Book 8 — CHAPTER XVIII.

Lenardo, having freed himself from business for an hour, took dinner with his friends; and at table he began to explain to them his family circumstances. His eldest sister was married. A rich brother-in-law, to the great satisfaction of the uncle, had undertaken the management of all the estates; with him Valerina’s husband was stoutly co-operating: they were laboring on the great scale, strengthening their enterprises by connection with distant countries and places.

Here, likewise, our oldest friends once more make their 252appearance: Lothario, Werner, the abbé, are on their side proceeding in the highest diligence; while Jarno occupies himself with mining. A general insurance has been instituted: we discern a vast property in land; and on this depends the existence of a large wandering society, the individual members of which, under the condition of the greatest possible usefulness, are recommended to all the world, are forwarded in every undertaking, and secured against all mischances: while they again, as scattered colonists, may be supposed to re-act on their mother country with favorable influences.

Throughout all this we observe Lenardo recognized as the wandering Bond: in smaller and greater combinations, he, for most part, is elected; on him is placed the most unrestricted confidence.

So far had the disclosure, partly from Lenardo, partly from Friedrich, proceeded without let, when both of them on a sudden became silent; each seeming to have scruples about communicating more. After a short pause, Wilhelm addressed them, and cried, “What new secret again suddenly overshadows the friendliest explanation? Will you again leave me in the lurch?”

“Not at all!” exclaimed Friedrich. “Do but hear me! He has found the nut-brown maid, and for her sake”—

“Not for her sake,” interrupted Lenardo.

“And just for her sake!” persisted Friedrich. “Do not deceive yourself: for her sake you are changing yourself into a lawful vagabond; as some others of us, not, in truth, for the most praiseworthy purposes, have, in times past, changed ourselves into lawless vagrants.”

“Let us go along calmly,” said Lenardo: “our friend here must be made acquainted with the state of our affairs; but, in the first place, let him have a little touch of discipline for himself. You had found the nut-brown maid, but to me you refused the knowledge of her abode. For this I will not blame you, but what good did it do? To discover this secret I was passionately incited; and, notwithstanding your sagacious caution, I at length came upon the right trace. You have seen the good maiden yourself: her circumstances you have accurately investigated, and yet you did not judge them rightly. It is only the loving who feels and discovers what the beloved wishes and wants: he can read it in her from her deepest heart. Let this at present suffice: for explanation we have no time left to-day. To-morrow I have the hottest 253press of business to front: next day we part. But for your information, composure, and participating interest, accept this copy of a week from my journal: it is the best legacy which I can leave you. By reading it you will not, indeed, become wiser than you are and than I am; but let this for the present suffice. The nearest future, or a more remote one, will arrange and direct: that is to say, in this case, as in so many others, we know not what is to become of us.”

By way of dessert Lenardo received a packet, at the opening of which he, with some tokens of surprise, handed a letter to Wilhelm. “What secrets, what speedy concerns, can sister Hersilia have with our friend? ‘To be delivered instantly and opened privately, without the presence of any one, friend or stranger!’ Let us give him all possible convenience, Friedrich: let us withdraw!” Wilhelm hastily broke open the sheet, and read,—

Hersilia to Wilhelm.

Wherever this letter may reach you, my noble friend, to a certainty it will find you in some nook where you are striving in vain to hide from yourself. By making you acquainted with my two fair dames, I have done you a sorry service.

But wherever you may be lurking, and doubtless it will search you out, my promise is, that if, after reading this letter, you do not forthwith leap from your seat, and, like a pious pilgrim, appear in my presence without delay, I must declare you to be the manliest of all men; that is to say, the one most completely void of the finest property belonging to our sex: I mean curiosity, which at this moment is afflicting me in its sharpest concentration.

In one word, then, your casket has now got its key: this, however, none but you and I are to know. How it came into my hands let me now tell you.

Some days ago our man of law gets despatches from a distant tribunal; wherein he was asked if, at such and such a time, there had not been a boy prowling about our neighborhood who had played all manner of tricks, and at length, in a rash enterprise, lost his jacket.

By the way this brat was described, no doubt remained with us but he was Fitz,—the gay comrade whom Felix talked so much of, and so often wished back to play with him.

Now, for the present, those authorities request that said 254article of dress may be sent to them if it is still in existence; as the boy, at last involved in judicial examinations, refers to it. Of this demand our lawyer chances to make mention: he shows us the little frock before sending it off.

Some good or evil spirit whispers me to grope the breast-pocket: a little, angular, prickly something comes into my hand; I, so timorous, ticklish, and startlish as I usually am, clinch my hand, clinch it, hold my peace; and the jerkin is sent away. Directly, of all feelings, the strangest seizes me. At the first stolen glance I saw, I guessed, that it was the key of your little box. And now came wondrous scruples of conscience, and all sorts of moral doubts. To discover, to give back my windfall, was impossible; what have those long-wigged judges to do with it when it may be so useful to my friend? And then, again, all manner of questions about right and duty begin lifting up their voices; but I would not let them outvote me.

From this you perceive into what a situation my friendship for you has reduced me: a choice faculty develops itself all on a sudden for your sake; what an occurrence! May it not be something more than friendship that so holds the balance of my conscience? Between guilt and curiosity I am wonderfully discomposed; I have a hundred whims and stories about what may follow: law and judgment will not be trifled with. Hersilia, the careless, and, as occasion served, capricious Hersilia, entangled in a criminal process; for this is the scope and tendency of it! And what can I do but think of the friend for whose sake I suffer all this? I thought of you before, yet with pauses; but now I think of you incessantly: now when my heart throbs, and I think of the eighth commandment, I must turn to you as to the saint who has caused this sin, and will also procure me an absolution; thus the opening of the casket is the only thing that can compose me. My curiosity is growing stronger and doubly strong: come, and bring the casket with you. To what judgment-seat it properly belongs we will make out between us: till then let it remain between us; no one must know of it, be who he will.

But now, in conclusion, look here, my friend. And tell me, what say you to this picture of the riddle? Does it not remind you of arrows with barbs? God help us! But the box must first stand unopened between you and me, and then, when opened, tell us further what we have to do. I wish there were nothing whatever in it; and who knows what 255all I wish, and what all I could tell? but do you look at this, and hasten so much the faster to get upon the road.

Friedrich returned more gay and lively than he had gone. “Good news!” cried he: “good luck! Lenardo has received some pretty letters to facilitate the parting: credit more than sufficient; and thou, too, shalt have thy share in it. Fortune herself surely knows not what she is about; for once in her time she has done wise, worthy fellows a favor.”

Hereupon he handed to his friend some clipped fragments of maps, with directions where they were to be produced, and changed for hard cash or bills, as he might choose. Wilhelm was obliged to accept them; though he kept assuring his companion, that for the present he had no need of such things. “Then, others will need them!” cried Friedrich: “constrain not thy good feelings, and, wherever thou art, appear as a benefactor. But now come along, let us have a look at this manuscript: it is long till night; one tires of talking and listening, so I have begged some writing for our entertainment. Every leaf in Lenardo’s archives is penned in the spirit of the whole: in giving me this, he said, ‘Well, take it and read it: our friend will acquire more confidence in our society and Bond, the more good members he becomes acquainted with.’”

The two then retired to a cheerful spot; and Friedrich read, enlivening with much natural energy and mirth, what he found set down for him.

256WHO CAN THE TRAITOR BE?

“No, no!” exclaimed he, violently and hastily rushing into the chamber allotted him, and setting down his candle,—“no! it is impossible! But whither shall I turn? For the first time I think otherwise than he: for the first time I feel, I wish, otherwise. O father! couldst thou but be present invisibly, couldst thou but look through and through me, thou wouldst see that I am still the same, still thy true, obedient, affectionate son. Yet to say no! To contradict my father’s dearest, long-cherished wish! How shall I disclose it? How shall I express it? No: I cannot marry Julia! While I speak of it, I shudder. And how shall I appear before him, tell him this, him, the good, kind father? He looks at me with astonishment, without speaking: the prudent, clear-sighted, gifted man can find no words. Woe is me! Ah! I know well to whom I would confide this pain, this perplexity, who it is I would choose for my advocate. Before all others, thou, Lucinda! And I would first tell thee how I love thee, how I give myself to thee, and pressingly entreat thee to speak for me, and if thou canst love me again, if thou wilt be mine, to speak for us both.”

To explain this short, pithy monologue will require some details.

Professor N. of N. had an only boy of singular beauty, whom, till the child’s eighth year, he had left entirely in charge of his wife. This excellent woman had directed the hours and days of her son in living, learning, and all good behavior. She died; and the father instantly felt, that to prosecute this parental tutelage was impossible. In their lifetime, all had been harmony between the parents: they had labored for a common aim, had determined in concert what was next to be done; and the mother had not wanted skill to execute wisely, by herself, what the two had planned together. Double and treble was now the widower’s anxiety; seeing, as he could not but daily see, that for the sons of professors, even in universities, it was only by a sort of miracle that a happy education could be expected.

In this strait he applied to his friend, the Oberamtmann of R., with whom he had already been treating of plans for a closer alliance between their families. The Oberamtmann gave him counsel and assistance: so the son was established 257in one of those institutions which still flourish in Germany, and where charge is taken of the whole man, and body, soul, and spirit are trained with all attention.

The son was thus provided for: the father, however, felt himself very lonely, robbed of his wife, shut out from the cheerful presence of the boy, whom he had seen, without effort of his, growing up in such desirable culture. But here, again, the friendship of the Oberamtmann served him in good stead: the distance of their abodes vanished before his affection, his desire for movement, for diversion of thought. In this hospitable home the widowed man of letters found, in a family circle, motherless like his own, two beautiful little daughters growing up in diverse loveliness: a state of things which more and more confirmed the fathers in their purpose, in their hope, of one day seeing their families united in the most joyful bonds.

They lived under the sway of a mild, good prince: the meritorious Oberamtmann was certain of his post during life; and, in the appointment of a successor, his recommendation was likely to go far. And now, according to the wise family arrangement, sanctioned also by the minister, Lucidor was to train himself for the important office of his future father-in-law. This in consequence he did, from step to step. Nothing was neglected in communicating to him all sorts of knowledge, in developing in him all sorts of activity, which the state in any case requires,—practice in rigorous judicial law, and also in the laxer sort, where prudence and address find their proper field; foresight for daily ways and means; not excluding higher and more comprehensive views, yet all tending towards practical life, and so as with effect and certainty to be employed in its concerns.

With such purposes had Lucidor spent his school years: by his father and his patron he was now warned to make ready for the university. In all departments he already showed the fairest talents; and to nature he was further indebted for the singular happiness of inclining, out of love for his father, out of respect for his friend, to turn his capabilities, first from obedience, then from conviction, on that very object to which he was directed. He was placed in a foreign university; and here, both by his own account in his letters, and by the testimony of his teachers and overseers, he continued walking in the path that led towards his appointed goal. It was only objected to him, that in certain cases he had been too impetuously brave. The father shook 258his head at this: the Oberamtmann nodded. Who would not have been proud of such a son?

Meanwhile the two daughters, Julia and Lucinda, were waxing in stature and graces. Julia, the younger, waggish, lovely, unstable, highly entertaining; the other difficult to portray, for in her sincerity and purity she represented all that we prize most in woman. Visits were paid and repaid: and, in the professor’s house, Julia found the most inexhaustible amusement.

Geography, which he failed not to enliven by topography, belonged to his province; and no sooner did Julia cast her eyes on any of the volumes, of which a whole series from Homann’s warehouse were standing there, than the cities, all and sundry, had to be mustered, judged, preferred, or rejected: all havens especially obtained her favor; other towns, to acquire even a slight approval from her, must stand forth well supplied with steeples, domes, and minarets.

Julia’s father often left her for weeks to the care of his tried friend. She was actually advancing in knowledge of her science; and already the inhabited world, in its main features, in its chief points and places, stood before her with some accuracy and distinctness. The garbs of foreign nations attracted her peculiar attention; and often when her foster-father asked her in jest, If among the many young, handsome men who were passing to and fro before her window, there was not some one or other whom she liked? she would answer, “Yes, indeed! if he do but look odd enough.” And, as our young students are seldom behindhand in this particular, she had often occasion to take notice of individuals among them; they brought to her mind the costume of foreign nations: however, she declared in the end, that, if she was to bestow her undivided attention on any one, he must be at least a Greek, equipped in the complete fashion of his country; on which account, also, she longed to be at some Leipzig fair, where, as she understood, such persons were to be seen walking the streets.

After his dry and often irksome labors, our teacher had now no happier moments than those he spent in mirthfully instructing her; triumphing withal, in secret, that a being so attractive, ever entertaining, ever entertained, was in the end to be his own daughter. For the rest, the two fathers had mutually agreed, that no hint of their purpose should be communicated to the girls: from Lucidor, also, it was kept secret.

259Thus had years passed away, as, indeed, they very lightly pass: Lucidor presented himself completed, having stood all trials to the joy, even of the superior overseers, who wished nothing more heartily than being able, with a good conscience, to fulfil the hopes of old, worthy, favored, and deserving servants.

And so the business had at length by quiet, regular steps come so far, that Lucidor, after having demeaned himself in subordinate stations to universal satisfaction, was now to be placed in a very advantageous post, suitable to his wishes and merits, and lying just midway between the university and the Oberamtmann-ship.

The father now spoke with his son about Julia, of whom he had hitherto only hinted, as about his bride and wife, without any doubt or condition; congratulating him on the happiness of having appropriated such a jewel to himself. The professor saw in fancy his daughter-in-law again from time to time in his house, occupied with charts, plans, and views of cities: the son recalled to mind the gay and most lovely creature, who, in times of childhood, had, by her rogueries as by her kindliness, always delighted him. Lucidor was now to ride over to the Oberamtmann’s, to take a closer view of the full-grown fair one, and, for a few weeks, to surrender himself to the habitudes and familiarity of her household. If the young people, as was to be hoped, should speedily agree, the professor was forthwith to appear, that so a solemn betrothment might forever secure the anticipated happiness.

Lucidor arrives, is received with the friendliest welcome: a chamber is allotted him; he arranges himself there, and appears. And now he finds, besides the members of the family already known to us, a grown-up son,—misbred certainly, yet shrewd and good-natured; so that, if you like to take him as the jesting counsellor of the party, he fitted not ill with the rest. There belonged, moreover, to the house a very old, but healthy and gay-hearted, man, quiet, wise, discreet; completing his life, as it were, and here and there requiring a little help. Directly after Lucidor, too, there had arrived another stranger, no longer young, of an impressive aspect, dignified, thoroughly well-bred, and, by his acquaintance with the most distant quarters of the world, extremely entertaining. He was called Antoni.

Julia received her announced bridegroom in fit order, yet with an excess rather than a defect of frankness: Lucinda, 260on the other hand, did the honors of the house; as her sister did those of herself. So passed the day, peculiarly agreeable to all, only to Lucidor not: he, at all times silent, had been forced, that he might avoid sinking dumb entirely, to employ himself in asking questions; and in this attitude no one appears to advantage.

Throughout he had been absent-minded; for at the first glance he had felt, not aversion or repugnance, yet estrangement, towards Julia: Lucinda, on the contrary, attracted him; so that he trembled every time she looked at him with her full, pure, peaceful eyes.

Thus hard bested, he reached his chamber the first night, and gave vent to his heart in that soliloquy with which we began. But to explain this sufficiently, to show how the violence of such an emphatic speech agrees with what we know of him already, another little statement will be necessary.

Lucidor was of a deep character, and for most part had something else in his mind than what the present scene required: hence talk and social conversation would never prosper rightly with him; he felt this, and was wont to continue silent, except when the topic happened to be particular, on some department which he had completely studied, and of which, whatever he needed was at all times ready. Besides this, in his early years at school, and later at the university, he had been deceived in friends, and had wasted the effusions of his heart unhappily: hence every communication of his feelings seemed to him a doubtful step, and doubting destroys all such communication. With his father he was used to speak only in unison: therefore his full heart poured itself out in monologues, as soon as he was by himself.

Next morning he had summoned up his resolution; and yet he almost lost heart and composure again, when Julia met him with still more friendliness, gayety, and frankness than ever. She had much to ask,—about his journey by land and journeys by water; how, when a student, with his knapsack on his back, he had roamed and climbed through Switzerland,—nay, crossed the Alps themselves. And now of those fair islands on the great Southern Lake she had much to say: and then backwards, the Rhine must be accompanied from his primary origin; at first, through most undelicious regions, and so downwards through many an alternation, till at length, between Maynz and Coblenz, 261you find it still worth while respectfully to dismiss the old River from his last confinement, into the wide world, into the sea.

Lucidor, in the course of this recital, felt much lightened in heart; he narrated willingly and well: so that Julia at last exclaimed in rapture, “It is thus that our other self should be!” At which phrase Lucidor again felt startled and frightened, thinking he saw in it an allusion to their future pilgrimage in common through life.

From his narrative duty, however, he was soon relieved; for the stranger, Antoni, very speedily overshadowed all mountain streams, and rocky banks, and rivers, whether hemmed in or left at liberty. Under his guidance you now went forward to Genoa; Livorno lay at no great distance; whatever was most interesting in the country you took with you as fair spoil; Naples, too, was a place you should see before you died; and then, in truth, remained Constantinople, which also was by no means to be neglected. Antoni’s descriptions of the wide world carried the imagination of every hearer along with him, though Antoni himself introduced little fire into the subject. Julia, quite enraptured, was still nowise satisfied: she longed for Alexandria, Cairo, and, above all, for the pyramids; of which, by the lessons of her intended father-in-law, she had gained some moderate knowledge.

Lucidor, next night (he had scarcely shut his door, the candle he had not put down), exclaimed, “Now, bethink thee, then: it is growing serious! Thou hast studied and meditated many serious things: what avails thy law-learning if thou canst not act like a man of law? View thyself as a delegate, forget thy own feelings, and do what it would behoove thee to do for another. It thickens and closes round me horribly! The stranger is plainly come for the sake of Lucinda; she shows him the fairest, noblest social and hospitable attentions: that little fool would run through the world with any one for any thing or nothing. Besides, she is a wag: her interest in cities and countries is a farce, by which she keeps us in silence. But why do I look at the affair so perplexedly, so narrowly? Is not the Oberamtmann himself the most judicious, the clearest, the kindest mediator? Thou wilt tell him how thou feelest and thinkest; and he will think with thee, if not likewise feel. With thy father he has all influence. And is not the one as well as the other his daughter? What would this Antoni the 262traveller with Lucinda, who is born for home, to be happy and to make happy? Let the wavering quicksilver fasten itself to the Wandering Jew: that will be a right match.”

Next morning Lucidor came down with the firm purpose of speaking with the father, and waiting on him expressly to that end, at the hour when he knew him to be disengaged. How great was his vexation, his perplexity, on learning that the Oberamtmann had been called away on business, and was not expected till the day after the morrow! Julia, on this occasion, seemed to be expressly in her travelling-fit; she kept by the world wanderer, and, with some sportive hits at domestic economy, gave up Lucidor to Lucinda. If our friend, viewing this noble maiden from a certain distance, and under one general impression, had already, with his whole heart, loved her, he failed not now in this nearest nearness to discover with double and treble vividness in detail all that had before as a whole attracted him.

The good old friend of the family now brought himself forward in place of the absent father: he, too, had lived, had loved, and was now, after many hard buffetings and bruises of life, resting at last, refreshed and cheerful, beside the friend of his youth. He enlivened the conversation, and especially expatiated on perplexities in choice of wives; relating several remarkable examples of explanations, both in time and too late. Lucinda appeared in all her splendor. She admitted, that accident in all departments of life, and so likewise in the business of marriage, often produced the best result; yet that it was finer and prouder when one could say he owed his happiness to himself, to the silent, calm conviction of his heart, to a noble purpose and a quick determination. Tears stood in Lucidor’s eyes as he applauded this sentiment: directly afterwards the two ladies went out. The old president liked well to deal in illustrative histories; and so the conversation expanded itself into details of pleasant instances, which, however, touched our hero so closely that none but a youth of as delicate manners as his could have refrained from breaking out with his secret. He did break out so soon as he was by himself.

“I have constrained myself!” exclaimed he: “with such perplexities I will not vex my good father; I have forborne to speak, for I see in this worthy old man the substitute of both fathers. To him will I speak, to him disclose the whole: he will surely bring it about; he has already almost 263spoken what I wish. Will he censure in the individual case what he praises in general? To-morrow I visit him: I must give vent to this oppression.”

At breakfast the old man was not present: last night he had spoken, it appeared, too much, had sat too long, and likewise drunk a drop or two of wine beyond his custom. Much was said in his praise: many anecdotes were related, and precisely of such sayings and doings as brought Lucidor to despair for not having forthwith applied to him. This unpleasant feeling was but aggravated when he learned, that, in such attacks of disorder, the good old man would often not make his re-appearance for a week.

For social converse a country residence has many advantages, especially when the owners of it have, for a course of years, been induced, as thinking and feeling persons, to improve the natural capabilities of their environs. Such had been the good fortune of this spot. The Oberamtmann, at first unwedded, then in a long, happy marriage, himself a man of fortune, and occupying a lucrative post, had, according to his own judgment and perception, according to the taste of his wife,—nay, at last according to the wishes and whims of his children,—laid out and forwarded many larger and smaller decorations; which, by degrees, being skilfully connected with plantations and paths, afforded to the promenader a very beautiful, continually varying, characteristic series of scenes. A pilgrimage through these our young hosts now proposed to their guest; as in general we take pleasure in showing our improvements to a stranger, that so what has become habitual in our eyes may appear with the charm of novelty in his, and leave with him, in permanent remembrance, its first favorable impression.

The nearest, as well as the most distant, part of the grounds was peculiarly appropriate for modest decorations, and altogether rural individualities. Fertile hills alternated with well-watered meadows, so that the whole was visible from time to time without being flat; and, if the land seemed chiefly devoted to purposes of utility, the graceful, the attractive, was by no means excluded.

To the dwelling and office houses were united various gardens, orchards, and green spaces; out of which you imperceptibly passed into a little wood with a broad, clear carriage-road, winding up and down through the midst of it. Here, in a central spot, on the most considerable elevation, there had been a hall erected, with side-chambers 264entering from it. On coming through the main door you saw, in a large mirror, the most favorable prospect which the country afforded, and were sure to turn round that instant, to recover yourself on the reality from the effect of this its unexpected image; for the approach was artfully enough contrived, and all that could excite surprise was carefully hid till the last moment. No one entered but felt pleasurably tempted to turn from the mirror to nature, and from nature to the mirror.

Once in motion in this fairest, brightest, longest day, our party made a spiritual campaign of it, over and through the whole. Here the daughters pointed out the evening-seat of their good mother, where a stately box-tree had kept clear space all round it. A little farther on Lucinda’s place of morning prayer was half-roguishly exhibited by Julia, close to a little brook, between poplars and alders, with meadows sloping down from it, and fields stretching upwards. It was indescribably pretty. You thought you had seen such a spot everywhere, but nowhere so impressive and so perfect in its simplicity. In return for this the young master, also half against Julia’s will, pointed out the tiny groves, and child’s gardens which, close by a snug-lying mill, were now scarcely discernible: they dated from a time when Julia, perhaps in her tenth year, had taken it into her head to become a milleress; intending, after the decease of the two old occupants, to assume the management herself, and choose some brave millman for her husband.

“That was at a time,” cried Julia, “when I knew nothing of towns lying on rivers, or even on the sea,—nothing of Genoa, of Naples, and the like. Your worthy father, Lucidor, has converted me: of late I come seldom hither.” She sat down with a roguish air, and on a little bench, that was now scarcely large enough for her, under an elder-bough, which had bent deeply towards the ground. “Fie on this cowering!” cried she, then started up, and ran off with her gay brother.

The remaining pair kept up a rational conversation, and in these cases reason approaches close to the borders of feeling. Wandering over changeful, simple, natural objects, to contemplate at leisure how cunning, scheming man contrives to gain some profit from them; how his perception of what is laid before him, combining with the feeling of his wants, does wonders, first in rendering the world inhabitable, then in peopling it, and at last in over-peopling it,—all this 265could here be talked of in detail. Lucinda gave account of every thing; and, modest as she was, she could not hide that these pleasant and convenient combinations of distant parts by roads had been her work, under the proposal, direction, or favor of her revered mother.

But as the longest day at last bends down to evening, our party were at last forced to think of returning: and, while devising some pleasant circuit, the merry brother proposed that they should take the short road; though it commanded no fine prospects, and was even in some places more difficult to get over. “For,” cried he, “you have preached all day about your decorations and reparations, and how you have improved and beautified the scene for pictorial eyes and feeling hearts: let me, also, have my turn.”

Accordingly, they now set forth over ploughed grounds, by coarse paths, nay, sometimes picking their way by stepping-stones in boggy places; till at last they perceived, at some distance, a pile of machinery towering up in manifold combination. More closely examined, it turned out to be a large apparatus for sport and games, arranged, not without judgment, and in a certain popular spirit. Here, fixed at suitable distances, stood a large swing-wheel, on which the ascending and the descending riders might still sit horizontally and at their ease; other seesaws, swing-ropes, leaping-poles, bowling and ninepins courses, and whatever can be fancied for variedly and equally employing and diverting a crowd of people gathered on a large common. “This,” cried he, “is my invention, my decoration! And though my father found the money, and a shrewd fellow the brain necessary for it, yet without me, whom you often call a person of no judgment, money and brain would not have come together.”

In this cheerful mood the whole four reached home by sunset. Antoni also joined them; but the little Julia, not yet satisfied with this unresting travel, ordered her coach, and set forth on a visit to a lady of her friends, in utter despair at not having seen her for two days. The party left behind began to feel embarrassed before they were aware: it was even mentioned in words that the father’s absence distressed them. The conversation was about to stagnate, when all at once the madcap sprang from his seat, and in a few moments returned with a book, proposing to read to the company. Lucinda forbore not to inquire how this notion had occurred to him, now for the first time in a twelvemonth. “Every thing occurs to me,” said he, “at the proper 266season: this is more than you can say for yourself.” He read them a series of genuine antique tales, such as lead man away from himself, flattering his wishes, and making him forget all those restrictions between which, even in the happiest moments, we are still hemmed in.

“What shall I do now?” cried Lucidor, when at last he saw himself alone. “The hour presses on: in Antoni I have no trust; he is an utter stranger; I know not who he is, how he comes to be here, nor what he wants: Lucinda seems to be his object; and, if so, what can I expect of him? Nothing remains for me but applying to Lucinda herself: she must know of it, she before all others. This was my first feeling: why do we stray into side-paths and subterfuges? My first thought shall be my last, and I hope to reach my aim.”

On Saturday morning Lucidor, dressed at an early hour, was walking to and fro in his chamber, thinking and conning over his projected address to Lucinda, when he heard a sort of jestful contention before his door; and the door itself directly afterwards went up. The mad younker was shoving in a boy before him with coffee and baked ware for the guest: he himself carried cold meats and wine. “Go thou foremost,” cried the younker, “for the guest must be first served: I am used to serve myself. My friend, to-day I am entering somewhat early and tumultuously: but let us take our breakfast in peace; then we shall see what is to be done, for of our company there is nothing to be hoped. The little one is not yet back from her friend: they two have to pour out their hearts together every fortnight, otherwise the poor, dear hearts would burst. On Saturdays Lucinda is good for nothing: she balances her household accounts for my father; she would have had me taking share in the concern, but Heaven forbid! When I know the price of any thing, no morsel of it can I relish. Guests are expected to-morrow; the old man has not yet got refitted: Antoni is gone to hunt; we will do the same.”

Guns, pouches, and dogs were ready as our pair stepped down into the court; and now they set forth over field and hill, shooting at best a leveret or so, and perhaps here and there a poor, indifferent, undeserving bird. Meanwhile they kept talking of domestic affairs, of the household, and company at present assembled in it. Antoni was mentioned, and Lucidor failed not to inquire more narrowly about him. The gay younker, with some self-complaisance, 267asserted, that strange as the man was, and much mystery as he made about himself, he, the gay younker, had already seen through him and through him. “Without doubt,” continued he, “Antoni is the son of a rich mercantile family, whose large partnership concern fell to ruin at the very time when he, in the full vigor of youth, was preparing to take a cheerful and active hand in their great undertakings, and, withal, to share in their abundant profits. Dashed down from the summit of his hopes, he gathered himself together, and undertook to perform for strangers what he was no longer in a case to perform for his relatives. And so he travelled through the world, became thoroughly acquainted with it and its mutual traffickings; in the mean while not forgetting his own advantage. Unwearied diligence and tried fidelity obtained and secured for him unbounded confidence from many. Thus in all places he acquired connections and friends: nay, it is easy to see that his fortune is as widely scattered abroad as his acquaintance; and, accordingly, his presence is from time to time required in all quarters of the world.”

These things the merry younker told in a more circumstantial and simple style, introducing many farcical observations, as if he meant to spin out his story to full length.

“How long, for instance,” cried he, “has this Antoni been connected with my father? They think I see nothing because I trouble myself about nothing; but for this very reason I see it better, as I take no interest in it. To my father he has intrusted large sums, who, again, has deposited them securely and to advantage. It was but last night that he gave our old dietetic friend a casket of jewels; a finer, simpler, costlier piece of ware I never cast my eyes on: though I saw this only with a single glance, for they make a secret of it. Most probably it is to be consigned to the bride for her pleasure, satisfaction, and future security. Antoni has set his heart on Lucinda! Yet, when I see them together, I cannot think it a well-assorted match. The hop-skip would have suited him better: I believe, too, she would take him sooner than the elder would. Many a time I see her looking over to the old curmudgeon, so gay and sympathetic, as if she could find in her heart to spring into the coach with him, and fly off at full gallop.” Lucidor collected himself; he knew not what to answer; all that he heard obtained his internal approbation. The younker proceeded, “All along the girl has had a perverted liking for 268old people: I believe, of a truth, she would have skipped away and wedded your father as briskly as she would his son.”

Lucidor followed his companion over stock and stone, as it pleased the gay youth to lead him: both forgot the chase, which, at any rate, could not be productive. They called at a farmhouse, where, being hospitably received, the one friend entertained himself with eating, drinking, and tattling; the other again plunged into meditations and projects for turning this new discovery to his own profit.

From all these narrations and disclosures Lucidor had acquired so much confidence in Antoni, that, immediately on their return, he asked for him, and hastened into the garden where he was said to be. In vain! No soul was to be seen anywhere. At last he entered the door of the great hall: and strange enough the setting sun, reflected from the mirror, so dazzled him that he could not recognize the two persons who were sitting on the sofa; though he saw distinctly that it was a lady and a man, which latter was that instant warmly kissing the hand of his companion. How great, accordingly, was Lucidor’s astonishment when, on recovering his clearness of vision, he beheld Antoni sitting by Lucinda. He was like to sink through the ground; he stood, however, as if rooted to the spot, till Lucinda, in the kindest, most unembarrassed manner, shifted a little to a side, and invited him to take a seat on her right hand. Unconsciously he obeyed her; and while she addressed him, inquiring after his present day’s history, asking pardon for her absence on domestic engagements, he could scarcely hear her voice. Antoni rose, and took his leave: Lucinda, resting herself from her toil as the others were doing, invited Lucidor to a short stroll. Walking by her side he was silent and embarrassed: she, too, seemed ill at ease; and, had he been in the slightest degree self-collected, her deep-drawn breathing must have disclosed to him that she had heartfelt sighs to suppress. She at last took her leave as they approached the house: he, on the other hand, turned round at first slowly, then at a violent pace, to the open country. The park was too narrow for him: he hastened through the fields, listening only to the voice of his heart, and without eyes for the beauties of this loveliest evening. When he found himself alone, and his feelings were relieving their violence in a shower of tears, he exclaimed,—

“Already in my life, but never with such fierceness, have 269I felt the agony which now makes me altogether wretched,—to see the long-wished-for happiness at length reach me, hand in hand and arm in arm unite with me, and at the same moment announce its eternal departure! I was sitting by her, I was walking by her, her fluttering garment touched me; and I have lost her! Reckon it not over, torture not thy heart with it, be silent and determine!”

He laid a prohibition on his lips: he held his peace, and planned and meditated; stepping over field and meadow and bush, not always by the smoothest paths. Late at night, on returning to his chamber, he gave voice to his thoughts for a moment, and cried, “To-morrow morning I am gone: another such day I will not front.”

And so, without undressing, he threw himself on the bed. Happy, healthy season of youth! He was already asleep: the fatiguing motion of the day had earned for him the sweetest rest. Out of bright morning dreams, however, the earliest sun awoke him: this was the longest day in the year, and for him it threatened to be too long. If the grace of the peaceful evening star had passed over him unnoticed, he felt the awakening beauty of the morning only to despair. The world was lying here as glorious as ever; to his eyes it was still so, but his soul contradicted it: all this belonged to him no longer; he had lost Lucinda.

His travelling-bag was soon packed; this he was to leave behind him; he left no letter with it: a verbal message in excuse of absence from dinner, perhaps also from supper, might be left with the groom, whom, at any rate, he must awaken. The groom, however, was awake already: Lucidor found him in the yard, walking with large strides before the stable-door. “You do not mean to ride?” cried the usually good-natured man, with a tone of some spleen. “To you I may say it, but young master is growing worse and worse. There was he driving about far and near yesterday: you might have thought he would thank God for a Sunday to rest in. And see if he does not come this morning before daybreak, rummages about in the stable, and, while I am getting up, saddles and bridles your horse, flings himself on it, and cries, ‘Do but consider the good work I am doing! This beast keeps jogging on at a staid, juridical trot: I must see and rouse him into a smart life-gallop.’ He said something just so, and other strange speeches besides.”

Lucidor was doubly and trebly vexed: he liked the horse, as corresponding to his own character, his own mode of life; 270it grieved him to figure his good, sensible beast in the hands of a madcap. His plan, too, was overturned,—his purpose of flying to a college friend with whom he had lived in cheerful, cordial union, and in this crisis seeking refuge beside him. His old confidence had been awakened, the intervening miles were not counted: he had fancied himself already at the side of his true-hearted and judicious friend, finding counsel and assuagement from his words and looks. This prospect was now cut off, yet not entirely, if he could venture with the fresh, pedestrian limbs which still stood at his command to set forth towards the goal.

First of all, accordingly, he struck through the park; making for the open country, and the road which was to lead him to his friend. Of his direction he was not quite certain, when, looking to the left, his eye fell upon the hermitage, which had hitherto been kept secret from him,—a strange edifice, rising with grotesque joinery through bush and tree; and here, to his extreme astonishment, he observed the good old man, who for some days had been considered sick, standing in the gallery under the Chinese roof, and looking blithely through the soft morning. The friendliest salutation, the most pressing entreaties to come up, Lucidor resisted with excuses and gestures of haste. Nothing but sympathy with the good old man, who, hastening down with infirm step, seemed every moment in danger of falling to the bottom, could induce him to turn thither, and then suffer himself to be conducted up. With surprise he entered the pretty little hall; it had only three windows, turned towards the park,—a most graceful prospect: the other sides were decorated, or, rather, covered, with hundreds of portraits, copper-plate or painted, which were fixed in a certain order to the wall, and separated by colored borders and interstices.

“I favor you, my friend, more than I do every one: this is the sanctuary in which I peacefully spend my last days. Here I recover myself from all the mistakes which society tempts me to commit: here my dietetic errors are corrected, and my old being is again restored to equilibrium.”

Lucidor looked over the place; and, being well read in history, he easily observed that an historical taste had presided in its arrangement.

“Above, there, in the frieze,” said the old virtuoso, “you will find the names of distinguished men in the primitive ages; then those of later antiquity; yet still only their names, for how they looked would now be difficult to discover. 271But here, in the main field, comes my own life into play: here are the men whose names I used to hear mentioned in my boyhood. For some fifty years or so the name of a distinguished man continues in the remembrance of the people: then it vanishes, or becomes fabulous. Though of German parentage, I was born in Holland; and, for me, William of Orange, Stadtholder, and King of England, is the patriarch of all common great men and heroes.

“Now, close by William, you observe Louis Fourteenth as the person who”—How gladly would Lucidor have cut short the good old man, had it but been permitted him, as it is to us the narrators: for the whole late and latest history of the world seemed impending; as from the portraits of Frederick the Great and his generals, towards which he was glancing, was but too clearly to be gathered.

And though the kindly young man could not but respect his old friend’s lively sympathy in these things, nor deny that some individual features and views in this exhibitory discourse might be interesting; yet at college he had heard the late and latest history of Europe already: and, what a man has once heard, he fancies himself to know forever. Lucidor’s thoughts were wandering far away: he heard not, he scarcely saw, and was just on the point, in spite of all politeness, of flinging himself out, and tumbling down the long, fatal stair, when a loud clapping of hands was heard from below.

While Lucidor restrained his movement, the old man looked over through the window; and a well-known voice resounded from beneath, “Come down, for Heaven’s sake, out of your historic picture-gallery, old gentleman! Conclude your fasts and humiliations, and help me to appease our young friend, when he learns it. Lucidor’s horse I have ridden somewhat hard: it has lost a shoe, and I was obliged to leave the beast behind me. What will he say? He is too absurd, when one behaves absurdly.”

“Come up,” said the old man, and turned in to Lucidor. “Now what say you?” Lucidor was silent, and the wild blade entered. The discussion of the business lasted long: at length it was determined to despatch the groom forthwith, that he might seek the horse, and take charge of it.

Leaving the old man, the two younkers hastened to the house; Lucidor, not quite unwillingly, submitting to this arrangement. Come of it what might, within these walls the sole wish of his heart was included. In such desperate 272cases, we are, at any rate, cut off from the assistance of our free will; and we feel ourselves relieved for a moment, when, from any quarter, direction and constraint take hold of us. Yet, on entering his chamber, he found himself in the strangest mood,—like a man who, having just left an apartment of an inn, is forced to return to it by the breaking of an axle.

The gay younker fell upon the travelling-bag, unpacking it all in due order; especially selecting every article of holiday apparel, which, though only on the travelling scale, was to be found there. He forced Lucidor to put on fresh shoes and stockings: he dressed for him his clustering brown locks, and decked him at all points with his best skill. Then stepping back, and surveying our friend and his own handiwork from head to foot, he exclaimed, “Now, then, my good fellow, you do look like a man that has some pretensions to pretty damsels, and serious enough, moreover, to spy about you for a bride! Wait one moment! You shall see how I, too, can produce myself, when the hour strikes. This knack I learned from your military officers, the girls are always glancing at them: so I likewise have enrolled myself among a certain soldiery; and now they look at me, too, and look again; and no soul of them knows what to make of it. And so, from this looking and re-looking, from this surprise and attention, a pretty enough result now and then arises; which, though it were not lasting, is worth enjoying for the moment.

“But come along, my friend, and do the like service for me. When you have seen me case myself by piecemeal in my equipment, you will not say that wit and invention have been denied me.” He now led his friend through several long, spacious passages of the old castle. “I have quite nestled myself here,” cried he. “Though I care not for hiding, I like to be alone: you can do no good with other people.”

They were passing by the office-rooms just as a servant came out with a patriarchal writing apparatus, black, massive, and complete: paper, too, was not forgotten.

“I know what it is to be blotted here again,” cried the younker: “go thy ways, and leave me the key. Take a look of the place, Lucidor: it will amuse you till I am dressed. To a friend of justice, such a spot is not odious, as to a tamer of horses.” And, with this, he pushed Lucidor into the hall of judgment.

273Lucidor felt himself directly in a well-known and friendly element: he thought of the days when he, fixed down to business, had sat at such a table, and, listening and writing, had trained himself to his art. Nor did he fail to observe, that in this case an old, stately, domestic chapel had, under the change of religious ideas, been converted to the service of Themis. In the repositories he found some titles and acts already familiar to him: in these very matters he had co-operated while laboring in the capital. Opening a bundle of papers, there came into his hands a rescript which he himself had dictated; another of which he had been the originator. Handwriting and paper, signet and president’s signature, every thing recalled to him that season of juridical effort, of youthful hope. And here, when he looked round, and saw the Oberamtmann’s chair, appointed and intended for himself; so fair a place, so dignified a circle of activity, which he was now like to cast away and utterly lose,—all this oppressed him doubly and trebly, as the form of Lucinda seemed to retire from him at the same time.

He turned to go out into the open air, but found himself a prisoner. His gay friend, heedlessly or roguishly, had left the door locked. Lucidor, however, did not long continue in this durance; for the other returned, apologized for his oversight, and really called forth good-humor by his singular appearance. A certain audacity of color and cut in his clothes was softened by natural taste, as even to tattooed Indians we refuse not a certain approbation. “To-day,” cried he, “the tedium of by-gone days shall be made good to us. Worthy friends, merry friends, are come; pretty girls, roguish and fond; and my father, to boot; and, wonder on wonder! your father too. This will be a festival truly: they are all assembled for breakfast in the parlor.”

With Lucidor, at this piece of information, it was as if he were looking into deep fog: all the figures, known and unknown, which the words announced to him, assumed a spectral aspect; yet his resolution, and the consciousness of a pure heart, sustained him: and in a few seconds he felt himself prepared for every thing. He followed his hastening friend with a steady step, firmly determined to await the issue, be what it might, and explain his own purposes, come what come might.

And yet, at the very threshold of the hall, he was struck with some alarm. In a large half-circle, ranged round by the windows, he immediately descried his father with the 274Oberamtmann, both splendidly attired. The two sisters, Antoni, and others known and unknown, he hurried over with a glance, which was threatening to grow dim. Half wavering, he approached his father, who bade him welcome with the utmost kindness, yet in a certain style of formality which scarcely invited any trustful application. Standing before so many persons, he looked round to find a place among them for a moment; he might have arranged himself beside Lucinda: but Julia, contrary to the rigor of etiquette, made room for him; so that he was forced to step to her side. Antoni continued by Lucinda.

At this important moment Lucidor again felt as if he were a delegate; and, steeled by his whole juridical science, he called up in his own favor the fine maxim, That we should transact affairs delegated to us by a stranger as if they were our own; why not our own, therefore, in the same spirit? Well practised in official orations, he speedily ran over what he had to say. But the company, ranged in a formal semi-circle, seemed to outflank him. The purport of his speech he knew well: the beginning of it he could not find. At this crisis he observed on a table, in the corner, the large ink-glass, and several clerks sitting round it: the Oberamtmann made a movement as if to solicit attention for a speech; Lucidor wished to anticipate him: and, at that very moment, Julia pressed his hand. This threw him out of all self-possession, convinced him that all was decided, all lost for him.

With the whole of these negotiations, these family alliances, with social conventions, and rules of good manners, he had now nothing more to do: he snatched his hand from Julia’s, and vanished so rapidly from the room, that the company lost him unawares; and he out of doors could not find himself again.

Shrinking from the light of day, which shone down upon him in its highest splendor; avoiding the eyes of men; dreading search and pursuit,—he hurried forwards, and reached the large garden-hall. Here his knees were like to fail him: he rushed in, and threw himself, utterly comfortless, upon the sofa beneath the mirror. Amid the polished arrangements of society, to be caught in such unspeakable perplexity! It dashed to and fro like waves about him and within him. His past existence was struggling with his present: it was a frightful moment.

And so he lay for a time, with his face hid in the cushion 275on which last night Lucinda’s arm had rested. Altogether sunk in his sorrow, he had heard no footsteps approach: feeling some one touch him, he started up, and perceived Lucinda standing by his side.

Fancying they had sent her to bring him back, had commissioned her to lead him with fit, sisterly words into the assemblage to front his hated doom, he exclaimed, “You they should not have sent, Lucinda; for it was you that drove me away. I will not return. Give me, if you are capable of any pity, procure me, convenience and means of flight. For, that you yourself may testify how impossible it was to bring me back, listen to the explanation of my conduct, which to you and all of them must seem insane. Hear now the oath which I have sworn in my soul, and which I incessantly repeat in words: with you only did I wish to live, with you to enjoy, to employ my days, from youth to old age, in true, honorable union. And let this be as firm and sure as aught ever sworn before the altar,—this, which I now swear, now when I leave you, the most pitiable of all men.”

He made a movement to glide past her, as she stood close before him; but she caught him softly in her arms. “What is this?” exclaimed he.

“Lucidor!” cried she, “not pitiable as you think: you are mine, I am yours; I hold you in my arms; delay not to throw your arms about me. Your father has agreed to all: Antoni marries my sister.”

In astonishment he recoiled from her. “Can it be?” Lucinda smiled and nodded: he drew back from her arms. “Let me view once more, at a distance, what is to be mine so nearly, so inseparably!” He grasped her hands: “Lucinda, are you mine?”

She answered, “Well, then, yes,” the sweetest tears in the truest eyes: he clasped her to his breast, and threw his head behind hers; he hung like a shipwrecked mariner on the cliffs of the coast; the ground still shook under him. And now his enraptured eye, again opening, lighted on the mirror. He saw her there in his arms, himself clasped in hers: he looked down and again to the image. Such emotions accompany man throughout his life. In the mirror, also, he beheld the landscape, which last night had appeared to him so baleful and ominous, now lying fairer and brighter than ever; and himself in such a posture, on such a background! Abundant recompense for all sorrows!

“We are not alone,” said Lucinda; and scarcely had he 276recovered from his rapture, when, all decked and garlanded, a company of girls and boys came forward, carrying wreaths of flowers, and crowding the entrance of the hall. “This is not the way,” cried Lucinda: “how prettily it was arranged, and now it is all running into tumult!” A gay march sounded from a distance, and the company were seen coming on by the large road in stately procession. Lucidor hesitated to advance towards them: only on her arm did he seem certain of his steps. She staid beside him; expecting from moment to moment the solemn scene of meeting, of thanks for pardon already given.

But by the capricious gods it was otherwise determined. The gay, clanging sound of a postilion’s horn from the opposite side seemed to throw the whole ceremony into rout. “Who can be coming?” cried Lucinda. The thought of a strange presence was frightful to Lucidor, and the carriage seemed entirely unknown to him. A double-seated, new, spick-and-span new, travelling-chaise! It rolled up to the hall. A well-dressed, handsome boy sprang down, opened the door; but no one dismounted; the chaise was empty. The boy stepped into it: with a dexterous touch or two he threw back the tilts; and there, in a twinkling, stood the daintiest vehicle in readiness for the gayest drive, before the eyes of the whole party, who were now advancing to the spot. Antoni, outhastening the rest, led Julia to the carriage. “Try if this machine,” said he, “will please you; if you can sit in it, and, over the smoothest roads, roll through the world beside me: I will lead you by no other but the smoothest; and, when a strait comes, we shall know how to help ourselves. Over the mountains sumpters shall carry us, and our coach also.”

“You are a dear creature!” cried Julia. The boy came forward, and, with the quickness of a conjurer, exhibited all the conveniences, little advantages, comforts, and celerities of the whole light edifice.

“On earth I have no thanks,” cried Julia; “but from this little moving heaven, from this cloud, into which you raise me, I will heartily thank you.” She had already bounded in, throwing him kind looks, and a kiss of the hand. “For the present you come not hither; but there is another whom I mean to take along with me in this proof-excursion,—he himself has still a proof to undergo.” She called to Lucidor, who, just then occupied in mute conversation with his father and father-in-law, willingly took refuge in the light 277vehicle, feeling an irresistible necessity to dissipate his thoughts in some way or other, though it were but for a moment. He placed himself beside her: she directed the postilion where he was to drive. Instantly they darted off, enveloped in a cloud of dust, and vanished from the eyes of the amazed spectators.

Julia fixed herself in the corner as firmly and commodiously as she could wish. “Now do you shift into that one, too, good brother; so that we may look each other rightly in the face.”

Lucidor. You feel my confusion, my embarrassment. I am still as if in a dream. Help me out of it.

Julia. Look at these gay peasants. How kindly they salute us! You have never seen the Upper Hamlet yet, since you came hither. All good, substantial people there, and all thoroughly devoted to me. No one of them so rich that you cannot, by a time, do a little kind service to him. This road, which we whirl along so smoothly, is my father’s doing,—another of his benefits to the community.

Lucidor. I believe it, and willingly admit it; but what have these external things to do with the perplexity of my internal feelings?

Julia. Patience a little! I will show you the riches of this world, and the glory thereof. Here now we are at the top. Do but look how clear the level country lies all round us, leaning against the mountains. All these villages are much, much indebted to my father; to mother and daughters too. The grounds of yon little hamlet are the border.

Lucidor. Surely you are in a very strange mood: you do not seem to be saying what you meant to say.

Julia. But now look down to the left. How beautifully all this unfolds itself! The church, with its high lindens; the Amthaus, with its poplars, behind the village knoll. Here, too, are the garden and the park.

The postilion drove faster.

Julia. The Hall up yonder you know. It looks almost as well here as this scene does from it. Here, at the tree, we shall stop a moment. Now, in this very spot our image is reflected in the large mirror: there they see us full well, but we cannot see ourselves.—Go along, postilion! There, some little while ago, two people, I believe, were reflected at a shorter distance, and, if I am not exceedingly mistaken, to their great mutual satisfaction.

Lucidor, in ill-humor, answered nothing. They went on 278for some time in silence, driving very hard. “Here,” said Julia, “the bad road begins,—a service left for you to do some day. Before we go lower, look down once more. My mother’s box-tree rises with its royal summit over all the rest. Thou wilt drive,” continued she, to the postilion, “down this rough road: we shall take the footpath through the dale, and so be sooner at the other side than thou.” In dismounting, she cried, “Well, now, you will confess the Wandering Jew, this restless Antoni the Traveller, can arrange his pilgrimages prettily enough for himself and his companions. It is a very beautiful and commodious carriage.”

And with this she tripped away down hill. Lucidor followed her in deep thought: she was sitting on a pleasant seat; it was Lucinda’s little spot. She invited him to sit by her.

Julia. So now we are sitting here, and one is nothing to the other. Thus it was destined to be. The little Quicksilver would not suit you. Love it you could not: it was hateful to you.

Lucidor’s astonishment increased.

Julia. But Lucinda, indeed! She is the paragon of all perfections, and the pretty sister was once for all cast out. I see it: the question hovers on your lips, Who has told us all so accurately?

Lucidor. There is treachery in it!

Julia. Yes, truly! There has been a traitor at work in the matter.

Lucidor. Name him.

Julia. He is soon unmasked: You! You have the praiseworthy or blameworthy custom of talking to yourself; and now, in the name of all, I must confess that in turn we have overheard you.

Lucidor (starting up). A sorry piece of hospitality, to lay snares for a stranger in this way!

Julia. By no means. We thought not of watching you more than any other. But you know your bed stands in the recess of the wall: on the opposite side is another alcove, commonly employed for laying up household articles. Hither, some days before, we had shifted our old man’s bed, being anxious about him in his remote hermitage; and here, the first night, you started some such passionate soliloquy, which he next morning took his opportunity of rehearsing.

Lucidor had not the heart to interrupt her. He withdrew.

279Julia (rising and following him). What a service this discovery did us all! For I will confess, if you were not positively disagreeable, the situation which awaited me was not by any means to my mind. To be Frau Oberamtmannin,—what a dreadful state! To have a brave, gallant husband, who is to pass judgment on the people, and, for sheer judgment, cannot get to justice; who can please neither high nor low, and, what is worst, not even himself. I know what my poor mother suffered from the incorruptibility, the inflexibility, of my father. At last, indeed, but not till her death, a certain meekness took possession of him: he seemed to suit himself to the world, to make a truce with those evils which till then he had vainly striven to conquer.

Lucidor (stopping short, extremely discontented with the incident, vexed at this light mode of treating it). For the sport of an evening this might pass, but to practise such a disgracing mystification day and night against an unsuspicious stranger is not pardonable.

Julia. We are all equally deep in the crime, we all hearkened you; yet I alone pay the penalty of eavesdropping.

Lucidor. All! So much the more unpardonable. And how could you look at me, throughout the day, without blushing, whom at night you were so contemptuously overreaching? But I see clearly with a glance that your arrangements by day were planned to make mockery of me. A fine family! And where was your father’s love of justice all this while?—And Lucinda—

Julia. And Lucinda! What a tone was that! You meant to say, did not you, how deeply it grieved your heart to think ill of Lucinda, to rank her in a class with the rest of us?

Lucidor. I cannot understand Lucinda.

Julia. In other words, this pure, noble soul; this peacefully composed nature, benevolence, goodness itself; this woman as she should be,—unites with a light-minded company, with a freakish sister, a spoiled brother, and certain mysterious persons. That is incomprehensible!

Lucidor. Yes, indeed, it is incomprehensible!

Julia. Comprehend it, then! Lucinda, like the rest of us, had her hands bound. Could you have seen her perplexity, how fain she would have told you all, how often she was on the very eve of doing it, you would now love her doubly and trebly, if, indeed, true love were not always tenfold and 280hundred-fold of itself. I can assure you, moreover, that all of us at length thought the joke too long.

Lucidor. Why did you not end it, then?

Julia. That, too, I must explain. No sooner had my father got intelligence of your first monologue, and seen, as was easy to do, that none of his children would object to such an exchange, than he determined on visiting your father. The importance of the business gave him much anxiety. A father alone can feel the respect which is due to a father. “He must be informed of it in the first place,” said mine, “that he may not in the end, when we are all agreed, be reduced to give a forced and displeased consent. I know him well: I know how any thought, any wish, any purpose, cleaves to him; and I have my own fears about the issue. Julia, his maps and pictures, he has long viewed as one thing; he has it in his eye to transport all this hither, when the young pair are once settled here, and his old pupil cannot change her abode so readily: on us he is to bestow his holidays; and who knows what other kind, friendly things he has projected? He must forthwith be informed what a trick Nature has played us, while yet nothing is declared, nothing is determined.” And, with this, he exacted from us all the most solemn promise that we should observe you, and, come what might, retain you here till his return. How this return has been protracted; what art, toil, and perseverance it has cost to gain your father’s consent,—he himself will inform you. In short, the business is adjusted: Lucinda is yours.

And thus had the two promenaders, sharply removing from their first resting-place, then pausing by the way, then speaking, and walking slowly through the green fields, at last reached the height, where another well-levelled road received them. The carriage came whirling up: Julia in the mean while turned her friend’s attention to a strange sight. The whole machinery, of which her gay brother had bragged so much, was now alive and in motion: the wheels were already heaving up and down a multitude of people; the seesaws were flying; maypoles had their climbers; and many a bold, artful swing and spring over the heads of an innumerable multitude you might see ventured. The younker had set all a-going, that so the guests, after dinner, might have a gay spectacle awaiting them. “Thou wilt drive through the Nether Hamlet,” cried Julia: “the people wish me well, and they shall see how well I am off.”

The hamlet was empty: the young people had all run to 281the swings and seesaws; old men and women, roused by the driver’s horn, appeared at doors and windows; every one gave salutations and blessings, exclaiming, “Oh, what a lovely pair!”

Julia. There, do you hear? We should have suited well enough together after all: you may rue it yet.

Lucidor. But now, dear sister—

Julia. Ha! Now dear, when you are rid of me!

Lucidor. One single word. On you rests a heavy accusation: what did you mean by that squeeze of the hand, when you knew and felt my dreadful situation? A thing so radically wicked I have never met with in my life before.

Julia. Thank Heaven, we are now quits; now all is pardoned: I had no mind for you, that is certain; but that you had utterly and absolutely no mind for me, this was a thing which no young woman could forgive: and the squeeze of the hand, observe you, was for the rogue. I do confess it was almost too roguish: and I forgive myself, because I forgive you; and so let all be forgotten and forgiven! Here is my hand.

He took it: she cried, “Here we are again! In our park again; and so, in a trice, we whirl through the wide world, and back too: we shall meet again.”

They had reached the garden-hall; it seemed empty: the company, tired of waiting, had gone out to walk. Antoni, however, and Lucinda, came forth. Julia, stepping from the carriage, flew to her friend: she thanked him in a cordial embrace, and restrained not the most joyful tears. The brave man’s cheeks reddened, his features looked forth unfolded; his eye glanced moist; and a fair, imposing youth shone through the veil.

And so both pairs moved off to join the company, with feelings which the finest dream could not have given them.