The dark clouds moved on heavily at the brow 
 of the mountain. Each flash of lightning seemed to con- 
 vert the whole atmosphere and the heavy falling rain into 
 one sheet of flame. Mr. Onyx fled like an arrow that has 
 left the bow, bending his flight across the broad street, to- 
 wards a house with green shutters ; then up a flight of 
 stone steps, and entered a door on his left. Florian follow- 
 ed his agile conductor into a spacious room, where he im- 
 mediately called for food, with which to refresh himself ; 
 for he had tasted but little nourishment through the whole 
 of that adventurous day. 
 
 It required little persuasion, on the part of Florian, to 
 induce the professor to partake of the refreshments ; but 
 before sitting down, he drew the table into the middle of 
 the room, and measured very accurately the distance from 
 the window, door, and stove. After having finished his 
 occupation he said, " Well, now we are as safe as we 
 possibly can be, in a house that has no lightning rod." 
 They both regaled themselves to their hearts' content. 
 "Friend of my soul," said Mr. Onyx, "this white nectar 
 
26 florian : 
 
 of Neufchatel is the only good thing that human art is 
 capable of producing in this land of ignorance ! Even I 
 could not improve it." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Staffard's Dwelling. 
 
 As soon as the storm had abated, and the blue heaven 
 began to peep from between the opening clouds, the tra- 
 vellers prepared to set forth on their journey. Florian paid 
 his bill to the host, and his scientific guest, grateful for the 
 refreshment he had received, conducted his " most excellent 
 friend," as he denominated him, safely on the road to La 
 Cote-aux-Fees. At the foot of the mountain, on the south side 
 of the valley, they separated like old friends, with a hearty 
 farewell. Onyx returned to the high road, and proceeded 
 towards the scattered dwellings of Les Bayards ; while 
 Florian ascended the rugged mountain-path, which ran in 
 an oblique direction through the pine -wood. 
 
 When he had reached the summit of the ridge, the 
 sun was sinking to the horizon, behind the high peaks 
 in the west. His last rays glittered on the undulating, 
 dark green plains, the hills of which cast sharply defined, 
 black shadows through the golden light of the pasture 
 grounds. Gigantic rocks arose, and hills were joined to 
 hills, while gloomy forests of fir spread out their dark 
 hues in the distance. Houses were scattered everywhere 
 in the meadows, and all of similar structure, spacious 
 and broad. The lower part of those houses was built of 
 stone, with numerous windows, but the upper part joined 
 together by logs and boards ; and out of the roof, shingled 
 with wood, a broad square chimney arose, like a tower. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OP THE JURA. 
 
 27 
 
 Every thing he saw bore marks of contentment, and of 
 agreeable prosperity in the lap of the kind, although poor 
 mother, Nature. There were no fruit trees, and only here 
 and there, in the fields of grass, could be seen a small 
 patch bearing oats or barley ; while the little gardens 
 before the houses yielded vegetables instead of flowers. 
 
 Florian had beheld far more charming landscapes, yet 
 this silent, refreshing solitude, on the top of the moun- 
 tains, cheered his mind in a remarkable manner. In 
 this wide and general peacefulness, a friendly spirit seemed 
 to welcome him, saying, " Here shalt thou find what thou 
 seekest, secrecy and oblivion." He thanked in his heart 
 the mysterious apparition at the Gros Taureau, for having 
 directed him to this spot ; and resolved to inquire for the 
 hospitable house of Mr. StafFard, whose name the talkative 
 professor had mentioned. All this he believed was the 
 working and voice of an all-governing Providence. 
 
 The appearance of the inhabitants of that wilderness 
 greatly enhanced his impression of the whole. He had 
 expected to find in those highlands, so remote from any 
 frequented road, the uncouth manners of a mountain 
 people ; who, being in a continual struggle with nature for 
 the necessaries of life, remain for ever strangers to the 
 refined enjoyments of a social mode of living ; but to his 
 astonishment, he found here the dress and manners of a 
 people of refinement. Children, as well as grown persons, 
 answered his inquiries with insinuating politeness. Often 
 was he accompanied on his way for some distance, that 
 he might not mistake the direction. The very lowest 
 people evinced an urbanity, such as is not often met with 
 in towns. No one molested him with curious inquiries. 
 The women and their daughters were dressed with taste, 
 their manners gentle, and the expresssion of their features 
 amiable. The men cleanly, simple, and pleasant. Florian 
 
28 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 was compelled to acknowledge that La Cote-aux-Fees was 
 deserving of its name. At least it had a fairy-like appear- 
 ance, when the huts and the wilderness of a district were 
 inhabited by a community, not wild and rough as the rocks 
 which surrounded them, but by men and women of noble 
 manners, who, with their becomingness of behaviour and 
 beauty of person, might have graced a palace. 
 
 After having walked for about an hour, as night was 
 beginning to set in, a little boy who was collecting his 
 goats, pointed out to him the dwelling of StafTard. 
 
 It was a rustic, spacious building, standing at the foot of 
 a hill, surrounded by maples that had for centuries defied 
 the storms of time. The front of the house was from 
 seventy to eighty feet in length, and the same number in 
 depth ; so that the whole formed nearly a large square, with 
 numerous windows in front,/ and several doors of entrance. 
 Above the lower story that was built of stone and plastered, 
 rose a second one of wood, neatly weather- boarded, and 
 ornamented with as many windows as the lower one. The 
 roof was rather flat, and upon the wooden shingles were 
 placed heavy stones to prevent the storms from blowing 
 them off. The chimney, which looked more like a tower, 
 and upon the broad outlet of which was placed a moveable 
 lid, which in time of rain could be let down, rose to the 
 right. An enormous water spout was on the left, through 
 which the water ran from the roof into a reservoir, a few 
 feet distant from the house. At the side, and a little apart 
 from the building, stood spacious stables. In front of the 
 house, enclosed with a wooden railing, spread a large gar- 
 den, in which Mr. StafTard cultivated his vegetables. 
 
 Such was the dwelling of StafTard, as it stood solitary and 
 alone upon his grounds ; not differing from the others in 
 that part of the country in structure, but only in size, cleanli- 
 ness, and more careful keeping. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 29 
 
 At the moment when Florian passed round a stupendous 
 rock, and the house was before his sight, his ear was 
 saluted by a surprising burst of music. It was a well-known 
 symphony of Haydn, executed with French horns, flutes, 
 and clarionets. He remained leaning against the rock, 
 that by his appearance he might not interrupt the piece ; 
 the clearness, the correctness, and the tenderness of the 
 performance of which he admired ; and he thought, " where 
 there are touches of feeling like these, a deserted stranger 
 will surely find a welcome and a resting place ! " 
 
 When the music ceased, and the fugitive was approach- 
 ing the garden, he suddenly almost changed his opinion. 
 An enormous wolf-dog with long white hair, flew at him 
 with a savage growl, and jumped at his breast. At the 
 same moment, however, several voices behind the window 
 shouted to the dog to return ; but when their command re- 
 mained unobeyed, they hastened to the door. To their 
 horror they saw the furious animal standing upright against 
 the stranger, who, self-possessed, called out to them, " Send 
 the master of the animal hither, that he may take him away, 
 otherwise I shall be compelled to kill him immediately ! " 
 The terrible animal whined and howled frightfully. All 
 the people approached, not without shuddering ; for they 
 saw how the unknown grasped with his left hand the dog's 
 throat, while with his right he held one of his paws, push- 
 ing it back so forcibly, that the animal opened his mouth 
 wide with pain, then gently touched the strong fist that held 
 him with his teeth, and licked it with his tongue. 
 
 " That man could tame a bear," said one of the men. 
 " You need not hold the dog any longer, sir, he will not 
 touch you again. Begone, Hector, begone ! " 
 
 The dog, released from the stranger's grasp, crept 
 whining away, looking fearfully back at his conqueror. 
 
30 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 " You have nothing more to fear from him now," said the 
 alarmed owner of the dog. 
 
 " I should not fear him, were you even to set him on me," 
 replied Florian ; " but I should feel sorry for the noble 
 creature, for I could break his paw." 
 
 The by-standers looked at the dauntless man, with that 
 sort of respect which bodily or intellectual strength will 
 always command. He told them that night had overtaken 
 him in a strange country, which he had intended to visit 
 for pleasure. He just touched upon his newly-made ac- 
 quaintance, the professor Onyx, and delivered the respects 
 which that personage had commissioned him to give to 
 Mr. Stafford. 
 
 " I am he," said the oldest of the men, in a deep bass 
 voice. He was an old man of a majestic appearance, whose 
 tall, muscular form, broad chest, noble and commanding 
 countenance, and whose gray hair, which parted on the 
 forehead, fell in thick locks over his broad shoulders ; all 
 might have served sculptors and painters for a model of a 
 Moses. " George," said he, turning to a tall, handsome 
 young man, who was still holding a French horn in his 
 hand, " this stranger will stay all night with us ; therefore 
 have his room prepared. You, sir, I hope, will be able to 
 accommodate yourself here. It would be late before you 
 could reach a tavern, and moreover, the ways are not 
 easy to find." 
 
 Florian thankfully accepted the invitation ; and all fol- 
 lowed the old man into his hospitable dwelling. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 31 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 The Narrative. 
 
 After having gone through the hall of the house, they 
 entered a spacious apartment ; upon the hearth of which 
 blazed a large flame, and by a symmetrical arrangement of 
 bright plates and dishes, proclaimed itself the kitchen of the 
 house. It bore a similarity to the inside of a tower, for it 
 had no ceiling, and the four walls gradually diminished in 
 size until at the top they formed the aperture of a wide 
 chimney. A side door opened into a large sitting room, in 
 which were standing several music desks, with parts of the 
 symphony they had just been playing. The tables, chairs, 
 and all the other furniture were simple and neat, and made 
 of pine. Uncommon cleanliness was substituted for splen- 
 dour of furniture. Engravings of Frederic the Great, 
 Washington, La Fayette, and other fellow- worthies of the 
 age, decorated the brown paneled walls. 
 
 Two of the musical performers speedily departed, and 
 from what they said, Florian concluded they were neigh- 
 bours of Mr. Staffard. Before sitting down to supper, the 
 elder Mr. Staffard folded his hands and invoked the divine 
 blessing in a loud tone of voice. Florian then received the 
 place of honour between himself and his son George. The 
 four remaining musicians were persons in Mr. StafFard's 
 service, and sat down to the table as friends of the host. 
 The lower end of the table was occupied by the old, busy 
 cook. A cheerful conversation, which seasoned the simple 
 repast, changed every moment its tone and colouring, either 
 in jest or seriousness. It touched upon domestic and agri- 
 cultural affairs, or it turned to expressions of friendly interest 
 in the unknown guest ; then it changed to discussions on 
 music, or to the history of the day, and the consequences of 
 
32 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 the victory achieved by the Arch-duke Charles, against 
 the French at Stockach. 
 
 Florian, whom nobody had asked whence he came, felt 
 delighted with those good people ; and when, after supper, 
 he was left alone with the old man and his son, he resolved 
 to open his heart to them. 
 
 " Persons will always remain strangers to each other, 
 when they do not know one another, and do not give their 
 names," said Florian, "but I am desirous of not being a 
 stranger to you ; the more so, since I would gain your con- 
 fidence, for I stand in need of counsel and protection. You 
 take me for a Swiss, but I am a Grison. You think I travel 
 for pleasure, but I am a fugitive, and seek concealment 
 among these mountains. I escaped but this morning from 
 a French guard, near Pontarlier. Imprisonment for life, or 
 death awaited me at Besanc,on, for having sabred a French 
 colonel for his inhumanity to my countrymen, and especially 
 to the innocent and defenceless. Am I, sir, safe upon this 
 ground, and in this sequestered part of the country, from 
 the pursuit of the French ? " 
 
 " Sir," said the old man, as he cast a keen benignant 
 glance at Florian, " you are here on free and secure ground. 
 Our sovereign and protector, the king of Prussia , is at peace 
 with the French republic. No Frenchman dare enter our 
 land in arms. In all other respects the law will protect 
 you. Wo betide him who lays violent hands on you ! " 
 
 Florian gratefully pressed the old man's hand, and said, 
 " My wish is to live here in concealment, as long as my 
 country remains in a state of subjection. I know not a 
 soul in these parts ; but the first persons with whom I have 
 met have gained my heart. I am not destitute of some 
 property, and shall consequently not become a burden to 
 any one." 
 
 "What is that? A burden ? " exclaimed the old man. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 *' Every Swiss who asks for a shelter is our friend and ally. 
 Tell me how matters have been going on in the Orisons. 
 There was party- work among you the same as throughout 
 Switzerland. One has betrayed the other, and now you are 
 all suffering for it. The Lord and Father of your ancestors 
 has cast you into the furnace of his wrath, that you may be 
 cleansed from your dross. The fire should refine you ! " 
 
 " Civil discord never raged more fiercely than among the 
 Grisons," said Florian. " Each covenant, each congrega- 
 tion, and even each family, were divided among themselves. 
 But it was at the worst, when the Austrians occupied our 
 frontier on one side, and the French on the other. My 
 own father hated me at last, because I followed the dic- 
 tates of a better father." 
 
 " Hold ! young man," exclaimed StafFard ; " how can 
 any one have a better father than his own 1 " 
 
 " Mine, I honoured and loved, as a good son ought," re- 
 plied Florian ; " but mercantile affairs and those of the 
 government often called him away from home. The man 
 who became the father of my heart and mind was Nese- 
 man, one of the most venerable of mortals, whose name I 
 can never pronounce without emotion. To him I am 
 indebted for my education, my best feelings, and my benefi- 
 cial knowledge. He was supposed to be an adherent of 
 the patriotic party, because many who had been his pupils 
 were at the head of it. But Neseman stood independently 
 between both, as becomes a sage. * In your sentiments,' 
 he would say, 'be neither French nor Austrian ; but being 
 a Grison, be a pure Grison, and a Grison only ! ' Such 
 I was ! For that reason I incurred my father's dislike, 
 who being an old friend of Count Salis des Marschlins, in 
 body and soul was devoted to his house, and consequently 
 for Austria, and against France. He once threatened 
 even to disinherit me. His ire became more inflamed 
 3 
 
f LOKIAN : 
 
 when I refused to marry the daughter of one of the most 
 distinguished men in the country, whom, without asking 
 my pleasure, he had chosen for his daughter-in-law. His 
 violent temper, and his passionate detestation of the French, 
 at length caused his death ; for when General Desollcs in- 
 vaded our mountains, drove out the Austrians, and made 
 their leader General Aufenberg prisoner, my father was 
 seized with unspeakable dread, and died in an apoplectic fit. 
 I wept for my father's death, and the deplorable condi- 
 tion of my country, which, after having been the scene 
 of party rage, became the battle-field of foreign armies. 
 All joy fled from our valleys. I lived retired and secluded 
 from all public affairs ; but immeasurable grief and deep 
 resentment burned in the hearts of the people. They 
 could not habituate themselves to the sight of foreign sol- 
 diers, who strutted like conquerors upon a free soil, and 
 commanded the people at their own hearths ! 
 
 " I soon heard that a rising was contemplated for the 
 purpose of expelling the French. From the inmost re- 
 cesses of the Oberland, from Crispalt and Lukmanier, the 
 insurrection was to roll on like a Lawine along the valley 
 of the Rhine to Coire, where, * after having overpowered 
 the Luziensterg, they were to be joined by German armies. 
 I also was called upon, but I continued firm to my pur- 
 pose, of not offering a helping hand. No insurrection, no 
 land-storm could save us. Hence I would not assist either 
 the Austrian or the French generals in their plans, who 
 sought not our welfare, but to occupy the narrow moun- 
 tain passes of the Grisons. Neither would I aid the 
 plans of factious men, whose sole object was, not the free- 
 dom of our mountain land, but the gratification of their own 
 revenge. They menaced me if I should withdraw myself 
 from the cause of my country. I gave them menaces for 
 menaces, and was let alone ! 
 
THE FUGITIVE OP THE JURA. 
 
 35 
 
 " One morning I was aroused early from sleep by the 
 intelligence that the Landsturm was coming down from 
 the Oberland. A detachment of French soldiers had been 
 attacked by the peasants while at dinner, made prisoners 
 at Tawetsch, in the extreme mountain valley, near the 
 St. Gothard, and then had been sent prisoners to Disentis. 
 There a French captain with his company made a fruitless 
 resistance against the swelling multitude. After a bloody 
 affray he was overpowered. As night came on, he and 
 his men were secured in the council-house. Clamour 
 and disquietude spread far and distant through the moun- 
 tains, until it was re-echoed in the huts of the highest Alps. 
 New and variously-armed multitudes rushed down from 
 the mountains and out of the valleys, clamouring loudly 
 for the death of the French prisoners. The Deacon of 
 the convent, with several of his monks, begged the furious 
 multitude on their knees to spare the lives of the prisoners. 
 But the people were blind with rage, and threatened even 
 these intercessors with murderous weapons. When the pri- 
 soners, amounting to more than a hundred, were dragged 
 outside the village, the mob sprang at them with a fiendish 
 howl, and massacred them in the most inhuman manner. 
 
 " After this atrocious deed, the long train of the Land- 
 sturm, armed with rifles and pikes, scythes, clubs and sickles, 
 marched onward. They howled and shrieked as they 
 passed my windows, and called on me to follow them — 
 * You are rushing to your own destruction' — I called out, 
 with a warning voice, but they answered me by discharg- 
 ing two rifle shots through the window. In every village 
 through which they passed, more were added to their dis- 
 orderly number, until the bloodthirsty hordes arrived at 
 Coire. There, in the meadow before the city, after a most 
 frightful manner they met the fate which I had predicted. 
 Their furious desperation availed them nothing. Great 
 
30 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 was the number of those who fell on the field of battle ; many 
 died of their wounds in the adjacent woods and clefts ; 
 while the few who escaped dispersed in every direction. 
 
 " My heart trembled within me, when I heard of the 
 terrible results of this undertaking, and of the return of the 
 Landsturm. I knew that I was threatened with death, and 
 my house with destruction. The revenge of half savage, 
 desperate peasants, knows no limits. I made myself ready. 
 My papers and valuables were already in safety, and in 
 case of necessity, I was prepared for flight ; for I had pro- 
 vided myself with money, loaded my pistols, and sharpened 
 my sword. Alas ! this precaution against my unfortunate 
 countrymen was useless. With countenances as pale as 
 death, and with panic fear, they fled through the village, 
 without even thinking of the accomplishment of their 
 menaces. The victorious army pursued them, and mur- 
 dered all who fell into their hands. 
 
 " The village was soon filled with soldiery. Being the 
 only person in the whole village that spoke the French 
 language, I had united with the superiors of the town for 
 the purpose of preventing disorder. At my suggestion, 
 refreshments were distributed among the military. I spoke 
 to General Menard. He promised to enforce good order ; 
 and for that purpose, commanded a colonel of brigade to 
 attend me. 
 
 " The soldiers already had broken into some of the houses. 
 As we passed one of them, I was startled by dreadful 
 piercing shrieks. It was the dwelling of a widow and her 
 three lovely daughters. I rushed in. Soldiers laden with 
 plunder met me on the stairs, while the others were en- 
 gaged bursting open doors and closets. In the room 
 whence the cries proceeded, I saw one of the daughters 
 lying on the floor weltering in her blood ; while the two 
 sisters of the murdered girl, and the mother, were struggling 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 37 
 
 in the dissolute arms of several ruffians. * Call these men 
 to order ! ' — I cried out to the colonel of brigade who was 
 standing at my side, * or I shall pierce the hearts of these 
 monsters before your eyes.' Perceiving no answer, I 
 rushed upon the villains, grappled them, and flung them 
 out of the door, one after another. The colonel, at first 
 surprised at this act, pursued me into the street, with his 
 sword drawn, and was about to run it through my body. 
 I drew mine and made resistance. When our swords met, 
 the soldiers placed themselves in a ring around us, and 
 became anxious spectators ; but when my sword instantly 
 felled the colonel to the ground, and his blood spirted into 
 the air ; I was seized from behind, thrown to the earth, 
 disarmed, and should have fallen a victim to their fury, had 
 not the general appeared on the spot. On his inquiring 
 what was the matter, the soldiers accused me of being the 
 chief of the rebels. I related to him the whole proceedings 
 of the occurrence ; but was arrested, bound with two cords, 
 thrown into a cart, and conveyed to Coire. Thence I was 
 brought a captive into Switzerland. It seemed, however, 
 that they knew not where to go with me ; for I was first 
 taken to Basle, then towards Lausanne. General Menard 
 perhaps purposed to give the matter an appearance of rigid 
 justice, and thus save me from the fury of his soldiers ; or 
 to deliver me into the hands of a court-martial, which by 
 the continual conflicts with the Austrians, could never be 
 .brought together. Perhaps I was destined to be imprisoned 
 in Les Salines, or some other French fortress, and there be 
 kept, as one of the instigators of the massacre at Disentis. 
 Under which pretext, several others innocent, afterwards 
 were conveyed into France. This morning, I already saw 
 the spires of Pontarlier, when I disarmed my guards, and 
 escaped." 
 
 " How many guards had you ? " asked George. 
 
38 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 " Two soldiers with loaded muskets sat in the cart, one 
 on each side of me. I battered their heads together, and 
 broke them like earthen vases. While they were reeling 
 senseless in the cart, I smashed their muskets in pieces, 
 threw away the parts, and fled to the mountain." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Friends. 
 
 The two StafFards looked with astonishment at their 
 guest, who related his adventures with a calmness as 
 though he was speaking of every-day occurrences. There 
 was in his attractive countenance, so much mildness, friend- 
 liness, and almost feminine softness, that they might have 
 been induced to doubt his courage and strength in such 
 terrible dangers, had they not witnessed, only a few hours 
 before, how he had handled their neighbour's ferocious 
 wolf-dog, as one would a lap-dog. 
 
 "If you will now" — resumed Florian — " give me a 
 promise, to keep profound secrecy in respect to this adven- 
 ture I have confided to you, and will procure me a shelter 
 where I may remain during the summer, either as a man 
 who has taken his abode here for the sake of his health, or 
 as a naturalist, my most ardent wish for the present will 
 be gratified. To-morrow I shall go to the capital, have an 
 interview with the royal governor, provide myself with 
 several articles of which I stand in need, and then return 
 to La Cote-aux-Fees." 
 
 The two Staffards extended their hands across the table 
 to the fugitive, and pressed his with friendly cordiality, 
 which was more eloquent than their words. " You shall 
 stay with us ; our house and table are large enough." 
 
 " Ha ! " exclaimed George, and his eyes sparkled with 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 enthusiasm — " had I been with you, we should have fought 
 side by side. The mountaineers of the whole country 
 round, should have risen and fought for safety and liberty. 
 Alas, that you should have stood alone in the Grisons, and 
 the gallant Aloys Reding alone in the shepherd Cantons ! 
 Why did not an army of devoted Swiss rise, and join 
 against the foreign tyrant ? Why is not Switzerland blessed 
 with more men like yourself 1 " 
 
 " Like me ? " said Florian, with a smile of astonish* 
 ment. " There were ten thousand instead of one. But 
 single men, standing alone, could not save. A whole na- 
 tion must rise when a great deed is to be achieved. But 
 all love of the nation was dissolved in royal party-spirit, 
 and individual interest. Federalism had so entirely 
 annihilated nationality, that even the most distinguished 
 men of Switzerland knew nothing of the Eidsgenos- 
 senschaft, for their whole knowledge scarcely reaches 
 beyond their own cantons. Aloys Reding was with me 
 two years ago. We became acquainted at the castle Orten- 
 stern, where he was on a visit to his friends. His fine figure, 
 the resolute glance of his large blue eye, and the exalted 
 good-nature expressed in all his actions and movements, 
 soon engaged my heart. We spoke of the dangers with 
 which Switzerland was threatened, and of the probability 
 of an attack from a French army. He himself could not 
 believe in the probability. He said : ' If the devastators 
 of the world were actually to invade our country, I know 
 not what the other cantons might do ; I do not trust the 
 most of them ; but in our lower cantons the French would find 
 their graves. I would tear my hair with shame,' he con- 
 tinued, raising his hand to his golden locks — ' if but one 
 Swiss thought differently from me.' — 1 But, ' said I, 4 your 
 little land, and the more than superior power of France, 
 are like the struggle of a moth with an eagle.' Reding 
 
40 
 
 FLORIAxX : 
 
 did not like to pursue the subject any farther. With a mien 
 and air full of pride and confidence, as if to tranquillize my 
 mind as well as his own, he added, ' We have never yet 
 been vanquished, and never shall be ! ' So unsuspecting, 
 80 short-sighted, and so inexperienced, were the best men 
 in Switzerland ! " 
 
 " Sir, you are right ! " cried the elder Staffard, striking 
 the table with his powerful fist, in holy wrath. " The 
 Eidsgenossenschaft had long since ceased to be ; all true 
 notion of liberty and republican magnanimity had bidden 
 adieu to the country. The smaller cantons were full of self- 
 interest, beggary and ignorance ; and the larger ones are 
 replete with superciliousness, rodomontade, and mean 
 trickery. Government has become a source of specula- 
 tion ; the love of peace, timid cowardice ; and politics, 
 an old woman's gossip, phrase-making and mystery-mak- 
 ing ! could anything but destruction result from such a state 
 of things ? unless, indeed, our Master above would send 
 down miracles by lightning to stop its progress. I have 
 seen a great deal of Switzerland — every where are fine 
 people — but their maxim is this — ' Eveky one for him- 
 self, and God for us all ! ' " 
 
 " But " — exclaimed George — " father, since every thing 
 is lying in the abyss of destruction, they must make a 
 struggle to rise. If love for liberty does not incite them 
 to glorious deeds, despair will. The Arch-duke Charles is 
 marching onward toward Zurich and the St. Gothard, the 
 French are flying. Now is the time for the Swiss to rise 
 and join the Arch-duke Charles, to hurl destruction upon 
 every Frenchman whose foot is on our ground." 
 
 " For what purpose ? To give the citizens of the town 
 their bailiwicks back again ? " — said Florian. " The 
 oppressed people do not wish it. Make those who now are 
 slaves, free men of Switzerland ? The old counsellors are 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 41 
 
 opposed to it. To be commanded by Russians, or Austrians, 
 instead of by the French ? The men of sense are against 
 it. The time has not yet arrived. The must on the con- 
 trary is now beginning to ferment. Now the self-interest 
 and pride of individuals are beginning to fight the battle of 
 life and death ; till at length they will be annihilated, and 
 change into a public spirit. The parties will jostle against 
 each other with unrestrained fury ; until they have ground 
 themselves altogether into pieces, and thus become one 
 mass." 
 
 " The will of heaven be done ! " exclaimed the elder 
 Staffard. 
 
 "Oh! the poor people of Switzerland!" ejaculated 
 George. 
 
 During this conversation the fugitive had wound himself 
 so completely round the heart of Staffard and George, that 
 he was no longer a stranger, but an intimate and beloved 
 friend. Fatigued from the exertions and adventures of the 
 day, in the consciousness of the liberty of which he had been 
 so long deprived, and of personal security, for the first time 
 in four weeks, Florian enjoyed a sound refreshing sleep. 
 
 His mind was still lighter, when he awoke the next 
 morning. He exulted, that Divine Providence had conducted 
 him to the house of such worthy people. He walked to 
 the double window of his clean and comfortable room ; the 
 outer windows of which, although in the midst of summer, 
 had not been removed, so that the roses, pinks, and other 
 plants, which were standing between the two sashes, might 
 not suffer from the outward air, giving evidence of the in- 
 clemency of the weather in those high mountains, where 
 the summers are scarcely of more than seven weeks' 
 duration. The view over the hills, meadows, and rocks, 
 recalled the silence and the uniformity of the Alpine world. 
 In the garden he saw the common poplar, and the oak — 
 3* 
 
42 
 
 FLORIAN J 
 
 which, in the valleys and beside the rivulets, planted as 
 ornamental trees, grow to a great size — so short and 
 crippled, that he scarcely recognised them. Beside those, 
 he beheld the linden tree, and the mulberry. Goats were 
 clambering on the rocks, and from afar, he heard the dis- 
 tant sound of the herd-bells. " The poorer nature is here, 
 the purer are the people and their hearts ! " — he remarked. 
 
 In the morning, the old man and his son received him 
 like a friend whom they had known during many years ; 
 and who had just returned after a long absence. The future 
 plans of Florian on La Cote-aux-Fees were discussed. 
 That he should remain an inmate of Staffard's house, was 
 fully understood. On his return from Neufchatel, he 
 was to find his comfortable apartment, and be introduced 
 to the neighbours. 
 
 George accompanied him to Les Verrieres, that he might 
 procure for his friend a vehicle to convey him to the capital. 
 But they suffered the carriage to go on in advance, in order 
 to bid each other farewell. The hearts of the young men 
 were united. They became brothers : " I feel as if I were 
 drawn by a magic spell towards thee," exclaimed George, 
 embracing his friend — " and yet I have only known thee 
 since yesterday. I cannot explain this to myself." 
 
 "And I," replied Florian, " have never found one so en- 
 tirely like my own heart, as yourself, George ; and I have 
 seen many. But I can explain it. You are the better 
 man, George ; and are infinitely more natural than I am. 
 In your society I shall amend." 
 
 " Oh ! Florian," said George, the blood mounting to his 
 cheeks, " What are you saying ? you, of whom 1 do not 
 know, whether I love you, because I admire you, or whether 
 I admire you, because I love you. You become better ! I 
 wonder what my Claudine will say of you, when she has 
 seen you ? " 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JtTKA. 
 
 Is that your love, George ? " inquired Florian. 
 
 " My betrothed," was the answer ; " we celebrate our 
 wedding in the autumn. You must be one of the guests* 
 And you, Florian, have you not found a love yet ? " 
 
 " No, George," returned the fugitive, " I dare not 
 "think of that now. The times are too turbulent. I must 
 remain unfettered. My country may have farther need ot 
 me. How could I draw a poor creature into misery ; when 
 I most probably shall have to plunge myself into the hor* 
 rors of this contentious age ?" 
 
 Thus, like brothers, they Confided their mutual secrets 
 to each other's keeping. They then separated, with the 
 cheerful prospect of a speedy reunion. 
 
 CHAPTER VII, 
 The Chain. 
 
 Florian hastened after the vehicle. The morning was 
 cool and pleasant. The country was new to him ; and his 
 heart was full of delight. He walked slow, in order to 
 Cnjoy his happiness in ample measure. In the Grisons he 
 had never met *with such pure, confidential cordiality, as 
 George and his father had shown him. It is true, he had 
 associated in his native valley with his companions of the 
 chase, as old associates ; but to none of them all had he given 
 himself so entirely up, and unfolded his heart so candidly, 
 as he had done at Standard's. In the Grisons, party, family, 
 or money and other affairs, had stained the pure feelings of 
 the heart, and introduced a certain restraint upon a hilarious 
 and candid life. There he had been compelled to be cau- 
 tious in his friendships, and ever to be on his guard. On 
 the contrary, at La Cote-aux-Fees, he had found a world 
 
PXOBIAN ; 
 
 where men lived more in accordance with the dictates of 
 their hearts, than by the results of a cool calculation. 
 
 In his silent joy his journey was like a floating dance 
 through the green valleys. The long, sloping acclivities, 
 on either side, were enlivened occasionally by a rustic 
 dwelling with its garden ; all of the same structure as 
 Standard's house. The acclivities to the right and left soon 
 joined together, and thus terminated the valley ; and as he 
 ascended them, he felt as if he was in the path to heaven. 
 
 Here he was met by a long train of one-horse carts, used for 
 transporting goods. The collars of the horses, according 
 to the custom of the country, were hung with blue sheep- 
 skins, and the drivers walked at their sides singing their 
 wild and beautiful mountain strains. The herd-bells from 
 above, where the cows were grazing on the edge of pine- 
 woods, made an agreeable accompaniment. Small shepherd 
 boys shouted merrily, and walked upon the lower stone- 
 fences, which being skilfully constructed of round stones, 
 without mortar to cement them, enclosed extensive pasture 
 grounds. Everything in this lovely wilderness, from the 
 summit of which he could see the scattered huts of the 
 Bayards to the right, and before him, the valley of Les 
 V'errieres, appeared more charming to the fugitive than any 
 landscape which he had yet beheld in Switzerland. 
 
 After having passed the top of the hill, a little to the left 
 of the road, he saw the woods and recks before him again 
 joined together, as if to block up the outlet ; but soon again, 
 the mountains opened like a gorge, just wide enough to let 
 the road pass through at that place. Florian suddenly 
 observed two young women, in white dresses, whose laugh- 
 ing gestures seemed to indicate that they were amusing 
 themselves at his expense. 
 
 Serious as both pretended to be when he approached 
 them, one of the young ladies nevertheless could not over- 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA 
 
 45 
 
 come her risibility, but burst into loud laughter. The 
 other concealed her face beneath her broad straw-bonnet. 
 They were standing beside*an enormous iron chain, fastened 
 to a rock, and hanging down in a small hollow ; which, in 
 days of yore, had most probably been used for barricading 
 the valley. 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," said the laughing damsel, with a 
 graceful bow, towards Florian, " for availing myself of your 
 manly strength, in assisting me to barricade the country 
 with this chain. You see, sir, my dear friend here, threat- 
 ens to leave our valley ; but no matter, whether in jest or 
 earnest, she gave me her promise to stay, if I should be 
 able to obstruct her passage with this chain. But I have 
 been labouring in vain ; and I am sure that Heaven has sent 
 you to my assistance. So be kind enough to help me, sir. 
 But to stretch this gigantic chain, I fear, requires a giant's 
 strength, for I cannot lift even as much as two links of it." 
 
 " For the sake of preserving you a friend, Miss, I could 
 become a giant," said Florian, taking hold of the large 
 rattling rings, and placing the outer end of it in the small 
 delicate hand of the laughing damsel, he stretched the chain 
 across the road. 
 
 "I have conquered, I have conquered, Hermione !" ex- 
 claimed the rejoiced damsel, clapping her hands, and dancing 
 like a merry sylph before the chain, " your word of promise 
 ought to bind ^ou more firmly than this chain, which no 
 giant could burst." 
 
 The conquered Hermione, first lifted her head and looked 
 at the chain, then with embarrassment at him, who was 
 holding it like a piece of thread. There was a certain in- 
 tensity, mingled with the look, that betrayed more to the 
 stranger than she would have been willing to have 
 acknowledged ; when suddenly recollecting herself, a flush 
 
4(3 
 
 FLORIAN t 
 
 might have been seen overspreading her fine intellectual 
 countenance, like the reflection of a burning evening red. 
 
 Florian also stood like one spell-bound, before the beau- 
 teous image, that floated in charming confusion before his 
 eyes. He knew not whether she had appeared to him be- 
 fore ; or whether the idol of his dreams had gone into 
 actual life. 
 
 " You have conquered, my friend," said Hermione, with 
 a soft, gentle voice, "but not by your own strength." 
 
 " I am proud to have been an assistant in this victory," 
 said Florian, " as for centuries, this chain has kept confined 
 nothing better in this happy country." 
 
 " A conqueror is not called to an account for the means 
 he took in achieving his victory," exclaimed the other joy- 
 ous girl, throwing her arm round Hermione, "you are my 
 prisoner, and to you, sir, I give my grateful acknowledg- 
 ments for the booty." 
 
 At that moment a light travelling caleche came rolling 
 towards them, and stopped before the chain. The ladies, 
 assisted by Florian, got into it. " Alas," said he softly, and 
 his tone was that of an ejaculation, " it is now that I ought 
 to stretch the chain. Nothing of the booty remains for me, 
 save remembrance." 
 
 " But you are magnanimous," exclaimed the one who 
 rejoiced in her victory, with a grateful bow. Hermione 
 remained silent, and gazed at Florian Ion? and intently ; 
 but when her eye encountered his parting glance, she 
 blushed deeply, and quickly averted her face. The carriage 
 drove down the mountain. Florian did not take his eyes 
 from it, until it had disappeared behind the bushes and rocks. 
 
 He then suddenly exclaimed, " It can be no other, it 
 must be herself!" He then fell into a fit of musing, 
 heaved a long breath, and said, " It is herself!" He meant 
 Hermione. He remembered to have seen that form, that 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 4? 
 
 Madonna-like face, shaded by light chesnut curls, in his own 
 country. It was at the castle garden at Reichenau, when 
 a company of French officers with some ladies were be- 
 holding from the highest terrace the confluence of the 
 upper and lower Rhine, at the foot of the rocks. There it 
 was, where he had satisfied the curiosity of the strangers, 
 in regard to the names of the mountains and places, while 
 the ladies were attentively listening to him. There were 
 the wild and rocky Kalanda at the right, with Tamiens be- 
 neath the steep walls of rock. In the back ground of an 
 extensive meadow could be seen the huts of Bonaduz ; and 
 farther on, rose the antique walls of the fortress Rhaezuens. 
 Scarcely three Weeks had elapsed since that meeting, where 
 that scenery was surveyed. He then had not spoken to 
 Hermione, nor had he heard her voice ; he only had seen 
 her, wrapped in a travelling dress for winter weather, like 
 the half-enclosed beauty of a moss-rose bursting into bloom. 
 But she did not stay long ; but on departing with her com* 
 panions, she turned toward him, and threw at him a glance 
 which awoke sentiments in his breast, to which, until then, 
 he had been an entire stranger. His eyes had rested on 
 one of nature's master-works. He felt that the unknown 
 beauty would rob him of his peace of mind, were he often 
 to see her ; nevertheless, he delighted to think of her. He 
 was twice induced to take a journey to Reichenau and the 
 city of Coire, hoping to see her once more, if only at a dis- 
 tance. His wanderings, however, were fruitless. Yet on 
 his return to his home, he never failed to visit the castle - 
 garden, and to lay himself down on the spot which her foot- 
 steps had marked. He did not know whether his heart or 
 his imagination had sustained an injury ; and although he 
 reproached himself for this secret folly, yet he encouraged 
 his pleasing infatuation. 
 
 " It is certainly she ! " he said, and, heaving a long 
 
48 
 
 1-LORIAN : 
 
 breath, he left the chain and continued his journey, dis- 
 quieted and agitated. " How cruel is my destiny, thus to 
 cast her again in my way, but for a few moments ! There 
 she goes, without having the remotest idea of the sorrow 
 she leaves behind. She goes back to her own country, 
 perhaps to France ! " 
 
 At the foot of the mountain, before the inviting little 
 town of St. Sulpice, he found his Caleche waiting for him. 
 The loveliness of the vale fenced in by the mountains, had 
 no effect upon him. Heedlessly he passed through the 
 serene country, in the neighbourhood of Montiers, where to 
 the right, upon a rocky hill, grown over with bushes, rose 
 in solemn grandeur the ruins of the fortress Chatelard. 
 It was only after a few hours' ride, when the driver stopped 
 at the village of Travers, that he awoke from his dreamy 
 indifference. 
 
 As he was sitting upon a bench before the inn, and 
 watching the gambols of some children in a barn opposite 
 to him, he descried a tall female figure coming out of a 
 neighbouring smithy, and taking the road by which he had 
 just entered the village. Though he only saw her from 
 behind, and at a distance, nevertheless, by the uncommon 
 stature of the woman, her rapid strides, and the crutch in 
 her hand, he recognised her who had appeared to him at 
 the summit of Le Gros Taureau. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Mother Morne. 
 
 He felt no inclination to follow her, and to renew an ac- 
 quaintance that had very little attraction for him. On the 
 contrary, the unexpected sight of the Sybil excited a pain- 
 ful sensation, something like shame and annoyance, for 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 49 
 
 his having permitted the strange old woman to fill him with 
 superstitious fear. He turned all his attention to the sports 
 of the children, but in the midst of them floated Hermi- 
 one's image, in the white light of her snowy garments, 
 and in the golden radiance of her brown ringlets. 
 
 Suddenly the thought flashed across his mind — " How ! 
 could not the old woman of the mountain tell me who Her- 
 mione is ? Whom should I ask, if not of this Sybil ? She 
 knows the land, the inhabitants ; she knows so much ! " 
 He arose hastily from the bench, stood for some time lost 
 in thought, and then slowly sat down again ; for he per- 
 ceived the folly of the suggestion. Hermione, whom he 
 had first seen in the Grisons, in company with some officers, 
 was plainly a foreigner, and probably on her return to 
 France. Even the dust on her travelling carriage gave 
 evidence of the fact. But — and a ray of joy dispersed the 
 clouds on his countenance — but her companion she threat- 
 ened to leave in the valley ! what valley, if not that of Les 
 Verrieres ; perhaps also that of Pontarlier ? All the same — 
 she is unquestionably now staying in these parts, and the 
 old woman may consequently know something of her. 
 Thus he communed with himself, arose, and hastened in 
 pursuit of the Sybil. 
 
 But when he arrived in the open country, as he could 
 not see her anywhere, he inquired of a peasant who came 
 toward him, and to whom he described the old woman's 
 appearance. 
 
 " Ah ! I understand you," said the peasant. " You mean 
 Mother Morne, as we generally call her. If you will 
 hasten your steps, you may perhaps overtake her at a short 
 distance hence. She is on the road to Couvet." 
 
 " What sort of a woman is this Mother Morne 1 I met 
 her yesterday ; she said many things that were true, and 
 yet I knew her not." 
 
50 
 
 FLORIATT : 
 
 " I willingly believe it, sir. She is a strange woman, 
 perhaps not always in her right senses. Notwithstanding, 
 she is a good woman. Many consider her a witch, who 
 holds intercourse with evil spirits. But that is supersti- 
 tion ! However, it cannot be denied that she knows 
 more than other folks, and that nobody can understand her. 
 She has foretold events that have come to pass, though 
 nobody believed in them at the time. She has charms by 
 which she allays all diseases. People have been known 
 to recover from severe attacks of sickness by her merely 
 placing her hands upon the patients. She has brought 
 things to light, of the very existence of which, nobody 
 knew anything. No one knows of what religion she is, 
 for she goes to no church, but sometimes she is found in 
 the woods on her knees, with her hands folded. She is 
 never at rest, but continually wandering about ; and yet 
 she has no money, nor does she accept of any. Her 
 home is nowhere and everywhere ! It is immaterial to her 
 whether she travels in summer or in winter, by day or by 
 night. She would never sleep more than three hours, 
 were she even to rest upon a bed of down." 
 
 The peasant would have continued to pour out all his 
 knowledge of that singular old woman, had not Florian 
 been fearful of losing her, if he staid to listen any longer. 
 He therefore thanked the peasant, and ran away at full 
 speed. 
 
 At length he got sight of her figure in the distance. 
 She left the high road, moved across the fields, and then 
 made straight for the mountains. He followed her, until 
 he arrived at the bed of a dried-up rivulet, not far from 
 which were several black, sooty huts, situated between 
 hills, out of whose chimneys rose a thick, black smoke. 
 He entered one that was open, and the peculiar scent 
 they emitted nearly suffocated him. The people were melt- 
 
THE FUGITIVE OP THE JURA. 
 
 51 
 
 ing asphaltum, which they had dug up in the neighbour- 
 hood. A bed of marl a few feet below the earth had been 
 blackened and entirely saturated by that mineral oil, the 
 spring of which is still unknown. 
 
 In a dark corner of the hut sat Mother Morne. Florian 
 did not observe her until she called out to him, " Welcome, 
 Fugitive, to La Combe ! " Saying this, she arose, walked 
 out of the hut, and gave him a sign with her crutch to 
 attend her. He obeyed the summons, and followed her as 
 she went with rapid strides along the stony bed of the tor- 
 rent to the mountain cliff. When on the way to it, she 
 asked him, " Whither are you going ? " He told her the 
 good reception he had met with at Standard's house, and the 
 motive he had in going to Neufch&tel. 
 
 Suddenly she interrupted him by asking, " Whom hast 
 thou met on the road ? " 
 
 Florian was startled, and said, " I was just going to ask 
 that of you, Mother Morne." 
 
 She remained standing before him, and repeated her 
 question. He answered, " I saw you in the village of 
 Travers, but I very soon lost sight of you, and have fol- 
 lowed you a great distance." 
 
 " Spare the maiden's peace ! " retorted the Sybil. 
 
 " What maiden, Mother Morne 1 " inquired Florian. 
 
 " She whom thou sawest for the first time in a large 
 garden, between two streams. Thou hast found her 
 again, and it is on her account that thou hast followed me 
 hither." 
 
 Florian's astonishment was not less than it had been the 
 day before on the Gros Taureau. There seemed to be 
 something almost supernatural about the woman. How 
 could she know the secrets of his heart ? especially that 
 secret which he never had divulged ? He told her of his 
 meeting with the ladies of the iron chain, and of his con- 
 
52 
 
 FLOKIAN I 
 
 versation with them ; and requested her to inform him who 
 the unknown beauty was that bore the name of Hermione, 
 and who was her companion, where she lived, and whither 
 she was going ? 
 
 Mother Morne rubbed her brown, withered hand across 
 her forehead, and said with a gloomy countenance — " She 
 will tell thee herself better than I know. But spare the 
 maiden's peace ! Thou comest to our land like the warm 
 wind from the south. Let no one trust that breeze ! It 
 fills the heavens with clouds and storms, and strikes the 
 earth with hail and lightning." 
 
 " How ! Hermione will tell me herself? " — exclaimed 
 Florian — " Shall I then see her once more 1 When ? 
 Where ? Tell me, Mother Morne, and you will secure my 
 lasting gratitude." 
 
 " No ! nothing more," cried the old woman. " There 
 is in the highest heavens, and the deepest abyss, none who 
 can unveil the future, excepting the evil one, since thus he 
 cuts up the roots of all happiness ; faith, love, and hope ! 
 What doest thou want of me ] Who has told thee that I 
 am gifted with the spirit of vaticination ? " 
 
 " Do not be angry, mother," replied the fugitive. " You 
 have already told me many things that have excited my 
 astonishment, because no one but myself could be advised 
 of it." 
 
 " Indeed ! " muttered Mother Morne angrily ; " what I 
 know, I know from yourself. I only hear with sharper ears, 
 and see with clearer eyes." 
 
 " Have you then no answer to give me, to my innocent 
 question, where Hermione lives, and who she is ? " 
 
 " I have told thee already," — said the Sybil, — " thou 
 wilt hear it from herself." 
 
 " Indeed ! but have you no advice to give me ? " asked 
 Florian. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 53 
 
 " Beware ! " was her reply. 
 
 " Of whom ?" he inquired. 
 
 " Of thyself," announced the oracle. 
 
 Florian offered her a few pieces of money. " Take this 
 trifle, Mother Morne." — She dashed his money to the 
 ground, turned her face, walked toward the ravine, and was 
 soon lost among the bushes. 
 
 " The old woman is right, Beware of thyself ! " he 
 repeated after her, as he slowly walked away. " She has 
 discovered the turbulent excitement of this breast, and the 
 consuming flame of my fancy. Am I not on the high road 
 to all the follies of passion ? " — He whistled a tune, endea- 
 voured earnestly to dissipate his thoughts ; seated himself 
 in his carriage, and arrived late in the night at Neuf- 
 chatel. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Developments. 
 
 The affair which drew him to the old castle on the height, 
 and to the Governor's house, to obtain a secure abode in 
 the Prussian territory, was soon despatched ; but much 
 longer was he detained by the sempstress, the shoemaker, 
 and the tailor, for he was compelled to clothe himself from 
 head to foot ; and having soon inspected all that was 
 worthy of being seen, his time passed on tardily in spite of 
 his constant wanderings about the precincts of the city, 
 and notwithstanding the charming views of the distant 
 chain of the Alps, which he had across the extensive 
 neighbouring lake. 
 
 One evening he sauntered through the city, to the spot 
 where the streets open irregularly, towards the borders of 
 
5i 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 the lake. There the whole scene was enlivened by fisher- 
 men, labourers, and rustics, preparing to return across the 
 lake to their respective homes. When he arrived at the stone 
 bridge across the Seyon, which there empties into the lake, 
 he observed a man in black, leaning over the parapet of the 
 bridge, looking intently into the dry bed over which flow 
 the mountain torrents. It was a figure not to be mistaken, 
 for Florian immediately recognised the Professor Onyx. 
 
 The fugitive rejoiced at seeing his philosophical ac- 
 quaintance, and hastened to his side ; but he addressed him 
 in vain. The professor did not allow himself to be dis- 
 turbed in his meditations. At length the Grison awoke 
 him out of his revery, by striking him on the shoulder. 
 The professor looked at him with amazement, but his sur- 
 prise instantly became unbounded joy, when he recognised 
 the intruder. 
 
 " Friend of my soul !" exclaimed Onyx, shaking him 
 heartily by the hand, and eyeing Florian's dress ; " you 
 are so entirely metamorphosed that I scarcely recognised 
 you in this neat figure. What brings you to Neufchatel ? 
 Are you going to leave the country already ? Eh ! did I not 
 tell you that you would not be able to endure it long, among 
 these half savages ? " 
 
 Florian was about to explain the motive that he had in 
 visiting that town ; but Mr. Onyx scarcely paid any atten- 
 tion to him ; and pointing with his hand across the balus- 
 trade into the Seyon, he said with a gesture of great indig- 
 nation, " See there, my friend, the evidence of the un- 
 pardonable negligence and helplessness of the people here. 
 A broad river-bed, walled on both sides with hewn stone, 
 instead of having water in it — the world will never believe 
 it — it is filled with mud, filth, and slime, that would poison 
 the air with its pestiferous miasms, had not the wind some 
 
THE FUGITIVE OP THE JURA. 
 
 55 
 
 compassion on these ignorant people. Now, sir, you must 
 know that this stream, which at present has scarcely enough 
 of water in it to wet a person's feet, overflows at other times 
 its banks, threatens the town with danger, and already has 
 done incalculable mischief. It would be real child's play 
 to manage this stream so as to yield water enough all the 
 year round, to work factories and mills, to render its super- 
 abundance of water harmless, and to lead it off in channels 
 for the fertilizing of the soil. The tyrant of this district 
 having been made its slave, would then bring the people of 
 Neufchatel a profit — I have calculated it to a sous — of 
 several hundred thousand livres annually. The expenses 
 of the construction would be repaid in a few years." 
 
 " But, as far as I know," said Florian, " this stream is 
 fed by rain and snow from the mountains. What remedy 
 can you prescribe against the good and ill humour of the 
 heavens 1 " 
 
 " Friend of my soul ! " cried Onyx, " we must not en- 
 deavour to cure the heavens, but the human mind. On this 
 side of Valangin, where the stream has its deep and narrow 
 bed, between very steep rocks, I would dam it up, construct 
 an enormous reservoir, and lead the swollen water, by 
 means of canals, to the right and left, for the purpose of 
 watering the land, and working mills below the water-fall ; 
 then in the time of drought, I would draw the water out of 
 the reservoir, and — and, I have all the plan in my head, and 
 am now busily engaged in laying it out on paper, with the 
 necessary calculations, levellings, ground plans, elevations, 
 and the estimate of the whole cost." 
 
 The professor became so excited, that he immediately 
 took forth his tablets, and began to draw with his lead- 
 pencil. He spoke with so much zeal, as to attract the 
 attention of the passers by, who remained standing in a 
 circle around him. Florian persuaded him to postpone the 
 
56 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 explanation of his plan, and to accompany him to the inn, 
 where they would take their supper. 
 
 The fugitive's last proposal was very pleasing to Mr. 
 Onyx. As they passed through the town, under the stone 
 arcades that run along the houses, Florian asked Mr. Onyx 
 what had induced him to come to Neufchatel. 
 
 " I have some important plans to communicate to the 
 government," replied the professor, "which makes an 
 oral explanation indispensable. I think the matter will be 
 taken into consideration ; and if it is, my fortune is made. 
 I shall then marry, and establish myself here. I am in 
 love ! You scarcely would believe this of a man who is 
 engaged in so many, and such grave pursuits as I am ; 
 but I love the most charming being on earth. I tell you her 
 name in confidence, Mademoiselle Delory. I am not 
 entirely destitute, but the young lady is of a good family 
 and accustomed to certain conveniences of life ; hence my 
 income must be increased. I should be rich enough to 
 satisfy my own few wants, but what will not a person do 
 for a beloved wife ! " 
 
 "I congratulate you, professor!" said Florian. 
 
 " Yes, truly," Onyx answered ; " what other motive could 
 I have to make this town my future place of residence ? 
 Do you think these vaulted walks could induce me, or this 
 abortion of Burgundian architecture, against which I have 
 so vehemently and vainly declaimed, both here and in 
 Berne. If such arcades were spacious, broad, and high- 
 vaulted, their imposing grandeur would at least reconcile 
 one to the many disadvantages now attached to them. But 
 they being narrow, low, and something like sewers 
 erected above the ground, persons, when they meet, pass 
 each other with the greatest difficulty, and cannot forbear 
 suffering amid all that disagreeable odour which changes its 
 flavour at every house. They make their halls and rooms 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 57 
 
 on the ground-floor, damp and gloomy. The rooms hang, 
 ing over the arcades are cold, and afflict the pedestrian by 
 the alternate and continual changes of cold and warm air, 
 with sudden chills, toothache, sore-throats, rheumatism, 
 coughs, and all the other evils attendant on colds. By my 
 troth, I am greatly alarmed about the delicate health of 
 Mademoiselle Delory. But what am I to do ? She is ac- 
 customed to live in large cities, and I cannot blame her for 
 it. Were I to take her to the Siberian climate of La C6te- 
 aux-Fees or Les Bayards, she would perish in the first win- 
 ter, like a pine-apple in an open garden-bed." 
 
 " How," said Fiorian, " does your bride live on La Cote- 
 aux-Fees, or at Les Bayards ?" 
 
 "Only in the summer months," rejoined the philoso- 
 pher, " like an exotic flower. In winter it would be im- 
 possible. Only conceive an elevation from three to four 
 thousand feet above the level of the ocean, with the atmos- 
 phere from twenty to thirty degrees below zero. She 
 would not survive one single winter. I have, however, 
 promised her, in mere jest, to plant the whole mountains 
 with odoriferous hermiones, despite the polar climate." 
 
 At these words, the friends entered Florian's room. 
 The name of Hermione had fettered all the Grison's 
 thoughts. He heard nothing more of the Professor's ob- 
 servations, who was now comfortably fixed on the sofa, and 
 descanting most zealously on the means of meliorating the 
 condition of the climate. 
 
 " Professor, you mentioned the name of Hermione, just 
 now," said Fiorian ; " you would fill the whole mountains 
 with Hermiones ? " 
 
 "Do not misunderstand me, friend of my soul," replied 
 Professor Onyx, with a roguish chuckle, " it was not 
 meant exactly so, badly as it sounds. I have been these 
 three years engaged in compiling a Burgundian Flora. It 
 4 
 
66 
 
 FLORIAN ; 
 
 will be a precious work. In this remote corner of the 
 earth there are some rare specimens of herbs, unknown as 
 yet ttf any botanist. I have already discovered and deline- 
 ated seventeen new species. Among them is a plantain of 
 pyramidal growth, a lovely, delicate plant, which bears a 
 pale red blossom, the species of which, I think, has never 
 been described in any essay on botany. This flower, I 
 have called hermione, in honour of Mademoiselle Delory." 
 
 " Hold ! " suddenly interrupted Florian. " Is this Her- 
 mione, Mademoiselle Delory, one and the same person 1 
 Does she now dwell on La Cote-aux-Fees ? and is she 
 there on a visit ? " 
 
 " To be sure," answered Onyx ; " properly speaking, 
 she is a native of Lyons, but for several years she has 
 lived near Besancon, at a place belonging to her step- 
 father, with whom I have no acquaintance. For these two 
 years past, she has spent the beautiful season on La Cote 
 aux-Fees, and thus it is but right that my plant should bear 
 her name. The hermione is certainly a native of these 
 mountain crags." 
 
 " I think I know her," said the Fugitive ; " I found her 
 accidentally by the iron chain, between the rocks, above 
 St. Sulpice." 
 
 " Right I right ! it may be found there too, but rarely," 
 retorted the florist. 
 
 " Of slender growth, like the lily ? "—asked Florian. 
 
 " Wrong ! it always creeps on the ground," answered 
 Onyx, " I have never seen it upright." 
 
 " You jest, professor," rejoined the Grison. 
 
 "No I do not; lam serious," returned the professor; 
 " always on the ground, with small leaves, dentated at the 
 edge." 
 
 " I am talking of Mademoiselle Delory," said Florian. 
 "And I, of my hermione," replied Onyx. "You can 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 59 
 
 easily understand, that I call the lady mine only when 
 she is my wife. But if you wish it, I will bring you im- 
 mediately a dried specimen of my floweret, the hermione." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Florian, " could you but show me a speci- 
 men of the lady instead — I mean a portrait^that I might 
 be convinced we both mean the same person." 
 
 " I can do that too, sir," answered On^x ; " but without 
 sacrilege, I could not bring it to you here. It is too late 
 to climb up the old cathedral to-day, but to-morrow you 
 shall see a statue of one of the young countesses of Neuf- 
 chatel. You would swear that it is the precise counterpart 
 of Mademoiselle Delory. I believe it is the beautiful Isa- 
 bel, daughter of Count Louis, the last lord of the ancient 
 house of Xeufchatel, who three or four hundred years ago 
 was buried in this cathedral with helmet and buckler." 
 
 "We will go to-morrow, my dear professor," rejoined 
 Florian. " I envy you, if that Hermione whom I have 
 seen is your love. But I am almost inclined to doubt it. 
 I would describe her to you ; but where shall I find words 
 to give an adequate idea of that lovely form, of those grace- 
 ful motions, of that dignified, yet sweet eye ? Every one 
 of those light-brown ringlets, that play about her snow- 
 white neck, bears in it a peculiar charm." 
 
 " Right, sir ! you have hit her every feature," exclaimed 
 Onyx. 
 
 "And are you sure, my dear professor," inquired the 
 Fugitive, " of being the object of this earthly angel's af- 
 fection ? " 
 
 " Most certainly," Onyx affirmed, " for Hermione cannot 
 hate any person, and why should she hate me ? I carry 
 her plants ; I choose books for her to read — I — she loves 
 me ; that is a settled matter." 
 
 " Has she confessed her love for you 1 " asked Florian, 
 " and is she resolved to become your wife ? " 
 
60 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 " Sir, that is a ticklish point," declared the philosopher ; 
 u I have not heard her speak of that. I have never dared 
 to mention the subject to her. I do not know how to be- 
 gin it. You know how young ladies think about such 
 matters. I postpone that part of the affair until all the 
 preparations are made. Then the declaration, the propo- 
 sal, the betrothment, and the wedding shall follow in 
 quick succession. It is impossible for her to refuse me 
 any thing. I know her too well." 
 
 Florian could not refrain from smiling at the professor's 
 good-nature and simplicity. "But how, professor, if in 
 the end," asked the Grison, " she should refuse to accept 
 your hand? " 
 
 " Why, that would be amazing," cried Onyx. " That 
 is impossible ! She knows how dear she is to me, and — 
 no ! friend of my soul — I tell you it is impossible. She al- 
 ways calls me her dear professor, and you perceive, my 
 friend, that young ladies are not very liberal with such ten- 
 der expressions towards unmarried young men. Hermi- 
 one also takes my part very warmly, when Claudine be- 
 gins to war against me, and that in itself is of some sig- 
 nificance." 
 
 " Who is Claudine ? " inquired Florian. 
 
 " Oh, she is a wild, flighty, whimsical, pert, snappish, 
 saucy little minx," was the professor's portraiture. 
 
 " With black, glittering eyes ; and young Standard's 
 bride ? " asked the fugitive. 
 
 " Quite right — the same," was the reply of Onyx. 
 " Poor George, it will not be long before he has a con- 
 sumption, when once he is married ; for young teazers 
 become old quarrelers. Whenever she sees me, she 
 plays me a thousand tricks. True, she is pretty, but I am 
 really afraid of the mischievous little minx. It is to me 
 astonishing, how those two young ladies can remain 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 (51 
 
 friends, and live under the same roof together. But 
 Madam Bell, Claudine's mother and the aunt of Hermi- 
 one, is a sensible woman. She understands how to keep 
 order in her house." 
 
 Florian detained the talkative Onyx until midnight, for 
 he liked just as much to hear the family of La Cote-aux- 
 Fees spoken of, as the professor was willing to depict 
 them. 
 
 CHATTER X. 
 
 The Statues. 
 
 On the following morning, when both the fugitive and the 
 professor were about to sally forth from the inn, and to 
 climb up the steep street, at the top of which, close to the 
 old castle, the cathedral lifts its gray, majestic walls, that 
 have defied the storms and the decay of time for seven 
 hundred years, a sergeant, sent by the governor, came to 
 meet them. " My friend," called out the professor, who 
 already knew him, " do you come to see me ? Has the 
 governor sent for me ? Has he read my statement 1 
 Have you any notion of what he thinks of it ? Has he not 
 dropped a word about my plans ? Only deliver your mes- 
 sage to the letter ; tell me what the expression of his 
 countenance was, when he read, and I will tell you what 
 the governor purposes doing." 
 
 This time, however, Professor Onyx was mistaken. 
 The sergeant inquired for a Mr. Florian, with an order to 
 present himself, without fail, in less than an hour, at the 
 governor's house. Onyx, whom a glimpse of hope had ex- 
 panded and exalted, collapsed again, just as suddenly ; and 
 the round, serene features of his countenance assumed 
 
62 FLORIAN : 
 
 • 
 
 their angular, cool, and natural uniformity. Florian pro- 
 mised to obey the summons. 
 
 While on their way, the professor called for the sacristan 
 of the church, who, with kind readiness, ran up the stone 
 steps, unlocked the door of the antique temple, and permit- 
 ted the strangers to enter. He conducted them to the sep- 
 ulchre of Louis, count of Neufchatel, a group composed of 
 nine male and four female statues, large as life, all in the 
 costume of the fourteenth century, standing together in the 
 attitude of prayer. Although Time in several places had 
 not spared the noble features of those majestic forms, there 
 was nevertheless a family likeness perceptible in all of 
 them. Each of them bore that dignity and grace which 
 acts like an invisible charm upon the heart, and fills it with 
 love and respect. 
 
 " See there, see there ! friend of my soul !" cried Profes- 
 sor Onyx, eagerly, pointing with his finger to one of the 
 countesses whose youthful figure he thought resembled that 
 of Hermione. " Am I not right ?" 
 
 " Perfectly," said Florian, with a smile, " if one would 
 call a little optical illusion to his assistance." 
 
 The deathlike stillness that reigned throughout this spa- 
 cious edifice, and the faint rays which fell through the long 
 pointed windows, and gave to every object a more solemn 
 appearance, with the stream of light which poured in through 
 the open door and illuminated the statues, filled Florian's 
 heart with a feeling of awe. His imagination breathed 
 life into those grave-stone figures of antiquity. The pale 
 cheeks of the statues seemed to receive a living hue, and 
 the bosom of the countess appeared to rise and fall with 
 gentle breathings. He saw among the shades of the others, 
 her who was said to bear a resemblance to Hermione grow- 
 ing more light, until he imagined Hermione 's figure itself 
 standing among the group, and in the deception which his 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 63 
 
 own imagination practised on him, all the others soon van- 
 ished from his sight. 
 
 While Florian was thus lost to every object around him, 
 the sacristan lifted a glove from the pedestal of the coun- 
 tess. Having examined it attentively, he said, shaking his 
 head, " Yes, the two young ladies of last Tuesday ; they 
 were the last. It belongs to one of them, and she has for- 
 gotten it. I should like to know whether they are still in 
 the town." • 
 
 Florian looked at the glove, listened, and remembered 
 immediately the ladies whom he had met on his way to 
 Neufchatel. He described them with such precision that 
 the sacristan gave him the glove, and said, "They must be 
 the same. The taller of the two, with the brown hair, took 
 off her glove here, and I saw her as she placed it on the 
 pedestal ; but I forgot to remind her of it, and so it was left 
 here. If you are acquainted with her, I request you to re- 
 turn it." 
 
 Florian did not refuse. An agreeable sensation ran 
 through him when his finger touched the glove that had 
 perhaps enclosed Hermione's beautiful hand. He folded up 
 the treasure, and concealed it. The professor returned from 
 another part of the church, whither he had gone to calcu- 
 late the proportions of the length, width, and height of the 
 edifice. 
 
 " Every time I look upon an old church I am vexed," 
 exclaimed Onyx ; "it is ever the body of a giant with the 
 head of a child ; always a tortoise, out of which peeps a 
 small, wee-bit of a head. It is very evident that, at the 
 commencement of the edifice, when the devotion was great 
 and money was in abundance, enormous foundations were 
 laid, from which one might have imagined they should re- 
 ceive a superstructure whose spires were designed to reach 
 to the heavens. Afterward the devotions became chill, the 
 
64 floria^ : 
 
 • 
 
 purses were empty, and they added a steeple like a sentry- 
 box, or like a fence-rail. The minsters of Strasburg and 
 Freyburg have an appearance of grandeur. The spire in 
 Berne is too short by at least one half; but this at Neuf- 
 chatel is like a hump on the back of a dromedary." 
 
 After the professor had exhausted his instructive disserta- 
 tion on the architecture tf the ancients, and had compared 
 them to poets who, in the end, sometimes lose their breath 
 and inspiration ; and then again to children who, after hav- 
 ing built a house of cards, are fearful of placing the last on 
 the top, lest the whole should tumble together — Florian ob- 
 served, that it was time for him to obey his summons, and 
 present himself at the governor's house. The professor 
 premised to await his return ; and in the meantime to give 
 the sacristan a minute exposition, how buildings might be 
 most advantageously planned and erected, and at the same 
 time have all the architectural proportions in every part. 
 
 Florian walked to the castle, and across the vacant, spa- 
 cious outer yard, into the old citadel, over the principal en- 
 trance of which was displayed, in enormous size, the prince- 
 ly heraldic symbol of Neufchatel, and also the stiff eagle of 
 Prussia, strangely ornamented with a crown on his head, a 
 sceptre in one claw, and an apple in the other. The ser- 
 geant who had brought him the summons, met him imme- 
 diately on his entrance, and conducted him into a large an- 
 tique room. An elderly gentleman, with snow-white, pow- 
 dered hair, speedily made his appearance. He scarcely 
 returned the bow of the ypung Grison ; but drew forth a 
 snuff-box, and leisurely took an enormous pinch, while he 
 surveyed Florian from head to foot. 
 
 " I am sorry," said the gentleman, " to inform you, that 
 your stay in this principality must not be of long duration. A 
 writ for your apprehension, accompanied with a description 
 of yourself, and for the delivery of your person, sent by the 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 65 
 
 adjoining French department, has come to my hands. Not 
 far from Pontarlier you greatly abused, and endangered the 
 lives of two French soldiers. Besides, you are accused of 
 being one of those who instigated the peasants in the Gri- 
 sons to rebellion, and who caused the massacre of the 
 French troops at Disentis." 
 
 Florian was preparing to justify himself, but the old gen- 
 tleman said, " It is all the same," taking again a pinch of 
 snuff ; " it is not our office to inquire into that affair, but to 
 tell you how matters stand with you. Prussia and France 
 are on terms of amity, to which circumstance this principal- 
 ity is indebted for her peace. While Switzerland is over- 
 flowing with French troops, we dare not offer the French 
 government the slightest occasion or pretext for well-found- 
 ed complaints. We have strict instructions from Berlin to 
 that effect. Therefore get yourself ready, and depart im- 
 mediately. I give you this friendly warning. If within an 
 hour you are still found here, you will be arrested. There- 
 fore — " The old gentleman then made a motion with his 
 hand, and a slight bow, which plainly signified that the 
 young Grison might withdraw. 
 
 " I acknowledge your excellency's kindness," said Flo- 
 rian ; " but where can I go, when in your canton I cannot 
 be protected against French tyranny 1 " 
 
 " That I cannot help," replied the gentleman, and turned 
 to leave the room ; " you know what you have to depend 
 upon." 
 
 "To be either imprisoned for life or guillotined," ex- 
 claimed the fugitive. " That I know. To France I can- 
 not go, and still less into the Cantons of Berne and Solo- 
 thurne, where every place is swarming with French troops. 
 How can I escape to Germany, when the whole country 
 round is beset with French power ? " 
 
 " I cannot help that ; you know what you have to depend 
 4* 
 
66 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 upon," said the old gentleman, looking back as he was 
 leaving the room. 
 
 "Then it would be better," rejoined the Grison, "if I 
 were to be imprisoned immediately. Why should I, a fu- 
 gitive, drag myself fruitlessly away to prolong my life for a 
 few miserable days ? I do not fear death." 
 
 " I cannot help that," said the old gentleman, opening a 
 side door ; " you know what you have to depend upon." 
 
 Saying this, he vanished, leaving the fugitive to himself. 
 Florian stared around him, undecided what to do, and then 
 walked rapidly out of the citadel, towards the place before 
 the church. The professor and sacristan both had depart- 
 ed. Florian, who was occupied by matters of more mo- 
 ment, abruptly turned with a firm step back to the town, 
 purchased a sabre, a pair of pistols, powder, bullets, and 
 bullet-mould, paid his host, hired a carriage to Locle and 
 Brevine, packed up his effects, and left Neufchatel without 
 delay. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 The Return. 
 
 Florian firmly resolved not to leave the mountains of 
 Neufchatel, being convinced that he could no where be so 
 secure as in those remote solitudes of the Highlands, where 
 almost any of the numerous huts scattered about the mount- 
 ains, offered a various temporary refuge from pursuit. 
 Moreover, if he should be surprised, he could depend as 
 much on the kindness of the inhabitants, as on his sword 
 and pistols. When he was near to Genevegs, where the 
 road begins to rise, as he was walking by the side of his 
 
THE FUGITIVE OP THE JURA. 
 
 67 
 
 vehicle, he would throw citrons in the air, and fire at them. 
 He never missed his mark. 
 
 The thought of Stafford's beautiful neighbour fettered 
 him with still greater chains to La Cote-aux-Fees, than the 
 belief of his own safety. Although he could scarcely select 
 a spot nearer to the frontiers of his enemies, from whom he 
 was flying, than just this district ; yet the danger itself 
 had a great share in making the place more beautiful and 
 attractive, as lightning in a storm enhances the brilliancy 
 of a landscape. He remained not an hour in busy Locle, 
 that he might avoid a meeting with a French spy ; but he 
 traversed with celerity the wide, green, treeless valley, full 
 of its city-like buildings, and then continued his route 
 through the silent pastures, and the desolate turf-bottoms of 
 Chaux-du-milier, and Chaux-du-Cachot, towards the wide ele- 
 vated valley Brevine ; where, in the distant back ground, both 
 sides of the uniform long chains of hills appeared to meet. 
 
 In the village La Brienne, he discharged his carriage, 
 and hired a man to carry his portmanteau across Les Bay- 
 ards, to La Cote-aux-Fees. The bar-room was full of 
 men, who, seated beside long tables, were drinking their 
 wine, and engaged in lively conversation. There seemed 
 to be several strangers among them, who in the summer- 
 time visit that neighbourhood, that by the pure air of the 
 highlands, or by using the neighbouring mineral springs, 
 they may strengthen their shattered health. The loud 
 sounding names, Moreau, Suvaroff, Massena, Zurich, 
 Bonaparte, Naples, and St. Jean d'Acre, indicated what 
 subjects were discussed by them. He turned away with a 
 contracted brow, and instead of going into the room, he 
 walked to the right, into the neighbouring church-yard, 
 leaned over the low wall, and cast his eyes over the green 
 carpet spreading towards the mountains and up to heaven. 
 
 " Is there on this globe neither sanctuary, nor solitude " — 
 
68 
 
 floriak : 
 
 he murmured — " that is not polluted by the mention of names 
 to which are attached the remembrances of all the worst 
 human passions, and all the misery that now torments the 
 world ! Is it not committing a crime against the majesty 
 and innocence of nature, to disturb the tranquillity and so- 
 lemnity of these barren and peaceful mountains, with con- 
 versations, at the subjects of which the better heart of man 
 will revolt in after centuries ? " 
 
 " So it is you, nevertheless ! " exclaimed the voice of 
 George Staffard ; and Florian felt an arm encircling his 
 waist. George, who was seated among the guests of the 
 inn, thought he recognised his friend through the window ; 
 but being not quite certain, on account of the neatness of 
 his attire, he had followed the fugitive. Both the friends 
 experienced heartfelt delight, at seeing each other. 
 
 "I feel greatly rejoiced at your return," exclaimed 
 George — "we shall not part again." 
 
 " Like an angel you appear to me amid these graves," 
 said Florian. " I will stay with you as long as I may ; but 
 I am still a fugitive and an outlaw upon these grounds. 
 The government of Neufchatel fears to yield me its protection. 
 I consequently shall wander about, a mark for any one to 
 level his shaft upon, and must rely upon the swiftness of my 
 feet and the strength of my arm alone, if I would avoid fall- 
 ing into the clutches of the hangman and his accomplices. 
 My person has been demanded of the authorities of Neufcha- 
 tel, as my having taken flight and found refuge here is no 
 longer a secret." 
 
 " You are as secure on La C6te-aux-F es, as if you were 
 sitting in the moon," replied the Swiss. " We have already- 
 proclaimed you to our neighbours, as a relative come from 
 Germany, to pay us a visit. They are satisfied with that ac- 
 count : but there are two women who would not swallow 
 the fiction. One of them is an old, half-crazy, eccentric, 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 69 
 
 unruly creature, whom we call Mother Morne, a woman as 
 ugly as sin. She shook her head when we spoke of you, 
 and said — " Your shift is very well : stick to it. There are 
 already people in the land who are upon his track ; but he 
 must not be found." 
 
 " I know that old woman," said Florian ; and he told 
 George how he had become acquainted with her. 
 
 " She is found every where ; but being of a kind disposi- 
 tion, she is never disturbed," was George's reply. " She 
 is continually roving about ; hears much, sees much, and 
 consequently knows much ; and she sincerely believes that 
 it is through the whisperings of supernatural beings, by di- 
 vine revelation. I think her brain received a shock from 
 fanaticism. She looks upon herself as a being of a superior 
 kind, and as one who holds immediate communion with 
 God and the invisible spirits. But it appears that you must 
 also know the other, who shakes her head at our invention. 
 She is a cousin of my Claudine, a Mademoiselle Delory. 
 You saw her and Claudine at the chain." 
 
 Florian related his adventure with the girls. " But why," 
 he asked, " would she not credit what you and your father 
 said in regard to myself?" 
 
 " I really cannot tell," answered his friend ; " after we 
 had been speaking of you, she took me a little aside, looked 
 at me with her piercing eye, and asked, * George,' for she 
 always calls me George, and I address her as Hermione : 
 1 George, why will you, or why must you throw a mystery 
 about this stranger ? He is not from Germany, and I much 
 doubt whether he is related to you.' I of course was 
 somewhat startled at the question. If you cannot believe 
 me, replied I, I would at least request of you to act as if you 
 did. You know, Hermione, that in these days some vir- 
 tues must take to flight, like light shunning sin : while 
 there are personified crimes, which strut about as if they 
 
70 
 
 FLORIAX : 
 
 were triumphant virtues. Hermione looked me, at these 
 words, solemnly in the face, mused a little while, then nod- 
 ded, as if assenting to what I said ; and asked not any fur- 
 ther questions." 
 
 Florian's heart swelled with delight, on hearing this state- 
 ment. It appeared to him as if he were of greater import- 
 ance to the world, since Hermione deemed it worth her 
 while to sacrifice even but one thought in regard to his fate. 
 The certainty of again finding her on La Cdte-aux-Fees, 
 who had so long dwelt in his memory, increased his anxie- 
 ty and impatience to reach Staffard's house. 
 
 The young men proceeded towards the huts of Bremont, 
 and passed the singular mountain-lake of Etaliers, the wa- 
 ters of which eventually fall into subterraneous outlets and 
 then vanish. But as they climbed the rocky mountain-path 
 to Les Bayards, they were met by five armed pedestrians, 
 who, by their uniform, belonged to the French army. They 
 inquired the way, and Florian thought they eyed him rather 
 keenly. He would have been inclined to consider this 
 opinion merely a vain suspicion, had not one of them, as 
 they were proceeding on their way, said, in a rather loud 
 tone of voice, " it is certainly he !" 
 
 Amid friendly conversation, the friends reached the deso- 
 late elevation, whence the view opened on the huts of Les 
 Bayards, scattered about between pastures, clumps of fir, 
 and rugged rocks ; and on the other side of the valley of 
 Les Verrieres, appeared as a dark wood, the mountain-side 
 of La C6te-aux-Fees. The afternoon had been very sultry, 
 and George felt fatigued. The friends sat down on a rock 
 to enjoy rest for a few minutes, whilst the carrier of Florian's 
 portmanteau walked rapidly on, to announce their speedy 
 arrival to George's father. 
 
 " By my troth," exclaimed George, "I believe those are 
 the same blue coats who met us on the mountain, and 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 71 
 
 inquired their way ! What do they mean by coming 
 back ?" 
 
 "I think we shall soon learn," said Florian. 
 
 In fact, the same men, who a little while before had de- 
 scended the mountains, were now ascending it. They ap- 
 proached the wanderers with firm steps, and remained stand- 
 ing before them. 
 
 " Gentlemen, pardon the abruptness of my question, but 
 whither are you going ? " said he of the blues, who appeared 
 to be the principal. 
 
 " To Les Bayards, down the mountain," replied Florian. 
 
 " Then we shall have the honour to accompany you. I 
 would also request of you to conduct us to the nearest castel- 
 lan or major, in case you should not think fit to show us 
 your passports, and other papers freely, for you are not of 
 this country." 
 
 " Who tells you so ?" cried George abruptly, anticipating 
 danger to his friend. 
 
 " This brown wart, close to that gentleman's left ear," 
 said the blue coat, pointing with his finger to a small mole 
 on Florian's cheek. 
 
 " And what else ? " asked Florian calmly. 
 
 "You have escaped from your guards, and are the 
 murderer of this soldier's comrade," replied he in blue, 
 pointing to one of his men ; whom Florian actually recog- 
 nised as one of the guards that he had left at Pontarlier. 
 
 " The gentleman will not deny it," said the soldier ; taking 
 off his hat, and showing a black patch on his forehead. 
 
 "And if I should not deny it, what then ?" said Florian. 
 
 " In that case you will go with us to the next castellan," 
 observed the leader, "for we shall not leave you again." 
 
 " Thunder," roared George, jumping up. " Do you 
 know, gentlemen, that you are not on French ground, but 
 in the canton of Neufchatel. You are foreigners, and you 
 
72 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 would not be dealt ligntiy with, were you to disturb the 
 safety of the high road." 
 
 " Sir, be silent," replied the leader of the blues, throwing 
 a fiery and commanding look at young Staffard. " Our 
 business is with this murderer. The government of this 
 country consents to his being given up." 
 
 " I would sooner suffer you to break my arms and legs, 
 than endure violence in this open, high road," thundered 
 George, springing to one side, and taking a club from off 
 the ground. " Pack off, ye villains, off, and down the 
 mountains with you," he roared, pointing toward the valley 
 Brevine. 
 
 The Frenchmen appeared in a humour, rather to do any- 
 thing else, than to follow this good counsel. Some laughed ; 
 others exclaimed, " Stop his impertinent mouth." Neither 
 of them, however, was seriously concerned about him ; but 
 they stepped up closer to Florian, who rose rather discon- 
 certed from his seat, and called out to his friend, not to 
 suffer himself to become excited. 
 
 " So you will accompany us to the castellan," said the 
 leader, who had the appearance of a gens-d'arme or 
 custom-house officer. 
 
 " Sir, I go whither I list," retorted the fugitive — " and you 
 may go whence you came. I love liberty and equality, and 
 particularly do I like to be free from you, and people of 
 your kind." 
 
 "Away," roared George, "lest you wish to get your 
 sculls cracked ! " He wielded the club in the air, as if to 
 verify his threat ; when two of the blue coats caught hold 
 of his arm, so firmly, that he could scarcely move. As 
 soon as Florian saw his friend's predicament ; how he 
 twisted and turned to free himself from the unexpected em- 
 brace ; he roared out in a frightful tone of voice, " Loose 
 your grasp ! " 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 73 
 
 At those words, he thrust his foot so powerfully, and with 
 such urgent force against the leader's body, that the tall 
 gentleman lost his breath and balance ; staggered three 
 paces backward, and fell to the ground, like a prostrated 
 pine. At the same moment he seized hold of one of the 
 blue-coats who was standing by his side, and first hurled 
 him, then the other, so forcibly to the earth, that the ground 
 quaked. One lay there like dead ; while the other, impelled 
 by the force of his fall, rolled down the steep of the grassy 
 hill, and remained hanging in the bushes below. When 
 those who, like the Laocoon's snakes, held the furious 
 George still entwined, saw this, they ceased their hold, 
 and ran down the mountain as fast as their feet could carry 
 them. It was in vain that George pursued them for some 
 distance, with uplifted club, showering at the same time 
 the strongest imprecations on their heads. 
 
 On his return, he saw his friend engaged in binding up 
 the Captain's bruised head, with a handkerchief; while 
 the soldier who had been hurled to the ground, approached 
 with groans and timidity, swearing that every bone in his 
 body was broken. He came limping, bent double with 
 pain, and his face besmeared with the dust in which he had 
 wallowed — and he also, who had rolled down the hill, came 
 staggering, like one drunk, with a face as pale as death. 
 
 "You might have spared us this vulgar scene," said 
 Florian, politely, to the leader ; " I do not love to engage in 
 quarrels like these." 
 
 The officer groaned out, " You seem to have more ex- 
 perience in such rustic battles than».I have. As to myself, 
 sir, I am a soldier, and am accustomed to fight with dif- 
 ferent weapons than my fists. Had I a sword with me, I 
 would teach you how to dance and skip." 
 
 "You are very obliging," replied Florian ; "I dance the 
 Francaise very well, but with my sword in hand I should 
 
74 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 play a Grisonne, which would perhaps not please you very 
 much. For the present, I request you to proceed on your 
 journey to Brevine." 
 
 11 Where are my other men ? There are two still miss- 
 ing," said the Captain, seeking them with his eyes, without 
 turning his head. 
 
 " They have run in advance of you, to order your supper 
 in La Brevine," answered the victor ; " you had better run 
 after them, if you like it warm." 
 
 The officer departed slowly, then stopped again, turned 
 round, and said, " Sir, beware of meeting with me, for I 
 shall be on the look-out for you ; and on some warm sum- 
 mer day, with my sword shall run you through the body. 
 My name is Larmagne. Bear me in mind ! " 
 
 "I consider it unnecessary for me to make a similar re- 
 quest of you," said Florian. 
 
 The officer and his companions crept down the mountain 
 towards the valley of La Brevine, uttering curses all the 
 way. Florian and George walked in an opposite direction 
 towards Les Bayards, amusing themselves with their 
 adventure. 
 
 Night had already set in, when they arrived at StafTard's 
 hospitable roof on La Cote-aux-Fees. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 At Home. 
 
 On the next morning, Florian remarked the improvements 
 which his kind and attentive host had made in his little 
 apartment. Between the outer and inner windows, bloomed 
 roses, carnations, and other fragrant flowers. A neat little 
 writing-desk, with numerous drawers made of walnut, and 
 curiously inlaid with maple, graced one side of the room. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 75 
 
 Over his table was spread a dark green cover, very tastefully 
 embroidered with flowers. His bed, covered with linen of 
 snowy whiteness, the pillows of which were adorned with 
 silken tassels, stood beside the door. A large mirror with 
 gold frame, hung between the window-curtains. Florian 
 never expected to see such neatness and luxury in a wooden 
 farm-house ; and least of all among those solitary mountains. 
 
 " Friend," said the elder StafFard, " what nature denies 
 us, we must supply by art. Here, in these mountains, the 
 winter lasts from eight to nine months. During that time 
 we are compelled to keep within doors, and we must 
 therefore make our narrow world as agreeable as possible. 
 Italians, Spaniards, and the French can pass the greater 
 part of the year in the open air ; in consequence of which, 
 their habitations are neglected. The south knows the 
 charms of a public life ; but the north, as an indemnification, 
 experiences the comforts of a domestic fire-side. Wo to 
 the wretch who wants either ! and truly, my friend, we 
 mountaineers find, in the end, a beautiful artificial summer 
 in the winter, just as charming as the sun-burnt southern- 
 ers feel an artificial winter in their summer-sun." 
 
 The elder Staffard and George conducted their guest 
 through the spacious wooden palace. They showed him 
 the long cow-houses in the principal and other buildings, 
 the extensive storehouses for the preservation of the hay, 
 during the long winter months ; the cheese magazines, the 
 cool dairy, and all the establishments of those rustic occupa- 
 tions. Staffard had formerly carried on an extensive trade 
 in watches and lace. His son had been twice, and he 
 himself five times, in the United States of America. For a 
 long time they had traversed Europe in all directions ; but 
 finally, after having accumulated a large fortune, they had 
 given up a life of roving, and bought large tracts of land 
 in the valleys and on the mountains of Switzerland. 
 
70 
 
 FLOKIAN : 
 
 His neighbours considered the elder Stafford a man of 
 wealth, great experience, and sound sense. Moreover, his 
 hospitality and honesty were widely celebrated. His 
 horned cattle, and his cheeses, which he exported to France 
 and England under the name of Gray ere, were sought after 
 by foreigners. Young artists, and beginners, who went up 
 from the valleys to see him, to ask his advice, or a loan of 
 money, seldom left his house dissatisfied. 
 
 One morning, as they ascended the mountains to visit the 
 scattered herds, Florian soon remarked the unaffected re- 
 spect which, through La Cote-aux-Fees, was everywhere 
 shown to the old man ; from each hut resounded a friendly 
 greeting ; and in all places, the people endeavoured to 
 detain him with friendly conversation. 
 
 " Truly, you are a very happy people here," said Florian, 
 when he looked from the top of the mountain, down into the 
 peaceful valley below, with its scattered huts in the treeless, 
 grassy meadows, and compared the tranquillity of the 
 people with the turbulence and horrors which the war 
 with the French and Austrians had brought into his native 
 land. 
 
 " Every one is, who desires to be so," said the old man. 
 "There are people here too, who are wretched." 
 
 " Those who are wretched, must be so through their own 
 faults," said Florian. 
 
 " As it is every where and always ; were this not so, all 
 people would be happy," added the elder Stafford. 
 
 " Yet it cannot be denied, that outward circumstances 
 are great props to life's felicity," rejoined Florian. 
 
 The old man shook his head, and said, " No, that is ever 
 one of its most pernicious prejudices, from which man 
 draws his bitterest destruction. It is neither rank, nor 
 riches, nor poverty, nor honour, nor a full table, nor any- 
 thing appertaining to these, which conduce to our happi- 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 77 
 
 ness or misery, but our own consideration of those things. 
 Do you not know that kings upon their thrones have cursed 
 their days, and martyrs at the stake have sung hymns 
 of joy, when the red flames were rising above their heads? " 
 
 " Very well, father Staffard," replied the fugitive, " but 
 how would it be, if foreign armies were to invade this 
 silent world, kill your son, destroy your cattle, and burn 
 your dwelling ?" 
 
 " Well, sir, I should lose a great deal," was the old 
 man's rejoinder. M But my son may die without falling by 
 the hand of a foreign foe, and death is no evil to him who 
 is prepared for it. There is no evil, excepting the evil we 
 ourselves commit ; but to enervate, and to habituate our- 
 selves to life's luxuries, those also are evils." 
 
 " But this philosophy ?" said Florian. 
 
 " Hold ! say Christianity," interrupted Staffard. 
 
 " Very well ; but with all these Christian principles, if 
 I may judge by appearances, you are not at all indifferent 
 to outward decencies and enjoyments," Florian replied. 
 
 " As I am within myself, so I like to see the things by 
 which I am surrounded," replied the old man. " There- 
 fore the world is beautiful, because, in whatever man does 
 or is, he presents more or less a counterpart of himself, 
 and gives evidence of his state of mind. Thus the ambi- 
 tious man craves to be idolized, the despot wants slaves, 
 the ignorant man loves ignorance, the fool delights in 
 nonsense, the enlightened man exults in intelligence, and 
 the free man prizes liberty. How could man scorn en- 
 joyments, without scorning himself? " 
 
 Florian was amazed at the mountaineer's wisdom, and 
 by advancing sentiments of his own, and contradicting 
 those of the sage, he delighted to draw out the old man's 
 opinions with regard to numberless other subjects. 
 
 " You are right, father Staffard," Florian said ; " all 1 
 
PLORIAft t 
 
 now see and feel accords with my sentiments, and with my 
 own heart. I find here a great part of my inner life, min- 
 gling with the external real life ; it is consequently en- 
 tirely one with myself. Here, no weakling, no libertine, 
 no sluggard, no voluptuary, no tyrant can feel happy. 
 When in these sterile mountains, I consider the multitude 
 of its inhabitants, and their prosperity, the cleanliness and 
 neatness of their wooden huts, the high state of cultivation 
 of the shepherd families, in these landscapes of meadows, 
 the wonderful arts and industry in these remote solitudes, 
 the sobriety and moderation in this generally distributed 
 state of wealth, I must confess that the C6te-aux-Fees is 
 the happiest spot in all Switzerland." 
 
 " Not so, my friend," interrupted the old man. " Say, 
 rather, you consider yourself happier under such circum- 
 stances, than in any other part of Switzerland, where there 
 is less industry, less enhancement of the beauty of life, less 
 simplicity of manners, and less cultivation of the mind. 
 A thousand others would not be happy here, but at the 
 sight of this poor soil, and its contriving inhabitants, would 
 shrug their shoulders with commiseration, and would ejac- 
 ulate, * It is a spacious work-house, and a useful house of 
 correction.' " 
 
 " But by what means have the inhabitants of this sterile 
 soil attained so high a degree of perfection ?" asked Flo- 
 rian. 
 
 " By those means by which all people may arrive at a 
 greater perfection," answered Staffard. "Hard necessity 
 is the most inventive teacher ; and freedom is the most indus- 
 trious help-mate! Here are moors, swamps, rocks, and 
 long winters ; but here labour and talent are free. Here 
 are neither compulsions, nor oppressive taxes, nor vexa- 
 tious ordinances or edicts, nor swarms of hungry officers 
 and office-hunters ! We have a powerful sovereign, but 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 79 
 
 he lives with his courtiers, and his splendour is at a dis- 
 tance of several hundred miles hence, and we have nothing 
 to pay towards supporting his splendour. He is our pow- 
 erful protector, but our true sovereign is the law we give to 
 ourselves ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 The Visit. 
 
 In the afternoon, Mr. Standard conducted his guest to the 
 house of Madam Bell, whither George had already pre- 
 ceded them. The road ran between small grazing hills, 
 which, most probably, were only pieces of rocks that had 
 rolled down, and were now covered over with earth. 
 Then it stretched towards the mountains, and towards a 
 naked wall of grayish-yellow rock, that could be seen from 
 the whole surrounding country. The elder Staffard talked 
 of Claudine, his son's bride, and with much gratification, of 
 her frugality, hilarity of temper, and of the eccentric obsti- 
 nacy of her mother, Madam Bell. " Claudine long since 
 would have been George's wife" — said he — " and my 
 daughter-in-law, had not, thirty years ago, Madam Bell 
 herself, married on the twelfth of October, which acciden- 
 tally happened to be her birth-day, and is also the birth- 
 day of Claudine, and likewise the day on which her hus- 
 band died, with many other events besides. She thinks 
 heaven has fixed on that day for the occurrence of all the 
 important events of her life, and she is firmly persuaded 
 also that it will be the day of her death. All women have 
 their caprices, which are their secret religion, and to 
 which they often most strictly adhere." 
 
 Staffard talked much, but Florian heard less, the nearer 
 they approached to Madam Bell's house, which being plac- 
 
80 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 ed beside a fenced-in garden, exhibited a very comfortable 
 aspect. This was Florian's arcadia, where, beneath the 
 shingled roofs of the shepherds, dwelt his fancied goddesses. 
 He felt a warm emotion creeping over him, as they passed 
 through the cleanly kitchen into a low, but neat little par- 
 lour. 
 
 Madam Bell received her visitors with busy politeness. 
 Although nearly fifty years of age, her regular and fine 
 features betrayed, that in the days of her youth, her charms 
 had not been less than those of her beautiful daughter 
 Claudine, who was standing, in all a bride's happiness, 
 with George, beside the piano, regarding Florian, while in 
 a friendly manner she saluted him. Madam Bell having 
 invited her guests to be seated, commenced immediately a 
 conversation with the stranger. In her cap she wore a 
 black ribbon, and round her neck a crape kerchief, in 
 memory of her husband, who had died five years previous. 
 But more eloquent than the ribbon or crape, was a mild 
 and deep-settled melancholy, which generally obscured her 
 natural animation, and the friendliness of her countenance, 
 like clouds dense with rain, hiding the cheerful smile of 
 the sun. 
 
 They had scarcely conversed a few minutes, when the 
 door opened, and Hermione entered, in a plain and simple 
 dress. On her head she wore a morning cap, the broad 
 lace of which fell gracefully over her fine forehead and 
 cheeks, without concealing the fulness of her dark, golden 
 tresses, that played about her temples and around her 
 neck. As her eyes fell upon the stranger, who, indeed, 
 was no stranger to her, it appeared as if a ray of the even- 
 ing red had fallen through the window, directly upon her 
 countenance. They all remarked it ; Claudine, however, 
 more plainly than the others. Florian observed it not at 
 all. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 81 
 
 The conversation soon turned to the. principal occurrences 
 of the day, and to the military disquietudes in the neigh- 
 bourhood. It was reported that Wallenstadt, on the lake, 
 a town built between rocks of immense height, had van- 
 ished in flames ; that the Arch-duke Charles had penetra- 
 ted into the heart of Switzerland ; that the Valais had 
 risen in their mountains to assist the Russians and Ger- 
 mans against the French, and that the abbot of St. Gall, 
 and the senate of Zurich and SchafFhausen were striving 
 under the protection of the Austrian bayonets, to enforce 
 their old sovereignty and the old feudal system among the 
 peasantry ; while the Helvetic government at Berne, de- 
 prived of all hope, seemed to be getting ready to do penance 
 in sackcloth and ashes ; for they had diminished their own 
 salaries, laid aside their extraordinary authority, suffered 
 the militia to dissolve and go to their homes, and no longer 
 punished political crimes. 
 
 " That is perfectly right " — said Staffard — " for political 
 and religious principles, and the acts that spring out of ei- 
 ther, cannot be judged by human laws, like murder, theft, 
 or any other crime. How is that act to be punished with 
 death, which, at the distance of a rifle shot, will be the highest 
 privilege ! Political parties in a country are certainly al- 
 ways at war with each other ; yet those who are conquer- 
 ed must not be killed, but be treated as prisoners of war." 
 
 " Ha, father " — exclaimed George — " the Swiss, or rath- 
 er their governors, are cowards every where. They would 
 throw the knife away which they have sharpened for others, 
 fearing their own throats would be cut with it." 
 
 " Shame be upon us," — ejaculated Florian — " we Swiss 
 have become dumb instruments, placed for our mutual de- 
 struction in the hands of foreigners. If the French or Aus- 
 trians do not find it for their interest to raise Switzerland 
 to its former standard, Europe will no longer have a Swit- 
 5 
 
82 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 zerland. And she ha* come to this, through the wretched 
 policy of her senate and the mean cunning of her degener- 
 ate confederates." 
 
 The ladies remarked the deep sorrow which the discus- 
 sion called up in Florian's heart, by the change of his 
 countenance. 
 
 " Men should never lament, hut let their passions lead 
 them onto action" — said Claudine. "Action becomes all 
 persons of strength : the tear and the sigh belong to wo- 
 men ; because in their weakness lies their strength against 
 their lords, the men. You, sir, are certainly one of the 
 strong ones, if not one of the giants — for you gave Her- 
 mione and me a proof it at the chain of St. Sulpice." 
 
 " It might be questioned who of us two proved then the 
 stronger" — replied Florian. 
 
 " Most charming ! " — exclaimed Claudine. — " So you 
 would make us believe that we weak girls had aroused your 
 fear ? No, no ! you could not make us believe that we 
 should ever have had the courage to cast the gauntlet to the 
 feet of him who could stretch that chain." 
 
 " But you have cast it down " — replied Florian, producing 
 the glove which he had found in the cathedral at Neufcha- 
 tel — " and I now return it to the owner, with all due rever- 
 ence." 
 
 As soon as Claudine recognised Hcrmione's lost glove, 
 she gave it to her friend with extravagant laughter. She 
 leaned on Hermione's neck, whispered something in her 
 ear, and laughed still more heartily. Hermione however 
 endeavoured to conceal her embarrassment with forced 
 smiles. She blushed deeply, thanked the finder in a scarce- 
 ly audible tone of voice ; and then added — " But how could 
 you know that this glove belonged to me or to Claudine ? 
 If I am not mistaken I lost it in the streets of Neufchatel." 
 
 Florian informed the ladies with so much good humour 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 and tact, of the accident that had induced him to take the 
 walk to the Cathedra], that all were greatly amused. Her- 
 mione only remained silent, riveting her eyes from time to 
 time, in a fit of musing, upon the glove ; and seemed scarce- 
 ly to notice the conversation, which had become very ani- 
 mated. 
 
 Madam Bell, in the meantime, had arranged the tea- 
 table in the open air. There, in the face of nature, their 
 conversation took a wider range, on the social condition of 
 life. Hermione also began to advance her opinions ; and 
 those who a little while before were almost strangers in the 
 room, gradually inclined towards each other with familiar 
 frankness. Confined within four walls, we observe more 
 conventional rules and domestic circumstances ; but in the 
 open air, and in the face of the majesty and the solemnity 
 of nature, needless ceremony and the stiffness of etiquette 
 become absurd, if not almost ridiculous. 
 
 In the room, Florian could scarcely have sat near Her- 
 mione — could not have offered her his hand or arm when 
 walking, or perhaps would not have directed his discourse 
 to her alone. But all that happened as matters of course, 
 when Staffard was walking with Madam Bell, and George 
 with Claudine. 
 
 They separated at a late hour — and Florian had forgot- 
 ten that he was living on the Jura — a fugitive ! 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Explanations. 
 
 Still and uniform, like the mountain landscape, but on 
 that account no less charming, was the life they led on La 
 Cote-aux-Fees. Father Staffard devoted the greater part of 
 
84 
 
 FLOKIAX : 
 
 the day to the business of the house and the farm, or in writ- 
 ing to his correspondents in France, Italy, and other coun- 
 tries. He had many poor families in the neighbouring val- 
 ley employed in weaving lace on his and Madam Bell's 
 account. George traversed the valleys every week, to give 
 orders for new work, or to pay the workmen. Florian, on 
 the contrary, who had provided himself with books, passed 
 a considerable part of the day in solving mathematical prob- 
 lems. The afternoons were generally passed in Madam 
 Bell's house, or at Mr. Standard's, when the Bell family vis- 
 ited them. Besides, every week they had a regular con- 
 cert on wind instruments, when Florian played the flute to 
 the great delight of the audience. 
 
 The new relation, which necessarily grew out of daily 
 intercourse with Hermione, was so charming, and withal 
 so very strange, that Florian by no means could under- 
 stand it. 
 
 The people on La C6te-aux-Fees, soon became aware 
 what Hermione and Florian were to each other. The el- 
 der StafTard said — " he is an honest man ; let him take his 
 own course, and let no one interfere with it." But Ma- 
 dam Bell felt great inclination to interpose — for the lot of 
 a niece, to whom she stood in the place of a mother, could 
 not be indifferent to her. She wished to know something 
 more of the fugitive. Claudine and George, for their part, 
 immediately agreed that Florian and Hermione would 
 make an excellent wedded pair. Claudine, wishing for the 
 happiness of her associate, was not less ardent than George 
 for his friend. Every one of them had advanced further 
 into the union of the two parties than the principals them- 
 selves. 
 
 M You foolish little coz " — said Claudine to Hermione, 
 one day, " you love him, and cannot deny it, ever since you 
 saw him in the garden at Reichenau, and afterward in the 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 65 
 
 streets of Coire ! Only think of his again appearing to 
 you at the chain ! And then reflect on your morning dream, 
 about the lost glove, and how you felt when it passed into 
 actual fulfilment." 
 
 " May God decide ! " — said Hermione, folding her hands, 
 and lifting her eyes to heaven. 
 
 "You terrify me, Hermione" — rejoined Claudine — 
 " what harm can he have done you since yesterday? " 
 
 " He can harm me no more " — replied Hermione — " he 
 has annihilated me. Fate shook my existence, and it unit- 
 ed with his ; as one trembling dew-drop mingles with an- 
 other." 
 
 " So now we understand each other " — said Claudine — 
 "you mean that you cannot live without him." 
 
 "Believe me, Claudine" — said her friend — "that which 
 you call love — what others do from choice, affection or cal- 
 culation — is with me and Florian a law of necessity. Will 
 has here no power. I was compelled to meet him. I was 
 compelled to find him every where ; and when I was en- 
 deavouring to avoid him, I was compelled to be lost on him." 
 
 " Will you not speak reason ? " — inquired Claudine — 
 " good little philosopher, if indeed I have sense enough to 
 understand your mystical language. You will however ad- 
 mit, I hope, that every girl loves to be lost in the same man- 
 ner that you and I are lost. In such a case we find our- 
 selves back again with a hundred per cent, gain ! " 
 
 " Claudine, you misunderstand me " — replied Hermione. 
 " Against my will I am linked to him by a superior power." 
 
 " Oh, you poor coz ! if the matter cannot be helped " — 
 retorted Claudine — " it would be better to shut your eyes 
 and swallow the pill. Oh Hermione, Hermione, think of 
 the twelfth of October ! Oh, Hermione, think of your and 
 my wedding-day !" 
 
 At these words, Hermione suddenly pushed Claudine's 
 
so 
 
 FLORIAN I 
 
 extended hand from her, and drooping her head on her 
 breast, exclaimed—" Oft, never say so again ! I become 
 the wife of any other man ? I could not harbour such a 
 thought, without loathing myself — nay, let us break off. 
 We will never speak of this again." 
 
 Claudine laughed outright, yet could not forbear looking 
 at her friend with pity and astonishment. 
 
 George was nearly as much astonished when he was 
 about to speak with his friend on the same subject. The 
 young Grison was very loath either to speak of his affec- 
 tion, or to believe that Hermione loved him. 
 
 "You are a strange fellow, Florian " — said George — " but 
 confess to me that you love her." 
 
 " As I love all that is beautiful and good " — replied the fu- 
 gitive — "as you yourself love it, George." 
 
 " I think " — rejoined young Stafford — " my Claudine would 
 most politely request of me to make a slight difference be- 
 tween love for her and love to others. But I do not see 
 why you should strive against it — you most fortunate man." 
 
 "Do not call me fortunate !" retorted the Grison. 
 
 " But Claudine has informed me " — said George — " that 
 this ethereal Hermione has known you long. Already in 
 the garden of Reichenau you conquered her heart ; then 
 afterwards in Coire, where under her window you upset a 
 loaded cart and chastised the peasant who owned it, for re- 
 fusing to let a wagon full of wounded French soldiers pass." 
 
 " How ! beneath Hermione's window did that happen ?" 
 asked Florian. 
 
 " See, Florian " — remarked his friend — " she has forgot- 
 ten nothing ; not even the brown mole at the side of your 
 ear. She had mentioned you to Claudine before you met 
 her at the chain. She even dreamed that she had received 
 her lost glove through you before you gave it to her. What 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 87 
 
 do you want more than this ? and if all this should prove 
 nothing, the eyes and ears of all of.us could do it." 
 
 " If such a thing were possible " — replied Florian, staring 
 before him — " what I could never have believed, and she 
 should feel a waking affection for me, I would — yes, to- 
 morrow would I flee this lovely spot to save her peace. I 
 would never be the wretch to make Hermione miserable." 
 
 " Miserable ! what do you mean ?" asked George. 
 
 " How could it end otherwise ?" rejoined the Grison. 
 
 "As it will with Claudine and myself" — said his friend 
 — "you are independent and affluent; Mademoiselle De- 
 lory has considerable property of her own. Her step-fa- 
 ther is said to be an excellent man. Therefore " — 
 
 " Ah, George " — exclaimed Florian — " I ought not to say 
 it, but I am compelled to say to you, Get thee behind me, 
 Satan ! I am an outlaw and a fugitive. My country has 
 still claims to my blood. I must not think of quiet and 
 marriage until the Grisons are freed from the yoke of a for- 
 eign foe. And who can give me surety that my paternal 
 property has not been confiscated like that of my relations 
 in Vatlin ? I must wait for the days of peace and indepen- 
 dence ; and then I may allow myself to think of domestic 
 felicity. Unless his country be in a state of quiet and pros- 
 perity, a Swiss knows no happiness." 
 
 George looked at the excited features of the Grison, and 
 then casting his arm around him, he said — " You are the 
 man you should be, but in love notwithstanding." 
 
 " Well, yes ! but I love as a man should be in love, with 
 holiness and magnanimity " — declared the fugitive. 
 
 After that conversation, George never again ventured to 
 introduce the subject to Florian. Claudine also feared to 
 inquire into Hermione's feelings. Those two singular be- 
 ings, as they were esteemed, were left to follow their own 
 inclin tions. 
 
FLORIAIi : 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Discoveries. 
 
 Florian and Hermione's declarations were communica- 
 ted to father Staffard and Madam Bell, and both were sat- 
 isfied with it. "Florian is a noble man" — said father 
 Staffard to his son — " were he to come here a fugitive, and 
 find here a pretty girl, fall in love with her, and talk to her 
 of love and matrimony, truly, he would be either a madman 
 or an adventurer." Madam Bell thought the same. Her 
 mind was still more quieted by Hermione's decided disin- 
 clination to express herself favourably of Florian in any 
 manner whatsoever, and because the young lady's deport- 
 ment towards him was just the same as to any other per- 
 son, who was totally indifferent to her ; for she neither 
 avoided him nor sought his society — yet she gave indica- 
 tions of a secret haughty fear that she had of him. 
 
 Old Staffard smiled at that behaviour. His sound com- 
 mon sense solved the mystery in quite a different manner 
 from Madam Bell. "My dear neighbour" — he said — 
 " there is still some danger in this. I would trust Florian 
 for ten years, for he is a man ; but I would not trust Her- 
 mione for ten minutes, for she is a woman. She loves, and 
 her pride revolts against her inclination. The little queen 
 would justify herself towards herself. She says that she 
 does not love him ; but that, by the power of a superior 
 agency, she is impelled towards him. You know that the 
 enthusiast finds everything natural. She lives with her 
 head in another world. And thus are all you women. Ev- 
 ery one of you is a founder of a new philosophy, and of a 
 new poetry. This every-day world is too common for you ; 
 and you must needs fill it with wonders. Mother Morne 
 fancies that she has intercourse with invisible spirits. So 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 Hermione attributes every trifling occurrence to a direct 
 immediate Divine Providence. You yourself, madam, have 
 your mysterious twelfth of October, and other fate-days* 
 My wife never resolved upon anything without consulting 
 her oracle — which was the passage that on opening the 
 Bible first met her eye. Even Claudine, light-minded as 
 she is, can become melancholy when she has had a dream 
 that seems to her of significancy." 
 
 "My dear neighbour" — said Madam Bell, a little vexed 
 by Mr. StafTard's incredulity — "feeling and presentiment 
 often judge more accurately than reason, which is satisfied 
 only with what the eye sees and the ear hears. I know, 
 however, some very sensible men who consider old Morne 
 a crazed person, but who are nevertheless very much con- 
 founded when she brings revelations from her world of wak- 
 ing dreams which surpass the reason of those more sensi- 
 ble men." 
 
 Mr. Staffard, perceiving that the bolt was shot at him, 
 took Madam Bell's hand very kindly in both of his, and 
 said — " No quarrelling, my dear neighbour, between us — I 
 will very cheerfully admit that old Morne knows sometimes 
 a great deal more than either of us ; but I think she re- 
 ceives her knowledge in a very natural manner. She is 
 always busy roving about, and consequently hears and sees 
 a thousand things of which we are never apprised. With- 
 out knowing it, or wishing it, all things suiting to each other, 
 combine in her old, experienced head, she draws happy and 
 often very sagacious inferences. She is astonished at her 
 own knowledge, because she cannot herself clearly under- 
 stand how she acquired it ; and thus she fancies herself en- 
 dowed with superhuman properties. She deceives no one, 
 excepting in the most honest manner — herself." 
 
 "Then you really think, friend Stafford" — said Madam 
 Bell — " that it was nothing more than mere guess-work 
 5* 
 
90 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 when old Morne came in the afternoon of the same day 
 that Mr. Florian arrived at your house at night, and cau- 
 tioned me about Hermione ] How did she know he was 
 in this country ? How could she feel any apprehension in 
 regard to Hermione's heart, who on that day was with 
 Claudine at Neufchatel? " 
 
 "That Florian was in the country" — replied father Staf- 
 fard — " she did by no means guess ; for Florian told me 
 that she had seen him on the top of Le Gros Taureau. 
 That he would seek refuge in La Cote-aux-Fees, and most 
 probably in my house, she could easily conjecture, for she 
 herself had advised him so to do. That she cautioned you, 
 madam, to have a care over Hermione's heart, I explain to 
 myself by supposing that Hermione or Claudine, in a fa- 
 miliar chat with the old woman, described, perhaps, the 
 man who, in the Grisons, had made so strange an impres- 
 sion on the young lady's heart. Mother Morne, as soon as 
 she saw the man, undoubtedly recognised him by the de- 
 scription she had heard of him." 
 
 Madam Bell was no less astonished at the solution of the 
 mystery than she had been at the mystery itself. "Ah!" 
 — she said, with a smile, but rather vexed, withdrawing at 
 the same time her hand from old StafFard's — " you men can 
 always give yourselves the appearance of being in the 
 right. We women have only hearts, and you have heads. 
 Yet I love not this heartless reasoning, which would fain 
 make out of all nature a lifeless clock-work." 
 
 " Nay, my dear neighbour " — exclaimed father Staffard — 
 " let us make peace between the heart and head. It is for 
 that very reason that a man and woman are necessary to 
 each other, like the rich man and the poor, because one 
 possesses what the other has not got. I will cheerfully ad- 
 mit that the heart is often right ; but you must grant, in re- 
 turn, that at times it errs a little." 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 91 
 
 "Why should I not 1 "—replied Madam Bell— " only 
 with this difference, that the error of the heart sometimes 
 brings with it a greater blessing than the greatest truth of 
 the understanding." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 The Dream. 
 
 While the good people on La Cote-aux-Fees, were busy- 
 ing themselves about the affairs of Florian's heart, he 
 himself was occupied with quite different concerns. He 
 counted his means, which partly consisted in ready money, 
 and partly in drafts payable at sight, on a rich commercial 
 house in Basle. He could not think of returning to the 
 Grisons, although the French armies were expelled from 
 all their valleys. He felt no inclination to be dragged by 
 the Austrians into Tyrol, after having made his escape 
 from the French. His farm, his Alps, and his pasture 
 grounds at home were secured to him, since he had 
 appointed a trustworthy man as his administrator. Hence 
 the question was this : where should he go ? 
 
 This question occupied his mind so much, that on a fine 
 afternoon in June, when he was sauntering towards the 
 acclivity of the rocks, he lost his way. He found himself 
 between an underwood of firs and maples ; and before him 
 was the lofty, dark, yellowish calcareous rock, which 
 hitherto he had only seen at a distance. 
 
 Rather fatigued from his rambles, he sat down to rest, 
 in the neighbourhood of a cavern. The silence of the 
 mountainous region, sometimes interrupted by the monoto- 
 nous sound of the distant herd-bell, invited him to slumber. 
 
 " Fugitive ! " — he exclaimed, in the bitterness of his 
 
FLOEIAX : 
 
 heart — u and yet not criminal ; loved perhaps by the love 
 liest being among the Alps, with yet no hope of ever 
 calling her mine ! " 
 
 Thus, in dreaming reflection, or reflecting dreaminess, 
 he saw the wood, the mountain, the plains, the rivers, and 
 the sea, pass before his vision. The firmer the balmy 
 hand of slumber closed his eyelids, the more charming be- 
 came the landscapes that floated round about him. At length 
 he saw the sea, rolling beyond the hills, and dashing its 
 dark blue waves against a pleasant and verdant shore. In 
 the distance, as if painted on a blue ground, rose the spires 
 of a city. Towards it he bent his steps, with a light heart, 
 when a well-known voice called him by name. As he 
 turned his head aside, he saw a beautiful and charming 
 white villa, in the midst of a garden, shaded by high 
 poplars. On a balcony, cased around with a gilt railing, 
 sat Hermione, beckoning him. He flew to meet her, with 
 the anxiousness of first love. But on his entering the 
 garden, he saw her already coming towards him, walking 
 as it seemed through a bed of lilies, when she suddenly 
 stopped, and said — " Now I shall bind you well." She 
 undid a broad silken ribbon, which she wore round her 
 waist, and was about to threw it over him, when it suddenly 
 changed into a snake that, winding itself round him and 
 her both, drew them closely together ; and then taking its 
 own tail in its mouth, formed a living ring. Hermione 
 uttered a loud shriek, which alarmed him so much, that he 
 awoke from his dream, and on opening his eyes, he beheld 
 Hermione flying from his side, with averted face, and saw 
 her once more turn to look at him. With bewildered 
 senses he sprang from the ground, and called out, — 
 "Mademoiselle Delory, why do you fly me ?" 
 
 She might have served as a model for an artist, could he 
 have seen her as she stood there, with a face suffused with 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 93 
 
 crimson, her straw bonnet protecting her against the rays 
 of the sun, carrying in her left hand a little ribbon basket, 
 and in her right hand a shepherd's staff. 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," — said she — " I fear I have disturbed 
 your slumbers." 
 
 " And I thank you for doing so, Mademoiselle Delory," — 
 replied Florian, — " nothing could more agreeably have 
 interrupted my dream." 
 
 " And have you really dreamed ? " — exclaimed Her- 
 mione ; with a countenance expressive of impatient curi- 
 osity, mingled with serious apprehension, almost approach- 
 ing to terror. Florian replying, more to the expression of 
 her face, than to the question, said — " Is it allowable to 
 dream here ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, certainly ! but do you know where you have 
 been dreaming ? " — replied Hermione, pointing with her 
 staff to the cavern. 
 
 '* Why, do dragons or snakes revel there ? " inquired the 
 Grison. 
 
 " Nay, do not jest," — said Hermione, — " have you no 
 knowledge of this place 1 Do you not know what the 
 people say of it ? " 
 
 " Indeed, mademoiselle, not a word," — said Florian. 
 
 " It is the entrance to the fairy's temple. Some super- 
 natural power is ruling within there. You may believe it ; 
 for whosoever falls asleep here, receives prophesying 
 dreams. Have you really dreamed ? " — asked the young 
 lady. 
 
 " I have indeed " — he answered " — and I am greatly be- 
 holden to the fairies." 
 
 " Has some one appeared to you ? " was Hermione's in- 
 quiry. 
 
 " Most certainly " — responded the fugitive — " and I be- 
 lieve a more lovely fairy than ever appeared in the Arabian 
 Nights." 
 
D4 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 " Oh ! permit me to be a little curious " — rejoined the 
 damsel. — "Pray tell me in what form she appeared." 
 
 "Oh! in a form" — he replied — "which as long as I 
 draw the breath of life, must be to me the most beautiful, 
 the most memorable, and, alas ! the most dangerous ! " 
 
 " Indeed ! " — exclaimed Hermione — " I am curious to 
 know what the form of this fairy was, and — pray tell me 
 your whole dream, monsieur? " 
 
 Florian was embarrassed, and looked down, when he 
 answered — " I scarcely dare tell it, but what should we 
 care for dreams ? Reality itself is the most beautiful of all 
 dreams." 
 
 " And so you refuse to grant my request ? " 
 
 Hermione asked. — " But do you know that this dream is 
 closely connected with your future destiny ? Do you know 
 that it may teach, counsel, and caution you? " 
 
 " Your solemnity, mademoiselle, alarms me ! " said 
 Florian. 
 
 " See, it is not without reason, " — rejoined the 
 
 lady, — " that sleep is called the brother of death ; for when 
 we are asleep, we are half-dead. The body lies senseless, 
 while the soul extends into another sphere of action, lives 
 in another world, and has another language and other 
 visions. Dreams are but the last rays of the sun setting in 
 a spiritual world, and casting a faint and calm light across 
 the ocean of infinitude, upon the things of this earth." 
 
 Florian smiled ; for the beautiful maiden stood before 
 him, in an exalted dignity, teaching and commanding belief, 
 like a gray-bearded philosopher. He took her hand tenderly, 
 and impressed a gentle kiss upon it, as if he would ask for- 
 giveness for his smile. 
 
 " Jest on, jest on ! " — she said, a little vexed, yet unable 
 to forbear smiling herself. — " The time will come, when 
 your mind will revert to this moment ; then you will not 
 jest, and then, my friend, you will also remember me." 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE J Lit A. 
 
 95 
 
 " Oh ! surely, surely, will I remember you " — replied 
 Florian — " for while I was half-dead, I thought of you." 
 
 " How so, half-dead ? " — she retorted. 
 
 " Did you not say " — -asked Florian — " that when sleep- 
 ing we are half-dead ? " 
 
 " Nay, I pray you to be serious " — answered Hermione — 
 M but for one moment. You are a little light-minded. But 
 just here you should not be so. Now tell me your dream." 
 
 " Well, then. But first "—-said the fugitive — " let us 
 seek, if you please, a cool and shady place ; for I cannot 
 bear to see you suffer with the heat of the sun." 
 
 "Then let us return to the place where you reposed," — 
 replied Hermione, — "there is always a cooling breeze, 
 even in the hottest day of summer." 
 
 They returned to the place, and Florian soon felt that 
 Hermione was not mistaken ; for a gentle and refreshing 
 breeze passed over the place where they stood. 
 
 " It would almost seem that you are a seer, Mademoiselle 
 Delory," — said Florian. 
 
 Hermione pointed towards the cave. " Thence, out of 
 the fairy temple" — she added — "is wafted this invisible 
 stream." 
 
 " Which bears such sweet dreams on its soft and balmy 
 bosom " — subjoined the Grison. 
 
 " Yes, my friend ; and such dreams as are ominous " — 
 appended his female companion. 
 
 " You are right, mademoiselle," — said Florian, — " and if 
 our fancy is always peopled with such sweet dreams in this 
 place, depend upon it, my friend, I shall come here every 
 day, and endeavour to sink into the arms of slumber. But 
 what reason have you for supposing that dreams here are 
 more significant than elsewhere ? " 
 
 "Must I tell you " — Hermione answered — " that you may 
 have cause to jest again ? You are an enlightened man, 
 
96 
 
 FLOS! AN : 
 
 my friend, but you are also like all men. You believe 
 everything, excepting what is most worthy of belief. You 
 believe in effects, but not in causes. You believe in phe- 
 nomena, but not in power. There is a power living in 
 this blade of grass, in this stone, in every tree. Who 
 knows the heavenly realms, and the hosts of power therein ? 
 An infinite chain of powers, or spirits, comes down upon us 
 from the throne of God. We touch the chain ; we are 
 connected with it. There are situations in which we hold 
 communion with other, perhaps higher, and also perhaps 
 with subordinate, as well as with human spirits." 
 
 " My fair visionary, will you not instruct me," asked the 
 fugitive, " in some of your mysteries ? Although I am well 
 aware that on earth I shall never see a more beautiful 
 being than yourself, yet I fain would make a trial with 
 others." 
 
 " And yet you have already made the trial " she rejoined ; 
 " have you not experienced the power of the fairies' temple ? 
 Have you not looked into your own future ? You slumbered 
 here. The invisible stream of this cave floated over you, 
 and in a dream it caused your soul to see more clearly. It 
 was nothing else than this secret power of nature, which 
 inspired the priestess at Delphos, and enabled her to give 
 revelations of the future. You slumbered here, and that 
 power of nature, which he of Greece was called Apollo, 
 and represented in the form of eternal youth, and which the 
 peasants here term fairy, came over you. You have be- 
 come your own oracle, your own Pythian priestess. It is 
 now at your option, either to believe or to disbelieve this j 
 but tell me your dream ? I must know it, for it is of im- 
 portance to me." 
 
 " And do you think it will be fulfilled ?" inquired Florian. 
 
 " Who may interpret omens coming from an invisible 
 world ? But quick, tell me your dream ! " replied Hermione. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JUKA. 
 
 97 
 
 Florian could no longer disobey his fair petitioner. He 
 told her what thoughts had occupied his fancy, when he 
 had fallen asleep. Then how the mountains had floated 
 before his vision, and the different regions of country and 
 the rivers. Then, how suddenly the sea with its verdant 
 shores full of hills, and beyond it in the distance, a city had 
 burst on his sight. He endeavoured to paint the landscape 
 as well as his recollection would permit. He then spoke of 
 the voice that he had heard, coming from the house in the 
 garden. As he proceeded in his narrative, Hermione's 
 attention became more and more riveted. She stared at 
 him with a wild and solemn gaze, and then exclaimed, 
 " Oh, no ! oh, no ! That is St. Imar, my parental home, 
 and the city is Autibes." 
 
 He spoke of Hermione's appearing in a gilded balcony : 
 " No, no, it is impossible," she cried again, " my dear 
 mother had it thus renovated in the last year of her life." 
 
 Florian remarked, that the telling of his dream produced 
 a singular and powerful effect upon Hermione ; while he 
 himself began to feel rather strangely. " My dear Made- 
 moiselle Delory," he said, "you are joking with me." 
 
 But she solemnly shook her head, and said, " Oh, I pray 
 you continue, do not interrupt yourself! " 
 
 Florian then commenced describing the garden, for she 
 insisted upon knowing all the particulars. But when he 
 mentioned the multitude of lilies through which Hermione 
 had come, she folded her hands, drooped her head upon 
 her bosom, and said, " I know them well. Often have I 
 gamboled among those lilies when a child. They were 
 the favourites of my mother, and in the whole neighbourhood, 
 our St. Imar was called the garden of the lilies." 
 
 " Singular, that in my dream I should become a visionary ! " 
 said Florian, smiling ; but indeed amazed at Mademoiselle 
 Delory's words, — " Imagination has played us both a trick," 
 
98 
 
 FLORIAX : 
 
 he continued; "it is of all fairies the most malicious one. 
 We both attach to the same words the most different images 
 and scenes." 
 
 " Finish relating your dream, my friend," exclaimed the 
 young lady, with anxious curiosity. 
 
 He proceeded to relate the occurrence with the ribbon, 
 how it had been transformed into a serpent, and that the 
 moment after it had taken its tail in its mouth, and thus 
 formed a ring, his dream was at an end. Hermione averted 
 her face, and her bonnet concealed from his view the change 
 of her colour, how it even vied with the paleness of the 
 lilies in her mother's garden, and then became suffused 
 with the glow of a newly-blown rose. 
 
 " Truly," said Florian, in a soft tone of voice ; a tone 
 which bespoke the whole depth of his love, " truly, if my 
 dream has indeed a prophetic appearance, it is that which 
 it assumed at last, when the ribbon, with which you, my 
 dear friend, bound me, became suddenly the emblem of 
 eternity. I might attach some meaning to that circum- 
 stance, if I dared to venture." 
 
 Absorbed in thought, with drooping head and half-averted 
 face, Hermione, with her staff, drew lines in the dust. How 
 much would he have given, could he have read what then 
 passed in her mind ! 
 
 Suddenly she lifted her head, and with a mien of silent 
 resignation, remarked : " We now have a mutual secret, 
 reveal not your dream to any one. Do you wish to see the 
 fairies' temple ? Come then, and allow me to be your 
 conductress." 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 00 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The Fairies' Temple. 
 
 Hermione led the way. When they had arrived at the 
 entrance of the cave, she took from her basket a neat little 
 lantern and lire apparatus. 
 
 " So it was your intention to enter this enchanting cavern," 
 exclaimed Florian. " Did you not come hither for that 
 purpose ? And would you have ventured without a com- 
 panion in this mysterious cave ? " 
 
 " It requires no heroism to do that," said Hermione, 
 with a friendly smile, " particularly since the young Mr. 
 Staffard has had boards laid across the slippery rocks for 
 Claudine and me. There is no danger now in crossing, 
 and on a fine summer day I love to visit this temple beneath 
 the earth, which wonderful nature herself has erected, and 
 so magnificently decorated. It will excite, and is deserving 
 of your admiration." 
 
 Saying this, she took off her straw bonnet, and wound a 
 shawl in the form of a turban round her head. She then 
 hid her bonnet and his hat, with the basket, in the bushes 
 not far from the cave, and returned to light her lantern. In 
 her scarlet turban, from under which several stray tresses 
 fell in golden ringlets around her temples, and down on her 
 shoulders, she resembled an ancient fabled enchantress. 
 The innocence and the fearlessness with which she pre- 
 pared to take a walk of terror, gave her the appearance of 
 one who holds communion with supernatural powers. 
 
 She soon had lighted her lantern, which she fixed to the 
 extremity of her staff. 
 
 " Now then," said Hermione, with a graceful inclination 
 of her head, pointing at the same time to a low aperture in 
 the rock, " have you courage ? The mouth of the cave is 
 
100 FLOR1AX : 
 
 p 
 
 narrow, and difficiuV'of entrance ; but when once we are 
 through it, there-ts no longer any difficulty ; for immediately 
 after the opeliing, it suddenly becomes very wide." 
 
 She spread a handkerchief on the ground, that in creeping 
 through the opening they might not soil their garments. 
 She then motioned him to enter. He stood still for some 
 moments, looking at her in silence, as she pushed the 
 lantern with the staff, into the interior of the cave. He 
 then crept through the opening, which soon became so 
 large as to permit his standing upright. It was not long 
 before, also, the head with the red turban appearedi>eneath 
 the rocks. This dream-like spectacle made his heart 
 tremble within him, he knelt down and assisted his delicate 
 and courageous companion to rise ; when immediately 
 afterwards the golden rays of daylight poured through the 
 opening. 
 
 She took her staff for a support, while he proceeded in 
 advance of her, lighting the way with the lantern. The 
 rocks split into several dark passages. A death-like still- 
 ness reigned within. Now and then, the falling of drops of 
 water could be heard. A dark vault, the end of which they 
 could not discern by the faint light of the lantern, rounded 
 above their heads. Only a few white and yellow cliffs, 
 appeared like spectral images in the dark. Fantastic 
 shapes of pillars and ornaments of stalactites, could be 
 discerned in the distance. They seemed to move, to 
 advance, and to vanish, as the lights and shades varied by 
 every step they took ; and thus caused new forms to arise 
 and disappear. 
 
 The farther they penetrated into the cave, the more 
 wonderful was the appearance that the subterraneous world 
 assumed. The passage in which they were walking seem- 
 ed endless, and sometimes it became very spacious, then 
 narrow, and often it resembled the halls of a convent, 
 
THE FUGITIVE OP THE JURA. 
 
 101 
 
 adorned with costly white carpets and beautiful carvings. 
 One could walk safely in any place, for George Stafford 
 had cleared away many obstructions, and had caused 
 boards to be thrown over the otherwise impassable places. 
 After they had proceeded some distance beneath the rocky 
 vault, Florian suddenly remained standing, and looked at 
 his fair companion, who was following him, without show- 
 ing the least symptom of alarm. She smiled very benign- 
 ly at him, without saying a word. " Is it possible," — said 
 Florian — " that you should venture here entirely alone ? 
 Wonderful and magnificent as is this gigantic structure of 
 nature, it arouses within me feelings of silent awe." 
 
 " I experience this awe every time I am here " — said 
 Hermione — " but I love the sensation. However, I cannot 
 deny, that on my first visit here I trembled, although 
 George and Claudine were with me. Since then, I have 
 been accustomed to this subterranean world, and am now 
 perfectly familiar with every object that appears in it. We 
 shall soon reach the end of it, and I am sure it will greatly 
 surprise you. The whole passage is said to be three hun- 
 dred feet in length. A little farther on, Monsieur Florian." 
 
 " After he had gone a little farther, a golden ray of 
 light, proceeding from the back-ground, flashed suddenly 
 on his vision. He stood still in amazement, but as he pro- 
 ceeded, the splendour by which he was surrounded nearly 
 blinded his eyes. 
 
 " Enchantment !" — cried he in ecstacy — " Where am I? 
 I see a light like the light of day ; I see in the midst of this 
 cavern, clouds, sailing on the bosom of the air ; and I see 
 immense distances, and valleys, and forests, and moun- 
 tains ! Oh ! most wonderful spectacle ! Mademoiselle 
 Delory, I must needs believe now in sorcery. Here must 
 be other fairies beside yourself! " 
 
 Hermione rejoiced silently at the delirium of delight 
 
102 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 with which he was seized, when, on arriving at the end of 
 the cave, the most picturesque scenery burst upon his as- 
 tonished vision. She leaned opposite to him against a pro- 
 jection of the rock, and described to him the scene before 
 them. 
 
 "Below there, in the valley, you behold a different 
 world," said Hermione. " It is Val-Sainte-Croix. All 
 those little brown cottages, resting so familiarly and yet so 
 solemnly upon those hiils, belong to the villages St. Croix, 
 and La Braconne. To the left, rises La Roche Blanche 
 with its rocks ; and to your right, you behold l'Aiguille de 
 Beaume. Far in the distance, you can just perceive the 
 antique town of Granson, on the lake, celebrated by the 
 defeat which Charles the Bold there sustained. But the 
 highlands before us conceal from our view the charming 
 Pays de Vaud that lies beneath our feet." 
 
 She continued for some time to explain those charming 
 landscapes. Florian, on casting his eye into the verdant 
 depths below, saw the peaceful dwellings of the people, 
 and their herds on the mountain-side, and the Alps in the 
 far distance ; and, on turning round, when he looked into 
 the darkness of the cave, he saw in this wonderful and si- 
 lent solitude, Hermione standing beside him, leaning grace- 
 fully with one arm against the rock, while grass-blades, 
 and hanging shrubs, were playing around and above her 
 turbaned head, casting a mysterious shade over all her 
 features. 
 
 Hermione's eyes were resting upon him. She under- 
 stood and respected the emotions of his heart, and kept 
 silence. 
 
 At length, after having indulged in a long fit of meditation, 
 in which he forgot himself arid every surrounding object, he 
 turned again to Hermione ; a tear unknown to him glis- 
 tened in his eye, and the smile with which he greeted the 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 103 
 
 silent maiden, became touchingly expressive. He then 
 pressed both his hands firmly to his heart, as if to repress 
 its violent pulsations, and said — " Oh ! Mademoiselle De- 
 lory, you intended only to surprise me, but you have coupled 
 a paradise with my existence. Never shall I forget the 
 Fairies' Temple, but while I live, shall remember it with 
 grave and solemn feelings." 
 
 She cast her eyes to the ground, and seemed to muse on 
 what he had said. After a short pause, he continued — 
 " How little is required to make this life happy ! I have 
 decided upon my future course. My country has been 
 made miserable through corruption of morals, through the 
 ignorance and rudeness of the people, and through the 
 avarice, ambition, and vindictive passions of its chiefs. 
 God has visited the land ; he arouses the people from their 
 torpor and enervation. At present there are two parties 
 among us — one for Austria, the other for France. Both 
 are ruinous to the country. I can save nothing. Were I 
 even to sacrifice my life for the benefit of my native land, it 
 would avail nothing. I may not be the servant "of either 
 party, and were I to step as mediator between them, they 
 would both persecute me. I go and seek a beautiful soli- 
 tude. Thanks to you, lovely Hermione, for you have given 
 me to myself again. Your Faries' Temple has affected 
 me with its magic power, and you are the beneficent fairy 
 in it." 
 
 " Call me not by that name " — said Hermione — " the 
 great fairy is Nature, divinely stamped, and incomprehen- 
 sible ! " 
 
 "Well do I know, Mademoiselle Delory" — replied 
 Florian — "that your thoughts take a more exalted flight 
 than mine ; and you are also more pious than I ; for, weak 
 man that I am, I am only like a heathen." 
 
 " Oh ! my friend " — rejoined the fair enthusiast — "every 
 
104 
 
 FLORIAN I 
 
 blade of grass is a representative of nature ; and every lit- 
 tle spot large enough to kneel down on, is an altar at 
 which we may worship the majesty of the Omnipotent. 
 Life is a beautiful and endless mystery. I meditate upon 
 it, and would greatly like to solve it, but cannot, since I 
 cannot penetrate to that God who is himself the essential 
 glory and life." 
 
 " Your words are dark " — remarked the Grison — " like 
 those of the priestess of Delphos. But I understand you, 
 lovely priestess, by the sound of your voice, and the ex- 
 pression of your features, for your eyes reflect your in- 
 ward soul. All is speech ! " 
 
 Hermione threw a doubtful glance at Florian, as if she 
 feared he was mocking her. But his enthusiasm was so 
 honest, that, after a brief pause, she said kindly — " I have 
 long since been able to explain to myself that souls have a 
 language of their own ; without words, without sounds, 
 without sight. Yes, there is a secret efficacy of souls, I 
 know not how, but I believe it is through the will, and 
 through a certainty of the result of the will." 
 
 " Oh, Mademoiselle Delory " — replied Florian — " if the 
 power of will was merely necessary, my soul would have 
 told you already, a great deal in this mysterious language. 
 You cannot have conceived it. Teach me the art to speak 
 with your tongue, and with it, give me that wonderful power 
 over your soul, which, from the first day I saw you, you - 
 have exercised over mine, Hermione ! Since that day, at 
 the foot of the Calanda, when my life mingled with yours, 
 as the waters of those two streams ran into one." 
 
 His voice trembled, as he said this ; and his eyes were 
 fixed on the ground. When he raised them, Hermione 
 stood before him, with her face suffused with crimson ; but 
 her seriousness and her peculiar dignity returned just as 
 soon. " Come, Monsieur Florian, — she added — " let us 
 
TIIE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 103 
 
 return by the way we came. I know not whether you 
 wish to amuse yourself with my views, or whether you are 
 serious in what you say. At any rate, I should have felt 
 obliged to you, had you not interpreted my harmless con- 
 versation in the manner you have done." 
 
 " Pardon me, Mademoiselle Delory " — replied Florian — 
 " it is out of my power to show you greater respect. I 
 should have kept silent, had not the hour and the wonders 
 of the fairy temple effected a great revolution in all my 
 resolves and plans." 
 
 " Do you then, indeed, wish to make me believe " — asked 
 Hermione — " that you have been changed through the se- 
 cret power of this place 1 " 
 
 " Through every thing " — was the fugitive's hasty re- 
 sponse — "perhaps through the dream ; through your appear- 
 ing ; through the solemnity of this subterranean world ; 
 through the aspect of the peaceful valley at our feet ; through 
 your standing in all your loveliness, between these cold, gi- 
 gantic rocks ; through — ah ! who can unfold all that attunes 
 our souls, and decides the will of the mind ? Enough — my 
 resolve is this — to live alone and secluded in some solitude. 
 It is irrevocable. When I revealed this to you, I could 
 not conceal the other secret that agitates my bosom." 
 
 He ceased. • The lantern was again lighted, and she held 
 it out to him, with a look in which sadness strangely min- 
 gled with friendliness. When he touched her hand it trem- 
 bled in his. They turned silently into the darkness of the 
 subterranean temple. 
 
 (3 
 
106 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The Adventure in the Fairies' Temple. 
 
 Florian and Hermione slowly and silently pursued their 
 sparsely-illuminated way ; Hermione still reflecting on the 
 last words her companion had spoken. His sudden and 
 continued silence grieved her ; for although he carried the 
 lantern before her, so that she might not miss her foothold, 
 and though he sometimes looked back for her, yet he moved 
 along without uttering a word of caution, or offering her 
 any friendly assistance, as he had done when they first 
 walked through the cave. 
 
 When they had arrived in the middle of the fairies' 
 temple, and both had passed through the cave without pay- 
 ing any attention to the images and beautiful adornments, 
 Hermione suddenly stood still. His silence became intol- 
 erable to her. She felt that no misunderstanding ought to 
 exist between them. She had not wished to offend the 
 man who in that hour had filled her with renewed admira- 
 tion and respect, and when he looked round, she held out 
 her hand to him, and said — " Are you going to be angry 
 with me ? " 
 
 He took the proffered hand, shook his bead negatively, 
 and walked on ; for he could not speak. Her tone of voice, 
 which said infinitely more than her language, had thrilled 
 through every fibre of his heart. 
 
 After having proceeded a little farther, Hermione stopped 
 once more, and said — " Just in this place the fairies' tem- 
 ple abounds with all kinds of images. Only look around 
 you for a moment. We are surrounded by petrified giants, 
 dwarfs, snakes, and other monsters." 
 
 Florian held the light in all directions. Every change 
 of light metamorphosed also the confused forms of the im- 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 107 
 
 agcry. He then held the light above his head towards the 
 ceiling, and perceived a huge block of stone above their 
 heads, apparently detached from the others, or only in a 
 very few places united with them, so that it seemed ready 
 to fall at any moment. 
 
 " Come, come into the open air ! " — said Hermione— 
 " our voices and the vibration of the air might cast this rock 
 from off its fastenings, and bury us both beneath it." 
 
 "I could not wish for a more magnificent grave" — said 
 Florian. 
 
 " You must not yet count yourself" — returned Hermione 
 — " as one of the number of those who are weary of their 
 life." 
 
 "On the contrary, from to-day" — said the Grison — "I 
 may count myself among the number of those who rejoice 
 in their lives." 
 
 "Never mind that now, Monsieur Florian" — she rejoin- 
 ed — let us fly ! I am beginning to fear lest the mountain 
 might take you at your word." 
 
 " Does Hermione shrink from the possibility of death ? " 
 asked Florian. 
 
 " Ah ! but I have still a father whom I dearly love " — 
 answered the lady — " although he is but my step-father, 
 and I have not seen him so long ! Hereafter I shall go 
 with joyful heart to my right father, and to my ardently- 
 loved and sainted mother." 
 
 "Should the stone fall" — said the fugitive — "my dream 
 would be fulfilled, Hermione. Then the serpent which 
 was entwined around both of us would have found an inter- 
 pretation. Eternity would unite us both." 
 
 " Away — away ! " — she cried with alarm — " let us has- 
 ten into the open air ! Incredulous man ! Why would you 
 begin just now to believe in your ominous dream ? " 
 
 She had scarcely given utterance to these words when a 
 
108 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 loud clap of thunder apparently reverberated through the 
 cave. It was succeeded by a rattling of falling stone. A 
 rush of air extinguished the lantern. It seemed as if the 
 whole cave were shaking. The echo resounded fearfully 
 through the hollow mountain. Hermione at the same mo- 
 ment gave a piercing shriek. Florian dashed the lantern 
 to the ground, and felt with both his hands for his compan- 
 ion. She came tottering towards him, and fell into his 
 arms. 
 
 " Speak, dearest mademoiselle ; are you hurt ? " asked 
 Florian. 
 
 "For heaven's sake" — replied Hermione — "what has 
 happened 1 Are we buried alive ? The rocks must surely 
 have fallen !" 
 
 " Tranquillize yourself, dear mademoiselle" — said the Gri- 
 son — " there can be no danger here. If the entrance of the 
 cave is closed, I can return and climb over the rocks, down 
 into the Val de Sainte Croix, and bring you assistance." 
 
 " There is no path leading over those steep rocky walls" 
 —rejoined the damsel — " you would never reach the bot- 
 tom and live. Oh, Monsieur Florian, prepare yourself for 
 the worst, for we are both lost ! " 
 
 "I pray you not to give yourself up to despair" — rejoin- 
 ed the Grison. — " When you have somewhat recovered from 
 your first fright, I will find a way by which we may get 
 out. Fear nothing, for I am with you, and with both of us 
 is the all-powerful and ever-merciful Protector." 
 
 Some time elapsed before Mademoiselle Delory could 
 compose herself. But Florian spoke self-possessed, and with 
 so much confidence that there was no danger, that he demon- 
 strated to her clearly, that the fall of a stone of even mod- 
 erate size might create a noise like thunder, when echoing 
 through the many serpentine passages of that subterranean 
 temple. He also made it appear probable that the fall of 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 109 
 
 the stone which they had heard had not been in the prin- 
 cipal passage, but in one of the side-vaults, which they had 
 seen on their entering the fairies' temple. He even 
 proved to her, by the fresh current of air which they in- 
 haled, that the entrance of the cave could not be far off, 
 and that the passage could not be obstructed. All this he 
 did so calmly and so persuasively, that Hermione again be- 
 gan to summon courage. 
 
 " But how shall we plod our way back in this dark- 
 ness?" — she said — "I have lost the little tinder-box and 
 my staff. We may lose the boarded way beneath our feet, 
 make a mis-step, and perish ! " 
 
 Florian spoke comfort also in regard to this doubt — but 
 he was far from experiencing that ease of mind to which 
 he pretended. By no other means could he account for 
 that first terrific clap, than by attributing it to the noise oc- 
 casioned by the falling of a huge mass of stone, which 
 might, perhaps, have stopped up every mode of egress. 
 Therefore he requested Hermione to remain for a little 
 while alone ; while he attempted to find the remote aper- 
 ture by which they had entered. But when he was about 
 to leave her, she placed her arm in his, and with a timor- 
 ous shriek, conjured him with tears not to leave her. 
 
 Once more he endeavoured to silence her apprehensions 
 with all the eloquence that affectionate tenderness could 
 furnish. " Why should you anticipate the worst 1 " — he 
 said. — "Abandon every sensation of fear. We are not 
 lost ; and should I be compelled to force my way through 
 all these rocks to bring you to the light of day, I will do it." 
 
 " Oh, do not leave me, Florian ! " — she said, weeping — 
 " I know that our mutual destiny is fulfilled ; but I did not 
 think the sad day was so close at hand. It was intended 
 that we should, and we surely shall perish together. Do 
 not delude yourself and me with vain hopes of being saved ! 
 
110 
 
 FLORIAN .* 
 
 The prophecy is accomplished ; it has been fulfilled in the 
 same terrible spot where I received it. It was in this very 
 place where we now are standing that Mother Morne warn- 
 ed me to avoid seeing you ; for I should draw you and my- 
 self into a fearful abyss," 
 
 " How ! Mother Morne 1 " — cried Florian, in incredulous 
 surprise. — " Can the words of that old fanatical woman rob 
 you of your presence of mind, and self-composure ? Can 
 they prevail upon you more than all the reasonings and pray- 
 ers of a man who is prepared to suffer anything for you?" 
 
 " But the words of that mad prophetess are fulfilled, in 
 spite of what your reason and courage may allege against 
 it. O, unhappy Florian ! your dream has been fulfilled. 
 This darkness in which we are enveloped, is the serpent of 
 your prophetic dream, that unites us. Alas ! that I was 
 destined to throw the ribbon around you, and allure, and 
 lead you with myself into this our mutual grave ! Poor 
 Florian ! That I should become your murderess I could 
 never have divined." 
 
 " You are not my murderess, Hermione, and you never 
 will be ! " — replied the Grison. 
 
 " Alas ! three times did old Morne warn me to shun you, 
 and only you ! " — answered the lady. — " I have obeyed the 
 warning as far as was in my power. I trembled whenever 
 my eyes beheld you ; and though it was the will of fate that 
 we should meet, I have never approached you without feel- 
 ing a shudder creep over me. Oh ! old Morne was not in 
 error, when she predicted that I should draw you and 
 myself into the abyss of destruction. Now, her prophecy 
 is fulfilled, and I have enticed you into it. Now my secret 
 terror is ended ! now the mysterious riddle is solved ! I am 
 to meet my death with you. — Then leave me not, Florian, 
 and I shall be resigned to my fate ! " 
 
 She spoke in a gentle, but firm and distinct tone of 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 Ill 
 
 voice, and her arm held him, as if nothing should tear her 
 from him in her last hour. Florian's breast heaved convul- 
 sively, agitated by his contending feelings. Hermione's 
 words sounded like the utterings of a maniac ; and yet they 
 breathed the sweetest music. Painful sorrow, at her de- 
 spondency, agitated him ; but in the midst of the surround- 
 ing terrors of death, his heart thrilled with delight. 
 
 " Hermione " — said he — " why should we despair, before 
 we have any certainty that we are lost ? Give me your 
 hand. Put your trust in God, rather than give credence to 
 the ravings of Mother Morne, and the delusions of a 
 dream." 
 
 " We are buried alive here " — she exclaimed — " and no 
 one in the world is apprised of our being in the interior of 
 this mountain." 
 
 " Then let us grope our way back to the opening, towards 
 Val de St. Croix " — replied the fugitive. — " I will raise my 
 voice, so that it may be hea rd for miles." 
 
 "I obey you" — meekly responded his companion. — 
 " Lead me whither you list, for our destiny so wills it." 
 
 " If my promise to bring you safely out of this danger 
 shall be fulfilled " — asked Florian — " will you then, Her- 
 mione, trust more to me than to vain dreams and pro- 
 phecies ? " 
 
 " I cannot do otherwise " — replied Mademoiselle Delory. 
 — " Fate has placed me entirely at your disposal ; and I 
 have no longer any power over myself." 
 
 He once more drew her towards him ; and holding Her- 
 mione's hand, he said, — "Take courage, and follow me." 
 
 He walked slowly through the darkness, at every step 
 examining the path with his hand, that Hermione, who fol- 
 lowed him, trembling with fear, might not mistake her 
 foot-hold. It was a difficult and dangerous course, and ren- 
 dered more so by the terror which they mutually experi- 
 
112 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 enced. They had thus proceeded for a short time, when 
 Hermione exclaimed, timidly — " Fiorian, what is this 1 I 
 breathe the vapour of sulphur." 
 
 Fiorian, who considered this a new freak of her excited 
 imagination, encouraged her by whispering words of con- 
 solation, while he still continued on his way. But he had 
 not gone far, when the smell of sulphur came towards him 
 also, which grew stronger as they advanced. 
 
 " As true as I live, this is powder ! " — he exclaimed. — 
 " I cannot comprehend whence it proceeds. This is neither 
 caused by an earthquake, nor by a subterranean fire." 
 
 " Let us not deceive ourselves with vain and incredible 
 hopes," ejaculated Hermione. 
 
 As they proceeded, when Fiorian was bent down to feel 
 whether they were still walking on secure ground, he sud- 
 denly exclaimed, " I see daylight ! you are safe ! " 
 
 Hermione strained her eyes to discover the gleam of day- 
 light, through the impenetrable darkness, but alas ! without 
 effect. He drew the trembler quickly after him ; and as 
 they stepped out of the side-walk into the principal pas- 
 sage, they suddenly perceived the light of day, pouring 
 through the aperture of the rock. 
 
 " We are saved ! " cried Hermione ; and she stood mo- 
 tionless, with uplifted arms and fixed eyes, as if she had 
 been changed into a statue. Fiorian turned towards her 
 with delight ; but suddenly her colour changed to an ashy 
 paleness, and her features became rigid. A violent pain 
 seemed to thrill through her whole frame. Her arms fell 
 powerless to her side, and her head drooped upon her 
 bosom. Fiorian, as he held her in his arms, became ex- 
 cessively alarmed. She seemed to be gasping for fresh 
 air, as if struggling between life and death. She stared 
 anxiously, and with a dry eye at Fiorian, until her convul- 
 sions broke out in violent weeping and sobbing. She then 
 
TIIE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 113 
 
 recovered by degrees ; and amid a flood of tears, the 
 red began slowly to rise upon the ashy paleness of her 
 cheeks. 
 
 As soon as she had gained sufficient strength, she disen- 
 gaged herself from the young man, and buried her face in 
 her handkerchief. But when, on looking up, she beheld 
 Florian standing before her, pale and speechless, and in 
 anxious solicitude about her, she smiled upon him, and 
 extending her hand, she said with a look and tone of the 
 purest kindness, " Good Florian, what have you not suffered 
 on my account ? Forgive me ! — I know myself no longer," 
 said Hermione, as she disengaged herself from him. Then 
 she offered again her hand to him, and said, " Ah ! my 
 friend, do not mistake me ; leave me not, I pray you. You 
 now know that my life is mingled with yours ; why should 
 I deny it? I am no longer mine own." 
 
 They walked to the outlet of the dairies' temple. A 
 paler light poured through the opening, and when they 
 both stood again without the cave, they inhaled silently the 
 pure refreshful evening air. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 The Carp. 
 
 The sun had already sunk to the horizon behind thd 
 summit of Le Gros-Taureau. A soft light was spread over 
 the valleys, while the bright reflection of an evening red 
 tinged the mountain peaks. Birds and illuminated clouds 
 sailed in the air. From the scattered cottages, in the ver- 
 dant valleys below, rose graceful columns of smoke, as if 
 ascending from the altars of the ancient devotees. Florian 
 and Hermione thought they had never seen the world more 
 6* 
 
114 
 
 FLOKIAtt I 
 
 beautiful. Every object which their eyes rested upon, was 
 more spiritual, more pure, and more brilliant. 
 
 Hermione folded her hands, and raised her eyes towards 
 heaven, with an expresson of heartfelt gratitude ; then she 
 turned again with affecting confusion to Florian, while her 
 flushed cheeks were made more radiant by her sweet 
 smiles. Indeed, there was nothing in the world more beau- 
 tiful than her bashfulness and pure confidence. He also 
 stood there, in the grace and the manliness of his fine pro- 
 portions and features, heightened by his silent reflections ; 
 while inward beatitude shone out of the dark blue of his 
 lustrous eyes. 
 
 A loud voice suddenly interrupted their contemplations, 
 shouting, " O, ho ! there I find you, just in the right time. 
 Good evening, good evening ! " 
 
 Professor Onyx instantly appeared, ascending the moun- 
 tain-path from the neighbouring village, Le Cret. " Truly," 
 said he, " ill luck attends me wherever I go. Here I must 
 find you, Mademoiselle, quite unexpectedly, without being 
 able to offer you one of your sweet little namesakes, one 
 of my hermiones. Yesterday evening I culled a whole 
 bouquet of them at the rock of Buttos, and brought it to Le 
 Cret ; but it was too late to present them to you, and con- 
 sequently I placed them very carefully in water. But, be- 
 hold ! a goat went to the place where they were standing, 
 and ate them all. My loss, however, was not without its 
 advantage ; for by it I learned that the hermiones were an 
 excellent food for cattle. The little Etienne soon after- 
 wards milked the rapacious animal, and I bought the milk. 
 We will all taste it, for I have every reason to believe that 
 the hermiones will impart to it a most delicious aromatic 
 flavour. We must taste it." 
 
 Mademoiselle Delory smiled at the man of science, and 
 said — " It would give me great pleasure to be your guest, 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 115 
 
 professor ; but below there I have certainly been long since 
 expected. If to-morrow, however, you will bring me a 
 bouquet of your flowers 
 
 " Oh, I promise you whole garlands of them, beautiful 
 Mademoiselle," cried the professor ; " this morning I have 
 seen hundreds of them blooming in the shade of a block of 
 granite." Then turning to Florian, he cried, — " Friend of 
 my soul, you must see this block of granite, you must, in- 
 deed ! It is of the utmost importance to my explaining the 
 appearance of my original mountain foundlings on the 
 heights of the Jura. It is an eloquent, incontrovertible 
 proof that it was brought hither, like the others, by the 
 masses of ice coming from the tops of the mountains, when 
 all this was still a 'tohu vabohu,' an infinite chaos. Above 
 and below and on all the edges it is rounded, caused of 
 course by friction ; while the middle, as far as it was sur- 
 rounded by ice, you will perceive is unharmed, sharp-edged, 
 and well cut." 
 
 While the professor continued to develop his observations 
 to Florian, Hermione took the red shawl from off her fore- 
 head, and returned to the entrance of the fairies , temple, 
 where she had concealed her bonnet and basket. When 
 Onyx observed that she had left them, he broke off his 
 discourse abruptly, and said, — " Come, come, Monsieur 
 
 , dear me, I shall never remember your name as 
 
 long as I live — come to the fairies' temple ; there I shall 
 prepare a feast for you. It is still light enough. You will 
 be astonished. You are a connoisseur." Saying this, he 
 led Florian, who was lost in a deep reverie, and who con- 
 sequently had not heard one word of his eloquent discourse, 
 to the entrance of the cave. 
 
 " What do you intend doing, professor ? " asked Florian, 
 when he was standing before the aperture. 
 
 " I cannot promise anything before hand," replied the 
 
116 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 philosopher. Who knows how the vein of the rock runs ] 
 I cannot be certain of anything, excepting that the hole was 
 bored well and deep enough." 
 
 " How ! what ! have you blasted the rock with powder? " 
 asked the fugitive. 
 
 "Friend of my soul, I have indeed," answered the 
 geologist. 
 
 " Here ! in the fairies' temple ? " exclaimed Florian ; as 
 light regarding the late mystery flashed across his mind. 
 
 " Ah, see there ! have I been ahead of you 1 " exclaimed 
 the professor. " Perhaps, you had the same project in view ! " 
 
 " So it was really you, professor, who blasted the rock 1 " 
 inquired Florian. 
 
 " Who else should have done it ? For six hours I was 
 engaged in boring it. Meanwhile that accursed goat ate 
 up all my hermiones. I walked into the cottage to bring 
 the necessary materials for firing the rock ; when the rage 
 I experienced at the goat detained me longer than I had 
 anticipated, so that I did not set fire to the match until half 
 an hour since. It was a dangerous business ; but I was 
 out of the cavern with the swiftness of a lightning's flash, 
 and I had scarcely time to get out of it when, bang ! I 
 heard the most glorious crash that ever greeted my ears." 
 
 " May Satan, Moloch, and Belial, thank you for it, pro- 
 fessor ;" roared out the Grison, " for by that nice operation 
 of yours, the lives of two human beings were nearly lost." 
 
 " Why, there was not a living soul far or near," said 
 Professor Onyx. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Delory and myself, were at that 
 same moment within the fairies' temple ; " replied 
 Florian. 
 
 " How ! have you just now come out of it ? " inquired 
 Onyx ; " was the smoke occasioned by the powder dis- 
 sipated ? It does not generally evaporate among these 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 117 
 
 rocks so quickly ; for I myself was once very nearly suffocated 
 by it, it pressed so hard upon my lungs." 
 
 " But what bad spirit tempted you to try your destruc- 
 tive art in the bowels of the earth, to-day]" asked the 
 Orison. 
 
 " From your question, my most excellent friend," said 
 the professor, " I may infer that you have seen nothing at 
 all. Had you been observant while you were in the grotto, 
 you might have perceived, about twelve feet from the 
 entrance, a purple spot in the calcareous rocks on the right. 
 By a closer examination, you would have found it to be a 
 fish's head, half raised, like the head of a carp. The in- 
 cision of the mouth, the rounded gills, a cinnabar-coloured 
 spot of about the size of a pea, in the place of the eye — all 
 can be seen. The moment I made that discovery, I 
 knocked off the incrustation, and lo ! about one foot and a 
 half removed from the head, I beheld a dark red stripe in 
 the rocks altogether the size of the tail." 
 
 Florian turned with a vexed smile to Hermione who had 
 approached them, when Professor Onyx gave the descrip- 
 tion of the carp. — " Thank the Lord, professor, that your 
 carp has not been the cause of two lives being lost ! " re- 
 marked the fugitive. 
 
 "Friend of my soul, you jest! " was the geologist's an- 
 swer, " I was bound to get this wondrous remnant from the 
 antediluvian world out of the rock, even at the risk of perish- 
 ing together with the carp, beneath the rocks. But excuse 
 me now ; for I must examine what my experiment has 
 effected, before it is too dark. I tell you, my inestimable 
 friend, that this is not a mere impression of a fish, but a 
 perfect fish with flesh and bone, — the only one of its kind, 
 such as no cabinet in the world ever possessed. 
 
 The professor then crept into the hole, and exclaimed 
 from within, — " If my experiment has succeeded, I would 
 
113 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 not take two thousand guilders for my fish. Do me the 
 pleasure to wait until I return ! " 
 
 Florian, however, did not wait for the professor ; but with 
 Hermione on his arm, walked down the mountain-path 
 towards Madam Bell's dwelling, which was a mile distant 
 from the cave. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The Prophetess. 
 
 Florian and Hermione did not hasten their steps, for they 
 had much to tell each other. 
 
 "It is true," remarked Florian, "that with his experi- 
 ments this singular Professor Onyx might have buried us 
 in the fairies' temple ; and yet I feel myself indebted to 
 him for so great an amount of enjoyment, that I forgive him 
 for the alarm he occasioned me." 
 
 " Not he, Florian ; but my fear and cowardice occasioned 
 your alarm," said Hermione. 
 
 " If we were to draw a still nicer distinction," subjoined 
 the fugitive, " it was not you, dearest Hermione ; but those 
 who filled your susceptible imagination with images of 
 terror, may I say, superstitions and prophecies 1 " 
 
 " Oh, my friend, do not condemn as a vulgar belief all 
 that emanates from the soul," was her comment. 
 
 " You will however admit," replied Florian, " that in 
 this instance we have had the most satisfactory evidence of 
 the vanity of such foretellings. Yonder temple, as you call 
 it, is a cave, and nothing more. Had it not been called the 
 fairies' temple, it would scarcely ever have been supposed to 
 be the abode of secret powers. You, Hermione, would not 
 have considered my dream as the magic effect of those 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 concealed agents. You would never have connected the 
 accident of the cave with my dream." 
 
 " I will admit," answered the lady, " that I put a false 
 construction on the dream, and old Morne's prophecies ; 
 yet your dream and Mother Morne may combine true 
 warnings. Do you not think a hidden meaning is attached 
 to your seeing the sea, the villa, and the garden of lilies, in 
 your dream ? " 
 
 " When we are dreaming " — rejoined her lover — " we 
 are travellers. Seas and villas perchance may flit before 
 our vision. That in my dream I saw a multitude of lilies, 
 I can easily explain to myself ; for I thought of you ; and 
 your friends told me of your predilection for lilies over all 
 other flowers. I consequently saw you in my dream in the 
 midst of your favourites, the images of yourself." 
 
 " At least you might vie with any gipsey in interpreting 
 dreams "—said Hermione — " I admit the possibility of all 
 that you say, but you surely will not reject the possibility 
 that dreams may have a higher signification." 
 
 "Well, then, possibility against possibility" — returned 
 Florian — " why should we torment ourselves with a fear of 
 possibilities ? " 
 
 Amid such conversation, night had set in, with its stars 
 twinkling in the heavens. Lights appeared in the cottages 
 around the hills ; and in the foreground, between the trees, 
 the illuminated windows of Madam Bell's house became 
 visible. 
 
 While they were walking, and whispering sweet sounds 
 into each other's ear, they were suddenly interrupted by 
 the shadow of a human being, who, coming from Madam 
 Bell's house, seemed to advance towards the friends with 
 the strangest motions and gesticulations. They heard a 
 footstep, and before them stood the gaunt figure of old 
 Morne, with uplifted arms — " Hie thee hence, fugitive, and 
 
120 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 fly ! " — she cried — " Thy garments are not yet cleansed 
 from blood ! 99 
 
 " Do you mean me, Mother Morne ? " — said Florian, con- 
 fusedly, and vexed at the interruption. 
 
 " To-morrow, or the day after, thou shalt know more " — 
 replied the old woman — " and yet thou wilt know it too 
 soon ! " She then lifted her hand again into the air, and 
 exclaimed — " Heaven hath eyes ! 99 
 
 An involuntary shudder crept over Hermione, at those 
 mysterious words. She pressed closer to Florian, as if to 
 find protection from the spectre-like manner of the myste- 
 rious woman. He remarked her timidity, and said — " Fear 
 nothing, mademoiselle. Mother Morne herself reproved 
 me once, when I asked her to make me a prophecy ; and 
 said, i God alone knows the future !' " 
 
 " She did say so " — exclaimed the old woman — " and so 
 she says now. But she also sa}^, that men ought to know 
 the present, and thou knowest it not — else thou wouldest 
 know that this day, thou hast led a proud lamb to the altar 
 of repentance ! 99 
 
 " And did you know the present, mother Morne " — retort- 
 ed Florian — " you would not torment two gladsome beings 
 with your prattle. Fare you well." 
 
 " Fare ye well ! fare ye well ! " — cried the old woman — 
 "You and mademoiselle Delory stand in need of the wish ; 
 not I. Fare ye well ; for ye will both fare ill. Did I not 
 see blood on the summit of Le Gros Taureau ? and now I 
 see the bleeding head. I have warned thee in the dried 
 up bed of the river La Combe ; and the maiden I have cau- 
 tioned in the silent ravines of Longaigne. Which of you 
 has given ear to my words V 9 
 
 " Go your way in peace " — retorted the fugitive — " and 
 let us go peaceably on ours. What business have we with 
 you ? Good night." 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JUKA. 
 
 121 
 
 " Hold ! " screamed the prophetess, in a husky voice ; 
 holding up her arms, and standing for some time before 
 them, in the attitude of a maniac — " leave off from the 
 maiden, and do not defile her garments with blood, which 
 will cry to Hermione's heart. O that blood, that blood ! 
 which I saw on the summit of Le Gros Taureau, and Avhich 
 you could not wash out in the mountain stream. Flee from 
 the valleys of the Jura ; for thy mornings will be fraught 
 with sorrow, and the evenings will bring thee but grief." 
 
 "Do you understand a word of all this?" said Florian, 
 with a smile, to Hermione. 
 
 " Oh, I have here the interpretation ; beneath three 
 swords that cross each other, and are encompassed with a 
 crown of thorns ! " — exclaimed old Morne ; thrusting her 
 hand into her pocket, and drawing forth a letter which she 
 gave to Hermione. 
 
 " Ah, a letter from my father ! " — exclaimed Mademoi- 
 selle Delory, taking it out of Mother Morne 's hand ; and 
 whispering Florian a hasty good night, she ran with it into 
 the house of her friend. At the same moment, old Morne 
 went in an opposite direction, and walking with her usual 
 swiftness up the mountain, soon disappeared in the dark- 
 ness of night. Florian was left alone ; for Hermione also 
 had vanished behind the trees. He therefore hastened his 
 steps to the hospitable mansion of his friends. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 Changes. 
 
 Father StafFard had just returned from an excursion to the 
 capital, bearing with him gladsome tidings for Florian. It 
 was a commission, signed by the governor of Neufchatel, 
 
122 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 permitting the Grison's residence in the Canton. He had 
 himself gone to the Governor, and presented to him Flo- 
 rian's history ; and offered to become his surety. He had 
 particularly dwelt on the conduct of those French officers, 
 who, in attacking Florian and George, between Les Bay- 
 ards and Brevine, had greatly violated the prerogatives of 
 the Neufchatel territory ; a circumstance that very much 
 excited the governor's indignation. 
 
 " Now, then, you will enjoy in our mounains perfect lib- 
 erty and security " — said the worthy old man, after supper. 
 " Wo be to him who touches but a single hair of your head ! 
 The fate of the Grisons, like that of all Switzerland, as it is 
 now given up to the sword of foreigners, will remain un- 
 certain for a long time. Therefore console yourself, and 
 bear it with patience. We have already passed the middle 
 of summer : autumn will soon assume its prerogatives, and 
 instead of adorning our trees and bushes with fruit and 
 sweet grapes, will hang icicles upon them, and clothe them 
 with snowy garments. But the merrier shall we be in our 
 warm comfortable rooms. The valleys yield to us their 
 choicest fruits, and rarest gifts. You will not be in want of 
 amusement ; you are one of those, who are also in good 
 company when they are with themselves. So make your 
 arrangements for the long winter ; for where will you find 
 more trusty friends, or greater security, and more freedom ? 
 You will stay with us my friend, will you not ? " 
 
 Saying this, father Staffard extended his hand to Florian, 
 who took it with deep emotion, and said — "It would better 
 befit me were I to sue. Where in the world could I be 
 happier than here, where peace and virtue have their home ? 
 I experience not even a desire to visit my own distracted 
 country. Look upon me as your son, as I am already 
 George's brother. For then, sooner or later, I may have 
 it in my power to evince to you my gratitude. During the 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 123 
 
 winter we will consider how I may invest my property to 
 the best advantage, on La C6te-aux-Fees." 
 
 "Oh, Florian !" cried George — "we have already made 
 quite different plans ! We think of bidding farewell to our 
 mountain home, and perhaps next spring to remove into a 
 more genial clime. The rough atmosphere of these moun- 
 tains agrees neither with my father nor with Madam Bell, 
 who is always in delicate health ; and there are no physi- 
 cians near." 
 
 " Whither will ye go, ye happy ones ? Do not expel 
 me, for wheresoever you go, there will I go," said Flo- 
 rian. 
 
 "Ah ! " exclaimed the father, "for me, the rough moun- 
 tain atmosphere would be mild enough ; and he has no need 
 of a physician, whom a simple mode of life, occupation, and 
 a hilarious mind preserves from sickness. But these revo- 
 lutions have been? instigated by the women ; and I must 
 be contented. My neighbour, Madam Bell, for the 
 sake of her health, is going to live with her niece, Her- 
 mione, not far from Antibes. There is a large public es- 
 tate offered for sale, which George thinks of purchasing, as 
 he and Claudine will like to live near their mother, and so 
 I shall have to follow them ; for what am I to do alone 
 among these mountains ?" 
 
 " And you too, Florian, will go with us into the happy 
 land of St. Imar ? " — said George. " How ! do you blush ? 
 What are we to do on the dismal La Cote-aux-Fees, when 
 our fairies have deserted it ? Give me your hand ! Did 
 you not tell me that you felt yourself alone in the world, 
 without either parents, or sisters, or friends ? All those 
 you will find again, in the proximity of St. Imar, and 
 Antibes. Are you content? Give me your hand on it, 
 and make me happy." 
 
 " Can I refuse it to him to whom I would give it, should 
 
124 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 he even ask me to follow him into a desert ? " said Florian, 
 as he shook George heartily by the hand. 
 
 But the following day brought with it a bitter change. 
 The joys that heaven bestows on man pass more swiftly 
 by than the glances of the sun, between showers of rain. 
 George, in his morning walk, had called at Madam Bell's 
 house, and returned home with the intelligence that he 
 had found both Claudine and her mother in a very singular 
 state of mind, and in inexplicable confusion. Hermione 
 had locked herself in her room, and reported herself ill. 
 " But " — added George — " they are each of them pressed 
 by a torturing secret. One can easily see in their faces, 
 the curtain they have drawn over them, to prevent others 
 from seeing what is behind it. Madam Bell speaks little, 
 busies herself with the tables and chairs, wipes the dust 
 from windows and mirrors, that she may be enabled to lis- 
 ten more attentively to what is said, and my Claudine 
 seems to say with one eye, 4 I love you,' and with the 
 other, 4 do not approach me ! ' With one eye she says, 
 4 1 should like to have a private chat with you,' and with 
 the other, 4 ask me no questions.' However, have pa- 
 tience, for I shall be at the bottom of their mysteries be- 
 fore I am twenty-four hours older." 
 
 Florian, concerned lest Hermione's health should have 
 sustained a shock from her fright in the Prairies' Temple, 
 and partly apprehensive that Mother Morne's warnings 
 might have worked on her imagination, so as to become 
 deleterious, repaired, in the afternoon, to the house of 
 Madam Bell. He found Claudine and her mother, but 
 Hermione remained invisible. His friends, at other times 
 so friendly and kind to him, now assumed a most reserved 
 and cool demeanour. However forced this conduct appear- 
 ed, particularly on the part of Claudine, nevertheless, it 
 was painful to the Grison. He even thought, that in the 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 125 
 
 house where formerly he had been so welcome, his com- 
 pany now might not be grateful. 
 
 For some time he stood bewildered and undecided ; but 
 instead of showing any resentment for the cool reception 
 he met with, he turned to the ladies and said openly and 
 frankly — " By all I can see, I must have incurred your dis- 
 pleasure ; what have I done, that I should find myself in 
 such a dilemma f 1 
 
 " Nothing, in the least," said Claudine, politely. 
 
 "It would be better, Mademoiselle Claudine " — replied 
 Florian — " were we to speak frankly to each other. 
 There may be a misunderstanding that would force its way 
 between us. I love you all too much not to feel pain at 
 losing the least particle of that respect and esteem with 
 which you have honoured me. If I have done wrong, I en- 
 treat you to tell me the nature of the offence, that I may 
 either prove my innocence, or atone for my crime." 
 
 " What causes you to entertain so strange a suspicion 
 either against us or yourself] " said Madam Bell, busying 
 herself with the window curtain. 
 
 " Your words, the expression of both your countenances, 
 in fact, your whole demeanour, cause this suspicion to rise 
 within me " — replied Florian. " You will scarcely deny 
 this to me, and much less to yourself. Why would you 
 therefore conceal from me, what is important to your own, 
 and to my peace of mind, and what perhaps may decide 
 whether I" 
 
 "We have no reply to make" — said Madam Bell. 
 " There is no difference to be adjusted between us. Allow 
 me therefore to break off a conversation equally painful to 
 you and to us." 
 
 " I obey, Madam ; yet allow me to ask one question," 
 said Florian, " will Mademoiselle Delory grant me an in- 
 terview of only a few moments ? " 
 
126 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 " No," said Claudinc, hurriedly, — " No ! she needs rest, 
 she has passed a terrible night." 
 
 " You drive me to despair, Mademoiselle, if you do not 
 tell whether I am not looked upon as the cause of your 
 amiable cousin's sufferings ? " inquired the fugitive. 
 
 " Well — yes ; at least, you have, you will be," replied 
 Claudine. 
 
 " Silence ! Claudine," cried Madam Bell, interrupting 
 her — " Who gave you permission to speak ? Can you so 
 entirely forget yourself? " Then turning to Florian she 
 said — " Pardon me, Monsieur Florian ; but we must break 
 off a subject that cannot be agreeable to either of us. 
 Hermione is not well. Give the poor girl time enough to 
 become a little familiar with her hard fate ; and then per- 
 haps you will learn what you wish to know ; and which, 
 against Hermione's will, we have no right to divulge." 
 
 With this explanation Florian was compelled to be 
 satisfied. He departed and wandered alone in the woods 
 and on the mountains to dissipate his thoughts or rather 
 to collect them. Much as he revolved in his mind every 
 circumstance that had brought him together with Hermione, 
 and every word he had ever said to her, he could not dis- 
 cover how he could have contributed to her unhappiness. 
 His suspicions fell on the Sybil of Le Gros Taureau. She 
 undoubtedly had discovered Hermione's love, and filled her 
 breast with superstitious fears. Some peculiar circumstance 
 also might be attached to the mysterious letter which the 
 maniac had delivered on the preceding night. 
 
 When he returned from his roamings, George hastened 
 to meet him before the garden of Standard's house, and 
 said, — " Something very extraordinary must have happened 
 at Madam Bell's house ; for the whole conduct of the ladies 
 has undergone an entire change. They are as dumb as a 
 post. Mother Bell appeared alone ; Claudine was not per- 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 127 
 
 mitted to show herself. There is some secret, Florian ! 
 and it must regard yourself. Give me some clue to it. 
 The rest, I will know to-morrow." 
 
 Florian repeated to him the events of the previous day. 
 " Perhaps Hermione repents," he added, " that her heart, 
 in being overcome by the power of the most singular 
 accidents, has revealed too much. It may be female pride, 
 at having given her heart and her hand so thoughtlessly 
 to an adventurer and a fugitive. She may fear also the 
 prophecies of Mother Morne, whose hatred I seem to have 
 incurred. Perhaps it is all this taken together." 
 
 " Oh, no ; you wrong her ! " exclaimed George, " Her- 
 mione loves you, and 4 were he a beggar,' she once said to 
 Claudine, i and were he the greatest outcast among men, he 
 would exercise no less a power over me. My existence is 
 interwoven with his life. But I know that I shall perish 
 with and through him, and he will perish with and through 
 me ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXIT. 
 The Rival. 
 
 On the next day George was again on the watch, but 
 on arriving at home he was greatly out of humour, and 
 said — " I believe the devil is playing his devices in that 
 house. As I was going over there, I found Hermione and 
 Claudine sitting on a bench in the garden ; but when the 
 girls perceived me in the distance, they got up and v^ent 
 into the house. I followed them, but found only the mother. 
 To all I said or asked I received no answer, excepting a 
 shake of the head or a shrug of the shoulders, or various 
 proverbial sayings, such as, — ' We should look before we 
 
128 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 leap ;' 1 at night we are wiser than in the morning ;' * we 
 should not discard every presentiment.' " 
 
 " And did you not see Claudine ? " asked Florian. 
 
 "Certainly, only listen," replied his friend ; " she entered, 
 and her mother left us together. Now I thought my game 
 was won. I commenced immediately interrogating her. 
 But she would not suffer me to ask a question, and inter- 
 rupted me, by saying, ' My dear George, I dare not leave 
 Hcrmione longer than three minutes ; therefore allow me 
 to be brief, and to make a request of you.' I answered her 
 by saying that I would grant it immediately. ' Well then, 
 you are a dear, good soul ; I therefore request of you not 
 to ask any questions in respect to anything that may excite 
 your curiosity. Furthermore, tell Florian, that I feel very 
 sorry for him, and that he must forget the fairies' temple, 
 and ail that occurred on that day ; and for the sake of Her- 
 mione's peace of mind, that he must avoid visiting at our 
 house without being invited.' — Thus spoke Claudine, but 
 I felt vexed at what she said, and asked her why ? but she 
 shook her head, and said — ' That is a question you are not 
 to ask. ' Then she sighed, and ejaculated — ' Poor Florian ! 
 But incredible things have happened ; yes, incredible and 
 most terrible things.' I was about to ask another question, 
 when she exclaimed — 'The three minutes have elapsed.' 
 and with that she ran away, turned again at the door, bade 
 me a friendly adieu, and vanished. There I was, left alone. 
 I waited a long time, but no one appeared ; and at length, 
 tired of waiting, I left the house." 
 
 This report of honest George, in every particular, was 
 more calculated to excite the curiosity of the Grison. At 
 supper, they communicated the whole of it to father 
 Staffard. 
 
 " Children," — said the old man, — " do not torment your- 
 selves about women's secrets. A woman's most important 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 129 
 
 affairs are those of her heart ; and there it is, where the 
 most incredible things happen. Who knows, whether 
 Mademoiselle Deloiy has not had a remarkable dream ; or 
 whether yesterday was not an ominous, unlucky day, in 
 Madam Bell's calendar ? Let the women alone, they will 
 come of their own accord, and reveal every one of these in- 
 credible things. With regard to the letter, we cannot know 
 whether it contains anything remarkable or not. I must 
 speak with Madam Bell, she will be glad to unburden'her 
 heart of its secrets to me." 
 
 On the next morning, old StafFard repaired to his neigh- 
 bour's house. The young men at home, were burning 
 with impatience for his return and his communication. 
 When they saw him at a distance, they went forth to meet 
 him. 
 
 The old man laughed and said — " I thought you would 
 endure all the torments of purgatory, until I should come 
 to release you. Well then, the incredible things that have 
 happened, I have seen with my own eyes ; and the key to 
 this great mystery was standing in Madam Bell's door 
 when I arrived." 
 
 " What do you mean, father ? " asked George. 
 
 " Why it is Captain Larmagne, who has taken his quar- 
 ters in Madam Bell's house," — replied the mountaineer. 
 
 " Oh, oh ! " exclaimed George, " Is that all ? But why 
 do they make so great a secret out of that ? Is it because 
 for several years he has been one of Hermione's unsuccess- 
 ful lovers ? " 
 
 " Umph ! " replied father Staffard, " successful or un- 
 successful, even if Hermione should reject his homage, 
 you know that her father favours his suit, and that Her- 
 mione regards her father's word above all things." 
 
 " But she has decidedly declared," remarked George, 
 " that she did not love the captain." 
 7 
 
130 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 " That is all the same to me," said the elder Stafford, 
 " yet for all that, it explains Claudine's incredible things. 
 Women always dread dill'cuities between rivals, if not 
 scenes of bloodshed. They know also, through you and 
 me, that Florian has dealt lather harshly with the captain 
 in the scuffle on the heights of Les Bayards." 
 
 " How ?" exclaimed Florian, "Is he the same officer who 
 was going to arrest me, as we were coming from Brevine ? " 
 
 "Certainly he is" — replied George — "I cannot bear 
 the fellow. He was on La Cote-aux-Fees, at the com- 
 mand of her father, and accompanied Hermicne hither. 
 Colonel Despars is the confidential and intimate friend of 
 Captain Larmagne. He then remained several days at 
 Madam Bell's ; but I became sick of him, the first hour 
 that I saw him, and did not visit Claudine as long as he 
 stayed there. 1 have never seen him since, excepting when 
 we met him on Les Bayards. But if he dares again to 
 raise difficulties, he may consider himself fortunate, if he 
 leaves La Cote-aux-Ffees with a single whole bone in his 
 body." 
 
 "Hold!" — exclaimed father Stafford — "No mischief. 
 Let the captain rest in peace ; and do not spoil what the 
 women will make good." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 An Old Acquaintance. 
 
 Florian was so obedient, that he even resolved to confine 
 himself to the house, in order to avoid meeting his rival, 
 perchance when taking a walk. 
 
 He was seated in his own rocm, absorbed in mathe- 
 matical drawings and calculations, when he heard a knock 
 at the door ; and on his summons appeared Professor Onyx. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 131 
 
 u Best of friends ! " — he exclaimed ; and with one 
 bound he stood before Florian's table. — " It was my duty 
 long since to have visited you, but you know that a person 
 who has so many grave pursuits, as myself, can never call 
 his time his own ; and among friends, these matters are 
 not considered so strictly. You will therefore forgive me ! 
 I see you are buried in books. Well ! I shall not stay 
 long ; and meanwhile, I shall be as mute as a fish. But 
 speaking of fish — do you know what fate my antediluvian 
 fish has met with ? It was a sad disaster ! Every thing 
 blown into ten thousand shivers. Not a vestige of it is 
 now to be seen." 
 
 " I greatly deplore your loss, professor, but " replied 
 
 the fugitive. 
 
 " Pardon me, friend of my soul ! I perceive with delight, 
 that you are a mathematician," — said Onyx, — " I see 
 nothing there, but algebraical circles and triangles. — 
 Friend, a higher destiny has brought us together, we will 
 form a partnership. I will give you my local and techni- 
 cal knowledge ; and I will avail myself of your mathe- 
 matics. A man like yourself, I have long since been in 
 need of to solve one of the most important questions. 
 Have you ever been to Sous-le-Saunier or to Salines ? " 
 
 " Never," — rejoined Florian. 
 
 " Then you must go there with me ! You must go " — 
 added the philosopher. 
 
 " May I know the reason why ? " inquired the Grison. 
 
 " You will be astonished," — the professor cried out, — 
 " where the salt-springs flow out of the gypsum formation, 
 I will show you several species of stone, and then — yes, 
 rejoice, my friend — I shall show you the same formations, 
 not far from the lake of Neufchatel. Now the question 
 arises, how deep must we bore for the salt-springs ? That 
 you can calculate, with your algebraical forms, as soon as 
 
132 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 you know the geological relation of Salines and Sous-le- 
 Saunier. Then we two are not only provided for, but also 
 the principality of Xeufch&tel, and all Switzerland. Not 
 an hour ago, I was saying to Madamoiselle Delory " 
 
 " Have you seen Mademoiselle Delory 1 " — earnestly 
 inquired Florian. 
 
 44 But three words ! — consequently I said what did 
 
 I say ? — what was I going to say 1 — you have interrupted 
 me, " — replied Onyx. 
 
 44 You were speaking of Madamoiselle Delory," — re- 
 marked the fugitive. 
 
 44 Of Madamoiselle Delory. I carried her some fresh 
 hermiones ; she took but a single one, and put it in her 
 bosom. The captain behaved a little uncivil on that 
 occasion " — muttered the botanist. 
 
 44 Captain Larmagne ? " — said the Grison. 
 
 " Well, well, we shall speak of him anon," — returned 
 Onyx. — ' 4 Only think, my inestimable friend, how advan- 
 tageously the superabundant turf of these marshy valleys 
 may be employed. What new industry and commerce 
 would be introduced ! The lakes of Geneva and Neuf- 
 chatel would become more closely connected. The Pays 
 de Vaud must supply us with wood. Through the Thielle 
 to the lake of Brienne and the Aar, we shall command the 
 principal water-carriage ; and in a short time, we should 
 be able to supply all Switzerland with salt." 
 
 44 But I would rather you had given the captain some salt, 
 for behaving rudely to Mademoiselle Delory," replied Florian. 
 
 44 Oh, he was not rude to the lady ; but he kissed her 
 hand in my presence " — answered the professor. 44 Had I 
 been in the uncivil fellow's place, I should never have done 
 it. But towards me he behaved rudely when" — 
 
 44 So he seemed rather intimate ? " — was the Grison's in- 
 quiry. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 133 
 
 " Understand me rightly" — said Onyx. "The captain 
 and myself are old friends and acquaintances. One speaks 
 his opinions to the other, and there the matter rests." 
 
 " And are the captain and Mademoiselle Delory old ac- 
 quaintances also ? " — asked the fugitive. 
 
 "Pardon me, my dear friend" — was the philosopher's 
 response — " I did not pay very strict attention to it ; but as 
 I faintly remember, she only spoke in monosyllables." 
 
 " How ? " — ejaculated Florian — " you remember it but 
 faintly ! and scarcely an hour has elapsed since you saw 
 Hermione ? " 
 
 "Of course — but an uncommonly large spider" — Onyx 
 added — " that was swinging before the window, holding it- 
 self by its invisible threads, engrossed all my attention. 
 You should have seen the magnificent insect ! " 
 
 " In the company of a beautiful young lady, professor, I 
 think I should not have been attracted by the charms of 
 even a spider " — rejoined the Grison. 
 
 " Who speaks of charms ? In regard to that, my inesti- 
 mable friend, we are of one opinion" — retorted the ento- 
 mologist — "and I confess Hermione was more beautiful 
 than the spider. But a spider is not without its interest to 
 the observer. For all the artificial knowledge we have of 
 the weather, I would not give a sous. Spiders are the real 
 prophets of nature, the most unerring hands on the atmo- 
 spheric clock ! Not until a catechism treating on spiders — 
 not until an extract of arachnology is taught in schools — 
 not until in every farm-house spiders are declared holy an- 
 imals, like storks upon the roofs of houses, agriculture nei- 
 ther can nor will arrive at the summit of perfection." 
 
 " And your spider " — said Florian — " prevented you from 
 seeing all that the captain and mademoiselle " 
 
 " Mademoiselle Delory had left me and the captain long 
 before " — rejoined the professor — " when he took me by the 
 
134 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 arm, and invited me to take a walk with him. Then v\ e 
 began, I know not how, to converse about you. He asked 
 me a thousand questions, which I answered to the best of 
 my ability. I could swear that Monsieur Moustache has 
 fallen in love with you. In his enthusiasm, he dragged me 
 to his room, and there wrote a real love-letter to you. The 
 thing would have slipped my memory. Thus it is, my ex- 
 cellent friend ! but when you begin to talk, you make a per- 
 son forget everything." 
 
 With those words, Professor Onyx gave the letter to Flo- 
 rian, who broke it open, and read it immediately. 
 
 u Am I not right ? "—continued the philosopher. — " Is not 
 the captain in extacies to make your acquaintance ? But 
 if I had told him what I now know of your mathematical 
 knowledge — speaking however of mathematics — how is it 
 with our boring for the salt- springs on the lake of Neuf- 
 chatel?" 
 
 "The captain expects my answer, professor" — remark- 
 ed Florian. 
 
 " I promised to carry it to him immediately " — said Onyx. 
 — "It is well that you puj me in mind of it. Farewell." 
 
 " But you do not yet know my answer" — replied the Gri- 
 son. — " Have a moment's patience, if you please." 
 
 Florian merely wrote on a scrap of paper the following 
 words : 
 
 " Sir — I shall have the honour to grant your desire." 
 He then folded it up in a note, and gave it to Professor 
 Onyx, who immediately ran away with it, as the younger 
 StafFard entered his room. 
 
 Florian gave his friend George the captain's letter, which 
 contained the following words : 
 
 " Sir — If you are the same adventurer from the Grisons, 
 who, between La Brevine and Les Bayards, behaved so 
 rustically brave in a scuffle with a French officer, you will 
 
THE FUGITIVE OP TIIE JURA. 
 
 135 
 
 have no objection to give me that satisfaction, which, as a 
 man of honour, I require, and which you will feel yourself 
 obliged to give. I shall therefore expect you at sunrise to- 
 morrow morning, on the foot-path leading to La Brevine, 
 at the entrance of the pine-wood. I shall not be attended 
 by any person, except my temporary servant, and my good 
 sword. I await your answer. Do not let me wait too long 
 at the above-mentioned place, as duty calls me to Pontar- 
 lier. L. Larmagne." 
 
 George showed an angry countenance after he had pe - 
 rused the letter. " How will you answer this scrdll ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " That I shall meet him " — replied the fugitive — " and in 
 } r our company, George." 
 
 The result of this difficulty seemed rather precarious to 
 honest George ; for should it end with bloodshed, and his 
 friend be either victorious or vanquished, Florian would ei- 
 ther be compelled to fly, or if wounded, he would be con- 
 fined for some time to a bed of pain and sickness. 
 
 Although Florian spoke lightly of the matter, neverthe- 
 less, George made all the necessary arrangements for an 
 immediate journey, in the event that the captain should be 
 killed, and Florian be compelled to fly. For that purpose 
 he despatched a messenger with Florian's most necessary 
 clothing to Brevine, directing him to have a carriage in 
 readiness to convey the fugitive to the house of his friend at 
 Boudry. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 The Rencontre. 
 
 The stars were still hanging about the western horizon, 
 like radiant wreaths and chains, and the dawn of morninor 
 was just gleaming in the east when the two fiends com- 
 
136 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 mcnced their walk to the pine-wood. Florian endeavoured 
 to cheer his friend with merry jokes ; for George moved 
 along very dejectedly at his side. 
 
 The stars gradually disappeared, and a dark red was 
 glowing in the horizon, when they arrived at the pinc-wood. 
 That magnificent prelude of sunrise and of the waking of 
 the world indemnified them for their enemy's procrastina- 
 tion. They spoke of their future consolatory prospects, and 
 on the pinions of imagination, they floated in the magic 
 land of already-fulfilled wishes. "While they were thus rev- 
 elling in the realms of visionary bliss, the sun poured his 
 first golden rays upon the world, and spread a radiance 
 around the heads of those young enthusiasts. The moun- 
 tain-world rose in the light. On the grass in the meadows 
 glistened the diamond dew-drops, while silent oceans of 
 mist rolled up from the depths of the valleys. 
 
 Suddenly the sound of a human voice fell upon their ears ; 
 and turning their heads, the friends beheld the captain, and 
 a man carrying some baggage. 
 
 " Your pardon, gentlemen " — said the professional ruffian 
 — " for making you wait ; but as the sun is just rising from 
 behind the mountains, therefore let us go to work immedi- 
 ately. A little to the right we shall find a very convenient 
 and open space." 
 
 The friends followed him. While on their way, George 
 sought to make a treaty of peace ; but the captain repulsed 
 him with a short and impertinent speech. " With you, young 
 man, I have nothing to do. I merely seek your companion 
 to chastise him a little for his rustic demeanour." 
 
 " Captain " — said Florian — " you can at least see that I 
 do not fear you. Nevertheless, I am not inclined to fight 
 with you, since I consider it a perfect absurdity. You may 
 be a very estimable man ; but on yonder mountain that 
 here you ca^see, you were the wilful instigator of the quar- 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JUKA. 
 
 137 
 
 rel between us. Let us now settle this difficulty like rea- 
 sonable men. Perhaps I did hurt you a little more than I 
 intended." 
 
 "This will avail you nothing" — replied the captain — 
 "you have demeaned yourself like an assassin. I only 
 wish to give you something by which to remember me." 
 Saying this he drew his sword from the scabbard. 
 
 "And if one of us should fall" — said Florian — "of what 
 advantage would it be to the victor ? I know how you are 
 circumstanced in Madam Bell's house." 
 
 The captain's face became crimson, and his eyes spar- 
 kled as if on fire. — "That is the very thing that urges me 
 on," retorted the bloodsucker — " an outlaw and vagrant, 
 like yourself, must not dishonour the rights of hospitality." 
 
 " Where have I dishonoured them ? " abruptly exclaimed 
 Florian. 
 
 " I am not called upon to account for that," vociferated 
 the soldier ; " but blood for blood. Mademoiselle Delory 
 will thank me. Draw, fellow, draw ! " 
 
 "No," replied Florian calmly, " I demand an explana- 
 tion. You are angry. A person who is going to fight 
 should be collected and cool. Compose yourself, therefore, 
 else the odds against you are too great." 
 
 " Oh, thou vagrant, rebel, and murderer of my brave 
 comrades in Disentis," roared out the would-be assassin ; 
 " prepare thyself, for thine hour is come ! Therefore draw ! 
 villain, draw ! " 
 
 " Give me the explanation ! " mildly rejoined the Grison. 
 " However, I am neither a rebel of Disentis, nor the mur- 
 derer of your comrades." 
 
 " Draw ! " roared the captain. 
 
 George cried out, " How can you stand there so com- 
 posedly ? I wish you had broken the fellow's neck above 
 Brevine." 
 
 7* 
 
133 
 
 FLORIAN '. 
 
 The captain, instead of an answer, gave George a blow 
 across the shoulders with the flat end of his sword. Florian 
 rushed at the captain, their weapons clashed ; and in about 
 a minute, the captain's sword flew high in the air, and fell 
 against a tree. Florian held the point of his sword to the 
 captain's breast, and said, " Captain, you are in my power ; 
 I demand once more the explanation I require." 
 
 " Oh, it is a fencing master's trick," exclaimed the cap- 
 tain. " Well, now finish the business." 
 
 "Never," replied Florian. "I forgive you." Saying 
 this, he turned away from the captain ; but no sooner had 
 he done so, than he was compelled again defend himself ; 
 for the captain having picked up his sword, attacked Florian 
 anew. 
 
 " Not until I have left my mark upon you, you villainous 
 scoundrel," roared the captain, and they both were engaged 
 again in mortal combat. 
 
 " If you are desirous of seeing blood, you shall be grati- 
 fied," coolly retorted the fugitive. 
 
 " Attention ! Be careful ! " exclaimed Florian ; and at 
 the same moment, the blood gushed in a stream from the 
 captain. Florian's sword had passed through the captain's 
 shoulder, a little below the neck. The soldier and George 
 ran to his assistance. Florian flung away his sword. 
 They laid the captain on the grass, and examined his 
 wound. George had provided himself with the necessary 
 bandages, but it was long before the blood could be 
 staunched. 
 
 " That was a rough thrust," said Larmagne, as they were 
 wiping the blood from his clothes. " I can go no further. 
 Carry me back to Madam Bell's house. And you," he 
 continued, turning to the soldier, " hasten to Brevine, send 
 back the carriage, and say an accident has befallen me. I 
 resign myself to the care of these gentlemen." 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 139 
 
 George gave a little scrap of paper to the soldier, with 
 orders to cany it to a surgeon. 
 
 "My accursed temper," said the captain to Florian, as 
 he was throwing his cloak over him. " My accursed heat, 
 and — and — your accursed luck. But I must confess that 
 you are a man of honour and magnanimity. If I live, I 
 shall become your friend. You fence remarkably well. 
 You keep your temper very cool. I owe you my respects, 
 therefore give me your hand." 
 
 Florian gave him his hand, and so did George, of whom 
 the captain asked forgiveness. " Through the whole of my 
 life, I have been a hot-headed fellow," said Larmagne. 
 " As true as I live, I believe I am dying." 
 
 George, observing that the captain was fainting from too 
 great a loss of blood, rubbed his temples and forehead with 
 Kirschwasser ! The captain drank some of it, and felt him- 
 self strengthened. When he attempted to rise, in order to re- 
 turn leaning on the arms of the two young men, he was taken 
 with a trembling, and sinking down again, he said — " I 
 shall never leave this spot. My sand has run out." 
 
 They consoled him, made him sit on a thick pole, and 
 then lifting it up from the ground, so that the captain could 
 support himself, by laying his arm upon one of the young 
 men's shoulders, they carried him to the first house which 
 they saw, where they received more assistance. After 
 which he was conveyed to Madam Bell's house. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The Banishment. 
 
 Madam Bell, with Claudine and Hermione, and all her 
 servants, came to meet the wretched procession, before 
 they had reached the dwelling. George had gone in 
 
140 
 
 I'LOKIAN : 
 
 advance, to prepare the ladies for their additional per- 
 plexity. 
 
 " Do not be angry with me " — said Larmagne- — " my 
 dear madam, for being compelled to return again to your 
 house ;" — then taking Florian kindly by the hand, he con- 
 tinued — " And much less must this young man incur your 
 reproaches, for he is indeed like a saint, but he fights like a 
 demon. Had he so willed, I should not now be here before 
 your door, asking you to extend your hospitality to me ; but 
 before the gates of another mansion, whence there is no 
 return." 
 
 The ladies stood round the man, shuddering at his bloody 
 and pale countenance. Hermione cast a reproachful look 
 at Florian. The captain was carried into the house, fol- 
 lowed by all. Florian also was going in, to give his assist- 
 ance, should it be required, when he was surprised by the 
 touch of a soft hand. It was Hermione's, who drew him 
 into one of the rooms. 
 
 She made several attempts to speak, but her voice 
 faltered, and her lips trembled. She lifted her hand to 
 heaven, as if imploring strength from above, and then said, 
 " For the sake of heaven, tell me what new calamity this 
 is, and what again you have been doing 1 " 
 
 He endeavoured to tranquillize her, and to justify him- 
 self, by giving her a minute account of the whole transac- 
 tion. " Oh ! " — she exclaimed, with a pitiful look at 
 Florian — " I believe it. But what avails a justification 1 
 Our destiny is hastening on to its fulfilment. You have 
 dragged me down into the abyss of ruin. It is already 
 accomplished. You can no longer save me. Fly, oh, fly I 
 for I am destined by my wretched fate to drag you on to the 
 abyss of destruction." 
 
 " Hermione, I conjure you, for the sake of my comfort and 
 ycur own peace, not to give way to superstitious appre- 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 141 
 
 liensions. Remember your promise in the fairies' tem- 
 ple " — replied the fugitive. 
 
 " Of what avail is it to me ? I am already bereft of all 
 the felicity this life affords ! "—added his betrothed.—" Oh, 
 if the rocks in the fairies' temple had fallen upon us, at 
 your side I should have breathed out a life, which now has 
 become a source of endless sorrow and pain." 
 
 " You alarm me ! "• — uttered Florian. " What has hap- 
 pened ? What connection is there between yourself and 
 this miserable Larmagne?" 
 
 "There is none " — rejoined Hermione. — "But to you, 
 unhappy man, to you, I am linked for your destruction. I 
 love you, Florian ! and from my hand you are destined to 
 receive the cup of despair ! Do not doubt but that it will 
 happen ! Yes, it will happen, as surely as I have become 
 wretched through you ! " 
 
 " Through me " — exclaimed Florian, turning as pale as 
 ashes. 
 
 " Read, and know all " — said Hermione, placing in his 
 hand a letter that was lying on the table. The seal with 
 three swords crossing each other, and encompassed with a 
 crown of thorns, brought Mother Morne to his mind. 
 
 The letter was more than three months old, and had 
 been written in Bellinzona, by a friend of Hermione 's 
 father-in-law. By it Hermione was informed, that Colonel 
 Despars was very ill with wounds that he had received in 
 quelling the insurrection in the Grisons ; that there was 
 some slight hope of preserving his life, by amputating his 
 right arm; but that from want of the necessary attendance, 
 the wound had become more dangerous, as the colonel had 
 been removed from one place to another, and been greatly 
 exposed to the inclemency of the weather. Then the 
 writer gave a minute detail, how the colonel had received 
 the wound, on what occasion, and on what day. The letter 
 
142 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 concluded with particular directions from the colonel to his 
 beloved Hermione, in case he should have to bid adieu to 
 the world. 
 
 Florian became as pale as a corpse, when in the descrip- 
 tion of Colonel Despars' murderer, he beheld himself. The 
 letter fell out of his hand, as he exclaimed — " Why could 
 he not have been somebody else ! " 
 
 After a pause, he approached Hermione, who was sit- 
 ting beside the window, with her face buried in her hand- 
 kerchief, and said — "Mademoiselle Delory, although I 
 know not from what source you have learned that it was I 
 who wounded your father-in-law, yet I confess that you are 
 correctly informed. Under similar circumstances I could 
 not do otherwise to-day. You are right, Mademoiselle, we 
 must separate ! You can never yield your heart and hand 
 to the man who has spilled your father's blood. Never 
 could I, blameless and guiltless as I am, have the courage 
 to require your hand. Yet I would ask one more question : 
 Is this the latest intelligence you have ? " 
 
 " A soldier, going to Besangon " — replied Hermione — 
 " received this letter in Bellinzona, and was the bearer of 
 it. That soldier, who at the same time was ordered to es- 
 cort a division of the battalion, as prisoners to France, af- 
 terwards received other commissions, and could not say any 
 thing regarding my father. As they were marching away 
 from Bellinzona, it was reported among the soldiers that the 
 colonel was dead, because he would not consent to the am- 
 putation of his arm. But as the numerous battles, skir- 
 mishes, and retreats cut off all means of communication, it 
 is probable that some of the letters may have been lost." 
 
 " But whither has your father's battalion or brigade 
 marched ? And where is General Menard at present ? " 
 asked Florian . 
 
 Hermione replied sadly and softly — " Mother Morne, 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 143 
 
 who received the letter from the soldier at Couvet, inquired 
 in vain. If my father were still living, by some means or 
 other he would have informed me." 
 
 Florian stood in gloomy consternation before the dis- 
 tressed maiden, still more unhappy than herself. 
 
 " Well, then " — he said, after a long silence — " so let it 
 be ! I am almost inclined to believe that virtue is vain — 
 destiny is blind — sound reason is rubbish — and that super- 
 stition is the greatest wisdom. Who could have believed 
 that the ravings of an insane old woman should be full of 
 meaning, and the most dutiful actions in the end turn out 
 pernicious ? You are are wretched, Hermione, and I am 
 the cause of it. I may have killed your father-in-law. You 
 loved him, and without my knowing or wishing it, I have 
 thrown you into an abyss of sorrow." 
 
 Hermione wept silently ; and Florian narrated the facts, 
 as they actually occurred in his native country. 
 
 " I have known it long since, through Claudine and 
 George," she said. " When I heard the circumstances re- 
 lated for the first time, and I knew not who it was that fell 
 before your unfortunate sword, I admired your valour and 
 your success. Man should never praise a deed ; for he 
 knows not but it may become his curse ! Alas, unhappy 
 man ; you first killed my father, and now the blood of the 
 friend of his youth is cleaving to your sword ! Fare- 
 well ! your arm that should have cherished has de- 
 stroyed me ! I shall forever love, and yet forever avoid 
 you. Leave this district, as soon as possible — to-day — 
 now ! Alas ! the greatest of all horrors yet awaits me. 
 As surely as the prophecy has partly been fulfilled, I shall 
 yet be the instrument by which you are to be hurled into 
 the abyss of dire destruction." 
 
 Florian stood before her, agitated by conflicting passions. 
 His brain was bewildered, and he could not comprehend 
 
144 
 
 FLOKIAN : 
 
 his impending fate. Now that Hermione with her own 
 lips had spoken of an eternal separation, he discovered for 
 the first time, the force and extent of his unconquerable af- 
 fection for her. 
 
 After a long silence he aroused himself, and with a trem- 
 ulous voice he asked — " Will you allow me to write to you, 
 when I am far distant ? " But when he extended his hand 
 to bid her a last farewell, she drew hers tremblingly back, 
 and he remarked that a convulsive shudder ran over Her- 
 mione's whole frame. 
 
 When he saw this, tears fell from his eyes ; and he turn- 
 ed away from her, covering his face with his hand, and 
 walked towards the door. As he was about to open it, 
 Hermione, unable longer to restrain her feelings, rushed 
 after him, in the excess of her grief, flung her arms around 
 his neck, and cried — " Farewell, thou who art my first and 
 my last love ! — Farewell ! thou man of my blessings and my 
 curse ; thou man of my regard and my horror ; of my long- 
 ing and of my terror. Farewell, forever ! O, hate me not ! 
 although I have brought thee to misery, and destroyed thee, 
 yet hate me not. My heart is broken — adieu ! " She 
 rushed out of the room. He passed into the open air, look- 
 ed once more back to the spot where he had pronounced 
 his farewell to happiness, and as if he had been seized by 
 desperation, ran into the open fields. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 Vengeance. 
 
 He had proceeded for some time, not knowing whither he 
 went ; when a voice from behind the firs called out to him, 
 "Turn back, turn back, thou child of perdition !" 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 145 
 
 Ho looked up, and saw Mother Morne, brandishing her 
 crutch before him, with a countenance expressive of the 
 greatest anxiety. She was standing between two fir trees, 
 with the perspiration running from her face, and gasping 
 for breath. Florian saw blood at her feet, and remember- 
 ed where he was. It was near the place where he had 
 wounded Captain Larmagne, and an involuntary shudder 
 crept over him. 
 
 " Turn back ! " — exclaimed the old woman, " once 
 more." 
 
 "Wretched woman!" — said Florian — "must thou be 
 the last whom I am to see on these heights, as thou wast 
 the first who came to meet mo on Le Gros Taureau ? 
 Away ! and suffer me to go on unmolested. What have I 
 to do with thee, that thou art meddling with my fate 1 " 
 
 "Not a step farther ! " — answered the sybil. 
 
 "Why ? " — rejoined the fugitive. 
 
 " They seek thee ! " — said Mother Morne. 
 
 "Who seek me 1 " — asked the Grison. 
 
 " Vengeance and Death," — vociferated the wandering 
 seer. 
 
 " So much the better " — exclaimed Florian ; and he 
 pushed the old woman, who was about to obstruct his pas- 
 sage, so vehemently aside, that she could not keep her bal- 
 ance, and fell to the earth. He walked down the mountain, 
 through the wood, on the way from La C6te-aux-Fees to 
 Les Verrieres. He experienced some satisfaction at hav- 
 ing found this road. It seemed to him a work of provi- 
 dence to fly immediately from that place. The carriage 
 which George had bespoken, and furnished with necessary 
 articles to convey him to Boudry, was still waiting for him. 
 He had not gone far when his attention was aroused by the 
 sound of human voices. Florian recognised distinctly that 
 of Professor Onyx. Soon afterward, several men ascend- 
 
146 
 
 FLORIAI* : 
 
 ing the mountain with luggage, emerged from behind the 
 trees. They greeted the fugitive politely, and passed on. 
 Soon after, he saw Professor Onyx in company with a man 
 wearing a military cloak and hat, followed by a servant, 
 leading his horse. 
 
 "See there, our most estimable friend" — exclaimed 
 the professor, pointing to Florian. — " Come hither, friend 
 of my soul. We have this moment been speaking of you. 
 Did not Mother Morne tell you we were coming 1 The wo- 
 man ran like a frantic creature to announce us, I suppose ; 
 but unless she rode like a witch upon a broom, it is impos- 
 sible for her to have reached Madam Bell's or Mr. Standard's 
 house. So we must thank an accident for meeting you. 
 See here, best of friends ! this gentleman is desirous of 
 making your acquaintance. I almost suspect you of being 
 a very distinguished person, incognito" 
 
 As Mr. Onyx hailed him from a distance, Florian 
 had approached the gentleman closely, when the professor 
 finished his address. The fugitive and the professor ex- 
 changed a cold and formal bow. 
 
 " So this is the Grison gentleman that escaped from the 
 French guards who escorted him towards Besancon ? " in- 
 quired the stranger — addressing himself to the professor. 
 
 " Of course, of course," exclaimed Onyx ; and then turn- 
 ing to Florian, he added — " No person can convince me 
 to the contrary, but that you are a distinguished person. 
 For to whomsoever I mention your name, he is sure to ex- 
 press a desire of seeing you. Tell me, I pray you, on what 
 subject have you written your best work ? " 
 
 "Allow me, professor," interrupted his companion, "to 
 speak a few words in private with your friend. Do me the 
 favour to conduct the people, with my luggage, to the house 
 of Madam Bell ; and to announce my speedy arrival. I 
 shall soon follow." 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 147 
 
 " Oh ! when we are once up there," said Professor 
 Onyx, " you can again mount your horse, for the road then 
 is tolerably fine. Did we not live here in a land of savages, 
 we might have the best possible carriage -road from Les 
 Verrieres to La Cote-aux-Fees. Good roads go farther 
 towards civilizing a nation than any other thing. It is 
 said that commerce makes roads, because it stands in need 
 of them. False, false ! First make roads to facilitate com- 
 merce, and the land will soon be blooming with prosperity. 
 But here, sir ! I have been preaching to deaf ears. All 
 my admonitions are like pearls cast before swine." 
 
 " Very good ! excellent professor," said the stranger ; 
 " but I think we can better settle that point at La Cote-aux- 
 Fees. At present, however, you will much oblige me, by 
 conducting those men who already are far in advance of 
 you to Madam Bell's ; will you do me that favour 1 " 
 
 " Most willingly, most willingly," replied the professor ; 
 " and as soon as you arrive there, I will explain to you my 
 theory for constructing mountain roads." The professor 
 hastened away. 
 
 In the meantime, Florian had scanned the officer, as he 
 appeared to be, from head to foot ; but he could not recol- 
 lect that he ever before had seen him. He was a large, 
 muscular man, with a broad breast, and about fifty years 
 of age. His countenance, a little bronzed by the sun, was 
 noble and expressive ; and his voice well-toned, but his 
 manner somewhat abrupt and imperious. 
 
 " We once knew each other," he said to Florian, when 
 the professor was out of hearing. 
 
 " I do not remember that I ever had that honour," replied 
 Florian. 
 
 " But I do. So much the better ! " responded the 
 officer, and threw a meaning look at Florian. Then turn- 
 ing to his servant, he said, — " Take off my cloak, I am too 
 
148 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 warm." The servant obeyed the command. As the cloak 
 was falling off his shoulders, Florian also recognised the 
 stranger, who now stood before him in the uniform of a 
 French chef-de-brigade, with the right sleeve of his coat 
 fastened at the extreme end to the breast-buttons. 
 
 " You are Colonel Despars ! " said Florian, in joyful 
 surprise. 
 
 " So you recognise me ! " answered Despars ; " you have 
 left me a memorial by which I shall remember you as long 
 as I live. But go on, sir, this is not the place to settle our 
 business ; I must therefore request you to accompany me." 
 
 " If you desire it, certainly," replied the fugitive. 
 
 " Desire it, nay, I command it," said the colonel, taking 
 a pistol out of one the holsters of the saddle. — You shall 
 not escape me, and if you attempt it, I will send a bullet 
 through your brains." 
 
 " I fear neither you nor your bullets, colonel ; " said 
 Florian, and he returned with the officer towards La Cote- 
 aux-Fees. — " There is also a great deal that I would say to 
 you. I lament my misfortune which enjoined on me the 
 necessity of crippling you. On your account I have lost 
 my liberty, my country, and my highest happiness. But I 
 feel delighted that I have not innocently deprived you of 
 life. I rejoice that the report by which you were said to 
 be dead is unfounded." 
 
 " You have no cause for joy," muttered the colonel be- 
 tween his teeth. 
 
 " More than you believe or know," retorted the Grison. 
 
 " How so ? " inquired Despars. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Delory, your daughter-in-law, is nearly 
 desperate. She considers me the murderer of a father 
 whom she loves above all things. For that very reason I 
 was even now on my way leaving this country, out of which 
 I am banished by her command. God be praised that you 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 149 
 
 are still living ! I shall now go hence with a more tranquil 
 mind." 
 
 The colonel was anxious to know what relation could 
 subsist between Florian and his daughter-in-law. The 
 Grison spoke frankly and fearlessly, but with that respect 
 due to the man whom Hermione called father. The colonel 
 with a stern look scrutinized the young Grison. He then 
 walked on, asked a few questions, and Florian acquainted 
 him with all that had occurred. 
 
 " This is a romance ! " said the colonel, standing still 
 again ; but his look became less stern. He examined the 
 narrator deliberately. The strength, fearlessness, and 
 handsome figure of the young man, the firmness and 
 decision of his character, made a great impression on the 
 heart of the warrior. 
 
 " It is well ! I consider you a man of honour" said the 
 colonel. — " My daughter could not have thrown away her 
 regards on a villain. Be it so, I will now treat you as a 
 man of honour ! My intention was to have you arrested by 
 the magistrate of this district, and to reclaim your person 
 from the government of Neufchatel, because you made your 
 escape, and ought to be tried by a French court-martial. 
 You are one of the assassins of Disentis." * 
 
 Florian disclaimed having taken any part either in the 
 massacre of the French, or in the Landsturm ; adding, — 
 " Although I am now under the especial protection of the 
 governor of Neufchatel, I fear not any tribunal, even were 
 this not so." 
 
 " But me, sir, you must fear," exclaimed Despars, " and 
 this left hand must revenge the right arm that is in the 
 grave ! I have sworn ten thousand times that you shall 
 die ; that one only oath would I joyfully have kept. Your 
 evil star has led you in my way ! Do you know how to 
 handle pistols ? " 
 
150 
 
 FLOEIAN : 
 
 " Certainly. But I shall not fight with Hermione'g 
 father-in-law," sternly answered the fugitive. 
 
 " Young man, I shall be under the necessity of teaching 
 you obedience," added Despars — " If you are a coward, I 
 will shoot you as I would a mad dog." 
 
 With these words he walked to the side of his horse, 
 drew a pair of pistols out of the holsters, told the servant to 
 take care of the others, and offering one of them to his 
 opponent, said, — " Your choice, sir ; both are equally good 
 and well loaded. Take your choice, sir, take a pistol, or else 
 I deal with you, as I would with a blackguard street boy." 
 
 " You may shoot me, sir ; but I shall never level a pistol 
 at you," said Florian, very composedly — " I care not 
 for my own life ; but every thing for yours." 
 
 " How ? has Hermione shown attention to a man who 
 has not the courage to give satisfaction to a man of honour ? " 
 asked Despars. — " You are right, colonel ! " retorted the 
 Grison, "you demand satisfaction for the loss of your arm ; 
 but you lost that arm in an ignoble quarrel. You demand 
 satisfaction. Very well ; here is my head, or my breast, 
 bare for your shot, fire ! " — He then took one of the pistols. 
 The colonel walked a few paces towards the opening 
 among the bushes where the other rencontre had taken 
 place on that same morning. Despars saw the blood that 
 had flowed from Larmagne's wounds ; and in tones of 
 surprise, asked — " What is this ? I see fresh blood." 
 
 " It is the blood of your friend, Captain Larmagne," said 
 Florian. " A few hours since he forced me to defend myself, 
 as you would do now." 
 
 " Where is he ? " cried Despars, turning pale. 
 
 " He lies wounded at Madam Bell's house," answered 
 the fugitive. 
 
 " Well, then, accursed villain, here is a double vengeance 
 to be satisfied ; and either you or I must fall," exclaimed 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 151 
 
 the colonel, taking his position. — " Allons ! no time shall 
 be lost. I am ready — the first fire is yours — fire ! " 
 
 " I shall not fire at Hermione's father-in-law," coolly 
 remarked the Grison. 
 
 " I will fire with you at the same time," hastily retorted 
 Despars. 
 
 " You will not compel me ? " said Florian, firing his 
 pistol into the air. — " Now, it is your turn." 
 
 " Young man, pray a -pater nosier, for your time is come ! " 
 Despars angrily vociferated. The colonel dropped his 
 pistol, and seemed for a moment to relent — then raised it 
 again and took his aim. Florian, when he saw it, said, — 
 " Take sure aim, and give my last greeting to Mademoiselle 
 Delory." 
 
 The colonel fired, and the bullet passed close by the Gri- 
 son's head — "You are a bad marksman" — said Florian. 
 
 " What ! " — exclaimed Despars — " I miss my aim at 
 twenty paces ] Give me the others." 
 
 He took the pistols out of the servant's hands, and told 
 Florian to take his choice. Once more he took his first 
 position, and commanded his antagonist to fire. 
 
 " Look over head " — said Florian, pointing to a crow 
 that flew high in the air. The Grison fired, and the bird 
 fell between them. 
 
 " Well done ! " — said Despars, looking at the bird, as it 
 lay fluttering and beating its wings in the agonies of death. 
 
 " I could hit a dollar between your fingers without doing 
 you the least possible injury" — said Florian — " I now await 
 your fire. Give my greetings to your daughter." 
 
 Despars seemed embarrassed. He took a long, deliber- 
 ate aim, and fired. The ball passed through Florian's hat, 
 which fell off his head. " You aim too high ! " — said Flo- 
 rian, taking up his hat from the ground, and apparently 
 without any emotion, examining the hole s made by the bullet. 
 
152 
 
 FLORIAN : 
 
 *' What ! " — cried the colonel, with great consternation — 
 " am I bewitched, or are you bullet proof? But I cannot 
 do anything with this left arm." 
 
 " Load again " — said Florian, with perfect sang-froid — 
 " we stand too far apart. Place, the next time, the muzzle 
 close to my heart." 
 
 The dying crow struck the colonel's feet with its wings. 
 He called to the servant to pull a feather for him out of its 
 wing. Florian however was swifter than the servant, and 
 gave the colonel what he desired. 
 
 " The bird died for me ! " — said Despars — " I therefore 
 shall keep this feather, as a token of remembrance. You 
 crippled me — I would have satisfaction for the loss of my 
 right arm, and you have given it to me. Accompany me 
 to Madam Bell's house. Is Larmagne badly wounded?" 
 
 " Not dangerously. At first, however, he suffered much 
 from the loss of blood " — replied Florian. The colonel hav- 
 ing desired to know the particulars, received a minute de- 
 tail of the whole transaction. 
 
 " Accompany me ! " — said Despars — " Hermione suffers 
 her imagination to get the better of her reason. She has 
 banished you, because she fancied you her father's murder- 
 er. But I shall tell her that I still enjoy life, as the result 
 of your magnanimity." The pistols were put away. The 
 servant in advance led the horses, and Florian, with the 
 colonel, followed. 
 
 Despars made inquiry with regard to Florian's circum- 
 stances in the Grisons. They talked of the insurrections, 
 and of the deplorable condition of the country, and then of 
 Hermione. Despars often stood still, to express his aston- 
 ishment, or his approval, or to give vent to his anger by 
 muttering an oath against himself, or against Larmagne, 
 or against the professor, and his blasting of rocks in the 
 fairies' temple. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 153 
 
 " Young man ! " — exclaimed the colonel, stopping again 
 — M you have lived a desperate romance ! I alone have 
 fared the worse for it, as I have become a maimed man. 
 But I cannot refuse giving you my respect. We must be- 
 come better acquainted with each other." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 The Catastrophe. 
 
 They were not far from the house, when nearly all its in- 
 habitants, Madam Bell, Claudine, Hermione, George, Fa- 
 ther Standard, and Professor Onyx, hurried out to meet them ; 
 Hermione in advance of them ail. Her face glowed with 
 ecstasy, her lips quivered, and her eyes glistened with tears. 
 She flew towards her step-father, and with an " Oh ! " — ris- 
 ing out of the deepest depths of her bosom, she clasped him 
 in her arms, while all the others surrounded and welcomed 
 him as a familiar friend, with heartfelt congratulations. 
 
 "Let these people give free scope to their feelings, and 
 enjoy themselves to their heart's content" — said Father 
 Staffard to George and Florian. — " Meanwhile we will go 
 home, where we three shall have to tell one another more 
 than enough. Here we are altogether superfluous, and 
 shall only check the stream of their joy." 
 
 "No, no!" exclaimed Madam Bell — " never, my dear 
 neighbour. If terrors and horrors hove brought us togeth- 
 er, joy should not separate us. You must remain, and par- 
 take of our simple feast, but the most peaceful one in all the 
 principality. Away ! and let us two be the first in the pro- 
 cession." With these words, she took Father StafFard's 
 arm, and walked into the house. The others slowly fol- 
 lowed — Florian alone remaining behind. 
 
 "Halloo!" — cried Despars, looking back — "must this 
 8 
 
154 FLORIAIV I THE FUGITIVE OF THE JURA. 
 
 banished one still be separated from our joys ? Hermione, 
 he bids fair to become my right arm. He must not be ex- 
 cluded from our festivity. Go, my child, and lead him in 
 by force, if persuasion will not avail with him." 
 
 Hermione obeyed her father's command, and arm in arm, 
 they followed the others into the mansion. 
 
 By numerous questions and answers, recapitulations and 
 interruptions, light was diffused over all that had happened. 
 De spars conducted Hermione into the garden, and held a 
 long conversation with her. When he returned, he took 
 Staffard on one side, and held a secret conversation with 
 him. 
 
 " i" see very clearly that this Grison must become my right 
 arm" — cried the colonel. As they sat down to the table, 
 he arranged it so that Hermione was placed between him 
 and Florian. When his health was drank, he cried — " No, 
 the hero of the day is this Fugitive of the Jura ! Both my 
 friend Larmagne and myself are indebted to him for our 
 lives ; and though he were less wealthy, he would be no 
 less worthy of your love, Hermione ! Even when in his 
 own village he crippled me, he did only what was right ! 
 Therefore, my child, give him your bridal kiss ! " 
 
 At that moment Mother Morne's gray head appeared at 
 the half-opened door. With a hasty glance, she examined 
 the guests at the table, and then nodding to them in a friend- 
 ly manner, she devoutly uttered — " God hath done all things 
 
 wear* 
 
MARBLE AND CONRAD: 
 
 MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Early Years of Marble. 
 
 Many strange characteristics and practical odditief are 
 narrated of a person, .whose name I dare not mention ; but 
 as he must have an appellative, we will call him Marble. 
 One of his eccentricities, which was most salutary in its 
 consequences, should be universally known. 
 
 Marble was a straight-forward man, of plain sense, 
 without arrogance, without any desire to distinguish himself, 
 and honest in all his actions. The people considered 
 him a kind of fool, with whom not much could be done ; 
 but he was not at all offended with them. " Those people," 
 he said, " are perfectly right. I live according to my own 
 convictions. That appears astonishing. But they live ac- 
 cording to the opinions of others, and so they swim with 
 the stream, and appear not to be eccentric. They not only 
 clothe themselves in the newest fashion, but they also eat 
 according to fashion ; therefore, even an oyster can tickle 
 their palates. They are educated according to the newest 
 fashion. They instruct, judge, think, reproach, laud, and 
 act in everything according to fashion, and not according 
 to their own better understanding and feelings. Therefore, 
 the characters of those people are so entirely similar, that 
 it seems as if they no longer had any character at all ! " 
 
156 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 Mr. Marble was a very wealthy man, although he had 
 commenced life with nothing. When a boy, he had served 
 as a porter in a rich mercantile house in Hamburg, where 
 by degrees he was employed in important transactions, and 
 had several times been sent to the East Indies. He after- 
 wards commenced a small business on his own account, 
 which by degrees became very extensive. 
 
 In order to have while travelling a trusty overseer over 
 his property, he married a virtuous orphan girl who had 
 been discarded by all her associates. The girl was sitting 
 on a stile, weeping, when he casually passed through a 
 little country town. He asked her — " What ails thee 1 " 
 " My mother has died, and they have driven me out of the 
 house." Marble replied — " Come along with me. I will 
 help thee." The girl ran by the side of his horse until 
 they arrived in the neighbouring city, whence he had her 
 conveyed to his home. For six months the girl conducted 
 his household affairs, and then he married her. 
 
 " You are a fool ! " — said his friends. — " You can marry 
 the handsomest and richest girl anywhere, if you choose ; 
 but to take such a thing from the road, and marry her ! " 
 
 " Do not trouble yourselves on that account " — retorted 
 Marble ; " — I selected what was best for myself — the most 
 virtuous girl." 
 
 When he had become rich, he withdrew suddenly from 
 business, lent out his money on secure interest, and retired 
 to his leisure. "You are a fool!" — said his friends. — 
 " Scarcely forty-five years old, and already retire from busi- 
 ness ; just at the time when you might make immense specu- 
 lations, for you have both the experience and the means." 
 
 " Trouble not yourselves on that account " — said Marble. 
 " I will now eat the bread I have earned." 
 
 Although he was very rich, the house he lived in was 
 very small, and furnished in the simplest manner. In his 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 157 
 
 dress he observed the same kind of simplicity. He kept 
 neither carriage nor horses, and gave no dinners. Every 
 tradesman in the city lived better than he. On the con- 
 trary, when he was in the humour — and he had that humour 
 very often — he made large donations to the common people. 
 He would have young people married at his own expense, 
 and would give them a dowry. He ransomed the most pro- 
 mising sons of citizens from military service, and paid law- 
 yers to defend the cause and rights of oppressed persons, 
 who were perfect strangers to him. Thus he meddled 
 everywhere with the affairs of others, and spent large sums 
 of money. But when men of rank and property came to 
 borrow money of him, he shrugged his shoulders, and said 
 he had none. " You are a fool " — said his friends — " and 
 do not know how to use your wealth. Live in a fashion- 
 able style, and the first families in the city, and the most 
 noted men at court will be your friends. Do you wish for 
 a title ? Do you want a patent of nobility ? Wherefore 
 are you rich 1 Surely not on account of that pack of pau- 
 pers, with whom you are continually holding intercourse ? " 
 
 "Do not trouble yourselves on that account" — said 
 Marble. — " I am poorer than you think. I must not squan- 
 der a penny, since I have necessary uses for all the money 
 that I can command." 
 
 " It is impossible ! " — they retorted. — " You must have 
 an annual income at least of thirty thousand florins ? " 
 
 " May be " — answered Marble — " but I need two thou- 
 sand florins of it for my own household ; and the balance 
 belongs to those who have not enough. God has made me 
 the administrator of those poor people." 
 
 Mr. Marble lost in one year, and by the same disease, 
 his amiable wife and two lovely children. He was again 
 alone. His friends endeavoured to divert and exhilarate 
 him. " Trouble not yourselves on that account " — he 
 
158 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 said. — "I am anything but sad, for I enjoy more real hap- 
 piness than I formerly did. I now live in two worlds. My 
 wife and children are mine everywhere, and I am theirs. 
 Whosoever needs consolation for the highest phenomenon 
 this life shows, is only inconsolable for not being a beast. 
 I pray you, do not act your jokes with me ; do not try to 
 console me." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The Hurricane. 
 
 The loss of his wife and children however, had made this 
 world almost desolate, and life itself a little irksome to Mr. 
 Marble. He felt lonesome everywhere, and often travelled 
 to dissipate his gloominess. This availed for the moment. 
 He often departed with eyes red with weeping, out of his 
 little study. Then his servants would look at him with 
 heartfelt pity, for they loved him like a father. " You are 
 right, children, pity me ! for I deserve it, but do not con- 
 sole me. Pity I need, but not consolation. I can find better 
 consolation within myself, than you can give ; but human 
 sorrow, and the loss of those whom we have loved — all this, 
 time will assuage, although it has not done so yet." 
 
 He felt that if it were possible for him to divert himself, 
 it would be of the greatest benefit to him. He therefore 
 visited every public place around the whole city, and was on 
 all the promenades. On a certain time he was in the park, 
 when many persons, as is customary on fine summer days, 
 were amusing themselves on the green. To be in the 
 stirring tumult of the joyous, had always a salutary effect 
 on Mr. Marble. But the amusements of that day were in- 
 terrupted by a thunder-storm, which was preceded by a 
 hurricane. The tall trees waved to and fro like thin 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 159 
 
 straws, and rustled in the wind ; the booths were closed ; 
 the traders packed up ; the music in the bushes was 
 hushed ; and the dancers dispersed. 
 
 Mr. Marble remained, and stood tranquil amid the 
 voice of the storm and the people. He felt delighted with 
 the aspect. The broad walks were soon cleared, and 
 whirlwinds blew up clouds of dust. At that moment the 
 young Countess Emilie came running on a by-path, out of 
 the pleasure grounds. At her side were some attendants, 
 and behind her a few officers, who had much trouble to pro- 
 tect the plumes of their hats from the assaults of the wind. 
 Suddenly the storm and whirlwind swept over them. The 
 veil of the countess flew high into the air. Terrified, she 
 reached out her arms, endeavouring to catch the lost orna- 
 ment. The veil remained hanging like a cobweb, on the 
 top of a large fir tree. 
 
 " Get me my veil again ! " — said the countess. — " Oh ! 
 get me my veil again. I must have it. It is a New-year's 
 gift from my mother. I prize it above all things." 
 
 The gentlemen held fast to their large hats and plumes, 
 and shrugged their shoulders. 
 
 " I must have it again, and should I perish here, I de- 
 clare that I will not move an inch from this spot until I 
 have it," — said the countess, and her eyes were filled with 
 tears. 
 
 The gentlemen looked up into the top of the fir tree with 
 bitter embarrassment. One sighed, the other scratched 
 himself in the neck, the third in his desperation took a 
 pinch of snuff, the fourth bowed silently, as if by that he 
 wished to express the impossibility of fulfilling the princely 
 demand. 
 
 " Have you not often sworn that you would risk your 
 lives for me ; and why will not one of you climb this tree? 
 It is not at all difficult from below. Captain, you are the 
 
160 
 
 MARBLE AIND CONHAD : 
 
 youngest : try to get me the veil ! " exclaimed Emilie, 
 weeping. 
 
 The captain, with a countenance of terror, looked at his 
 white cassimere pantaloons, and then at the tall fir tree — 
 it measured about seventy feet. He made a movement, as 
 if to prepare himself for the dangerous enterprise, and 
 coughed, but would not stir from the spot. 
 
 Besides Mr. Marble, a ragged beggar boy, about twelve 
 years of age, who stood not far off, overheard the con- 
 versation. " If you wish it, I will get that thing up there 
 for you," said the boy, and he measured the height of the 
 fir-tree with a quick eye. 
 
 " Allons ! get yourself up quickly," exclaimed all the at- 
 tendants of the countess simultaneously, in a loud tone of 
 voice. 
 
 The boy did not hesitate. He climbed upward from 
 branch to branch, parting the smaller branches with his 
 hands, and was not seen for some time, until at last he ap- 
 peared in the top of the tree. The storm blew afresh, and 
 threw the trees whizzingly together. The boy clasped firm- 
 ly the slim top of the fir, as it waved about with him in 
 wide circles. Mr. Marble trembled when he saw it. The 
 officers laughed, and the countess jumped high for joy, when 
 she saw her veil in the hand of the daring boy. " Oh ! 
 that the awkward boy may not tear it ! " she said again, 
 with renewed anxiety. 
 
 Without any accident having happened either to him or 
 the veil, the boy came down from the tree. " God be 
 praised! " said the countess, and she skipped joyously 
 away, to save herself from the storm. Her companions 
 hurried after her. The boy ran with an open hand, and 
 begged for alms. A small coin was thrown to him. The 
 boy picked it up from the ground, and looked at its value. 
 
 Mr. Marble, though otherwise not curious, however, was 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 161 
 
 so at that time ; for the boy's open countenance, his friendly 
 manner, and his courage, had pleased him. lie had also 
 his hand in his pocket for the purpose of rewarding him 
 for his daring feat. 
 
 " How much did they give thee ? " he asked. The boy 
 showed him the money in his open hand, that was soiled 
 by the bark of the fir, and wounded by its branches — " Five 
 pence, sir ! " 
 
 " Five pence ! " exclaimed Marble. " My poor boy ! " 
 He took out a handful of small coin, and filled both the hands 
 of the boy, who, quite astonished at his wealth, now looked 
 with amazement at the money, then at his benefactor, and 
 at last asked — " Is this all for me ? " 
 
 "All ; and what wilt thou do with it ? " 
 
 " I do not know ! I will buy new clothes. I now can 
 live like a gentleman." 
 
 " Hast thou a father?" 
 
 " No, sir. My father was a soldier, and was killed two 
 years ago in battle. My mother also, is dead ; and now 
 they will not permit me to stay any longer in the vil- 
 lage."_ 
 
 " Give me the money back again, boy ! " — said Marble. 
 
 The boy returned the money with a sad countenance, 
 and a few tears obscured the brilliancy of his large black 
 eyes. 
 
 " Give me also the five pence," — continued Marble. 
 
 " No, they are mine," — retorted the lad. 
 
 " Thou shalt no longer stand in need of money. It is 
 not good for thee. I will take thee with me to my house. 
 Thou shalt become my son, if thou wilt behave well. 
 Wilt thou do it 1 "—asked Marble. 
 
 " Yes, sir, if you are serious," — answered the boy. 
 
 " Hast thou any more money 1 " — inquired Marble. 
 
 The boy had a few more pence, and a large piece of 
 8* 
 
162 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 bread in his pocket. Mr. Marble took it away from him, 
 and told him to accompany him. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Education. 
 
 The little Conrad Eck received in place of his ragged and 
 filthy clothing, a plain garment, made of coarse cloth. 
 He had been in the habit of passing his nights in stables 
 and in the open air. The wealthy Mr. Marble gave him 
 a straw sack to sleep upon, and the plainest food to eat. 
 The boy felt as happy as though he were in a palace. He 
 was active, obliging, always friendly, assiduous, devoted, 
 and evinced much natural sense, but he was ignorant of every 
 thing except the experience and business of a beggar. 
 After six months, the young cub had been so far licked, that 
 he could be shown to the world, and be sent on errands. 
 He had accustomed himself, although with great exertion, 
 to order and cleanliness. Every one in the whole house 
 loved him on account of his good disposition. Mr. Marble 
 called him his son, and having resolved to make some- 
 thing of him, sent him to school. Conrad was industrious. 
 At first he had some difficulty in learning his lessons, but 
 eventually he surmounted it. His highest reward was to 
 know that his benefactor was pleased with his progress ; 
 and his severest punishment was Mr. Marble's disappro- 
 bation. 
 
 But I need not describe the education of the beggar-boy. 
 This one thing only I will mention, since it depicts Mr. 
 Marble's character. Conrad, after having lived a few 
 years in Marble's house, was permitted to sit at his table. 
 He was allowed to eat of all the dainties, but Mr. Marble 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 163 
 
 preferred to see him contented without luxurious food. Ho 
 might have slept in soft beds, but Mr. Marble was pleased 
 when Conrad remained faithful to his straw sack. Conrad 
 received every week one dollar pocket money ; but he was 
 not permitted to buy anything for himself, and had to use 
 it for the benefit of others. He was however permitted to 
 save some of it, that Conrad might not be in want when Mr. 
 Marble had nothing more to give him. " For thyself thou 
 must want but little, and use but little ; but what thou hast, 
 and what thou dost, must be for the benefit of others." 
 This lesson his benefactor taught him on every occasion. 
 When Conrad was sixteen years old, Mr. Marble gave him 
 four hundred dollars as a birthday gift. " Now, my dear 
 Conrad, we will separate our household. There, take this 
 money ! Board and clothe thyself with it, pay thy teacher, 
 procure for thyself what thou wishest. Thou canst live in 
 my house, but thou must pay me every three months, four 
 dollars for room, bed, and furniture. Make thine own ar- 
 rangements ! " 
 
 Conrad was astonished, but rejoiced at being the owner 
 of so much money. He arranged his room. Every month 
 rendered an account of his expenses. Mr. Marble looked 
 after him closely, and had him watched. Conrad lived as 
 Mr. Marble had expected ; penurious as a miser toward 
 himself, but where he could be of any assistance, lavishing 
 like a prince. At the end of the year, however, he had a 
 hundred and twenty dollars left. Mr. Marble told him to 
 lend them out on interest, and presented him another sum 
 of four hundred dollars. 
 
 Thus matters proceeded until Conrad was twenty years 
 of age. Mr. Marble then sent the young man to the uni- 
 versity, and gave him a fresh supply of money. " Habitu- 
 ate thy body to nothing, my son," he said to him, " but 
 never deny to it what is becoming and necessary. A 
 
164 
 
 CONRAD AND MARBLE : 
 
 good artist must have good instruments ; without having 
 these, he is an awkward workman. The body is the in- 
 strument, the artist is the immortal mind. Furnish that. 
 Our life is but a short span ; it is the school. Cultivate 
 thy mind and heart ; we know not wherefore we must 
 learn. This we may be made to understand in eternity, 
 where our Father in heaven gives us a greater work to 
 perform. For the three years thou passest at the universi- 
 ty, I will settle upon thee a considerable sum of money. 
 Thou wilt have use for it ; for thou must and shalt go into 
 society, in order to become acquainted with all kinds of 
 people. If thou art weak and bad, thou wilt be conquered. 
 If thou art strong-minded, thou wilt stand a benefactor 
 above all. In three years after this time, prepare thyself 
 to earn thine own bread. Then I shall give thee nothing 
 more." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Hole in the Sleeyu, 
 
 w i am rich — what is generally called rich" — continued 
 Mr. Marble. " The wealth itself does not make me happy, 
 I need but little for myself. I could live on less than my 
 servants. Of what avail, therefore, is money to me ? But 
 it makes me happy to know that I have accumulated all 
 my wealth by mine own industry, and by honest means. 
 No blood, no tears are cleaving to it ; but my sweat alone. 
 The greatest joys the soul can have are these ; active ef- 
 ficiency in small and great matters, and innocence. Every 
 thing else includes more or less of stupidity or beastliness. 
 For example — ambition, love for women, love of gain, love 
 of rule, pride, envy, hatred, or religious rancour. Remem- 
 ber this, Conrad. To work vigorously and innocently in 
 
MEND THE IIOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 1G5 
 
 great and small matters, is the pure, real spiritual life. 
 Do not despise what is small, as if it were trifling. God 
 has created nothing in vain. His grain of sand, and his 
 worm, both are great. 
 
 " I have given thee a good education. Thou wert a wild 
 but powerful plant. Now thou art twenty years old ; an 
 age at which the spiritual is at war with the animal in 
 man. May the spiritual gain the victory ! Man at first is 
 reared as a plant ; then as an animal ; and lastly as an 
 angel. Many do not go beyond the well-trained animal. 
 But the animal should not be despised. Out of the impure 
 dust the snow-white lily shoots forth. A trifling accident 
 led me into the right path, I learned to sew, and that made 
 me a rich man. 
 
 " Thou mayest perhaps not wish to credit this — yet it is 
 so. I was fourteen years of age, I could read, write, and 
 cipher. Thus far I was trained. I was the son of a poor 
 tradesman. My father knew not what to make of me ; 
 for he was always in want of money ; and that had its 
 reasons — which now are very clear to me. 
 
 " I had a play-fellow and a friend in my youth. His name 
 was Alfred. We both were wild and ungovernable boys. 
 Our garments were never new, for they were very soon 
 soiled and torn. We were punished at home for it, but no 
 sooner was the punishment forgotten than it was the same 
 thing again. 
 
 " One day we were sitting in a public garden on a bench, 
 telling each other what we would make of ourselves. I 
 wanted to become a lieutenant-general, and Alfred, general 
 superintendent. 
 
 " * Both of you will never be anything ! ' — said a very old 
 man in a fine dress and powdered wig, who was standing 
 behind the bench, and had overheard our childish plans. 
 We were frightened : — Alfred asked — * why not 1 ' — The 
 
166 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 old man said — ' You are the children of good people, 
 I see it by your coats. Both of you are born to be 
 
 'beggars. Were it not so, would you suffer those holes in 
 your sleeves ? ' Saying this he took both of us by the 
 elbows, and thrust his lingers in the holes that were in our 
 sleeves. I felt ashamed ; Alfred also. * If, ' said the old 
 
 ' man, ' nobody can sew it up for you at home, why do you 
 not learn to do it yourselves ? You might at first have re- 
 paired the coat with two stitches of the needle ; now it is too 
 late, and ye go about like beggarly boys. If you wish to 
 become lieutenant-general and general superintendent, 
 begin with the smallest things. First, sew up the hole in 
 your sleeves, ye beggar boys ; then you may think of some- 
 thing else.' 
 
 " We both felt greatly ashamed, walked silently away, 
 and had not the heart to say anything bad about the austere 
 old man. I turned the elbow of my coat sleeve in such 
 wise, that the hole could not be seen by anybody. I 
 learned to sew of my mother, but merely in a playing 
 manner, for I did not tell her why I wished to learn it. 
 When a new seam opened in my garments, or if they 
 happened to become soiled, I repaired it forthwith. Thus 
 I became attentive. I did not even suffer any uncleanliness 
 to be seen in my worn clothing ; and as I became more 
 clean and careful in my dress, I was glad, and thought that 
 the old gentleman in the snow-white wig was not greatly 
 in error. With two stitches at the proper time, we can 
 save a coat ; with a handful of mortar, a house ; a glass- 
 full of water will quench a fire, which if left alone would 
 lay a whole city in waste ; red copper coin will become 
 silver dollars ; and little seeds will become trees, who 
 knows how large ? 
 
 "Alfred did not take it so much to heart, and it proved to 
 his own detriment. We had both been recommended to a 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 167 
 
 merchant, who was in want of an apprentice well ac- 
 quainted with writing and ciphering. The merchant 
 examined us, and gave me the preference. My old clothes 
 were whole and clean ; Alfred's best coat gave evidences 
 of negligence. Afterwards my employer said to me : ' I 
 see you take good care of your own, but Alfred will never 
 be a merchant.' Then again I remembered the old 
 gentleman and the hole in the sleeve ! 
 
 " I perceived very soon that I still had in many other 
 things, in my knowledge, in my behaviour, in my inclina- 
 tions, a goodly number of holes in the sleeve ! Two 
 stitches with the needle, at the proper time, meliorate all 
 things ; else the tailor is needed for the gown, the phy- 
 sician for health, and the punishing law for the moral 
 holes. There is nothing that is indifferent or insignificant, 
 be it good or bad. Who thinks so, knows neither himself 
 nor life. My employer had also a horrible hole in his 
 sleeve, for he was obstinate, quarrelsome, despotic, and 
 capricious. This gave me oftentimes a great deal of an- 
 noyance. I contradicted ; and then we quarrelled. 'Hal- 
 loo ! ' — I thought, 'this may make a hole in the sleeve, and I 
 may become as quarrelsome, and invidious, and unsociable 
 as my employer.' From that hour I let him have his way, 
 and I was contented with doing what was right, and en- 
 deavoured for my part to keep the peace. 
 
 " After having served my apprenticeship, I took a clerk- 
 ship in another mercantile house. Habituated to be happy 
 even with the mere necessaries of life, for he who lives in 
 abundance never is contented, I saved a considerable 
 amount of money. Accustomed never to excuse in myself 
 a hole in the sleeve, and to look with charity upon those 
 in others' sleeves, the whole world was satisfied with me, 
 and I with the world. — Thus I always had friends, always 
 assistance when I stood in need of it ; confidence and 
 
168 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD: 
 
 employment. God blessed all my undertakings ! A bless- 
 ing lies in honest actions and honest thoughts, as in the 
 kernel, the fruit-bearing tree. 
 
 " Thus my wealth increased. Wherefore 1 I asked my- 
 self; you do not need the twentieth part of it. — Live in an 
 ostentatious style for other people to envy me ? — That is 
 nonsense. Shall I yet, in my old days, show a hole in the 
 sleeve ? — Help others, as God through others has helped 
 you. That is settled. The greatest blessing riches can 
 bestow is this, to be independent cf other people's caprices, 
 and to have a wide circle to act in. Now, Conrad, go to 
 the university, learn something substantial ; remember the 
 man in the snow-white wig ; beware of the first Utile Iwle 
 in your sleeve, and do not act like my companion Alfred. — 
 He at last enlisted in the army, and was shot in America." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Travelling Journeyman. 
 
 Conrad went to Gottingen, studied law, and camerale. He 
 was very industrious, without depriving himself of the society 
 of his fellow-students, or denying himself needful enjoy- 
 ments. But he was saving, for he had a great project in 
 view. He contemplated making a tour through Europe. 
 Mr. Marble encouraged him, but declared that he w^ould 
 not aid him with a penny. Nevertheless, to make a tour 
 through Europe, cannot be done without money. Conrad 
 soon resolved : — After he had received his diploma as 
 Doctor juris utriusquc, he bound himself apprentice to a 
 cabinet maker, and learned that trade : his skill in draw- 
 ing, his taste, his chemical knowledge, — all were of great 
 advantage to him. In one year he had become so skilful a 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 169 
 
 mechanic, that he competed with the best journeymen, and 
 even with his master. With twenty louis-d'ors he short- 
 ened his term of apprenticeship ; and received his certifi- 
 cate as a journeyman cabinet-maker. 
 
 One evening when Mr. Marble had returned from his 
 usual walk, and was leaning in the window, a travelling 
 journeyman came with his knapsack on his back, saluted 
 him, held his hat in his hand, and spoke not a word. Mr. 
 Marble threw him a piece of money. The mechanic 
 thanked him, put the donation in his pocket, and desired to 
 speak with Mr. Marble alone. He was admitted. 
 
 The mechanic brought friendly remembrances from 
 Conrad. Mr. Marble appeared as glad as a child. For nine 
 months he had not heard from his adopted son, who was 
 dearer to him than he had supposed. . But while Mr. 
 Marble was looking at the face of the stranger, he suddenly 
 took a few steps backward, and cried with astonishment, 
 " What ! is it thyself, Conrad ? Art thou playing a joke 
 with me ? — Is that the appearance of a Doctor ? " 
 
 Conrad smiled and said — " The Doctor is here in my 
 knapsack; when travelling, he is a journeyman cabinet 
 maker. With his trade he can find bread everywhere, 
 and may be permitted to live simply. Here is my doctor's 
 diploma, and here are my indentures of apprenticeship. 
 Now I am on my tour through foreign countries. I have 
 come to see you, my dear father, once more, and to take 
 your blessing with me on my journey. 
 
 Mr. Marble was greatly affected, and his eyes moist- 
 ened with tears. He fell on Conrad's neck, pressed him 
 to his heart, and exclaimed — " Yes, thou art my son, 
 and I will be thy father." 
 
 Mr. Marble detained him for four weeks. He then gave 
 him his blessing, and permitted him to go on his journey. 
 "Hast thou any money left ? " he asked him at his departure. 
 
170 
 
 MARBLE AND CONKAD : 
 
 Conrad replied, — " Twenty-five dollars is all I have been 
 able to save." 
 
 " Money enough for a travelling journeyman ! " — said 
 Marble, with a smile. Here is one dollar more for thy 
 journey, and now thou hast twenty-six ! God be with thee ! 
 Write to me every three months, how thou art doing, what 
 thou art learning, and what thou seest. Beware of a hole 
 in thy sleeve ! and thou wilt prosper." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Tour through Europe. 
 
 With twenty-six dollars, Conrad commenced the tour of 
 Europe ; first through Germany, then across the Alps, 
 towards Rome and Naples. He was anxious to see the 
 crumbling ruins of the glorious ancient world. Thence 
 he sailed for France. He took employment at Lyons and 
 Paris, to perfect himself in his trade, and crossed the chan- 
 nel to London, where he remained nearly a year. Then 
 he spent some time in several of the principal cities in 
 Holland, whence he sailed for Denmark, pursued his route 
 by way of Stockholm to Petersburgh, and thence he started 
 again for his home. 
 
 When he arrived in a city where something memorable 
 was to be seen, or where it was advantageous to remain, if 
 it was but for the purpose of recruiting his purse to defray 
 further travelling expenses, he engaged as a cabinet- 
 maker. A few classics were his constant travelling com- 
 panions. He earned some money, and then started off 
 again. The masters would often have been very willing 
 to keep him longer ; for a more skilful journeyman they 
 could not easily find ; and at his literary science they were 
 perfectly astonished. Many a beautiful master's daughter 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 171 
 
 would joyfully have detained the wonderful stranger, and 
 have made him master ! For Conrad was a fine youth ; 
 his black eyes were full of spirit, his manners were like 
 those of a person used to the higher walk of life ; he held 
 no intercourse with common people ; and yet to persons of 
 his station he was affable, prepossessing and modest. 
 Every body loved the singular man, who sewed up the hole 
 in his sleeve ! 
 
 However, once in Lyons, and once in London, an 
 agreeable girl made his heart feel heavy ; but he tore 
 himself away, and never suffered his inclinations to grow 
 into a passion ; for that he would always call a new hole 
 in the sleeve ! He longed for his home, his native land, 
 where he could pass his life near his second father, either 
 as a cabinet-maker, or as a lawyer. 
 
 After having wandered about for several years, he stood 
 again before the house of father Marble. For three years 
 he had not received a line from Mr. Marble. Nevertheless, 
 he had written to his benefactor every three months. The 
 question now was, whether the honest man was still alive 1 
 
 Conrad became pale as death when he was saluted by 
 strangers, who informed him that Mr. Marble had sold the 
 house, and left the city for more than two years. He 
 walked dejectedly from one street to the other. " Might not 
 my father have had the kindness to give me at least some 
 intimation about this change ? Now he is gone, and I 
 even know not whither ! " 
 
 He went with his knapsack on his back to a house of 
 entertainment, where he remained during the night. On 
 the next day, attired in his best, he visited the banker 
 Smith, formerly Mr. Marble's most intimate friend, to see 
 if he could there gather some intelligence with regard to 
 his benefactor. 
 
 The old banker recognised him immediately, and received 
 
172 
 
 MABRLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 him with heartfelt joy. " God be praised, doctor," he 
 exclaimed, " that I see you once more ! Our old friend is, 
 as you are aware, gone to the East Indies. He has left 
 with me two hundred louis-d'ors, which he desired me to give 
 to you, whenever you felt inclined to establish yourself 
 somewhere in your vocation." 
 
 " Is he gone to the East Indies ? " exclaimed Conrad, 
 and the tears rolled over his cheeks. 
 
 " Do you not know then that he had a great deal of trouble 
 in this town ? The sovereign intended to knight him ; but 
 in accordance with his disposition, he sent the patent of 
 nobility back to his highness ; being of the opinion that 
 every man had an inherent nobility, but that by a stranger 
 hand nobody could be made noble. This gave the first rise 
 to misinterpretations and annoyance, and at last to a kind of 
 persecution. They called the good Mr. Marble a jacobin, 
 and suspected him of carrying on a correspondence with 
 rebels, and of his having an intention to form a party among 
 the people. One thing was added to another, until they 
 troubled and annoyed the good old man beyond endurance. 
 Now you know very well what his disposition was, alto- 
 gether too good and too credulous ! He lost considerable 
 sums of money ; then he came to me one day and informed 
 me of his having still a considerable capital in the East 
 Indies, which he would draw by going there himself. The 
 objections I raised were of no avail. He sold and gave 
 away what he had ; gave the sum he left for you to my care, 
 and took his departure. It is nearly three years since." 
 
 Conrad stood as if benumbed. Had he only known 
 where in the East Indies to find him, he would immediately 
 have followed him there. 
 
 Mr. Smith would not listen to any objections. Conrad 
 was compelled to make his house his home, until he had 
 come to a conclusion as to what course in life he would 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 173 
 
 pursue. Conrad had firmly made up his mind to establish 
 himself as a cabinet-maker. Mr. Smith dissuaded him 
 from that purpose, and advised him to open a law office, as 
 then he could be of greater benefit to the world. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Superintendent Magistrate. 
 
 A few weeks afterwards, Mr. Smith entered Conrad's room 
 with a face beaming with joy, holding in his hand a news- 
 paper. — " Friend ! " he exclaimed, " you must follow me to 
 Lord Wallenroth. He is in want of a manager on his 
 estates. He is owner of a whole village. He needs a 
 man like yourself. He is my especial friend. Here is 
 his advertisement in the journal. Seven hundred dollars 
 salary, free board, light, fuel, and most probably many rich 
 perquisites besides. What more do you want 1 Does it 
 meet with your approbation 1 " 
 
 Conrad shrugged his shoulders. — "No objection." 
 
 " Follow me then, doctor ! " continued Mr. Smith. — 
 " Allow me to become the representative of father Marble. 
 There is a situation for you ! " 
 
 Conrad and Mr. Smith departed in a carriage to pay 
 Lord Wallenroth the visit. * 
 
 Lord Wallenroth, an elderly man, very courteous and 
 good natured, said to Conrad — " Although I have not the 
 honour of your acquaintance, it is sufficient that my friend, 
 Mr. Smith, has recommended you to me. You and none 
 other shall have the situation. But I must yet acquaint you 
 with various little matters. I must go to Paris on business 
 of the court, and shall probably be absent for several years. 
 Into your hands I place my estates, the superintendency of 
 Alteck. You are not only to perform the duties of the 
 
174 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD ; 
 
 magistrate, but you are also to represent my own person* 
 My steward is subject to your commands. I wish you to 
 bring my neglected estates into some kind of order again ; 
 and what I have most at heart, to humanize the peasantry, 
 for they are wretched beings, rude, poor and ignorant. 
 The manor has only a year since come into my posses- 
 sion ; and as yet I have not been able to pay much atten- 
 tion to it. Everything is in decay. I leave it to yourself 
 to employ and send away whom you please. You must 
 exercise all my rights. The revenues and accounts you 
 will send every year to my friend, Mr. Smith, by him to be 
 forwarded to me." 
 
 Conrad made excuses, by saying he was too little 
 acquainted with agricultural economy ; but his modesty 
 availed him nothing. Both the old gentlemen importuned 
 him with kindness. Lord Wallenroth thinking Conrad 
 considered the amount offered for conducting so extensive 
 a business too small, offered to raise the salary, and at last 
 nearly doubled the sum of seven hundred dollars, first 
 mentioned. Conrad was amazed and glad at the same 
 time. — " But," he said, " how have I deserved this unac- 
 countable confidence ? " Lord Wallenroth pointed towards 
 Mr. Smith, and said — " The heart of this gentleman and 
 mine are one." 
 
 The Contract was properly made out in writing. After- 
 wards Lord Wallenroth put in a clause, to which he seemed 
 to attach great weight. — " All, he said, are subjected to 
 your commands, with the exception of one person whom I 
 greatly esteem, and to whose deceased husband I was 
 bound by many obligations, although she scarcely knows 
 me. She is the widow of a preacher by the name of 
 Walter. She has her rooms, board and servants, in my 
 own house for life. You will therefore live with her under 
 the same roof. She is a most excellent woman. I hope 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 175 
 
 and wish that you may keep in good harmony with 
 her." 
 
 Conrad could not make any objections at all against that 
 clause, and was only happy to find immediately a woman 
 who would take the little cares of housekeeping off his 
 hands. 
 
 In the same week, Lord Wallenroth set out with Conrad 
 for Alteck, installed him with all proper form in his office, 
 and left him with Mrs. Walter. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Company. 
 
 The manor-house, as it was called, was very pleasantly 
 situated, in the midst of gardens, upon a hill above the vil- 
 lage, and was supplied with stables, barns, and a large 
 square courtyard. Order reigned every where, and much 
 cleanliness in the manor-house. Everything bore an in- 
 viting aspect. The best rooms had been fitted up in a sim- 
 ple yet tasteful manner for the Bailiff-justice. Nothing 
 was wanting. Even a small library and a piano were 
 there. Mrs. Walter had put the house, garden, and cellar 
 in the most beautiful and the best order. 
 
 Mrs. Walter, a lively and yet sombre woman of about 
 forty-five, displayed much cultivation of mind and good man- 
 ners. The paleness of her face, the silent, dignified ex- 
 pression of her eye, which only became serene when she 
 was engaged in conversation, bespoke her having experi- 
 enced many hours of sadness. No one felt himself a stran- 
 ger in her presence. On the first day of their acquaint- 
 ance, Conrad felt as though he had known her for years — 
 for she showed him the surrounding country, made him ac- 
 
176 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 quaintcd with the domesticsj and initiated him in every- 
 thing within her management. 
 
 " With that woman a person can live ! " thought Conrad, 
 after the lapse of a few days ; for he had been timid when 
 Lord Wallenroth spoke in so serious a manner respecting 
 Mrs. Walter. 
 
 " A person can live with that woman " — he thought, after 
 the lapse of a few weeks, when he had begun to feel at 
 home in Alteck ; for he revered Mrs. Walter, and she had 
 become necessary to him. He was happy, when in the 
 morning and evening the meals called him from his busi- 
 ness, for except at those times, they saw each other but 
 seldom. Then she and the steward, a good-tempered, but 
 ceremonious man, were his company. 
 
 Conrad was so satisfied with his condition, that he wrote 
 a letter to the banker, expressing his heartfelt gratitude. 
 "Never while I live," he wrote, "do I desire a more 
 agreeable lot. I am happy to be placed in a situation 
 where I can do much good ; and it shall be done, as soon 
 as I am better acquainted with my sphere of action. Here 
 the people have become as wild as the land, a great part 
 of which must be cleared and cultivated ! I hope to be 
 able to win Lord Wallenroth's entire satisfaction." 
 
 Matters, however, were destined soon to undergo a 
 change, and peace was not permitted to dwell long in Con- 
 rad's breast. Mrs. Walter had informed him of her having 
 a daughter, whose return home from a visit to a neighbour- 
 ing town, she expected daily : and Conrad thought " if the 
 daughter is like the mother, she will not mar my comfort 
 at Alteck." 
 
 He w T as returning one evening from the forest, where 
 some surveyors had been employed by him. He met a 
 carriage on the way that was occupied by two ladies. They 
 seemed to have come from the manor, and were apparent- 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 177 
 
 iy returning to town. When he entered the dining-room, 
 he saw a young lady of about seventeen, of a fine physi- 
 ognomy. Conrad bowed very respectfully. The stranger 
 blushed slightly, and returned the salutation. Mrs. Walter 
 introduced him to her daughter Josephine. 
 
 Conrad forgot surveyors and forests, although he had to 
 give the steward many directions regarding them ; he even 
 forgot to say something agreeable to the new inmate, while 
 she addressed him with all female tact and sweetness. At 
 table, where he formerly had been so talkative and open, 
 he was reserved, and only spoke in monosyllables. 
 
 When Conrad was alone, the form of the new inmate ap- 
 peared to him in every corner of the room. He shook his 
 head, and thought — With that girl a person cannot live ! 
 Why was the clause silent about her ? " And when he had 
 thrown himself into his bed, and closed his eyes, the vision 
 would float before his imagination, a still lighter and still 
 more beautiful being. 
 
 Next morning, his first thought was of Josephine, hot of 
 the surveyors. But how could it be otherwise, for he 
 heard Josephine's voice accompanying the harp ? He shook 
 his head, and thought — "A person cannot live with that 
 girl ! " He walked into the field without tAing his break- 
 fast. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The Preacher and his Congregation. 
 
 We become at last familiar with the most disgusting objects, 
 why should we not also get used to those which are beau- 
 tiful ? Conrad, however, could not be at ease with Jose- 
 phine, even after they had lived in the same house for 
 weeks. It was very singular that on no day did she ap- 
 9 
 
178 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 pear as she had done on the preceding one ; but seemed 
 every day a different being. He was friendly and intimate 
 with all in the house, and each person was so with him. 
 But with Josephine, he could not be so. Notwithstanding her 
 vivacity — and she was seldom sedate — she was always as 
 great a stranger to him as she had been on the evening 
 when he first saw her. He loved to converse with her ; 
 she was intelligent and easy in her manner, without being 
 pedantic or affected. But when he spoke with her, it seem- 
 ed as if an impenetrable gulf was fixed between them. She 
 was familiar with every one, whom she treated in the same 
 friendly manner, and all loved her ; but to him she paid no 
 more attention than common courtesy required. 
 
 " I shall have a tedious time of it here," thought Con- 
 rad : " I wish Alteck was .behind Kamschatka, and I had 
 never come into it." But that Josephine might not have 
 come to Alteck, he did not wish ; and he would not have 
 taken any gift as a compensation for her going away again. 
 
 Much as he feared ennui, he never experienced it. The 
 manor, with all the estates, was surveyed ; the agricultural 
 economy, with all its defects, was taken into consideration ; a 
 new school-house was erected, and a new teacher appoint- 
 ed. Willingly^vould Conrad also have changed the min- 
 ister, but that he could not do ; and yet he had at first count- 
 ed greatly upon his exertions to improve the moral condi- 
 tion of the peasants. When the superintendent spoke to 
 him about improving the school system, or about the bru- 
 tality and ignorance of the people, he assented with a smile, 
 and supported Conrad's opinion with many examples from 
 experience. But on the following Sunday he would thun- 
 der against sectarians, who would destroy religion with 
 worldly improvements. He hated their blasphemous im- 
 provements of the mind, improvements which threatened in 
 the end to rob the pope himself of his triple crown, and his 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 179 
 
 smokehouse of all the sidelings ; he would be harmless as 
 the dove, but yet he was wise, like the serpent. 
 
 The peasants of Alteck bore a great similarity to their 
 minister. Their religion consisted more in fear of the devil 
 than in love to God ; for they had from time immemorial 
 been used to severe task-masters, and when one showed 
 them too much leniency and kindness, they laughed at him. 
 In their household and agricultural affairs they acted like 
 their forefathers, who, as they said, had been no block- 
 heads. Poverty reigned everywhere. Their houses were 
 full of filth, and they lived with their lean cows and ragged 
 children, on potatoes and water. Towards strangers they 
 were uncouth and deceitful — towards their "parson" they 
 were hypocritical — towards the inhabitants of the manor- 
 house they were as if crawling in the dust, and towards 
 each other they were hateful, envious, backbiting, proud, 
 and rude — such was their manner of life ! 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A Hole in the Sleeve. 
 
 Conrad soon knew how to strike the proper string of 
 those people. After having imprisoned about a dozen of 
 them on account of some offence, and after having had 
 another dozen of them whipped, they considered him an 
 extremely sensible man. 
 
 When at last they began to confide in his sense, it be- 
 came an easy matter for him to work much good. He 
 wished to establish order and decency among the people, 
 for most of them walked about like beggars, with their 
 clothes torn. Then he remembered how he had been ed- 
 ucated by his venerable father, and his tale about the man 
 with the snow-white wig and the hole in the sleeve ! 
 
180 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRA 
 
 Except one sempstress, no woman in the whole village 
 knew how to handle a needle skilfully. What the mothers 
 did not understand, the daughters understood yet less. If a 
 new gown had the first hole in the sleeve, it became, with- 
 out any difficulty, larger and larger, until at last it was 
 past mending. Thus the garment became old before its 
 time. The unmended hole in the sleeve was the cause of 
 much uncleanliness in their domestic lives ; this unclean- 
 linees was followed by its usual consequences — sickness in 
 every shape. We are more ready to excuse in ourselves, 
 when wearing a ragged garment, indecencies of every 
 kind, low behaviour, depraved conduct. The hole in the 
 sleeve is the cause of a thousand effronteries, of a thousand 
 disgusting words and actions, and leads to vices, not to be 
 banished from a village by any pulpit oratory. As in the 
 higher ranks of life the females soften the rough manners 
 and dispositions of the men, so must also in villages the 
 ennoblement proceed from woman, for it can have no other 
 source. 
 
 Thus thought Conrad. The first thing he did, was to 
 establish a sewing school for grown girls. But envy of 
 trade made the sempstress refuse to instruct others in her 
 art. The minister's wife complained of want of time, 
 which prohibited her from devoting herself to the instruc- 
 tion of the daughters in the village, notwithstanding the 
 high praises the parson lavished on the notion of the su- 
 perintendent. On the next Sunday the peasants heard 
 again a most edifying sermon against sectarians, and peo- 
 ple of that sort, who wish to introduce sewing schools. 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 181 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 The School. 
 
 While conversing at table, Conrad introduced the object 
 of his heart to his familiar companions. Josephine listen- 
 ed, as she always did when he spoke, most attentively, and 
 gave the most lively approval. She asked permission to 
 be herself the instructress. Mrs. Walter had expected as 
 much. 
 
 "Sewing alone, is not sufficient" — said Mrs. Walter. 
 " The women in our village do understand neither how to 
 plant in their gardens, nor to cook in their kitchens. Sup- 
 pose we dismiss our cooks and other servants, and instead 
 of them take alternately the village girls. I will be their 
 instructress in the kitchen as well as in the garden. The 
 art is simple, and soon learned. Small rewards, a new 
 bonnet, will incite them to ambition and rivalry, and will 
 be productive of taste in dress, and of a little emulation. 
 Were it not for the vanity of women, men would sink down 
 to the level of brutes. Love for the beautiful is the first 
 germ of man's greatness, which also unfolds itself in the 
 savage, and makes him more human. To be economical 
 is good, but not every thing. The heart must be consider- 
 ed, and the heart of man is easiest changed by the beauty 
 of woman." 
 
 Mrs. Walter spoke on various subjects with her usual 
 vivacity. Conrad at times threw a timid side-glance to- 
 wards Josephine. Had she looked at him, she might have 
 read in his countenance how true her mother was speak- 
 ing. But Josephine was too flirting to pay any attention to 
 her mother's fine discourse, and was teasing the steward. 
 She never would tease Conrad. It almost seemed as if she 
 
182 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 liked the steward best. When taking a walk, she would 
 always hang to his arm. It generally fell to Conrad's lot 
 to accompany the mother. 
 
 The school for learning to sew, and the business of gar- 
 dening, forthwith were organized. The teachers were in- 
 dustrious, and when the village girls heard of red ribbons, 
 straw hats, and new aprons, they all strove to become pro- 
 ficients in the art of housekeeping. The minister vented 
 his spleen against the heretics, the girls sewed, the boys 
 learned, and thus every thing proceeded in regular order. 
 
 But every thing was not seemly with Conrad. While 
 the peasants were mending the holes in their sleeves, he 
 himself had so large a one, that he could not mend it by 
 any means. 
 
 He was aware that Josephine's presence caused his un- 
 easiness. He examined himself, and endeavoured to find 
 some means by which this unpleasant condition might be 
 meliorated. When sometimes he was in a cheerful mood, 
 and felt inclined to jest with her, she would become serious, 
 and look at him with surprise. Was he serious, she could 
 be extravagantly merry. If he succeeded in making her 
 his companion when walking, she spoke in monosyllables ; 
 but with all others, and they often had visitors from the 
 neighbourhood, whose visits they frequently returned, she 
 was talkative. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Clouds. 
 
 Josephine's aversion was thus made manifest in all trifling 
 and important matters. Conrad's love increased, and with 
 his love, his struggle against a hopeless passion. He as- 
 sumed the greater air of indifference the less he felt it. 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 183 
 
 The airs we assume, he thought, become second nature. 
 The young man shunned Josephine's society as far as was 
 in his power. He became a stranger in company. Since 
 books had more attraction for him, he doubled his undertak- 
 ings in improving the estates, conducted a few law suits 
 in behalf of Lord Wallenroth, which kept him often away 
 from Alteck, and did everything in his power to bring him- 
 self to an equilibrium, but he was only half successful. 
 
 It seemed as if Josephine scarcely took any notice of 
 his absence. In her behaviour there was no difference. 
 She was, as she had been before, friendly and yet estrang- 
 ed. She and her mother contemplated, when spring an- 
 nounced itself, to take a journey to the distant capital. 
 Josephine spoke of it enthusiastically, Conrad approvingly. 
 Mrs. Walter received a letter. They prepared for the 
 journey on the same night, and took leave of Alteck on the 
 next morning. 
 
 " And is it so easy for you, dear Josephine, to leave our 
 silent Alteck ? " — asked Conrad. 
 
 "I can find an Alteck everywhere," — she answered 
 with a smile. 
 
 "I believe you. You will scarcely consider it worth 
 your while to think of those you leave behind " — replied 
 Conrad. 
 
 " You are not serious when you say so. I feel, indeed, 
 sorry for my flowers and my girls'-school — but what are 
 four weeks ? I have promised to bring for my pupils — 
 who, meanwhile, will certainly be the most industrious of 
 all the others — some beautiful presents." 
 
 "And what will you bring for me?" — asked Conrad, 
 taking her hand in his, and looking into her eyes with a 
 steady gaze. 
 
 She smiled. " For you 1 why, Mr. Eck, if you take 
 good care of my flowers, I will bring you a new watering- 
 
184 
 
 MARBLE A>D CONRAD I 
 
 pot!" — and as she said so, she skipped merrily away. 
 Conrad stood annihilated. 
 
 " Now she has acknowledged that she loves you not." 
 He bade farewell to Mrs. Walter, but not to Josephine. 
 He walked into the field, and did not even see them de- 
 part. 
 
 All the fragrance of nature and the beauty of spring 
 were brushed away. Every object laid spiritless and 
 meaningless before him. A tree was a flourishing piece 
 of wood, the nightingale a singing bird, the lake, with its 
 surrounding bushes at the foot of the western hill, a great 
 earthy vase full of water. He was annoyed with a world 
 in which nothing was new, nothing fresh, a world that 
 looked like an old garment. Even the poets were no lon- 
 ger able to lend wings to his imagination, greatly as at 
 times he desired it — and the singers of nature he found 
 somewhat irksome, and the singers of love somewhat fool- 
 ish. 
 
 " Alas ! thou art thyself the cause of all this trouble ! " 
 he would sometimes exclaim — " Conrad, Conrad, thou hast 
 an enormous hole in thy sleeve ! " 
 
 Four weeks passed, as if they had been so many years. 
 Josephine and her mother returned. He had determined 
 to receive them with coolness, and a kind of tranquillity had 
 actually again returned to his heart. But the provoking 
 girl ! — As if to defy him, she was more beautiful than ever. 
 Her joy at being again in Alteck was evident. She 
 threw a glance towards Conrad, out of which her soul 
 laughed. She gave him hastily her hand, then — at that 
 moment the old steward came out of the house, and walked 
 towards the carriage — she fell with out-stretched arms 
 around the neck of the stiff old gentleman. 
 
 Conrad was afraid to look at this. Something vexatious 
 ran over his heart. She loves him then ! he thought, and 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE* 
 
 185 
 
 as soon as it was compatible with decency, he walked into 
 the field and whistled away his thoughts. 
 
 Peace deserted the house. The harp and piano became 
 dumb. Conrad spoke but seldom to Josephine ; and his 
 answers to her were more in monosyllables, than her* 
 to him. When he came, her hilarity vanished ; when he 
 walked away, she looked silently and timidly after him. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 News of Mr. Marble. 
 
 One morning, when the family were at breakfast, a mes- 
 senger, sent expressly by the banker Smith, entered the 
 room. He brought letters. Conrad read them and became 
 pale as death. The others kept modestly silent, but his 
 change of colour did not escape their observation. He gave 
 his directions to the messenger, went to his room and lock- 
 ed himself up. He also did not come to table at dinner 
 time. Mrs. Walter carried him his dinner to his room. 
 She was about leaving him without allowing herself an in- 
 quisitive question ; but her countenance bespoke that she 
 pitied him. 
 
 He understood that language. He took the estimable 
 woman by the hand, and said — "To-morrow at break of 
 day I go hence. You will have another superintendent in 
 Alteck. Accept my thanks for your friendship. To-night 
 I may perhaps tell you more." 
 
 " How ! " — exclaimed Mrs. Walter, with amazement — 
 " You leave us ? But surely not for ever ? " 
 
 " Very probably," replied Conrad. 
 
 She said—" Why ? Can Lord Wallenroth— " 
 
 9* 
 
166 MARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 " To-night you will hear more " — answered Conrad. 
 
 Mrs. Walter left him silently and wept. Conrad con- 
 tinued his work — his resolution was taken. For the time, 
 and by authority of Lord Wallenroth, he had appointed for 
 his successor a young talented jurist, from the neighbour- 
 ing town, with whom he was personally acquainted. He 
 had given to him, and likewise to the steward, written in- 
 structions relative to the business transactions ; and then 
 at sunset he began packing his most necessary articles ; 
 for he contemplated nothing less than making a tour to the 
 East Indies. 
 
 Mr. Smith had sent him a letter from Mr. Marble, which 
 that gentleman had written from Calcutta in Bengal. Mr. 
 Marble stated in this letter, that he had been cheated out 
 of the whole of his property, to which he had the most just 
 claims, and that he was living in a most wretched condition, 
 neither having the means of feeing a lawyer, to conduct his 
 suit, nor having sufficient left him to live in decency. He 
 should like to return to Europe, but had not the money to 
 defray the expenses of the voyage ; he would like to work, 
 but he was old and weak, and unacquainted with the Eng- 
 lish language. He therefore requested Mr. Smith to make 
 inquiries about the young Conrad Eck, whom he once had 
 educated ; to inform him of his destitute situation, and that 
 all his hopes rested on him. Mr. Smith should write to 
 him and ask him if he were willing to undertake the 
 journey, and come to Mr. Marble, prosecute the suit, and 
 prolong the old man's days, by his manual or intellectual 
 labour. Mr. Marble requested Mr. Smith, that if Conrad 
 could make up his mind to do this, he should have the kind- 
 ness to furnish him with the necessary money to defray the 
 expenses of the journey, in case Conrad should have used 
 the two hundred louis-d'ors, which had been settled upon 
 him for establishing himself in business. 
 
MEND THE HOLD IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 187 
 
 " If Conrad " — so ended the letter — " cannot come and 
 assist or support me, or should you not be able to find out 
 his place of abode, or should he perhaps be dead, I request 
 of you, my friend, to pity my destitute situation, and send me 
 some money for old acquaintance' sake. I need but little 
 for the few years that are granted to me in this life." 
 
 On this letter Mr. Smith had made in his own writing 
 several comments, whose import was nearly this : — 
 
 " You need not, my dear Mr. Eck, trouble yourself about 
 the fate of the good Mr. Marble ; for I shall most certainly, 
 for old acquaintance' sake, render him some assistance. 
 Leave Alteck, and run to the East Indies in order to prose- 
 cute for an old man — who knows whether you may find 
 him still alive ? — a prolonged suit, or to support him, should 
 the necessary means be wanting, by establishing yourself as 
 a cabinet-maker, of course is impossible for you. I cannot 
 comprehend how the good old man can have come to such 
 an idea ? True, he is now sixty-two, and the annoy- 
 ances about miscarried plans may have made him older 
 still. Besides, you are too much restrained by your con- 
 tract with my friend Lord Wallenroth. He is at present 
 in Regensburg, where he remains only until the twenty- 
 ninth of the present month, then he will most probably re- 
 turn to Paris. You must, of course, settle the business first 
 with him, for he alone has the right to free you from your 
 obligations. No gentleman like yourself will break his 
 word. In the mean time, should you think it necessary to 
 let Mr. Marble have some money, I am prepared to remit 
 it to him by secure drafts. In that case I would request of 
 you to give me the speediest information in regard to the 
 sum, for we must not lose time. I shall at the same time tell 
 Mr. Marble that I have not found out your place of resi- 
 dence, and then you will stand sufficiently excused by him." 
 
 After Conrad had read the letters, he exclaimed, with a 
 
138 
 
 MARBLE AND CO XII AD : 
 
 quivering lip, and with tears in his eyes, " Mr. Smith, you 
 are a villain of bon ion, and under the garb of a gentleman, 
 most despicable, as such virtuous people now-a-days gen- 
 erally are. I am Marble's son and principal debtor, for he 
 has made me a man. Away, Conrad ! away to the East 
 Indies, and help thy father ! " 
 
 He prepared every thing for his departure. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Struggles. 
 
 Conrad instructed the steward in what was most neces- 
 sary, that on account of his sudden departure nothing might, 
 be neglected. He also told him that he would go by way 
 of Regcnsburg, ask Lord Wallenroth for his dismissal, and 
 persuade him to sanction the proposed new Bailiff-justice. 
 
 Mrs. Walter shed a flood of tears ; Josephine sat dumb 
 and dejected, in a corner of the dining-room, when Conrad 
 entered. 
 
 " Are you then serious ? " — asked Mrs. Walter. 
 
 " I am indeed " — said Conrad. — " I must away ; perhaps 
 for ever. I am going to the East Indies." 
 
 " To the East Indies ! " — exclaimed Mrs. Walter, and in 
 the same moment Josephine became pale as death. Her 
 hands, with her knitting implements, fell lifeless into her 
 lap. 
 
 Conrad, too busily engaged with picturing to himself his 
 father's misfortunes and destitute condition, did not look at 
 Josephine. He did not see how she lay in the arm chair, 
 like a nipped lily, motionless, speechless, without shedding 
 a tear, and her half-closed eye directed only towards him. 
 He spoke of his situation in regard to Mr. Marble, of his 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN VOUH SLEEVE. 
 
 189 
 
 misfortune, then of Mr. Smith's base advice, then what ho 
 was in duty bound to do. — " I should be a villain were I to 
 remain at Alteck, had I even here a paradise, and should I 
 have to meet death on the sea ! " 
 
 "Ay, ay," — said the steward — " it is a dangerous enter- 
 prise." 
 
 " No," — exclaimed Mrs. Walter, and sobbed more vehe- 
 mently — " your principles are beautiful, yet perhaps a little 
 too hastily acted upon. If you were to give yourself a few 
 days' time ; — better counsel often comes over night. Why, 
 it is terrible ! " With that she looked at her almost lifeless 
 daughter. 
 
 She turned with a face, in which death was depicted, 
 towards her mother, and said in a loud tone of voice, as if 
 she were summoning her last strength, — " Mother, dear 
 mother, make not his heart more heavy than it is already. 
 He must go, he must! He dare not stay." Then she 
 sank down as if dead, and lost breath and consciousness. 
 
 Mrs. Walter gave a shriek. Conrad flew to the apparent 
 corpse, the steward called the servants for assistance. 
 Josephine was carried to her own room. Fifteen minutes 
 elapsed before she regained her recollection. But then she 
 opened her eyes, and said softly — " What have you done 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Walter had sent Conrad out of the room. In 
 ecstasy to know her Josephine alive, she sought him again. 
 He stood in the garden, his face pale, and his trembling 
 arms wound round a tree, for his knees tottered under him. 
 " Come " — she called out to him — " she has recovered 
 from her swoon, and has asked for you." 
 
 With great exertion he dragged himself to Josephine's 
 room. She sat in an arm-chair. He took a seat beside 
 her, said not a word, and merely observed her pale counte- 
 nance, to which a soft red had returned on his entering the 
 room* 
 
190 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD i 
 
 " I have frightened you " — she said, and smiled at him. 
 " I am sorry for it — I could not help it." 
 
 " And now ? " — asked Conrad, trembling. 
 
 " I only wished to see you, as long as yet I may. Is it 
 not so ; you will not refuse me that? " — replied Josephine. 
 
 Conrad gazed at Josephine, and felt as if in a dream. 
 A sympathy so tender he had never expected to see in that 
 girl, for he had never known her possessed of feelings so 
 deep. 
 
 " Can you then feel sorry at my leaving Alteck ? " — he 
 asked at last. 
 
 "No ! " — she answered.- — " It is well done in you to go. 
 You dare not, you cannot do otherwise. God will be with 
 you. You cannot fare ill. You follow a holy duty." 
 
 " But, Josephine ! " — rejoined Conrad — " I go with a 
 broken heart. I leave this beautiful place very reluctantly." 
 
 "You will wean yourself from it, as you have used your- 
 self to it. You need not give yourself any uneasiness on 
 that account. The thought of your unfortunate father, from 
 this time, must be all your thought." 
 
 " Will you also remember me in my absence ? " — said 
 Conrad. 
 
 " Most certainly, and with everlasting gratitude " — re- 
 plied Josephine. 
 
 " Gratitude, Josephine ? " — exclaimed Conrad. 
 
 " I know for what I am indebted to you, but spare me 
 the confession of it. No, I will tell you. Through your 
 intercourse, I have become better than I was. Take this 
 confession with you on your journey. It is not very pro- 
 bable .that we shall meet on this earth again ; and so the 
 last time we are together, we may at least be candid " — 
 answered Josephine. 
 
 " You confound me, Josephine," — said Conrad. " You 
 have never spoken to me so kindly before. If you but 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 191 
 
 knew how dear you have been to me ! If you but knew 
 how much I lose, since now fate calls me away from you ! " 
 
 She turned her face away from him, when he said this ; 
 but in the same moment Josephine became again serene. 
 Then again she turned to Conrad. " May you prosper in 
 your journey, my dear Mr. Eck. Good night. Write to 
 my mother when you are far distant, before you leave 
 Europe. To-morrow, after you are departed, I shall feel 
 well again. May you be happy ! " 
 
 She gave him her hand. His heart was as if broken. 
 Mrs. Walter wept aloud. Josephine drew her hand quickly 
 out of his, hid her eyes, and exclaimed — " I conjure you to 
 leave me!" 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Conrad's Departure. 
 
 At break of day the carriage drove up to the door, and all 
 the inhabitants of the village assembled, surrounded the 
 carriage and the house, to have one more look at their 
 benefactor, and bless him ; for Conrad, during his stay at 
 Alteck, had become dear to every family in the village. He 
 had been a domestic friend to all, and to every one in a dif- 
 ferent way. He had worked more good in silence than was 
 believed. Now they told each other weeping aloud, how 
 he had administered medicine to the sick, had clothed the 
 naked, given bread to the hungry, and security for the 
 oppressed debtor. Every father believed that Conrad had 
 done him the greatest services ; and that he had loved his 
 family more than all the others in 'the village. He had 
 imposed silence upon all, but the general sorrow at his 
 departure broke the promises of every one. 
 
192 
 
 3IARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 When Conrad entered the dining-room, to take his last 
 breakfast, he found the steward and Josephine's mother in 
 tears. They took their breakfast, and Conrad endeavoured 
 to comfort those mourners. After every thing was ready 
 for his departure, he suddenly left his seat, begged to be 
 remembered by them, and left the room. He had not had 
 the courage to ask for Josephine ; but now, when he bade 
 farewell, he took once more the hand of Mrs. Walter, and 
 said with a voice nearly choked with pain, — " Remember 
 me to Josephine : tell her that I have loved her beyond all 
 bounds ; — that I will love her on the other side of the 
 ocean." 
 
 When he left the house, and proceeded towards the car- 
 riage, the steward and Josephine's mother were hanging 
 on his arms. All the people seemed as if bent down by a 
 weight of sorrow ; and all wept, sobbing aloud. Conrad, 
 already too much agitated, wished to conquer his emotions, 
 jump into the carriage, and to hasten away ; but at that 
 moment he heard a voice behind him, which riveted him 
 to the spot. He turned. Josephine, pale, with eyes red 
 from weeping, full of unspeakable suffering, stood in the 
 door of the house, calling his name. She was embarrassed 
 for a moment, when she saw the carriage surrounded by 
 people, who were weeping and kneeling ; but in the next 
 moment she walked towards Conrad. " Farewell ! " — she 
 said, in a feeble tone of voice.—" Forgive me, I am but 
 mortal ! " and ran back into the house. 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUK SLEEVE. 193 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 Visit to Mr. Smith. 
 
 " What is it ] " — thought Conrad ; but hours elapsed 
 before he became capable of tranquil reflection. M What 
 is it ? All is delusion ! Our whole life is a delusion ! 
 The most tender and deepest feelings of my existence are 
 crushed before me. It may cost me my life. But what 
 more is it ? delusion ! Josephine loves me ! She may 
 fall a victim to this sorrow, and so may I. What more 
 is it 1 We understood each other too late, but had it been 
 sooner, it would still have been too soon. Sink into thy 
 grave, Josephine ! there thou wilt be at rest. Have I 
 not to pay a, holy debt to a father ? There is no stay 
 under the skies, no glory, no happiness ! Here the high- 
 est blessedness and the deepest despair are sisters. But 
 why is it so ? God is incomprehensible. My dream is 
 not yet ended. Wherefore do I moralize. I do my duty. 
 I sacrifice the world, friendship, love, Josephine, myselfj 
 to the duties that I have to fulfil. God wills it so 
 may he direct me, may he rule. I will be silent ! " 
 
 Thus soliloquized Conrad. But he manned himself, and 
 looked boldly towards his fate. " Thou art thyself the cause 
 of these sorrows ! " — he said to himself — " for thou mightest 
 now go laughing to the East Indies, didst thou not love 
 Josephine. And that thou dost love her so much is self-in- 
 dulgence. Thou hast a hole in thy sleeve, would Father 
 Marble say. Ah, did but Josephine not suffer !" 
 
 Towards night he arrived at the capital. He hastened 
 immediately to the banker Smith. This gentleman was 
 astonished, yet glad to see him. " I bring the answer to 
 your letter myself." 
 
 " And what have you concluded to do ? " asked the banker. 
 
194 
 
 >IARBL£ AND CONEAD I 
 
 "To go to the East Indies. I owe my father too much" 
 — replied Conrad. •* I should be a monster were I to leave 
 him, old and feeble as he is, to his misery. I should be- 
 come desperate were I to know that the venerable, virtu- 
 ous old man held out his hands to me in vain." 
 
 u All this is very excellent, all this is very noble, my dear 
 Eck" — said Smith — "but you must not act without reflec- 
 tion. A journey to the East Indies is not a walk. Who 
 will be your security when you arrive there 1 Can you 
 find immediately a ship ? May you not become sick on 
 your journey, be wrecked, or sink i " 
 
 " Very possibly. But then I shall have done my duty, 
 and Providence will guide all the rest" — rejoined Con- 
 rad. 
 
 " Very good. But how, if Mr. Marble — for he is old — 
 should have died, before you arrive in Calcutta ! Of what 
 avail would then be this journey round the world } For 
 what purpose would then your present course of life be in- 
 terrupted, and your property be sacrificed ?" rejoined the 
 banker. 
 
 u My course of life will never be interrupted. The course 
 I run is called dirty.' And should I return a beggar, very 
 well ! I know how to support myself. I am young. Let 
 me have my way. I only beg of you to give me a bill of 
 exchange on London for all the ready money I have. For 
 that purpose I have called on you. If you will add some, 
 thing more tor Mr. Marble, so much the better. I will be 
 your personal debtor, and on my return I will pay you back 
 with accumulated interest, even should I have to work for 
 it like a slave." 
 
 u Very nobly thought in you" — said Smith — M but let U3 
 also take the matter deliberately into consideration. Mr. 
 Marble cares certainly less for the pleasure of your company 
 than for a certain sum of money which will either enable 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. ^195 
 
 him to prosecute his suit, or to return to Europe. If he has 
 money, he will be contented, and will find means for all he 
 needs ; and then you are perfectly unnecessary to him. 
 Well, then, tell me how much you wish to settle upon him, 
 and how much of my own I shall add to it. We will remit 
 it to him. Drafts can be sent from England to India with 
 greater facility than people. That is connected with pe- 
 culiar difficulties. Follow my advice." 
 
 " No, Mr. Smith, I cannot do it. I am of greater ser- 
 vice to my father Marble than your or my money can be. 
 He is old and feeble ; he needs a son to cherish and foster 
 him, to assist and protect him. Ah ! in such a condition 
 a friend is worth more than mountains of gold. A warm 
 word of consolation is worth more than all the service well- 
 paid hirelings can render. Let us pursue this talk no far- 
 ther. To-morrow I go from here to Regensburg, render 
 an account of my transactions to Lord Wallenroth, give him 
 my resignation and thanks. He is an honest man, and 
 will not throw any impediments in my way. If you wish 
 to be mine and Mr. Marble's friend, I would beg of you to 
 give me a letter to Lord Wallenroth, recommending to him 
 my purpose. I have seen how much your word avails with 
 him." 
 
 Mr. Smith looked at Conrad a long time in silence. But 
 he stood before him fixed in his purpose, and what he said 
 proceeded from the utmost recesses of his heart. Even 
 Mr. Smith seemed for a moment to be moved at this out- 
 burst of filial love and gratitude, yet he endeavoured by new 
 arguments to dissuade him from his undertaking. 
 
 " It is in vain ! " — exclaimed Conrad. " There are, per- 
 haps, other causes that might have induced me to make a 
 base choice. I loved a noble girl — you know Josephine 
 Walter — only at the moment of my departure I became 
 aware that I was also her love. And yet — duty before hap- 
 
196 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 piness. Therefore, Mr. Smith, I pray you to give me the 
 drafts." 
 
 Mr. Smith's eyes were filled with tears when Conrad 
 spoke thus — " Come to my heart ! " exclaimed the old man, 
 and the kissed him. " You are certainly a most excellent 
 man. I envy Mr. Marble for having such a son, and such a 
 friend. How few fathers are as fortunate as he ! You shall 
 have the drafts you desire, and that you may not have any 
 difficulties with Lord Wallenroth, I will myself accompany 
 you to Regensburg." 
 
 Conrad was at this sudden emotion of Mr. Smith some- 
 what astonished — "There is for all" — he thought to him- 
 self — " in every man, even should he in his every-day life 
 have become shrivelled up behind his counter to a mum- 
 my, and should he have become a stone, there is always a 
 divine spark left, which is never totally extinguished. It 
 requires but the breath to blow it into a flame. His origi- 
 nal nature will rise again with victorious grandeur, how- 
 ever deeply it may lie crushed by the mercantile 4 Shall and 
 Have,'' or be sullied by the dust of trade, or be disfigured 
 by theological or pedagogical systems, or be strangled by 
 politics and military science." 
 
 Conrad forgot the letter of the banker, forgot his sensible 
 counsels which he had just before heard, forgave him all 
 his cautions, which he thought are subtle high treasons 
 on man, but which are very current in this every-day 
 world, and rejoiced that the nobler spirit was stirring 
 within him. This is called romantic in common life, since 
 that greatness of soul, which we admire in men of an anteri- 
 or world, has now deserted actual life altogether, and taken 
 refuge in poetry. 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 197 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Visit to Regensburg. 
 
 Impatiently as Conrad pressed for the journey to Lord 
 Wallenroth, Mr. Smith nevertheless delayed it nearly a 
 week — " For," he said, " I had never counted on accom- 
 panying you, and yet I must do it now. My business tran- 
 sactions are extensive, and I cannot leave them so sudden- 
 ly, and intrust them for weeks into the hands of a stranger. 
 You also will not lose by it. Lord Wallenroth has a letter 
 from me. He knows of our coming, and as he is expect- 
 ing us, he will not leave Regensburg." 
 
 "But every day, every hour we let pass" — exclaimed 
 Conrad — " increases on the other side of the ocean the 
 distress and the longing of the venerable, deserted old man." 
 
 At length the day of departure arrived. Mr. Smith, how- 
 ever, who needed his comforts, would not travel during the 
 night, but took his usual rest. Conrad lost both his sleep 
 and patience. While Mr. Smith was asleep, he alleviated 
 his sorrow by writing his journal, rather for Josephine 
 than for himself, and he recorded his lone communings 
 with her, which he wished to send to her before leaving 
 the shores of Europe. 
 
 They arrived at Regensburg. On the first day, Lord 
 Wallenroth could not be seen. Conrad drew unfavourable 
 conjectures from this, for he doubted not in the least, that 
 the Lord of Alteck was at home to the banker, Smith. 
 He thought there must be some plot ; although Mr. Smith 
 wore a serene countenance when he returned at night ; but 
 even that serenity was somewhat suspicious. 
 
 On the following day, Lord Wallenroth sent a messen- 
 ger to the strangers, informing them that he expected them 
 
198 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 to dinner. Conrad urged to go earlier. He had firmly re- 
 solved, that should the proprietor of Alteck raise any diffi- 
 culties about dismissing him from his service, he would de- 
 part the same night, without being dismissed. 
 
 Lord Wallenroth received them very kindly. After 
 the first compliments passed, Conrad explained with fe- 
 verish eagerness, the cause of his arrival, and the neces- 
 sity of his being dismissed. He placed before him his ac- 
 counts, and gave a general description of what he had done 
 for Alteck. 
 
 "In all you pledged yourself to do, you have given en- 
 tire satisfaction, except in that one clause respecting Mrs. 
 Walter. The good woman has been made unfortunate 
 through you." 
 
 Conrad became red as vermilion. " Through me ? " — 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 " The day before yesterday " — rejoined Wallenroth — 
 " I received a letter from her, and in it she informs me 
 how dear you had become to the whole village, and how 
 every one deplores your loss. There is also Josephine, 
 the daughter of Mrs. Walter, who, since the day of your 
 departure, is wasting away like a waning taper." 
 
 "Does she write that? " — asked Conrad. 
 
 " Most assuredly " — was the answer. — " The thoughts 
 of both mother and daughter are noble enough to honour 
 your resolution to go to the East Indies ; but the mother is 
 grieving for the life of her daughter, since that is now in 
 danger." 
 
 Conrad became pale. 
 
 Lord Wallenroth gave him the letter. Conrad read it, 
 as it came from Mrs. Walter. In it she informed Lord 
 Wallenroth of the sudden departure of the superintendent, 
 and that for some time previous she had observed that he 
 had made a great impression upon the heart of her daughter 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 199 
 
 Josephine. His sudden departure had entirely changed 
 Josephine's disposition. She was visibly fading away ; the 
 physicians advised her to divert herself by travelling, but 
 Josephine would not depart from Alteck ; and also seemed 
 too weak to bear the fatigues of a journey. The whole 
 letter breathed the affliction of a disconsolate mother. 
 
 Conrad threw himself into a chair, covered his face with 
 his handkerchief, and could not forbear sobbing aloud. 
 Lord Wallenroth approached him. Conrad aroused himself. 
 
 " I read your soul ! M — said Lord Wallenroth — " and 
 your tears justify me in what I have done. I know 
 Josephine. I also esteem her very highly. She is one of 
 the loveliest of her sex. You love her? " 
 
 " Certainly I do ! " exclaimed Conrad. 
 
 " Then compose yourself, " — replied the baron — " I had 
 Josephine's health, and the peace of mind of her excellent 
 mother, so much at heart, that at the same hour in which I 
 received this letter, I despatched a courier with a letter to 
 Alteck, informing her that Mr. Eck would not go to the East 
 Indies ; that circumstances had altered, and that Mr. Eck 
 would again return to Alteck. The letter is undoubtedly 
 now in the hands of Mrs. Walter, and so will prevent 
 greater harm. Have I done well ? " 
 
 " You have done well ! " — said Conrad. 
 
 " And you go not to # the East Indies 1 " — inquired Wal- 
 lenroth. 
 
 11 You have done well, I say, and it is done well, when in 
 this life we have dried a tear, should it even have been done 
 under the veil of deception. I thank you, Lord Wallenroth, 
 replied Conrad, I myself will write from here to Alteck, 
 and keep the hope alive. If we win time, we gain a 
 great deal. Time exercises a greater might over man, 
 than the power of his principles. Josephine by this ex- 
 cusable device may be saved ; but I go to the East Indies. 
 
200 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 " How, Mr. Eck, would you have me become a liar ? " 
 asked Wallenroth. 
 
 Conrad shrugged his shoulders. — " Would you have 
 me, Lord Wallenroth, become a monster towards my good 
 father, through whom I am what I am ? " 
 
 « No ! " — exclaimed Lord Wallenroth : — " I feel the 
 importance of your choice : — there a father, and a bene- 
 factor, who has indeed the claims of a father on you, — 
 and here a loved one." 
 
 " And the claims of the father are older, holier, than 
 those of the loved one," — retorted Conrad. — " She would 
 be compelled to desist loving me, were I capable of a 
 base action. Josephine would be bound to despise me." 
 
 " Let us look at the matter from another point of view," 
 — rejoined Wallenroth. — " You would hasten to the relief 
 of an old man, to whom, perhaps, better and more speedy 
 assistance might be rendered with a sufficient sum of 
 money ; and you let a noble girl, overpowered with grief, 
 perish — whom all the gold in the world cannot compensate 
 for the loss of her friend. You go to the East Indies for 
 the purpose of making more serene the evening of an aged 
 man, whose life perhaps is spared only for a few months ; 
 and on that account you let a young life, which only now 
 is beginning to bloom, perish with all its hopes." 
 
 " I act from this principle," — sternly replied Conrad, — 
 " that when conscience calls us to the right and to duty, we 
 ought not to regard anything termed accident or advantage. 
 The life of my father and the life of Josephine are in the 
 power of Heaven, but the righteous deed is in my power. 
 I do as duty commands me, and over the rest He rules, 
 who knows how to regulate everything for the best. That 
 is not my business. Am I sure that by weakness — No, it 
 is not that ! — that by a base action I can prolong Jose- 
 phine's existence ? " 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 201 
 
 " You did not suffer me to come to the end, Mr. Eck," — 
 replied Lord Wallenroth, — " I told you I had written that 
 circumstances had altered. And this is indeed the fact. 
 I could lay you a wager that you will not go to tho 
 East." 
 
 " How ? Is Mr. Marble dead already ? Or do you wish 
 to make me believe so?" — -exclaimed Conrad, terrified 
 — Or perhaps you have certain intelligence, that my 
 father is already on his return to Europe ? I pray you 
 keep me no longer on the rack, I am miserable." 
 
 " It is nothing of all that," — replied Lord Wallenroth, 
 with a smile, — " But you will be astonished, — you are the 
 proprietor of Alteck. I am not. I was only so for a short 
 time. I bought the manor for Mr. Marble, who destined 
 it for you. This, however, you were not to be informed of, 
 till after you had been a year home from your travels. 
 It was his intention to probe you first : and did you prove 
 yourself such as Mr. Marble wished you to be, then the 
 manor was to be yours. I will now deliver to you the 
 deed of gift. You have acted in Alteck in the spirit of 
 your benefactor. The manor is yours by right." 
 
 Conrad was perplexed. He knew not what to say. At 
 last he exclaimed with a trembling voice, and his eyes 
 full of tears lifted towards heaven, — " Good Marble, thou 
 hast ever thought of others, but never of thyself ! Now 
 thou art no longer poor ! If this is true, and I hope, that 
 at this serious moment you are not jesting with me, I 
 offer to you or to Mr. Smith immediately an advantageous 
 contract. The manor of Alteck brings at present an annual 
 rent of seventy thousand dollars. In a few years it will be 
 worth a hundred and twenty thousand. I will mortgage it 
 to you for thirty or forty thousand. Will you give me that 
 amount in drafts on London ? " 
 
 " Before we can enter upon that business" — said Lord 
 10 
 
202 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 Wallenroth with visible emotion. — " it is necessary that 
 you should first have the deed of gift in your hands." 
 
 As soon as Lord Wallenroth returned with the document 
 in his hand, Mr. Smith silently pressed Conrad's hand, and 
 left the room. Lord Wallenroth was not less agitated. 
 He gave the parchment to Conrad, and hastily followed 
 Mr. Smith out of the apartment. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 The Document. 
 
 Conrad could not understand the behaviour of those two 
 old gentlemen. He looked for some time after them, — 
 u What are they doing ? " he thought — " They seem to be 
 moved ! My resolution to go to the East Indies evidently 
 meets with theip. approbation, why do they resist it 1 — 
 What have they to win or lose, either by my going or 
 staying ? For with men who have grown rusty in a worldly 
 life, it depends at last only on loss or gain, on shall or 
 have J 1 
 
 He sat down beside the window and opened the parch- 
 ment. When he saw Mr. Marble's name beneath, written 
 by his own hand, he kissed the place upon which the revered 
 hand once had rested. Then he read. — It was indeed an 
 assignment of the manor to Conrad Eck, whom he called 
 his dear adopted son, with all its rights and privileges. 
 But when he came to the signature, Conrad was alarmed. 
 The whole document seemed to be false. It was dated in 
 Regensburg ; and the date was only two days old — but Mr. 
 Marble's signature was so perfectly counterfeited that it was 
 difficult to decide whether or not he had written it himself. 
 
 He started up from his chair to look after the gentlemen. 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 203 
 
 With a oyous countenance, Lord Wallenroth entered the 
 room. 
 
 " Was not I right, my dear Eck ? " — he exclaimed with 
 eyes beaming with joy. — " Now you will leave the East 
 Indies where they are." 
 
 " By no means," — exclaimed Conrad — " this document 
 is false ! " 
 
 " No ! it is not, it is true and authentic," — replied Wal- 
 lenroth — " upon my honour : authentic ! " 
 
 " But the date is only two days old ! " — retorted Conrad. 
 " Exactly " — said the Baron. 
 
 " Who has written my father's signature 1 " inquired 
 Conrad. 
 
 " Who else than he himself] " — answered Wallenroth. 
 — " You certainly ought to know his signature." 
 
 " That is the very reason, because I do know it," — said 
 Conrad.—" When did he write this ? " 
 
 " Cannot you see it ? cannot you read it ? — on the day 
 before yesterday," — added Wallenroth. 
 
 " The day before yesterday 1 " — exclaimed Conrad. — 
 " You drive me mad with your jests. How is this ? How 
 can he write 1 Is he come from Calcutta ? Has he re- 
 turned ? Is he come home from the East Indies ? " 
 
 " No, Mr. Eck." — calmly replied Wallenroth. 
 
 " Not returned ? That is a contradiction ! " — exclaimed 
 Conrad. 
 
 11 No, not a contradiction — no ! he never went to the 
 East Indies ! " — called out a revered voice in the next 
 room — and the next moment the door opened, and hand 
 in hand with Mr. Smith, old Mr. Marble walked into the 
 room. He held out his arms towards Conrad and exclaimed 
 — " My Son ! " — and embraced the young man, who stood 
 motionless, like a statue, — and did not seem to understand 
 what had occurred to him. 
 
204 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 " No, thou dear boy. I was not in the East Indies. 
 Come, press me to thy brave and gallant heart, thou art the 
 joy of my life ! Thou art just what thou shouldest be. 
 May God in heaven bless thee ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The Explanation. 
 
 The joy of old Marble was not less than the ecstasy of -the 
 surprised Conrad, who for a long time could not find words 
 to give vent to his feelings. They had to tell each other 
 so much, that after the lapse of several hours Conrad did 
 not understand how all this had happened. 
 
 " Now child," began Father Marble, " I will tell thee 
 everything in the order it occurred. Take a seat ! It is 
 true, I had a great deal of trouble in the capital. I know 
 not how it entered the head of the sovereign to hang upon 
 me that hair-bag of knighthood. There must be a difference 
 of rank, although the wool distinguishes the sheep from the 
 goat better than the name. He who as an officer of state 
 wishes to make his fortune, so called, and to stand near the 
 person of his sovereign, and is desirous to attain a greater 
 sphere of action, let him get himself knighted ! He acts 
 wisely. It is a good and profitable inheritance for his 
 children. One like myself, who has no children, no in- 
 fluence, who wants no public offices, and is contented with 
 what no prince can give — a pure heart that wills and does 
 as much good as it can, to one like me, that parchment 
 only brings real trouble and disagreeable circumstances. 
 But I perhaps took that trifling matter too seriously. How- 
 ever, by my refusal I offended the prince, or perhaps his 
 lords. They began to annoy me by many little acts. I 
 felt vexed at them — therefore I left the capital. It was 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 205 
 
 at the time when I desired thee to write me regularly, 
 even if thou shouldst not receive any answers from me — for 
 correspondence by letter was troublesome to me — and to 
 direct thy communications to my old honest friend, Mr. 
 Smith. 
 
 " I removed to a small estate, where I lived happily and 
 in retirement. There I was visited by God, that I might 
 not think heaven was on this earth, and I became sick of a 
 bilious fever. I then was urged to make my last will and 
 testament, as I might possibly die. Those people were in 
 the right, for whosoever is not prepared to die every day, 
 and to stand before his Heavenly Judge — oh ! he has in- 
 deed? a great hole in his sleeve ! Thou understandest me, 
 Conrad. 
 
 " But then, poor man that I was, I had no children ; 
 perhaps some distant relatives who were eagerly looking 
 for my death, and people who do not know what use to 
 make of their money ; that is, they only know how to 
 count interest, save their money for themselves alone, and 
 are striving to render themselves conspicuous before the 
 people, keep a good table, and call it foolish when we 
 deny to ourselves in order to have a greater abundance for 
 the benefit of others who are in need ; those people I 
 thought have already too much. True, I had brought up 
 many children, or had them reared ; but whether they 
 were what they ought to be, I did not know. They all 
 had holes in their sleeves ! I made a short business of it, 
 and settled upon every one, without difference, a certain 
 sum, since I could not take any thing with me ; and then 
 became well." 
 
 "When I was. sick and laid on my bed, waited upon only 
 by hirelings, I then felt for the first time deeply the want of 
 being loved for my own self's sake. Then I often thought 
 of you, and I longed for your return. You came. But I 
 
206 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD : 
 
 would prove you, and find out, if you actually were a man 
 without a hole in your sleeve ! I had bought the manor of 
 Alteck, a worthless estate. There I thought a person can 
 give a specimen whether he has his head and his heart in 
 the right place. My friend Lord Wallenroth was kind 
 enough to lend his name for the purpose. Mr. Smith 
 advertised the office of superintendent in the public journals, 
 showed you the paper, brought you to Lord Wallenroth, 
 and all the rest you know. I never would make my 
 appearance, for I earnestly desired to become well 
 acquainted with your true character. 
 
 Wallenroth made a clause in behalf of a poor minister's 
 widow, with whose husband I had been well acquainted. 
 He was the friend of my youth. The lady was like an angel 
 in female form. Had she not loved my friend Walter, I 
 would have made her my wife, for I admired the girl in 
 secret ; but she knew nothing of it, since she was scarcely 
 acquainted with me. But I loved Walter, and conquered 
 my passion, which — I will not deny it — nearly tore an 
 irreparable hole in my sleeve ! Through Lord Wallenroth, 
 I received from time to time tidings about the woman whom 
 I had loved ; and when the noble Walter left her without 
 property, I had the widow provided for through him. We 
 brought her to Alteck ; " for that woman," I said to Wallen- 
 roth, "yet is an earthly angel." — " If she is an angel," said 
 he, " then her daughter Josephine is certainly a seraph." 
 Umph ! I thought ; if it is so, and Conrad the proper man, 
 nothing will be wanting there. Mrs. Walter remained with 
 her young seraph in Alteck, and we established you as their 
 companion. 
 
 As often as you were with Mr. Smith in the capital to pay 
 the money and render an account of your proceedings, I 
 travelled incognito through Alteck. My heart felt delighted. 
 You began with a great hole in the sleeve, and have mended 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 207 
 
 it considerably in one year. Then I concluded to adopt 
 thee as my son, and to transfer to thee the whole of my 
 property ; for Conrad, I thought, follows in my footsteps. 
 He is a noble boy ! But does he also love me, like a 
 father ? That was yet a question with me, and alas ! my 
 dear Conrad, whether it be a hole in the sleeve, or not, to 
 my heart it was the most important one. Then we played 
 this little comedy, in which your heart was a little hard 
 pinched. You have made me, an old man, happy, and led 
 me back into my lost Eden. Now our comedy is ended, I 
 shall go to Alteck to live with you and to assist you a little. 
 In Alteck we will build houses of " peace on earth," and 
 prepare for the heaven above the stars. In my gray hairs 
 I will now confess to Mrs. Walter my unfaded true love, 
 and with the young seraph you may settle your own affair. 
 
 CHAPTER X X. 
 
 The Return to Alteck. 
 
 What joy, gratitude and love were felt by Conrad, can 
 easily be imagined. At the first hour, in which he was 
 unincumbered and alone in his room, he fell on his knees 
 and thanked the divine and benevolent Ruler of the universe. 
 Then with a heart yet deeply agitated, he sat down to his 
 writing-desk. He wrote to Mrs. Walter the history of his 
 fortune, and to Josephine the history of his heart, and its 
 desires. 
 
 Mr. Marble had yet to order so much respecting his 
 affairs, that three weeks elapsed before they could think of 
 going to Alteck. Mrs. Walter, in answer to his letter, 
 stated, that Josephine was fully restored to health, and in 
 her silent transport that she was scarcely like an earthly 
 being. 
 
20$ 
 
 MARBLE AXD COIVRAX* ; 
 
 Josephine, however, in her letters, was just as singular 
 as she had been in her personal intercourse. " No ! she 
 wrote — I love you not. I cannot love you. I also assure 
 you that such a feeling for you has never entered my heart. 
 I love my excellent mother above all things. I love the 
 whole world. But you — there is something that pushes me 
 away from you. I know not what to call it, how to describe 
 it. It is veneration, devctedness. You are right to love 
 me, more I do not deserve. It is already too much that 
 you give a thought to so insignificant a creature as I am ; 
 that you can say, without me the world were nothing. 
 But — for me to love you ; would be too human. I fear that 
 by this common word I should profane my sensibilities. 
 There is something august in you, which by being near 
 me, you have imparted to me. Every thing has become 
 different. Nature is not as it was before. Before you 
 came to Alteck, I looked at things as others did ; but this 
 is no longer so. A different spirit is diffused over all things. 
 I should never have had the courage to tell you this by 
 word of mouth, but being far away from you, my timidity 
 has lost its sway. It is true, without you I should not like 
 to breathe the air of life ; but I cannot comprehend how I 
 can live near you, and be continually at your side ! " 
 
 Marble, to whom Conrad always showed Josephine's 
 letters — and he loved to read them — smiled. — " Conrad,' 1 
 he said, " this seraph takes you for a cherub. But you 
 children of elysium will soon become less platonic. Have 
 only a little patience ! " 
 
 Mr. Marble could not have surprised Conrad more 
 agreeably in Regensburg, than when at Lord Wallenroth's 
 house he was met on entering the room by Mrs. Walter 
 and Josephine, who as yet had not changed their travelling 
 dress. Conrad with joyful emotion embraced the mother, 
 but his eyes were fixed on Josephine, who stood motionless, 
 
MEND THE HOLE IN YOUR SLEEVE. 
 
 209 
 
 blushing deeply, and looking at the floor. The ordinary 
 shows of politeness of the refined world, so called, other- 
 wise a plague to better men, are nevertheless oftentimes 
 devices of inestimable value. By means of those, the 
 lovers found the way to each other, who concealed in a 
 general and polite conversation, the loud calling of their 
 hearts. They learned to look at each other without trem- 
 bling, and to speak together without being confused. Mr. 
 Marble declared to Mrs. Walter how he had loved her in 
 her youth, and now, an old man, he would be her best friend. 
 
 " But those two people, I mean your daughter and my 
 son, have not told each other what they have to say ! " 
 whispered Marble to his friend, Mrs. Walter. — " Suppose 
 we let them have an hour of conversation in the garden? " 
 
 Between flowers and bushes, Josephine and Conrad 
 were purposely deserted by all. Meanwhile, Marble and 
 Mrs. Walter determined upon the future lot of the young 
 people. 
 
 One hour after another elapsed, but Josephine and Con- 
 rad did not again make their appearance. Night came on, 
 yet they did not return. 
 
 " This matter troubles me " — remarked Mr. Marble — 
 " they may be bewildered from mere ecstasy ! " Marble 
 took the arm of Mrs. Walter, and searched for the missing 
 couple. No sound betrayed them. At last they found them 
 between thick bushes. There they stood, like two statues, 
 underneath a beech-tree, so engrossed with each other, 
 that they heard not the footsteps of those who approached 
 them. 
 
 " God be praised that you yet have breath " — exclaimed 
 Marble — "but I do not like this hiding of cherubs and 
 seraphs ! Away with you ; to-morrow I will drive you 
 out of this garden. You have at last discovered that you 
 are two very natural human beings. You both have, as I 
 
210 
 
 MARBLE AND CONRAD. 
 
 perceive, an enormous hole in your sleeve, which matrimony 
 alone can mend! " 
 
 Conrad and the deeply-blushing Josephine, returned with 
 their beloved parents. The next morning, by Marble's 
 urgency, the youthful lovers were married, and from the 
 nuptial ceremony, he led them to a travelling carriage. 
 " My son " — said Marble — " you are of no use here. The 
 day after to-morrow we all shall leave this place for Alteck, 
 and then make arrangements for our future life. Go to 
 Leipsic, receive the amounts for me, according to my in- 
 structions, and return in a fortnight to Alteck. Josephine 
 will accompany you to drive away dull care ! " 
 
 On the twelfth day, Conrad returned with his bride to 
 Alteck, where Father Marble, and Mrs. Walter, and the 
 whole village, met them, exulting with joy. 
 
OLIVIER FLYELN: 
 
 i 
 
 A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Introductory* 
 
 During my last journey in the north of my native land, 1 
 did not repent taking a little circuitous route, once more to 
 see one of my esteemed friends in the golden age of my 
 life. In the following narrative I have altered the names 
 both of the persons and places ; but the history is not less 
 true, improbable as in some respects it may appear. 
 
 My friend was the Baron Olivier Flyeln, who had been 
 my fellow-student at the University of Gottingen. He then 
 was a young man of most excellent character, and of almost 
 unmatched intelligence. Our love for the Greek and 
 Roman classics had brought us together, and made us 
 friends. I called him my Achilles, and he denominated 
 me his Patroclus. But he might, indeed, have served for 
 any artist as the subject for an Achilles. In form and car- 
 riage he was truly dignified. Energy and benevolence 
 shone in the dark lustre of his eye. None were more ac- 
 tive and dexterous than he ; for he was the boldest swim- 
 mer, the fleetest runner, and the most daring horseman ; 
 and withal, he possessed a most tender and faithful heart. 
 Through his generosity, however, he became entangled in 
 various unpleasant difficulties ; for of his own free-will, he 
 would often render assistance to the oppressed, in conse- 
 
212 
 
 OLITIEK FLYELN : 
 
 quence of which, he had been compelled several times to 
 defend himself against rude assaults. 
 
 Since our separation we had written several times to 
 each other ; but when the waves of life cast us, the one 
 here, the other there, we are apt to forget in the end — not 
 each other — but our correspondence. Finally, I knew 
 nothing more of him, than that he had been captain of a 
 regiment of infantry. At that period he was about thirty- 
 five years of age, and advanced in rank. By mere acci- 
 dent, I learned, on my journey, where his regiment was 
 stationed, which induced me to take a circuitous route. 
 
 The postillion drove with me into the streets of a 
 large, rich commercial town, and stopped before the most 
 fashionable hotel. As soon as the waiter had shown me 
 to my room, I asked if there were not with the regiment 
 garrisoned in the place, a Baron Flyeln ? 
 
 " Do you mean the major ? " — asked the waiter. 
 
 " Major he may perhaps be," I said. " Are his lodg- 
 ings far from here ? Is he to be found at this time ? It is 
 already late, but I should like some person to conduct me 
 to his house." 
 
 " Excuse me, sir " — was the reply — M but it is long since 
 this gentleman has been in the regiment. He has taken 
 his discharge, or rather, was compelled to take it." 
 
 " Was compelled to take it? Wherefore ? " — I inquired. 
 
 " He was very eccentric" — answered the waiter — "and 
 acted very strangely. I know not myself what he did. 
 He was not altogether right in his head ; became crack- 
 brained and crazy. It is said he lost his senses by too 
 much study." 
 
 This intelligence terrified me so, that I lost presence of 
 mind, and the question. 
 
 "How?" — I stammered at last, to ask at least some- 
 thing, and to gain more particular information. 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 213 
 
 " Excuse me, sir " — said the obliging waiter — " what I 
 know, I have merely from hearsay, for he was sent away 
 before I came to this house. But many things are as yet 
 related of him. He had various difficulties with the offi- 
 cers, addressed every one with thou, even the general, 
 every one, it mattered not who it was. After having in- 
 herited a very considerable amount of property from his 
 uncle, he imagined that he had become poor as a beggar, 
 that he could not pay his debts, and sold every article which 
 he had on or about him. It is also said, that in his mad- 
 ness he uttered the most blasphemous language. But the 
 drollest part of the joke is this — that in order to spite his 
 family, he married a dishonest girl, the daughter of a 
 sharper. His dress, also, is said to have become finally 
 very nonsensical and clownish, so that all the boys in the 
 street ran after him. He was greatly pitied in the city, 
 for before that time he was much beloved, as he must have 
 been a most excellent gentleman ere he lost his wits." 
 
 " And where is he now ? " — I asked. 
 
 " I do not know. He has left the town " — said the 
 waiter. " Nothing is heard or seen of him. His family 
 perhaps have placed him somewhere for the purpose of 
 having him cured." 
 
 More information the waiter could not give. I had al- 
 ready heard too much. Agonized, I threw myself into a 
 chair. I pictured to myself the heroic form of the talented 
 young man, of whose future course I had entertained the 
 most flattering expectations, who, on account of his rank, 
 as well as through his extensive family connexions, might 
 have aspired to the first offices in the army or state ; who, 
 through his knowledge and rare gifts of mind, seemed to 
 have been destined for all that is great, and who then was 
 one of those unfortunates, at the sight of whom, humanity 
 shrinks back with compassion. , Oh, that the angel of life 
 
214 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN I 
 
 had rather taken him out of this world, than let him stand 
 here a deplorable caricature, and a sorrowful spectacle ! 
 
 Glad as I should have been to see the good Olivier, I 
 felt rejoiced to know that he was out of the city. Alas ! 
 he would no longer have been Olivier, no longer my glo- 
 rious Achilles, but a deplorable, unrecognisable Torso. 
 I had no desire to see him, could I even have found him 
 without any trouble ; for had I been compelled to change 
 in my memory, my Achilles of Gottingen with the form of 
 a madman, it would have robbed me of one of the dearest 
 and most agreeable of my remembrances. I did not wish 
 to see him again, for the same reason that I do not like to 
 look upon *any of my friends in their coffin, as I am desi- 
 rous of retaining in my memory the form they bore while 
 living ; or as I avoid visiting rooms which formerly I occu- 
 pied, and now are inhabited by others, and are furnished in a 
 different manner. That which was, and that which is noio, 
 form a confusion of ideas in a manner most intolerable and 
 painful to me. 
 
 I was lost in various contemplations on the nature of hu- 
 man life, and how the same spirit which measures the 
 spaces of the universe, and anticipates what is most sublime, 
 by a pressure, or by a hurt of an invisible part of the ner- 
 vous system, will become like a distressing untuned string- 
 ed instrument, an incomprehensible stranger to itself and 
 to the rest of the world ! 
 
 I found the supper-table in the well-lighted dining-room 
 of the hotel filled with guests. It happened that a place 
 near to several officers garrisoned in the city was assigned 
 to me. I led the conversation, as soon as it had com- 
 menced between us, to my friend Olivier. I specified mi- 
 nutely as many individualities as I recollected of him, in 
 order to avoid every change of persons ; for it might have 
 been possible — and I believed in the possibility — that this 
 
A FOOL OF TIIE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 215 
 
 crazy Baron Flyeln was altogether a different person from 
 my friend of Gottingen. But all I said, all I again heard, 
 confirmed my belief that there was no mistake. 
 
 " It is a great pity ! " — exclaimed one of the officers — 
 " every body liked the baron. He was one of the bravest 
 and most daring men in the regiment. He proved it in the 
 last campaign in France. What none of us dared to attempt, 
 he would do playfully ! Everything he undertook, was 
 crowned also with success. Only call to your minds the 
 battery of Waterloo ! We had lost it. The general tore 
 his hair. Flyeln exclaimed — ' We must have it again, else 
 all is lost ! ' We had attacked it three times without suc- 
 cess. Then Flyeln advanced once more with his compa- 
 ny, entered into a conflict with a whole battalion of the 
 guards, cut his way through in a most frightful massacre, 
 and captured the battery ! " 
 
 " But he lost half of his company ! "—exclaimed an old 
 captain at my side. " I was an eye witness. He, as usual, 
 did not receive a scratch. Enormous luck accompanied 
 that man. The most common soldier cannot even now 
 be dissuaded from believing that the baron had made him- 
 self cut, thrust, and bullet proof." 
 
 I listened with real delight to the praises thus bestowed 
 on Olivier. I again recognised him by all the virtues as- 
 cribed to him. His benevolent actions were particularly 
 lauded. He had founded and improved a school for the 
 children of soldiers, and had expended much money on it. 
 He had silently performed a great deal of good ; had al- 
 ways led a simple, sequestered life ; had never given him- 
 self up to the mischief or the extravagances to which youth, 
 beauty, fulness of strength, and riches so easily entice men. 
 The officers acknowledged that the baron had considerably 
 influenced the improvement of military manners, with their 
 own morals, and the cultivation of their minds ; and that 
 
216 
 
 OLIVIER flyeln: 
 
 he had lectured on various subjects, of the utmost benefit 
 to military men, until he had been prohibited. 
 
 " Why prohibited ? " I asked, with astonishment. 
 
 " Why, even in those lectures," rejoined one of my com- 
 panions, " he evinced the first signs of a disordered state 
 of mind. No Jacobin in the national convention at Paris 
 ever denounced with greater rage our monarchical institu- 
 tions, the various courts of Europe, and their politics, than 
 he sometimes did. He said without any hesitation, that at 
 an earlier or later period the people would free themselves 
 and the kings from the arbitrariness of their ministers, 
 from priestcraft, and from the oppression of trade. He 
 also said, that this revolution would inevitably pass from 
 nation to nation, and in less than half a century would 
 change the whole political form of Europe. He was very 
 properly and justly prohibited from continuing his lectures. 
 At times he would declaim most furiously against the no- 
 bility and their privileges ; and when he was reminded of 
 his being a baron himself, he answered — ' You are foolish 
 enough to call me so ; but I am a sensible man, and by 
 birth no more than our provost.' " 
 
 " Those were only the first indications of the disordered 
 state of his mind ! " exclaimed a young lieutenant — " but 
 the first act of his madness was, when he caught hold of 
 the Lieutenant-colonel Baron von Berken, boxed his ears, 
 and threw him down the stairs, and afterwards did not dare 
 to accept a challenge ; by which circumstance he insulted 
 the whole corps of officers^" 
 
 " He used to be a very good fencer, and did not greatly 
 fear cold steel," I replied. 
 
 " Until then we also had known him as such," replied 
 the officer. " But, as I said before, his whole nature un- 
 derwent a change. When he arrived at the place of ac- 
 tion, he carried no weapons but a whip in his hand ; and in 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 217 
 
 the presence of us all, with a sardonic smile, he said to 
 the lieutenant-colonel : ' Thou contemptible monkey, were 
 I actually to maim thee with my sword, wouldst thou be 
 the worthier on account of it ? ' When the lieutenant- 
 colonel, no longer master over his wrath, drew his sword, 
 the major, with perfect sang froid, presented his open bosom 
 to his stroke, and said : i If thou art in the mind of be- 
 coming an assassin, strike ! ' When we were about to 
 take part in the altercation and compel Flyeln to fight the 
 lieutenant-colonel, as duty and honour commanded, he call- 
 ed the whole of us fools, who, with our nonsensical prin- 
 ciples of honour, ought to be in a mad-house or a jail. 
 This confirmed us in our opinion of his being actually mad. 
 Some of us abused him. He only laughed at us. We 
 repaired to the general, and informed him of the whole 
 proceeding. The general was greatly mortified, and the 
 more so because he had received on that same day a badge 
 of distinction for the major from the court. He requested 
 us to keep quiet, and he would make him give satisfaction. 
 On the next morning at the parade, the general handed him, 
 according to his directions, the order of knighthood, with 
 an appropriate address. The major did not accept of it, 
 but answered with words most respectful, but things most 
 disrespectful — That he had fought against Napoleon in be- 
 half of his native land, and not for a piece of ribbon ; and 
 if he was deserving of praise he would not carry it on his 
 breast like a show -thing for all the world to look upon! The 
 general was beside himself with terror. No praters, no 
 menaces could induce the major to accept of the token of 
 royal favour. Then the officers came forth and declared 
 that they could no longer serve with the major, if he would 
 not give the lieutenant-colonel satisfaction. The matter 
 was put on trial ; the major was taken into custody and 
 dismissed by the royal court. Then his madness broke 
 
218 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 out fully. He let his beard grow like that of a Jew ; 
 dressed in ridiculous garments; to spite his relatives, mar- 
 ried a common but pretty girl, a foundling, on whose ac- 
 count he had previously had some difficulties with the lieu- 
 tenant-colonel, and considered himself for a long time th e 
 poorest of the poor ; committed various follies, and was at 
 last, by a royal mandate, taken under control, and exiled 
 to his own estates." 
 
 " Where is he now ? " I asked. 
 
 " He lives on his estates in Flyeln, in the castle of his 
 deceased uncle, about fifty miles distant from here," was 
 the reply. " For a year nobody was permitted to visit him 
 without having permission from the court. Even the ad- 
 ministratorship of his own property was taken from him. 
 It has again been resigned to him, but he is compelled 
 to render an annual account of his proceedings. He also 
 is not allowed to go a step beyond the boundaries of his 
 own dominions ; and in return, he has most solemnly pro- 
 nounced his anathema upon the whole world, and suffers 
 neither relatives, nor acquaintances, nor friends, to see 
 him. Nothing has been heard of him for several years. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 The Visit. 
 
 By all that the officers said, it^ras evident that the unfor- 
 tunate Olivier, after having lost his reason, had remained a 
 good-natured FOOL, and that probably the germanomania, 
 which several years since took possession of men's minds, 
 might have laid a strong hold of him, or at least given a 
 colouring to his derangement. 
 
 All this wrought a powerful effect on my mind. It was 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 219 
 
 late at night before I could sufficiently compose myself to 
 lie down to sleep. When I awoke on the following morn- 
 ing, the sun was already high, but I felt refreshed and 
 strengthened. The world appeared to me in a much se- 
 rener light than on the night before ; and I concluded to 
 pay my deplorable friend a visit in his place of banish- 
 ment. 
 
 After having taken a superficial look at all the objects 
 worthy of being seen in the city, I proceeded towards 
 Flyeln, in the neighbourhood of a small seaport. The 
 village of Flyeln is situated ten miles from that town. 
 When the postmaster heard whither I was going, he smiled 
 and said, that I might perhaps be taking a fruitless journey, 
 since the baron did not admit any strangers to his presence. 
 He also informed me, that the state of his mind had by no 
 means improved ; but that the good man possessed an 
 idea that the whole world, some centuries since, had be- 
 come mad, and the cure was to go out from Flyeln. In 
 this process, in which the world thought him, and he the 
 world mad, he had separated himself from all mankind. 
 His peasants and tenants — for he is lord of the manor — 
 feel none the worse on account of his whims, for he does 
 much good for them. But they must obey his caprices in 
 all trifles. They are compelled to wear wide pantaloons, 
 long jackets, and round hats. They must let their beards 
 grow, and are commanded to address all persons, at least 
 those who live within his dominions, and even himself, 
 with " thou ! " Except this freak, he is the most sensible 
 man in the world. 
 
 Notwithstanding the postmaster's warning, I started on 
 my journey to Flyeln. What did I care to travel a few 
 miles in vain, for Olivier's sake, after I had gone so far 
 on my adventure ? I did not find any cause for fearing 
 that he would refuse to see me, since his memory had not 
 
220 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 sustained any loss. The road was certainly very miserable, 
 and at that time was but seldom travelled. It led through 
 deep sands, overflowing rivulets, marshy ground, and 
 pine bushes, so that my carriage was several times nearly 
 upset. 
 
 About two miles from Flyeln the country became higher ; 
 and a fine broad road, on either side of which luxurious 
 fruit trees were planted, announced the proximity of the 
 rich lord of the manor. The fields in the broad valley 
 were in a high state of cultivation ; to the right in the 
 distance spread a dark green forest of oaks, like an enor- 
 mous sheet of leaves ; to the left the infinite ocean, a wide 
 waving mirror, which mingled together with the brilliant 
 clouds at the edge of the horizon. Before me spread the 
 village Flyeln, situated between fruit trees, willows, and 
 poplars. On one side I could see a large antique build- 
 ing, — the castle, — which rose in a wood of wild chestnuts. 
 Below, nearer to the ocean, was the village of Lower 
 Flyeln, also belonging to Olivier's domains, leaning in a 
 picturesque manner against steep rocks, which at last be- 
 coming small cliffs, surrounded with bushes, extended like 
 little islands far into the ocean. A few fishing-boats with 
 sails swarmed around the shores ; while far out on the 
 sea a ship in full sail was discernible ; and a multitude of 
 sea-gulls fluttered in the air. 
 
 The nearer I approached the village and the castle, the 
 more picturesque and inviting was the surrounding country. 
 There was in it that peculiar charm which every country 
 in the vicinity of the sea bears ; a charm growing out of 
 the combination of rustic sweets with the majesty of the 
 immeasurable ocean; and out of the retirement and peace- 
 fulness of simple huts, with the wide, stormy life of the 
 treacherous elements. The place of banishment of my 
 friend, I thought, is in every respect so charming, that 
 
A FOOL OP THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 221 
 
 without grief a man may sacrifice the liberty of living 
 amid the noise of a city. 
 
 I saw already in the fields and in the gardens the an- 
 nounced " Flyelnish beards" The tavern-keeper, before 
 whose house I halted and dismounted, was ornamented with 
 a copious growth of hair around his chin and mouth. He 
 returned my salutation with a friendly mien, but seemed to 
 evince some astonishment at my arrival. " Art thou go- 
 ing to see the lord of the manor ? " he asked politely. I 
 did not comment on this somewhat surprising " thou," and 
 answered his question in the affirmative. " Then I must 
 request thee to give me thy name, rank, and dwelling-place. 
 Of this Mr. Olivier must be informed. He receives 
 strangers very unwillingly." 
 
 " But he will most certainly receive me " — I replied. — 
 "Have a message conveyed to your master, that one of his 
 oldest and best friends is desirous of passing a few hours 
 with him. You need say no more." 
 
 " As thou wilt " — replied the host ; — " but I can predict 
 that thou wilt be refused admittance." 
 
 While the host was looking for a messenger, I walked 
 slowly through the village, and proceeded in the straightest 
 direction towards the castle, to which a footpath running 
 between houses and orofcards seemed to conduct me. 
 However, I mistook the road. Beyond a meadow, ran a 
 rather broad rivulet, behind which, casting their beautiful 
 shade, rose the high wild chestnut trees of the antique man- 
 sion of the Baron von Flyeln. I resolved upon the enter- 
 prise of introducing myself to Olivier, without being pre- 
 viously announced. I had purposely not given my name 
 to the host, to see if Olivier, should I be admitted, would 
 recognise me. I walked across the meadow, and found a 
 road running over a bridge, and then through underwood 
 back to the wild chestnuts. Those cast their shade over an 
 
222 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 open place beside the castle, which was round, expansive, 
 and covered with green turf. A broad road, covered with 
 sand, passed around the whole place. To the right and 
 left, beneath the broad branches of the trees, stood neat 
 benches for reposing, and upon one of them sat Olivier. 
 He was reading a book. A child about three years of age 
 was playing at his feet on the grass. Beside him sat a 
 beautiful female, with an infant at her breast. There was 
 a loveliness in the group, which excited my admiration. I 
 stood still, hidden from their sight by the thick bushes. 
 My eyes were fixed only on Olivier. Even the black beard 
 which curled around his chin and lips, and then connected 
 with the dark locks of his head, became him well. There 
 was something peculiar, and yet nothing surprising, in his 
 dress. On his head he wore a kind of bonnet, with a 
 screen from the rays of the sun. His breast was bare, and 
 his broad shirt collar fell over his shoulders ; a wide green 
 j acket, buttoned up in front, with skirts meeting before and 
 reaching down to the knees, wide and white sailor trow- 
 sers, and half boots to his feet, completed his attire. His 
 dress corresponded nearly with that which I had seen his 
 peasants wear, except that his was made of finer stuff 
 and more tastefully. The expression of his countenance 
 was calm and reflective. His Ifeard gave him a heroic ap- 
 pearance. I fancied myself looking upon a noble figure 
 of the middle ages. 
 
 While I was gazing on his noble form, the messenger 
 from the keeper of the tavern stepped into the circle of 
 trees. The young fellow took off his little bonnet, and 
 said, — "Sir, a stranger, who is travelling through this 
 country, wishes to speak with thee. He calls himself one 
 of thine oldest and best friends." 
 
 Olivier looked up, and said,—" Travelling through this 
 country ? Is he on foot ? " 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 223 
 
 "No, he arrived in a chaise " — said the youth. 
 
 " What is his name ? Whence does he come 1 " — 
 asked the baron. 
 
 " He will not tell " — was the reply. 
 
 " Tell him not to disturb me. I will not see him "—ex- 
 claimed Olivier, and motioned to the youth to depart. 
 
 " Thou must see me nevertheless, Olivier," — I exclaimed, 
 stepping forth from my place of concealment, and bowing 
 an apology to the lady. Without moving, without return- 
 ing my salutation, he turned peevishly his head towards 
 me, gazed at me for some time intently, became more seri- 
 ous, laid down his book, stept before me, and said, " Whom 
 do I address ? " 
 
 " How ? Does Achilles not recognise his Patroclus 1 " 
 I replied. 
 
 " O, Popoi ! " — he exclaimed in great astonishment, and 
 spread out his arms. — " Welcome, my noble Patroclus, in a 
 French coat and powdered wig ! " Saying this, he locked 
 me in his arms. Despite of his sarcastic address, we both 
 were moved to tears. In that embrace vanished a space of 
 twenty years. We again breathed as we did on the shores 
 of the Leine, or at Bovenden, or in the ruins of the castle 
 Gleichen. 
 
 He then led me, with eyes beaming with joy, to the 
 charming young mother, who blushed with confusion, and 
 said to her — " See, this is Norbert, thou knowest him by 
 many of my narratives ! " — and to me, " This is my dear 
 wife." 
 
 She smiled at me from under her locks, with affectionate 
 benignity, and with a mien and voice in which was im- 
 measurably more of goodness than in her words, she 
 said, — " Noble friend of my Olivier, thou art indeed wel- 
 come. I have long desired the pleasure of a personal ac- 
 quaintance." 
 
224 OLIVIER FLYILN : 
 
 I was about to say something kind, but her surprising, 
 confidential, and friendly, " Thou," with which she ad- 
 dressed me, a stranger, and which fell so naturally from 
 such lovely lips, confused me. 
 
 " Noble lady ! " — I stammered at length — " by a circuitous 
 route of more than a hundred miles, I have not bought the 
 pleasure dearly, of passing with you and your husband, my 
 oldest friend " 
 
 " Halloo ! Norbert ! " — interrupted Olivier, with a smile. 
 " Right at the beginning of a preliminary remark and a 
 request. Call my wife as thou wouldst thy God, simply 
 Thou. Do not break in upon the simple manners of 
 Flyeln, with the buffooneries and compliments of German 
 masters of ceremonies, for that would make a disagreeable 
 discord in our ears. Now imagine thyself separated from 
 Germany and Europe, by two thousand years, or by as 
 many miles ; and that thou wert again living in a natural 
 world, somewhere, if thou wilt, in the age of the all-wise 
 Ulysses." 
 
 " Thou canst very easily comprehend ■*> — I answered— 
 " that to be with a woman so lovely, on terms of Thou and 
 Thee, we need not be told twice ; therefore, Baroness, 
 Thou " 
 
 " Stop once more ! " — exclaimed Olivier, laughing loud- 
 ly — " Thy baroness suits to thou, like thy French coat 
 and shaved beard to the name of Patroclus. My peasants 
 are no longer bondsmen, but freemen ; and my wife and 
 myself are no more nor less barons, than my peasants are. 
 Call my Amelia as she is called by every one here, 
 mother — the noblest name a woman can bear." 
 
 "It appears" — I replied — "that you good people here 
 have founded a new republic in the midst of a kingdom, 
 and that you have done away with all nobility." 
 
 " Exactly so ; with all nobility, except that of the 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTU3Y. 
 
 225 
 
 heart!" — responded Olivier. — c< And*by this, thou canst 
 perceive that in this country we are infinitely more aristo- 
 cratic than ye are in your Germany ; for you value not the 
 nobility of the heart at all, and your nobility of birth is 
 sinking into the mire, where by right it ought to be ! " 
 
 "Pardon me, when I say you are disposed to be a 
 little jacobinical " — I answered. — " Who informed thee 
 that the nobility of birth is falling in the opinion of the 
 public ? " 
 
 " O, Popoi ! " — he exclaimed — " must I yet instruct 
 thee ? Many years 'since I knew a poor ragged Jew, whom 
 your pious Christians would rather have known unborn 
 than being born. But he soon bartered so much together, 
 that the predicate " well-born" was ^prefixed to his name 
 when he received letters by mail. A few years afterwards 
 he became a man of wealth, and the polite Germans com- 
 prehended immediately, that he could not be otherwise than 
 a man of pure and noble birth. From that time he re- 
 ceived the title of " His excellency the banker." But the 
 banker assisted the ministers of finance and happiness — 
 aided the ministers of the war department when they were 
 pinched for money, and the useful millionaire was made 
 forthwith a "right honourable baron." This improvement 
 of the German minds, this mockery of nobility, in a few 
 decades, will lead farther than you would be willing to 
 credit. But I hope, when nobility of birth has become a 
 mere cipher with you, the nobility of the heart and mind 
 will again receive validity." 
 
 The baroness left us with her children, in order to put 
 her babe to rest, and to arrange my room. Olivier led me 
 through his garden, where the beds were filled with most 
 beautiful and precious flowers. Round a fountain, upon 
 high sockets made of black stone, were placed white mar- 
 ble busts, with golden inscriptions. I read — Socrates, 
 11 
 
226 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 Cincinnatus, Columbus, Luther, Eartholemeo des lasCasas, 
 Rousseau, Peter the Great, Franklin, and Washington. 
 
 " I see thou art still fond of gccd society ! " — I said. — 
 " Can we find among the living, persons more lovely than 
 thy comely wife, and thy children with their curly heads ; 
 and among the dead, men more venerable than these 1 " 
 
 " Didst thou doubt my good taste ? " — responded Olivier. 
 
 "Not exactly; but Olivier, I am informed thou hast 
 withdrawn thyself from the whole world ! " — I replied. 
 
 " Because I love good company" — said Flyeln — " which 
 in all Europe is nowhere less to be found than in your so- 
 ciety of bon ton." 
 
 " But thou surely wilt admit, dear Olivier " — I remark- 
 ed — "that good society can exist in other places besides 
 •Flyeln."' 
 
 " Most certainly, Norbert, but I should not like to waste 
 years and money to find it" — answered the baron. "Let 
 us break off this subject. Ye Europeans have swerved so 
 enormously from the holy simplicity of nature, both in mat- 
 ters of the greatest importance and in trifles, have degenera- 
 ted into such artificial animals, that nature has become un- 
 natural with you, and you are no longer able to understand 
 a man of simple manners. Ye have inwardly and outward- 
 ly become such caricatures of the human race, that a healthy 
 being must needs become horrified in your midst. Nay, 
 honest Norbert, let us break off this subject. Thou wouldst 
 not understand me at all were I to speak freely. Thou hast 
 my respect, love, and pity." 
 
 " Pity ! and why pity 1 " I asked. 
 
 " Because thou livest among fools, and against thy know- 
 ledge art compelled to be a fool with them " — said the baron. 
 
 When he said this, I observed that Olivier was now go- 
 ing over to his fixed idea. I began to feel rather uncom- 
 fortable. I was eager to turn his attention to other objects, 
 
A FOOL OP THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 227 
 
 looked anxiously about me, and commenced, as then his 
 beard rather surprised me again — praising his beard and 
 how well it became him—" How long hast thou worn it ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " Ever since I returned to reason, and have had the cour- 
 age to be a sensible man. Dost thou indeed like it, Nor- 
 bert? Why not wear one too?" asked Flyeln. 
 
 I shrugged my shoulders, and said — " If it were the gen- 
 eral custom, I would do it with cheerfulness." 
 
 " There it is ! " — answered Olivier. " Because foolish- 
 ness has made it customary to exterminate every vestige 
 of nature even on men's chins, thou hast not the courage to 
 be sensible even on this trifle. Mother Nature, in bestow- 
 ing upon us this manly ornament, did it for as good a rea- 
 son as when she gave us the locks on our heads. But man 
 in his madness imagined himself more wise than his crea- 
 tor, smeared soap around his chin, and smoothed it with a 
 razor. As long as nations had not entirely fallen off from 
 nature, they retained the beard. Christ and his apostles 
 wore it ; Pope Gregory VII. first put his anathema upon it. 
 Yet the clergymen retained it longest, as at the present day 
 the Capuchins still do ! But when old fops began to be 
 ashamed of their gray hair, they commenced exterminating 
 it from their chins, and to conceal it on their heads beneath 
 wigs. When people became accustomed to belie one an- 
 other in all things, they also endeavoured to belie their age. 
 Old men skipped about like effeminate young men with 
 light hair and a smooth chin ; and thus their dispositions 
 became also more effeminate. And since no one any longer 
 had courage for the truth, everybody followed their ex- 
 ample. Place beside the heroic form of an Achilles, Alex- 
 ander, or Julius Caesar, one of our field-marshals, or gen- 
 erals, in their tasteless uniform ; one of our elegants, with 
 his thick cravat, and a dandy with his dancing-master's 
 
t 
 
 228 OLIVIER FLYELN .' 
 
 strut beside an Antinous ; thee, Mr. Secret-counsellor von 
 Norbert, beside a Senator of Rome or Greece, should we 
 not be compelled to laugh at our self-caricatures outright?" 
 
 " Thou art right, Olivier ! " I said, rather embarrassed, 
 for who will deny that the old Roman or Grecian dress is 
 more noble than ours ? But we of the North, we Euro- 
 peans, always habituated to it, and in need of tight-fitting 
 clothing, should feel rather uncomfortable in the picturesque 
 drapery of the Orient and South." 
 
 " Look at me, Norbert ! " said Olivier, smiling ; and he 
 placed himself before me, pressed the bonnet on his head a 
 little on one side, put his left hand firmly and boldly upon 
 his hip, and said, " Would I, a northman, in my tight, com- 
 fortable, and simple dress, make a bad figure beside an old 
 Roman ? Why do we still admire the Spanish, Italian, and 
 German costumes of the middle ages ? Because it is beau- 
 tiful, notwithstanding it is northern. Julius Caesar, even at 
 the present day, would look with pleasure at an Austrian 
 cavalry man in his helmet, or even at a hussar. Why do 
 the rest of you stiff gentlemen not follow the better fashion 
 already begun by our ladies, since they have left off wear- 
 ing trains and toupes ? Were you once ashamed of being 
 walking caricatures in outward appearance, you might then, 
 perhaps, become inwardly more natural. There is some 
 truth in the adage : 4 Dress makes the man.'' 99 
 
 While Olivier spoke thus, he stood before me, like the 
 picture of a powerful hero of the former ages, as if he had 
 gone forth alive from an old painting, or as if he were of a 
 world which we can only admire, but not re-establish. 
 
 " In good sooth " — I said — " thou dost almost reconcile 
 me to an honest beard, and I should be a gainer withal, as 
 then I might escape three times a week the tortures of a 
 barber." 
 
 "Friend" — exclaimed Olivier, smiling — "it could net 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENT CENTURY. 
 
 229 
 
 rest there ! The beard makes many other things necessa- 
 ry. Imagine thy figure in a curly beard, add to this the 
 three-cornered Jewish hat, the powdered wig, with the rat- 
 tail in the back of thy neck, the French coat, the skirt of 
 which looks for all the world like a swallow's tail, or that 
 of a wag-tail. Away with that nonsense. Dress thyself 
 modestly, warm, comfortably, but with taste, so that it may 
 please the eye, and not distort man's noble figure. Banish 
 all that is unnecessary ; for what is unnecessary is nonsensi- 
 cal, and what is nonsensical is unnatural," 
 
 While we were discussing this subject, the baroness sent 
 a messenger to inform us that dinner was ready. I walk- 
 ed silently afr the side of Olivier, my head full of thoughts, 
 which, alas ! I dared not communicate to him. The feel- 
 ings I had were strange indeed ; and I could not help look- 
 ing several times sideways at Olivier. I never in my life 
 had heard a madman philosophize in such a manner, and I 
 could not oppose any radical objections to his observations 
 on European dress. What he said appeared to me correct. 
 The adage that children and fools speak truth, might very 
 properly have been applied to him. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 The Dinner. 
 
 While on our way to the castle, I felt, on account of Oli- 
 vier's predilection for the old Romans and Grecians, a lit- 
 tle concerned in regard to our dinner; for if I were to 
 judge by his bonnet, beard, and the rest of his attire, I could 
 expect nothing else, but that I should have to assume a po- 
 sition at table not at all agreeable to me, either to lie ac- 
 cording to the old Roman fashion at full length on bolsters, 
 or perhaps to sit like a tailor, in the precise Oriental style, 
 with my legs crossed under me, and thus take my soup. 
 
230 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN ' 
 
 The amiable baroness came to meet us, and conducted 
 us to the dining-room, and my apprehensions subsided when 
 on entering I beheld European tables and chairs. Twelve 
 plates were upon the table. The rest of the dinner party- 
 soon assembled, being the baron's clerks and servants. A 
 comely young woman remained without a chair, and at- 
 tended in the capacity of Hebe at the patriarchal meal. 
 Before we sat down, the baron offered up a short prayer. 
 We then began to partake of a nutritious soup. The meats 
 were excellent, though served up in simple style. I ob- 
 served that the whole which his table furnished, the wine 
 excepted, consisted of the productions of his own soil, and 
 of the neighbouring ocean ; and that all strange spices, even 
 pepper, were missing. 
 
 The conversation was merry and general ; it related 
 most to agricultural business, or to what occurred in the 
 country surrounding Flyeln. The domestics in the pres- 
 ence of their master and mistress behaved neither bashful 
 nor indecorous, but very politely and becoming. I felt 
 among those fine bearded men in their plain attire, with 
 their brotherly and yet respectful " Thou" — I might almost 
 say, rather foolish and ridiculous. There I sat, with my 
 powdered wig, stiff queue, dress-coat, and smooth-shaven 
 chin, in the midst of Europeans, as if I were in a strange 
 part of the world. It was very agreeable to me that, great- 
 ly as I personally contrasted with all by which I was en- 
 circled, and frequently as between the " Thou," particular- 
 ly when I addressed myself to the baroness, a " You" slipt 
 from my lips, not one of them was. disposed to laugh at my 
 singularity. 
 
 In half an hour the domestics left us to ourselves, and as 
 we three enjoyed our dinner alone, our conversation be- 
 came more confidential. 
 
 " I could see it in thy face," said the baroness, as she 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 231 
 
 placed on the table a few sweatmeats, "that thou didst 
 miss in Flyeln the kitchen of Hamburg or Berlin." 
 
 " And I can by thine, my amiable friend," I answered, 
 " that I owe to the kitchen of Flyeln the praise it deserves, 
 which, without flattery, I am bound to bestow upon it, at 
 the expense of the Berlin and Hamburg kitchens. Nay, I 
 will confess, that for the first time in my life, I have learned 
 to admire the delicious fare our native soil can serve up, 
 and how easy we might do without the Moluccas." 
 
 " Add, friend Norbert," said Olivier, " to the Moluccas 
 the over-excitement of our nerves, and those strange vices 
 which, in our sickly bodies, are the products of over-excited 
 nerves, or of nerves blunted with excitement. Mind and 
 body are intimately connected, and the one cannot be vivid 
 and energetic without the other being in a healthy con- 
 dition. Most Europeans of the present day, with their arts 
 of cooking, commit suicide and murder, both on body and 
 soul. What your Rousseaus and Pestalozzis would make 
 good, ye kill again with coffee, tea, pepper, nutmegs 
 and cinnamon. Live simply, live naturally, and ye may 
 save two-thirds of your books of morals, jails and 
 dungeons." 
 
 " I admit it," I said, " and it has long been known, but 
 
 ________ 5? 
 
 " Well, then," exclaimed Olivier, " even in that consists 
 the until-hitherto madness of the Europeans. They know 
 what is good, and yet avoid it. They detest what is bad, 
 and yet seek it. They mix with their food and drink, expen- 
 sive poisons, and employ doctors and apothecaries to make 
 them well again, that they may be enabled to renew the 
 poisoning. They accelerate the premature maturity of 
 boys and girls, and are afterwards terrified at their intrac- 
 table propensities. They stimulate by laws and rewards 
 the corruption of morals, and punish them afterwards with 
 
232 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELIf : 
 
 the gibbet and scaffold. Are they not altogether like the 
 inmates of a mad-house ? 99 
 
 " But, my dear Olivier," I replied, " has not this been at 
 all times so ? " 
 
 "Yes, Norbert, at all times," added Flyeln, "that is, as 
 soon and as often as man moved one step further from 
 nature, and approached closer to barbarism. But Ave, who 
 are at last warned by the deleterious effects it had on our 
 fathers, ought not only to know more than they did, but we 
 ought also to have more wisdom ; else, wherefore our 
 knowledge ? I hold him the most sensible man, who with 
 the innocence and purity of a child of nature, can unite the 
 manifold knowledge and intelligence of the age. Dost 
 thou admit this, Norbert ? " 
 
 " Why should I not ? " I rejoined. 
 
 " How, thou dost admit it ? And why not make a com- 
 mencement for the better in thy house and innerself ? " 
 said Olivier. 
 
 " Under certain circumstances this might become possi- 
 ble, but I must confess, Olivier," was my reply, " that we 
 artificial men, as well as the most simple children of nature, 
 are fettered by the chains of habit, difficult to be rent 
 asunder. Our artificial being and manners in themselves, 
 have become already a kind of nature, which we cannot lay 
 suddenly by, without feeling the worse for doing so." 
 
 " At first, I thought like thyself, 'Norbert," remarked the 
 baron; "experience has convinced me of the contrary. It 
 wanted but one severe moment, a strong heart first to en- 
 dure the combat with the madness of the world, and then 
 to break the way to happiness and peace. I wavered, and 
 struggled long in vain. A mere accident decided me, and 
 that accident determined my happiness, and the happiness 
 of all those whom I call mine own." 
 
 " And this accident, give me also to know it ! " I said, — 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 233 
 
 for 1 was eager to be informed, what had wrought so 
 powerful an effect on the heart and mind of my friend, as 
 to entice him to the most singular whims, and the most 
 fanatic manner of living and acting. 
 He arose and left us. 
 
 " Is it not so, Norbert," asked the baroness, after 
 having looked at me for some time in silence ; and in the 
 sweet smile of her eyes, there was a question to my heart 
 — " Thou dost pity my husband 1 " 
 
 " Only the unfortunate, not the fortunate command our 
 pity," I answered, endeavouring to evade the question. 
 
 " Thou knowest, perhaps," she said, " that his relatives 
 and former acquaintances despise him, and that all the 
 world treat him like a maniac." 
 
 " My amiable friend," I replied, " perhaps with the 
 exception of a few trifles, which seem to me exaggeration, 
 and which by a prudent circumspection might be avoided, 
 so as not to become offensive — with the exception of this, I 
 must acknowledge that I have found in Olivier nothing 
 worthy of disgust and contempt. But as yet I know him 
 too little." 
 
 " My friend," she continued, " has the voice of public 
 opinion no weight with thee ? " 
 
 " At least none regarding Olivier," I answered, " for I 
 know very well that the public opinion of Jerusalem once 
 cried out to crucify innocence ; that public opinion has 
 called destroyers of nations great ; that it has considered 
 wise men maniacs ; and that it has ornamented the priests 
 of folly and luxury with the title ' Divine ' ! " 
 
 " I am greatly rejoiced at this," said the baroness 
 with vivacity, " thou wilt love my Olivier, thou art a noble 
 man, and worthy his friendship. Ah ! believe me, Olivier 
 is a true dignitary of mankind, and yet he is expelled by 
 human society, as if he were a criminal or a madman." 
 11* 
 
234 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 While we were conversing, Olivier returned. In his 
 hand he carried a small book. He threw himself into a 
 chair, and said — " Behold here the instrument of an all- 
 wise Providence, for the healing of my weakness and for 
 the awakening me out of my madness. It is an unim- 
 portant book. Its author is neither named nor known. It 
 treats on much which is common and every-day matter ; 
 but it contains also unlooked-for rays of light. Even the 
 title, " Reveries of a Philanthropist," does not promise 
 much. When I was at the garrison, I found it one day on 
 the table of an acquaintance, and put it in my pocket for 
 the purpose of having something to read during a walk, 
 which I was about to take on the greensward before the 
 gates of the city. When I was lying under the broad 
 shades of a maple, and felt fretted about the various per- 
 versities of this life, I opened this book, and my eye fell 
 upon a section, entitled — " Fragment from the Travels of 
 the Younger Pythias in Thule." 
 
 "Let me hear," I said, " what the old Greek of Massilia 
 has to say of our North. It is recorded, that he was 
 a contemporary of Aristotle." 
 
 Fragment from the Travels of the Younger 
 Pythias in Thule. 
 
 " But I speak truth, O friends, notwithstanding 
 
 it appeareth incredible. Yet ye must bear in mind, that 
 in those rough countries of the North, even nature herself 
 doth push her children away from her bosom ; and in deny- 
 ing them many things, that she compelled them to make 
 many ingenious inventions whereby life is rendered sup- 
 portable. Such things we stand not in need of in our 
 native land, since nature has been more kind to man, and 
 since in summer and winter we live in the open air, and 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 235 
 
 gain without labour what is necessary for the prolonging 
 and comfort of existence. But they, who are suffering 
 from the severity of a winter lasting half a year, must 
 endeavour to find means wherewith to create in their 
 dwellings an artificial summer. And since nature re* 
 pulseth them, and banisheth them within themselves, they 
 are more than we are, driven to occupy the mind with vain 
 dreams ; beautiful but unpracticable designs ; and to the 
 exploring of all things worthy to be known, on account of 
 which they are rich in knowledge, and well informed in 
 objects, neither conducive to wisdom, nor to the establish- 
 ment of human happiness. They write also voluminous 
 works about things that are useless, to which we pay no 
 attention, and the names of which are scarcely known to us. 
 Yea, for that purpose they have erected also even schools 
 and pulpits ." 
 
 " But the weather is of such a nature in that north- 
 ern side of the world, that heat and frost, days and nights, 
 pass from one extreme to the other extreme, so that they 
 scarcely ever experience a pleasant middle state, which is 
 beneficial to mind and body. For in their summers they 
 suffer as much from excess of heat, as in their winter from 
 the severity of cold. One half of the year their days con- 
 sist of eighteen hours, in the other half they scarcely number 
 six. Just as unsettled and extravagant in that country are 
 the dispositions of the people, and as changeable as their 
 weather. They lack nearly all firmness of mind and will. 
 From one year to the other they have new costumes, new 
 kinds of poetry, and new philosophies. Those who yester- 
 day overthrew tyranny, return to-morrow again of their own 
 free-will into bondage, after having extolled the benefits of 
 liberty with their lips, and abused it with their mode of- 
 living ." 
 
 " There exists consequently among those barba- 
 
23G 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 rians the greatest inequality in all things. One part of 
 the people, consisting of a few families, are possessed of 
 every comfort and the greatest wealth, who revel in 
 abundance ; but the great majority are poor and altogether 
 dependent on the favours of the wealthy. A very small 
 body of those people are in possession of the treasures of 
 knowledge, and the multitude pass their lives in the 
 darkness of ignorance. Princes and state priests find 
 such ignorance conducive to the promotion of their own 
 dignity and emoluments, in consideration of which they 
 keep the people in debasement, who through poverty and 
 laziness are already so inclined to be. The vulgar people 
 love the accustomed manners of their ancestors, in all 
 usages, regulations, and other things appertaining to the 
 mind, and only in matters of bodily enjoyment, are they 
 inclined to a change. They will, however, approve of any 
 innovation, whether just or unjust, if it yields them money, 
 or some domestic advantage ; for those barbarians put a 
 much higher estimate on wealth and spirituous drinks, 
 than on moral habits, honour and piety. 
 
 " Of liberty, those people in Thule know nothing ; and 
 whatever liberty they may have had in the days of yore, by 
 degrees they have been despoiled of it, through the power 
 and cunning of the mighty. They are governed by kings 
 who pretend to be the sons of gods, and the kings and their 
 satraps are more often ruled by their concubines and fa- 
 vourites, than they are by their counsellors. The people are 
 divided into hereditary castes, similar to the Egyptians and 
 the Indians. The first caste includes the kings themselves 
 and their children. To the second caste belong the nobles, 
 so called, whose children, without regard to merit, are in- 
 trusted with the highest oflices in the army, in the state, 
 and even at the altar of their imaginary deities. For what 
 would seem incredible to us, is with those barbarians an 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 237 
 
 old custom ; that the caste of birth stands above all 
 other 3ierit. Iii the third caste, live the lower officers, 
 the mechanics, the merchants, common soldiers, the shep- 
 herds and cultivators of the soil, also the artists, men of 
 science, and the common priests. In the fourth caste, are 
 the bondsmen, or the slaves, who, like other domestic ani- 
 mals, can be sold or given away ! With a few nations, 
 however, who have already laid their first barbarism in 
 part aside, this fourth and last of the castes is no longer in 
 vogue. Several nations also can be found, among whom 
 good princes, after having become sensible of the tyranny 
 practised by their great men, make no laws except by the 
 consent of a senate, who are elected out of the various 
 castes of the people. 
 
 " The kings in the countries of Thule live among each 
 other in an almost continual state of enmity. The weaker 
 are only secure through the mutual envy of the more pow- 
 erful. But wheresoever the more powerful lose this mutu- 
 al jealousy, under some bad, fictitious pretext, they assail 
 the weaker states with war, and divide them among them- 
 selves. For this wickedness they permit the titles of the 
 just fathers of their country, or of heroes, to be given 
 them ; since such tyrants, vain by names, everywhere, and 
 at all times, have been admired by those barbarians. But 
 as often as the lower caste in any country, making use of 
 their better understanding, rebel against the inordinate 
 preferences of the higher caste, all the princes and higher 
 castes of the other dominions discard their particular quar- 
 rels, and unite to re-establish on the foreign soil, the former 
 order of despotic oppressions under false pretexts of being 
 entirely disinterested, and the glorious title of a " Holy 
 Alliance." Those wars the stupid barbarians always deem 
 just and sacred, because they believe that kings and the 
 other castes have been instituted by the gods themselves. 
 
238 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 "Among all public expenses, that which sustains the 
 splendour of the courts is the greatest ; and next to this, 
 the expense for the maintaining of the armies, even in 
 times of peace, is the most important. For the instruction 
 of the people, for agriculture, and for everything enhancing 
 the happiness of man, the least amount is given. In most 
 of the countries in Thule, where the working caste has the 
 greatest number of duties to perform, and where they enjoy 
 the least privileges, that caste is generally compelled to 
 satisfy the luxury and the cravings of the commonwealth, 
 by paying taxes. In regard to the religion of those barba- 
 rians, they all assert that they have one and the same, 
 and they all pride themselves on one and the same founder 
 of their doctrines. But their external services are various, 
 and also the opinions entertained with regard to the found- 
 er of their religion. The different parties, on account of 
 this, show great reciprocal animosity. They persecute and 
 despise each other. There is, however, vast superstition 
 prevailing among all parties, which is kept alive by their 
 priests. Their notions of the Divine Majesty are quite un- 
 worthy of such a being, for they endow Him even with 
 human passion ; and when the kings lead their people 
 against each other to war, the priests on all sides are com- 
 manded to call on the Supreme Being for the destruction of 
 their opponents. After the victory is achieved, they give 
 thanks to the Almighty Sovereign, for having destroyed 
 their enemies. 
 
 "Their books of history, with few exceptions, are scarcely 
 worthy to be read, for they generally contain little informa- 
 tion about nations, but speak merely of kings and their 
 marriages, successions, wars, and violence. The names 
 of the most useful inventors and benefactors are scarcely 
 touched upon ; but the names of devastating generals oc- 
 cupy everywhere the first place, as if they were the bene- 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 239 
 
 factors instead of being the destroyers of mankind. Since 
 the customs of those people differ so much from ours, their 
 history is very difficult to understand. For neither at all 
 times, nor at one and the same time, nor in all ranks, pre- 
 vails the same notion of honour and virtue. In the higher 
 castes, licentiousness, dissipation, a rage for gambling, and 
 abuse of power, are called praiseworthy, or at least ap- 
 pear as a graceful weakness ; but in the lower castes, they 
 are denounced as vices and crimes, and are punished with 
 incarceration and death. Against cheating and theft, the 
 law has instituted for the lower castes the severest punish- 
 ment ; but when a great man defrauds the country by sub- 
 tlety, or enriches himself at the public cost by knavery, he 
 is frequently advanced in honour, or dismissed with a pen- 
 sion. As it is with virtues and vices, so it is with honour. 
 The members of the higher castes need no other honour 
 than that of their birth, to become worthy of all preference ; 
 but the lower castes seldom can rise by means of their 
 virtues to an equal respectability enjoyed by those favour- 
 ites of chance. But the honour which has its origin in 
 chance of birth, just as accidentally may be annihilated by 
 a mere word of abuse. Yet stranger far is their manner 
 of redeeming that honour ! He, who by a word has viola- 
 ted that honour, and he who is the sufferer, according to a* 
 prescribed form, like madmen meet in arms, and endeavour 
 to wound or kill each other. So soon then, as a wound 
 or death has been inflicted, no matter to which of the com- 
 batants this may happen, they believe sincerely that their 
 honour is redeemed ! 
 
 " These barbarians, however, have one common and uni- 
 versal propensity ; the whole mass are bent upon gain, 
 for which they will jeopard both virtue and life. It is one 
 of the rarities which excite both astonishment and laugh- 
 ter, when a person works for another without renumera- 
 
240 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 tion, or when one sacrifices his property for the benefit of 
 the commonwealth. They prate, however, constantly 
 about noble sentiments and generous actions, but only on 
 the stage in a theatre, can those be seen in their purity. 
 The inhabitants of Thule, almost without exception, bear 
 resemblance to those players, and they have great skill in 
 the art of assuming a character which they do not possess. 
 Scarcely one of them will speak to another as he thinks, 
 wherefore they call the knowledge of human nature the 
 greatest and most difficult of arts, and craftiness the 
 height of wisdom. 
 
 " They cannot, however, dissemble so much as to make 
 their own knavery or awkwardness undiscoverable. For 
 as they are living in a continual contradiction with human 
 reason, teach, and act, and feel, and speak differently from 
 their real intentions, and often choose for their purposes 
 the most absurd means, their rudeness and duplicity become 
 apparent. In order to incite to agriculture, they burden the 
 husbandman with the heaviest taxes, and heap upon him the 
 greatest contempt. To stimulate trade and commerce, they 
 build custom-houses, and prohibit the importation of num- 
 berless articles of merchandize. To punish and amend 
 fallible men, they incarcerate them together in public jails, 
 •where they poison one another with more vices, and 
 whence they return into society accomplished villains. 
 To maintain healthful constitutions, they pervert the order 
 of living. Some keep awake during the night and sleep 
 in the day-time. Others consume the saps of their bodies 
 with spirituous drinks and spices, so that scarcely a poor 
 family is found who are contented with the production of 
 their own soil and hearth, without adding stimulants from 
 Arabia, and spices from India." 
 
 Here Olivier stopped reading, and looked at me inqui- 
 ringly. 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 241 
 
 I replied with a smile — " It must be acknowledged the 
 tone is well sustained. One of the old Grecian philoso- 
 phers would nearly have spoken so of the barbarous na- 
 tions of Asia, had he visited them. Very clever ! Even 
 the stiffness of style indicates its being a translation. I 
 do not, however, believe in its authenticity, for as far as I 
 know, we have nothing of Pythias, except — " 
 
 Olivier interrupted me with immoderate laughter, and 
 exclaimed — " O thou child of the eighteenth century, who 
 for ever art fumbling about the shell of things, forget- 
 ting the kernel on account of it, who for ever dost cleave to 
 the shadow without penetrating the substance, dost thou 
 not hear and see, that thou thyself art a citizen of Thule ? 
 What ? Asia ? Nay, thus would a Greek philosopher of 
 the anterior world have written about the Europeans, could 
 he have visited you at this time ! " 
 
 " Very true, Olivier " — I replied — " but thou didst not suf- 
 fer me to finish my sentence. I yet would add, that those 
 fragments are a sort of i Leiires PersannesS We are meant 
 by it. The pointed truth cannot be mistaken." 
 - "I understand thee but half, thou artificial man " — retort- 
 ed Flyeln. "Dost thou judge of the author's special art, 
 whether he has hit the truth ? Or dost thou mean the truth 
 has hit thee ? " 
 
 "I mean both ! But, my dear Olivier" — I remarked — 
 " a little while ago thou saidst, that it made a more painful 
 impression upon thee. Thou didst lie with this book be- 
 neath the shades of a maple. Go on with thy narrative." 
 
 " Well, there I lay" — Olivier continued. "When I had 
 read these fragments, I threw the book from me, sunk with 
 my head back into the grass, and gazed above me into the 
 dark blue of the eternal ether, and into the depths of the 
 unbounded universe. I thought of God — the All-fulfilling ; 
 with the love and glory of the all-penetrating Creator. I 
 
242 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 reflected on the eternity of my existence in this infinitude ; 
 and at that moment of exaltation I understood much better 
 the words of Christ, when he said — 'In my Father's house 
 are many mansions — Become like children — Whosoever 
 wishes to become my disciple, let him deny this world, 
 and take up his cross.' I never saw the divinity of Christ 
 so clearly as at that time. I thought of the degeneracy 
 of the human race ; how from one thousand to another 
 thousand years, they had always gone further away from 
 the paths of truth, simplicity and rectitude, towards the 
 brutal, artificial, mad, and sorrowful road of life. My 
 thoughts carried me back to the primitive world, to the first 
 nations, and to the ancients. I sighed ; and my eyes were 
 bedewed with tears. My thoughts made me long to be a 
 child of God. Why cannot I feel truth, think truth, speak 
 truth, and act truth like Jesus Christ? Can I not strip off 
 the fetters of habit ? Is it not merely a stupid timidity, that 
 prevents me from being amongst madmen, amongst per- 
 verted barbarians, a reasonable man ! to be a man of God ? 
 Thus I spoke. In my imagination I was so already. I 
 closed my eyes. I experienced comfort unspeakable, at 
 being freed from a world tormented by its brutalized con- 
 dition ; and at being again reconciled to God, and nature, 
 with the universe and eternity. In this manner I long re- 
 posed ; for when I opened my eyes, the sun was below the 
 horizon, and the red of evening floated about and gilded 
 every object." 
 
 " I know that holy condition " — said the baroness. 
 
 " When I rose to return again to the town " — continued 
 Olivier — " and my eyes fell upon my uniform, I felt as if a 
 stroke of lightning had shot across me. With loathing I 
 looked upon the foolery and inconsistency of this world. 
 Never did I see so clearly the frightful falling off of man- 
 kind from what is eternal, true, and holy, as at that mo- 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 243 
 
 ment. I perceived, that were Socrates now living, he 
 would have again to drink the poisonous cup — that Christ, 
 were he walking about among us, would again find a Jerusa- 
 lem in every city — that the Christian sects with unanimity 
 again would nail him to the cross — that the princes of the 
 kingdoms a second time would condemn him, as an enemy 
 of the established order, as a misleader of the people, and 
 as a fanatic ! — I shuddered ; and then asked myself, in a 
 loud tone of voice — ' Hast thou the courage ? ' The firm 
 will grappled my soul, and I answered to myself in the 
 same tone of voice — ' I have the courage ; it shall be so. 
 I will become a rational being, whatever the consequences 
 may be.' " 
 
 "On the next morning I awoke from refreshing sleep, and 
 had nearly forgotten all that I had thought of on the previous 
 evening — when my eyes fell again on this book. I re- 
 membered my resolution — and perceived the danger of my 
 hazardous enterprise. I vacillated ; and yet I was bound 
 to acknowledge the truth of my convictions. 'Whosoever 
 wishes to be my disciple, let him deny himself,' said 
 Christ. I scanned my domestic and public circumstances. 
 I appeared to myself, like the rich young man in the Gos- 
 pel, who parted in sadness from Christ. Then I asked 
 myself again — ' Hast thou the courage V — and in a loud 
 voice I answered — ' I will have it.' From that hour, I re- 
 solved to act rationally in trifles as well as in matters of 
 the greatest moment. Make but the first step without 
 taking heed of the scoff of the world, and the difficulty will 
 grow less at every following step." 
 
 " I tremble for thee, thou noble enthusiast ! " — I exclaim- 
 ed, and pressed his hand. " But wilt thou not tell me the 
 end of thy hazardous enterprise 1 ' " 
 
 " Why not ? But something of that kind must be done 
 in the open air, in the face of heaven, under the trees, in 
 
244 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 the sight of the wide ocean ! " — said Olivier. " For, my 
 dear Norbert, in a room between walls, many things ap- 
 pear reasonable, which in the open face of nature, where the 
 soul, as it were, dissolves in the large pure universe, have 
 the aspect of a phantom or a dream. On the contrary, we 
 find without, every where in God's creation, where perfec- 
 tion and truth forever have their home, that many things 
 are correct and beautiful which between the walls of a 
 family chamber, full of domestic considerations, or in a 
 philosophic lecture-room, or in an audience saloon, or at a 
 dancing festivity, or in a gorgeous parlour filled with gay 
 company, appear in the light of exaggeration, or stupidity, 
 or enthusiasm, or madness — Therefore come into the open 
 air ! " 
 
 The baroness withdrew to her children. Olivier con- 
 ducted me through the garden to a hill, where we lay down 
 in the shade by a rock. Above us, in the wide expanse of 
 air, waved the tender branches of a birch tree, and beneath 
 us were the glittering waves of ocean, floating in the limit- 
 less space. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Olivier's Narrative. 
 
 Olivier thus commenced his narrative : — " Providence fa- 
 voured me greatly just then as my reason was about estab- 
 lishing her prerogatives. My father led a very extravagant 
 life ; and his wealth decreased every day. At his death 
 he left me a very scanty inheritance. But I had the pros- 
 pect, after my uncle's death, of becoming a very respectable 
 proprietor. That fact was known to the world. Moreover, 
 I was betrothed to the Baroness von Mooser, daughter of 
 the president of the finances. She was one of the * first 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 '245 
 
 matches ' — as affairs of that kind generally are called — in 
 the whole country ; for she was very handsome, very rich, 
 and niece to the minister of the war department. Our 
 marriage had been contrived by my relatives ; and the old 
 uncle and I, in accordance with the custom of the world, 
 were compelled to consent. My uncle's bad state of health, 
 who stood to me in the place of a father, alone delayed the 
 marriage. Major I was already. At the next advance- 
 ment 1 was to be commissioned as lieutenant-colonel; and 
 it could not fail that in a few years I should be commander 
 of my own regiment. 
 
 " Thus matters stood at that period. But after I had re- 
 turned to my reason, I discovered that the affair was very 
 disagreeable. I began to feel uneasy that I, a free man, 
 should have suffered my relatives to couple my existence 
 with a girl for the sake of money, descent, and patronage, 
 without knowing whether, with her peculiarities, views, 
 faults and inclinations, she would suit me. The baroness 
 was certainly handsome and virtuous ; but not one jot dif- 
 ferent from ladies of the same education. She was kind 
 by nature, but being spoiled by art, she was vain ; lively ; 
 frivolous ; proud of her connections, rank and beauty ; witty 
 at the cost of all that is best in the world; and in every 
 thing more French than German. Whether she actually 
 loved me, I knew not ; but I felt that I regarded her 
 no more than I did any other refined and handsome wo- 
 man. 
 
 "A letter summoned me to the presence of my sickly un- 
 cle. I obtained a furlough from the general, bade farewell to 
 my betrothed and her parents, and started on my journey. 
 On my arrival, my uncle already was buried. An old 
 steward gave me the keys to the coffers and the testament. 
 I paid a few small legacies to the household, gained the 
 steward to keep my secret, and then publicly proclaimed 
 
246 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 myself to be poor, because the property of my uncle was 
 involved in debt. 
 
 " Thus I returned to the garrison, and made my fable 
 known. I did it only to probe the disposition of my be- 
 trothed, whether with me she had the courage to bid adieu 
 to the world, and to become like myself. In order to give 
 my plan the greater appearance of truth, I sold all I could 
 spare to pay my debts. My comrades laughed at me, par- 
 ticularly when I said, that 1" would at least remain an honest 
 man! Even the president of the board of finances and his 
 lady advised me to desist — ' I ought not to make an eclat, 
 I should expose myself and their house, I should render 
 them and myself ridiculous ! ' 
 
 "I remained firm in my mind : — That honesty surpasses 
 splendour — that poverty is no disgrace — and that he who 
 can abstain from luxury 'is rich.' Those mean expres- 
 sions, as they were called, pleased the baroness least of all! 
 Her parents gave me to understand, that their child had 
 been used to certain ' aisances ' — that they themselves 
 were not rich enough, at so late a period of their lives, to 
 make a respectable outfit for me and their daughter. In 
 short, a few days afterwards, they avowed that they trusted, 
 without any more difficulty, that my own sense of delicacy 
 would prompt me to resign my claims to her hand. I did 
 not hesitate to comply with their wishes ; and to declare, 
 since not a mutual choice of hearts had taken place, but 
 merely an agreement and a settling of money accounts, that 
 I deemed our separation to be both proper and just. 
 
 " But my pretended poverty brought about many other 
 good results of a different kind. My old friends and jocose 
 brothers began to be less desirous of my company. I felt, 
 however, happy that a few thought me still worthy of their 
 respect. The most of them became cool and more re- 
 served. The interest which they had felt in me vanished 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 247 
 
 with my money. So much the better, I thought ; and so 
 much the truer canst thou speak and act. 
 
 " But I met with just as little success, in truth, as all 
 others have done before me. For a few winters previous 
 I had been in the habit of lecturing to the corps of officers 
 on scientific subjects. I continued the course, but spoke 
 my inmost sentiments more freely, and without restraint. 
 Nevertheless, when I advanced propositions like the fol- 
 lowing — Every war, when not carried on against foreign 
 oppressors in behalf of the independence and security of 
 our native land ; but for the purpose of gratifying the wishes 
 of sovereigns, the intrigues of ministers, the ambition of 
 courts, or for the purpose of vanquishing or of meddling 
 trith the affairs of other nations, or of exercising revenge ; 
 is unjust. Standing armies are the plague of every country, 
 the ruin of the public finances, the jailors of despotism, when 
 the sovereign would be a tyrant. Soldiers are citizens. All 
 kinds of nobility at the present day are sheer nonsense, which 
 among the ancient savages and barbarians, had a sort of 
 sense in it — that I hoped yet to see the time when all the 
 kings in Europe would unite by agreement to disband 
 their enormous standing armies, and that duellists ought to 
 be in a mad-house or a jail. When I advanced these and 
 similar axioms, and proved their correctness by arguments 
 which sound human sense could not doubt, I was forbidden 
 to lecture, and was severely reprimanded by the general. 
 I was contradicted, and finally arrested. 
 
 " All this however did not pain me, for I had expected it. 
 I did my duty every where and on all occasions. After I 
 had incurred the displeasure of the general, all the higher 
 officers began also to withdraw from my society. I was 
 greatly the subject of jeers, laughed at, and ridiculed. 
 Some of the most witty thought me mad, and believed it 
 was the effect of the shock that I had received on hearing 
 
248 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 that my hope of a large inheritance was frustrated. I 
 was soon entirely deserted. Even the valet, who until 
 that time had served me, would do so no longer, because 
 my table was too simple for him ; because I gave up drink- 
 ing cofiee, and seldom took wine ; and because I wished 
 him to wear a plain suit, nearly such a one in which thou 
 seest me now, instead of the costly livery that until then 
 he had worn. 
 
 "In return, however, at that time I received a letter which 
 recompensed me for every vexation that I had endured. 
 A few years before the time of which I am speaking, I 
 found a poor beggar girl weeping before the barn of a farm- 
 house. In the barn, upon hay, in rags, lay the mother of 
 the girl in the last struggles of life. The dying woman, 
 still very young, informed me that she was a native of 
 Southern Germany, and the daughter of poor but honest 
 parents ; that there she had entered upon the service of a 
 wealthy family, had fallen a victim to the seduction of their 
 son, and then with a small sum of money had been driven 
 from the premises; that after her confinement she had 
 sought employment, but on account of her child, not being 
 able to procure a situation for any length of time, she had 
 been roaming about ever since, and obtained the means of 
 subsistence by begging alms, and that now she could do 
 nothing more than pray for her daughter. I ran to the 
 farm-house to buy refreshments for her, for the farmer had 
 reluctantly allowed her the resting-place in the barn, On 
 my return she was dead, and the little girl was lying across 
 the corpse of her mother, weeping most bitterly. I con- 
 soled her as well as I could ; paid the costs of the burial, 
 and sent the orphan girl, who did not even know the family 
 name of her mother, in better raiment, to a female boarding 
 school at Rastrow. Her name was Amelia ; I gave her yet 
 the by-name Barn, after the place in which I found her. 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 249 
 
 "Then, when all forsook me, I received from the board- 
 ing-school at Rastrow, from this Amelia Barn, a letter, 
 which as yet belongs to my most treasured relics. Thou 
 shalt read it. The perusal of it brought the tears to my 
 eyes. Its contents were nearly these : — ' That she had 
 heard of my misfortune, and consequently ought no longer 
 be to her father — she was in the habit of calling me by 
 that name — an incumbrance. She would now endeavour 
 to procure her own livelihood, either by becoming a teach- 
 er in a good family, or by needle -work, dress-making, or 
 by giving instruction on the piano. I need not give my- 
 self any concern about her ; it was now her part to be 
 concerned about me.' Thou must read the letter with 
 those beautiful outbursts of gratitude. It is a reflection of 
 the pious and pure heart. She asked permission once 
 more to see her benefactor, whose image floated but darkly 
 in her memory, since the day her mother died. I answered 
 her letter, praised her sentiments, but assured her that she 
 had no cause to be precipitate ; I would provide for her, 
 until she had found a suitable place. 
 
 " Having one day returned from the parade, I heard a gen- 
 tle tap at the door of my room. A strange female with 
 a lovely face entered. Lilies and the bloom of a peach- 
 tree never mixed in a bouquet colours more beautiful than 
 in that face which shone beneath a fulness of rich curls. 
 Amid blushes, and with a tremulous voice, she asked for 
 me ; then she fell down melting in tears, encircled my 
 knees, and when in astonishment I was about to lift her 
 up, she covered my hand with kisses. My thoughts were 
 at last confirmed, when she called out — ' Father, oh, my 
 father ! oh, my guardian ! ' I conjured her to rise. She 
 requested me to let her remain in this long wished-for po- 
 sition, and said — ' Oh, I am so happy, that my heart will 
 break ! ' 
 
 12 
 
250 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN '. 
 
 It was long before she recovered and arose. I then 
 pressed her to my heart, imprinted a kiss upon her fore- 
 head, and told her to look upon me as her father, and to 
 call me " ihou." She obeyed. This parental kiss, how- 
 ever, did somewhat confuse my senses. She had taken 
 lodgings at a hotel. I let her remain there a few days, 
 but these few days were sufficient to undermine my peace 
 of mind. When Amelia was about to return to the board- 
 ing-school, I advised her to remain in the house of a citi- 
 zen, and take in needlework for money. It was difficult 
 for me to separate myself from her. But I would not ac- 
 quaint her with my being rich, as I was bound to probe 
 her. I rented some rooms, and hired a girl for her ; pro- 
 vided her with a piano, harp, books, and in a few days also 
 with a commission for needlework ; but all at my own 
 cost, pretending that they came from an unknown friend 
 of hers. I visited her but once a week, to avoid evil inter- 
 pretations. 
 
 " Every visit was a feast to me. Thou canst imagine 
 how sweetly it penetrated my whole soul, when I thought 
 to myself, there is one being living beneath the moon who 
 is indebted to thee for every thing — a being who belongs 
 to no one in the whole world except thyself — and who ex- 
 pects every thing from thy providence ; and that this being, 
 of all that beauty, piety, and nobleness of nature ever 
 had been shown to me, is the choicest. Amelia's loveli- 
 ness and humble station soon were not a secret in the city. 
 She drew the eyes of all upon her. They spoke to me 
 about her, and I did not conceal that I was her foster- 
 father, and she a poor natural child. In a very short time 
 she was burdened with work. I had forbidden her to enter 
 a strange house. Ladies visited her less on account of 
 the needlework, than of seeing the greatly-praised beauty. 
 
 " One day I visited Amelia, and while standing before the 
 
A POOL OP THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 251 
 
 S 
 
 door of her room, I heard a great altercation between her 
 and a man. I recognised the voice of my lieutenant- 
 colonel. On opening the door, I saw him in the act of at- 
 tempting to kiss her. I upbraided him for his indecent 
 behaviour ; and when he retorted, I caught him by the 
 shoulders, and threw him out of the room down the stairs. 
 He considered his honour violated, and consequently chal- 
 lenged me. I refused to meddle with such abominable 
 foolery. The corps of officers threatened to serve no 
 longer at my side for being a coward. I am not a coward, 
 and went unarmed to the appointed place of combat, and 
 told the fool if he were willing to become an assassin I 
 would give him permission. Then he and the officers be- 
 gan to abuse me with their vulgarisms. According to 
 their barbaric notions, they thought my honour would re- 
 ceive a mortal wound, were they to disgrace themselves 
 by their indecencies. I asked them in return, whether 
 vulgar boys could become respectable by throwing mud on 
 a worthy man in the open streets ; or if, on the other hand, 
 the man on that account would become a vulgar boy ? 
 
 " On the following morning at the parade, the general un- 
 expectedly handed me, with an address of set phrases, a 
 badge of distinction awarded by the court. This was an 
 after-fruit of my former connection with the Baroness 
 Mooser, and the work of her uncle, the minister of the war 
 department. In accordance with my ideas of merit, I 
 could not accept of the piece of ribbon ; and if I had ac- 
 tually done the state some service, I should have been 
 ashamed to boast of it by carrying the reward of it every 
 day upon my breast. My stern refusal to accept the rag 
 with the little star attached to it, was unheard of in 
 the annals of the monarchy. My expression — Duty and 
 virtue could not be rewarded, and only be recognised ; but 
 whether recognised or not, the brave man would still do 
 
252 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 his duty, and least of all would he suffer himself to be 
 compelled to boast of his services before other people : — 
 that expression passed for Jacobinism and nonsense ! The 
 general became furious. The officers also came forward 
 on account of their — as they thought — violated honour. I 
 was arrested, and within a few weeks afterwards, received 
 my discharge. 
 
 " I was delighted — as then I could dress as I wished ; 
 in a civic attire, not in the prevailing Italian fashion, but 
 modestly, comfortably, and more in accordance with na- 
 ture, as thou now seest us all in Flyeln. The people 
 opened their eyes and believed me mad ; and were con- 
 firmed in their opinion when they heard that I was any- 
 thing than poor, but one of the most wealthy men in the 
 country. Amelia only knew, why I acted so. I had ac- 
 quainted her with my views, in regard to the present 
 world, and with my principles. She herself, a child of na- 
 ture, simple yet full of spirit, approved of my views, and lived 
 entirely according to them. I of course had no reason to 
 be proud of Amelia's sentiments, as they were but my own. 
 She only thought and felt as I did ; her whole being was 
 conformed to mine. Her reverential, filial love, without 
 her knowing it, had passed over into the purest, most bash- 
 ful and ardent maidenly affection ; and perhaps I felt too 
 young to play the part of a father ! 
 
 " One day I said to her, I intend returning to my 
 estates. She requested permission to let her follow me ; 
 that she should be happy, if I would consent to her being 
 my servant. With hesitation I told her, that I thought of 
 getting married. She sunk her head, clasped her hands 
 and said, — ' So much the better, thy wife will not find a 
 truer servant, than I shall be to her.' — ' But ' — I answered 
 — ' my future wife thinks already less favourably of thee, 
 than thou deservest.' 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 253 
 
 " * What fault have I already committed towards her ? ' — 
 she answered, lifting up her face, with all the pride of 
 conscious innocence, — ' Show me thy bride, and I will en- 
 deavour to obtain her favour and respect.' I conducted 
 Amelia before the large mirror in the room, pointed to it 
 and said with a faltering voice — ' Thou seest her there.' — 
 At these words she made a movement of terror ; her colour 
 faded away from her face ; she gazed on me with her large 
 blue eyes, in which a question died ; and then said with a 
 tremulous voice, — ' I am not well ! ' — and fell fainting to 
 the floor. I called the servant ; for terror had paralyzed me. 
 
 When Amelia recovered from her swoon, and her cheeks 
 received again their beauteous red, on opening her eyes, 
 she first looked smilingly at me ; and then manifested 
 astonishment about my own and the busy servant's sorrow. 
 Only by degrees her memory returned. She thought she 
 had slept. I scarcely ventured to speak of what had oc- 
 curred. When we were again alone, I said — ' Amelia, 
 why wert thou frightened before the mirror 1 Why darest 
 thou not be my bride ? Speak candidly, I am prepared for 
 anything.' — She blushed, and remained silent with her 
 eyes fixed on the ground. — 4 Why darest thou not 1 ' — I 
 asked once more. She looked up to heaven and exclaimed 
 — ' Dare ? What else dare I, except what thou wilt ? 
 Could I be happy without thee ? Whether thy servant or 
 thy bride, it is all one, since my heart beats for thee alone.' 
 
 " Whilst I was breathing the air of delight, the town was 
 beside itself with astonishment. My relations both by my 
 father's and mother's side were in fear and desperation, 
 when I announced my approaching marriage with Amelia. 
 A baron of one of the oldest noble families, whose ances- 
 tors have been invested with the highest offices of their 
 kings ! A baron capable of entering the lists for a tour- 
 nament, a blood relation of the first families in the country, 
 
254 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 to form the most enormous mis -alliance, not even with the 
 daughter of a parvenu nobleman, not even with the daugh- 
 ter of a distinguished citizen, n6*t even with the honest 
 daughter of a mechanic, but with a beggar girl, and that 
 beggar girl a natural child ! — I received letters from all my 
 relatives, threatening publicly to discard me ; to cast me 
 out from all future inheritance ; and to find means by ap- 
 plying to the highest authorities to compel me to their will! 
 All came too late, for in two weeks after, the minister 
 joined our hands in marriage. 
 
 " Why should I speak of all the foolish acts, which people 
 burdened with prejudice committed, when I commenced 
 living like an honest, natural man, rigidly in accordance 
 with truth, abolishing all buffoonries, all the frivolity 
 of a dancing master, all foreignisms, all deceptive conven- 
 tional rules, without losing, however, sight of a dignified 
 and becoming behaviour. My simple • thou,' with which 
 I addressed all persons, and with which I requested all 
 persons to address me, immediately frightened every body 
 from me, as though I was covered with ulcers. My beard 
 was ridiculed. When I returned a greeting in the street 
 in a friendly manner, without pulling off my hat like a slave, 
 I was called a rude fellow. I did not allow myself to be led 
 astray. Once the path had to be cleared, and I would see 
 whether in the nineteenth century a person could be allowed 
 to live in a European city, by abolishing all buffoonries, 
 all perverted notions of honour, all morality, all right, and 
 all decorum. Far from hurting the feelings of any one by 
 improper conduct, or from reproaching any person for his 
 prejudice, false opinions, or moral distortion, I became more 
 polite to all. Man, from whom in outward appearance I 
 was now as different as I had already been inwardly, I 
 endeavoured to reconcile to myself by kindness and bene- 
 volence, was in vain ! 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 255 
 
 " I retired to my estates here in Flyeln. It gave me plea- 
 sure to make myself acquainted and familiar with my pea- 
 sants. They were then half wild, and vassals. They 
 crawled like slaves before their lord. Not one of them could 
 either read or write. They were lazy and immoral. Idleness, 
 drunkenness and fighting seemed to be their heaven. 
 Superstition was their religion. Idolatrous hypocrisy was 
 their religious practice. Cheating and lying were their 
 wisdom ! I resolved to make men of those brutes, by 
 building a large school-house. Amelia and myself visited 
 all the huts, which were filthy stables. Under pain of the 
 severest punishment, I commanded the strictest cleanliness. 
 He who did not obey was put in prison. On the other 
 hand, to encourage those who were obedient, I rewarded 
 them with tables, looking glasses, chairs, and other house- 
 hold furniture. In a short time every thing was well 
 arranged and tidy in these houses. I prohibited card play- 
 ing, spirituous liquors, scuffling, cursing, and swearing. 
 Whosoever committed a fault, was severely punished. 
 Whosoever obeyed and did not give any cause for reproof, 
 I released from his villainage. To the old minister I gave 
 a pension, and selected in his stead a young man, well-in- 
 formed, an excellent clergyman, who entered with heart 
 and soul into my purpose. A young man well skilled in 
 giving various instructions, and educated by Pestalozzi in 
 Switzerland, I appointed teacher, and gave him a good 
 salary. With these two assistants I accomplished the 
 work of reformation. I myself twice in the week in- 
 structed the grown young men and the young married men. 
 Amelia taught the grown young girls ; the minister's wife 
 directed the married women. I had all the children newly 
 clothed, just as thou seest them now. At our expense, 
 Amelia changed the awkward costume of the girls. 
 
 " The school and the prison had their effects ; but self- 
 
256 
 
 OLIVIER flteln: 
 
 interest had still more. In order to ingratiate themselves 
 in my favour, the young men began to let their beards grow. 
 I prohibited the vassals from doing so ; only the freemen 
 ■\verc allowed to wear beards. The slaves I compelled to 
 go with their chins shaved. The gates of liberty were 
 thrown open to them. Whosoever according to my instruc- 
 tions cultivated his land best, received it at the end of the 
 year for a small, but purchasable ground rent, as his own 
 property, and moreover was freed from villainage. He 
 who in the second year was most saving, most industrious, 
 and most sensible, received his liberty ; his house as his 
 own, an advance of money, a dress of honour, fashioned 
 like my costume, and permission to let his beard grow. At 
 the end of the first year, I was obliged to declare several 
 excellent families free. Previous to my arrival they were 
 of the better class. This awakened envy in many, but 
 emulation in all ; the more so, because I allowed the free 
 to sit on court days at my side, and to judge with me the 
 defaulters. Those who were my subordinate judges were 
 elected by the freemen themselves, out of their own body. 
 
 " While I was here, thus caring very little about the rest 
 of the world, they troubled themselves the more about me. 
 My relations contrived that the ministry should send a 
 commission extraordinary, with orders to examine the con- 
 dition of my health and property. It had been reported 
 that I was mad, and squandered my property in the most 
 nonsensical manner. The gentlemen of the commission 
 lived here a few months at their ease. I know not what 
 report they made, but probably, on account of my forgetting 
 to drop a few pieces of gold into their hands, it must have 
 been unfavourable. For without considering my difficulties 
 and the preservation of my privileges, I was treated like a 
 simpleton, and banished to my estates. An administrator 
 over my property also was sent me, who was commissioned 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 257 
 
 to be a spy upon my actions, and keep strangers from visit- 
 ing me. The administrator was an honest and not unen- 
 lightened man, and consequently we soon understood each 
 other, and became friends. After he had looked over my 
 accounts, the good man was astonished at the strictness of 
 my economy ; and perceived, that by it, and by gradually 
 abolishing the vassalage and villainage, I gained more 
 than I lost. Ennui often caused him to assist me in my 
 endeavours to humanize my slaves. He had withal some 
 very good ideas ; for example : — Those who had been made 
 free for five years should render an account of their ex- 
 penses and income before our court, to make sure that they 
 did not become worse, or secretly negligent. The good 
 man was finally enraptured with our arrangements in 
 Flyeln ; for he perceived, that of all the well-considered 
 steps we took, scarcely ever one was taken in vain. Dur- 
 ing the second year of my stay here, the husbandmen in 
 our villages surpassed all others in the surrounding country 
 in their household arrangements, knowledge and honesty. 
 In other places they were called Moravians ; and in the 
 neighbouring villages, they believe to this day, that the 
 people of Flyeln have adopted another religion. 
 
 " The administrator and guardian found my views respect- 
 ing the world, in their principal features, perfectly correct. 
 He even wished for the return of general simplicity, and 
 greater truth in morals, behaviour, and the mode of living. 
 But the beard did not please him. His stiff queue at the 
 back of his neck, and his powdered hair, he defended most 
 vigorously. He also took exception to the word " thou" 
 and when speaking to me or Amelia, he could not, despite 
 of all his exertions, bring it over his lips. Meanwhile, his 
 report of me, after the first year of his administration, and 
 the satisfactory explanations he had given to the govern- 
 ment, in regard to the entire management of my property, 
 12* 
 
258 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN i 
 
 had the happy result to re-install me to self-administra- 
 tion, however, with the proviso of rendering an annual ac- 
 count of it. That was the work of my relatives! For 
 they would not be dissuaded from the belief, that I had lost 
 a considerable portion of sound intellect, although my 
 guardian had presented me merely as a great eccentric ! 
 That I might not by delirious talk and passion for innova- 
 tion, by speaking freely and openly of what nature and 
 reason approve, give offence ; I was prohibited, without 
 having particular official permission, from going beyond 
 the boundaries of my estates ; that is, I am enjoined not to 
 visit the great European lunatic asylum, but merely 
 become acquainted with it by means of the public journals. 
 By that I could but be a gainer ! 
 
 " Nearly five years have elapsed since I have lived here 
 in my happy solitude. Go where thou wilt, and look at my 
 fields, at the fields of our peasants, and at our forests, 
 herds and dwellings ! Thou wilt see a blooming prosperity, 
 formerly unknown here. All my vassals are free. Only 
 one drunkard, and another lazy rude fellow, seemed incor- 
 rigible. The drunkard died. Neither hope nor punish- 
 ment could convert the other. But when all men in Flyeln 
 wore beards, and he and the minister were the only per- 
 sons left who walked about with a smooth chin, it produced 
 a wonderful effect on the fellow. For the minister at last 
 also ventured to let his beard grow ; and so the vassal re- 
 mained the only smooth face amongst us. That he could 
 not brook. He changed for the better, and among honest 
 people is now an honest man ! 
 
 " His beard cost the good minister at the consistory much 
 chagrin. It was in vain he proved that the beard was nei- 
 ther for nor against the true faith. It was to no purpose 
 when he appealed to the holy men of the old and new 
 covenant. It had no effect when he set forth, that by mak- 
 
A FOOL OP THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 250 
 
 ing himself equal to his congregation in every thing, he 
 could effect most, and that by those means he had actually 
 changed the course of life of a person until then deemed 
 incorrigible. His beard gave rise to many consistorial 
 transactions. Only after he had brought forth medical men 
 to prove, that previous to his long beard he had suffered 
 greatly from the tooth-ache, and that now he was relieved 
 from the calamity, he finally received permission to wear it 
 on account of his health. 
 
 " Now with my freemen, I execute not only the business 
 of the village court, but have also given them the privilege 
 to elect their own administrators. Their sense of honour 
 has been awakened ; they feel their dignity. Worthy 
 freemen with their wives, from time to time, dine with me 
 at my table. I am their equal. Their dress being uniform 
 with mine, produces a certain familiarity without weaken- 
 ing respect. The children have to rise and uncover their 
 heads when they are met by old persons, but nobody un- 
 covers his head before his equal. Every malicious lie 
 which is proved, is considered with us" as great a crime as 
 theft. As now the people are their own judges, they are 
 more severe than I formerly was. I am often compelled 
 to mitigate their judgments. Our schools are excellent. 
 The more advanced boys are taught history, geography, 
 and something of architecture. In our church we are de- 
 vout, and have good vocal music, the hymns being arranged 
 for four voices. 
 
 " But, my dear Norbert, thou shalt remain some days with 
 us, and thou mayest judge for thyself. Rather, if thou 
 canst make it convenient, stay a few weeks.'' 
 
OLIVIER FLYELN J 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CONVERSATION ON THE HEIGHTS OF FlYELN, 
 
 I will not conceal, that all I had heard and seen in FJyeln, 
 made a great impression upon me. I admired Olivier's 
 firmness of character, his benevolent creative mind ; but I 
 pitied his fate for being misjudged in so high a degree. 
 
 The persuasive powers of my friend, the enchanting soli- 
 citations of the baroness, were not requisite to induce me 
 to prolong my stay in that magnificent oasis. Yes — I am 
 bound to call Flyeln an oasis, a verdant island in the desert 
 of the surrounding country. For so soon as a person puts 
 foot on that ground, after having passed through the sandy 
 and marshy land of the adjacent country, the extensive wild 
 forest of firs, the poor, filthy, disorderly villages, full of ho- 
 vels and neglected people ; the soil becomes suddenly more 
 luxurious, and man suddenly more human ! There also had 
 been hovels, but now they are clean dwellings, which I, 
 with the baroness, delighted to visit. There also had been 
 swamps, but they could only be recognised by the long 
 trenches and subterraneous water outlets, built of stone, 
 and covered with earth. There also had been slaves, who 
 had been used to tremble before their lord, and still more 
 before their officers, and to cheat them when their backs 
 were turned ; but now they maintained the upright, fear- 
 less position of freemen, and saw in the baron their equal ; 
 and with what a childish veneration and love, did they now 
 surround him and his family ! This transformation in the 
 course of five years would seem a wonder, did we not know 
 how prudently and firmly Olivier went to work ; how he 
 passed by slow degrees from his station of feudal lord to 
 that of a teacher, and then to that of a father ; how by- 
 placing the fear of punishment behind them as a driver, he 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURA. 
 
 261 
 
 allured his vassals onward by their own crude self-interest ; 
 how he never counted on their gratitude, never on their 
 sense, or moral and religious feelings, but at first more 
 drilled than instructed them ; and then how, after having 
 for several years habituated them to doing good, he relied 
 upon the strength of habit, and upon the children who 
 were to succeed them. Therefore, he and the baroness, 
 the minister, and the schoolmaster, took it upon themselves 
 to instruct the whole of them, which was also the reason 
 why the inferior judges of the court and the administrators 
 of the congregations, were nearly all young men of about 
 thirty years of age. 
 
 When Olivier showed me his account books, and proved 
 to me inconte stably, that far from being a loser by the pre- 
 sent arrangement, he was, on the contrary, a great 
 gainer, and that his had far exceeded the income of his de- 
 ceased uncle, or that of any of his ancestors, he said to me 
 with a smile — " Now thou canst see, where madness is at 
 home, whether here in Flyeln, or at the capital of the 
 king. While I gain I am treated like a spendthrift, and 
 am every year compelled to submit to people, who are sent 
 to take a survey of my accounts, and to look into my secret 
 household aflairs." 
 
 " Why dost thou not complain of it I It is unjust — it is 
 tyrannical " — I replied. 
 
 " My complaints would be vain " — added Flyeln. — " Not 
 the court, but a commandment of the cabinet, proceeding 
 from the ministry, has condemned me to this condition. 
 This thing cannot be so easily undone ; for the ministry is 
 not inclined to revoke their decree, since that would be 
 condemning themselves for being unjust. The committee 
 of examination, who come here every year, will not coun- 
 sel such a step, since by doing so they would lose the en- 
 joyment of a pleasure journey, and the gains of a daily 
 
262 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 allowance paid with my money. Their having banished me 
 to the estate of my ancestors, like a captive, is of no con- 
 sideration at all with them. Now, Norbert, candidly, what 
 dost thou think of all this ? " 
 
 " I must acknowledge " — I answered — " that I came with 
 a prejudiced and sad mind ; but I shall leave here, bearing 
 with me the most pleasant recollections. Every where 
 thou art spoken of as being a madman ! Thou art not a 
 madman ; but I coincide with thy former administrator — 
 thou art a noble and great eccentric ! " 
 
 " Eccentric ! " exclaimed Flyeln. " Well, yes, it is the 
 proper name for those who separate themselves from the 
 common course of life and the disorders of the age. Di- 
 ogenes of Sinope was also considered a fool ; and Cato, the 
 Roman censor, a pedant. In the streets of Madrid, Colum- 
 bus was looked upon as a madman. Olavides was given 
 over to the Inquisition. Rousseau was expelled from his 
 asylum by the people of Berne ; and by many of his coun- 
 trymen, Pestalozzi was counted a demi-maniac, because he 
 rather associated with beggars and ragged children than 
 with powdered wigs ! Ye call me an eccentric, me, who 
 am merely making use of the privilege I received from my 
 Creator, to think, to speak, and to act rationally, and in ac- 
 cordance with nature, and nothing more — is that not an un- 
 couth reproach against yourselves ? " 
 
 "No, Olivier, no reproach" — I said — "either against 
 the world, or against thyself. Nobody prevents thee from 
 thinking and acting rationally and naturally ; but spare also 
 the privileges of others, to think, speak, and act in accord- 
 ance with their present notions, habits, and even preju- 
 dices, until they or their children have become wiser. 
 Every one cannot be a philosopher." 
 
 " Have I not spared them ? have I attacked them ? " ask- 
 ed the baron. 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 263 
 
 "Most certainly, my friend" — I answered — "if thou 
 wilt permit me to say so. By placing thy manners in 
 too great an opposition to the generally-adopted manners, 
 thou didst break peace with those among whom thou wast 
 living ; and didst but half the good thou mightst have done, 
 yea, not even the half. Christ adopted the manners of Ju- 
 dea, lowered himself even to some of the Jewish prejudices, 
 in order to work more effectually. What boots at last a 
 ridiculous custom ? whether we wear a stiff queue, or short 
 hair? whether we let our beards grow, or shave them off? 
 Thou knowest the signification of the word 1 Sie,' they, in 
 the German, and the 4 Vous,' you, in the French language. 
 Well, I admit that it is nonsensical to address a single per- 
 son in the plural number. But of what injury can that 
 practice be in the end ? Did not the Grecians and Romans 
 speak of themselves in the plural number? Thou knowest 
 the signification of Sie, they, and Du, thou, in the German 
 language. Wast not thou the assaulting party, when thou 
 wert above paying attention to those customary innocent 
 practices, and didst force, without regard to any person, and 
 contrary to the hitherto prevailing notions of decorum and 
 respect, thy ' Thou' upon everybody? W 7 hosoever places 
 himself in opposition to the world, to him will the world be 
 opposed. Couldst thou be surprised at that ? " 
 
 "I am by no means surprised, because I expected it" — 
 said Olivier. " Do not quote Jesus Christ as example for 
 the manner of those who, with a pious mien, conceal all 
 their indolence and roguery under the cloak of perverted 
 passages from the Bible. The Divine Messenger had to 
 settle with his contemporaries a more important account 
 than I have. He therefore was silent about the lesser fol- 
 lies, but my business is with these alone ; and I will at 
 least not suffer that I should be compelled to praise those 
 barbarisms, or excuse them, or even to play a part in them 
 
264 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 myself. Man living upon this earth among mankind may, 
 perhaps, yet be allowed the simple privilege of making 
 use of his own straight-forward common sense." 
 
 " It seems to me, my friend " — I answered — " that such 
 a privilege has never been denied thee ; but most certain- 
 ly the privilege of occasioning dangerous confusions by im- 
 prudently publishing thy convictions, especially when they 
 were at war with the present subsisting order. Here in Fly- 
 eln thou hast thyself played the part of a wise master with thy 
 vassals ; hast led them on to liberty as they were prepared 
 for it — by degrees and not precipitately. Thou wast well 
 aware it would be dangereus to place a knife in the un- 
 practised hand of a child, which in skilful hands becomes 
 a most useful instrument. What wouldst thou have said if 
 one of thine own vassals had suddenly arisen, and spoken 
 the language of truth before his comrades ? If he had 
 spoken to them of the eternal inherent privileges of the hu- 
 man race, of barbarism, and the dissoluteness of the feudal 
 system, and of the natural equality of man ? Would not 
 such a reformer have frustrated all thy noble plans ? " 
 
 " Most certainly, Norbert" — responded the baron — " but 
 I hope this example is not applicable to me and my actions. 
 I have never spoken against the standing regulations, even 
 when they were bad ; but I have rendered unto Caesar the 
 things that were Caesar's, and to God, the things that are 
 God's. I only spoke against the existing misusages and 
 prejudices which are not even made sacred by civil or state 
 contracts. Against your corrupted German manners and 
 language ; against your masquerades and hypocritical com- 
 pliments ; against your pernicious luxury ; against your ef- 
 feminate and stiff disfiguration, by introducing French fash- 
 ions ; against your notions of honour and shame, of merit 
 and reward — I have spoken, and only in defence of my own 
 person ; when ye Europeans would compel me to condemn 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 265 
 
 my return to reason, and would coerce me to rebel against 
 nature merely to please your pervcrseness." 
 
 " ]3ut, friend Olivier " — I said — " thy opinions about 
 standing armies, about nobility of birth, about the suppress- 
 ed privileges of nations, about" — 
 
 "O popoi, friend Norbert ! these principles" — said Fly- 
 eln — " generally are recognised as dead truths. In theses 
 and theories they are called correct, in practice errone- 
 ous, and that for weighty reasons. I have nothing against, 
 it. I myself, were I a prince or minister, should take care 
 to organize Plato's Republic, before I had a philosophic 
 people But I have spoken of those principles among 
 friends, and among my equals, and not preached them to 
 the mob to create a revolution. I did what millions are 
 doing to-day by writing and speaking. Ye would have to 
 cut the heads off of half the population of Europe would you 
 prevent people from thinking or speaking of such things. 
 Even because they are thought or spoken by one-half of 
 the world, they are also infused into the minds of the other 
 half ; and when the majority is once convinced of what is 
 better, then, without revolutions and blood-baths, everything 
 will come to pass of its own accord by the natural course 
 of a meliorated legislation. In good sooth, Norbert ! they 
 did not think me mad on that account ; they did not for that 
 reason banish me from the rest of the world. Nobody 
 would have made any objections had I, baron as I was, de- 
 claimed against the injustice, barbarism, foliy, and mis- 
 chiefs connected with the institution of the privileged he- 
 reditary nobility ; nobody would have said anything upon 
 that subject had I, with my declamations, married a count- 
 ess or a baroness. Many are doing this. But because I 
 acted independently, although nobody received an injury by 
 it ; because I preferred the love of a handsome, virtuous 
 beggar-girl, to the ancestral prejudices of my relatives ; 
 
266 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 because I married a child whom I, a baron, had taken off 
 the high road — that, Norbert, was my crime ! Norbert, 
 look once more at Amelia — then step before my parchment 
 pedigree — and then condemn me ! " 
 
 " With such documents for your cause " — I remarked — 
 "my dear Olivier, thou art a terrible advocate. But I 
 think nobility would in the end have forgiven thy crime 
 against its ranks, and considered thee an exception to the 
 general rule. Thou knowest that at the present day peo- 
 ple judge of such matters with far greater tolerance than in 
 times past ; nobility is no longer what " — 
 
 " Dost thou think so 1 " uttered Flyeln. " Oh, my friend ! 
 deceive not thyself about our caste, in which not only the 
 physiognomies, and not only the privileges, but also the 
 notions and prejudices of families have become hereditary, 
 and having been transmitted from one generation to the 
 next, cannot be extirpated. Nobility has the deeply-fixed 
 idea that by birth they are of a better mould than the rest of 
 mankind. If it even must yield to the strength of revolutions, 
 its rooted idea will still keep the upperhand. Didst thou 
 not see the emigrant nobility of France in misery ? They 
 did not lose their self-conceit, even when they were com- 
 pelled to mend their own shoes, and to wash their own 
 shirts ! B ehold now again the young French noblemen, 
 born and raised in misery in France. What are they do- 
 ing ? Instead of being reconciled to their fate, they com- 
 plain because they are to share all political privileges with 
 people of low descent. In return they are working against 
 the Charter, until there will be no longer any charter, and 
 until a new revolution will thrust them out again." 
 
 " Here, my dear advocate " — I replied — " thou sufferest 
 thyself to be caught in a weakness, of which I am much 
 too generous to make use. What do people of that 
 country prove for or against the people of our country? 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 267 
 
 Who from the notions of the Indian chiefs, with their rings 
 in their nose, would frame an accusation against our nobility 
 here ? We will leave that alone. But understand me 
 correctly ; I would reconcile thee with the rest of the world. 
 A small sacrifice from thee, with a trifling compliance in 
 insignificant outward appearances, and all thy opinions will 
 be forgiven, even thy paradoxes. It is our duty to make 
 some sacrifices. By that means alone can we secure con- 
 fidence. When we are in possession of public confidence, 
 then only can we work publicly." 
 
 " Thou demandest a small sacrifice of me, Norbert " — said 
 Flyeln — " I know it already. Thou requirest as trifles, 
 nothing less than that I should yield all my convictions, 
 principles, and the duties which spring out of those princi- 
 ples. But when I have sacrificed my convictions and 
 principles, that is %iy whole essence, of what further use 
 can I then be to the world ? Wherewithal shall I work 
 any good ? " 
 
 " With a great deal ! " — I rejoined. " Look at other wise 
 men, without quarrelling with the world, they effect an 
 immeasurable quantum of good. Why canst not thou do 
 it ? What canst thou effect by mere example, and stand- 
 ing alone ; when, as it is now the fact, all those by whom 
 thou art surrounded, misjudge thee, and think that thou 
 hast lost the better part of thine intellect?" 
 
 "This question deserves an answer" — answered the 
 baron — "for of all the questions thou yet hast asked, it is 
 the most important. Consider my privilege as a man ; that 
 in my own house at least and on my own grounds, I may be 
 allowed to eat, drink, dress, speak and act according to 
 my better convictions, when, by doing so, I do not violate 
 the rights of another person. Since I then find the foolery, 
 the insipidity, the artificial manners, the unnatural dis- 
 tortions of the present European human race, as it now is en- 
 
288 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN : 
 
 deavouring to crawl out of the swamps of the old barbarism, 
 ridiculous, pernicious, and contemptible, shall I not with 
 all my inclination, vocation, and duty for truth and justice, 
 make use of this privilege ; even at the risk of being jeered 
 at by barbarians, those animals of habit and art, who know 
 no better ? Must the circumnavigator of the world, when 
 the wild Indians place human flesh before him to eat, con- 
 quer his horror, and imitate their abominable custom, that 
 the Indians may not laugh at him 1 So much, Norbert, of 
 what appertains immediately to my own person." 
 
 Here Olivier was silent for a moment ; and then re- 
 sumed : — " But oh, Norbert, remember the fragment from 
 the travels of Pythias, and thine own confession about the 
 pointing truth. Thou thyself dost admit, that human so- 
 ciety in our part of the world have wandered a great dis- 
 tance from the laws of nature. Ye al>> acknowledge that 
 to this very fact we can trace the cause of sufferings im- 
 measurable ; for the violations of the eternal laws of God 
 carry with them their own punishments against the per- 
 petrators. None of ye will deny that the whole of your 
 civic and domestic conditions, that your institutions, morals, 
 and manner of living, consist at most, only in a consequent 
 arrangement of what is averse to nature. But who of ye 
 has the heroic spirit of reason to return to the simple eter- 
 nal regulations of God 1 Ye are deficient in this heroic 
 spirit ! It is not a stranger to me. It is well, that a few 
 individuals, unmindful of the misconceit and derision of the 
 multitude, are setting up the example of what is good in 
 this life. It is well, that single persons rise up, who, to 
 make use of your manner of talking, do not capitulate nor 
 enter into a compromise with the all-governing madness 
 of the age, but declare open war against it. Nothing can 
 be accomplished by preaching mere doctrines from the 
 pulpits, rostrums, and the stage, and by advancing mere 
 
A FOOL OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 269 
 
 philosophical arguments, and by eulogizing nature and 
 truth. Ye are continually preaching, philosophizing, and 
 writing ; and the teachers ever remain what they were, 
 and the disciples never change. Therefore it is well, that 
 single individuals should introduce the archetype of what is 
 better, into real life. At first they will of course be con- 
 sidered madmen, and be scoffed at and pitied. The eyes 
 of their contemporaries by degrees will also be habituated 
 to those heterogeneous appearances. At last they will 
 say : this man's opinions are in many respects not erro- 
 neous. The boldest will finally venture timidly to adopt 
 single ideas, and live in accordance with them. And, 
 Norbert ! whosoever has led the human race, or only a 
 small part of it, but one step back to nature, he has done 
 enough for the fleetness of life. Therefore, my friend, 
 let me go on in the path I have laid out for myself! Many 
 are in the habit of censuring him who acts correctly ; only 
 because they are vexed at not having the courage like him 
 to do -what is right. Because, in eating and drinking, I 
 banish all luxury and all that is outlandish ; because I dress 
 more comfortably and pleasing to the eye ; because I pay 
 a becoming respect to the manly beard ; because I relin- 
 quish all privileges and prejudices of my caste, and wish 
 not to be estimated higher than is my due ; because I be- 
 lieve that by marrying a girl of low descent and born 
 without wedlock, I derogate nought from my respecta- 
 bility ; because I do not wish to redeem my honour by 
 fighting a duel, and carry upon my breast before the eyes 
 of the world a childish bauble as a token of real or pre- 
 tended merit ; because I have made my vassals freemen, 
 and my friends ; and because I despise lies, and acknow- 
 ledge the truth without fear — These are the reasons why, 
 in the nineteenth century, I am treated as a madman ; al- 
 though I live in accordance with reason ; have not trans - 
 
270 
 
 OLIVIER FLYELN. 
 
 gressed against the institutions and laws ; have harmed no- 
 body ; done good to many ; and have never violated true 
 morality and decorum ! Here, Norbert, is my answer to 
 thy question. Now let us break off the subject ! " 
 
 We closed our conversation. — I cast my arms around 
 the noble eccentric, and merely said to him, smilingly — 
 " We have an old adage — A sharp tool is easily notched." 
 
 Speedily after, we separated. The remembrance of 
 Flyeln I shall ever consider the most pleasing episode of 
 my life. I also cannot conceal my judgment, that if the 
 whole world were to fall into madness like that of my friend 
 Olivier, I would most joyfully be one of the first to become 
 crazy. Since that period we have resumed our correspond- 
 ence, and I have vowed, from time to time, to make a pil- 
 grimage to happy Flyeln! to look at and listen to, a fool 
 
 OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY ! 
 
HORTENSIA : 
 
 ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 Introductory. 
 
 Four German officers were wounded in the battle of Mo- 
 lite ; but the charms, the splendour, and the loveliness of 
 the villa to which they were removed, the hospitality and 
 kindness of their host, Ambrosio Faustino, and the cor- 
 diality of his amiable wife, but most of all, the agreeable 
 discovery that the liberal Faustino and his wife were of 
 German origin, contributed greatly to the healing of their 
 wounds. He had formerly been called Faust, and had 
 been induced to settle in Italy near the Alps, and to change 
 his name by a most singular concatenation of circum- 
 stances. The delight of discoursing in their mother tongue, 
 far from their homes, in a stranger land, tended not a little 
 to increase their mutual confidence. 
 
 One of them had permission to pass his hours in Faus- 
 tino's library, where, among a splendid array of select 
 works, he found some Italian manuscripts, written by 
 Faust himself. They were memoirs of his life, intermixed 
 with observations on painting and sculpture. Faust al- 
 lowed his guest to peruse them ; and opening one of the 
 volumes, directed his visitor to the place where he com- 
 menced. 
 
 " Only read," said he, "and believe me it is truth, how- 
 ever incredible the details may appear. To me, although 
 I myself experienced what I have therein described, it 
 seems at times a mere illusion of the brain." The en- 
 suing pages contain a fragment of Faust's memoir. 
 
272 
 
 HORTEXSIA : 
 
 CHAPTER I . 
 Adventure at Venzone. 
 
 On the twelfth day of September, 1771, I crossed the river 
 Tagliamenio at Sjrilimberge, and was rapidly approaching 
 the frontiers of Germany, the land of my birth, which I 
 had not seen during many years. My soul was filled with 
 indescribable sadness. It seemed as if an invisible power 
 was driving me back continually, and calling upon me — 
 " Return ! " I stopped several times on the miserable 
 road to cast a look towards Italy, and felt a restless desire 
 to retrace my steps to Venice. Still, when I thought of 
 what I could do there, or whereby I could gain a sub- 
 sistence, I continued my way towards the dark mountains 
 which rose in silent grandeur amid the mists and rain. 
 
 I had but little money left, scarcely enough to reach 
 Vienna ; unless I sought aid in charity, or sold my watch, 
 or a part of the apparel that I carried in my knapsack. 
 The greater part of my youth had been passed in Italy, 
 for the purpose of perfecting myself in painting and sculp- 
 ture, and then on reaching my twenty-seventh year, I had 
 come to the sad conclusion that I could never produce any 
 thing by which I might gain a rank among the artists of 
 renown. My friends in Rome often had the kindness to 
 encourage me, and for some of my pieces I had occa- 
 sionally received a high price ; but that afforded me little 
 consolation, as I was obliged to condemn works that did 
 not satisfy myself. I experienced the painful sensation 
 that I was, and ever should be, too impotent with my brush 
 or chisel to call those ideal images into life which dwelt in 
 my imagination. That made me despair of my own 
 powers. I sought not after gold. I longed for the magic 
 
ASLEEP A?JD AWAKE. 
 
 273 
 
 of art, and inwardly bemoaned the years which I had lost, 
 and reviled myself. I was returning to Germany where I 
 then had friends. I longed for some sequestered spot, in 
 which I could forget myself. I desired nothing more than 
 an appointment as a village schoolmaster, or something of 
 that kind, to punish the audacious ambition which had 
 aspired to be the rival of Raphael and Angelo ! 
 
 The rain had lasted some days, and that increased my 
 uneasiness. The thought — "Oh, that I could die ! " — 
 would often rise within me. One shower obliged me to 
 stray from my road, and seek shelter under a tree. There 
 I sat, dejectedly contemplating the scattered hopes and 
 plans of my life. I found myself in a desert of wild moun- 
 tains. The cold rain was pouring down in torrents ; and 
 near me rippled a swollen mountain stream, rushing 
 through the rocks. 
 
 " What will become of me ? " — I sighed, looking to- 
 wards the stream, and contemplating whether it were deep 
 enough to drown myself in it. I regretted that I had not 
 before put an end to my earthly sorrows in the Taglia- 
 mento. On a sudden, I was overpowered by an indescrib- 
 able and deadly fear. I felt shocked at myself; at my re- 
 solution, and my desires. I sprang up, and rushed onward 
 in the midst of the storm, as if to fly from myself, for night 
 began to extend its gloom. 
 
 At length, I arrived at a lonely large house, not far from 
 the village of Venzone. The increasing darkness, the 
 continuing rain, and my own fatigue, induced me to re- 
 main at the building, before which stood the friendly in- 
 viting sign of " Entertainment for travellers" On passing 
 the threshold, a tremendous shudder and the same fear of 
 death seized me which I had experienced on the rock in 
 the morning. I stopped at the door for breath ; but when 
 in the warm bar-room, the life of man breathed again 
 13 
 
274 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 ■within me, and I felt lighter and easier than I had done for 
 many days before. All this doubtless was the effect of 
 corporeal weakness. 
 
 I received a hearty welcome, and with a light heart 
 threw my knapsack on the table ; after which I was shown 
 into a small adjoining room to take off my wet apparel. 
 While making the change, I heard hasty footsteps on the 
 stairs, opening of doors, and rapid questions about myself. 
 " Will he stay in the house all night ? Did he arrive on 
 foot ? Did he carry a knapsack ? Has he light hair ? " 
 With similar pertinent inquiries. They left, returned 
 again, and another voice asked other questions. I did not 
 know how to explain it. 
 
 When I re-entered the bar room, all eyes were turned 
 with curiosity towards me. I feigned not to perceive any 
 thing. But I also was tormented by an insatiate curiosity 
 to know why I had been asked for with so much concern. 
 I turned the conversation to the weather, from the weather 
 to travelling ; and then asked the question — " Are there 
 any more strangers in the house ? " — " Certainly ; " was 
 the reply, " a noble family from Germany, consisting of an 
 old gentleman, a most beautiful young lady who is sick to 
 death, a noble elderly lady, perhaps the young lady's 
 mother, a family physician, two servants and two chamber- 
 maids. The family arrived at noon, and have been detained 
 partly through the inclemency of the weather, and partly 
 on account of the indisposition of the young lady. More- 
 over, I learned that both the physician and the old gentle- 
 man, in a great hurry, and almost in fear and astonishment, 
 had inquired at the bar-room for me. The host assured 
 me that the family knew me perfectly well ; and told me to 
 walk up, as I should certainly meet some old friends and 
 acquaintances, for they seemed to have expected me. 
 
 shook my head, convin ced that this was a mistake. I 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 275 
 
 had no acquaintance with any noble family in the whole 
 world, and least of all with that of a German. I was more 
 confirmed in my supposition, when an old servant of the 
 strangers sat down at my table, and in broken Italian, 
 asked for wine. When I addressed him in German, his 
 mother tongue, his countenance at once became serene. 
 He then told me all he knew of the family. His master, a 
 Count Hormegg, at present was travelling with his daughter 
 towards Italy, for the purpose of benefiting her health by a 
 change of air. 
 
 The more the old man drank, the more talkative he be- 
 came. Gloomily as he had at first sat by my side, at the 
 second bottle of wine he breathed more freely. When I 
 told him that I intended to go to Germany, he sighed deeply, 
 looked towards Heaven, and tears rose in his eyes — 
 " Could I but go with you ! " he said fervently, and in a low 
 tone of voice — " I can endure this no longer. On this 
 family, I believe, rests a curse. Wondrous things happen 
 here. I dare confide them to no man, and if I dared, who 
 would believe me?" 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The Mournful Travellers. 
 
 Aik the third flask of wine, however, the old Sebald, that 
 was his name, allowed himself to become more communi- 
 cative. 
 
 " My countryman " he said, addressing me, as he looked 
 timidly around the room ; but no one except ourselves was 
 there, and we sat alone by the dim light — " my country- 
 man, I cannot be blinded. Calamity is united with plenty 
 and abundance of wealth. Here — God have mercy on us ! 
 does the evil spirit riot. The count is enormously rich ; 
 
276 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 but he sneaks about like a poor sinner, and is very seldom 
 heard to speak. He leads an unhappy life. The old lady 
 companion or governess to his daughter Hortensia, looks 
 at all this as if with a troubled conscience, in continual 
 fear. The countess herself — well ! a child of paradise 
 could scarcely be more beautiful ; but I believe her father 
 has bartered her to the devil. Hark ! what was that 1 " 
 
 Sebald, terror-stricken, sprang from his seat. His 
 countenance was pale as death. It was nothing but the 
 storm that had closed one of the window-shutters rather 
 abruptly. When I had allayed his fears in some measure, 
 he continued — " It is no wonder a person has to live in 
 continual deadly fear. One of us will and must die shortly. 
 So I have heard Miss Catharine say. God have mercy upon 
 us ! Could I not recreate myself occasionally with my 
 comrade Thomas over a bottle of wine, I should long 
 since have run away. We do not feel the want of any 
 thing here but of cheerfulness." 
 
 It seemed as if Sebald was a little affected by the wine 
 he drank. 
 
 " Whence do you draw the conjecture that one of you 
 will soon die ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Here is nothing to conjecture " — replied Sebald — " it 
 is but too certain. The Countess Hortensia has said it, 
 but no one dares repeat it. At Judenberg, the same thing 
 occurred two weeks ago. The countess predicted the 
 death of one of us. No one believed it. We were all well 
 and in good spirits. Of a sudden, as we were upon the 
 road, Mr. Muller, the secretary of the count, a most amia- 
 ble man, was precipitated with his horse and baggage 
 from the road, over the rocks into the abyss below, ten 
 times deeper than the height of the spire of the church. 
 That was a frightful sight. For a time I lost my eyes and 
 ears. Man and horse lay crushed to atoms. When you 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 277 
 
 pass through the village where he is buried, the people will 
 tell you of that mournful occurrence. As for myself, I ab- 
 hor the thought of it. But now, the only question is this — 
 who of us will be the next victim ? But if it happens, I 
 shall ask the count immediately for my dismissal. Such 
 things do not occur naturally. My old head is of some 
 value, and I should not like to lose it in the service of this 
 strange visionary, who is always calling for Immanuel ! " 
 
 I smiled at his superstitious fears. But he swore by all 
 that is high and holy, as he whispered to me — "The 
 Countess Hortensia certainly is beset by a whole legion of 
 demons. A year ago, she ran several times about the roof 
 of the Hormegg castle, more expertly than we can walk 
 on this even floor. Often she falls quite unexpectedly into 
 trances, and then she sees heaven open to her view, and 
 prophesies. She looks into the inmost recesses of the hu- 
 man heart. Doctor Walter, certainly a very honest man, 
 asserts that she can not only see into people as if they were 
 made of glass, but that her eyes even penetrate through 
 doors and walls. Oh, it is horrible ! In her lucid hours 
 she is perfectly sane. But alas ! in her enchanted hours, 
 when some one else speaks out of her, she rules all of us. 
 We could have remained upon the broad highroad. But 
 no ! immediately on leaving Villach, we had to cross the 
 terrible mountains by miserable roads, upon sumpter-horses 
 and mules. Why ? Because she would have it so. Had 
 we remained upon the highroad, Mr. Muller might have 
 been alive this day." 
 
278 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Engagement. 
 
 The entrance of the people of the hotel, who spread a 
 scanty supper before me, interrupted Sebald's loquacity. 
 He promised to disclose more secrets to me when we should 
 again be alone, and then left me. In his place, a small, 
 lean, and surly-looking man sat himself down, whom Se- 
 bald, on going out of the room, addressed as " Doctor ! " 
 From this circumstance I knew that I had another member 
 of that mysterious and sad travelling company before me. 
 The physician looked long and silently at me while I was 
 eating. Then he began to question me in French, whence 
 I came, and whither I was going ? When he heard that I 
 was a German, he was more familiar, and began to speak 
 to me in my mother tongue. On questioning him, the doc- 
 tor told me that Count Hormegg was on his journey to 
 Venice with his sick daughter. 
 
 " How would you like " — said the doctor — " since you 
 have no definite duty or purpose in going to Germany, to 
 join our party ? You speak the Italian language more flu- 
 ently than any of us ; you know the country and its cus- 
 toms, and the healthy regions. You would be of the ut- 
 most benefit to us. The count would immediately put you 
 into the place of his late secretary, with free board, a plea- 
 sant life, a salary of six hundred florins, and the well- 
 known liberality of the count." 
 
 I shook my head, observing that the count did not know 
 me, nor I the count, w 7 ell enough to foresee whether we 
 should suit each other. Then the doctor began to eulogize 
 the count ; but I replied — " It will be difficult to tell the 
 count as much in my behalf." — "Oh, if that is all the hin- 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 279 
 
 drancc " — he exclaimed hastily — " you are already recom- 
 mended to him. You may depend on what I say." 
 
 " Recommended ? by whom 1 " — I asked. 
 
 The doctor seemed to hunt for words in order to cover 
 his precipitancy. " By necessity ! I am permitted to tell 
 you that the count will give you a hundred louis-d'ors if 
 you — " 
 
 "No ! " — I replied — " I have never in my life aimed at 
 abundance, but have only sought for the necessaries of life. 
 From childhood I have been accustomed to independence. 
 I am anything but rich, but I will not sell my liberty." 
 
 The doctor seemed hurt, but I was fully serious in the 
 answer I made. Besides, I was determined not to return 
 to Italy, that my passion for the arts might not again tri- 
 umph over me. Moreover, I was disgusted with the sudden 
 and urgent importunity of the doctor, and altogether with 
 the conduct of that travelling company, though I did not 
 believe that the sick countess was possessed of a whole le- 
 gion of demons. When he found that all his persuasions 
 were useless, and only made me more obstinate, the phy- 
 sician left me, 
 
 I then reflected on various little matters ; compared my 
 poverty with the comfortable life proposed to me as a fol- 
 lower of the rich count, and played with the few gold pieces 
 which constituted the whole amount of my wealth. But 
 the result of my reflection still was — " Away from Italy ! 
 God's whole world is open to you. Be firm ! Let me 
 only have peace within my breast, a village school, and 
 independence. I must first become myself again ; have I 
 not lost my all 1 the whole plan of my life ? Money cannot 
 restore that." 
 
 My astonishment was greatly increased, when about 
 ten minutes after the doctor had left me, a servant ap- 
 peared, and requested me to pay the count a visit in his 
 
280 
 
 nOETEXSIA : 
 
 room. "What in the world can these people want of me ? " 
 I thought ; but I promised to attend him. The adventure, 
 if not amusing, began at least to be interesting. 
 
 I found the count alone in his room, pacing with large 
 strides up and down. He was a tall, strong, noble-looking 
 man, of much apparent dignity. The expression of his 
 face was pleasing, but gloomy. He immediately walked 
 towards me ; excused himself for having sent for me ; con- 
 ducted me to a seat ; repeated what he had heard of me 
 through his physician ; and renewed the doctor's offer, 
 which I firmly, but modestly refused. He turned away to- 
 ward the window, crossed his hands behind him, and fell into 
 a fit of musing. After which he sat down by my side, took 
 my hand, and said — " Friend, I appeal to your heart. Ap- 
 pearances deceive me greatly, if you are not an honourable 
 man, so be candid. Remain with me, I conjure you ! for only 
 two years remain with me. You may rely upon my grati- 
 tude. You shall have all you need ; and at the end of that 
 time, I will pay you a thousand louis-d'ors. So you will 
 not repent the two years lost in my service. " 
 
 He said this so kindly and so imploringly, that I was 
 more moved by the tone in which he spoke, than by the 
 promise of the large amount, which to me, with my small 
 wants, seemed sufficient to secure to me a happy and inde- 
 pendent life. I should at once have accepted his proposal, 
 had I not felt ashamed to let him see that the offer of base 
 lucre could so quickly change my mind. But on the other 
 hand, such a splendid proposal seemed suspicious. 
 
 "For such a sum, my lord" — I answered — "greater 
 talents than mine are at your command. You know me 
 not." I then spoke openly of what had hitherto been my 
 lot, and my occupation ; thinking thus, without giving of- 
 fence, to remove his offer and wishes. 
 
 "We must not part again" — he exclaimed, pressing 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 281 
 
 kindly my hand — " we must not part again, for only you 
 have I sought. For your sake, wonder as you may, I 
 have undertaken this journey with my daughter ; for your 
 sake, I chose this miserable road from Villach here, that 
 I might not miss you ; and for your sake, I have stopped 
 at this tavern." 
 
 I stared with astonishment at his speech, thinking that 
 he was in a humour to ridicule me. " How could you seek 
 me, when you are not acquainted with me ? and when no 
 one could know which way I travelled ? Three days ago, 
 I myself was not apprised which route I should take to 
 Germany " — was my reply. 
 
 " You are mistaken " — continued the Count. " This 
 afternoon you rested in a forest — am I right? You were 
 sitting in a wilderness, and were full of trouble, leaning 
 against a rock underneath a great tree. You looked at a 
 mountain torrent, and in spite of the rain, you ran hurriedly 
 onward. Is it not so ? Acknowledge it openly, is it not 
 so?" 
 
 At these words I nearly lost my senses. He observed 
 my confusion, and said — " Most certainly, it is so ! You 
 are the very man whom I have sought." " But " — I ex- 
 claimed, — and I will not deny that a superstitious fear 
 befel me, as I drew my hand from his, — " but who observed 
 me ? who told you this ? " 
 
 " My daughter " — he replied — "my sick daughter. I 
 can easily understand that this appears marvellous to you ; 
 but that unfortunate one sees and says in her fits of sick- 
 ness, many things still more strange than that. For four 
 weeks, she has asserted that through your interference 
 alone, she should be enabled to return to full health. Four 
 weeks ago, my daughter described you, as you now stand 
 before me. A fortnight since, she affirmed that you would 
 come, sent by God, to meet us. We had to break up, in 
 13* 
 
282 
 
 HORTEXSIA J 
 
 order to find you. We departed. She pointed out the way 
 we should take, at least the direction, on the compass. 
 With a compass in the carriage, and a map in hand, we 
 travelled, not knowing whither, like mariners in the ocean. 
 At Villach, she pointed out the nearest road to where we 
 should meet with you. She described every particular of 
 it, and thus we left the high road. From Hortensia's own 
 lips, I learned this afternoon how near you were to us, 
 and also the little circumstances which I have already 
 mentioned. Immediately after your arrival, Doctor Walter 
 declared, by the description of the host, that in every thing 
 you resembled the person, whom four weeks ago, and since 
 then almost daily, Hortensia described. Now I am per- 
 fectly convinced, that since so much already has been ful- 
 filled, that you, and no one else, can save my child, and 
 restore me again to the happiness of life." 
 
 He was silent, and awaited my reply. I remained 
 long undecided, and did not know how to answer, for 
 nothing so singular had ever occurred to me in the whole 
 course of my life. I therefore said — " What you tell me, 
 count, is somewhat incomprehensible, and consequently, 
 excuse me, somewhat incredible. I am, or rather was, 
 nothing but an artist. Of medical science, however, I 
 know nothing." 
 
 " Much that occurs in life," he remarked, " is incompre- 
 hensible. But it does not follow that all things incompre- 
 hensible are therefore impossible ; particularly, when we 
 cannot but admit the reality, and the appearance stands 
 before us, the causes of which we know not. You are not 
 a physician, I admit ; but that power which revealed to my 
 daughter the fact of your existence — do not doubt it for a 
 moment — intended you also for her deliverer ! In my 
 younger years I was a freethinker, who scarcely believed 
 the existence of a God — and now in my old age, like an 
 
ASLEEP AXD AWAKE. 
 
 283 
 
 old village gossip, I can be made to believe in the existence 
 of devilry, witchcraft, and apparitions. From all this, Faust, 
 you may explain to yourself my importunity and my offers. 
 The one is pardonable to a father who lives in continual 
 fear for his only child — -the other is certainly not too great 
 for the salvation of a life so highly prized. I can easily 
 understand that all this must appear to you alike unexpected, 
 adventurous and romantic. But remain with us, and you 
 will be a witness of many things that are strange, as well 
 as unexpected. Would you have any occupations besides 
 the diversion of travelling ? It depends upon yourself to 
 choose them, for I shall impose no work on you. Only re- 
 main my constant companion and my consolation ! An 
 hour pregnant with calamity which may be very near, is 
 vet pending over me. One person out of our company will 
 die suddenly, and if I have understood it right, an unusual 
 death. It may be myself. My daughter has predicted it. 
 It will certainly come to pass. I tremble to meet the fatal 
 moment which I cannot buy off with all my fortune. I am 
 a very unhappy man ! " 
 
 He spoke until he was moved to tears. I myself was 
 singularly embarrassed. All I had heard first filled me 
 with astonishment, and then with just doubts. I often was 
 tempted to suspect the clear judgment of the count, and 
 then mine own. Finally, I resolved to engage in the 
 wonderful enterprise at once, let the consequences be what 
 they would. To suspect the count of being an impostor I 
 thought would be unjust ; and in this wide world I had 
 neither occupation, nor wherewithal to provide for myself. 
 
 " Your liberal proffer, count, I renounce," I said ; " give 
 me only as much as I shall need. I will accompany you. 
 It is sufficient for me to live in hope, that I may be able to 
 contribute to your comfort, and to the preservation of your 
 daughter's life ; although I can in no wise comprehend how. 
 
284 
 
 IIORTEXSIA i 
 
 An individual's life is valuable. I shall be proud if, at a 
 future time, I may permit myself to believe that I have been 
 instrumental in saving the life of a fellow-creature. But I 
 acquit you of all your promises. I do nothing for money. 
 I must therefore insist upon retaining my independence. I 
 will remain in your attendance as long as I may be of any 
 benefit to you ; or as long as my life in your service may be 
 agreeable. If you will accept of my services on those 
 conditions, I am yours ; and in that case you may introduce 
 me to your patient." 
 
 The count's eyes glistened with joy. He only exclaimed — 
 " God be praised ! " After some time, he said — " To-morrow 
 you shall see my daughter. She has already gone to rest. 
 I must prepare her for your presence." 
 
 " Prepare her for my presence 1 " I asked with astonish- 
 ment — " Did you not tell me a few minutes ago that she 
 had informed you of my arrival, that she had described my 
 person ? " 
 
 " Forgive me, Faust," answered the count, " I forgot to 
 mention one more circumstance to you. My daughter is a 
 sort of double person. Of what she hears, sees, knows 
 and says in her transports, if I may so express myself, she 
 knows not a word in her natural state. She cannot recall, 
 from the period of her transports, the minutest circumstance. 
 She herself doubts having spoken and done what we tell 
 her she has — except as she puts implicit confidence in my 
 words. During the hours of her transports she not only 
 remembers every thing that has transpired in a similar state, 
 but also every circumstance which she has met with during 
 her usual and natural life. She only has seen and 
 described you in her transports ; but excepting this, she 
 knows nothing more of you than what we have told her, as 
 a repetition of her own words. You are therefore entirely 
 unknown to her. Let us wait for the extraordinary time ; 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 285 
 
 and I doubt not in the least, that she w ill recognise you 
 immediately." 
 
 During a conversation of some hours which I had with 
 the count, I also learned that his daughter, for several years 
 back, had manifested a great propensity to somnambulism. 
 In the state of her somnambulism, without being able to re- 
 member any thing afterwards, with closed eyes she had left 
 her bed ; dressed herself ; written letters to absent friends ; 
 played the most difficult pieces on the piano ; and done 
 a hundred little matters with a nicety and precision, which 
 she neither possessed in her waking state, nor could ever 
 obtain afterwards. The count thought that that which he 
 called transport could not be any thing else than a higher 
 degree of somnambulism, but which debilitated his daughter 
 to that degree that at last it might cause her death. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A Terrible Occurrence. 
 
 It was late when I left the count's room. No one was 
 in the bar-room except old Sebald. 
 
 " Sir," — he said — " will you not speak a little in German 
 with me, that I may not entirely forget my own honest lan- 
 guage, for that indeed would be a great pity. Have you 
 seen the count ? " 
 
 " I have " — was my reply. " I now shall be one of 
 your company, and shall go with you to Italy." 
 
 " Excellent ! " — said Sebald — " I always feel happy when 
 I have a German face near me ; for I have been told that 
 the Italians are not the best people in the world. Except 
 the mad countess, you will find every thing very agreeable 
 in our company ; and as you now are one of us, I may be 
 permitted to speak more openly in regard to our affairs. 
 
286 
 
 HORTEXSIA : 
 
 The count would be a good master, could he but laugh. I 
 believe he does not even like it when one of us laughs. 
 Whosoever is about his person, wears an aspect as if the 
 last day was nigh. The old lady also would be very good, 
 did she not scold so much, when one does not instantly fly 
 to do her bidding. I believe she goes to Italy only on ac- 
 count of the fine distilled waters, for she loves a glass of 
 good liqueur. The young countess might also be very 
 agreeable, were she not, laying her pride aside, beset by a 
 whole legion of demons. Doctor Walter would be the 
 best of us all, had he but the art to exorcise those devils. 
 My comrade Thomas ." 
 
 At that moment the host, the picture of fright, rushed 
 into the room, crying out — " Help ! help ! The house is 
 on fire." 
 
 " Where ? "—I asked. 
 
 " In a room up stairs. In the yard I saw the bright 
 flames shining through the window " — replied the landlord. 
 
 He ran away. The house was in a tumult and uproar. 
 As I was going to leave the room, Sebald, with a face as 
 pale as death, held me with both his arms. " What has 
 happened again ?" I told him in German to go for water, 
 as fire had broken out in one of the rooms. " Another 
 diabolical piece of business ! " — he exclaimed, and ran 
 towards the kitchen. 
 
 There was running up and down the stairs. The room 
 in which the fire was said to be, was locked. Instruments 
 for bursting the door were sought. Sebald, as soon as my- 
 self, with a bucket full of water, was at the head of the 
 stairs. When he saw the door to which every one pressed, 
 he exclaimed — " That is the room of the old lady ! " 
 
 " Burst the door " — exclaimed the count, with death-like 
 horror. — " Burst the door, otherwise the Lady Montluc, 
 who sleeps in that room, will be smothered ! " 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 287 
 
 Meanwhile a man had come with an axe. He burst 
 open the strong well-jointed oaken door. All pressed for- 
 ward, but every one started back horror-struck ! 
 
 The room was dark. Only in the further part of it, 
 next to the window, yellow bluish flames were playing on 
 the floor, which however soon became extinct. A strong 
 and disagreeable smell met us on opening the door. 
 Sebald made the sign of the cross, and at one bound was 
 at the bottom of the stairs. A few female servants fol- 
 lowed him. The count called for a light. I walked through 
 the room, and opened the window. The count approached 
 the bed. It was empty and untouched, and nowhere was 
 there any smoke ! At the window the scent was so strong, 
 that I almost fell fainting to the floor. 
 
 The count called out the name of the Lady Montluc,, 
 When he came near me with the light, I saw at my feet — 
 imagine my horror — a great black spot, and beside it lay a 
 human head, so much scorched, that it could not be recog- 
 nised ; an arm with a hand in another place, three fingers 
 with golden rings, and the foot of a female, partly burned. 
 
 " Great God ! " — solemnly exclaimed the count, his 
 countenance changing — " What is this ? " He looked 
 with a shudder at the remains of what once had been a 
 human form. When he saw the fingers with the rings, he 
 sprang back with a loud shriek towards the doctor, who 
 was at that moment entering the room, and exclaimed — 
 " Lady Montluc is burnt, consumed, and yet there is no 
 fire, no smoke — incomprehensible occurrence ! " 
 
 He came tottering back, to convince himself once more 
 of the truth of his discovery. Then he handed the light to 
 some one else, folded his arms motionless before him, and 
 left the room deathly pale. 
 
 I myself stood there as if petrified by the unheard-of 
 and disgusting spectacle. All that had occurred in the 
 
288 
 
 HORTEXSIA : 
 
 course of the day, the wonders which had been related to 
 me, affected me so much, that I looked without emotion at 
 the black dust, the coals, and the loathsome remains of the 
 human corpse at my feet. The room was soon filled with 
 servants, both male and female, belonging to the tavern. I 
 heard their whispering, their creeping. I imagined myself 
 standing amongst spectres. It seemed as if all the nursery 
 tales I had heard in my childhood, were to be realized. 
 
 When I had recovered from my stupefaction, I departed 
 from the room. As I was going to the bar-room, a side 
 door opened, and out of it came, supported by two females 
 each carrying a candle, a young lady in a light half-dress. 
 With dazzled eyes, she remained standing before that new 
 spectacle. So much nobleness of form, of carriage, and ex- 
 pression of features, I had never found, either in nature or 
 in the creations of painters and sculptors. All the horrors 
 of the preceding moment were nearly forgotten. I was all 
 eye and admiration. The young beauty moved toward 
 the room in which the terrible catastrophe had happened. 
 When she got sight of the servants she stood still, and 
 called out in a commanding tone of voice in the German 
 language — " Drive away that rabble there ! " One of the 
 count's servants was immediately ready to obey her com- 
 mands, and he did it with so much uncivil strictness, that 
 he drove every one, and me among the rest, away from the 
 passage towards the stairs. 
 
 " If there ever have been fairies " — I thought — "this is 
 one of them." 
 
 Sebald sat in the bar-room, pale as death. 
 
 " Did I not tell you " — he called out to me — " that one of 
 us would have to die ? The madonna, or rather the very 
 devil, ordained it so, and not otherwise. One had to break 
 his neck, and the other had to burn alive. Your most 
 obedient servant ; to-morrow I take my leave ; if I do not, 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 289 
 
 it may be my turn next. Whosoever is wise, like myself, 
 will not go straight to hell. In Italy, they say, even the 
 mountains throw out fire. God prevent me from ever 
 coming near one. I should certainly be the first whom 
 Moloch would roast, for I am too pious, and yet at all hours, 
 not a saint." 
 
 I spoke to him about the young lady ! 
 
 " That was she," — he exclaimed — "that was the coun- 
 tess ! She was no doubt desirous to smell the burnt dish. 
 Fly with me to-morrow ! Your dear young life excites my 
 honest pity ! " 
 
 " Then it was the Countess Hortensia, whom I saw ? " 
 was my rejoinder. 
 
 4< Who else could it be ? " — answered Sebald — " She is 
 handsome, and therefore the devil has become enamoured 
 of her, but— " 
 
 Here Sebald was called to the count. He walked, or 
 rather tottered away, sighing most heavily. 
 
 This occurrence alarmed the whole house. I sat upon 
 a bench almost a stranger to myself, amid those wonder- 
 ful events. 
 
 Long after midnight, the landlord conducted me to a 
 small bed-room. 
 
 C H A P T E K V. 
 Antipathy. 
 
 After the fatigues of that eventful day, I slept soundly till 
 near noon. When I awoke, the events of the day before 
 appeared to me like the phantasms of a fever, or like the 
 history of a delirium in drunkenness. I could scarcely per- 
 suade myself of the truth of the events, nor could I doubt 
 
290 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 them. But now I looked upon every thing with a clearer 
 understanding. I wavered not a moment longer to keep 
 my word with Count Hormegg. My fate seemed to be of 
 so novel and wonderful a kind, that I followed him with 
 pleasure and curiosity. What had I to lose in Germany ? 
 What anywhere in life ? What could I risk in following 
 the count ? It depended on myself to sever the thread of 
 the romance, whenever its length should be vexatious. 
 
 As I entered the bar-room, I found it filled with magis- 
 trates, police-officers, capuchins, and villagers of the neigh- 
 bourhood, who had assembled either officially or out of 
 mere curiosity. Not one among them doubted, but that 
 the burning of the lady was the work of the devil. Al- 
 though the count had the remains of the unfortunate lady 
 buried by his own people, yet in accordance with the 
 judgment of the capuchins, the whole house had to be ex- 
 orcised, in order to cleanse it, by those means, from the 
 last traces of the evil one. That was a great expense. 
 They spoke of arresting us and bringing us before a court 
 of justice. A dispute arose, whether we should be deliv- 
 ered into the hands of a civil or an ecclesiastical court. 
 Most of the votes were for conducting us to Udine before 
 the archbishop. 
 
 The count, unable to converse in Italian, was glad when he 
 saw me. In vain he had offered to liquidate the costs occa- 
 sioned by this extraordinary event, by a handsome sum of 
 money. He then requested me to settle the difficulty with 
 those people in his name. 
 
 I walked immediately up to the capuchins and magis- 
 trates, and explained to them, that hitherto I had actually 
 been as little connected with the strangers, as they them- 
 selves ; and gave them two points to consider. First : — 
 That the misfortune of the fire had either occurred very 
 naturally, at least without the count's taking part in it : 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 [291 
 
 in that case, by arresting so noble a gentleman they might 
 involve themselves in great trouble ; — or secondly : — The 
 count was really in league with evil spirits, in which 
 case, out of revenge, he might play them, their cloister, or 
 their village, a mischievous trick. It would be most ad- 
 visable to take the count's money, and let him go on his 
 way ; thus, they need not fear either responsibility or re- 
 venge, and in either case they would be the gainers. My 
 reasoning was effectual. The money was paid. We 
 received our horses, and rode off. The clouds dispersed. 
 
 The countess with her waiting maids and the other ser- 
 vants had started several hours before us. The count only 
 with one servant had remained behind. On the way, he 
 commenced speaking of the horrible event of the pre- 
 ceding night. — " His daughter " — he said — " had been much 
 affected by it. She had suffered for several hours cramps 
 and convulsions ; then she had fallen into a gentle sleep, 
 and on awaking exhibited great composure ; but demanded 
 instantly to leave the house of misfortune." 
 
 Probably in order to prepare me for my future condi- 
 tion, he added : — " I must indulge the sick child in many 
 whims, and forgive her many things. She is invincibly 
 obstinate. Every contradiction, through her extraordinary 
 sensibility, excites her to anger, and a little offence suffices 
 to cause her suffering for several days. I informed her of 
 your arrival. She listened to me with great indifference. 
 I asked her if I should introduce you to her ? Her answer 
 was — ' Do you think me so very curious ? There will be 
 time enough, when we are in Venice ! ' — I am however of 
 the opinion, that on our way we shall find plenty of oppor- 
 tunities. Let not the caprices of my daughter offend you, 
 Faust ; she is sick and unfortunate, and we must treat her 
 with great forbearance, if we do not wish to bring her to 
 an untimely grave. She is my only treasure, my last joy 
 
292 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 on this earth. The death of the Lady Montluc in reality 
 does not much affect her, for of late she had begun to feel 
 a disaffection for her ; from what cause, I know not. She 
 may have felt disgusted with her propensity for strong 
 drinks. Doctor Walter asserts, that this propensity had 
 caused the spontaneous combustion in the lady, who other- 
 wise was a very excellent woman, and much attached to 
 my daughter and myself. He also told me of several ex- 
 amples of spontaneous combustion, by which human bodies 
 in a few moments were consumed. — Such cases can how- 
 ever but very rarely happen. He endeavoured to explain 
 to me that phenomenon in a very natural manner. I under- 
 stood and comprehended nothing of it. I only know, that 
 this flaming door of death is most terrific." 
 
 Thus spoke the count, and this was nearly the substance 
 of all our conversations until we reached Venice. For 
 the young countess, notwithstanding the weak state of 
 her health ; notwithstanding the objections her father and 
 the doctor made against it ; determined at once to proceed 
 on their journey to Venice, without making any longer 
 stoppages than their nightly rest required. Therefore I was 
 not introduced to her. On the contrary, I had to keep my- 
 self at a considerable distance, without enjoying the hap- 
 piness of pleasing her. 
 
 The countess was carried in her litter. Servants walk- 
 ed on foot beside it. The ladies rode in a separate car- 
 riage ; so did the count. The doctor and myself were on 
 horseback. 
 
 One morning, the countess, in stepping out of the hotel to 
 mount her litter, saw me, and asked the doctor — " Who is 
 this man that is for ever trotting after us?" 
 
 " Mr. Faust, noble lady," replied Walter. 
 
 " He is a very disagreeable fellow " — she exclaimed — 
 " send him back ! " 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 293 
 
 " You yourself desired him ! Look upon him as the 
 medicine which you have prescribed for yourself" — replied 
 the doctor. 
 
 " He has that which is loathsome in common with every 
 medicine " — she retorted. 
 
 I was near enough to hear this conversation, not by any 
 means flattering, and which almost offended me. Had the 
 count not been so kind, I should immediately have left his 
 whimsical Venus in the lurch. I will not assert that I was 
 handsome ; yet I was not personally displeasing to the la- 
 dies. But to be tolerated as a loathsome medicine only, 
 was too much for the vanity of a young man, who, had he 
 been a prince or a count, would not have hesitated to join 
 the admirers of Hortensia. 
 
 The countess arrived at Venice without accident, and 
 her medicine followed obediently after her. We entered 
 a magnificent palace ; and in it I received my separate 
 apartments and servant. Count Hormegg lived in great 
 style ; as among the nobles of Venice he had many friends. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 The Revery. 
 
 We had been four days in Venice, when one afternoon I 
 was called in great haste to the count's presence. 
 
 "My daughter" — he said — "has asked for you. To be 
 sure, not a day has passed without her having her usual 
 trances ; but only to-day, and for the first time, has she 
 craved' your presence. Come with me to her room, but 
 softly. Every noise throws her into dangerous convulsions." 
 
 " But what will you have me to, do 1 " I asked with secret 
 tremor. 
 
 " Who can know it ? Expect it from the future. May 
 God guide everything ! " replied Hormegg. 
 
294 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 We entered a large room, hung around with green silk- 
 en tapestry. Two waiting-maids leaned silently and tim- 
 orously against the window. The doctor sat upon a sofa, 
 observing the patient. She however stood nearly in the 
 middle of the room, with closed eyes ; one of her arms was 
 hanging at her side, while the other arm was half-elevated, 
 fixed, and immovable, like a statue. Only the heaving of her 
 bosom betrayed life. The solemn, death-like stillness that 
 reigned there, and the tragic form of Hortensia, to whom 
 all eyes were directed, filled me with an involuntary, yet 
 agreeable trembling. 
 
 As soon as I entered that quiet apartment, the countess 
 said, without opening her eyes, and without altering her 
 position, with a voice of indescribable sweetness — "At 
 last, oh, Immanuel ! Why remainest thou so far in the dis- 
 tance ? Oh come hither, and bless her, that she may re- 
 cover from her sufferings." 
 
 At this address, of which I knew not that it was directed 
 to me, I probably made a very foolish appearance. The 
 count and the doctor beckoned to me to approach nearer, 
 and by gesticulation made me understand, that like a Ro- 
 man priest, I should make the sign of the cross towards her, 
 or lay my hands upon her as if blessing her. 
 
 I drew nearer, and lifted my hands above her head, and 
 then suffered my hands slowly to fall again. Hortensia's 
 countenance seemed to betray displeasure. Again I lifted 
 my hands and held them outstretched towards her, uncer- 
 tain what to do. Her countenance became serene. This 
 induced me to remain in that position. My embarrassment 
 however was augmented when the countess said — " Imman- 
 uel ! not yet is it thy will to succour her. Oh give but thy 
 will, thy will ! Thou art mighty, and thy will can accom- 
 plish all." 
 
 " Gracious countess " — I said — " doubt anything rather 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 295 
 
 than my will to help you." This I said with the greatest 
 sincerity. I felt as if I was standing before an ethereal 
 being. Never had I seen grace and sublimity so blended 
 together. Hortensia's face, as I had hitherto but super- 
 ficially and from a distance seen it, generally was pale, as if 
 suffering and morose ; but then how different ! An uncom- 
 monly fine red beamed upon her countenance, like rose- 
 coloured reflection. In all her features swam a light, which 
 man in common life can neither possess by nature, nor ob- 
 tain by art. The expression of the whole countenance was 
 solemn, not with a smile, but inward tranquillity or trans- 
 port. Imagine in addition the statue-like position, the mar- 
 ble calmness in the expression of the features, and the eyes 
 as if closed in sleep. I had never felt as I did then such 
 a complex agitation. 
 
 " Oh Immanuel ! " she said, after a pause — " now is thy 
 will sincere. Now she knows that thou wilt give back to her 
 her health. The hair upon thy head flies in golden flames 
 — silver rays of light stream forth from thy fingers — thou 
 floatest in a serene heavenly blue. Oh ! how eagerly does 
 her whole being imbibe this splendour, this salutary flood 
 of light!" 
 
 This somewhat poetical manner of expression brought 
 involuntarily the "medicine" to my mind, to which I had 
 the honour of being compared a few days previous, and I 
 mourned in silence, that I could not discover anything of 
 the rays of gold and silver. 
 
 " Be not angry with her in your thoughts, Immanuel" — 
 said Hortensia. " Let not her who is weak, and her sickly 
 wit arouse thine anger, for likening thee to bitter medi- 
 cines. Be thou more noble than she who is thoughtless, 
 who is misled by pain, and who is often by earthly imbe- 
 cility given over almost to distraction." 
 
 The doctor, at those words, cast a smiling glance at me. 
 
296 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 I returned his look with an expression of astonishment, not 
 that the proud beauty condescended to make an apology, 
 but that she should have guessed my thoughts. 
 
 " Oh, distract not thy attention, Immanuel ! " said Hor- 
 tensia. " Thou speakest with the doctor. Turn thy whole 
 mind to her and to her preservation. It is painful when 
 thy thoughts swerve from her but for a moment. Continue 
 firm in thy determination to suffer the light of thy benefi- 
 cent power to penetrate her whole half-decomposed being. 
 Behold the strength of thy will ! The chilled fibres soften 
 and melt, like the rime of winter at the first warming glance 
 of sunshine." 
 
 As she spoke this, her raised arm fell. Motion and life 
 appeared in her frame. She asked for an arm-chair. The 
 doctor brought her one of those that stood in the room, 
 with costly embroidered bolsters. " Not such a one " — she 
 said — and after awhile she continued : " That arm-chair, 
 which is covered with striped linen, and stands in Im- 
 manuel's room before his writing-desk, bring that one al- 
 ways ! " 
 
 I had actually left the chair standing before the writing- 
 desk, but the countess had never seen my room. When 
 handing to one of the waiting maids the key of my room, 
 Hortensia said — " Was that the key ? I did not know what 
 that dark spot was. Thou hast in the left pocket of thy 
 vest another key, put it away from thee." I did it. It was 
 the key to my closet. 
 
 As soon as the chair was brought, she seated herself in 
 it with seeming gratification. She commanded me to stand 
 close before her, with both hands outstretched towards her, 
 and the fingers in the direction of the heart. 
 
 " O God ! of what bliss is man capable ! " she said — 
 " Immanuel, give her thy word, she conjures thee ! — for- 
 sake her not, until the derangement within is removed, and 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 297 
 
 her cure completed. Shouldst thou forsake her, she would 
 miserably perish. On thee hangs her life." 
 
 I promised to be the preserver and guardian of so pre- 
 cious a life. " Heed it also not " — she continued — " if in 
 the state of her earthly waking, she should deal unjustly 
 with thee. Forgive her, for she is unfortunate ; and knows 
 not what she does. All vices are sicknesses of mortal man, 
 and lame is the power of the mind." 
 
 She became talkative, and seemed to listen to my ques- 
 tions with pleasure. I expressed my astonishment at her 
 extraordinary condition. I had never heard, I said, that 
 sickness could make man, as it were, more perspicacious, 
 capable to behold with closed eyes what he had never 
 seen, and what was far distant, and even to know the 
 thoughts of another. I should rather believe that your 
 state, which is in truth like a trance, is the most perfect 
 state of health. 
 
 After a short silence — for such always preceded her 
 answers — she said, " She is healthy, like one dying, whose 
 parts threaten to fall asunder. She is healthy, as she shall 
 be, when that which is mortal hath ceased to be, and the 
 body breaks ; this earthly lamp of immortal light." 
 
 " This entranced change " — -I said — " leaves all dark 
 to me." 
 
 " Dark, Immanuel ? But thou wilt understand it She 
 knows much, and yet cannot speak of it. She sees much 
 distinctly, much imperfectly, and yet cannot describe it. 
 Man is joined together of various beings ; they bind and 
 form themselves together, as it were, round a single point ; 
 and this makes him man. Thus are all the small parts of 
 a flower held together, whereby it becomes a flower. One 
 holds and binds the other, one limits the other. So neither 
 of them could stand alone, for all of them together can only 
 form man. Nature is like an unlimited ocean of clearness, in 
 14 
 
298 
 
 IIOKTENSIA .* 
 
 which the single denser points draw themselves together. 
 Those are the created beings. Or like the wide radiant 
 heaven, in which drops of light condense into stars. All 
 that is in the world is condensed out of that which is dis- 
 solved ; and those condensed bodies are everywhere, and 
 absorb always more, and for that reason again dissolve 
 themselves in every thing, as they cannot endure. Thus 
 man is a flower, swimming about, and grown up out of 
 various beings of the universe. But that he may be man, 
 inferior things had to lay themselves about him, which 
 must carry that of him which is divine. But the strange 
 things that lay themselves about us, form the body. The 
 more heavenly body is called the soul. But the soul is 
 the covering of that which is immortal. Now the earthly 
 shell of the sufferer is broken, therefore her light streams 
 forth, her soul connects itself with objects, from which it 
 was before separated by the earthly shell, and sees and 
 hears and feels that which is without the same, and that 
 which is within the same. For the body feels not, it is 
 only a dead supporter of the soul. Without it, eye, ear 
 and tongue are like a stone. If now the earthly shell of 
 the sufferer cannot recover through thee, Immanuel — then 
 it will entirely break and fall away. Then the sufferer 
 belongs no longer to men, as she will possess nothing hu- 
 man through which to communicate with them." 
 
 She was silent. I listened, as if she brought revelations 
 from other worlds. I did not understand any tiring, yet I 
 felt what she thought. The count and the doctor listened 
 to her with equal astonishment. Both afterwards assured 
 me, that Hortensia had never before spoken so serenely, 
 so perseveringly, and as it were, so ethereally as she did 
 then ; but, on the contrary, that she had always uttered 
 broken sentences ; often in pain, and often she had fallen 
 into convulsions, or laid for several hours in a torpid state. 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 299 
 
 She also but very seldom had answered questions. But 
 now conversation seemed not at all to fatigue her. 
 
 I reminded her of her weakness, and asked her if long 
 talking did not exhaust her strength. She assured me : — 
 " Not at all. She is well. She will ever be well, when 
 thou art near. In seven minutes she will awake. She will 
 pass a tranquil night, but to-morrow, at the third hour after 
 noon, her sleep will return ; then do not fail, Immanuel ! at 
 five minutes before three o'clock, convulsions will appear ; 
 then outstretch thy hand in blessing towards her, with the 
 full determination to become her deliverer. Five minutes 
 before three, by the mantel clock in thy room, not by thy 
 watch, which differs from the clock three minutes. Set it 
 carefully by the clock, that the patient may not suffer on 
 that account." 
 
 She spoke of various things of less consequence, ordered 
 what drink should be given her after her waking, and what 
 she wished for her supper. Then she became silent. The 
 previous death-like stillness reigned, until her face be- 
 came pale as it usually was, and the life of her expressive 
 countenance then vanished. Then, for the first time, she 
 seemed actually to be in sleep. She held herself no longer 
 erect, but fell negligently together, and nodded with her 
 head, like sleeping persons do. Then she commenced ex- 
 tending her arms, and stretching herself. She rubbed her 
 eyes, opened them, and awoke at the same minute that she 
 had predicted. 
 
 When she saw me, she seemed surprised. She looked 
 for the others. The waiting-maid ran towards her, and so 
 did the count, with the doctor. 
 
 " What is your wish 1 " — she asked me in a harsh voice. 
 
 " Gracious countess, I await your commands " — I said. 
 
 " Who are you ? " — she inquired. 
 
 " Faust, at your service " — was my reply. 
 
300 
 
 HORTENSIA ! 
 
 " I am much beholden to you for your good-will, but al- 
 low me to be alone " — she said, rather sullenly, bowed 
 her head proudly, got up from the chair, and turned her 
 back to me. 
 
 I absented myself from the room with strangely-mixed 
 sensations. How vastly differed that waking from her 
 sleep. Vanished were the rays of silver and gold, vanish- 
 ed was the familiar " Thou " which she addressed so deep- 
 ly to the inmost recesses of my heart, and even the name 
 Immanuel, with which she had entitled me, was no longer 
 of any value. 
 
 I entered my room shaking my head like one who has 
 read and lost himself in fairy tales, and who still believes 
 reality to be enchantment. The arm-chair before my 
 writing-desk was missing. I placed another there, wrote 
 the wondrous tale down as I had witnessed it, and of Hor- 
 tensia's words, as much as I recollected, for I doubted my 
 believing it myself, if I had it not in writing before me. I 
 had promised to forgive all harshness she should show to- 
 ward me while waking. Most willingly did I forgive her. 
 Only her being so beautiful — that I could not bear with 
 indifference. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Second Revery. 
 
 Count Hormegg on the next day visited me in my room, 
 and told me that Hortensia had passed a very tranquil 
 night, and that she had left her bed stronger and more re- 
 freshed than she had done for a long time. " At breakfast" 
 — he said — " I told her of all that had occurred yesterday. 
 She shook her head, she did not wish to believe me, and 
 said, 4 1 must surely have had paroxysms of frenzy.' She 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 301 
 
 began to weep. I tranquillized her, and told her this 
 would undoubtedly bring about her entire restoration ; that 
 you, Faust, were most certainly possessed of a wonder- 
 working faculty, hitherto unknown to yourself. I requested 
 her also to suffer you, from time to time, to keep her com- 
 pany, as I promised myself much benefit from your being 
 near her person. But to this I could not persuade her. 
 She assured me that your aspect had something revolting 
 to her, but that by degrees, perhaps, she might get used to 
 you. What shall we do 1 We can do nothing by force 
 without endangering her life." 
 
 Thus he endeavoured to make excuses for Hortensia in 
 every form. He bestowed upon me heartfelt confidence, 
 as it were, in compensation for Hortensia's insulting dis- 
 like, stubbornness and pride ; spoke to me of his family af- 
 fairs, his estates, law-suits, and other inconveniences, ask- 
 ed my advice, and promised to give me all his papers for 
 my perusal, that my judgment of his affairs might be more 
 precise. Initiated even in his most secret affairs, I became 
 daily more intimate with him, and his friendship toward 
 me seemed to increase in the same proportion as his 
 daughter's aversion. I conducted at last his whole corres- 
 pondence, had the superintendence of his income, and the 
 ordering of his whole domestic affairs, so that in a short time 
 I became his all. Convinced of my honour and good-will, 
 he adhered to me with unlimited confidence, and seemed 
 only to become irritable when he perceived that I did not 
 demand for myself anything except what I absolutely need- 
 ed, and firmly refused to accept of any of his donations. 
 
 Dr. Walter, and all the servants of the house, soon dis- 
 covered the extraordinary influence that I had obtained 
 over Count Hormegg. I was surrounded with flattery 
 and politeness, and felt happy at their general affection. 
 However, I would gladly have sacrificed all, if by so doing 
 
302 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 I could only have secured the tolerance of the hostile 
 countess ; but she remained irreconcilable. Her disgust 
 seemed to degenerate almost into hatred. She cautioned 
 her father against me, as a cunning adventurer and a cheat ! 
 She spoke to her maids of me, as an impostor only, who 
 had insinuated himself into her father's confidence, until 
 the count scarcely dared to mention my name in her pre- 
 sence. 
 
 Precisely at five minutes before three o'clock, unan- 
 nounced I entered Hortensia's room. All the witnesses of 
 the previous day again were present. She sat upon the sofa, 
 pale, and apparently suffering, in a pensive posture. When 
 she discovered me, she cast a proud, contemptuous look at 
 me, rose hastily, and exclaimed — " Who gave you permis- 
 sion to enter without announcement, and — " 
 
 A loud shriek, and a terrible convulsion choked her 
 voice. She sank into the arms of her waiting-maids. 
 The arm-chair that she had demanded the day before was 
 brought. She was scarcely seated in it, when in a fright- 
 ful manner, with clenched fists, and with incredible velocity, 
 she began to strike her body, and likewise her head. I 
 could hardly endure the dreadful sight. Trembling in 
 every limb, I took my prescribed position. But with her 
 eyes convulsively turned and fixed, she caught impetuously 
 hold of my hands, and pulled them several times with great 
 vehemence toward her. She soon became more tranquil, 
 shut her eyes, and seemed to fall asleep, after having heav- 
 ed a deep sigh. Her face betrayed pain. Frequently 
 she muttered in hollow tones. Her pain soon seemed to 
 diminish. She only heaved a few gentle sighs. Her 
 mien became more serene, and speedily represented the 
 expression of internal peace, while over the paleness of 
 her face was cast a soft red. 
 
 After the lapse of a few minutes she said — " Thou 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 303 
 
 trusty friend, what should I be without thee ? " She spoke 
 these few words with solemn tenderness, Her tones vi- 
 brated in all my nerves. 
 
 " Do you feel well, countess ? " — I asked in a low tone 
 of voice, for I feared that she would again point to me the 
 door. 
 
 " Ver}' well, Immanuel " — she responded. " As well as 
 yesterday ; perhaps more so. But thy will to succour, 
 seems more determined, and thy power greater. She 
 breathes within the radiant circle that waves around thee, 
 and her being is wrapt up with thine I " 
 
 To us prosaic hearers this platonic manner of expres- 
 sion was very unintelligible ; to me, however, it was not 
 disagreeable. I only regretted that Hortensia meant not 
 me, but an imaginary Immanuel, and so probably deceived 
 herself. Yet it was some consolation to me, when I after- 
 wards heard from the count, that to his knowledge there 
 had never been any one, among all her relatives and ac- 
 quaintances, who had borne that name. 
 
 When her father addressed to her a question, she did 
 not hear him ; for in the midst of his address she spoke 
 to me. He therefore came nearer. When he stood be- 
 side me she became more attentive. "How, my dear 
 father, are you here too?" Then she also answered his 
 questions. When I asked her — " Why did you not before 
 notice him ? " — -she replied : " He stood in the dark ; with 
 thee only is light. Thou also shinest, my father, but less 
 brilliantly than Immanuel, and only in the reflection of 
 him." When I told her there were more persons in the 
 room, she was silent for a long time, and named afterwards 
 every one, and also the place where they were seated or 
 standing. Her eyes, however, were always closed, and yet 
 she noted precisely what was done behind her. She men- 
 tioned even the number of persons who sailed by the 
 
304 
 
 HORTEXSIA : 
 
 palace in a gondola on the canal, and never was mis- 
 taken. 
 
 " But how is it possible for you to know this ? " — I said. 
 " You do not see it ! " 
 
 " Did she not declare to thee that she is sick 1 That it 
 is not her body which observes the outer world, but her 
 soul ? Flesh and blood and the structure of the bones 
 are only a shell, which encircles the noble kernel. But 
 now the shell is torn, and the vital power of the same sup- 
 plies what is wanting, but has not the power to do it without 
 assistance. The spirit therefore desires thee ; and the 
 soul, gushing forth into the universe and feeling about 
 therein, finds thee, and fills itself with thy power. During 
 her earthly waking, she sees, hears, feels quicker and more 
 acutely, but only the exterior, that which is near, that 
 which approaches her. But now she comes in contact 
 with things that she wishes for and does not wish for. She 
 touches not, she penetrates not, she conjectures not, she 
 knows not. In thy dreams, thou also approachest to things, 
 they come not to thee. Thou knowest them, and know- 
 est why they do so. She now also feels as in a dream ; 
 yet she well knows that she is awake, but her body is not 
 awake, for the outer senses assist her not." 
 
 She then spoke a great deal about her sickness, and her 
 somnambulisms ; of a long swoon in which she once had 
 lain, of what had passed in her soul, and what she had 
 thought, while those who stood around wept for her as if she 
 were dead. Count Hormegg heard her narrative with sur- 
 prise ; for beside many circumstances which he had not 
 known, she touched upon others which had happened during 
 her swoon often hours' continuance, and of which no one 
 besides himself could possibly know any thing — for ex 
 ample, how he hopelessly walked away from her, how in his 
 room he fell on his knees, and prayed in painful despair. He 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 305 
 
 had not mentioned it to any one, and no one could have ob- 
 served him ; for not only did he bolt the door of his room, but 
 it was also dark at night, and in his room there was no light. 
 Now when Hortensia disclosed it, he did not deny it. It 
 remains incomprehensible, that in her swoon she should 
 have known of it, still more so that she should now re- 
 member it, since that occurrence happened in her early 
 childhood, when she was not more than eight years of 
 age. 
 
 It was also remarkable, that she always spoke of herself 
 in the third person, when detailing her own history, or 
 describing her own position in civil and social life. Once 
 she said, emphatically : " I am no countess, but she is 
 countess ! " At another time — " I am not the daughter of 
 Count Hormegg, but she is." 
 
 In proportion as her exterior seemed to float in enchant- 
 ment, more tranquil, more elevated, and more attractive 
 than usual, so did her words harmonize with it. If her 
 language was ever so light and hilarious, it was still more 
 solemn than in common life. Every expression was more 
 choice, and sometimes poetical. Partly from this, and 
 partly from her elevated imagination, and partly that she 
 spoke of things and conceived them from points of view 
 which were unknown to us, there was a mysterious dark- 
 ness in her words that frequently appeared to be totally 
 disconnected. 
 
 Moreover, she was fond of talking and of being ques- 
 tioned, particularly by myself. At times she would con- 
 tinue in a silent, pensive mood, and one might read in her 
 features the expression either of a discontented or of satis- 
 fied research, or of estrangement, or of delight. Then 
 she would occasionally break her deep silence with single 
 devout exclamations. 
 
 Once she commenced of her own accord — " Now the 
 14* 
 
306 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 world is different. It is a great and everlasting and spir- 
 itual unity. There is no difference between body and 
 spirit, for all is spirit ; and all may become body when it 
 unites, so that it may be felt as one. As if formed by the 
 purest breath of ether, it is all alive and moving, all chang- 
 ing, since all will unite, although one dissolves the other. It 
 is an everlasting turmoil of life, an eternal wavering between 
 too much and too little ! See you not how clouds appear on 
 the purest horizon ? They float and wave about until their 
 measure is filled, and being attracted by the earth, they 
 penetrate it either as fire or as rain. See you not yon 
 flower ? Behold ! a spark of life has fallen into the throng 
 of the other powers ; it connects itself with all that are to 
 serve it, gives them form, and the germ becomes a plant ; 
 until the too much of the serving power overgrows and dis- 
 possesses its own strength. And when the spark is re- 
 pelled by them, they fall asunder, as nothing binds them 
 any longer together. Thus is the beginning and the pass- 
 ing away of man." 
 
 ' She spoke of many other topics, to me perfectly unin- 
 telligible. Her entrancement ended as it did on the first 
 occasion. She again predicted the exact time of her 
 earthly waking, and likewise the appearance of a similar 
 state for the following day. As soon as she had opened 
 her eyes, she gave me my dismission as she did the first 
 time, with the same morose expression of countenance. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Antipathy and Sympathy. 
 
 Thus Hortensia remained. But in her singular malady, 
 slight changes only were perceptible, of which I could not 
 assert that they tended either to improve her condition, or 
 to make it worse. Although she suffered lees from her 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 307 
 
 convulsive fits ; and when awake seemed not to feel the 
 least inconvenience, exclusive of her extraordinary and 
 most excitable nervousness ; yet her unnatural sleep and 
 entranced seasons returned more frequently, so that I was 
 often called twice or three times daily to see her. 
 
 Thus I became a real slave in the house ; and never 
 dared, except for a few hours, ^> absent myself from it. 
 Every negligence might ha ,r e been followed by a deadly 
 peril. Nevertheless, I carried the yoke of slavery willingly! 
 for every day Hortensia appeared to be clothed with greater 
 charms. 
 
 But in the same proportion as in her trances, her kind- 
 ness seemed to increase, so was her aversion to my person 
 avowed, when she saw me as soon as she awoke. This 
 dislike seemed at last to become bitter detestation. She 
 manifested it on every occasion, and always in a manner 
 to me most painful. She besought her father daily, and 
 most urgently, to dismiss me from the house. She conjured 
 him with tears to exclude me. She asserted that I could 
 not contribute any thing to her convalescence, and even if 
 I could, all the good I might accomplish during her state of 
 insensibility was destroyed by the chagrin that my presence 
 afterwards caused her. She despised me as a common 
 stroller, and as a man too base born to be allowed to 
 breathe the same air with her, much less to enjoy such an 
 intimate position with herself, and Count Hormegg's entire 
 confidence. 
 
 We all know that females, and particularly those who 
 are handsome, spoiled and stubborn, have their caprices, 
 and readily extenuate their waywardness. But never was 
 found in any mortal being a more fickle contrariness, than in 
 the beautiful Hortensia. What she had thought, spoken, or 
 done when awake, she recalled in the moments of her 
 entranced sleep. Then she implored the count not to pay 
 
303 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 the least attention to any thing she might accuse me of; 
 and declared that the certain consequence of my absence 
 from the house would be an increase of her sickness, end- 
 ing with death. Moreover, she entreated me not to regard 
 her humours ; generously to forgive her foolish conduct ; 
 and to abide in the conviction that her behaviour towards 
 me would surely become better, when her morbid sensi- 
 bilities had vanished. 
 
 At times I could not indeed help being astonished at 
 Hortensia's pretended affection for me during the time of 
 her dreamy transports. She seemed then only to exist 
 through me. She divined my thoughts, particularly when 
 they referred to herself. It was not necessary to speak 
 aloud my few directions ; she executed them without the 
 verbal injunction. Incredible as it may appear, she in- 
 voluntarily followed in every figure, the motion of my hands 
 with her own. She attested that it was unnecessary any 
 more to stretch my hands as formerly towards her ; my 
 presence and my mere will sufficed for her consolation. 
 She disdained taking any water which I had not touched — 
 and as she wildly expressed herself, which had not been 
 made wholesome by the flood of light that streamed from the 
 ends of my fingers. She went even so far as to declare 
 that the least of my wishes was to her an irresistible 
 commandment. 
 
 " She has no longer a will of her own," she said one 
 day, " as soon as she knows thy will she is compelled to 
 wish the same. Thy thought sways her with supernatural 
 power ; and even in this obedience she feels her welfare 
 and her happiness. She can do nought against it. No 
 sooner does she perceive thy thoughts, than they are also 
 her thoughts and her law ! " 
 
 " But how is it possible for you, countess, to detect my 
 thoughts ? " — I said — " I cannot deny that you often read 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 309 
 
 the most hidden secrets of my soul. What a singnlar dis- 
 order is this ! which gives you such penetration. Who 
 would not desire such an attribute, when disease generally 
 brings a state of our greatest imperfection? " 
 
 " Thus it is also with her ! " — she said — " Deceive not 
 thyself, Immanuel, she is very imperfect, as she has lost the 
 greater part of her substantiality. She has lost it by thee. 
 Thy serenity is her serenity, and thy suffering is her suffer- 
 ing, and her last breath would instantly follow thy decease." 
 
 "But can you explain to me, countess," I inquired, "the 
 possibility of a wonder which excites in me the deepest 
 astonishment, and remains unintelligible to me after all my 
 reflections 1 " 
 
 She was silent for about eight minutes ; then she said — 
 " No. Explain it, she cannot. Does it not seem to thee, 
 when thou dreamest of persons, as if thou didst think their 
 thoughts in the same moment as the persons themselves ? 
 Thus it is with her, and yet the sufferer lives with a clear 
 understanding, and conscious to herself that she is awake." 
 
 "However" — she continued — "her 1 is for ever the 
 same. But that which connects the spirit with the body is 
 no more the same. Her covering is sore in those parts, 
 to which the soul most readily and closely joins itself. Her 
 life flows out and becomes weaker, and will not be bound. 
 Hadst thou, Immanuel, not been found, the sufferer already 
 would have been dissolved. But like the uprooted plant, 
 whose powers evaporate without finding restitution, yet, 
 when its roots are again laid into the ground, it draws new 
 life from the earth, shoots new branches, and again becomes 
 green : so the sufferer. — Soul and life flowing into the uni- 
 verse find nourishment in the fulness of thy life ; shoot, as 
 it were, roots in thy presence, and regain their health 
 through thee. She is a light becoming extinguished in a 
 broken vase ; but the drained wick of life revives again 
 
310 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 in the oil of thy lamp. Thus is the sufferer spiritually 
 rooted, and lives by the same power, like thyself ; therefore 
 are her joy, pain, sensations, will, and even thoughts, like 
 thine own. Thou art her life ! " 
 
 The waiting maids and the doctor smiled maliciously at 
 that platonic declaration. 
 
 On the same day Count Hormegg said to me : — " Will 
 you not, for the sake of a little amusement, put your power 
 over Hortensia to the strongest test ? " 
 
 " And how? "—I asked. 
 
 " Demand as an evidence of her obedience, that Horten- 
 sia should send for you, when she is awake, and present to 
 you, voluntarily, the most beautiful rose that blooms in her 
 flower-pots " — answered Hormegg. 
 
 " It is too much, it would be rude " — I rejoined — " you 
 know the invincible aversion she has against the poor 
 Faust ; much as she seems to honour her Immanuel. 
 
 " For that very reason I request you to make the trial ; if it 
 were only to discover whether the power of her will is strong 
 enough to be influenced out of her state of trance, and in 
 her common life. No one shall inform her of your wish. 
 Therefore, we will arrange it so, that no one besides you 
 and myself shall be present, when you make the request." 
 
 I reluctantly promised to obey her father. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 The Rose. 
 
 On the following morning, while Hortensia was lying in a 
 slumber, which always preceded her visionary periods — I 
 entered her room, and found the Count alone. He re- 
 minded me of our agreement on the preceding day. 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 311 
 
 Hortensia passed into her unconscious wakefulness, and 
 immediately commenced a friendly conversation. She as- 
 sured us, that her sickness would soon be at the crisis ; 
 when it would slowly decrease, which might be known by 
 her having less lucid perceptions in her sleep. The more 
 the Count beckoned to me to offer my request, the more 
 embarrassed I became. She turned unquietly to and fro, 
 with contracted brow, and seemed to be musing about 
 herself. 
 
 To divert myself, or to gain courage, I walked silently 
 through the room to the window, where Hortensia's flowers 
 were blooming, and handled with my fingers the branches 
 of a rose-bush. In my negligence I stuck a thorn rather 
 deep into the point of my middle finger. 
 
 Hortensia gave a loud shriek. The count and I hurried 
 towards her. She complained of a severe sting in the 
 point of her middle finger on the right hand. This phe- 
 nomenon was one of the sorceries with which I had already 
 become familiar, through my intercourse with her. In fact, 
 I thought I could see there a bluish spot ; but in a few days 
 a small ulcer arose in that place, precisely like one that 
 was on my finger. 
 
 " Thou art to blame — Immanuel " — she said after a few 
 moments. " Thou hast wounded thyself by the roses. 
 Take heed ! what happens to thee, will happen to her ! " 
 
 She was silent. I reflected upon the manner in which 
 I might best present my petition. The wound seemed to 
 offer the most convenient opportunity. The Count beckon- 
 ed to me with encouragement. 
 
 M Why wilt thou not speak it out " — said Hortensia — 
 " that to-day at twelve o'clock, before she goes to dine, 
 she should send for thee, and present thee with a fresh 
 blown ro&e ? " 
 
 With, amazement I heard my wish pronounced by her 
 
312 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 lips — " I feared to offend you by my rudeness ! " — I 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, Immanuel, she knows well enough, that her father 
 has suggested the wish to thee ! " — she replied, smiling. 
 
 " But at the same time, it is also my most ardent de- 
 sire!" — I stammered forth — "But will you at twelve 
 o'clock, when you are awake, remember it also 1 " 
 
 " And how can she do otherwise ? " — she replied with a 
 kind smile. 
 
 When the conversation upon that subject ceased, the 
 count sent for the waiting maids and the doctor. I absented 
 myself about half an hour afterward, as I always did, when 
 the convulsive fit was supplanted by natural sleep. 
 
 After her awaking, Hortensia showed her aching 
 finger to the doctor. She thought she had hurt it by the 
 prick of a needle, and was astonished not to discover any 
 outward injury. 
 
 About eleven o'clock, she became restless, walked up 
 and down the room, sought for various things, commenced 
 speaking with her waiting maids about me, or rather poured 
 forth the fulness of her ire against me, and assailed her fa- 
 ther with reproaches, for not having dismissed me. 
 
 " That obtrusive man is not worthy the words and tears 
 I have wasted on him " — she said — " I also know not 
 what compels me to think of him, and to embitter every 
 hour with that hateful thought ! It is already too much 
 for me, to know that he is with me under the same roof 
 and I know, dearest father, that you respect him very 
 highly. The miserable man has done it to anger me. But 
 take heed, my father, I surely do not deceive myself. You 
 will at last have cause greatly to regret your kindness. He 
 deceives you, and all of us ! " 
 
 " I pray you, my child " — said the Count — "do not con- 
 tinually torment and fatigue yourself with talking of Faust. 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 313 
 
 You know him not. You have seen him only partially ; 
 how then can you pass judgment of condemnation upon 
 him ? Wait ! till I surprise him in a guilty action. Mean- 
 while be of comfort. It is sufficient, that he dare not come 
 into your presence." 
 
 Hortensia was silent. She spoke with her maids on other 
 subjects. Her restlessness increased. She was asked 
 if she was not well ? She knew not what to answer. 
 She began to weep. It was useless to attempt the dis- 
 covery of the cause of her grief and melancholy. She hid 
 her face in the bolsters of the sofa, and requested her fa- 
 ther, and also her maids, to withdraw, that she might be 
 alone. 
 
 At fifteen minutes before twelve o'clock she rang the 
 bell. She commanded the waiting-maid to let me know, 
 that at the stroke of twelve I must present myself before her. 
 
 That invitation, notwithstanding, I had been looking for 
 it with anxiety, surprised me. Partly the novelty of the 
 circumstance itself, and partly fear amazed me as much 
 as it embarrassed me. I often walked before the glass, to 
 see if I actually had a face calculated to awaken fear. But 
 — it struck twelve ! I went with a loud beating heart, and 
 heard myself announced to Hortensia. 
 
 She sat negligently upon her sofa, with her head leaning 
 upon her arm. On my entering she arose, with manifest 
 moroseness, from her seat. In a weak and trembling 
 voice, and with a look, that implored her kindness, I de- 
 clared my readiness to do her bidding. 
 
 Hortensia did not answer. Slowly and musing, as if 
 seeking for words, she walked past me. At last she re- 
 mained standing before me, cast a contemptuous side-look 
 towards me, and said — " Mr. Faust, I feel as if I ought to 
 persuade you to leave this house, and your attendance on 
 my father." 
 
314 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 "Countess" — I said, and the manly pride rose a little 
 within me ; — " I did not force myself on the count and 
 yourself. You know, from what causes your father re- 
 quested me to remain in his company. 1 did it unwillingly ; 
 but the generosity of the count, and the hope of being a 
 benefit to yourself, prevent me from obeying the command- 
 ment you just have given, however painful it may be to me 
 to act in opposition to your pleasure." — She turned her 
 back to me, and played at the window, beside the rose-bush, 
 with a small pair of scissors. Suddenly she cut off the 
 last-blown rose — it was beautiful, although simple — handed 
 it to me, and said : — " Take the best that I have at present 
 near me. I give it to you as a reward for your having 
 hitherto avoided me. Never more return ! " 
 
 She spoke this with such visible agitation, and so rapidly, 
 that I scarcely understood it ; again she returned to the 
 sofa, and when I was about to answer with averted face, 
 she vehemently made motions to me to absent myself. 
 
 When I was away from her, I forgot her insults. Not 
 the angry, but the suffering Hortensia floated hefore me. 
 The rose had come from her hand. I pressed the flower 
 to my lips ; and deplored the perishableness of the blos- 
 som. I deliberated how to preserve it most securely, as 
 the most valuable of all my possessions. I smoothed it 
 well, and laid it between the leaves of a book to dry. I 
 then had it laid between two pieces of crystal glass, framed 
 in gold, that I might carry it, like an amulet, next to my 
 heart. 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 315 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Bills of Exchange. 
 
 In the result, that event caused me great inconvenience. 
 Hortensia's hate from that time was more decided than 
 ever. Her father apologized in vain ! His conviction of 
 my honour, and of my usefulness in the affairs of his house, 
 and his firm belief that I was necessary for the preserva- 
 tion of his daughter's life ; all were reasons strong enough 
 to make him deaf to the whisperings that aimed at my 
 downfall. Soon he was the only person in the whole house 
 who deemed me worthy of a friendly word or look. I dis- 
 covered by degrees, that the waiting maids and Doctor 
 Walter, and at last, even the lowest servants, timidly avoid- 
 ed me, and began to treat me with coolness. From the 
 trusty Sebald, who really loved me, I learned that they 
 aimed at my expulsion, and that the countess had sworn to 
 drive every one out of her service who should dare to hold 
 any intercourse with me. Her command was the more 
 effectual, as not only every one, from the family physician 
 and major-domo, down to the lowest scullion, considered 
 himself fortunate in being a servant of this rich family ; 
 but also, because all envied the respect in which I was held 
 by the count, for they looked upon me, in reality, as nothing 
 more than their equal. 
 
 Such a position promised to become most disagreeable. 
 I lived in one of the most splendid houses in Venice, more 
 lonely than in a desert, without a friend, and without con- 
 fidential intercourse. I knew that every one of my move- 
 ments was watched ; and yet I bore it with patience. 
 The count suffered by Hortensia's caprices, not less than 
 
316 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 myself. He often sought consolation from me. I was the 
 most eloquent advocate of my persecutor, who treated 
 me during her trances with just as much regard, as out of 
 those hours she tormented me, by her austere scorn and 
 pride. It seemed, as if she was alternately governed by 
 two hostile spirits ; the one an angel of light, the other a 
 demon of darkness. 
 
 But when at last, even Count Hormegg began to be more 
 cool and reserved, my condition was insupportable. Only 
 at a later period, was I informed how he had been torment- 
 ed from all sides ; and how Doctor Walter particularly had 
 endeavoured to shake his confidence in me, by various and 
 repeated malicious remarks ; and what a deep impression 
 Hortensia's reproaches once had made on him, when she 
 said, — " Have we not all made ourselves dependent on this 
 unknown man ? It is said, that my life is in his power. 
 Very well, let him have a decent salary for his labours, 
 more he deserves not. But he is also informed of our fami- 
 ly secrets. In our most important affairs, we are in his fet- 
 ters, so that should I even, be well, we can scarcely send 
 him away without injuring ourselves. Who will be secu- 
 rity for his taciturnity ? His apparent disinterestedness, his 
 honourable mien, one day will cost us very dear. Count 
 Hormegg will be a slave to his servant, and this stranger, 
 by his cunning, has made himself tyrant over us all. This 
 common plebeian is not only the confidant of Count Hor- 
 megg, whose lineage is related to princely houses, but he 
 is the conductor and head of the family ! " 
 
 To arouse the pride of the old count still more, his 
 household, in a body, seemed to have conspired to do his 
 commandments with timidity, as if they feared to incur 
 my displeasure. Some even carried their impertinence so 
 far, as loudly to express their fear whether his commands 
 were given with my approbation. This eventually in- 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 317 
 
 fluenced the count so much, as to make him more suspicious 
 that he had overstepped the limits of prudence. 
 
 Much as he endeavoured to conceal the change of his 
 mind, I observed it. I had never desired the knowledge of 
 his affairs. He had communicated them to me by degrees ; 
 had wished for my advice ; had followed it ; and by doing 
 so, had been ever a gainer. Of his own free-will, he had 
 placed in my hands the whole business of his income ; and 
 through me, it was brought out of the greatest confusion into 
 such order, that he himself acknowledged he never before 
 had such an insight into his domestic affairs. He was enabled 
 more suitably to arrange his pecuniary affairs, and also his 
 estates. Through my advice, he settled by mutual agree- 
 ment, two old intricate family suits, and thus gained more, 
 than he could have hoped for, by obtaining a favourable ver- 
 dict by law. In the excess of his gratitude or friendship, 
 he often wished to force upon me considerable donations, 
 which I steadfastly refused to accept. 
 
 For several weeks I was hated and misjudged by all. 
 At last my pride was aroused. I longed to be out of that 
 unpleasant position, to which nobody endeavoured to recon- 
 cile me. Hortensia, who had caused all the mischief, re- 
 mained the only one who, in her visionary dreams, for ever 
 admonished me, on no account to pay any attention to what 
 she should undertake against me in the hours of her wake- 
 fulness. Then she condemned herself, — then she cherish- 
 ed me with flattering addresses, as if she would recompense 
 me for all the chagrin, which immediately after she 
 caused me, apparently with redoubled eagerness. 
 
 One afternoon, Count Hormegg called me to his cabinet. 
 He asked me for his account books, and also for some re- 
 cently-arrived bills of exchange for two thousand Louis-d'ors, 
 which sum, he told me, he wished to deposit in the Bank of 
 Venice, as his stay in Italy might be prolonged through the 
 
318 
 
 HORTENSIA ! 
 
 whole year. I took occasion to request him, to intrust the 
 whole of the business he had given me to transact, to an- 
 other, as I was determined to leave his house and Venice, 
 as soon as the health of the Countess would permit. Not- 
 withstanding he perceived the pungency with which I spoke, 
 he made no other reply, than to request me not to neglect 
 his daughter, and her convalescence ; but as to the other 
 business, he would very willingly release me. 
 
 That was enough. I saw that he wished to render me 
 superfluous. I walked dejectedly to my room, and put to- 
 gether all his papers. But the bills of exchange I could 
 not find. I had perhaps misplaced them between some pa- 
 pers. I remembered imperfectly that I had enclosed them 
 in a particular paper, and laid them apart. All my search 
 proved fruitless. The count, who formerly used to see his 
 wishes accomplished by me at the shortest notice, may have 
 felt astonished at my delay. The next morning he put me 
 again in mind of it — " You have perhaps forgotten that yes- 
 terday I asked you for the account books and bills of ex- 
 change." 
 
 I promised that I would deliver them to him at noon. I 
 searched all the papers leaf by leaf, but in vain. Noon 
 came. I could not find the detested bills of exchange. I 
 excused myself to the count with having misplaced them, a 
 thing that never had occurred before. I had most proba- 
 bly, by the hasty search, either overlooked them, or had 
 mistaken these papers, and so placed them among others. 
 I asked for delay, as they must be misplaced ; for they could 
 not be lost. The count however was discontented, but add- 
 ed — "There is time enough ; do not hurry yourself." 
 
 All the time I could gain I spent during the day in the 
 search for those papers. The next morning I commenced 
 anew. My fears increased. I was at last compelled to 
 come to the conclusion that the bills were either lost or 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 319 
 
 stolen ; or perhaps, in a moment of absence of mind, that 
 I had used them for waste paper. Besides my servant, 
 who could neither read nor write, and who had not the key 
 to my room, no one had ever entered it. He protested that 
 he had never suffered any one to go into the room, while 
 cleaning it ; much less had he ever touched a paper. Be- 
 sides the count, strangers never visited me, as I had not 
 made any acquaintances in Venice. My embarrassment 
 rose to a death-like fear ! 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Treachery. 
 
 On the next morning I walked to the countess's room to be 
 present at her trance. I thought I perceived on the count's 
 face, a cold seriousness that spoke far more than words. 
 The thought that the count perhaps suspected my honour 
 and truth increased my uneasiness. Thus I stepped before 
 the sleeping Hortensia ; and at the next moment it occur- 
 red to me, that perhaps her wonderful gift of augury could 
 inform me what had become of those papers. Only that be- 
 fore the doctor and the waiting-maids, I should have to con- 
 fess the negligence or disorder that I had been guilty of, 
 was painful to me. 
 
 While I was struggling with myself what I should do, 
 the countess complained of a disagreeable coolness on my 
 part towards her ; a coolness that would cause her pain if 
 it did not alter — " Thou art tormented by uneasiness. Thy 
 thoughts, thy will are not with her ! " she said. 
 
 " Countess " — I responded — " it is not astonishing. You 
 perhaps, with your propensity to discover hidden things, are 
 capable of restoring me again to my peace of mind. I 
 have lost among my papers four bills of exchange, which 
 are the property of your father." 
 
320 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 Count Hormegg frowned. Doctor Walter exclaimed — 
 " 1 pray you, trouble not the countess in this condition with 
 matters of that kind." 
 
 I was silent. But Hortensia seemed to be musing, and 
 said, after the lapse of some minutes — " Thou, Immanuel, 
 hast not lost those bills ; they have been taken from thee ! 
 Be pacified. Take this key, and open yonder closet. In 
 my jewel box thou wilt find the bills." 
 
 She handed me a small key, and pointed with her hand 
 towards the closet. I sprang to it. Eleanor, one of the 
 waiting-maids, ran before me, and tried to prevent me from 
 opening it — " My Lord Count" — she exclaimed, terrified — 
 " you hardly will allow a gentleman to rummage over the 
 things of my lady, the countess." But before she had said 
 those words, I had already pushed her aside, opened the 
 closet and the jewel box, and — behold ! the detested bills 
 were lying uppermost. I walked with a face beaming 
 with joy to the count, who was speechless and immoveable 
 with astonishment. " Of the rest I shall have the honour 
 to speak with you hereafter ! " I said to the count, and ap- 
 proached again to Hortensia, to whom, with a light heart, 
 I returned the key. 
 
 "How thou art changed, Immanuel ! " she exclaimed, 
 with an expression of transport. " Thou hast become a 
 sun filled with light." 
 
 The count in great agitation called out to me — "Com- 
 mand the countess in my name to tell you, how she came 
 by these papers." 
 
 I obeyed. Eleanor sank senseless upon a chair. Doc- 
 tor Walter ran towards her, and was just in the act of lead- 
 ing her out of the room, when Hortensia began to speak. 
 Then the count commanded, with an unusual harshness of 
 voice, silence and order. Not one dared to move. 
 
 " Out of hatred, Immanuel " — said Hortensia — " those 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 321 
 
 exchange bills were taken from thee. She did maliciously 
 enough foresee thy trouble, and hoped to induce thee to flee. 
 But she could not succeed : for Sebald stood in a corner 
 of the corridor, while the doctor walked with a night-key 
 into thy room, took from thee the bills which thou hadst 
 laid among the letters from Hungary, and handed them, at 
 leaving the room, to Eleanor. Doctor Walter, who had 
 seen those bills with thee, proposed to the sufferer to pur- 
 loin them. Eleanor offered her assistance. The sufferer 
 herself encouraged them both, and could scarcely await the 
 time when the papers should be placed in her hands." 
 
 Doctor Walter, beside himself at those words, stood lean- 
 ing on Eleanor's chair. His face w r as ashy pale. He 
 smiled at the count, and shrugging his shoulders he said — 
 " By this we may learn that my lady the countess can 
 speak erroneously in her trances. Let us await her wak- 
 ing, and it may better be made manifest how those papers 
 haye come into her hands." 
 
 Count Hormegg did not answer, but rang for a servant, 
 and commanded him to call old Sebald, who was asked if 
 he had ever seen Doctor Walter enter my room during my 
 absence. 
 
 "During Mister Faust's absence? I do not know" — 
 Sebald replied — " yet it may have been so on the evening 
 of the last Sunday, for he at least unlocked the door. Miss 
 Eleanor ought to know it better than myself ; for she re- 
 mained standing on the stairs until the doctor returned, 
 and gave her several papers, whereupon both whispered 
 together, and then parted." 
 
 After this, Sebald was dismissed. The doctor and the 
 half-senseless Eleanor had also to leave, on a wink of the 
 count. Hortensia seemed more joyful than ever — " Fear 
 not the hatred of the sufferer " — she said — " she will watch 
 over thee, like thy guardian angel." 
 15 
 
322 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 The consequence of that memorable morning was this, — 
 that the doctor and Eleanor, besides two other servants, 
 Count Hormegg discharged on the same day. The count 
 came to me and asked my pardon, not only for the trans- 
 gression of his daughter, but also for his own weakness, 
 which had led him to listen to, and half credit those mali- 
 cious imputations. He called me his friend, and the only 
 one he had in the world, to whom he could open his heart 
 with unlimited confidence. He conjured me not to desert 
 him and his daughter ! 
 
 " I know " — he said — " how much you suffer, and how 
 much you sacrifice for our sake. But you can calculate 
 with surety upon my life-long gratitude. When the coun- 
 tess has again recovered her entire health, you will surely 
 be able to please yourself better with us than you have 
 hitherto done. Is there on the earth a more deserted, un- 
 fortunate man than myself? Nothing but hope keeps me 
 alive ; and all my hope rests upon your kindness, and your 
 persevering patience. What have not I already experi- 
 enced! what must I still experience ! This extraordinary state 
 of the countess oftentimes nearly robs me of my senses." 
 
 I was affected by the count's grief. I became reconciled 
 to him, and to my otherwise not enviable condition. The 
 malign disposition of the countess, on the contrary, very 
 greatly weakened the enthusiasm in which, until that 
 time, I had lived for her. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Hortensia's Philosophy. 
 
 By the kind and attentive precautions of the count, I never 
 saw Hortensia during her wakeful hours, for which I felt 
 but very little inclination. I even heard not what she 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 323 
 
 thought or spoke of me ; but that I could very easily con- 
 jecture. Great order reigned throughout the house. The 
 count very soon regained his respect for me. No one 
 dared any more to form a party with Hortensia, either 
 against him or myself, since it was known that Hortensia 
 had become the accuser of herself and all her accomplices. 
 
 Thus it happened, that I never saw her on any other oc- 
 casion, than in those moments when, elevated above herself, 
 she seemed to be a being of a better world. But those 
 moments belonged to the most solemn, and often to the 
 most affecting portion of my life. Hortensia's sweetness 
 in her exterior was heightened by an expression of inno- 
 cence and peculiar transport. The most rigid decorum 
 reigned everywhere around her. Only truth and goodness 
 were on her lips ; and notwithstanding her eyes were 
 closed, in which otherwise the mind is wont to reflect itself 
 most clearly, one could read even her softest emotion, in 
 the fine play of her mien, as also in the manifold modula- 
 tions of her voice. 
 
 What she spoke of the past, the present, and the future, as 
 far as the sharpened glance of her mind reached, at one time 
 on account of the singularity of her observations, at an- 
 other on account of its incomprehensibility, excited our 
 astonishment. She herself could not give us any expla- 
 nation about the How ! although I requested her at times 
 to do so ; and she took pains by meditation to grant the re- 
 quest. She understood, as she said, by actual intuition, all 
 the anatomy of her frame, the posture of the bones, the 
 structure of the muscles, and the ramifications of the nerves. 
 She understood also, she said, the same in me, and in every 
 one to whom I gave my hand. Notwithstanding her ex- 
 tensive information, yet of the physiology of the human 
 body she never had any knowledge. Of many things 
 which she saw and described with great exactness, I told 
 
324 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 her the name, and she would correct my notions when 
 they were erroneous. 
 
 Most interesting to me were her unfoldings of the nature 
 of our existence ; for her state, to me entirely inexpli- 
 cable, led me often to question her about it. Every time I 
 left her I wrote down the contents of her answers ; al- 
 though many things she had spoken of were in unintelligible 
 expressions and images. I select and present what she 
 announced to me about objects that excited my greatest 
 interest and curiosity. — I once observed to her, that she 
 lost much by not being able to remember in her natural 
 state, what, in the short period of her trances, she had 
 thought, seen or spoken. She replied : — " She loses no- 
 thing, for the earthly waking is only part of her existence, 
 which tends to certain single purposes ; that is only a 
 limited outward life. But in the true, unlimited, inner pure 
 life, she is conscious as well of that which happens in it, 
 as of that which has transpired in the waking state. 
 
 " The inner pure life and consciousness continue, as with 
 every other human being, uninterruptedly in the deepest 
 swoon, as well as in the deepest sleep, which only is a 
 swoon of a different nature, from different causes. During 
 sleep, like as in a swoon, the soul retires from its activity, 
 out of the senses towards the spirit. We are then also 
 conscious of ourselves, notwithstanding we seem outwardly 
 unconscious, because the inanimate senses are silent. 
 
 " When thou art suddenly torn out of the deepest sleep 
 into wakefulness, a dark remembrance will float before 
 thee, as if thou hadst thought of something, before waking, 
 or as it may seem to thee, dreamt of something, yet thou 
 knowest not what it was. The somnambulist lies in a 
 deep sleep of the outer senses ; he hears and sees, not 
 with his eyes and ears ; nevertheless, he is not only con- 
 scious of himself, and knows precisely what he thinks, 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 325 
 
 speaks, or begins, but he remembers also all things, from 
 the outer waking, and knows the place where he had 
 placed even a pin, when he awakes. 
 
 " The outer limited life may have to undergo its inter- 
 ruptions or pauses ; the real, inner consciousness has no 
 pauses, and has no need of them. 
 
 " The sufferer knows very well that she appears to thee 
 now, Immanuel, more perfect, but the faculties of the mind and 
 soul are in truth not more elevated and glorious than before ; 
 but less tamed and fettered down by the barriers of the 
 outer senses. An excellent architect works with deficient 
 instruments, more imperfect than he ought to do. Even 
 the most fluent human language is slow and heavy, because 
 it can neither represent all the peculiarities of the thoughts 
 or feelings, nor the quick changes and current of the no- 
 tions, but only single members, of the progressive chain of 
 thoughts. 
 
 " The pure life, notwithstanding that the outer senses are 
 at rest, has more perfect and more exact remembrances 
 than the earthly waking ; for at the earthly waking up, 
 the All gushed through the unlocked gates of perception, 
 too forcibly and almost benumbing. Therefore, thou know- 
 est it, we seek even amid the earthly wakeful periods, 
 solitude and quietness, and draw ourselves, as it were, out- 
 wardly together, and do not wish to see, nor hear, when 
 we desire to think earnestly and deeply. The more re- 
 moved the mind can be from the outer life, the more it 
 approaches its pure state, separated from the activity of the 
 senses, and the clearer and surer it can think. Very re- 
 markable inventions have been made in a state between 
 sleeping and waking, when the outer portals were half- 
 closed, and the spiritual life remained less interrupted by 
 strange interferences. 
 
 M Sleep is not an interruption of a life perfectly conscious 
 
326 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 of itself, but the earthly waking should be considered as 
 such an interruption, or rather only as a restriction of the 
 same. For as when waking, the activity of the soul is 
 forced, as it were, within fixed paths and barriers ; and as 
 on the other hand, the attractions of the outer world co- 
 operate too strongly ; so by the earthly waking, even the 
 attention is too dispersed, and further drawn towards pro- 
 tecting all the several outer parts of the body ; and thus 
 the remembrances of the pure life vanish. Yes, sleep, 
 strictly speaking, is the entire waking of the mind ; the 
 earthly waking, as it were, is a slumber, a benumbing of the 
 mind. The earthly sleep is a spiritual sunset for the outer, 
 but a clear sunrise in the inner world. 
 
 " But even among the diversions of the earthly waking, 
 we perceive at times the vestiges of another life that we 
 have lived ; we only know not always how to explain them. 
 Thus we see in summer nights, on high mountains, the 
 evening and the morning red of a sun and a day, that by 
 us is missing, but which are shared in other regions of the 
 globe. Oftentimes, in extraordinary cases, thoughts and 
 preserving resolutions flash across the mind of man with 
 astonishing velocity, and without previous reflection. There 
 is a connection wanting between our former notions, and 
 this sudden commanding flash of thought. Then man is 
 wont to say : ' It seems as if a good spirit had furnished 
 me with this idea.' At other times, we see and hear in 
 our daily life something that seems to us to have been in 
 existence before, and yet we cannot discover the how ! the 
 when! or the where! and misconceive it to be a wonder- 
 ful repetition, or a similarity of an object seen in our 
 dreams. 
 
 " It is not astonishing that our conscious being does not 
 end ; that whether we are awake or asleep, that forever is 
 active, for what is, how can it cease to exist ? But wonder- 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 327 
 
 ful is the change ! the tide and flood, and wandering to and 
 fro of the life from the internal to the external, from the 
 external to the internal. 
 
 " The spirit clad with the soul, like the sun clad with his 
 vesture of light, pouring rays through the universe, can 
 exist without body, as the sun without other heavenly 
 bodies. But as those heavenly bodies are dead witnout 
 the sun, and then without having their course would be 
 dissolved ; so the body without the soul is dust. 
 
 "The body has its own life, like every plant; but this 
 earthly vital power must first be awakened by the spirit. 
 This vital power stirs and moves according to its own laws, 
 independent of the soul. The body, without our desire or 
 knowledge, without its own desire or knowledge, grows, 
 digests food, suffers the blood to circulate, and changes its 
 juices variously. It inhales and exhales, evaporates and 
 attracts, out of the expanse of ether, necessaries for its pre- 
 servation. But like other plants, it is dependent upon other * 
 matter, from which it draws its nutriment. Its condition 
 changes with day and night, like the condition of every 
 Hower ; it elevates itself or relaxes ; its vital power con- 
 sumes itself, like an invisible fire that needs new nourish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Only when it has a sufficient fulness of vegetable vital 
 power, is the body fit to form an intimate connection with 
 the soul ; without this, the body is to the soul as a stranger- 
 being. When its power is too much consumed or exhaust- 
 ed, then the spiritual life retires from the outer to the inner 
 parts. Thus we call sleep, an interruption of the activity of 
 the senses. The soul enters again into connection with 
 the outer parts, like life that has infused itself into the 
 vegetable kingdom. The mind neither tires nor becomes 
 exhausted ; but the body, and not the soul, is strengthened 
 by rest. Thus there is continually a tide and a flood, the ad- 
 
328 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 vancing and the retrograding cf the spiritual being within 
 us, nearly equal to the change of day and night. 
 
 " During the greater part of our existence we wake out- 
 wardly — we must do so — for the body was given us on this 
 earth, as a condition of our activity. The body and its 
 propensities give to our activity more precise directions. 
 There is something grand and wonderful in this house- 
 keeping of God. 
 
 " As the body becomes old, it loses the strength to re- 
 store its vital power in a sufficient measure to support in 
 all parts this intimate connection with the soul. The in- 
 strument formerly ductile and flexible, becomes stiff and of 
 less use to the spirit. The soul draws back into the in- 
 terior. The spirit retains the inner activity, until every 
 thing prevents its connection with the body, whether it be 
 done by the corrupting strength of age or of sickness. The 
 freeing of the mind from the body, is the reinstalment of 
 the liberty of the former. Sometimes it announces itself 
 by predicting the hour of death, or other anticipations. 
 
 " The healthier the body, the more intimate connections 
 the soul forms with all parts of the same, the more it is 
 bound, and consequently the less capable of vaticinating, 
 except when the mind in extraordinary moments of trans- 
 port, as it were, unfetters itself; then it is like the seer of 
 futurity. 
 
 " The retiring of the soul from the outer world becomes 
 a peculiar state of the human being. It is the dream. The 
 dream, when going to sleep, is caused by the last excite- 
 ment of the senses, and by the first activity of the free, in- 
 ward life. In a dream which precedes our waking, the 
 last ray of the inner world mixes itself with the first ray 
 of the outer world. It is difficult to decipher which is the 
 property of the latter or the former ; but dreams, there- 
 fore, are instructive when properly observed. As the 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 329 
 
 spirit is~also occupied in its inner activity with that by 
 which it was attracted in the outer life, we may be enabled 
 to explain the movements of the somnambulist. If even 
 the somnambulists, when their outer senses are again un- 
 locked, remember not any thing of what they have done 
 during their extraordinary state, it may nevertheless again 
 occur to them when dreaming. Thus they bring, during 
 their somnambulism, many things from the inner world to 
 the knowledge of the outer — for the dream is the natural 
 mediator; the bridge between the outer and inner life." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 Changes. 
 
 Gradually the conversation of Hortensia became less 
 ethereal, until during her visions, she at length discontinued 
 her remarks upon spiritual subjects, and talked almost en- 
 tirely of domestic affairs, and the amended state of her 
 health. 
 
 This she continually asserted, that she was improving, 
 although for some time no particular symptoms of it could 
 be discerned. She continued, as she did formerly, to direct 
 what she should eat and drink when awake, and what would 
 be beneficial or detrimental to her. For nearly all medi- 
 cines she showed perfect disgust, and instead, she daily de- 
 sired icy cold salt-water baths. The nearer the time of 
 spring advanced, the shorter were the hours of her mental 
 wanderings. 
 
 In the seventh month after our arrival at Venice, she had 
 recovered so far, as not only to receive the calls of stran- 
 gers, but also to return them, and to visit churches, theatres, 
 and balls ; though every time she did so, it was only for a 
 few hours. Count Hormegg was almost beside himself for 
 15* 
 
330 
 
 HORTEXSIA : 
 
 joy. He overloaded his daughter with presents, and form, 
 ed around her a manifold, wide and splendid circle of di- 
 versions. Connected with the first houses in Venice, or 
 sought by them on account of his wealth, as well as on ac- 
 count of the beauty of his daughter, every day in the week 
 was changed for him into a feast. 
 
 Until now, he had lived like a recluse, bowed down by 
 Hortensia's malady, and kept by the wonderful manifesta- 
 tions connected with her sickness, in a strained and de- 
 pressed mood. Thus he was compelled to have intercourse 
 only with me. Besides, of less firmness of disposition, and 
 through the influence which I had over the life of Horten- 
 sia, with- a kind of superstitious regard forme, he willingly 
 submitted to all my arrangements. 
 
 His position towards me changed just as suddenly, as 
 Hortensia's convalescence afforded him a mind free from 
 sorrow, and the enjoyment of festivities from which he had 
 so long abstained. Although I retained all my power to 
 manage his domestic and family affairs, as they had former- 
 ly been entrusted to me, either through blind confidence or 
 convenience, yet he wished me to conduct his business un- 
 der some title. When I firmly refused to be employed in his 
 pay, and adhered to the first conditions under which I had 
 entered his service, he seemed to make a virtue of necessity. 
 He introduced me to all the Venetians as his friend, but 
 as his pride would not submit to friendship with a plebeian, 
 he passed me off as one of the purest German nobility. 
 At first I made resistance against that deception, but I was 
 constrained to yield to his weakness. Thus I became of 
 consequence amid the circles of his Venetian companions, 
 and was coerced to be present every where. The count 
 was still my friend, yet not as formerly ; for I was no lon- 
 ger his only one. We did not live exclusively together, 
 and for each other, as, prior to that time, we had done. 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 331 
 
 More wonderful was Hortensia's transformation, when 
 she became convalescent. During the hours of her artifi- 
 cial sleep, she was as amiable as ever ; but the old hate 
 and disgust, during the rest of the day, seemed by degrees 
 to diminish. More obedient to the admonitions of her fa- 
 ther, or compelled by a sense of her own gratitude, she ex- 
 erted herself not to give offence to me either by looks or by 
 words. From time to time, I was permitted to pay her my 
 respects, either as an inmate of the house, or as the friend 
 of the count, or as her nominal physician. I could even 
 go into company where she was, without danger of exciting 
 an eruption of her anger. Exertion or custom accomplish- 
 ed so much, that at last she suffered my presence at table 
 with indifference, when the count dined alone, or with com- 
 pany ; but even then, I saw her pride, with which she look- 
 ed down upon me, shine forth ; and besides the little which 
 decorum or general politeness demanded, I seldom received 
 a word. 
 
 I enjoyed my life, strictly speaking, but half, notwith- 
 standing I felt more comfortable at having greater liberty. 
 The diversions into which I was drawn, gratified me, but 
 without increasing my peace of mind. Often, in the tumult 
 of excitement, I longed for loneliness, which was more con- 
 formable to me. It was also my firm determination to re- 
 turn again to my former liberty, as soon as the cure of the 
 countess should be effected. I longed with eagerness for 
 that moment ; for I felt, that the passion with which Hor- 
 tensia's beauty had filled my imagination might cause my 
 misfortune. I battled against it ; and Hortensia's pride, 
 with her disgust for me, greatly facilitated the struggle. 
 To her self-sufficiency of high birth, I opposed my civic 
 pride ; to her malicious persecutions, the consciousness of 
 my innocence, and her ingratitude. If there were moments 
 in which I was affected by the grace of her exterior, there 
 
332 
 
 HORTENSIA .* 
 
 were also many moments in which her insulting conduct 
 aroused my strongest repulsion. An acerbity nearly ap- 
 proaching to dislike, was settling in my heart. Her indif- 
 ference towards me displayed as much a heart insensible 
 to gratitude, as did her former aversion. At last I avoided 
 Hortensia more diligently than she did me ; and if she 
 could look at me with indifference, she could not help per- 
 ceiving, in my whole demeanour, how great was the con- 
 tempt that I felt for her. 
 
 Thus, by Hortensia's gradual convalescence, the condi- 
 tion between all of us insensibly had been changed. My 
 most ardent desire was to be released as soon as possible, 
 from a connection that afforded but very little joy, and my 
 greatest consolation was the anticipation of the moment 
 when, by Hortensia's perfect health, my presence would be 
 unnecessary. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Prince Carlos. 
 
 Among those who attached themselves most intimately 
 to us was a young nobleman, of one of the most noble 
 families in Italy, who bore the title of Prince Carlos. He 
 was of pleasing form and refined manners, intellectual, 
 versatile, and prepossessing. The animation of his fea- 
 tures, and the brilliant glance of his fiery eye betrayed a 
 susceptible temperament. He lived enormously extravagant, 
 and was more vain than proud. He had passed some time 
 in the French military service. Tired of that life, he was 
 about visiting the principal courts of Europe. His acci- 
 dental acquaintance that he had formed with Count Hor- 
 megg detained him longer in Venice than he had designed, 
 for he had seen Hortensia, and joined the multitude of her 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 333 
 
 admirers. His desires seemed to have made him forget 
 everything but to obtain her. 
 
 His rank, his riches, his numerous and splendid house- 
 hold, and his pleasing exterior, flattered Hortensia's pride 
 and egotism. Without giving him the preference over 
 others by particular favours, she was pleased to see him 
 in the circle of her acquaintance. A single confidential 
 friendly glance sufficed to raise within him the most ex- 
 travagant hopes. 
 
 The old Count Hormegg, not less pleased with the ad- 
 vances of the prince, met him half way, gave him the pre- 
 ference, and soon changed the mere acquaintance into 
 tender friendship. I doubted not that the count secretly 
 had selected the prince for his son-in-law. Only the sick- 
 liness of Hortensia and the fear of her caprices, seemed to 
 keep the father, as well as the lover, from making any di- 
 rect and open disclosures. 
 
 The prince, in his confidential conversations with the 
 count, heard of Hortensia's visions. He was burning with 
 curiosity to see her in that wonderful state ; and the coun- 
 tess, who very well knew that then she appeared to great 
 advantage, consented that he should be present during one 
 of those hours ; a favour she had formerly refused to every 
 stranger. 
 
 He attended one afternoon when we knew that Hor- 
 tensia would fall into her excited sleep, for she foretold it 
 always on the previous occasion. When the prince en- 
 tered the room, I was a little jealous, for until then I had 
 been the happy one to whom the countess had addressed 
 herself in preference to all others. 
 
 Carlos approached softly, walking on the end of his toes 
 over the soft carpet. When he saw her eyes closed, he 
 thought that she was actually slumbering. Fear and de- 
 light were depicted on his countenance when he got eight 
 
334 
 
 hortensia : 
 
 of the charming figure, who appeared at the same time 
 like something supernatural. 
 
 Hortensia at last began to speak. She conversed with 
 me in her usual affectionate language. Again I was her 
 Immanuel, whose thought and will ruled her whole being. 
 That language sounded harsh to the prince, and never be- 
 fore had it been so flattering to me. Hortensia, however, 
 seemed to become more restless and troubled. Several 
 times she intimated that she suffered pain, but that she 
 could not discover from what reason. I beckoned to the 
 prince to give me his hand. Scarcely was this done when 
 Hortensia shuddered vehemently, and exclaimed — "How 
 cold ! Away with that poltroon ! He will kill me!" She 
 fell into convulsions, such as she had not had for a long 
 time. Carlos was compelled to leave the house in great 
 haste. He was beside himself with amazement. Not 
 until after a long time did Hortensia recover from her 
 cramps. " Never more bring that impure being before 
 me" — she said. 
 
 This incident, which had even terrified myself, was fol- 
 lowed by unpleasant consequences. From that moment 
 the prince looked upon me as a rival, and his deadly hate 
 fell upon me. Count Hormegg, who was entirely led by 
 him, seemed to become suspicious also of Hortensia's real 
 sentiments. The mere thought that the countess might 
 become attached to me was insupportable. Both the prince 
 and the count were joined closer together, and he kept 
 me at a greater distance from the countess, except at the 
 times of her strange sleep. They agreed upon the mar- 
 riage, and the count disclosed the wishes of the prince to 
 his daughter. Although flattered by the attentions of 
 the prince, she nevertheless demanded permission to re- 
 serve her declaration, until she was restored to full health. 
 Meanwhile Carlos was generally looked upon as the be- 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 335 
 
 trothed of the beautiful countess. He was her continual 
 attendant, and she the queen of all his festivities. 
 
 I soon perceived that I began to be a source of trouble, 
 and that with Hortensia's convalescence, I should sink in- 
 to my first nothingness. My old discontent returned, and 
 nothing could have made my condition endurable, except 
 that Hortensia dealt me justice, not only during the hours 
 of her sleep, but also in her wakeful state. Not only had 
 her old aversion towards me taken the form of indifference, 
 but in the same measure as her bodily health began to 
 recover, that unconcern changed into an attentive respect 
 and into an affable friendliness, such as people of rank 
 evince towards their inferiors, or towards persons whom we 
 see daily as belonging to the household, and to whom we 
 feel obliged for services rendered. She treated me as if I 
 were her actual physician ; solicited my advice and my 
 permission when it related to the partaking of some en- 
 joyment ; obeyed my directions to the letter, and overcame 
 the desire to remain at a dance when the hour had passed 
 to which I had permitted it as being harmless. It also ap- 
 peared to me occasionally as if the mastery of my will, as 
 Hortensia expressed it, had partly passed over into her 
 waking state, since during her trances it less powerfully 
 affected her soul. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 Dreams. 
 
 Hortensia's pride, stubbornness, and caprices, gradually 
 vanished from her like evil spirits cast out of her mind and 
 soul. In her disposition, nearly as amiable as at the time 
 of her visions, she fettered me no less by her outward 
 
336 
 
 HOETENSIA I 
 
 beauty, than by her humility and grateful benevolence of 
 heart. 
 
 All that change caused my unhappiness. How could I, 
 a daily witness of so many perfections, remain unmoved ? 
 I wished with all my heart, that she might again, as for- 
 merly, despise, offend, and persecute me ; for then I might 
 part from her with a lighter remembrance, and have cause 
 to despise her in return. 
 
 My condition was made worse by a dream which re- 
 turned to me frequently, and always in a similar form. I 
 thought that I was sitting in a strange room, or on the sea- 
 shore, or under projecting rocks in a cavern, or on a moss- 
 grown trunk of an oak, with my soul in deep dejection. 
 Then came Hortensia towards me, looked at me with ten- 
 der commiseration, and said — " Why so sad, Faustino ? " 
 at which I always awoke, for the tone with which she 
 spoke this to me, made every fibre in my body tremble. 
 But her voice sounded through the whole of the day in my 
 ears. I heard it in the noise of the city, in the turmoil of 
 parties, through the songs of the gondoliers, mid the music 
 of the opera, and everywhere. 
 
 Several times during the night, when I had that dream, 
 I awoke as soon as Hortensia's lips were opened to ask 
 the usual question, and I fancied that I heard her voice 
 near me. 
 
 Dreams are generally considered as mere phantoms ; but 
 in the wonderful circle within which my course had ban- 
 ished me, that dream also was an uncommon affair. 
 
 One day, when in the count's room, I had regulated 
 some of his accounts, and had placed before him some let- 
 ters for his signature, he was suddenly called away to re- 
 ceive a Venetian noble. I thought he would immediately 
 return. I threw myself into a chair by the window, and 
 soon was lost in my usual melancholy thoughts. At that 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 337 
 
 moment I heard the rustling of steps. The countess, who 
 was looking for her father, stood beside me. I was great- 
 ly alarmed, without knowing why, and raised myself rever- 
 entially. 
 
 " Why so sad, Faustino ? " — said Hortensia, with the 
 same voice whose tones were the echo of those that in my 
 dream had sounded so feelingly in my ears. Then she 
 smiled, as if she were surprised, or as if wondering at her 
 own question, musingly rubbed her forehead, and after a 
 while added — " But what is this ? I believe I have been 
 here once already. It is singular. Indeed I have found 
 you so once before, even as at this moment, and asked you 
 the same question. Is not that singular ? " 
 
 " Not more singular than I experience it " — I said — 
 " for not once, but often, I have dreamed that you found 
 me, and had the kindness to ask me in the same words, the 
 same question." 
 
 At that moment Count Hormegg entered and interrupted 
 our short conversation. But that occurrence, which seem- 
 ed in itself but trifling, became a source of deep thought 
 for me, and yet all my revery of inquiry, how the phan- 
 tasms of my imagination could melt into truth, was without 
 effect. She had therefore realized the same dream, was 
 my conclusion, and the sameness had to be exemplified in 
 actual life. 
 
 Four days afterward, the god of sleep passed again be- 
 fore me, and told me that I was invited to a splendid feast. 
 Shortly after I found myself at a great festivity and ball. 
 The music made me sad, and I remained a lone spectator. 
 Out of the turmoil of the dancers, Hortensia suddenly came 
 toward me, pressed secretly and affectionately my hand, 
 and whispered — " Be cheerful, Faustino, else I am not! " — 
 then she gave me a look of compassionate tenderness, and 
 w T as lost again in the crowd. 
 
338 
 
 HORTENSIA *. 
 
 On the following day, Count Hormegg made a pleasure 
 excursion to the country-seat of a Venetian. On our ar- 
 rival we found a large company. At night, magnificent 
 fire-works were displayed, then followed a ball. The 
 prince opened the bail with Hortensia. When I saw them 
 I was rejoiced that I was enabled to slip unperceived out 
 of the throng. Leaning against a door, Hortensia bash- 
 ful, yet glowing with ecstasy, came towards me secretly 
 and swiftly, pressed my hand, and whispered — " Dear 
 Faustino, be cheerful, that I may also be so ! " She said 
 this with so much interest and friendliness, and with a 
 glance, that I lost my power of speech. Hortensia, before 
 I could recover myself, vanished. 
 
 New couples were collecting themselves for a new dance. 
 While passing the seats of the ladies, one of them rose at 
 the same moment I approached her. It was the countess. 
 Her arm laid in mine. We stept into the ranks. I trem- 
 bled and knew not what had happened to me ; for never 
 would I have had sufficient audacity to request the honour 
 of Hortensia for a dance ; and yet it seemed to me as if I 
 had done so in my confusion. She, however, was quite un- 
 embarrassed, scarce paid any attention to me, and her eyes 
 wandered over all the throng. In one moment the music 
 began. I knew not what was done around me ; and that we 
 two had drawn upon ourselves the attention of every spec- 
 tator. After the end of the third dance, I conducted the 
 countess to a seat, that she might rest herself. I stam- 
 mered out my thanks in a whisper. She only bowed to 
 me with friendly courtesy, as if I had been the greatest 
 stranger, when I withdrew. 
 
 The prince and Count Hormegg had seen me dance 
 with Hortensia ; and had heard the general whispers of 
 applause. The prince was burning with jealousy — he 
 even made no secret of it before Hortensia. The count 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 339 
 
 took exceptions to my having had the audacity to ask his 
 daughter to the dance, and reproached her on the following 
 day for carelessly forgetting her rank. Notwithstanding 
 the dissimulation of both, I very soon saw that I was the 
 object of their hatred and fear. Hence I was seldom, and 
 at last not at all, invited into the company where Hortensia 
 was. 
 
 Meanwhile, Hortensia did not deny to her father, that 
 she entertained feelings of gratitude towards me ; yet every 
 thing else was a reproach that excited her to anger. She 
 acknowledged that she esteemed me, but that in fact it 
 made not the least difference to her, whether I danced in 
 Venice, or in Constantinople. — " You are at liberty to 
 dismiss him " — she said to the count — " as soon as my 
 health is restored." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The Amulet. 
 
 Carlos and the count waited with painful anxiety for the 
 period of Hortensia's recovery, when they could dismiss me, 
 and decide upon Hortensia's marriage. With impatience 
 did Hortensia desire again to enjoy her health, and at the 
 same time to remove her father's suspicions. I also looked 
 forward to that moment with no less desire than the others ; 
 because when far from Hortensia, among strangers, and 
 amid other scenes, did I hope to assuage my unhappy mind. 
 
 Not unexpected, the countess, while she was lying in her 
 mysterious sleep one day, predicted that her entire con- 
 valescence was near. 
 
 " In the hot shower-baths of Battaglia," she said, " she 
 will entirely lose the gift of her visions. Conduct her 
 thither. Her convalescence is not far distant. She must 
 
340 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 bathe every morning, immediately after her rising. After 
 the tenth bath, Immanuel, she separates from thee ! She 
 will never behold thee again, when such is thy will. But 
 leave her a memorial ! Without it she cannot recover her 
 health. Thou hast carried for a long time a faded rose, 
 between glass set in gold. As long as she carries the 
 same enveloped in silk about her, her convulsive condition 
 will not return. No later nor sooner than at the seventh 
 hour, after she has received her thirteenth shower-bath, 
 give it to her. Until then carry it uninterruptedly. Then 
 she will be well." 
 
 She repeated oft-times, and with a singular timidity, this 
 petition ; she laid particularly great stress upon the hour, 
 when I should give to her my only treasure, of whose 
 existence she had never heard. 
 
 " Do you indeed carry the like 1 " the count asked me, 
 astonished, and on account of the predicted restoration of 
 his daughter's complete health, in a transport of joy. When 
 I answered him in the affirmative, he asked further if I put 
 any value upon the possession of this trifle ? I assured him 
 that it was my greatest treasure, and that I would rather die 
 than suffer it to be taken from me. But for the salvation of 
 the countess I was willing also to sacrifice that prize. 
 
 " Undoubtedly a keepsake from a beloved hand 1 " asked 
 the count smiling, and inquiring as if he seemed to have a 
 desire to know my heart. 
 
 " I have it from a person whom I prize above all others." 
 The count, affected as much by my generosity, as happy 
 that I had made up my mind to the sacrifice upon which 
 depended Hortensia's health, forgot for a moment the 
 hatred that he had borne me, and threw his arms around 
 my neck, a thing that had not happened for a long time. — 
 " You make me your everlasting debtor ! " — he exclaimed. 
 
 What pressed him most was this : to tell Hortensia, as 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 341 
 
 soon after her waking as I absented myself, all that in her 
 sleep she had demanded. At the same time he related to 
 her the conversation he had had with me about the amu- 
 let. "He values this amulet very highly," — he continued, 
 — " as it is a keepsake from a person whom, above all 
 others, he loves." These last words he spoke with great 
 emphasis, so as to unfold the disclosure of my sighing for 
 a long time past in the fetters of another beauty, and thus 
 to kill Hortensia's affection, should she actually entertain 
 any for me — for a suspicion to that effect haunted him. 
 Hortensia heard all his tale with such apparently uncon- 
 cerned ingenuousness, and was so sincerely rejoiced at 
 her approaching convalescence, that Count Hormegg felt 
 as if he had wronged the heart of his daughter by his sus- 
 picion. In his rejoicings, nothing urged him more than to 
 confess to me his .conversation with the countess, and at 
 the same time to give intelligence to the prince of all that 
 had occurred. From that hour I perceived in the conduct 
 both of the count and also of the prince, something unre- 
 strained, benevolent, and obliging. I w T as no longer kept at 
 a distance from Hortensia with the former timidity, but was 
 treated with attention and forbearance, like a benefactor to 
 whom every one is indebted for comfort. 
 
 Arrangements immediately were made for our departure 
 to the baths of Battaglia. On a beautiful summer morn- 
 ing we left Venice. The prince had gone before to pre- 
 pare for the reception of his intended bride. Traversing 
 the charming plains of Padua, we approached the Euganic 
 mountain, at the foot of which is situated the small town 
 with its sanative fountains. While on the way, the coun- 
 tess often preferred going on foot. Then it fell to my share 
 to be her conductor. She fascinated me as much by her cor- 
 diality as by her delicate sense for that which is noble in 
 human life, and beautiful in nature. " I might be very 
 
342 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 happy " — she often said — " if I could pass my days in some 
 agreeable part of Italy amid the simple occupations of do- 
 mestic life. The entertainments in cities leave the soul 
 empty ; they are more benumbing than delighting. How 
 happy should I be if I could lead a simple life, unen- 
 ticed by the miserable condition of palaces, where we 
 torment ourselves for nothing. O, if I were rich enough to 
 make people about me happy, and could find in my men- 
 tal creations the fountain of my beatitude ! But we must 
 not wish for every thing." 
 
 At other times, she would turn the conversation to my 
 determination to leave her and her father immediately after 
 my recovery. " We shall regret much to lose you," — she 
 said, good naturedly. — " We shall deplore your loss as the 
 loss of a true friend of the house, or as that of a benefac- 
 tor. But we cannot, and will not disturb your resolution 
 by our prayers to remain with us. Your heart calls you 
 elsewhere !" — She then added with a somewhat mischievous 
 smile, as if initiated into the secrets of my heart : — * If you 
 only can be happy, we have nothing left to wish for. And I 
 do not doubt but that love will make you so. But do not 
 entirely forget us on account of that, and give us from time 
 to time intelligence of your well-being." 
 
 What by such expressions I felt I cannot describe. My 
 answers were obliging and full of courteousness, for respect 
 demanded me not to betray my heart, and yet there may 
 have been moments when my feelings overpowered me, 
 and I said more than I wished. When I spoke somewhat 
 flattering and grateful, Hortensia looked at me with the 
 gaze of astonished innocence, as if she neither compre- 
 hended nor understood me. I was convinced that Hor- 
 tensia gratefully respected me, and that she wished to see 
 me happy and contented, without giving me the preference 
 over any other mortal being. Only from pure beneficence, 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 343 
 
 and to give me pleasure, she had joined me in the dance. 
 She acknowledged that she had expected me to ask her. 
 Alas ! what presumptuous hopes had my heart founded upon 
 
 this ! I well may say presumptuous hopes ; for if Hor- 
 
 tensia really felt more than general kindness towards me, 
 what would it have availed me 1 I should be made more 
 unhappy by her misfortune. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 The Disenchantment. 
 
 Through the contrivance of the prince, rooms were pre- 
 pared for our reception at the castle of the Marquis (VEste. 
 His castle, situated close by the town upon a hill, offered, 
 with the greatest conveniences, the most charming distant 
 prospects, and adjoining umbrageous walks. To take 
 the shower-baths, we had to go every time to the town. 
 There also a separate house had been prepared for the 
 countess, where she passed her mornings, as long as she 
 took the baths. 
 
 Her wonderful sleep, after the first few baths, was short 
 and in private. She spoke only seldom, did not even al- 
 ways answer, and seemed to enjoy a perfectly natural 
 sleep. When, after the seventh bath, she spoke, she com- 
 manded us, after the tenth bath, not to let her remain in that 
 house. After the tenth bath, she fell indeed once more 
 into her sleep, but she said nothing more than — "Immanuel, 
 I shall see thee no more ! " These were the last words 
 which she spoke in the state of her trances ; although after 
 that for several days she was in a somewhat unnatural 
 sleep, yet during it she was not capable of uttering a 
 word. 
 
344 
 
 HORTENSIA I 
 
 The day of her thirteenth shower-bath arrived. Until 
 then, everything had been most punctually fulfilled. Now 
 the last thing was to be done. Count Hormegg and Prince 
 Carlos came to me in the morning, to remind me of the 
 speedy delivery of my amulet. I had to show it to them. 
 They left me not a moment through the whole of the morn- 
 ing, as if now, so near to the long wished-for period, they 
 had become suddenly suspicious that I might change my 
 mind about the sacrifice, or that the precious thing might 
 by accident be lost. As soon as the intelligence was 
 brought that the countess was in the shower-bath, the 
 minutes were counted. When the countess after her bath 
 had rested, she was accompanied by us to the castle. She 
 was uncommonly cheerful, and almost mischievous. Pre- 
 pared for the fact, that in the seventh hour she would ac- 
 cept from me the gift, and then carry it through life, she 
 rejoiced like a child at the donation ; and rallied me, 
 jokingly, about the treachery that I was about to commit 
 on my select one, by presenting her gift to another. 
 
 It struck two o'clock. The seventh hour had arrived. 
 We were in a garden saloon. The count, the prince, and 
 the waiting maids were present. 
 
 " Now no longer delay ! " — exclaimed the count — " the 
 moment is at hand, which is the last of Hortensia's suffer- 
 ings, and the first of my happiness." 
 
 I took the highly-prized medallion from my breast, 
 where I had carried it so long, untied the golden chain 
 upon my neck, pressed a kiss upon the glass, and handed 
 it to the countess. 
 
 Hortensia took it ; but when her eye fell upon the dried 
 rose, a fiery red suddenly spread over her whole face. She 
 bowed gently towards me, as if she wished to thank me ; 
 but in her features could be detected a confusion of mind, 
 which she seemed anxious to conceal. She stammered 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 345 
 
 forth a few words, and then suddenly absented herself with 
 her waiting maids. The count and the prince were all 
 gratitude to me. At the castle they had prepared for the 
 evening a small festivity. From Este and Rovigo a few 
 noble families were invited. 
 
 Meanwhile we waited in vain for the reappearance of 
 the countess. An hour had passed, when we received in- 
 telligence that, as soon as she had received the medallion, 
 she had begun to sleep both sweetly and soundly. Two, 
 three, and four hours passed. The invited guests had col- 
 lected ; but Hortensia did not awake. The count himself, 
 in great uneasiness of mind, w alked to the bed. But when 
 he found her asleep tranquilly, he forebore to disturb her. 
 The festivity passed oft' without Hortensia's presence ; but 
 when she was missing, every enjoyment had lost half its 
 charm. Hortensia did sleep until the company broke up 
 at midnight. 
 
 But on the following morning also, she slept so soundly, 
 that the count was terrified. My uneasiness was not less. 
 The physicians gave the assurance, that the sleep of the 
 countess was healthy and refreshing ; the colour of her face 
 and her pulse indicated full health. Noon and evening 
 came ; Hortensia did not awake. The frequent assurances 
 of the physicians, that the countess was perfectly well, 
 were necessary to pacify us. Night came and passed 
 away. Rejoicing reverberated through the whole castle, 
 when the chambermaids announced Hortensia's gladsome 
 waking. Every one hurried to her room, and wished her 
 joy for her health. 
 
 16 
 
346 
 
 HORTEXSIA. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII i. 
 A New Charm. 
 
 Dubing the general rejoicing I was sad in my room. Tlie 
 engagements which I had formerly made with Count Hor- 
 megg were fulfilled. I could now depart, whenever I wish- 
 ed to do so. I had often expressed my desire and my reso- 
 lution to that effect. Nothing else was expected of me, 
 than that I would keep my word. But now to live apart 
 from Hortensia was like condemnation to death. 
 
 When I thought of her near marriage to the prince, and 
 of the fickle-mindedness of the weak count, — when I thought 
 of my own honour, of the necessity to die free, — then the 
 manly pride and defiance would rise within me ; and I re- 
 solved to depart as quickly as possible. I perceived all 
 my misery ; yet I preferred bidding an everlasting farewell 
 to my happiness, rather than to become despicable to my- 
 self. 
 
 I found Hortensia in the castle -garden ; and when I ap- 
 proached her to give her my* congratulation, she stood 
 musing before a flower-bed, separated from her waiting- 
 maids. She appeared more fresh, more blooming, than I 
 had ever before seen her, and glowing with new life. When 
 I addressed her, she noticed me for the first time. 
 
 " How you terrify me ! " she said, smiling and surprised, 
 and a deeper red crimsoned her cheeks. 
 
 "I also, esteemed countess, wished to express my joy 
 and my congratulations at your " I remarked. 
 
 More I could not say, for my voice failed me ; I became 
 confused. I could not bear her gaze that penetrated my 
 heart. With great effort, I stammered forth an excuse for 
 having interrupted her. 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 347 
 
 Her eyes were silently fixed upon me. After a long 
 pause she said : — " You speak of joy, my esteemed friend : 
 but are you also glad 1 " 
 
 " Most heartily ! " — I replied — " to know that you are 
 saved from the sickness, in which you long have suffered. 
 In a few days I am permitted to depart hence ; and again, 
 if possible, in other regions, to be mine own ! " 
 
 " Is it then your full determination to leave us, Faust ? " 
 — answered Hortensia — " I hope not. How can you say, 
 that you belong to no one ? Are we not all bound to you 
 by every duty and tie of gratitude ? What compels you to 
 ^>art from us 1 " 
 
 I laid my hand upon my heart, and cast my eyes upon 
 the ground, for to speak was impossible. 
 
 " You will stay with us, Faust. Is it not so ? " — asked 
 Hortensia. 
 
 " I dare not." — I answered. 
 
 " But if I request it, Faust ? " — she added. 
 
 " O ! do not ask me, do not command me, I can only 
 
 feel contented" — I said — " when I no, I must go away 
 
 from here." 
 
 " Then you are not contented with us ? And yet no other 
 vocation, no other duty calls you away ? " — asked the 
 countess. 
 
 " Duty towards myself." — I replied. 
 
 " Then you may go, Faust ; I have been in error as re- 
 gards you. I believed, that we also might be of some 
 value to you ! " — said Hortensia. 
 
 " Countess " — I rejoined — " if you knew what the con- 
 sequences of your words will be, in compassion you 
 would spare me ! " 
 
 " Then I must be silent, Faust. Go, but you commit a 
 heavy wrong " — answered the countess. 
 
 As she said these words, she turned away from me ; I 
 
348 
 
 IIORTENSIA : 
 
 dared to follow her and to beseech her not to be angry with 
 me. Tears fell from her eyes. I was astonished ; I con- 
 jured her not to be angry with me. " Command me," — I 
 said — " and I will obey you. Do you bid me to remain ? 
 My peace of mind, my happiness, my life I will joyfully 
 sacrifice to your command ! " 
 
 " Go, Faust, I will do nothing by force. You dislike to 
 be with us ! " — she subjoined. 
 
 " O countess, drive me not to desperation" — I said. 
 
 " Faust, when do you depart ? " — was her inquiry. 
 
 " To-morrow, to-day " — I answered. 
 
 " No, no, Faust ! " — she said softly, and stept closer to* 
 
 me : — " I do not value my health, your present, if you 
 
 Faust ! You will remain ; at least for a few days ! " She 
 whispered this with a voice so soft and imploring, and 
 looked at me with her moistened, soliciting eyes, that I 
 ceased to be master of my own will. 
 
 " I remain " — was my answer. 
 
 " But willingly 1 " — she asked. 
 
 " With delight "—I replied. 
 
 " It is well : " — she said — " but now leave me for a mo- 
 ment, Faust ! You have made me very sad. But do not 
 leave the garden ; I wish only to recreate myself a little." 
 — With these words, she walked away from me, and lost 
 herself amid the blooming orange trees. 
 
 I remained a long time in the same place, like one 
 dreaming. Such language I had never heard from the 
 countess. It was not the language only of courtesy. I 
 trembled at the idea, that I should have some hold on her 
 heart. Those appeals to stay longer ! those tears ! — and 
 that indescribable declaration in her behaviour, in her 
 movements, and in her voice — a silent language which 
 spoke more than words are capable of expressing — I un- 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 349 
 
 derstood nothing; yet I understood all. I doubted, and 
 was" full of conviction. 
 
 After a few minutes, while I was sauntering up and down 
 the garden walks, and had joined the rest of the ladies, the 
 countess came joyfully towards us. In her hand she car- 
 ried a bouquet of carnation flowers, roses, and violet- 
 coloured vanilla blossoms. — " Faust" — she said to me — 
 " I have culled a few flowers for you, do not refuse them. 
 I give them to you with a different feeling, than once, 
 during my illness, I gave you the rose. I ought not, my 
 physician, to put you at all in mind how, with' my childish 
 humours, I tormented you. But I always bear very duti- 
 fully in mind, that I have to compensate you for all — and 
 how much have I not to compensate you for ! Now give 
 me your arm, and to Cecilie, the other." — Cecilie was the 
 name of one of her companions. 
 
 As we were walking about, we were met by the count, 
 and soon after, by the prince. Never before had Hortensia 
 been more amiable, than on this first day of her recovered 
 health. With tenderness she spoke to her father, with 
 friendly cordiality to her female companions, with delicate 
 courtesy and goodness to the prince ; but to me, never 
 otherwise than with manifestations of gratitude. There 
 was, in her words and voice, something tender, and in her 
 eye and mien, a sisterly familiarity, solicitous for my hap- 
 piness. 
 
 In festivity we passed a few charming days. I found, in 
 my intercourse with her, a tranquillity of mind, a substan- 
 tiality, that I had been deprived of since I had become 
 acquainted with Hortensia. Her ingenuousness and truth 
 made me more natural. She did not deny that her heart 
 was full of pure friendship towards me. I, therefore, con- 
 cealed my feelings less, notwithstanding that I did not dare 
 to betray my true sensibilities. And yet — I was betrayed. 
 
350 
 
 HORTENSIA ! 
 
 The guests at the baths in Battaglia, were in the habit 
 of collecting, on fine evenings, before a great cofTee-house, 
 to take their refreshments in the open air. Conversation 
 there was unconstrained, as they sat around in semi-circles 
 on the open street. To the right and left, mandolins and 
 guitars, and songs, were heard, in accordance with Italian 
 customs — the windows and doors were illuminated. One 
 evening, when the prince had left the company earlier than 
 his usual hour, the countess concluded to visit that meeting 
 of the guests. I had gone to my room, and sat dreaming 
 of the future, holding the bouquet with both hands. The 
 light burnt dimly, and the door of my room was half open. 
 In this situation, Hortensia and Cecilie saw me, and after 
 observing me for some time, they entered the room ; but I 
 did not perceive them until they stood close before me, and 
 told me that I must accompany them to the town, and ral- 
 lied me about my embarrassment. Hortensia recognised 
 the bouquet. She took it up from the table on which I had 
 thrown it, and placed it, although faded, in her bosom. 
 We walked towards Battaglia, and mixed with the com- 
 pany. 
 
 Cecilie, however, in conversation with other persons of 
 her acquaintance, strayed away from us. Neither Horten- 
 sia nor myself were displeased with her. Leaning on my 
 arm, she walked up and down in the crowd, until she be- 
 came tired. We sat down upon a small bench under an 
 elm tree, that stood aside from the crowd. The moon 
 shone through the branches upon Hortensia's face, and 
 upon the faded flowers on her breast. 
 
 " Will you again rob me of that charm which you had 
 given me ?" I asked, pointing towards the bouquet. 
 
 She looked at me with musing earnestness, and then 
 said : — " I feel always as if I could give you nothing, nor 
 take anything from you. Do you not feel so at times 1 " 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 351 
 
 This answer and question in return, thrown out so pla- 
 cidly, brought me to confusion and to silence. I scarcely 
 dared, out of respect, to touch upon the agreeable meaning 
 which it contained. She repeated the question once 
 more. 
 
 44 Most certainly. Alas!" — I said — "when I look at 
 the gulf between you and myself, and the difference that 
 keeps me far from you, then I always feel so. I only live 
 in thoughts of you. Be enraged, if you please, at my con- 
 fession ; for what I do, is your own commandment. Can I 
 conceal my heart from you ? Is it a crime, that my whole 
 soul is involuntarily chained to you, countess 1 " 
 
 She turned away her face, and lifted her hand, to signify 
 to me to be silent. At the same moment I covered my eyes, 
 which became dimmed with tears. Then our uplifted 
 hands sank, one into the other. We were silent ; the 
 thoughts had passed into strong sensations ; I had betray- 
 ed my passion — but Hortensia had pardoned me. 
 
 Cecilie interrupted us. We walked silently back to the 
 castle. When we parted, the countess said softly and sad- 
 ly : — " Through you, I have recovered my health, to be- 
 come much sicker!" 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Petrarca's Dwelling. 
 
 The next morning, when we again met, there was a kind 
 of solemn reserve between us. I scarely dared to address 
 her ; and she hardly ventured to answer me. Our eyes 
 often met, and full of earnestness. It seemed as if she 
 wished to scrutinize me ; and I endeavoured to read in her 
 eyes, whether she was displeased in her sober moments at 
 my audacity. Several days passed ; we did not see each 
 
352 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 other again alone. We had a secret between us, and fear- 
 ed both to desecrate it by a look. Hortensia's whole man- 
 ner was more solemn, and her hilarity was more moderate ; 
 as if she did not belong to the general surrounding ob- 
 jects. 
 
 Meanwhile, Prince Carlos, as I was afterwards informed, 
 had formally sued for the hand of the countess, and this had 
 caused a disagreeableness and coolness between the prince 
 and her father. Not to offend both, and to gain time, Hor- 
 tensia had asked respite for so uncertain a period, and on such 
 hard conditions, that Carlos nearly despaired of ever seeing 
 his wishes gratified. " Not that I am averse to the prince,'* so 
 ran her declaration, " but I will yet enjoy my liberty. At 
 a future time, of my own free will, I will give my yes or no ; 
 but if this proposition is repeated to me before I wish it, I 
 will firmly and for ever reject it, even should I actually love 
 the prince." 
 
 The count knew the unbending mind of his daughter ; 
 but he hoped for the marriage, as Hortensia had not at once 
 rejected the suit of the Prince. Carlos, on the contrary, 
 was discontented. By this declaration he saw himself con- 
 demned to be a patient suitor, while deprived of all certain 
 hope. Yet, he possessed egotism enough to believe, that 
 by perseverance he should move Hortensia's heart. Her 
 familiarity towards me was disagreeable to him, but he seem- 
 ed not to fear it ; and as her behaviour was open and cour- 
 teous, he considered her position as not dangerous to his 
 desire.- He looked upon me as a friend of the house, and 
 as the confidential adviser, both of the daughter and of the 
 father ; and as the count had informed him of my low birth, 
 he less feared any rivalry in me. He even submitted to 
 make me his confidant, and told me the history of his suit 
 for Hortensia's hand, and the answer of the countess. He 
 conjured me to give him my friendly services, and to ascer- 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 353 
 
 tain if Hortensia was favourably inclined towards him. 
 I was obliged to promise it. Every day he asked me, if I 
 had made any discoveries ; but I could always excuse my- 
 self, by not having found an opportunity to see the countess 
 alone. 
 
 Perhaps to bring about that opportunity, the prince him- 
 self prepared a small excursion to Arquato, fifteen miles 
 from Battaglia ; where the guests at the baths often went 
 " on pilgrimage " to see the dwelling of Petrarca ; whom 
 Hortensia prized above all the other poets of Italy. For a 
 long time she had desired to make that "pilgrimage." 
 When the moment of departure arrived, Carlos not only 
 offered a pretence to remain behind, but also kept the old 
 count from accompanying Hortensia. Beatrice and Ceci- 
 lie, the companions of the countess, rode with her ; I at- 
 tended the carriage on horseback. 
 
 I conducted the ladies to the burying ground of the vil- 
 lage, where a simple tombstone covers the dust of the im- 
 mortal bard, and translated for them the Latin inscription. 
 Hortensia stood gravely before the stone. She sighed. "Yet 
 everything does not die ! " she remarked, and I thought I felt 
 her drawing my arm toward her. " If every thing died," 
 sa id I, " would not the life of man be a cruelty of the Crea- 
 tor?" 
 
 We left the churchyard with pensive emotions. An old 
 man conducted us thence to a small vineyard not far dis- 
 tant, near which stood Petrarca's old dwelling, and around 
 which was a small garden. From the garden there is a 
 beautiful prospect across the valley. At the house was 
 shown Petrarca's household furniture, preserved with re- 
 spect, his tables upon which he read and wrote, the chairs 
 upon which he rested, and even his culinary utensils. 
 
 The sight of such relics ever exercises an influence over 
 the sensitive mind. It casts the space of centuries into 
 . 16* 
 
354 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 nothingness ; and brings back, what long since has passed 
 away, into our immediate presence. I felt as if the poet 
 had only just left the spot, and that he would shortly open 
 the small brown door of his room and salute us. Hortensia 
 found a neat edition of Petrarca's sonnets on the table in a 
 corner of the room. Tired, she sat herself down, leaned 
 her head upon her hand, and read attentively, while with 
 the fingers of her supporting hand she made for her eyes 
 a concealing shelter. Beatrice and Cecilie walked away 
 to prepare refreshments for the countess. I remained silent 
 at the window. Petrarca's love and hopelessness were my 
 experience, another Laura was sitting there, although not 
 immortalized through the magic of the muse! 
 
 Hortensia took a handkerchief to dry her eyes. 
 
 I was startled to see her weep. I approached her tim- 
 idly, and yet did not dare to address her. She rose sud- 
 denly, smiled at me with tears in her eyes, and said — " Poor 
 Petrarca, poor human heart ! But every thing passes away ! 
 He has ceased to mourn for centuries. But yet it is said, 
 that in later years he triumphed over himself. Is it well to 
 triumph over ourselves ? May not this be called gradual 
 self-destruction ? " 
 
 " Even when necessity commands it? " — I asked. 
 
 " Has necessity power over the human heart?" — she re- 
 torted. 
 
 " But Laura was the wife of Hugo de Sade — her heart 
 could not be his" — I added — "it was his lot to love, and to die 
 solitary. But he had the gift of song, and the muses con- 
 soled him. He was unfortunate — like myself! " 
 
 "Like you?" — added Hortensia, with a scarcely audible 
 voice. — " Unfortunate Faust ! " 
 
 " I possess not the gift of song " — was my reply — " there- 
 fore my heart must break, as no one gives me consolation. 
 Countess ! dare I tell you more than what I have told you 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 355 
 
 already ? But I will remain worthy of your respect, and 
 by manly fortitude, I may be enabled to do so* Grant me 
 one request, only a single, modest desire ! " 
 
 Hortensia cast her eyes to the ground, and did not 
 answer. 
 
 " Only one prayer " — I continued — " countess ! for the 
 sake of my tranquillity of mind !" 
 
 " What shall 1 do '} " — she whispered, without raising 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Am I certain " — I answered — " that you will not refuse 
 my petition ? " 
 
 She looked at me, with an astonished earnest gaze, and 
 then said with indescribable dignity : " Faust, I know not 
 what you may ask ; but whatever it may be — yes, Faust, I 
 owe you my life, my confidence — I will grant your request. 
 Speak !" 
 
 I took her hand, cast myself at her feet, pressed her hand 
 to my lips. I nearly lost my power of speech. Hortensia, 
 as if lost within herself, with downcast eyes stood before 
 me. 
 
 At length I recovered sufficient strength to speak. " I 
 must go away from here. Let me fly. I dare not stay 
 any longer. Far from you, in some solitude, let me tran- 
 quillize my mind. I must hasten away. I disturb the 
 peace of your house, Carlos has asked your hand." 
 
 " It will never be his ! " the countess interrupted me, 
 speaking in a firm voice. 
 
 " Let me fly ! " — I rejoined. — " Your goodness increases 
 my regrets." 
 
 Hortensia was in a vehement struggle with herself. 
 " You commit a great wrong. But I dare not any longer 
 prevent it " — she exclaimed, and burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 She staggered, and sobbing, sought a seat. After a few 
 moments, she recovered her strength. She felt that she 
 
856 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 was encircled by my arms, and endeavoured to extricate 
 herself. She lifted her eyes, and with a face from which, 
 as formerly, shone the red of her visions, she whispered — 
 " Faust, what are you doing ? " 
 
 " Will you not forget me, when I am far distant ? " — I 
 asked in return. 
 
 " How can I ? " — she sighed, and cast down her eyes. 
 
 " Farewell, Hortensia ! " — I stammered forth. 
 
 " Immanuel ! " — she whispered, and I felt her almost im- 
 perceptible kiss. 
 
 Silently we walked out of Petrarca's dwelling, and took 
 the path down the hill, where her servants were waiting 
 for us. They conducted us to an arbour amidst bushes of 
 wild laurel, in which refreshments had been prepared. 
 Immediately after, the carriage of the prince came rolling 
 towards us, and Carlos with the count alighted. 
 
 Hortensia was serious and short in her answers. She 
 seemed to be lost in thought. I observed that she made an 
 effort when she had to speak to the prince. Towards me 
 she displayed unchanged the same cordiality and frankness 
 of demeanour. We visited Petrarca's dwelling a second 
 time, as Count Hormegg wished to see it. W T hen again 
 we stept into the room, which the confession of our hearts 
 had endeared to us, Hortensia once more sat down upon 
 the chair beside the table to the book, in the same position 
 as at the first time, and remained so until we were ready to 
 depart. Then she arose, laid her hand upon her breast, 
 looked at me with a penetrating glance, and hurried quick- 
 ly from the room. 
 
 The prince had observed this movement, and her glance. 
 A crimson red spread over his gloomy countenance, and 
 with folded arms and drooping head, he walked away. 
 All joy had vanished from our company. Every one of us 
 seemed desirous to return to the castle. I did not doubt 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 357 
 
 that the jealousy of Carlos had discovered all, and from his 
 vindictive disposition, I dreaded less for myself than for 
 the peace of the countess. 
 
 As soon as I entered my apartment, I began to prepare 
 every thing for my speedy departure. I acquainted Count 
 Hormegg with my unchangeable determination, gave to 
 him all his papers, and conjured him not to tell the countess 
 of my absence until I had departed. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 MOUKNFUL SEPARATION. 
 
 I had previously obtained permission from the Count, that 
 the old trusty Sebald should accompany me. Often he had 
 asked for his dismissal, that he might see his German 
 home again. Sebald danced for joy around the room, when 
 I told him that the moment of separation was at hand. A 
 horse and portmanteau for each of us, were our whole 
 equipment for the journey. 
 
 I concluded to depart before the break of day on the fol- 
 lowing morning. No one in the castle, except Sebald and 
 the count, knew anything of it. For Hortensia I wished 
 to leave a few lines, expressive of gratitude and of affection, 
 as a final farewell ! Although the count seemed to be 
 surprised, yet he was not displeased. He thanked me for 
 my services, and promised to meet me within an hour in my 
 room, in order to hand to me a few useful papers", that would 
 procure me for the future a life free from sorrow, which, as 
 he expressed himself, should be only a small payment on 
 account of the debt which he could never fully discharge. 
 As soon as I returned to my room, I began to pack up my 
 personal trifles. Sebald ran to the stable and ordered every 
 thing necessary for starting at any moment. Meanwhile 
 
358 
 
 hoktexsia : 
 
 I wrote to Hortensia. More than once I tore what I had 
 written. I had not finished, when I was interrupted in a 
 manner that I least of all expected. Trembling and breath- 
 less, Sebald came running into my room, and hastily seizing 
 the packed portmanteaus, exclaimed — " Mister Faust, a 
 misfortune has happened. They want to drag you to pri- 
 son. They will kill you. Let us fly before it is too late ! " 
 In vain I sought the cause of his terror. The only thing 
 I could get out of him was this — " That the count was furi- 
 ous, the prince was raving, and every one in the castle in 
 arms against me!" I replied coolly — "I have no cause 
 for fear, much less like a criminal to fly." " Sir," — ex- 
 claimed Sebald — " without some calamity, no one leaves 
 this misfortune-spreading company ; an evil star rules their 
 destiny. I said so long ago. Fly ! " 
 
 At that moment two of the game-keepers entered the 
 room, and requested me to go forthwith to the Count. Se- 
 bald winked to me, to endeavour to slip away from them. 
 I could not forbear smiling at his timidity, and followed the 
 game-keepers. Nevertheless, I ordered Sebald to saddle the 
 horses ; for that something extraordinary had happened, 
 and that the Prince perhaps, out of jealousy, had contrived 
 to get me into a quarrel, I did not doubt. These were the 
 circumstances. 
 
 After I had left the Count, Carlos entered his room in 
 great wrath, and declared that I had dishonoured his house, 
 by a secret intrigue with the countess ; for Beatrice, Hor- 
 tensia's companion, who had been won by the Prince by 
 presents and tenderness, after leaving with Cecilie the 
 dwelling of Petrarca, impatient on account of our long de- 
 lay, had returned to the place, and seen us in our salute. 
 The waiting maid was of course modest enough not to dis- 
 turb us, but she informed the prince of that occurrence as 
 soon as we returned to the castle. The count, who could 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 359 
 
 credit every thing, except the fact, as it seemed to him the 
 most unnatural of all crimes, that a common low-born man, 
 a painter, should win the love of the Countess Hormegg, 
 that he treated the matter as a mere phantasm of stupid jeal- 
 ousy. But the prince, to vindicate himself, was compelled 
 to betray his treacherous informer ; and Beatrice, much as 
 she strove against it, was forced to acknowledge what she 
 had seen. 
 
 The wrath of the count knew no limits, and yet the deed 
 was so monstrous, in his estimation, that he wished to hear 
 his daughter herself respecting it ; Hortensia appeared. 
 The aspect of his pale face, disfigured by anger and terror, 
 excited her amazement. " What has been done here ?" she 
 exclaimed, half beside herself. With terrifying severity 
 the count said, "You shall answer that." Then with a 
 forced tranquillity and kindness, he took her hand and said — 
 " Hortensia ! you are accused of contaminating the honour 
 of our name — well, it must be spoken — by an intrigue with 
 this painter, this Faust ! Hortensia, deny it, say No ! give 
 back to your father his honour and peace of mind. You can 
 do it, refute all malicious tongues ! refute what was a false 
 show, a misunderstanding, a delusion, when you are said to 
 have been seen this day in Faust's arms. Here stands the 
 prince, your future husband. Assure him, that all which 
 has been said against you and Faust is a wicked lie. Faust's 
 presence shall no longer disturb our peace. This night he 
 leaves us forever !" It seemed to be the count's intention, 
 when the alternately flushed and pale countenance of Hor- 
 tensia left him no longer in doubt concerning the occurrence, 
 to give the matter a more favourable turn, that would at once 
 reconcile the prince and bring every thing again into its 
 proper course. He was prepared for any thing, but the 
 declaration which Hortensia made. With her own pe- 
 culiar dignity and undaunted resolution ; and equally by the 
 
300 
 
 HORTENSIA '. 
 
 treachery of Beatrice, who was present, as by the Count's 
 reproaches, and by the intelligence of my sudden departure 
 during that night, provoked to the most violent emo- 
 tions, she first turned to Beatrice : " Wretched girl!" she 
 exclaimed — " I am not standing opposed to you. My ser- 
 vant dare not be my accuser. I have not to vindicate my- 
 self before you. Leave this room and this castle — never 
 more come before my eyes !" Beatrice would have fallen 
 weeping at her feet. It was in vain. She was compelled 
 to obey, and disappear. 
 
 Then the countess turned to her father, and demanded 
 that I should be called. The count hurried out of the room. 
 I was called. Hortensia also left it for a moment, and re- 
 turned nearly at the same time as I entered the apartment. 
 " Dear Faust !" she said to me, and her cheeks burnt 
 with an unnatural red, " you and myself stand here as the 
 accused, and as the condemned." She then told what had 
 occurred ; and thus continued : " I am expected to justify 
 myself. I have to vindicate myself before no one but God, 
 the Judge of all hearts. I have here only to acknowledge 
 the truth, because my father demands it, and to declare my 
 unchangeable will, because fate has determined it. I am 
 born to misfortune. Faust ! I should be unworthy of your 
 respect if I could not stand firm amid every calamity." — 
 She then walked to the prince and said : " I respect you, 
 but I love you not. My hand will never be yours ; do not 
 nourish hope any longer. After what has happened, I must 
 pray you for ever to avoid us. Do not expect that my fa- 
 ther can force my will. Life is indhTerent to me. His 
 first violence would be followed by no other consequence, 
 than that he would have to bury the corpse of his daughter. 
 This is all I have to say to you. — To you, my father, I have 
 to confess, that I love this Faust ; but I cannot help it. 
 He is hateful to you — he is not of our rank. He shall part 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 361 
 
 from us. My earthly connexions with him are dissolved ; 
 but my heart will ever be his. You, my father, cannot 
 change it ; and every attempt to do so, would be the end 
 of my life. I foretel it you ; I am prepared for my death, 
 for it will only end my disappointment." 
 
 She was silent. The count wished to speak, and also 
 the prince. She motioned to them to be silent. She ap- 
 proached me, drew a ring from her hand, gave it to me, and 
 said : " My friend, I part from you, perhaps for ever ! Take 
 this ring as a memento of me. This gold and these dia- 
 monds will sooner turn into dust, than my love and truth will 
 cease." As she said this, she laid her arms upon my shoul- 
 der, pressed a kiss upon my lips, became deathly pale and 
 cold, and fell, with closed eyes, upon the floor. 
 
 Count Hormegg gave a penetrating and horrible shriek. 
 The prince called for help. I carried the beautiful corpse 
 to a couch. Physicians were sent for. Upon my knees, 
 before the couch, I held the cold hand of the departed to 
 my cheek. The count tore me away. He was like a 
 madman. " You have murdered her ! " — he thundered at 
 me. "Fly, wretch! and never more be seen." He thrust 
 me out of the door. Upon a wave of his hand, the game- 
 keepers caught hold of me, and dragged me down the stairs 
 before the castle. Sebald stood before the stable. As 
 soon as he got sight of me, he ran towards me, and pulled 
 me with him to the saddled horses in the stable. 
 
 We had not been on our way half an hour, when I saw 
 a horseman coming towards me at full speed. " Accursed 
 murderer!" I heard a voice call. It was Carlos. Immedi- 
 ately several shots were fired at me. As I reached for my 
 pistols, my horse fell under me, dead, to the ground. I 
 jumped off, and Carlos rode with drawn sword towards me ; 
 and as he was in the act of cutting me down, I sent a bul- 
 let through his body. As he was falling, his companions 
 
362 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 caught him, and instantly took their flight. Sebald suffer- 
 ed me to sit before him upon his horse, and so we rode 
 hastily away. 
 
 That scuffle had taken place not far from a small wood. 
 The sun had already gone down. We rode during the 
 whole of the night without knowing: whither. At break of 
 day we stopped before a village tavern to give our horse 
 rest ; but found him so much rubbed with the saddle that 
 we gave up all hope of using him any more. We sold him 
 for a trifle, and proceeded on foot in by-paths, each carry- 
 ing his own portmanteau. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 ■ 
 
 New Adventures. 
 
 The first rays of the rising sun fell upon the diamonds of 
 Hortensia's ring. I kissed it with tears in my eyes. Sebald 
 told me in the night, that while I was in the stable, he 
 heard from one of the servants, that the countess had been 
 thought dead, but was restored to life. That intelligence 
 strengthened and comforted me. As to my own lot, I felt 
 perfectly indifferent. My conscience, free of reproach, ele- 
 vated me above all fear. I felt but one pain — to be sepa- 
 rated for ever from Hortcnsia. 
 
 We did not stop for repose until we reached Ravenna. 
 There I made a long day of rest ; for from the horrible oc- 
 currences and the enormous exertions I was exhausted. Du- 
 ring two weeks after I was in a fever. Sebald was tor- 
 mented with great fear ; for he dreaded, very naturally, that 
 the death of the prince would bring us into the hands of the 
 law. He had given to himself and me other names ; and 
 had procured different apparel for us. My strong constitu- 
 tion, more than the art of the physician, soon restored me 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 363 
 
 to health ; but as we had concluded to go from Rimini to 
 Trieste by water, I hoped to recover still more on the jour- 
 ney. 
 
 One night, in great terror, Sebald came to me, and said 
 — " Sir, we can remain here no longer. Before the door 
 stands a stranger, who wishes to speak with you. We are 
 betrayed. He first asked for my name, and as I could not 
 deny it, he asked for you." 
 
 "Let him come in ! " — I said. 
 
 A well-dressed man entered my room, who after the first 
 courtesies had been interchanged, inquired after my health. 
 When I assured him that I felt tolerably well, he said — 
 " So much the better. I wish to give you some good ad- 
 vice. You know what has happened between you and 
 Prince Carlos. He is out of danger, but he has sworn 
 your death. Therefore get away as quickly as possible. 
 You would like to go by Trieste to Germany. Do not do 
 it ! There is no ship in Rimini bound for Trieste ; but a 
 Neapolitan vessel will return to Naples. You are safe 
 when you are at sea ; otherwise, within a few hours you 
 will be dead or arrested. Here is a letter for the Neapoli- 
 tan captain. He is my trusty friend, and will receive you 
 with pleasure. Only get as speedily as possible to Rimini, 
 and from there sail to Naples." 
 
 I was astounded to see the stranger so well informed. 
 At my question how he had come by his information, he 
 smiled, and only replied — " More I know not ; and more 
 therefore I cannot tell you. I live here in Ravenna, and 
 am secretary of the court. Save yourself" — and he sud- 
 denly departed. 
 
 Sebald asserted firmly, that this man must be guided by 
 the devil, else he could not have known our secrets. The 
 stranger spoke without to the people of the tavern, and we 
 learned afterwards from them, that the unknown to us was 
 
364 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 secretary of the court at Ravenna ; that he was a good and 
 honourable man. But it was most inexplicable to me how 
 the mysterious person had become so well acquainted with 
 our plan, to go by Trieste to Germany ; of which no one, 
 excepting ourselves, could know anything. The enigma, 
 however, was solved, when Sebald acknowledged to me, 
 that during my sickness he had written a letter to his for- 
 mer companion, Caspar of Battaglia, and asked him to give 
 him information, whether the prince had actually been 
 killed. He had waited for an answer in vain. The letter 
 had without doubt fallen into the hands of Carlos, or into 
 those of one of his people, or the contents had otherwise 
 been betrayed. 
 
 For the first time, Sebald began to fear. He engaged 
 without any further ceremony a coach for Rimini, and we 
 started oft' on the same night. I myself felt uneasy about 
 these changes. I knew not whether we fled from danger, 
 or whether we were approaching it. We arrived safe at 
 Rimini, and found the Neapolitan captain. I handed to 
 him the letter of the secretary, and soon bargained for the 
 fare to Naples. 
 
 Besides ourselves, there were a few other passengers on 
 board, among whom was a man whose aspect at first made 
 me feel uneasy. I remembered to have seen him before, 
 at the baths in Battaglia. I was however pacified, when 
 I gathered from his conversation that he had never before 
 seen me. He had left Battaglia three days since ; and 
 was. on his return to Naples, where, as he said, he dealt 
 very largely in mercantile business. He spoke of the ac- 
 quaintances that he had made at the baths in Battaglia, 
 and mentioned also the German countess, who, as he ex- 
 pressed himself, was a wonder of grace and beauty. How 
 did my heart beat ! Of the wounding or the death of the 
 prince he seemed not to know anything. The countess, 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 365 
 
 whose name he did not know, had left four days before him, 
 he said ; but where she had gone to, he had not concerned 
 himself. 
 
 Deficient as that intelligence was, nevertheless it 
 served to tranquillize me. Hortensia lived, Hortensia was 
 well. — " May she be happy ! " — was my earnest prayer. 
 The voyage was tedious to all, but not to me. I sought 
 solitude. Through many nights I sat waking on deck, or 
 half-dreaming of Hortensia. The young merchant — his 
 name was Tufaldini — observed my melancholy, and gave 
 himself great trouble to cheer me. He heard that I was 
 a painter. He loved the art passionately, and turned the 
 conversation continually to it, because nothing else seemed 
 to interest my mind, or to arouse my loquacity. His inter- 
 est and friendliness at last became so great, that he 
 offered me rooms and board in his own house in Naples, 
 which I did not refuse, as I was a perfect stranger in 
 Naples, and as mine and Sebald's united funds, after deduct- 
 ing our fare, were greatly diminished. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Another Wonder. 
 
 The kindness and care of Tufaldini distressed me. From 
 a travelling companion he made me his friend ; not- 
 withstanding that I had done nothing to deserve his regard. 
 As his friend, he introduced me to his mother, and to his 
 wife ; and after a few days I was treated like an old friend 
 of the family. But Tufaldini also introduced me to all his 
 acquaintances, and from them I soon received orders for 
 paintings. He himself was as eager to get me employ- 
 ment as if it had been for his own benefit. He even acce- 
 ded to my wishes to take payment for my rooms and board, 
 
366 
 
 HORTENSIA I 
 
 much as at first my offer pained him. But when he saw 
 my determination to leave his house, if I could not recom- 
 pense him, he took the money more to please me than as a 
 compensation. 
 
 With my labours I was fortunate beyond all expectation. 
 My paintings were admired, I was paid what I asked for 
 them, and every order when finished procured me another. 
 Sebald was so happy in Naples, that he even forgot his 
 homesickness for Germany. He thanked God that he had 
 been so fortunate as to escape with a whole skin from 
 Count Hormegg's service ; and would rather, as he avow- 
 ed, serve me for water and bread, than the count for dishes 
 full of gold. 
 
 It was my purpose to accumulate as much by my labour 
 as would enable me to make the tour to Germany, and 
 there to settle. I was industrious and saving. Thus passed 
 away a year. The kindness that I enjoyed in Tufaldini's 
 house, and the charm of the soft climate ; and then that in 
 Geimany I was without fame, without friends, made me for- 
 get my first project. Joy was blooming for me as little on Ger- 
 man as on Italian ground. Only the thought, that Hortensia, 
 perhaps, might be living on the. estates of her father — and 
 that I might have the consolation of seeing her there again, 
 if even from a distance only ; that thought made me some- 
 times long for the north. But when I remembered our 
 parting time, and the words that she spoke : — " My earthly 
 connection with him is dissolved ! " — how, before her fa- 
 ther so solemnly, and with such heroic greatness, she 
 resigned me — then I also arose again to the courageous 
 feeling, that I would bear all joyfully. — I seemed to be like 
 an oak tree, blasted by the storm ; without branches ; 
 without foliage ; lonely, and dying within itself. 
 
 It is said that time will heal, with benevolent hand, even 
 the deepest wound. I once put faith in that adage ; but I found 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 367 
 
 it untrue. My melancholy remained the same. I avoided 
 all those who were joyful. I often found alleviation in 
 tears. One dream of Hortensia, when I saw her in her 
 loveliness, was my only joy. Her ring was my visible 
 patron. Had it fallen into the depths of the ocean, nothing 
 would have prevented me from attempting to recover it. 
 
 The second year passed ; but not my grief. However it 
 happened, I ever was comforted, even in the darkest hours, 
 by a dim ray of hope, that perhaps some accident might 
 again bring me near the lost one ; or that I might at least 
 hear some tidings of her. Nevertheless, I thought — how 
 can she, who is far distant, after the lapse of years, know 
 where I, the lone one, live ? All the same. Does he, who 
 hopes, regard possibilities 1 — But at the end of the second 
 year, I lost that hope. Hortensia was as if dead to me. I 
 also saw her in my dreams only as a supernatural being. 
 
 Tufaldini and his wife, in our confidential conversations, 
 had asked the cause of my dejection. I could never so 
 far conquer myself, as to disclose my secret. At last they 
 inquired no more ; but became apprehensive for my health. 
 
 Every thing, however, took a sudden change. One 
 morning Sebald brought me some letters that had arrived 
 for me by the mail ; among them were new orders for 
 paintings, and a small box. I opened it : who can conceive 
 my joyful surprise 1 — I beheld Hortensia's image ! — but in a 
 black mourning dress — the face more thin and more pale 
 than I had seen it in the reality — beside it, upon a piece 
 of paper, by Hortensia's hand, were written these three 
 words : " Hope ! my Immanuel ! " — I fell speechless upon 
 a chair, — I lifted my hands to heaven in prayer ; I kissed 
 the portrait and the piece of paper that had been touched 
 by her hand ; and thanked Providence, weeping, with my 
 face almost upon the floor. 
 
 Sebald thought me mad. He did not err. Man, — I felt 
 
368 
 
 HOBTENSIA : 
 
 it, — is always stronger to bear misfortune than prosperity ; 
 against the former he walks more or less armed, but 
 against the latter without fear and caution ! 
 
 My hopes again blossomed cheerfully; and with them my 
 health, and my life. Tufaldini and all my acquaintances 
 were rejoiced at it. I expected now, from day to day, 
 new intelligence. That the dearly beloved one knew of 
 my abode, could not be doubted. But from what part of the 
 world her portrait had come to me, my investigation and 
 inquiries could not discover. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 The Solution. 
 
 After several months I received another letter from Hor- 
 tensia. It consisted of the following lines : — " Once more, 
 Immanuel, I should like to see you. Endeavour to be on 
 the first morning of May at Livorno, where from the Swiss 
 mercantile house * * * * you will receive further 
 intelligence, if you ask for the Widow Black, who will 
 show you my place of abode. Tell no one in Naples 
 whither you are going ; and, above all, say nothing of me. 
 I am no longer for any one in this world, except perhaps 
 during a few moments for yourself." 
 
 That letter filled me with delight, but on account of the 
 dark secret that was in it, I felt an alarming misgiving. 
 But to see Hortensia again, if only for a few moments, was 
 enough for me. In April I departed from Naples, and in 
 great dejection, from Tufaldini's house. Sebald and every 
 one thought I was going back to Germany. 
 
 I arrived with Sebald at Gaeta. There we met with un- 
 looked-for pleasure. Near the city, in passing the gar- 
 den door of a villa, I saw among several ladies Miss Ce- 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE. 
 
 36& 
 
 eilie. I stopped, jumped out of the carriage, and made 
 myself known to her. She introduced me to the circle of 
 her acquaintances. She herself was just married. From 
 her I learned that she had left Hortensia a year before. Of 
 the present abode of the countess she knew nothing, ex- 
 cept only that she had gone into a cloister. " A year has 
 elapsed " — said Cecilie — " since Count Hormegg's death. 
 By the sudden restrictions from all the luxuries which she 
 had hitherto enjoyed, we soon observed that he had left his 
 affairs in a sad confusion. The countess greatly diminish- 
 ed the number of her servants. I had the favour to be re- 
 tained by her. But when, by an unfortunate suit, she lost 
 all hope of retaining any of the indebted estates of her 
 father, we were all dismissed. Oh, how many tears did 
 that parting cost us ! Hortensia was never more charm- 
 ing and never more exalted than under the heaviest blows 
 of misfortune. She renounced all the splendour to which 
 she had been used, divided all her rich garments, like one 
 dying, among her dismissed servants ; rewarded all with 
 such princely liberality, that she certainly must have placed 
 herself in danger of want, and only begged of us to in- 
 clude her in our prayers. I was at Milan, where I left 
 her, and whence I returned home here to my family. She 
 said that it was her desire to go to Germany, and there 
 seek the solitude of a cloister." 
 
 This narrative of Cecilie explained all the enigmas in 
 Hortensia's last letter. She also informed me that Carlos, 
 immediately after recovering from his wound, entered into 
 the Maltese service, and did not long survive. 
 
 In a half sad and a half joyful mood I left Gaeta. Hor- 
 tensia's misfortunes and the loss of her estates excited my 
 compassion, but at the same time a bolder hope arose 
 within me than I had previosuly dared to entertain. I flat- 
 tered myself to be able perhaps to dissuade her from her pur- 
 17 
 
370 
 
 HORTENSIA : 
 
 pose of passing her life in a cloister, and also perhaps with 
 her heart to gain her hand. I exulted in the thought of 
 being permitted to share with Hortensia the fruits of my 
 labour. This soon became my only dream upon the road 
 to Livorno, where I arrived some days before the time 
 fixed by her. 
 
 I delayed not to seek immediately the Swiss mercantile 
 house, to which I had been directed. In my travelling 
 clothes I ran there, and begged for the address of the widow 
 Black, that I might previously ascertain if the countess 
 had arrived in Livorno. A male servant conducted me to 
 the widow's, who lived in a remote street in a very plain, 
 private house. How great was my chagrin when I was 
 told that Madam Black was absent, and that I should call 
 again in two hours. Every lost moment was like a theft 
 upon my life. 
 
 I called again ; and an old servant opened the door, con- 
 ducted me up stairs, and announced me to her mistress. I 
 was invited to walk into a very plainly ornamented, but 
 neat room. Opposite the door sat a lady upon a couch, 
 who however did not seem to take any notice of my en- 
 trance. She did not return my salutation, but endeavoured, 
 with both hands before her face, to conceal her sobbing 
 and weeping. 
 
 A feverish shudder ran all over me ; as in the appearance 
 of the widow, and in the sounds of her sobbing, I recognised 
 the form and voice cf Hortensia. Without consideration, 
 and assuring myself of the certainty, I dropt my hat and 
 cane, and cast myself at the feet of the weeper. Who can 
 tell what feeling then came over me, as the arms of Hor- 
 tensia encircled my neck ? All the past was forgotten, in 
 the rose-coloured future. Never was love more beautifully 
 requited, or truth more happily rewarded. The first day of 
 our meeting so little was asked and answered? and that little 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE, 
 
 371 
 
 so unconnectedly, that we both parted without knowing 
 more of each other, than that we had actually met. 
 
 On the following day, I was in readiness, according to 
 Hortensia's invitation, to take breakfast with her. Her do- 
 mestics consisted of a cook, a waiting maid, a chamber-maid, 
 a coachman, and a footboy. All her table-plate was of the 
 finest porcelain and silver, but none of it bore the old count's 
 coat of arms. This aspect of prosperity, that went en- 
 tirely contrary to my first conceit, and far beyond the 
 power of my own wealth, overthrew all the plans which I 
 had dreamed of from Gaeta to Livorno. I expected, and 
 even wished, to find Hortensia in embarrassed circum- 
 stances, that I might be able with greater assurance to offer 
 her my all. Now I stood before her, the poor painter ! 
 
 I did not conceal from her in our confidential conversa- 
 tions, what I had heard in Gaeta from Cecilie, and what 
 sensations, what projects, what hopes had been awakened 
 by it. I painted to her the whole series of my demolished 
 dreams, how she perhaps might give up the cruel design 
 to bury her youth and her qualifications within the walls of 
 a cloister — how she might be contented to select me for 
 her servant and true friend, — how I would lay my savings 
 and all the gains of my future industry at her feet. I 
 painted to her with affectionate hope the comfort of civic 
 life in some solitude — the simple cottage with a small gar- 
 den beside it, and the office of the artist whom her presence 
 would inspire. 
 
 Hortensia arose ; walked to the closet ; drew out a little 
 box of ebony, richly inlaid with silver, and handed it to 
 me, together with the key. " To give you this, I have re- 
 quested you to come to Livorno. It is a part, and yet not 
 a part of the fulfilment of your dreams. After my father's 
 death, it was my first thought to fulfil the duties of my 
 gratitude toward you. Since you fled from Battaglia, I 
 
872 
 
 HORTENSIA *. 
 
 have never lost sight of you. The letter that your servant 
 wrote from Ravenna to one of his friends in my attend- 
 ance, and which communicated to him the plan of your 
 journey, by a fortunate accident fell into my hands. Mr. 
 Tufaldini, from Naples, was induced by me, in a secret 
 conversation, to befriend you. He received payment of 
 all your expenses, and even for your support, should it be 
 necessary. I have rewarded him for his trouble ; notwith- 
 standing the honest man accepted of my presents with 
 great reluctance. In return, I had the pleasure to receive 
 intelligence of your comfort. Tufaldini's letters, after our 
 separation, were my only recreation. After the death of 
 my father, I separated from my family, on account of some 
 difficulties respecting the property. The estates are left in 
 the hands of agents. The balance I turned into money. I 
 thought no more of returning to the place of my nativity. 
 My last refuge was a cloister. Under the pretence of 
 poverty, I separated from all the former acquaintances of 
 my father, and from every one of my former domestics. I 
 took the rank and name of a citizen, that I might live more 
 concealed and for myself. After I had accomplished all 
 my first plan, I summoned you to end my work, and dissolve 
 my vow that I had made to heaven. The moment is at 
 hand. You have told me of your dreams, return with me 
 for a little while to the reality." 
 
 She opened the box, and took out of it a packet of care- 
 fully-secured papers, addressed to my name, broke open the 
 seals ; laid before me an instrument of writing made out by 
 a notary public, wherein partly in sums to be paid to me, 
 and partly in accumulated interests, that were mine, and 
 partly as an inheritance from the property of the widow 
 Marian Black, in bank notes and different estates, an enor- 
 mous sum was bequeathed to me. 
 
 " This,-dear Faust," — the countess continued, — "is your 
 
ASLEEP AND AWAKE, 
 
 373 
 
 property, your well-laboured for, and well-deserved property. 
 I have no longer any part in it I have enough left for a 
 decent subsistence. When I renounce the world, and am 
 an inmate of a cloister, you will be the heir of the remain- 
 der of my property. If I am indeed dear to you, you will 
 prove it by an eternal silence respecting my person, my 
 rank, and my true name ; moreover, that you do not utter a 
 syllable, that may be interpreted as a refusal or tffanks, for 
 this your own property. Will you give me your hand on 
 that?" 
 
 I heard her recital with astonishment and pain, cast the 
 papers aside, and said : " Do you then believe, that these 
 bank notes are of any value to me ? — I will neither refuse 
 them, nor thank you for them. When you go to a cloister, 
 I can dispense with every thing in this world. What you 
 give to me, is mere dust. Ah, Hortensia, you once said, 
 that it was my soul which enlivened you. If it were so, you 
 would not scruple to follow my example. I will burn these 
 bank notes. Of what use are they to me ? Destroy also 
 your own property. Oh become poor and mine ! — Horten- 
 sia ! " — With both her hands she took mine ; and said 
 with energy, and with tears in her eyes : " Am I not yours 
 already, Immanuel?" 
 
 "But the cloister ?" I exclaimed. 
 
 " My last refuge " — she replied — " when you desert me." 
 
 Then we made our covenant, which was ratified by the 
 minister ; after which we departed from Livorno, and 
 sought this luxuriant solitude, where we now constantly re- 
 side with our children. 
 
 THE END. 
 
A CATALOGUE OF 
 
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 Faber on Election. 
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 Hooker's Works. 
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 life are related with exquisite simplicity and touching pathos ; and you cannot repress your admi- 
 ration for her heroic qualities, or scarcely repress your tears in view of her ignominious end. To 
 the youthful reader wc heartily recommend this volume. — Albany Advertiser. 
 
Appleton's Catalogue of Valuable Publications. 
 
 EVANS— THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD; 
 
 Or, the Records of a Holy Home. By the Rev. R. W. Evans. From the 
 twelfth English edition. One volume, 16mo. 75 cents. 
 
 Universally and cordially do wo recommend this delightful volume We heliove no person 
 could read this work, and not be the better for its pious and touching lessons. It is a page taken 
 from the book of life, and eloquent with all the instruction of an excellent pattern ; it is a com- 
 mentary on the affectionate warning, " Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth." We 
 have not for some time seen a work we could so deservedly praise, or so conscientiously recom- 
 Ek&bd — Literary Gazette. 
 
 EMBURY-NATURE'S GEMS; OR, AMERICAN FLOWERS 
 
 I In their Native Haunts. By Emma C. Embury. With twenty plates of Plants 
 carefully colored after Nature, and landscape views of their localities, 
 from drawings taken on the spot, by E. W.-Whitefield. One imperial oc- 
 tavo volume, printed on the finest paper, and elegantly bound. 
 This beautiful work will undoubtedly form a "Gift -Book" for all seasons of the year. It is 
 illustrated with twenty colored engravings of indigenous flowers, taken from drawings made on 
 the spot where they were found ; while each flower is accompanied by a view of some striking 
 feature of American scenery. The literary plan of the book differs entirely from that of any other 
 work on a similar subject which has yet appeared. Each plate has its botanical and local de- 
 scription, though the chief part of the volume is composed of original tales and poetry, illustrative 
 of the sentin^ nts of the flowers, or associated with the landscape. No pains or expense has been 
 spared in the mechanical execution of tho volume, and the fact that it is purely American both 
 in its graphic and literary departments, should recommend it to general notice. 
 
 EWBANK— HYDRAULICS AND MECHANICS. 
 
 A Descriptive and Historical Account of Hydraulic and other Machines for 
 raising Water, including the Steam and Fire Engines, ancient and modern ; 
 with Observations on various subjects connected with the Mechanic Arts ; 
 including the Progressive Development of the Steam Engine. In five 
 books. Illustrated by nearly three hundred Engravings. By Thomas 
 Ewbank. One handsome volume of six hundred pages. $3 50. 
 This is a highly valuable production, replete with novelty and interest, and adapted to gratify 
 equally the historian, the philosopher, and the mechanician, being the result of a protracted and 
 extensive research among the arcana of historical and scientific literature. — JVa£. Intelligencer. 
 
 FABER— THE PRIMITIVE DOCTRINE OF ELECTION; 
 
 Or, an Historical Inquiry into the Ideality and Causation of Scriptural Elec- 
 tion, as received and maintained in the primitive Church of Christ. By 
 George Stanley Faber, B. D., author of "Difficulties of Romanism,' 
 "Difficulties of Infidelity," &c. Complete in one volume, octavo. $1 75. 
 
 Mr. Faber verifies his opinion by demonstration. We cannot pay a higher respect to his work 
 than by recommending it to all. — Church of England Quarterly Review. 
 
 FALKNER — THE FARMER'S MANUAL. 
 
 A Practical Treatise on the Nature and Value of Manures, founded from 
 Experiments on various Crops, with a brief Account of the most Recent 
 Discoveries in Agricultural Chemistry. By F. Falkner and the Author of 
 " British Husbandry." 12mo., paper cover 31 cents, cloth 50 cents. 
 It is the object of the present treatise to explain the nature and constitution of manures gene- 
 rally — to point out the means of augmenting the quantity and preserving the fertilizing power of 
 farm-yard manure, the various sources of mineral and other artificial manures, and the cause of 
 their frequent failuies. — Author's Preface. 
 
 FARMER'S TREASURE, THE ; 
 
 Containing " Falkner's Farmer's Manual," and " Smith's Productive Farm- 
 ing," bound together. 12mo., 75 cents. 
 
 FOSTER— ESSAYS ON CHRISTIAN MORALS, 
 
 Experimental and Practical. Originally delivered as Lectures at Broadmead 
 Chapel, Bristol. By John Foster, author of " Essays on Decision of Char- 
 acter," etc. One volume, 18mo., 50 cents. 
 
 This volume contains twenty-six Essays, some of which are of the highest order of sublimity 
 and excellence. 
 
 9 
 
r*j Eton's Catalogue of Valuable Publications. 
 
 FOSTER.— BiOG., LIT., AMD PHIL. ESSAYS, 
 
 Contributed to the Eclectic Review, by John Foster, author of " Essays on De- 
 cision of Human Character," etc. One volume, 12mo., ftl 25. 
 These contributions well deserve to class with those of Macaoley, Jeffrey, and Sidney Smith, 
 in the Edinburgh Review. They contain the productions of a more original and profound thinker 
 than either, whose master-mind has exerted a stronger influence upon his readers, and has left a 
 deeper impression upon our literature ; and whose peculiar merit it was to present the doctrines 
 and moralities of the Christian faith, under a form and aspect which redeemed the familiar from 
 triteness, and threw a ch irm and freshness about the severest truths. — London Patriot. 
 
 FROST— THE BOOK OF THE NAVY: 
 
 Comprising a General History of the American Marine, and particular accounts 
 of all the most celebrated Naval Battles, from the Declaration of Independ- 
 ence to the present time, compiled from the best authorities. By John 
 Frost, LL. D. With an Appendix, containing Naval Songs, Anecdotes, 
 &c. Embellished with numerous original Engravings, and Portraits of 
 distinguished Naval Commanders. One volume, 12mo., $1 00. 
 
 This is the only popul ir and yet authentic single view which we have of the naval exploits of 
 our country, arranged with good tiste and set forth in good language — (J. S. Gazette. 
 
 This volume is dedicated to the Secretary of the Navy, and is altogether a very faithful and 
 attractive historical record. It deserves, and will doubtless have, a very extended circulation 
 — Nat Intelligencer. 
 
 FROST— THE BOOK OF THE ARMY: 
 
 Comprising a General Military History of the United States, from the period 
 of the Revolution to the present time, with particular accounts of all the 
 most celebrated Battles, compiled from the best authorities. By John 
 Frost, LL. D. Illustrated with numerous Engravings, and portraits of 
 distinguished Commanders. One volume, 12mo., $1 00. 
 This work gives a complete history of military operations, and their causes and effects, from 
 the opening of the Revolution to the close of the last war, with graphic descriptions of the cele- 
 brated battles and characters of the leading generals. It is illustrated with numerous portraits on 
 steel and views of battles, from original drawings by Darley and others. The importance of pop- 
 ular works of the class to which this and the u Book of the Navy" belong, must be obvious to all 
 who recognize the value of national recollections in preserving a true national spirit. 
 
 FRESENIUS.— CHEMICAL ANALYSIS. 
 
 Elementary Instruction in Chemical Analysis. By Dr. C. Rhemigius Frese- 
 nius. With a Preface by Prof. Liebig. Edited by I. Lloyd Bullock. One 
 neat volume, 12mo. Paper, 75 cents ; cloth, $1 00. 
 
 This Introduction to Practical Chemistry is admitted to be the most valuable Elementary In- 
 structor in Chemical Analysis fo scientific operatives, and for pharmaceutical chemists, which has 
 ever been presented to the public. 
 
 GUIZOT. — THE YOUNG STUDENT; 
 
 Or, Ralph and Victor. By Madame Guizot. From the French, by Samuel 
 Jackson. One volume of 500 pages, with illustrations. Price 75 cents, or 
 in three volumes, $1 12. 
 
 This volume of biographical incidents is a striking picture of juvenile life To all that num- 
 berless class of youth who are passing through their literary education, whether in boarding- 
 schools or academies, in the collegiate course, or the preparatory studies connected with them, we 
 know nothing more piecisely fitted to meliorate their character, and direct their course, subordi- 
 nate to the higher authority of Christian ethics, than this excellent delineation of " The Young 
 Student," by Madame Guizot. * * * The French Academy were correct in their judgment, 
 when they pronounced Madame Cuizot's Student the best book of the year.— Courier Enquirer. 
 
 GUIZOT.— GENERAL HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION 
 
 In Europe, from the fall of the Roman Empire to the French Revolution. 
 Translated from the French of M. Guizot, Professor of History to la Facul- 
 te des Lettres of Paris, and Minister of Public Instruction. Third Ameri- 
 can edition, with Notes, by C. S. Henry, D. D. One handsome volume, 
 12mo., $1 00. 
 
 M. Guizot in his instructive Lectures has given us an epitome of modern history, distinguished 
 by all the merit which, in another department, renders Blackstone a subject of such peculiar and 
 unbounded praise — a work closely condensed, including nothing useless, omitting nothing cssen 
 tial ; written with grace, and conceived and arranged with consummate ability. — Bost. Traveller 
 
 10 
 
Appleton's Catalogue of Valuable Publications. 
 
 HOWITT.— LOVE AND MONEY; 
 
 An Every-Day Talc, by Mary Howitt. 18nio., two Plates, cloth gilt, 38 cents 
 LITTLE COIN, MUCH CARE; 
 
 Or, How Poor People Live. By Mary Howitt. 18mo., two Plates, 38 cents. 
 SOWING AND REAPING; 
 
 Or, What will Come of It. By Mary Howitt. 18mo., two Plates, 38 cents. 
 ALICE FRANKLIN ; 
 
 A Sequel to Sowing and Reaping — a Tale. By Mary Howitt. 18mo. two 
 Piates, cloth gilt, 38 cents. 
 
 WORK AND WAGES; 
 
 Or, Life in Service — a Tale. By Mary Howitt. 18mo., two Plates, cloth 
 gilt, 38 cents. 
 
 STRIVE AND THRIVE ; 
 
 A Tale. By Mary Howitt. 18mo., two Plates, cloth gilt, 38 cents. 
 
 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST; 
 
 A Tale. By Mary Howitt. 18mo., two Plates, cloth gilt, 38 cents. 
 
 WHICH IS THE WISER; 
 
 Or, People Abroad — a Tale. By Mary Howitt. 18mo., two Plates, 38 cents. 
 HOPE ON, HOPE EVER; 
 
 Or, The Boyhood of Felix Law — a Tale. By Mary Howitt. 18mo., two 
 Plates, cloth gilt, 38 cents. 
 
 NO SENSE LIKE COMMON SENSE; 
 
 A Tale. By Mary Howitt. 18mo., two Plates, cloth gilt, 38 cents. 
 
 *** The above ten volumes form a portion of the series published under the general title of 
 '•Tales for the People and their Children." 
 
 Of late years many writers have exerted their talents in juvenile literature, with great success. 
 Miss Martineau has made political economy as familiar to boys as it formerly was to statesmen. 
 Our own Miss Sedgwick has produced some of the most beautiful moral stories, for the edification 
 and delight of children, which have ever been written. The Hon. Horace Mann, in addresses to 
 adults, has presented the claims of children for good education, with a power and eloquence of 
 Btyte, and an elevation of thought, which shows his heart is in his work. The stories of Mary 
 Howitt Harriet Martineau, Mrs. Copley, and Mrs. Ellis, which form apart of" Tales for the Peo- 
 ple and their Children," will be found valuable additions to juvenile literature ; at the same time 
 they may be read with profit by parents for the good lessons they inculcate, and by all other read- 
 ers for the literary excellence they display 
 
 We wish they could be placed in the hands and engraven on the minds of all the youln in the 
 country- They manifest a nice and accurate observation of human nature, and especially the na- 
 ture of children, a fine sympathy with every thing good and pure, and a capability of infusing it in 
 the minds of others — great beauty and simplicity of style, and a keen eye to practical life, with all 
 its faults, united with a deep love for ideal excellence. 
 
 Messrs Appleton oc Co deserve the highest praise for the excellent manner in which they 
 have "got up" their juvenile library, and we sincerely hope that its success will be so great as to 
 induce them to make continual contributions to its treasures. The collection is one which should 
 bo owned by every pirentwho wishes that the moral and intellectual improvement of his children 
 shouiJ keop pace with their growth in years, and ths development of their physical powers. — 
 American Traveller 
 
 JERRAM. — THE CHILD'S OWN STORY-BOOK; 
 
 Or, Tales and Dialogues for the Nursery. By Mrs. Jerram (late Jane Eliza- 
 beth Holmes). Illustrated with numerous Engravings. 50 cents. 
 
 There are seventy stories in this volume They are admirably adapted for the countless 
 youth for whose edification they are narrated — Boston Gazette. 
 
 JOHNSON— THE HISTORY OF RASSELAS, 
 
 Prince of Abyssinia — a Tale. By Samuel Johnson, LL. D. 32mo., gilt 
 leaves, 38 cents. 
 
 *** Forming one of the series of " Miniature Classical Library." 
 13 
 
Applcton's Catalogue of Valuable Publications. 
 
 LAFEVER— BEAUTIES OF MODERN ARCHITECTURE; 
 
 Consisting of forty-eight Plates of Original Designs, with Plans, Elevations, 
 and Sections, also a Dictionary of Technical Terms ; the whole forming a 
 complete Manual for the Practical Builder. By M. Lafever, Architect. 
 One volume, large 8vo., half hound, $6 00. 
 
 STAIR-CASE AND HAND-RAIL 
 
 Construction. The Modern Practice of Stair-case and Hand-rail Construction, 
 practically explained, in a Series of Designs. By M. Lafever, Architect 
 With Plans and Elevations for Ornamental Villas. Fifteen Plates. One 
 volume, large 8vo., $3 00. 
 
 Mr. Lafever's " Beauties of Architecture," and his " Practice of Stair-case and Hand-rail con- 
 struction, " constitute two volumes rich in instruction in those departments of business. They 
 are anecessary acquisition not only to the operative workman, but to all landlords and proprietors 
 of houses, who would combine both the ornamental and useful in their family dwellings, and also 
 understand the most economical and profitable modes by which their edifices can be erected and 
 repaired. 
 
 LEWIS. — RECORDS OF THE HEART, 
 
 By Sarah Anna Lewis. One volume, 12mo., $1 00. 
 
 We have read some of the pieces with mucli pleasure. They indicate poetic genius of no or- 
 dinary kind, and are imbued with much feeling and pathos. We welcome the volume as a credit- 
 able accession to the poetic literature of the country. — Boston Traveller. 
 
 LIEBSG— FAMILIAR LETTERS ON CHEMISTRY, 
 
 And its relation to Commerce, Physiology, and Agriculture. By Justus Lie- 
 big, M. D. Edited by John Gardner, M. D. One volume. 13 cents 
 in paper, 25 cents bound. 
 
 The Letters contained in this little volume embrace some of the most important points of the 
 Science of Chemistry, in their application to Natural Philosophy, Physiology, Agriculture, and 
 Commerce. 
 
 LETTER-WRITER, 
 
 The Useful Letter- Writer, comprising a succinct Treatise on the Epistolary 
 Art, and Forms of Letters for all ordinary Occasions of Life. Compiled 
 from the best authorities. Frontispiece. 32mo., gilt leaves, 38 cents. 
 Forming one of the series of '-Miniature Classical Library." 
 
 LOOKING-GLASS FOR THE MIND; 
 
 Or, Intellectual Mirror. Being an elegant Collection of the most delightful 
 little Stories and interesting Tales ; chiefly translated from that much ad- 
 mired work, L'ami des Enfans. Illustrated with numerous wood-cuts. 
 From the twentieth London edition. One volume, 18mo., 50 cents. 
 Forming one of the series of" Tales for the People and their Children." 
 
 LOG CABIN : 
 
 Or, The World before You. By the author of " Three Experiments of Liv- 
 ing," " The Huguenots in France and America," etc. One volume, 18mo., 
 
 50 cents. 
 
 Every person who takes up this volume will read it with interest. It is truly what the writer : 
 intended it should be — ' A Gnide to Usefulness and Happiness." 
 
 LOVER-HANDY ANDY: 
 
 A Tale of Irish Life, by Samuel Lover. Illustrated with twenty-three char- 
 acteristic steel Engravings. One volume, 8vo., cloth $1 25, boards $1 00. 
 Cheap edition, two Plates, paper, 50 cents. 
 
 This boy Handy will be the death of us. What is the police force about to allow the uttering 
 of a publication that has already brought us to the brink of apoplexy fifty times ? — Sport. Review. 
 
 L. S. D.— TREASURE TROVE : 
 
 A Tale, by Samuel Lover. One volume, 8vo., with two steel Engravings. 
 Paper cover, 25 cents. 
 This is a capital thing. The gay and the grave, the " lively and severe," are united with a 
 dkilful hand, and there is a latent tone of sound morality running through "L. S. D." which will 
 give a lasting value to its pages. — Commercial Advertiser. 
 
Applet on's Catalogue of Valuable Publications. 
 
 MAURICE.— THE KINGDOM OF CHRIST; 
 
 Or, Hints respecting the Principles, Constitution, and Ordinances of the Cath- 
 olic Church. By Rev. Frederick Denison Maurice, M. A. London. One 
 volume, 8vo., 600 pages, $2 50. 
 
 On the theory of the Church of Christ, all should consult the work of Mr. Maurice, the most 
 philosophical writer of the day. — Pruf. GarbetVs Bampton Lectures, 1842 
 
 MILTON.-THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 
 
 Of John Milton, with Explanatory Notes and a Life of the Author, hy the Rev. 
 Henry Stebbing, A. M. Illustrated with six steel Engravings. One vol- 
 ume, 16mo., $1 25. 
 
 Forming one of the series of "Cabinet Edition of Standard Poets." *** The Latin and Italian 
 Poems are included in this edition. 
 Mr. Stebbing's Notes will be found very useful in elucidating the learned allusions with which 
 the text abounds, and they are also valuable for the correct appreciation with which the writer di- 
 rects attention to the beauties of the author. 
 
 PARADISE LOST, 
 
 By John Milton. With Notes, by Rev. H. Stebbing. One volume, 18mo., 
 cloth 38 cents, gilt leaves 50 cents. 
 
 PARADISE REGAINED, 
 
 By John Milton. With Notes, by Rev. H. Stebbing. One volume, 18mo., 
 
 cloth 25 cents, gilt leaves 38 cents. 
 MAXWELL— FORTUNES OF HECTOR O'H ALLORAN 
 
 And his man Mark Antony O'Toole, by W. H. Maxwell. One volume, 8vo., 
 two plates, paper, 50 cents, twenty-four plates, boards, $1 00, cloth, $1 25. 
 It is one of the best of all the Irish stories, full of spirit, fun, drollery, and wit. — Com: Enq 
 
 MOORE.— L ALL AH ROOKH ; 
 
 An Oriental Romance, by Thomas Moore. One volume, 32mo., frontispiece, 
 cloth gilt, 38 cents. 
 
 Forming a portion of the series of" Miniature Classical Library." 
 This exquisite Poem has long been the admiration of readers of all cl 
 
 MORE— PRACTICAL PIETY, 
 
 By Hannah More. One volume, 32mo., frontispiece, 38 cents. 
 
 Forming one of the series of" Miniature Classical Library." 
 "Practical Piety " has always bee deemed the most attractive and eloquent of all Hannah 
 More's works. 
 
 PRIVATE DEVOTION ; 
 
 A Series of Prayers and Meditations, with an Introductory Essay on Prayer, 
 chiefly from the writings of Hannah More. From the twenty-fifth London 
 edition. One volume, 32mo., Frontispiece, cloth gilt, 31 cents. 
 
 Forming one of the series of" Miniature Classical Library." 
 Upwards of fifty thousand copies of this admirable manual have been sold in the U. States. 
 
 DOMESTIC TALES 
 
 And Allegories, illustrating Human Life. By Hannah More. One volume, 
 18mo., 38 cents. 
 
 Contents. — I. Shepherd of Salisbury Plain. II. Mr. Fantom the Philosopher. III. Two 
 Shoemakers. IV-. Giles the Poacher. V. Servant turned Soldier. VI. General Jail Delivery. 
 
 RURAL TALES, 
 
 By Hannah More. One volume, 18rno., 38 cents. 
 
 Contents. — I. Parley the Porter. II. All for the Best. III. Two Wealth- Farmers. IV 
 Tom White. V. Pilgrims. VI. Valley of Teais. 
 
 Forming a portion of the series of" Tales for the People and their Children." 
 
 These two volumes comprise that portion of Hannah More's Repository Tales which are 
 adapted to general usefulness in this country. 
 
 17 
 
Appleton's Catalogue of Valuable Publications. 
 
 NAPOLEON— PICTORIAL HISTORY 
 
 Of Napoleon Bonaparte, translated from the French of M. Laurent de L'Ar 
 deche, with Five Hundred spirited Illustrations, after designs by Horace 
 Vernet, and twenty Original Portraits engraved in the best style. Com- 
 plete in two handsome volumes, 8vo., about 500 pages each, $3 50 ; cheap 
 edition, paper cover, four parts, $2 00. 
 
 The work is superior to the long, verbose productions of Scott and Bourienne — not in style 
 alone, but in truth — being written to please neither Charles X. nor the English aristocracy, but for 
 the cause of freedom. It has advantages over every other memoir extant. — American Traveller. 
 
 NEWMAN— PAROCHIAL SERMONS, 
 
 By John Henry Newman, B. D. Six volumes of the English edition in two 
 volumes, 8vo., $5 00. 
 
 SERMONS BEARING ON SUBJECTS 
 
 Of the Day, by John Henry Newman, B. D. One volume, 12mo., $1 25. 
 
 As a compendium of Christian duty, these Sermons will be read by people of all denomina- 
 tions ; as models of style, they will be valued by writers in every department of literature. — United 
 States Gazette. 
 
 OGILBY.-ON LAY-BAPTSSM: 
 
 An Outline of the Argument against the Validity of Lay-Baptism. By John 
 D. Ogilby, D. D., Professor of Eccles. History. One vol., 12mo., 75 cents. 
 From a cursory inspection of it, we take it to be a thorough, fearless, and able discussion of the 
 6ubject which it proposes — aiming less to excite inquiry, than to satisfy by learned and ingenious 
 argument inquiries already excited. — Churchman. 
 
 CATHOLIC CHURCH IN ENGLAND 
 
 And America. Three Lectures — I. The Church in England and America 
 Apostolic and Catholic. II. The Causes of the English Reformation. III. 
 Its Character and Results. By John D. Ogilby, D. D. One vol., 16mo., 
 75 cents. 
 
 " I believe in one Catholic and Apostolic Church." Nicene Creed 
 Prof. Ogilby has furnished the Church, in this little volume, with a most valuable aid. We 
 think it is designed to become a text-book on the subject of which it treats — True Catholic. 
 
 OLD OAK TREE : 
 
 Illustrated with numerous wood-cuts. One volume, 18mo., 38 cents. 
 
 The precepts conveyed are altogether unexceptionable, and the volume is well calculated to 
 prove attractive with children. — Saturday Chronicle. 
 
 OLMSTED— INCIDENTS OF A WHALING VOYAGE: 
 
 To which is added, Observations on the Scenery, Manners, and Customs, and 
 Missionary Stations of the Sandwich and Society Islands, accompanied by 
 numerous Plates. By Francis Ailyn Olmsted. One vol., 12mo., $1 50. 
 The work embodies a mass of intelligence interesting to the ordinary reader as well as to tko 
 
 philosophical inquirer. — Courier 4* Enquirer. 
 
 PAGET-TALES OF THE VILLAGE, 
 
 By the Rev. Francis E. Paget, M. A. Three elegant volumes, ISmo., $1 7. 
 
 The first series, or volume, presents a popular view of the contrast in opinions and modi s of 
 thought between Churchmen and Rom;niists ; the second sets forth Church principles, us opposed 
 to what, in England, is termed Dissent; and the third places in contrast the chaiacter of the 
 Churchman and the Infidel. At any time these volumes would be valuable, especially to the 
 young. At present, when men's minds are much turned to such subjects; they cannot fail of being 
 eagerly sought for. — New-York American. 
 
 PALMER.— A TREATISE ON THE CHURCH 
 
 Of Christ. Designed chiefly for the use of Students in Theology. By the 
 Rev. William Palmer, M. A., of Worcester College, Oxford. Edited, with 
 Notes, by the Right Rev. W. R. Whittingham, D. D., Bishop of the Prot 
 Epis. Church in the Diocese of Maryland. Two volumes, 8vo., $5 00. 
 The chief design of this work is to supply some answer to the assertion so frequently made, 
 that individuals are not bound to submit to any ecclesiastical authority whatever : or that, if they 
 are, they must, in consistency, accept Romanism with all its claims and errors.- -Preface. 
 
 18