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diff --git a/5436-h/5436-h.htm b/5436-h/5436-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..11a1d2d --- /dev/null +++ b/5436-h/5436-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9371 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hyperion, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hyperion, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Hyperion</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 5, 2002 [eBook #5436]<br /> +[Most recently updated: January 3, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charles Aldarondo</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HYPERION ***</div> + +<h1>Hyperion</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</h2> + +<h3>1882</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h3>CONTENTS.</h3> + +<ul class="noindent"> +<li><a href="#1">BOOK I.</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> +<li><a href="#1_1">Epigraph</a></li> + +<li><a href="#1_2">CHAPTER I. THE HERO.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#1_3">CHAPTER II. THE CHRIST OF ANDERNACH.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#1_4">CHAPTER III. HOMUNCULUS.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#1_5">CHAPTER IV. THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#1_6">CHAPTER V. JEAN PAUL, THE ONLY-ONE.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#1_7">CHAPTER VI. HEIDELBERG AND THE BARON.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#1_8">CHAPTER VII. LIVES OF SCHOLARS.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#1_9">CHAPTER VIII. LITERARY FAME.</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul class="noindent"> +<li><a href="#2">BOOK II.</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> +<li><a href="#2_1">Epigraph</a></li> + +<li><a href="#2_2">CHAPTER I. SPRING.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#2_3">CHAPTER II. A COLLOQUY.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#2_4">CHAPTER III. OWL-TOWERS.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#2_5">CHAPTER IV. A BEER-SCANDAL.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#2_6">CHAPTER V. THE WHITE LADY'S SLIPPER AND THE +PASSION-FLOWER.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#2_7">CHAPTER VI. GLIMPSES INTO CLOUD-LAND.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#2_8">CHAPTER VII. MILL-WHEELS AND OTHER +WHEELS.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#2_9">CHAPTER VIII. OLD HUMBUG.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#2_10">CHAPTER IX. THE DAYLIGHT OF THE DWARFS, AND +THE FALLING STAR.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#2_11">CHAPTER X. THE PARTING.</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul class="noindent"> +<li><a href="#3">BOOK III.</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> +<li><a href="#3_1">Epigraph</a></li> + +<li><a href="#3_2">CHAPTER I. SUMMER-TIME.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#3_3">CHAPTER II. FOOT-TRAVELLING.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#3_4">CHAPTER III. INTERLACHEN.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#3_5">CHAPTER IV. THE EVENING AND THE MORNING +STAR.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#3_6">CHAPTER V. A RAINY DAY.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#3_7">CHAPTER VI. AFTER DINNER, AND AFTER THE MANNER +OF THE BEST CRITICS.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#3_8">CHAPTER VII. TAKE CARE!</a></li> + +<li><a href="#3_9">CHAPTER VIII. THE FOUNTAIN OF +OBLIVION.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#3_10">CHAPTER IX. A TALK ON THE STAIRS.</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul class="noindent"> +<li><a href="#4">BOOK IV.</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> +<li><a href="#4_1">Epigraph</a></li> + +<li><a href="#4_2">CHAPTER I. A MISERERE.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#4_3">CHAPTER II. CURFEW BELLS.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#4_4">CHAPTER III. SHADOWS ON THE WALL.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#4_5">CHAPTER IV. MUSICAL SUFFERINGS OF JOHN +KREISLER.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#4_6">CHAPTER V. SAINT GILGEN.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#4_7">CHAPTER VI. SAINT WOLFGANG.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#4_8">CHAPTER VII. THE STORY OF BROTHER +BERNARDUS.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#4_9">CHAPTER VIII. FOOT-PRINTS OF ANGELS.</a></li> + +<li><a href="#4_10">CHAPTER IX. THE LAST PANG.</a></li> +</ul> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="1">BOOK I.</a></h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="1_1">Epigraph</a></h3> + +<p>"Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate,</p> + +<p>Who ne'er the mournful, midnight hours</p> + +<p>Weeping upon his bed has sate,</p> + +<p>He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers."</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="1_2">CHAPTER I. THE HERO.</a></h3> + +<p>In John Lyly's Endymion, Sir Topas is made to say; "Dost thou +know what a Poet is? Why, fool, a Poet is as much as one should +say,--a Poet!" And thou, reader, dost thou know what a hero is? +Why, a hero is as much as one should say,--a hero! Some +romance-writers, however, say much more than this. Nay, the old +Lombard, Matteo Maria Bojardo, set all the church-bells in +Scandiano ringing, merely because he had found a name for one of +his heroes. Here, also, shall church-bells be rung, but more +solemnly.</p> + +<p>The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun. +The brightness of our life is gone. Shadows of evening fall +around us, and the world seems but a dim reflection,--itself a +broader shadow. We look forward into the coming, lonely night. +The soul withdraws into itself. Then stars arise, and the night +is holy.</p> + +<p>Paul Flemming had experienced this, though still young. The +friend of his youth was dead. The bough had broken "under the +burden of the unripe fruit." And when, after a season, he looked +up again from the blindness of his sorrow, all things seemed +unreal. Like the man, whose sight had been restored by miracle, +he beheld men, as trees, walking. His household gods were broken. +He had no home. His sympathies cried aloud from his desolate +soul, and there came no answer from the busy, turbulent world +around him. He did not willingly give way to grief. He struggled +to be cheerful,--to be strong. But he could no longer look into +the familiar faces of his friends. He could no longer live alone, +where he had lived with her. He went abroad, that the sea might +be between him and the grave. Alas! betweenhim and his sorrow +there could be no sea, but that of time.</p> + +<p>He had already passed many months in lonely wandering, and was +now pursuing his way along the Rhine, to the south of Germany. He +had journeyed the same way before, in brighter days and a +brighter season of the year, in the May of life and in the month +of May. He knew the beauteous river all by heart;--every rock and +ruin, every echo, every legend. The ancient castles, grim and +hoar, that had taken root as it were on the cliffs,--they were +all his; for his thoughts dwelt in them, and the wind told him +tales.</p> + +<p>He had passed a sleepless night at Rolandseck, and had risen +before daybreak. He opened the window of the balcony to hear the +rushing of the Rhine. It was a damp December morning; and clouds +were passing over the sky,--thin, vapory clouds, whose snow-white +skirts were "often spotted with golden tears, which men call +stars." The day dawned slowly; and, in the mingling of +daylightand starlight, the island and cloister of Nonnenwerth +made together but one broad, dark shadow on the silver breast of +the river. Beyond, rose the summits of the Siebengebirg. Solemn +and dark, like a monk, stood the Drachenfels, in his hood of +mist, and rearward extended the Curtain of Mountains, back to the +Wolkenburg,--the Castle of the Clouds.</p> + +<p>But Flemming thought not of the scene before him. Sorrow +unspeakable was upon his spirit in that lonely hour; and, hiding +his face in his hands, he exclaimed aloud;</p> + +<p>"Spirit of the past! look not so mournfully at me with thy +great, tearful eyes! Touch me not with thy cold hand! Breathe not +upon me with the icy breath of the grave! Chant no more that +dirge of sorrow, through the long and silent watches of the +night!"</p> + +<p>Mournful voices from afar seemed to answer, "Treuenfels!" and +he remembered how others had suffered, and his heart grew +still.</p> + +<p>Slowly the landscape brightened. Down therushing stream came a +boat, with its white wings spread, and darted like a swallow +through the narrow pass of God's-Help. The boatmen were singing, +but not the song of Roland the Brave, which was heard of old by +the weeping Hildegund, as she sat within the walls of that +cloister, which now looked forth in the pale morning from amid +the leafless linden trees. The dim traditions of those gray old +times rose in the traveller's memory; for the ruined tower of +Rolandseck was still looking down upon the Kloster Nonnenwerth, +as if the sound of the funeral bell had changed the faithful +Paladin to stone, and he were watching still to see the form of +his beloved one come forth, not from her cloister, but from her +grave. Thus the brazen clasps of the book of legends were opened, +and, on the page illuminated by the misty rays of the rising sun, +he read again the tales of Liba, and the mournful bride of +Argenfels, and Siegfried, the mighty slayer of the dragon. +Meanwhile the mists had risen from the Rhine, and the whole air +was filled with golden vapor, through which hebeheld the sun, +hanging in heaven like a drop of blood. Even thus shone the sun +within him, amid the wintry vapors, uprising from the valley of +the shadow of death, through which flowed the stream of his +life,--sighing, sighing!</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="1_3">CHAPTER II. THE CHRIST OF +ANDERNACH.</a></h3> + +<p>Paul Flemming resumed his solitary journey. The morning was +still misty, but not cold. Across the Rhine the sun came wading +through the reddish vapors; and soft and silver-white outspread +the broad river, without a ripple upon its surface, or visible +motion of the ever-moving current. A little vessel, with one +loose sail, was riding at anchor, keel to keel with another, that +lay right under it, its own apparition,--and all was silent, and +calm, and beautiful.</p> + +<p>The road was for the most part solitary; for there are few +travellers upon the Rhine in winter. Peasant women were at work +in the vineyards; climbing up the slippery hill-sides, like +beasts of burden, with large baskets of manureupon their backs. +And once during the morning, a band of apprentices, with +knapsacks, passed by, singing, "The Rhine! The Rhine! a blessing +on the Rhine!"</p> + +<p>O, the pride of the German heart in this noble river! And +right it is; for, of all the rivers of this beautiful earth, +there is none so beautiful as this. There is hardly a league of +its whole course, from its cradle in the snowy Alps to its grave +in the sands of Holland, which boasts not its peculiar charms. By +heavens! If I were a German I would be proud of it too; and of +the clustering grapes, that hang about its temples, as it reels +onward through vineyards, in a triumphal march, like Bacchus, +crowned and drunken.</p> + +<p>But I will not attempt to describe the Rhine; it would make +this chapter much too long. And to do it well, one should write +like a god; and his style flow onward royally with breaks and +dashes, like the waters of that royal river, and antique, quaint, +and Gothic times, be reflected in it. Alas! this evening my style +flows not at all. Flow, then, into this smoke-colored goblet, +thou blood of the Rhine! out of thy prison-house,--out of thy +long-necked, tapering flask, in shape not unlike a church-spire +among thy native hills; and, from the crystal belfry, loud ring +the merry tinkling bells, while I drink a health to my hero, in +whose heart is sadness, and in whose ears the bells of Andernach +are ringing noon.</p> + +<p>He is threading his way alone through a narrow alley, and now +up a flight of stone steps, and along the city wall, towards that +old round tower, built by the Archbishop Frederick of Cologne in +the twelfth century. It has a romantic interest in his eyes; for +he has still in his mind and heart that beautiful sketch of +Carové, in which is described a day on the tower of +Andernach. He finds the old keeper and his wife still there; and +the old keeper closes the door behind him slowly, as of old, lest +he should jam too hard the poor souls in Purgatory, whose fate it +is to suffer in the cracks of doors and hinges. But alas! alas! +the daughter, the maiden with long, dark eyelashes! she is asleep +in her little grave, under the linden trees of Feldkirche, with +rosemary in her folded hands!</p> + +<p>Flemming returned to the hotel disappointed. As he passed +along the narrow streets, he was dreaming of many things; but +mostly of the keeper's daughter, asleep in the churchyard of +Feldkirche. Suddenly, on turning the corner of an ancient, gloomy +church, his attention was arrested by a little chapel in an angle +of the wall. It was only a small thatched roof, like a bird's +nest; under which stood a rude wooden image of the Saviour on the +Cross. A real crown of thorns was upon his head, which was bowed +downward, as if in the death agony; and drops of blood were +falling down his cheeks, and from his hands and feet and side. +The face was haggard and ghastly beyond all expression; and wore +a look of unutterable bodily anguish. The rude sculptor had given +it this, but his art could go no farther. The sublimity of death +in a dying Saviour, the expiring God-likeness of Jesus of +Nazareth was not there. The artist had caught no heavenly +inspiration from his theme. All was coarse, harsh, and revolting +to a sensitive mind; and Flemming turned away with a shudder, as +he saw this fearful image gazing at him, with its fixed and +half-shut eyes.</p> + +<p>He soon reached the hotel, but that face of agony still +haunted him. He could not refrain from speaking of it to a very +old woman, who sat knitting by the window of the dining-room, in +a high-backed, old-fashioned arm-chair. I believe she was the +innkeeper's grandmother. At all events she was old enough to be +so. She took off her owl-eyed spectacles, and, as she wiped the +glasses with her handkerchief, said;</p> + +<p>"Thou dear Heaven! Is it possible! Did you never hear of the +Christ of Andernach?"</p> + +<p>Flemming answered in the negative.</p> + +<p>"Thou dear Heaven!" continued the old woman. "It is a very +wonderful story; and a true one, as every good Christian in +Andernach will tell you. And it all happened before the deathof +my blessed man, four years ago, let me see,--yes, four years ago, +come Christmas."</p> + +<p>Here the old woman stopped speaking, but went on with her +knitting. Other thoughts seemed to occupy her mind. She was +thinking, no doubt, of her blessed man, as German widows call +their dead husbands. But Flemming having expressed an ardent wish +to hear the wonderful story, she told it, in nearly the following +words.</p> + +<p>"There was once a poor old woman in Andernach whose name was +Frau Martha, and she lived all alone in a house by herself, and +loved all the Saints and the blessed Virgin, and was as good as +an angel, and sold pies down by the Rheinkrahn. But her house was +very old, and the roof-tiles were broken, and she was too poor to +get new ones, and the rain kept coming in, and no Christian soul +in Andernach would help her. But the Frau Martha was a good +woman, and never did anybody any harm, but went to mass every +morning, and sold pies by the Rheinkrahn. Now one dark, windy +night, when all the good Christians in Andernachwere abed and +asleep in the feathers, Frau Martha, who slept under the roof, +heard a great noise over her head, and in her chamber, drip! +drip! drip! as if the rain were dropping down through the broken +tiles. Dear soul! and sure enough it was. And then there was a +pounding and hammering overhead, as if somebody were at work on +the roof; and she thought it was Pelz-Nickel tearing the tiles +off, because she had not been to confession often enough. So she +began to pray; and the faster she said her Pater-noster and her +Ave-Maria, the faster Pelz-Nickel pounded and pulled; and drip! +drip! drip! it went all round her in the dark chamber, till the +poor woman was frightened out of her wits, and ran to the window +to call for help. Then in a moment all was still,--death-still. +But she saw a light streaming through the mist and rain, and a +great shadow on the house opposite. And then somebody came down +from the top of her house by a ladder, and had a lantern in his +hand; and he took the ladder on his shoulder and went down +thestreet. But she could not see clearly, because the window was +streaked with rain. And in the morning the old broken tiles were +found scattered about the street, and there were new ones on the +roof, and the old house has never leaked to this blessed day.</p> + +<p>"As soon as mass was over Frau Martha told the priest what had +happened, and he said it was not Pelz-Nickel, but, without doubt, +St. Castor or St. Florian. Then she went to the market and told +Frau Bridget all about it; and Frau Bridget said, that, two +nights before, Hans Claus, the cooper, had heard a great pounding +in his shop, and in the morning found new hoops on all his old +hogsheads; and that a man with a lantern and a ladder had been +seen riding out of town at midnight on a donkey, and that the +same night the old windmill, at Kloster St. Thomas, had been +mended up, and the old gate of the churchyard at Feldkirche made +as good as new, though nobody knew how the man got across the +river. Then Frau Martha went down to the Rheinkrahn and told all +thesestories over again; and the old ferryman of Fahr said he +could tell something about it; for, the very night that the +churchyard-gate was mended, he was lying awake in his bed, +because he could not sleep, and he heard a loud knocking at the +door, and somebody calling to him to get up and set him over the +river. And when he got up, he saw a man down by the river with a +lantern and a ladder; but as he was going down to him, the man +blew out the light, and it was so dark he could not see who he +was; and his boat was old and leaky, and he was afraid to set him +over in the dark; but the man said he must be in Andernach that +night; and so he set him over. And after they had crossed the +river, he watched the man, till he came to an image of the Holy +Virgin, and saw him put the ladder against the wall, and go up +and light his lamp, and then walk along the street. And in the +morning he found his old boat all caulked, and tight, and painted +red, and he could not for his blessed life tell who did it, +unless it werethe man with the lantern. Dear soul! how strange it +was!</p> + +<p>"And so it went on for some time; and, whenever the man with +the lantern had been seen walking through the street at night, so +sure as the morning came, some work had been done for the sake of +some good soul; and everybody knew he did it; and yet nobody +could find out who he was, nor where he lived;--for, whenever +they came near him, he blew out his light, and turned down +another street, and, if they followed him, he suddenly +disappeared, nobody could tell how. And some said it was +Rübezahl; and some, Pelz-Nickel; and some, St. +Anthony-on-the-Health.</p> + +<p>"Now one stormy night a poor, sinful creature was wandering +about the streets, with her babe in her arms, and she was hungry, +and cold, and no soul in Andernach would take her in. And when +she came to the church, where the great crucifix stands, she saw +no light in the little chapel at the corner; but she sat down on +a stone at the foot of the cross and began to pray, and prayed, +till she fell asleep, with her poor little babe on her bosom. But +she did not sleep long; for a bright light shone full in her +face; and, when she opened her eyes, she saw a pale man, with a +lantern, standing right before her. He was almost naked; and +there was blood upon his hands and body, and great tears in his +beautiful eyes, and his face was like the face of the Saviour on +the cross. Not a single word did he say to the poor woman; but +looked at her compassionately, and gave her a loaf of bread, and +took the little babe in his arms, and kissed it. Then the mother +looked up to the great crucifix, but there was no image there; +and she shrieked and fell down as if she were dead. And there she +was found with her child; and a few days after they both died, +and were buried together in one grave. And nobody would have +believed her story, if a woman, who lived at the corner, had not +gone to the window, when she heard the scream, and seen the +figure hang the lantern up in its place, and then set the ladder +against the wall, and go up and nailitself to the cross. Since +that night it has never moved again. Ach! Herr Je!"</p> + +<p>Such was the legend of the Christ of Andernach, as the old +woman in spectacles told it to Flemming. It made a painful +impression on his sick and morbid soul; and he felt now for the +first time in full force, how great is the power of popular +superstition.</p> + +<p>The post-chaise was now at the door, and Flemming was soon on +the road to Coblentz, a city which stands upon the Rhine, at the +mouth of the Mosel, opposite Ehrenbreitstein. It is by no means a +long drive from Andernach to Coblentz; and the only incident +which occurred to enliven the way was the appearance of a fat, +red-faced man on horseback, trotting slowly towards Andernach. As +they met, the mad little postilion gave him a friendly cut with +his whip, and broke out into an exclamation, which showed he was +from Münster;</p> + +<p>"Jesmariosp! my friend! How is the Man in the +Custom-House?"</p> + +<p>Now to any candid mind this would seem a fair question enough; +but not so thought the red-faced man on horseback; for he waxed +exceedingly angry, and replied, as the chaise whirled by;</p> + +<p>"The devil take you, and your Westphalian ham, and +pumpernickel!"</p> + +<p>Flemming called to his servant, and the servant to the +postilion, for an explanation of this short dialogue; and the +explanation was, that on the belfry of the Kaufhaus in Coblentz, +is a huge head, with a brazen helmet and a beard; and whenever +the clock strikes, at each stroke of the hammer, this giant's +head opens its great jaws and smites its teeth together, as if, +like the brazen head of Friar Bacon, it would say; "Time was; +Time is; Time is past." This figure is known through all the +country round about, as "The Man in the Custom-House"; and, when +a friend in the country meets a friend from Coblentz, instead of +saying, "How are all the good people in Coblentz?"--he says, "How +is the Man in the Custom-House?" Thus the giant has a great +partto play in the town; and thus ended the first day of +Flemming's Rhine-journey; and the only good deed he had done was +to give an alms to a poor beggar woman, who lifted up her +trembling hands and exclaimed;</p> + +<p>"Thou blessed babe!"</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="1_4">CHAPTER III. +HOMUNCULUS.</a></h3> + +<p>After all, a journey up the Rhine, in the mists and solitude +of December, is not so unpleasant as the reader may perhaps +imagine. You have the whole road and river to yourself. Nobody is +on the wing; hardly a single traveller. The ruins are the same; +and the river, and the outlines of the hills; and there are few +living figures in the landscape to wake you from your musings, +distract your thoughts, and cover you with dust.</p> + +<p>Thus, likewise, thought our traveller, as he continued his +journey on the morrow. The day is overcast, and the clouds +threaten rain or snow. Why does he stop at the little village of +Capellen? Because, right above him on the high cliff, the +glorious ruin of Stolzenfels is looking at him with itshollow +eyes, and beckoning to him with its gigantic finger, as if to +say; "Come up hither, and I will tell thee an old tale." +Therefore he alights, and goes up the narrow village lane, and up +the stone steps, and up the steep pathway, and throws himself +into the arms of that ancient ruin, and holds his breath, to hear +the quick footsteps of the falling snow, like the footsteps of +angels descending upon earth. And that ancient ruin speaks to him +with its hollow voice, and says;</p> + +<p>"Beware of dreams! Beware of the illusions of fancy! Beware of +the solemn deceivings of thy vast desires! Beneath me flows the +Rhine, and, like the stream of Time, it flows amid the ruins of +the Past. I see myself therein, and I know that I am old. Thou, +too, shalt be old. Be wise in season. Like the stream of thy +life, runs the stream beneath us. Down from the distant +Alps,--out into the wide world, it bursts away, like a youth from +the house of his fathers. Broad-breasted and strong, and with +earnest endeavours, like manhood, it makes itself a way through +these difficultmountain passes. And at length, in its old age, +its stops, and its steps are weary and slow, and it sinks into +the sand, and, through its grave, passes into the great ocean, +which is its eternity. Thus shall it be with thee.</p> + +<p>"In ancient times there dwelt within these halls a follower of +Jesus of Jerusalem,--an Archbishop in the church of Christ. He +gave himself up to dreams; to the illusions of fancy; to the vast +desires of the human soul. He sought after the impossible. He +sought after the Elixir of Life,--the Philosopher's Stone. The +wealth, that should have fed the poor, was melted in his +crucibles. Within these walls the Eagle of the clouds sucked the +blood of the Red Lion, and received the spiritual Love of the +Green Dragon, but alas! was childless. In solitude and utter +silence did the disciple of the Hermetic Philosophy toil from day +to day, from night to night. From the place where thou standest, +he gazed at evening upon hills, and vales, and waters spread +beneath him; and saw how the setting sun had changed them allto +gold, by an alchymy more cunning than his own. He saw the world +beneath his feet; and said in his heart, that he alone was wise. +Alas! he read more willingly in the book of Paracelsus, than in +the book of Nature; and, believing that `where reason hath +experience, faith hath no mind,' would fain have made unto +himself a child, not as Nature teaches us, but as the Philosopher +taught,--a poor homunculus, in a glass bottle. And he died poor +and childless!"</p> + +<p>Whether it were worth while to climb the Stolzenfels to hear +such a homily as this, some persons may perhaps doubt. But Paul +Flemming doubted not. He laid the lesson to heart; and it would +have saved him many an hour of sorrow, if he had learned that +lesson better, and remembered it longer.</p> + +<p>In ancient times, there stood in the citadel of Athens three +statues of Minerva. The first was of olive wood, and, according +to popular tradition, had fallen from heaven. The second was of +bronze, commemorating the victory of Marathon; and the third of +gold and ivory,--a great miracle of art, in the age of Pericles. +And thus in the citadel of Time stands Man himself. In childhood, +shaped of soft and delicate wood, just fallen from heaven; in +manhood, a statue of bronze, commemorating struggle and victory; +and lastly, in the maturity of age, perfectly shaped in gold and +ivory,--a miracle of art!</p> + +<p>Flemming had already lived through the oliveage. He was +passing into the age of bronze, into his early manhood; and in +his hands the flowers of Paradise were changing to the sword and +shield.</p> + +<p>And this reminds me, that I have not yet described my hero. I +will do it now, as he stands looking down on the glorious +landscape;--but in few words. Both in person and character he +resembled Harold, the Fair-Hair of Norway, who is described, in +the old Icelandic Death-Song of Regner Hairy-Breeches, as "the +young chief so proud of his flowing locks; he who spent his +mornings among the young maidens; he who loved toconverse with +the handsome widows." This was an amiable weakness; and it +sometimes led him into mischief. Imagination was the ruling power +of his mind. His thoughts were twin-born; the thought itself, and +its figurative semblance in the outer world. Thus, through the +quiet, still waters of his soul each image floated double, "swan +and shadow."</p> + +<p>These traits of character, a good heart and a poetic +imagination, made his life joyous and the world beautiful; till +at length Death cut down the sweet, blue flower, that bloomed +beside him, and wounded him with that sharp sickle, so that he +bowed his head, and would fain have been bound up in the same +sheaf with the sweet, blue flower. Then the world seemed to him +less beautiful, and life became earnest. It would have been well +if he could have forgotten the past; that he might not so +mournfully have lived in it, but might have enjoyed and improved +the present. But this his heart refused to do; and ever, as he +floated upon the great sea of life, he looked down through +thetransparent waters, checkered with sunshine and shade, into +the vast chambers of the mighty deep, in which his happier days +had sunk, and wherein they were lying still visible, like golden +sands, and precious stones, and pearls; and, half in despair, +half in hope, he grasped downward after them again, and drew back +his hand, filled only with seaweed, and dripping with briny +tears!--And between him and those golden sands, a radiant image +floated, like the spirit in Dante's Paradise, singing +"Ave-Maria!" and while it sang, down-sinking, and slowly +vanishing away.</p> + +<p>The truth is, that in all things he acted more from impulse +than from fixed principle; as is the case with most young men. +Indeed, his principles hardly had time to take root; for he +pulled them all up, every now and then, as children do the +flowers they have planted,--to see if they are growing. Yet there +was much in him which was good; for underneath the flowers and +green-sward of poetry, and the good principles which would have +taken root, had he given them time, therelay a strong and healthy +soil of common sense,--freshened by living springs of feeling, +and enriched by many faded hopes, that had fallen upon it like +dead leaves.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="1_5">CHAPTER IV. THE LANDLADY'S +DAUGHTER.</a></h3> + +<p>"Allez Fuchs! allez lustig!" cried the impatient postilion to +his horses, in accents, which, like the wild echo of the Lurley +Felsen, came first from one side of the river, and then from the +other,--that is to say, in words alternately French and German. +The truth is, he was tired of waiting; and when Flemming had at +length resumed his seat in the post-chaise, the poor horses had +to make up the time lost in dreams on the mountain. This is far +oftener the case, than most people imagine. One half of the world +has to sweat and groan, that the other half may dream. It would +have been a difficult task for the traveller or his postilion to +persuade the horses, that these dreams were all for their +good.</p> + +<p>The next stopping-place was the little tavern of the Star, an +out-of-the-way corner in the town of Salzig. It stands on the +banks of the Rhine; and, directly in front of it, sheer from the +water's edge, rise the mountains of Liebenstein and Sternenfels, +each with its ruined castle. These are the Brothers of the old +tradition, still gazing at each other face to face; and beneath +them in the valley stands a cloister,--meek emblem of that orphan +child, they both so passionately loved.</p> + +<p>In a small, flat-bottomed boat did the landlady's daughter row +Flemming "over the Rhine-stream, rapid and roaring wide." She was +a beautiful girl of sixteen; with black hair, and dark, lovely +eyes, and a face that had a story to tell. How different faces +are in this particular! Some of them speak not. They are books in +which not a line is written, save perhaps a date. Others are +great family bibles, with all the Old and New Testament written +in them. Others are Mother Goose and nursery tales;--others bad +tragedies or pickle-herring farces; and others, like that of the +landlady's daughter at the Star, sweet love-anthologies, and +songs of the affections. It was on that account, that Flemming +said to her, as they glided out into the swift stream;</p> + +<p>"My dear child! do you know the story of the Liebenstein?"</p> + +<p>"The story of the Liebenstein," she answered, "I got by heart, +when I was a little child."</p> + +<p>And here her large, dark, passionate eyes looked into +Flemming's, and he doubted not, that she had learned the story +far too soon, and far too well. That story he longed to hear, as +if it were unknown to him; for he knew that the girl, who had got +it by heart when a child, would tell it as it should be told. So +he begged her to repeat the story, which she was but too glad to +do; for she loved and believed it, as if it had all been written +in the Bible. But before she began, she rested a moment on her +oars, and taking the crucifix, which hung suspended from her +neck, kissed it, and then let it sink down into her bosom, as if +it were an anchor she was letting down into her heart. Meanwhile +her moist, dark eyes were turned to heaven. Perhaps her soul was +walking with the souls of Cunizza, and Rahab, and Mary Magdalen. +Or perhaps she was thinking of that Nun, of whom St. Gregory +says, in his Dialogues, that, having greedily eaten a lettuce in +a garden, without making the sign of the cross, she found herself +soon after possessed with a devil.</p> + +<p>The probability, however, is, that she was looking up to the +ruined castles only, and not to heaven, for she soon began her +story, and told Flemming how, a great, great many years ago, an +old man lived in the Liebenstein with his two sons; and how both +the young men loved the Lady Geraldine, an orphan, under their +father's care; and how the elder brother went away in despair, +and the younger was betrothed to the Lady Geraldine; and how they +were as happy as Aschenputtel and the Prince. And then the holy +Saint Bernard came and carried away all the young men to the war, +just as Napoleon did afterwards; and the young lord went to the +Holy Land, and the Lady Geraldine sat in her tower and wept, and +waited for her lover's return, while the old father built the +Sternenfels for them to live in when they were married. And when +it was finished, the old man died; and the elder brother came +back and lived in the Liebenstein, and took care of the gentle +Lady. Ere long there came news from the Holy Land, that the war +was over; and the heart of the gentle Lady beat with joy, till +she heard that her faithless lover was coming back with a Greek +wife,--the wicked man! and then she went into a convent and +became a holy nun. So the young lord of Sternenfels came home, +and lived in his castle in great splendor with the Greek woman, +who was a wicked woman, and did what she ought not to do. But the +elder brother was angry for the wrong done the gentle Lady, and +challenged the lord of Sternenfels to single combat. And, while +they were fighting with their great swords in the valley of +Bornhofen behind the castle, the convent bells began to ring, and +the Lady Geraldine came forth with a train of nuns alldressed in +white, and made the brothers friends again, and told them she was +the bride of Heaven, and happier in her convent than she could +have been in the Liebenstein or the Sternenfels. And when the +brothers returned, they found that the false Greek wife had gone +away with another knight. So they lived together in peace, and +were never married. And when they died--"</p> + +<p>"Lisbeth! Lisbeth!" cried a sharp voice from the shore, +"Lisbeth! Where are you taking the gentleman?"</p> + +<p>This recalled the poor girl to her senses; and she saw how +fast they were floating down stream. For in telling the story she +had forgotten every thing else, and the swift current had swept +them down to the tall walnut trees of Kamp. They landed in front +of the Capucin Monastery. Lisbeth led the way through the little +village, and turning to the right pointed up the romantic, lonely +valley which leads to the Liebenstein, and even offered to go up. +But Flemming patted her cheek and shook his head. He went up the +valley alone.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="1_6">CHAPTER V. JEAN PAUL, THE +ONLY-ONE.</a></h3> + +<p>The man in the play, who wished for `some forty pounds of +lovely beef, placed in a Mediterranean sea of brewis,' might have +seen his ample desires almost realized at the table d'hôte +of the Rheinischen Hof, in Mayence, where Flemming dined that +day. At the head of the table sat a gentleman, with a smooth, +broad forehead, and large, intelligent eyes. He was from Baireuth +in Franconia; and talked about poetry and Jean Paul, to a pale, +romantic-looking lady on his right. There was music all +dinner-time, at the other end of the hall; a harp and a horn and +a voice; so that a great part of the fat gentleman's conversation +with the pale lady was lost to Flemming, who sat opposite to her, +and could look right into her large, melancholy eyes. But what +heheard, so much interested him,--indeed, the very name of the +beloved Jean Paul would have been enough for this,--that he +ventured to join in the conversation, and asked the German if he +had known the poet personally.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I knew him well," replied the stranger. "I am a native +of Baireuth, where he passed the best years of his life. In my +mind the man and the author are closely united. I never read a +page of his writings without hearing his voice, and seeing his +form before me. There he sits, with his majestic, mountainous +forehead, his mild blue eyes, and finely cut nose and mouth; his +massive frame clad loosely and carelessly in an old green frock, +from the pockets of which the corners of books project, and +perhaps the end of a loaf of bread, and the nose of a bottle;--a +straw hat, lined with green, lying near him; a huge walking-stick +in his hand, and at his feet a white poodle, with pink eyes and a +string round his neck. You would sooner have taken him for a +master-carpenter than for a poet. Is he a favorite author of +yours?"</p> + +<p>Flemming answered in the affirmative.</p> + +<p>"But a foreigner must find it exceedingly difficult to +understand him," said the gentleman. "It is by no means an easy +task for us Germans."</p> + +<p>"I have always observed," replied Flemming, "that the true +understanding and appreciation of a poet depend more upon +individual, than upon national character. If there be a sympathy +between the minds of writer and reader, the bounds and barriers +of a foreign tongue are soon overleaped. If you once understand +an author's character, the comprehension of his writings becomes +easy."</p> + +<p>"Very true," replied the German, "and the character of Richter +is too marked to be easily misunderstood. Its prominent traits +are tenderness and manliness,--qualities, which are seldom found +united in so high a degree as in him. Over all he sees, over all +he writes, are spread the sunbeams of a cheerful spirit,--the +light of inexhaustible human love. Every sound of human joy and +of human sorrow finds a deep-resoundingecho in his bosom. In +every man, he loves his humanity only, not his superiority. The +avowed object of all his literary labors was to raise up again +the down-sunken faith in God, virtue, and immortality; and, in an +egotistical, revolutionary age, to warm again our human +sympathies, which have now grown cold. And not less boundless is +his love for nature,--for this outward, beautiful world. He +embraces it all in his arms."</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Flemming, almost taking the words out of the +stranger's mouth, "for in his mind all things become idealized. +He seems to describe himself when he describes the hero of his +Titan, as a child, rocking in a high wind upon the branches of a +full-blossomed apple-tree, and, as its summit, blown abroad by +the wind, now sunk him in deep green, and now tossed him aloft in +deep blue and glancing sunshine,--in his imagination stood that +tree gigantic;--it grew alone in the universe, as if it were the +tree of eternal life; its roots struck down into the abyss; the +white and red clouds hung as blossoms upon it; the moon asfruit; +the little stars sparkled like dew, and Albano reposed in its +measureless summit; and a storm swayed the summit out of Day into +Night, and out of Night into Day."</p> + +<p>"Yet the spirit of love," interrupted the Franconian, "was not +weakness, but strength. It was united in him with great +manliness. The sword of his spirit had been forged and beaten by +poverty. Its temper had been tried by a thirty years' war. It was +not broken, not even blunted; but rather strengthened and +sharpened by the blows it gave and received. And, possessing this +noble spirit of humanity, endurance, and self-denial, he made +literature his profession; as if he had been divinely +commissioned to write. He seems to have cared for nothing else, +to have thought of nothing else, than living quietly and making +books. He says, that he felt it his duty, not to enjoy, nor to +acquire, but to write; and boasted, that he had made as many +books as he had lived years."</p> + +<p>"And what do you Germans consider the prominent +characteristics of his genius?"</p> + +<p>"Most undoubtedly his wild imagination and his playfulness. He +throws over all things a strange and magic coloring. You are +startled at the boldness and beauty of his figures and +illustrations, which are scattered everywhere with a reckless +prodigality;--multitudinous, like the blossoms of early +summer,--and as fragrant and beautiful. With a thousand +extravagances are mingled ten thousand beauties of thought and +expression, which kindle the reader's imagination, and lead it +onward in a bold flight, through the glow of sunrise and sunset, +and the dewy coldness and starlight of summer nights. He is +difficult to understand,--intricate,--strange,--drawing his +illustrations from every by-corner of science, art, and +nature,--a comet, among the bright stars of German literature. +When you read his works, it is as if you were climbing a high +mountain, in merry company, to see the sun rise. At times you are +enveloped in mist,--the morning wind sweeps by you with a +shout,--you hear the far-off muttering thunders. Wide beneath you +spreads the landscape,--field, meadow, town, and winding river. +The ringing of distant church-bells, or the sound of solemn +village clock, reaches you;--then arises the sweet and manifold +fragrance of flowers,--the birds begin to sing,--the vapors roll +away,--up comes the glorious sun,--you revel like the lark in the +sunshine and bright blue heaven, and all is a delirious dream of +soul and sense,--when suddenly a friend at your elbow laughs +aloud, and offers you a piece of Bologna sausage. As in real +life, so in his writings,--the serious and the comic, the sublime +and the grotesque, the pathetic and the ludicrous are mingled +together. At times he is sententious, energetic, simple; then +again, obscure and diffuse. His thoughts are like mummies +embalmed in spices, and wrapped about with curious envelopements; +but within these the thoughts themselves are kings. At times +glad, beautiful images, airy forms, move by you, graceful, +harmonious;--at times the glaring, wild-looking fancies, chained +together by hyphens, brackets, and dashes, brave and base, high +and low, all in their motley dresses, go sweeping down the dusty +page, like the galley-slaves, that sweep the streets of Rome, +where you may chance to see the nobleman and the peasant manacled +together."</p> + +<p>Flemming smiled at the German's warmth, to which the presence +of the lady, and the Laubenheimer wine, seemed each to have +contributed something, and then said;</p> + +<p>"Better an outlaw, than not free!--These are his own words. +And thus he changes at his will. Like the God Thor, of the old +Northern mythology, he now holds forth the seven bright stars in +the bright heaven above us, and now hides himself in clouds, and +pounds away with his great hammer."</p> + +<p>"And yet this is not affectation in him," rejoined the German. +"It is his nature, it is Jean Paul. And the figures and ornaments +of his style, wild, fantastic, and oft-times startling, like +those in Gothic cathedrals, are not merely what they seem, but +massive coignes and buttresses, which support the fabric. Remove +them, and the roofand walls fall in. And through these gurgoyles, +these wild faces, carved upon spouts and gutters, flow out, like +gathered rain, the bright, abundant thoughts, that have fallen +from heaven.</p> + +<p>"And all he does, is done with a kind of serious playfulness. +He is a sea-monster, disporting himself on the broad ocean; his +very sport is earnest; there is something majestic and serious +about it. In every thing there is strength, a rough good-nature, +all sunshine overhead, and underneath the heavy moaning of the +sea. Well may he be called `Jean Paul, the Only-One.' "</p> + +<p>With such discourse the hour of dinner passed; and after +dinner Flemming went to the Cathedral. They were singing vespers. +A beadle, dressed in blue, with a cocked hat, and a crimson sash +and collar, was strutting, like a turkey, along the aisles. This +important gentleman conducted Flemming through the church, and +showed him the choir, with its heavy-sculptured stalls of oak, +and the beautiful figures in brown stone, over the bishops' +tombs. He then led him, by a side-door, into theold and ruined +cloisters of St. Willigis. Through the low gothic arches the +sunshine streamed upon the pavement of tombstones, whose images +and inscriptions are mostly effaced by the footsteps of many +generations. There stands the tomb of Frauenlob, the Minnesinger. +His face is sculptured on an entablature in the wall; a fine, +strongly-marked, and serious countenance. Below it is a +bas-relief, representing the poet's funeral. He is carried to his +grave by ladies, whose praise he sang, and thereby won the name +of Frauenlob.</p> + +<p>"This then," said Flemming, "is the grave, not of Praise-God +Bare-bones, but of Praise-the-Ladies Meissen, who wrote songs +`somewhat of lust, and somewhat of love.' But where sleeps the +dust of his rival and foe, sweet Master Bartholomew Rainbow?"</p> + +<p>He meant this for an aside; but the turkey-cock picked it up +and answered;</p> + +<p>"I do not know. He did not belong to this parish."</p> + +<p>It was already night, when Flemming crossedthe Roman bridge +over the Nahe, and entered the town of Bingen. He stopped at the +White Horse; and, before going to bed, looked out into the dim +starlight from his window towards the Rhine, and his heart leaped +up to behold the bold outline of the neighbouring hills crested +with Gothic ruins;--which in the morning proved to be only a +high, slated roof with fantastic chimneys.</p> + +<p>The morning was bright and frosty; and the river tinged with +gay colors from the rising sun. A soft, thin vapor floated in the +air. In the sunbeams flashed the hoar-frost, like silver stars; +and through a long avenue of trees, whose dripping branches bent +and scattered pearls before him, Paul Flemming journeyed on in +triumph.</p> + +<p>I will not prolong this journey, for I am weary and way-worn, +and would fain be at Heidelberg with my readers, and my hero. It +was already night when he reached the Manheim gate, and drove +down the long Hauptstrasse so slowly, that it seemed to him +endless. The shops werelighted on each side of the street, and he +saw faces at the windows here and there, and figures passing in +the lamp-light, visible for a moment and then swallowed up in the +darkness. The thoughts that filled his mind were strange; as are +always the thoughts of a traveller, who enters for the first time +a strange city. This little world had been going on for centuries +before he came; and would go on for centuries after he was gone. +Of all the thousands who inhabited it he knew nothing; and what +knew they, or thought, of the stranger, who, in that close +post-chaise, weary with travel, and chilled by the evening wind, +was slowly rumbling over the paved street! Truly, this world can +go on without us, if we would but think so. If it had been a +hearse instead of a post-chaise, it would have been all the same +to the people of Heidelberg,--though by no means the same to Paul +Flemming.</p> + +<p>But at the farther end of the city, near the Castle and the +Carls-Thor, one warm heart was waiting to receive him; and this +was the German heart of his friend, the Baron of Hohenfels, with +whom he was to pass the winter in Heidelberg. No sooner had the +carriage stopped at the irongrated gate, and the postilion blown +his horn, to announce the arrival of a traveller, than the Baron +was seen among the servants at the door; and, a few moments +afterwards, the two long-absent friends were in each other's +arms, and Flemming received a kiss upon each cheek, and another +on the mouth, as the pledge and seal of the German's friendship. +They held each other long by the hand, and looked into each +other's faces, and saw themselves in each other's eyes, both +literally and figuratively; literally, inasmuch as the images +were there; and figuratively, inasmuch as each was imagining what +the other thought of him, after the lapse of some years. In +friendly hopes and questionings and answers, the evening glided +away at the supper-table, where many more things were discussed +than the roasted hare, and the Johannisberger; and they sat late +into the night, conversing of the thoughts and feelings and +delights, which fill the hearts of young men, who have already +enjoyed and suffered, and hoped and been disappointed.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="1_7">CHAPTER VI. HEIDELBERG AND THE +BARON.</a></h3> + +<p>High and hoar on the forehead of the Jettenbühl stands +the Castle of Heidelberg. Behind it rise the oak-crested hills of +the Geissberg and the Kaiserstuhl; and in front, from the broad +terrace of masonry, you can almost throw a stone upon the roofs +of the city, so close do they lie beneath. Above this terrace +rises the broad front of the chapel of Saint Udalrich. On the +left, stands the slender octagon tower of the horologe, and, on +the right, a huge round tower, battered and shattered by the mace +of war, shores up with its broad shoulders the beautiful palace +and garden-terrace of Elisabeth, wife of the Pfalzgraf Frederick. +In the rear are older palaces and towers, forming a vast, +irregular quadrangle;--Rodolph's ancientcastle, with its Gothic +gloriette and fantastic gables; the Giant's Tower, guarding the +drawbridge over the moat; the Rent Tower, with the linden-trees +growing on its summit, and the magnificent Rittersaal of +Otho-Henry, Count Palatine of the Rhine and grand seneschal of +the Holy Roman Empire. From the gardens behind the castle, you +pass under the archway of the Giant's Tower into the great +court-yard. The diverse architecture of different ages strikes +the eye; and curious sculptures. In niches on the wall of Saint +Udalrich's chapel stand rows of knights in armour, all broken and +dismembered; and on the front of Otho's Rittersaal, the heroes of +Jewish history and classic fable. You enter the open and desolate +chambers of the ruin; and on every side are medallions and family +arms; the Globe of the Empire and the Golden Fleece, or the Eagle +of the Cæsars, resting on the escutcheons of Bavaria and +the Palatinate. Over the windows and door-ways and +chimney-pieces, are sculptures and mouldings of exquisite +workmanship; and the eyeis bewildered by the profusion of +caryatides, and arabesques, and rosettes, and fan-like flutings, +and garlands of fruits and flowers and acorns, and +bullocks'-heads with draperies of foliage, and muzzles of lions, +holding rings in their teeth. The cunning hand of Art was busy +for six centuries, in raising and adorning these walls; the +mailed hands of Time and War have defaced and overthrown them in +less than two. Next to the Alhambra of Granada, the Castle of +Heidelberg is the most magnificent ruin of the Middle Ages.</p> + +<p>In the valley below flows the rushing stream of the Neckar. +Close from its margin, on the opposite side, rises the Mountain +of All Saints, crowned with the ruins of a convent; and up the +valley stretches the mountain-curtain of the Odenwald. So close +and many are the hills, which eastward shut the valley in, that +the river seems a lake. But westward it opens, upon the broad +plain of the Rhine, like the mouth of a trumpet; and like the +blast of a trumpet is at times the wintry wind through this +narrow mountain pass. The blue Alsatian hills rise beyond; and, +on a platform or strip of level land, between the Neckar and the +mountains, right under the castle, stands the city of Heidelberg; +as the old song says, "a pleasant city, when it has done +raining."</p> + +<p>Something of this did Paul Flemming behold, when he rose the +next morning and looked from his window. It was a warm, vapory +morning, and a struggle was going on between the mist and the +rising sun. The sun had taken the hill-tops, but the mist still +kept possession of the valley and the town. The steeple of the +great church rose through a dense mass of snow-white clouds; and +eastward, on the hills, the dim vapors were rolling across the +windows of the ruined castle, like the fiery smoke of a great +conflagration. It seemed to him an image of the rising of the sun +of Truth on a benighted world; its light streamed through the +ruins of centuries; and, down in the valley of Time, the cross on +the Christian church caught its rays, though the priests were +singing in mist and darkness below.</p> + +<p>In the warm breakfast-parlour he found the Baron, waiting for +him. He was lying upon a sofa, in morning gown and purple-velvet +slippers, both with flowers upon them. He had a guitar in his +hand, and a pipe in his mouth, at the same time smoking, playing, +and humming his favorite song from Goethe;</p> + +<p>"The water rushed, the water swelled,</p> + +<p>A fisher sat thereby."</p> + +<p>Flemming could hardly refrain from laughing at the sight of +his friend; and told him it reminded him of a street-musician he +once saw in Aix-la-Chapelle, who was playing upon six instruments +at once; having a helmet with bells on his head, a Pan's-reed in +his cravat, a fiddle in his hand, a triangle on his knee, cymbals +on his heels, and on his back a bass-drum, which he played with +his elbows. To tell the truth, the Baron of Hohenfels was rather +a miscellaneous youth, rather a universal genius. He pursued all +things with eagerness, but for a short time only; music, poetry, +painting, pleasure, even the study of the Pandects. Hisfeelings +were keenly alive to the enjoyment of life. His great defect was, +that he was too much in love with human nature. But by the power +of imagination, in him, the bearded goat was changed to a bright +Capricornus:--no longer an animal on earth, but a constellation +in heaven. An easy and indolent disposition made him gentle and +childlike in his manners; and, in short, the beauty of his +character, like that of the precious opal, was owing to a defect +in its organization. His person was tall and slightly built; his +hair light; and his eyes blue, and as beautiful as those of a +girl. In the tones of his voice, there was something +indescribably gentle and winning; and he spoke the German +language, with the soft, musical accent of his native province of +Curland. In his manners, if he had not `Antinous' easy sway,' he +had at least an easy sway of his own. Such, in few words, was the +bosom friend of Flemming.</p> + +<p>"And what do you think of Heidelberg and the old castle up +there?" said he, as they seated themselves at the +breakfast-table.</p> + +<p>"Last night the town seemed very long to me," replied +Flemming; "and as to the castle, I have as yet had but a glimpse +of it through the mist. They tell me there is nothing finer in +its way, excepting the Alhambra of Granada; and no doubt I shall +find it so. Only I wish the stone were gray and not red. But, red +or gray, I foresee that I shall waste many a long hour in its +desolate halls. Pray, does anybody live up there now-a-days?"</p> + +<p>"Nobody," answered the Baron, "but the man, who shows the +Heidelberg Ton, and Monsieur Charles de Grainberg, a Frenchman, +who has been there sketching ever since the year eighteen-hundred +and ten. He has, moreover, written a super-magnificent +description of the ruin, in which he says, that during the day +only birds of prey disturb it with their piercing cries, and at +night, screech-owls, and other fallow deer. These are his own +words. You must buy his book and his sketches."</p> + +<p>"Yes, the quotation and the tone of your voice will certainly +persuade me so to do."</p> + +<p>"Take his or none, my friend, for you will find no others. And +seriously, his sketches are very good. There is one on the wall +there, which is beautiful, save and except that straddle-bug +figure among the bushes in the corner."</p> + +<p>"But is there no ghost, no haunted chamber in the old castle?" +asked Flemming, after casting a hasty glance at the picture.</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly," replied the Baron; "there are two. There is +the ghost of the Virgin Mary in Ruprecht's Tower, and the Devil +in the Dungeon."</p> + +<p>"Ha! that is grand!" exclaimed Flemming, with evident delight. +"Tell me the whole story, quickly! I am as curious as a +child."</p> + +<p>"It is a tale of the times of Louis the Debonnaire," said the +Baron, with a smile; "a mouldy tradition of a credulous age. His +brother Frederick lived here in the castle with him, and had a +flirtation with Leonore von Luzelstein, a lady of the court, whom +he afterwards despised, and was consequently most cordially hated +by her. Frompolitical motives he was equally hateful to certain +petty German tyrants, who, in order to effect his ruin, accused +him of heresy. But his brother Louis would not deliver him up to +their fury, and they resolved to effect by stratagem, what they +could not by intrigue. Accordingly, Leonore von Luzelstein, +disguised as the Virgin Mary, and the father confessor of the +Elector, in the costume of Satan, made their appearance in the +Elector's bed-chamber at midnight, and frightened him so +horribly, that he consented to deliver up his brother into the +hands of two Black Knights, who pretended to be ambassadors from +the Vehm-Gericht. They proceeded together to Frederick's chamber; +where luckily old Gemmingen, a brave soldier, kept guard behind +the arras. The monk went foremost in his Satanic garb; but, no +sooner had he set foot in the prince's bed-chamber, than the +brave Gemmingen drew his sword, and said quaintly, `Die, wretch!' +and so he died. The rest took to their heels, and were heard of +no more. And now the souls of Leonore and the monk haunt the +scene of their midnight crime. You will find the story in +Grainberg's book, worked up with a kind of red-morocco and +burnt-cork sublimity, and great melo-dramatic clanking of chains, +and hooting of owls, and other fallow deer!"</p> + +<p>"After breakfast," said Flemming, "we will go up to the +castle. I must get acquainted with this mirror of owls, this +modern Till Eulenspiegel. See what a glorious morning we have! It +is truly a wondrous winter! what summer sunshine; what soft +Venetian fogs! How the wanton, treacherous air coquets with the +old gray-beard trees! Such weather makes the grass and our beards +grow apace! But we have an old saying in English, that winter +never rots in the sky. So he will come down at last in his +old-fashioned, mealy coat. We shall have snow in spring; and the +blossoms will be all snow-flakes. And afterwards a summer, which +will be no summer, but, as Jean Paul says, only a winter painted +green. Is it not so?"</p> + +<p>"Unless I am much deceived in the climate of Heidelberg," +replied the Baron, "we shall not have to wait long for snow. We +have sudden changes here, and I should not marvel much if it +snowed before night."</p> + +<p>"The greater reason for making good use of the morning +sunshine, then. Let us hasten to the castle, after which my heart +yearns."</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="1_8">CHAPTER VII. LIVES OF +SCHOLARS.</a></h3> + +<p>The forebodings of the Baron proved true. In the afternoon the +weather changed. The western wind began to blow, and its breath +drew a cloud-veil over the face of heaven, as a breath does over +the human face in a mirror. Soon the snow began to fall. Athwart +the distant landscape it swept like a white mist. The storm-wind +came from the Alsatian hills, and struck the dense clouds aslant +through the air. And ever faster fell the snow, a roaring torrent +from those mountainous clouds. The setting sun glared wildly from +the summit of the hills, and sank like a burning ship at sea, +wrecked in the tempest. Thus the evening set in; and winter stood +at the gate wagging his white and shaggy beard, like an old +harper, chanting an old rhyme:--"How cold it is! how cold it +is!"</p> + +<p>"I like such a storm as this," said Flemming, who stood at the +window, looking out into the tempest and the gathering darkness. +"The silent falling of snow is to me one of the most solemn +things in nature. The fall of autumnal leaves does not so much +affect me. But the driving storm is grand. It startles me; it +awakens me. It is wild and woful, like my own soul. I cannot help +thinking of the sea; how the waves run and toss their arms +about,--and the wind plays on those great harps, made by the +shrouds and masts of ships. Winter is here in earnest! Whew! How +the old churl whistles and threshes the snow! Sleet and rain are +falling too. Already the trees are bearded with icicles; and the +two broad branches of yonder pine look like the white mustache of +some old German Baron."</p> + +<p>"And to-morrow it will look more wintry still," said his +friend. "We shall wake up and find that the frost-spirit has been +at work all night building Gothic Cathedrals on our windows, just +as the devil built the Cathedral of Cologne. Sodraw the curtains, +and come sit here by the warm fire."</p> + +<p>"And now," said Flemming, having done as his friend desired, +"tell me something of Heidelberg and its University. I suppose we +shall lead about as solitary and studious a life here as we did +of yore in little Göttingen, with nothing to amuse us, save +our own day-dreams."</p> + +<p>"Pretty much so," replied the Baron; "which cannot fail to +please you, since you are in pursuit of tranquillity. As to the +University, it is, as you know, one of the oldest in Germany. It +was founded in the fourteenth century by the Count Palatine +Ruprecht, and had in the first year more than five hundred +students, all busily committing to memory, after the old +scholastic wise, the rules of grammar versified by Alexander de +Villa Dei, and the extracts made by Peter the Spaniard from +Michel Psellus's Synopsis of Aristotle's Organon, and the +Categories, with Porphory's Commentaries. Truly, I do not much +wonder, that Eregina Scotus should have been put to death byhis +scholars with their penknives. They must have been pushed to the +very verge of despair."</p> + +<p>"What a strange picture a University presents to the +imagination. The lives of scholars in their cloistered +stillness;--literary men of retired habits, and Professors who +study sixteen hours a day, and never see the world but on a +Sunday. Nature has, no doubt, for some wise purpose, placed in +their hearts this love of literary labor and seclusion. +Otherwise, who would feed the undying lamp of thought? But for +such men as these, a blast of wind through the chinks and +crannies of this old world, or the flapping of a conqueror's +banner, would blow it out forever. The light of the soul is +easily extinguished. And whenever I reflect upon these things I +become aware of the great importance, in a nation's history, of +the individual fame of scholars and literary men. I fear, that it +is far greater than the world is willing to acknowledge; or, +perhaps I should say, than the world has thought of +acknowledging. Blot out from England's history the names of +Chaucer, Shakspere, Spenser, and Milton only, and how much of her +glory would you blot out with them! Take from Italy such names as +Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, Michel Angelo, and Raphael, and how +much would still be wanting to the completeness of her glory! How +would the history of Spain look if the leaves were torn out, on +which are written the names of Cervantes, Lope de Vega, and +Calderon! What would be the fame of Portugal, without her +Camoens; of France, without her Racine, and Rabelais, and +Voltaire; or Germany, without her Martin Luther, her Goethe, and +Schiller!--Nay, what were the nations of old, without their +philosophers, poets, and historians! Tell me, do not these men in +all ages and in all places, emblazon with bright colors the +armorial bearings of their country? Yes, and far more than this; +for in all ages and all places they give humanity assurance of +its greatness; and say; Call not this time or people wholly +barbarous; for thus much, even then and there, could the human +mind achieve! But the boisterous world has hardlythought of +acknowledging all this. Therein it has shown itself somewhat +ungrateful. Else, whence the great reproach, the general scorn, +the loud derision, with which, to take a familiar example, the +monks of the Middle Ages are regarded! That they slept their +lives away is most untrue. For in an age when books were few,--so +few, so precious, that they were often chained to their oaken +shelves with iron chains, like galley-slaves to their benches, +these men, with their laborious hands, copied upon parchment all +the lore and wisdom of the past, and transmitted it to us. +Perhaps it is not too much to say, that, but for these monks, not +one line of the classics would have reached our day. Surely, +then, we can pardon something to those superstitious ages, +perhaps even the mysticism of the scholastic philosophy, since, +after all, we can find no harm in it, only the mistaking of the +possible for the real, and the high aspirings of the human mind +after a long-sought and unknown somewhat. I think the name of +Martin Luther, the monk of Wittemberg, alone sufficient to redeem +all monkhoodfrom the reproach of laziness! If this will not, +perhaps the vast folios of Thomas Aquinas will;--or the countless +manuscripts, still treasured in old libraries, whose yellow and +wrinkled pages remind one of the hands that wrote them, and the +faces that once bent over them."</p> + +<p>"An eloquent homily," said the Baron laughing, "a most +touching appeal in behalf of suffering humanity! For my part, I +am no friend of this entire seclusion from the world. It has a +very injurious effect on the mind of a scholar. The Chinese +proverb is true; a single conversation across the table with a +wise man, is better than ten years' mere study of books. I have +known some of these literary men, who thus shut themselves up +from the world. Their minds never come in contact with those of +their fellow-men. They read little. They think much. They are +mere dreamers. They know not what is new nor what is old. They +often strike upon trains of thought, which stand written in good +authors some century or so back, and are even current in the +mouths of men aroundthem. But they know it not; and imagine they +are bringing forward something very original, when they publish +their thoughts."</p> + +<p>"It reminds me," replied Flemming, "of what Dr. Johnson said +of Goldsmith, when he proposed to travel abroad in order to bring +home improvements;--`He will bring home a wheelbarrow, and call +that an improvement.' It is unfortunately the same with some of +these scholars."</p> + +<p>"And the worst of it is," said the Baron, "that, in solitude, +some fixed idea will often take root in the mind, and grow till +it overshadow all one's thoughts. To this must all opinions come; +no thought can enter there, which shall not be wedded to the +fixed idea. There it remains, and grows. It is like the +watchman's wife, in the tower of Waiblingen, who grew to such a +size, that she could not get down the narrow stair-case; and, +when her husband died, his successor was forced to marry the fat +widow in the tower."</p> + +<p>"I remember an old English comedy," said Flemming laughing, +"in which a scholar is described, as a creature, that can strike +fire in the morning at his tinder-box,--put on a pair of lined +slippers,--sit ruminating till dinner, and then go to his meat +when the bell rings;--one that hath a peculiar gift in a cough, +and a license to spit;--or, if you will have him defined by +negatives, he is one that cannot make a good leg;--one that +cannot eat a mess of broth cleanly. What think you of that?"</p> + +<p>"That it is just as people are always represented in English +comedy," said the Baron. "The portrait is +over-charged,--caricatured."</p> + +<p>"And yet," continued Flemming, "no longer ago than yesterday, +in the Preface of a work by Dr. Rosenkranz, Professor of +Philosophy in the University of Halle, I read this passage."</p> + +<p>He opened a book and read.</p> + +<p>"Here in Halle, where we have no public garden and no Tivoli, +no London Exchange, no Paris Chamber of Deputies, no Berlin nor +Vienna Theatres, no Strassburg Minster, nor Salzburg Alps,--no +Grecian ruins nor fantastic Catholicism, in fine, nothing, which +after one's daily task is finished, can divert and refresh him, +without his knowing or caring how,--I consider the sight of a +proof-sheet quite as delightful as a walk in the Prater of +Vienna. I fill my pipe very quietly, take out my ink-stand and +pens, seat myself in the corner of my sofa, read, correct, and +now for the first time really set about thinking what I have +written. To see this origin of a book, this metamorphosis of +manuscript into print, is a delight to which I give myself up +entirely. Look you, this melancholy pleasure, which would have +furnished the departed Voss with worthy matter for more than one +blessed Idyl--(the more so, as on such occasions, I am generally +arrayed in a morning gown, though I am sorry to say, not a +calamanco one, with great flowers;) this melancholy pleasure was +already grown here in Halle to a sweet, pedantic habit. Since I +began my hermit's life here, I have been printing; and so long as +I remain here, I shall keep on printing. In all probability, I +shall die with a proof-sheet in my hand."</p> + +<p>"This," said Flemming, closing the book, "is no caricature by +a writer of comedy, but a portrait by a man's own hand. We can +see by it how easily, under certain circumstances, one may glide +into habits of seclusion, and in a kind of undress, slipshod +hardihood, with a pipe and a proof-sheet, defy the world. Into +this state scholars have too often fallen; thus giving some +ground for the prevalent opinion, that scholarship and rusticity +are inseparable. To me, I confess, it is painful to see the +scholar and the world assume so often a hostile attitude, and set +each other at defiance. Surely, it is a characteristic trait of a +great and liberal mind, that it recognises humanity in all its +forms and conditions. I am a student;--and always, when I sit +alone at night, I recognise the divinity of the student, as she +reveals herself to me in the smoke of the midnight lamp. But, +because solitude and books are not unpleasant to me,--nay, +wished-for,--sought after,--shall I say to my brother, Thou fool! +Shall I take the world by the beard and say, Thou art old, and +mad!--Shall I look society in the face and say, Thou art +heartless!--Heartless! Beware of that word! Life, says very +wisely the good Jean Paul, Life in every shape, should be +precious to us, for the same reason that the Turks carefully +collect every scrap of paper that comes in their way, because the +name of God may be written upon it. Nothing is more true than +this, yet nothing more neglected!"</p> + +<p>"If it be painful to see this misunderstanding between +scholars and the world," said the Baron, "I think it is still +more painful to see the private sufferings of authors by +profession. How many have languished in poverty, how many died +broken-hearted, how many gone mad with over-excitement and +disappointed hopes! How instructive and painfully interesting are +their lives! with so many weaknesses,--so much to pardon,--so +much to pity,--so much to admire! I think he was not so far out +of the way, who said, that, next to the Newgate Calendar, the +Biography of Authors is the most sickening chapter in the history +of man."</p> + +<p>"It is indeed enough to make one's heart ache!" interrupted +Flemming. "Only think of Johnson and Savage, rambling about the +streets of London at midnight, without a place to sleep in; Otway +starved to death; Cowley mad, and howling like a dog, through the +aisles of Chichester Cathedral, at the sound of church music; and +Goldsmith, strutting up Fleet Street in his peach-blossom coat, +to knock a bookseller over the pate with one of his own volumes; +and then, in his poverty, about to marry his landlady in Green +Arbour Court."</p> + +<p>"A life of sorrow and privation, a hard life, indeed, do these +poor devil authors have of it," replied the Baron; "and then at +last must get them to the work-house, or creep away into some +hospital to die."</p> + +<p>"After all," said Flemming with a sigh, "poverty is not a +vice."</p> + +<p>"But something worse," interrupted the Baron; "as Dufresny +said, when he married his laundress, because he could not pay her +bill. Hewas the author, as you know, of the opera of Lot; at +whose representation the great pun was made;--I say the great +pun, as we say the great ton of Heidelberg. As one of the +performers was singing the line, `L'amour a vaincu Loth,' (vingt +culottes,) a voice from the pit cried out, `Qu'il en donne une +à l'auteur!' "</p> + +<p>Flemming laughed at the unseasonable jest; and then, after a +short pause, continued;</p> + +<p>"And yet, if you look closely at the causes of these +calamities of authors, you will find, that many of them spring +from false and exaggerated ideas of poetry and the poetic +character; and from disdain of common sense, upon which all +character, worth having, is founded. This comes from keeping +aloof from the world, apart from our fellow-men; disdainful of +society, as frivolous. By too much sitting still the body becomes +unhealthy; and soon the mind. This is nature's law. She will +never see her children wronged. If the mind, which rules the +body, ever forgets itself so far as to trample upon its slave, +the slave is never generousenough to forgive the injury; but will +rise and smite its oppressor. Thus has many a monarch mind been +dethroned."</p> + +<p>"After all," said the Baron, "we must pardon much to men of +genius. A delicate organization renders them keenly susceptible +to pain and pleasure. And then they idealize every thing; and, in +the moonlight of fancy, even the deformity of vice seems +beautiful."</p> + +<p>"And this you think should be forgiven?"</p> + +<p>"At all events it is forgiven. The world loves a spice of +wickedness. Talk as you will about principle, impulse is more +attractive, even when it goes too far. The passions of youth, +like unhooded hawks, fly high, with musical bells upon their +jesses; and we forget the cruelty of the sport in the dauntless +bearing of the gallant bird."</p> + +<p>"And thus doth the world and society corrupt the scholar!" +exclaimed Flemming.</p> + +<p>Here the Baron rang, and ordered a bottle of Prince +Metternich. He then very slowly filled his pipe, and began to +smoke. Flemming was lost in a day-dream.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="1_9">CHAPTER VIII. LITERARY +FAME.</a></h3> + +<p>Time has a Doomsday-Book, upon whose pages he is continually +recording illustrious names. But, as often as a new name is +written there, an old one disappears. Only a few stand in +illuminated characters, never to be effaced. These are the high +nobility of Nature,--Lords of the Public Domain of Thought. +Posterity shall never question their titles. But those, whose +fame lives only in the indiscreet opinion of unwise men, must +soon be as well forgotten, as if they had never been. To this +great oblivion must most men come. It is better, therefore, that +they should soon make up their minds to this; well knowing, that, +as their bodies must ere long be resolved into dust again, and +their graves tell no tales of them; so musttheir names likewise +be utterly forgotten, and their most cherished thoughts, +purposes, and opinions have no longer an individual being among +men; but be resolved and incorporated into the universe of +thought. If, then, the imagination can trace the noble dust of +heroes, till we find it stopping a beer-barrel, and know that</p> + +<p>"Imperial Cæsar, dead and turned to clay,</p> + +<p>May stop a hole to keep the wind away;"</p> + +<p>not less can it trace the noble thoughts of great men, till it +finds them mouldered into the common dust of conversation, and +used to stop men's mouths, and patch up theories, to keep out the +flaws of opinion. Such, for example, are all popular adages and +wise proverbs, which are now resolved into the common mass of +thought; their authors forgotten, and having no more an +individual being among men.</p> + +<p>It is better, therefore, that men should soon make up their +minds to be forgotten, and look about them, or within them, for +some higher motive, in what they do, than the approbation of men, +which is Fame; namely, their duty; that they should be constantly +and quietly at work, each in his sphere, regardless of effects, +and leaving their fame to take care of itself. Difficult must +this indeed be, in our imperfection; impossible perhaps to +achieve it wholly. Yet the resolute, the indomitable will of man +can achieve much,--at times even this victory over himself; being +persuaded, that fame comes only when deserved, and then is as +inevitable as destiny, for it is destiny.</p> + +<p>It has become a common saying, that men of genius are always +in advance of their age; which is true. There is something +equally true, yet not so common; namely, that, of these men of +genius, the best and bravest are in advance not only of their own +age, but of every age. As the German prose-poet says, every +possible future is behind them. We cannot suppose, that a period +of time will ever come, when the world, or any considerable +portion of it shall have come up abreast with these great minds, +so as fully to comprehend them.</p> + +<p>And oh! how majestically they walk in history; some like the +sun, with all his travelling glories round him; others wrapped in +gloom, yet glorious as a night with stars. Through the else +silent darkness of the past, the spirit hears their slow and +solemn footsteps. Onward they pass, like those hoary elders seen +in the sublime vision of an earthly Paradise, attendant angels +bearing golden lights before them, and, above and behind, the +whole air painted with seven listed colors, as from the trail of +pencils!</p> + +<p>And yet, on earth, these men were not happy,--not all happy, +in the outward circumstance of their lives. They were in want, +and in pain, and familiar with prison-bars, and the damp, weeping +walls of dungeons! Oh, I have looked with wonder upon those, who, +in sorrow and privation, and bodily discomfort, and sickness, +which is the shadow of death, have worked right on to the +accomplishment of their great purposes; toiling much, enduring +much, fulfilling much;--and then, with shattered nerves, and +sinews all unstrung, have laid themselves down in the grave, and +slept the sleep of death,--and the world talks of them, while +they sleep!</p> + +<p>It would seem, indeed, as if all their sufferings had but +sanctified them! As if the death-angel, in passing, had touched +them with the hem of his garment, and made them holy! As if the +hand of disease had been stretched out over them only to make the +sign of the cross upon their souls! And as in the sun's eclipse +we can behold the great stars shining in the heavens, so in this +life eclipse have these men beheld the lights of the great +eternity, burning solemnly and forever!</p> + +<p>This was Flemming's reverie. It was broken by the voice of the +Baron, suddenly exclaiming;</p> + +<p>"An angel is flying over the house!--Here; in this goblet, +fragrant as the honey of Hymettus, fragrant as the wild flowers +in the Angel's Meadow, I drink to the divinity of thy +dreams."</p> + +<p>"This is all sunshine," said Flemming, as he drank. "The wine +of the Prince, and the Prince of wines. By the way, did you ever +read that brilliant Italian dithyrambic, Redi's Bacchus in +Tuscany? an ode which seems to have been poured out of the +author's soul, as from a golden pitcher,</p> + +<p>`Filled with the wine</p> + +<p>Of the vine</p> + +<p>Benign,</p> + +<p>That flames so red in Sansavine.'</p> + +<p>He calls the Montepulciano the king of all wines."</p> + +<p>"Prince Metternich," said the Baron, "is greater than any king +in Italy; and I wonder, that this precious wine has never +inspired a German poet to write a Bacchus on the Rhine. Many +little songs we have on this theme, but none very extraordinary. +The best are Max Schenkendorf's Song of the Rhine, and the Song +of Rhine Wine, by Claudius, a poet who never drank Rhenish +without sugar. We will drink for him a blessing on the +Rhine."</p> + +<p>And again the crystal lips of the goblets kissed each other, +with a musical chime, as of evening bells at vintage-time from +the villages on the Rhine. Of a truth, I do not much wonder, that +the Germanpoet Schiller loved to write by candle-light with a +bottle of Rhine-wine upon the table. Nor do I wonder at the +worthy schoolmaster Roger Ascham, when he says, in one of his +letters from Germany to Mr. John Raven, of John's College; `Tell +Mr. Maden I will drink with him now a carouse of wine; and would +to God he had a vessel of Rhenish wine; and perchance, when I +come to Cambridge, I will so provide here, that every year I will +have a little piece of Rhenish wine.' Nor, in fine, do I wonder +at the German Emperor of whom he speaks in another letter to the +same John Raven, and says, `The Emperor drank the best that I +ever saw; he had his head in the glass five times as long as any +of us, and never drank less than a good quart at once of Rhenish +wine.' These were scholars and gentlemen.</p> + +<p>"But to resume our old theme of scholars and their +whereabout," said the Baron, with an unusual glow, caught no +doubt from the golden sunshine, imprisoned, like the student +Anselmus, in the glass bottle; "where should the scholar live? In +solitudeor in society? In the green stillness of the country, +where he can hear the heart of nature beat, or in the dark, gray +city, where he can hear and feel the throbbing heart of man? I +will make answer for him, and say, in the dark, gray city. Oh, +they do greatly err, who think, that the stars are all the poetry +which cities have; and therefore that the poet's only dwelling +should be in sylvan solitudes, under the green roof of trees. +Beautiful, no doubt, are all the forms of Nature, when +transfigured by the miraculous power of poetry; hamlets and +harvest-fields, and nut-brown waters, flowing ever under the +forest, vast and shadowy, with all the sights and sounds of rural +life. But after all, what are these but the decorations and +painted scenery in the great theatre of human life? What are they +but the coarse materials of the poet's song? Glorious indeed is +the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of God +within us. There lies the Land of Song; there lies the poet's +native land. The river of life, that flows through streets +tumultuous, bearingalong so many gallant hearts, so many wrecks +of humanity;--the many homes and households, each a little world +in itself, revolving round its fireside, as a central sun; all +forms of human joy and suffering, brought into that narrow +compass;--and to be in this and be a part of this; acting, +thinking, rejoicing, sorrowing, with his fellow-men;--such, such +should be the poet's life. If he would describe the world, he +should live in the world. The mind of the scholar, also, if you +would have it large and liberal, should come in contact with +other minds. It is better that his armour should be somewhat +bruised even by rude encounters, than hang forever rusting on the +wall. Nor will his themes be few or trivial, because apparently +shut in between the walls of houses, and having merely the +decorations of street scenery. A ruined character is as +picturesque as a ruined castle. There are dark abysses and +yawning gulfs in the human heart, which can be rendered passable +only by bridging them over with iron nerves and sinews, as +Challey bridged the Savine in Switzerland, and Telford the sea +between Anglesea and England, with chain bridges. These are the +great themes of human thought; not green grass, and flowers, and +moonshine. Besides, the mere external forms of Nature we make our +own, and carry with us into the city, by the power of +memory."</p> + +<p>"I fear, however," interrupted Flemming, "that in cities the +soul of man grows proud. He needs at times to be sent forth, like +the Assyrian monarch, into green fields, `a wonderous wretch and +weedless,' to eat green herbs, and be wakened and chastised by +the rain-shower and winter's bitter weather. Moreover, in cities +there is danger of the soul's becoming wed to pleasure, and +forgetful of its high vocation. There have been souls dedicated +to heaven from childhood and guarded by good angels as sweet +seclusions for holy thoughts, and prayers, and all good purposes; +wherein pious wishes dwelt like nuns, and every image was a +saint; and yet in life's vicissitudes, by the treachery of +occasion, by the thronging passionsof great cities, have become +soiled and sinful. They resemble those convents on the river +Rhine, which have been changed to taverns; from whose chambers +the pious inmates have long departed, and in whose cloisters the +footsteps of travellers have effaced the images of buried saints, +and whose walls are written over with ribaldry and the names of +strangers, and resound no more with holy hymns, but with revelry +and loud voices."</p> + +<p>"Both town and country have their dangers," said the Baron; +"and therefore, wherever the scholar lives, he must never forget +his high vocation. Other artists give themselves up wholly to the +study of their art. It becomes with them almost religion. For the +most part, and in their youth, at least, they dwell in lands, +where the whole atmosphere of the soul is beauty; laden with it +as the air may be with vapor, till their very nature is saturated +with the genius of their art. Such, for example, is the artist's +life in Italy."</p> + +<p>"I agree with you," exclaimed Flemming; "and such should be +the Poet's everywhere; forhe has his Rome, his Florence, his +whole glowing Italy within the four walls of his library. He has +in his books the ruins of an antique world,--and the glories of a +modern one,--his Apollo and Transfiguration. He must neither +forget nor undervalue his vocation; but thank God that he is a +poet; and everywhere be true to himself, and to `the vision and +the faculty divine' he feels within him."</p> + +<p>"But, at any rate, a city life is most eventful," continued +the Baron. "The men who make, or take, the lives of poets and +scholars, always complain that these lives are barren of +incidents. Hardly a literary biography begins without some such +apology, unwisely made. I confess, however, that it is not made +without some show of truth; if, by incidents, we mean only those +startling events, which suddenly turn aside the stream of Time, +and change the world's history in an hour. There is certainly a +uniformity, pleasing or unpleasing, in literary life, which for +the most part makes to-day seem twin-born with yesterday. But if, +byincidents, you mean events in the history of the human mind, +(and why not?) noiseless events, that do not scar the forehead of +the world as battles do, yet change it not the less, then surely +the lives of literary men are most eventful. The complaint and +the apology are both foolish. I do not see why a successful book +is not as great an event as a successful campaign; only different +in kind, and not easily compared."</p> + +<p>"Indeed," interrupted Flemming, "in no sense is the complaint +strictly true, though at times apparently so. Events enough there +are, were they all set down. A life, that is worth writing at +all, is worth writing minutely. Besides, all literary men have +not lived in silence and solitude;--not all in stillness, not all +in shadow. For many have lived in troubled times, in the rude and +adverse fortunes of the state and age, and could say with +Wallenstein,</p> + +<p>`Our life was but a battle and a march;</p> + +<p>And, like the wind's blast, never-resting, homeless,</p> + +<p>We stormed across the war convulsed earth.'</p> + +<p>Of such examples history has recorded many; Dante, Cervantes, +Byron, and others; men of iron; men who have dared to breast the +strong breath of public opinion, and, like spectre-ships, come +sailing right against the wind. Others have been puffed out by +the first adverse wind that blew; disgraced and sorrowful, +because they could not please others. Truly `the tears live in an +onion, that should water such a sorrow.' Had they been men, they +would have made these disappointments their best friends, and +learned from them the needful lesson of self-reliance."</p> + +<p>"To confess the truth," added the Baron, "the lives of +literary men, with their hopes and disappointments, and quarrels +and calamities, present a melancholy picture of man's strength +and weakness. On that very account the scholar can make them +profitable for encouragement,--consolation,--warning."</p> + +<p>"And after all," continued Flemming, "perhaps the greatest +lesson, which the lives of literary men teach us, is told in a +single word; Wait!--Every man must patiently bide his time. He +must wait. More particularly in lands, like my native land, where +the pulse of life beats with such feverish and impatient throbs, +is the lesson needful. Our national character wants the dignity +of repose. We seem to live in the midst of a battle,--there is +such a din,--such a hurrying to and fro. In the streets of a +crowded city it is difficult to walk slowly. You feel the rushing +of the crowd, and rush with it onward. In the press of our life +it is difficult to be calm. In this stress of wind and tide, all +professions seem to drag their anchors, and are swept out into +the main. The voices of the Present say, Come! But the voices of +the Past say, Wait! With calm and solemn footsteps the rising +tide bears against the rushing torrent up stream, and pushes back +the hurrying waters. With no less calm and solemn footsteps, nor +less certainly, does a great mind bear up against public opinion, +and push back its hurrying stream. Therefore should every man +wait;--should bide his time. Not in listless idleness,--not in +uselesspastime,--not in querulous dejection; but in constant, +steady, cheerful endeavours, always willing and fulfilling, and +accomplishing his task, that, when the occasion comes, he may be +equal to the occasion. And if it never comes, what matters it? +What matters it to the world whether I, or you, or another man +did such a deed, or wrote such a book, sobeit the deed and book +were well done! It is the part of an indiscreet and troublesome +ambition, to care too much about fame,--about what the world says +of us. To be always looking into the faces of others for +approval;--to be always anxious for the effect of what we do and +say; to be always shouting to hear the echo of our own voices! If +you look about you, you will see men, who are wearing life away +in feverish anxiety of fame, and the last we shall ever hear of +them will be the funeral bell, that tolls them to their early +graves! Unhappy men, and unsuccessful! because their purpose is, +not to accomplish well their task, but to clutch the `trick and +fantasy of fame'; and they go to their graveswith purposes +unaccomplished and wishes unfulfilled. Better for them, and for +the world in their example, had they known how to wait! Believe +me, the talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can +do well; and doing well whatever you do,--without a thought of +fame. If it come at all, it will come because it is deserved, not +because it is sought after. And, moreover, there will be no +misgivings,--no disappointment,--no hasty, feverish, exhausting +excitement."</p> + +<p>Thus endeth the First Book of Hyperion. I make no record of +the winter. Paul Flemming buried himself in books; in old, dusty +books. He studied diligently the ancient poetic lore of Germany, +from Frankish Legends of Saint George, and Saxon +Rhyme-Chronicles, down through Nibelungen Lieds, and +Helden-Buchs, and Songs of the Minnesingers and Mastersingers, +and Ships of Fools, and Reinecke Foxes, and Death-Dancesand +Lamentations of Damned Souls, into the bright, sunny land of +harvests, where, amid the golden grain and the blue corn-flowers, +walk the modern bards, and sing.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="2">BOOK II.</a></h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="2_1">Epigraph</a></h3> + +<p>"Something the heart must have to cherish,</p> + +<p>Must love, and joy, and sorrow learn;</p> + +<p>Something with passion clasp, or perish,</p> + +<p>And in itself to ashes burn."</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="2_2">CHAPTER I. SPRING.</a></h3> + +<p>It was a sweet carol, which the Rhodian children sang of old +in Spring, bearing in their hands, from door to door, a swallow, +as herald of the season;</p> + +<p>"The Swallow is come!</p> + +<p>The Swallow is come!</p> + +<p>O fair are the seasons, and light</p> + +<p>Are the days that she brings,</p> + +<p>With her dusky wings,</p> + +<p>And her bosom snowy white."</p> + +<p>A pretty carol, too, is that, which the Hungarian boys, on the +islands of the Danube, sing to the returning stork in Spring;</p> + +<p>"Stork! Stork! poor Stork!</p> + +<p>Why is thy foot so bloody?</p> + +<p>A Turkish boy hath torn it;</p> + +<p>Hungarian boy will heal it,</p> + +<p>With fiddle, fife, and drum."</p> + +<p>But what child has a heart to sing in this capricious clime of +ours, where Spring comes sailing in from the sea, with wet and +heavy cloud-sails, and the misty pennon of the East-wind nailed +to the mast! Yet even here, and in the stormy month of March +even, there are bright, warm mornings, when we open our windows +to inhale the balmy air. The pigeons fly to and fro, and we hear +the whirring sound of wings. Old flies crawl out of the cracks, +to sun themselves; and think it is summer. They die in their +conceit; and so do our hearts within us, when the cold sea-breath +comes from the eastern sea; and again,</p> + +<p>"The driving hail</p> + +<p>Upon the window beats with icy flail."</p> + +<p>The red-flowering maple is first in blossom, its beautiful +purple flowers unfolding a fortnight before the leaves. The +moose-wood follows, with rose-colored buds and leaves; and the +dog-wood, robed in the white of its own pure blossoms. Thencomes +the sudden rain-storm; and the birds fly to and fro, and shriek. +Where do they hide themselves in such storms? at what firesides +dry their feathery cloaks? At the fireside of the great, +hospitable sun, to-morrow, not before;--they must sit in wet +garments until then.</p> + +<p>In all climates Spring is beautiful. In the South it is +intoxicating, and sets a poet beside himself. The birds begin to +sing;--they utter a few rapturous notes, and then wait for an +answer in the silent woods. Those green-coated musicians, the +frogs, make holiday in the neighbouring marshes. They, too, +belong to the orchestra of Nature; whose vast theatre is again +opened, though the doors have been so long bolted with icicles, +and the scenery hung with snow and frost, like cobwebs. This is +the prelude, which announces the rising of the broad green +curtain. Already the grass shoots forth. The waters leap with +thrilling pulse through the veins of the earth; the sap through +the veins of the plants and trees; and the blood through the +veins of man. What a thrill of delight in spring-time! What a joy +in being and moving! Men are at work in gardens; and in the air +there is an odor of the fresh earth. The leaf-buds begin to swell +and blush. The white blossoms of the cherry hang upon the boughs +like snow-flakes; and ere long our next-door neighbours will be +completely hidden from us by the dense green foliage. The +May-flowers open their soft blue eyes. Children are let loose in +the fields and gardens. They hold butter-cups under each others' +chins, to see if they love butter. And the little girls adorn +themselves with chains and curls of dandelions; pull out the +yellow leaves to see if the schoolboy loves them, and blow the +down from the leafless stalk, to find out if their mothers want +them at home.</p> + +<p>And at night so cloudless and so still! Not a voice of living +thing,--not a whisper of leaf or waving bough,--not a breath of +wind,--not a sound upon the earth nor in the air! And overhead +bends the blue sky, dewy and soft, and radiant with innumerable +stars, like the inverted bellof some blue flower, sprinkled with +golden dust, and breathing fragrance. Or if the heavens are +overcast, it is no wild storm of wind and rain; but clouds that +melt and fall in showers. One does not wish to sleep; but lies +awake to hear the pleasant sound of the dropping rain.</p> + +<p>It was thus the Spring began in Heidelberg.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="2_3">CHAPTER II. A COLLOQUY.</a></h3> + +<p>"And what think you of Tiedge's Urania," said the Baron +smiling, as Paul Flemming closed the book, and laid it upon the +table.</p> + +<p>"I think," said Flemming, "that it is very much like Jean +Paul's grandfather,--in the highest degree poor and pious."</p> + +<p>"Bravo!" exclaimed the Baron. "That is the best criticism I +have heard upon the book. For my part, I dislike the thing as +much as Goethe did. It was once very popular, and lay about in +every parlour and bed-room. This annoyed the old gentleman +exceedingly; and I do not wonder at it. He complains, that at one +time nothing was sung or said but this Urania. He believed in +Immortality; but wished to cherish his belief inquietness. He +once told a friend of his, that he had, however, learned one +thing from all this talk about Tiedge and his Urania; which was, +that the saints, as well as the nobility, constitute an +aristocracy. He said he found stupid women, who were proud +because they believed in Immortality with Tiedge, and had to +submit himself to not a few mysterious catechizings and tea-table +lectures on this point; and that he cut them short by saying, +that he had no objection whatever to enter into another state of +existence hereafter, but prayed only that he might be spared the +honor of meeting any of those there, who had believed in it here; +for, if he did, the saints would flock around him on all sides, +exclaiming, Were we not in the right? Did we not tell you so? Has +it not all turned out just as we said? And, with such a conceited +clatter in his ears, he thought that, before the end of six +months, he might die of ennui in Heaven itself."</p> + +<p>"How shocked the good old ladies must have been," said +Flemming.</p> + +<p>"No doubt, their nerves suffered a little; but the young +ladies loved him all the better for being witty and wicked; and +thought if they could only marry him, how they would reform +him."</p> + +<p>"Bettina Brentano, for instance."</p> + +<p>"O no! That happened long afterwards. Goethe was then a +silver-haired old man of sixty. She had never seen him, and knew +him only by his writings; a romantic girl of seventeen."</p> + +<p>"And yet much in love with the Sexagenarian. And surely a more +wild, fantastic, and, excuse me, German passion never sprang up +in woman's breast. She was a flower, that worshipped the +sun."</p> + +<p>"She afterwards married Achim von Arnim, and is now a widow. +And not the least singular part of the affair, is, that, having +grown older, and I hope colder, she should herself publish the +letters which passed between her and Goethe."</p> + +<p>"Particularly the letter in which she describes her first +visit to Weimar, and her interview with the hitherto invisible +divinity of her dreams. The old gentleman took her upon his +knees, and she fell asleep with her head upon his shoulder. It +reminds me of Titania and Nick Bottom, begging your pardon, +always, for comparing your All-sided-One to Nick Bottom. Oberon +must have touched her eyes with the juice of Love-in-idleness. +However, this book of Goethe's Correspondence with a Child is a +very singular and valuable revelation of the feelings, which he +excited in female hearts. You say she afterwards married Achim +von Arnim?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; and he and her brother, Clemens Brentano, published that +wondrous book, the Boy's Wonder-Horn."</p> + +<p>"The Boy's Wonder-Horn!" said Flemming, after a short pause, +for the name seemed to have thrown him into a reverie;--"I know +the book almost by heart. Of all your German books it is the one +which produces upon my imagination the most wild and magic +influence. I have a passion for ballads!"</p> + +<p>"And who has not?" said the Baron with asmile. "They are the +gypsy-children of song, born under green hedgerows, in the leafy +lanes and by-paths of literature,--in the genial +summer-time."</p> + +<p>"Why do you say summer-time and not summer?" inquired +Flemming. "The expression reminds me of your old +Minnesingers;--of Heinrich von Ofterdingen, and Walter von der +Vogelweide, and Count Kraft von Toggenburg, and your own +ancestor, I dare say, Burkhart von Hohenfels. They were always +singing of the gentle summer-time. They seem to have lived +poetry, as well as sung it; like the birds who make their +marriage beds in the voluptuous trees."</p> + +<p>"Is that from Shakspere?"</p> + +<p>"No; from Lope de Vega."</p> + +<p>"You are deeply read in the lore of antiquity, and the Aubades +and Watch-Songs of the old Minnesingers. What do you think of the +shoe-maker poets that came after them,--with their guilds and +singing-schools? It makes me laugh to think how the great German +Helicon, shrunk toa rivulet, goes bubbling and gurgling over the +pebbly names of Zwinger, Wurgendrussel, Buchenlin, Hellfire, Old +Stoll, Young Stoll, Strong Bopp, Dang Brotscheim, Batt Spiegel, +Peter Pfort, and Martin Gumpel. And then the Corporation of the +Twelve Wise Masters, with their stumpfereime and klingende-reime, +and their Hans Tindeisen's rosemary-weise; and Joseph Schmierer's +flowery-paradise-weise, and Frauenlob's yellow-weise, and +blue-weise, and frog-weise, and looking-glass-weise!"</p> + +<p>"O, I entreat you," exclaimed Flemming, laughing, "do not call +those men poets! You transport me to quaint old Nuremberg, and I +see Hans Sachs making shoes, and Hans Folz shaving the +burgomaster."</p> + +<p>"By the way," interrupted the Baron, "did you ever read +Hoffmann's beautiful story of Master Martin, the Cooper of +Nuremberg? I will read it to you this very night. It is the most +delightful picture of that age, which you can conceive. But look! +the sun has already set behindthe Alsatian hills. Let us go up to +the castle and look for the ghost in Prince Ruprecht's tower. O, +what a glorious sunset!"</p> + +<p>Flemming looked at the evening sky, and a shade of sadness +stole over his countenance. He told not to his friend the sorrow, +with which his heart was heavy; but kept it for himself alone. He +knew that the time, which comes to all men,--the time to suffer +and be silent,--had come to him likewise; and he spake no word. O +well has it been said, that there is no grief like the grief +which does not speak.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="2_4">CHAPTER III. +OWL-TOWERS.</a></h3> + +<p>"There sits the old Frau Himmelhahn, perched up in her +owl-tower," said the Baron to Flemming, as they passed along the +Hauptstrasse. "She looks down through her round-eyed spectacles +from her nest up there, and watches every one that goes by. I +wonder what mischief she is hatching now? Do you know she has +nearly ruined your character in town? She says you have a rakish +look, because you carry a cane, and your hair curls. Your gloves, +also, are a shade too light for a strictly virtuous man."</p> + +<p>"It is very kind in her to take such good care of my +character, particularly as I am a stranger in town. She is +doubtless learned in the Clothes-Philosophy."</p> + +<p>"And ignorant of every thing else. She asked a friend of mine +the other day, whether Christ was a Catholic or a +Protestant."</p> + +<p>"That is really too absurd!"</p> + +<p>"Not too absurd to be true. And, ignorant as she is, she +contrives to do a good deal of mischief in the course of the +year. Why, the ladies already call you Wilhelm Meister."</p> + +<p>"They are at liberty to call me what they please. But you, who +know me better, know that I am something more than they would +imply by the name."</p> + +<p>"She says, moreover, that the American ladies sit with their +feet out of the window, and have no pocket-handkerchiefs."</p> + +<p>"Excellent!"</p> + +<p>They crossed the market-place and went up beneath the grand +terrace into the court-yard of the castle.</p> + +<p>"Let us go up and sit under the great linden-trees, that grow +on the summit of the Rent Tower," said Flemming. "From that point +as from awatch-tower we can look down into the garden, and see +the crowd below us."</p> + +<p>"And amuse ourselves, as old Frau Himmelhahn does, at her +window in the Hauptstrasse," added the Baron.</p> + +<p>The keeper's daughter unlocked for them the door of the tower, +and, climbing the steep stair-case, they seated themselves on a +wooden bench under the linden-trees.</p> + +<p>"How beautifully these trees overgrow the old tower! And see +what a solid mass of masonry lies in the great fosse down there, +toppled from its base by the explosion of a mine! It is like a +rusty helmet cleft in twain, but still crested with towering +plumes!"</p> + +<p>"And what a motley crowd in the garden! Philisters and Sons of +the Muses! And there goes the venerable Thibaut, taking his +evening stroll. Do you see him there, with his silver hair +flowing over his shoulders, and that friendly face, which has for +so many years pored over the Pandects. I assure you, he inspires +me with awe. And yet he is a merry old man, and loves his joke, +particularly at the expense of Moses and other ancient +lawgivers."</p> + +<p>Here their attention was diverted by a wild-looking person, +who passed with long strides under the archway in the fosse, +right beneath them, and disappeared among the bushes. He was +ill-dressed,--his hair flying in the wind,--his movements hurried +and nervous, and the expression of his broad countenance wild, +strange, and earnest.</p> + +<p>"Who can that be!" asked Flemming. "He strides away +indignantly, like one of Ossian's ghosts?"</p> + +<p>"A great philosopher, whose name I have forgotten. Truly a +strange owl!"</p> + +<p>"He looks like a lion with a hat on."</p> + +<p>"He is a mystic, who reads Schubert's History of the Soul, and +lives, for the most part, in the clouds of the Middle Ages. To +him the spirit-world is still open. He believes in the +transmigration of souls; and I dare say is now followingthe +spirit of some departed friend, who has taken the form of yonder +pigeon."</p> + +<p>"What a strange hallucination! He lives, I suppose, in the +land of cloud-shadows. And, as St. Thomas Aquinas was said to be +lifted up from the ground by the fervor of his prayers, so, no +doubt, is he by the fervor of his visions."</p> + +<p>"He certainly appears to neglect all sublunary things; and, to +judge from certain appearances, since you seem fond of holy +similitudes, one would say, that, like St. Serapion the +Sindonite, he had but one shirt. Yet what cares he? he lives in +that poetic dream-land of his thoughts, and clothes his +dream-children in poetry."</p> + +<p>"He is a poet, then, as well as a philosopher?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but a poet who never writes a line. There is nothing in +nature to which his imagination does not give a poetic hue. But +the power to make others see these objects in the same poetic +light, is wanting. Still he is a man of fine powers and feelings; +for, next to being a greatpoet, is the power of understanding +one,--of finding one's-self in him, as we Germans say."</p> + +<p>Three figures, dressed in black, now came from one of the +green alleys, and stopped on the brink of a little fountain, that +was playing among the gay flowers in the garden. The eldest of +the three was a lady in that season of life, when the early +autumn gives to the summer leaves a warmer glow, yet fades them +not. Though the mother of many children, she was still +beautiful;--resembling those trees, which blossom in October, +when the leaves are changing, and whose fruit and blossom are on +the branch at once. At her side was a girl of some sixteen years, +who seemed to lean upon her arm for support. Her figure was +slight; her countenance beautiful, though deadly white; and her +meek eyes like the flower of the night-shade, pale and blue, but +sending forth golden rays. They were attended by a tall youth of +foreign aspect, who seemed a young Antinous, with a mustache and +a nose à la Kosciusko. In other respects a perfect hero of +romance.</p> + +<p>"Unless mine eyes deceive me," said the Baron, "there is the +Frau von Ilmenau, with her pale daughter Emma, and that eternal +Polish Count. He is always hovering about them, playing the +unhappy exile, merely to excite that poor girl's sympathies; and +as wretched as genius and wantonness can make him."</p> + +<p>"Why, he is already married, you know," replied Flemming. "And +his wife is young and beautiful."</p> + +<p>"That does not prevent him from being in love with some one +else. That question was decided in the Courts of Love in the +Middle Ages. Accordingly he has sent his fair wife to Warsaw. But +how pale the poor child looks."</p> + +<p>"She has just recovered from severe illness. In the winter, +you know, it was thought she would not live from hour to +hour."</p> + +<p>"And she has hardly recovered from that disease, before she +seems threatened with a worse one; namely, a hopeless passion. +However, people do not die of love now-a-days."</p> + +<p>"Seldom, perhaps," said Flemming. "And yet it is folly to +pretend that one ever wholly recovers from a disappointed +passion. Such wounds always leave a scar. There are faces I can +never look upon without emotion. There are names I can never hear +spoken without almost starting!"</p> + +<p>"But whom have we here?"</p> + +<p>"That is the French poet Quinet, with his sweet German wife; +one of the most interesting women I ever knew. He is the author +of a very wild Mystery, or dramatic prose-poem, in which the +Ocean, Mont-Blanc, and the Cathedral of Strassburg have parts to +play; and the saints on the stained windows of the minster speak, +and the statues and dead kings enact the Dance of Death. It is +entitled Ahasuerus, or the Wandering Jew."</p> + +<p>"Or, as the Danes would translate it, the Shoemaker of +Jerusalem. That would be a still more fantastic title for his +fantastic book. You know I am no great admirer of the modern +French school of writers. The tales of Paul de Kock, who is, I +believe, the most popular of all, seem to me like obscene stories +told at dinner-tables, after the ladies have retired. It has been +well said of him, that he is not only populaire but populacier; +and equally well said of George Sand and Victor Hugo, that their +works stand like fortifications, well built and well supplied +with warlike munitions; but ineffectual against the Grand Army of +God, which marches onward, as if nothing had happened. In +surveying a national literature, the point you must start from, +is national character. That lets you into many a secret; as, for +example, Paul de Kock's popularity. The most prominent trait in +the French character, is love of amusement, and excitement; +and--"</p> + +<p>"I should say, rather, the fear of ennui," interrupted +Flemming. "One of their own writers has said with a great deal of +truth, that the gentry of France rush into Paris to escape from +ennui, as, in the noble days of chivalry, the defenceless +inhabitants of the champaign fled into the castles, at +theapproach of some plundering knight, or lawless Baron; +forsaking the inspired twilight of their native groves, for the +luxurious shades of the royal gardens. What do you think of +that?"</p> + +<p>The Baron replied with a smile;</p> + +<p>"There is only one Paris; and out of Paris there is no +salvation for decent people."</p> + +<p>Thus conversing of many things, sat the two friends under the +linden-trees on the Rent Tower, till gradually the crowd +disappeared from the garden, and the objects around them grew +indistinct, in the fading twilight. Between them and the +amber-colored western sky, the dense foliage of the trees looked +heavy and hard, as if cast in bronze; and already the evening +stars hung like silver lamps in the towering branches of that +Tree of Life, brought more than two centuries ago from its +primeval Paradise in America, to beautify the gardens of the +Palatinate.</p> + +<p>"I take a mournful pleasure in gazing at that tree," said +Flemming, as they rose to depart. "It stands there so straight +and tall, with iron bandsaround its noble trunk and limbs, in +silent majesty, or whispering only in its native tongue, and +freighting the homeward wind with sighs! It reminds me of some +captive monarch of a savage tribe, brought over the vast ocean +for a show, and chained in the public market-place of the city, +disdainfully silent, or breathing only in melancholy accents a +prayer for his native forest, a longing to be free."</p> + +<p>"Magnificent!" cried the Baron. "I always experience something +of the same feeling when I walk through a conservatory. The +luxuriant plants of the tropics,--those illustrious exotics, with +their gorgeous, flamingo-colored blossoms, and great, flapping +leaves, like elephant's ears,--have a singular working upon my +imagination; and remind me of a menagerie and wild-beasts kept in +cages. But your illustration is finer;--indeed, a grand figure. +Put it down for an epic poem."</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="2_5">CHAPTER IV. A +BEER-SCANDAL.</a></h3> + +<p>On their way homeward, Flemming and the Baron passed through a +narrow lane, in which was a well-known Studenten-Kneipe. At the +door stood a young man, whom the Baron at once recognised as his +friend Von Kleist. He was a student; and universally +acknowledged, among his young acquaintance, as a "devilish +handsome fellow"; notwithstanding a tremendous scar on his cheek, +and a cream-colored mustache, as soft as the silk of Indian corn. +In short he was a renowner, and a duellist.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing here, Von Kleist?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, my dear Baron! Is it you? Come in; come in. You shall see +some sport. A Fox-Commerce is on foot, and a regular +Beer-Scandal."</p> + +<p>"Shall we go in, Flemming?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. I should like to see how these things are managed +in Heidelberg. You are a Baron, and I am a stranger. It is of no +consequence what you and I do, as the king's fool Angeli said to +the poet Bautru, urging him to put on his hat at the royal +dinner-table."</p> + +<p>William Lilly, the Astrologer, says, in his Autobiography, +that, when he was committed to the guard-room in White Hall, he +thought himself in hell; for "some were sleeping, others +swearing, others smoking tobacco; and in the chimney of the room +there were two bushels of broken tobacco-pipes, and almost half a +load of ashes." What he would have thought if he had peeped into +this Heidelberg Studenten-Kneipe, I know not. He certainly would +not have thought himself in heaven; unless it were a Scandinavian +heaven. The windows were open; and yet so dense was the +atmosphere with the smoke of tobacco, and the fumes of beer, that +the tallow candles burnt but dimly. A crowd of students were +sitting at three long tables, in the large hall; a medley of +fellows, known at German Universities under the cant names of +Old-Ones, Mossy-Heads, Princes of Twilight, and +Pomatum-Stallions. They were smoking, drinking, singing, +screaming, and discussing the great Laws of the Broad-Stone and +the Gutter. They had a great deal to say, likewise, about Besens, +and Zobels, and Poussades; and, if they had been charged for the +noise they made, as travellers used to be, in the old Dutch +taverns, they would have had a longer bill to pay for that, than +for their beer.</p> + +<p>In a large arm-chair, upon the middle table, sat one of those +distinguished individuals, known among German students as a +Senior, or Leader of a Landsmannschaft. He was booted and +spurred, and wore a very small crimson cap, and a very tight blue +jacket, and very long hair, and a very dirty shirt. He was +President of the night; and, as Flemming entered the hall with +the Baron and his friend, striking upon the table with a mighty +broadsword, he cried in a loud voice;</p> + +<p>"Silentium!"</p> + +<p>At the same moment a door at the end of the hall was thrown +open, and a procession of newcomers, or Nasty-Foxes, as they are +called in the college dialect, entered two by two, looking wild, +and green, and foolish. As they came forward, they were obliged +to pass under a pair of naked swords, held cross-wise by two +Old-Ones, who, with pieces of burnt cork, made an enormous pair +of mustaches, on the smooth, rosy cheeks of each, as he passed +beneath this arch of triumph. While the procession was entering +the hall, the President lifted up his voice again, and began to +sing the well-known Fox-song, in the chorus of which all present +joined lustily.</p> + +<p>What comes there from the hill?</p> + +<p>What comes there from the hill?</p> + +<p>What comes there from the leathery hill?</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Leathery hill!</p> + +<p>What comes there from the hill?</p> + +<p>It is a postilion!</p> + +<p>It is a postilion!</p> + +<p>It is a leathery postilion!</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Postilion!</p> + +<p>It is a postilion!</p> + +<p>What brings the postilion?</p> + +<p>What brings the postilion?</p> + +<p>What brings the leathery postilion?</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Postilion!</p> + +<p>What brings the postilion?</p> + +<p>He bringeth us a Fox!</p> + +<p>He bringeth us a Fox!</p> + +<p>He bringeth us a leathery Fox!</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Leathery Fox!</p> + +<p>He bringeth us a Fox!</p> + +<p>Your servant, Masters mine!</p> + +<p>Your servant, Masters mine!</p> + +<p>Your servant, much-honored Masters mine!</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Much-honored Masters mine!</p> + +<p>Your servant, Masters mine!</p> + +<p>How does the Herr Papa?</p> + +<p>How does the Herr Papa?</p> + +<p>How does the leathery Herr Papa?</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Herr Papa!</p> + +<p>How does the Herr Papa?</p> + +<p>He reads in Cicero!</p> + +<p>He reads in Cicero!</p> + +<p>He reads in leathery Cicero!</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Cicero!</p> + +<p>He reads in Cicero!</p> + +<p>How does the Frau Mama?</p> + +<p>How does the Frau Mama?</p> + +<p>How does the leathery Frau Mama?</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Frau Mama!</p> + +<p>How does the Frau Mama?</p> + +<p>She makes the Papa tea!</p> + +<p>She makes the Papa tea!</p> + +<p>She makes the Papa leathery tea!</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Leathery tea!</p> + +<p>She makes the Papa tea!</p> + +<p>How does the Mamsell Sœur?</p> + +<p>How does the Mamsell Sœur?</p> + +<p>How does the leathery Mamsell Sœur?</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Mamsell Sœur!</p> + +<p>How does the Mamsell Sœur?</p> + +<p>She knits the Papa stockings!</p> + +<p>She knits the Papa stockings!</p> + +<p>She knits the Papa leathery stockings!</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Leathery stockings!</p> + +<p>She knits the Papa stockings!</p> + +<p>How does the Herr Rector?</p> + +<p>How does the Herr Rector?</p> + +<p>How does the leathery Herr Rector?</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Herr Rector!</p> + +<p>How does the Herr Rector?</p> + +<p>He calls the scholar, Boy!</p> + +<p>He calls the scholar, Boy!</p> + +<p>He calls the scholar, leathery Boy!</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Leathery Boy!</p> + +<p>He calls the scholar, Boy!</p> + +<p>And smokes the Fox tobacco?</p> + +<p>And smokes the Fox tobacco?</p> + +<p>And smokes the leathery Fox tobacco?</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Fox tobacco!</p> + +<p>And smokes the Fox tobacco?</p> + +<p>A little, Masters mine!</p> + +<p>A little, Masters mine!</p> + +<p>A little, much-honored Masters mine!</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Much-honored Masters mine!</p> + +<p>A little, Masters mine!</p> + +<p>Then let him fill a pipe!</p> + +<p>Then let him fill a pipe!</p> + +<p>Then let him fill a leathery pipe!</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Leathery pipe!</p> + +<p>Then let him fill a pipe!</p> + +<p>O Lord! It makes me sick!</p> + +<p>O Lord! It makes him sick!</p> + +<p>O Lord! It makes me leathery sick!</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Leathery sick!</p> + +<p>O Lord! It makes me sick!</p> + +<p>Then let him throw it off!</p> + +<p>Then let him throw it off!</p> + +<p>Then let him throw it leathery off!</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Leathery off!</p> + +<p>Then let him throw it off!</p> + +<p>Now I again am well!</p> + +<p>Now he again is well!</p> + +<p>Now I again am leathery well!</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Leathery well!</p> + +<p>Now I again am well!</p> + +<p>So grows the Fox a Bursch!</p> + +<p>So grows the Fox a Bursch!</p> + +<p>So grows the leathery Fox a Bursch!</p> + +<p>Ha! Ha!</p> + +<p>Fox a Bursch!</p> + +<p>So grows the Fox a Bursch!</p> + +<p>At length the song was finished. Meanwhile large tufts and +strips of paper had been twisted into the hair of the Branders, +as those are called who have been already one semestre at the +University, and then at a given signal were set on fire, and the +Branders rode round the table on sticks, amid roars of laughter. +When this ceremony was completed, the President rose from his +chair, and in a solemn voice pronounced a long discourse, in +which old college jokes were mingled with much parental advice to +young men on entering life, and the whole was profusely garnished +with select passages from the Old Testament. Then they all seated +themselves at the table and the heavy beer-drinking set in, as +among the Gods and Heroes of the old Northern mythology.</p> + +<p>"Brander! Brander!" screamed a youth, whose face was hot and +flushed with supper and with beer; "Brander, I say? Thou art a +Doctor! No,--a Pope;--thou art a Pope, by--"</p> + +<p>These words were addressed to a pale, quiet-looking person, +who sat opposite, and was busy in making a wretched, shaved +poodle sit on his hind legs in a chair, by his master's side, and +hold a short clay pipe in his mouth,--a performance to which the +poodle seemed no wise inclined.</p> + +<p>"Thou art challenged!" replied the pale Student, turning from +his dog, who dropped the pipe from his mouth and leaped under the +table.</p> + +<p>Seconds were chosen on the spot; and the arms ordered; namely, +six mighty goblets, or Bassgläser, filled to the brim with +foaming beer. Three were placed before each duellist.</p> + +<p>"Take your weapons!" cried one of the seconds, and each of the +combatants seized a goblet in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Strike!"</p> + +<p>And the glasses rang, with a salutation like the crossing of +swords.</p> + +<p>"Set to!"</p> + +<p>Each set the goblet to his lips.</p> + +<p>"Out!"</p> + +<p>And each poured the contents down his throat, as if he were +pouring them through a tunnel into a beer-barrel. The other two +glasses followed in quick succession, hardly a long breath drawn +between. The pale Student was victorious. He was first to drain +the third goblet. He held it for a moment inverted, to let the +last drops fall out, and then placing it quietly on the table, +looked his antagonist in the face, and said;</p> + +<p>"Hit!"</p> + +<p>Then, with the greatest coolness, he looked under the table +and whistled for his dog. His antagonist stopped midway in his +third glass. Every vein in his forehead seemed bursting; his eyes +were wild and bloodshot, his hand gradually loosened its hold +upon the table, and he sank and rolled together like a sheet of +lead. He was drunk.</p> + +<p>At this moment a majestic figure came stalking down the table, +ghost-like, through the dim, smoky atmosphere. His coat was off, +his neck bare, his hair wild, his eyes wide open, and looking +right before him, as if he saw some beckoning hand in the air, +that others could not see. His left hand was upon his hip, and in +his right he held a drawn sword extended, and pointing downward. +Regardless of every one, erect, and with a martial stride he +marched directly along the centre of the table, crushing glasses +and overthrowing bottles at everystep. The students shrunk back +at his approach; till at length one more drunk, or more +courageous, than the rest, dashed a glass full of beer into his +face. A general tumult ensued, and the student with the sword +leaped to the floor. It was Von Kleist. He was renowning it. In +the midst of the uproar could be distinguished the offensive +words;</p> + +<p>"Arrogant! Absurd! Impertinent! Dummer Junge!"</p> + +<p>Von Kleist went home that night with no less than six duels on +his hands. He fought them all out in as many days; and came off +with only a gash through his upper lip and another through his +right eyelid from a dexterous Suabian Schlaeger.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="2_6">CHAPTER V. THE WHITE LADY'S +SLIPPER AND THE PASSION-FLOWER.</a></h3> + +<p>That night Emma of Ilmenau went to her chamber with a heavy +heart, and her dusky eyes were troubled with tears. She was one +of those gentle beings, who seem created only to love and to be +loved. A shade of melancholy softened her character. She shunned +the glare of daylight and of society, and wished to be alone. +Like the evening primrose, her heart opened only after sunset; +but bloomed through the dark night with sweet fragrance. Her +mother, on the contrary, flaunted in the garish light of society. +There was no sympathy between them. Their souls never approached, +never understood each other, and words were often spoken which +wounded deeply. And therefore Emma of Ilmenau went to her chamber +that night with tears in her eyes.</p> + +<p>She was followed by her French chamber-maid, Madeleine, a +native of Strassburg, who had grown old in the family. In her +youth, she had been poor,--and virtuous because she had never +been tempted; and, now that she had grown old, and seen no +immediate reward for her virtue, as is usual with weak minds, she +despaired of Providence, and regretted she had never been +tempted. Whilst this unfortunate personage was lighting the wax +tapers on the toilet, and drawing the bed-curtains, and tattling +about the room, Emma threw herself into an arm-chair, and, +crossing her hands in her lap, and letting her head fall upon her +bosom, seemed lost in a dream.</p> + +<p>"Why have these gentle feelings been given me!" said she in +her heart. "Why have I been born with all these warm +affections,--these ardent longings after what is good, if they +lead only to sorrow and disappointment? I would love some +one;--love him once and forever;--devote myselfto him +alone,--live for him,--die for him,-- exist alone in him! But +alas! in all this wide world there is none to love me, as I would +be loved,--none whom I may love, as I am capable of loving. How +empty, how desolate, seems the world about me! Why has Heaven +given me these affections, only to fall and fade!"</p> + +<p>Alas! poor child! thou too must learn like others, that the +sublime mystery of Providence goes on in silence, and gives no +explanation of itself,--no answer to our impatient +questionings!</p> + +<p>"Bless me, child, what ails you?" exclaimed Madeleine, +perceiving that Emma paid no attention to her idle gossip. "When +I was of your age--"</p> + +<p>"Do not talk to me now, good Madeleine. Leave me, I wish to be +alone?"</p> + +<p>"Well, here is something," continued the maid, taking a billet +from her bosom, "which I hope will enliven you. When I was of +your age--"</p> + +<p>"Hush! hush!" said Emma, taking the billetfrom the hard hand +of Madeleine. "Once more I beg you, leave me! I wish to be +alone!"</p> + +<p>Madeleine took the lamp and retired slowly, wishing her young +mistress many good nights and rosy dreams. Emma broke the seal of +the note. As she read, her face became deadly pale, and then, as +quick as thought, a crimson blush gleamed on her cheek, and her +hands trembled. Tenderness, pity, love, offended pride, the +weakness and dignity of woman, were all mingled in her look, +changing and passing over her fine countenance like +cloud-shadows. She sunk back in her chair, covering her face with +her hands, as if she would hide it from herself and Heaven.</p> + +<p>"He loves me!" said she to herself; "loves me; and is married +to another, whom he loves not! and dares to tell me this! O, +never,-- never,--never! And yet he is so friendless and alone in +this unsympathizing world,--and an exile, and homeless! I can but +pity him;--yet I hate him, and will see him no more!"</p> + +<p>This short reverie of love and hate was brokenby the sound of +a clear, mellow voice, which, in the universal stillness of the +hour, seemed almost like the voice of a spirit. It was a voice, +without the accompaniment of any instrument, singing those sweet +lines of Goethe;</p> + +<p>"Under the tree-tops is quiet now!</p> + +<p>In all the woodlands hearest thou</p> + +<p>Not a sound!</p> + +<p>The little birds are asleep in the trees,</p> + +<p>Wait! wait! and soon like these,</p> + +<p>Sleepest thou!"</p> + +<p>Emma knew the voice and started. She rushed to the window to +close it. It was a beautiful night, and the stars were shining +peacefully over the mountain of All-Saints. The sound of the +Neckar was soft and low, and nightingales were singing among the +brown shadows of the woods. The large red moon shone, like a +ruby, in the horizon's ample ring; and golden threads of light +seemed braided together with the rippling current of the river. +Tall and spectral stood the white statues on the bridge. The +outline of thehills, the castle, the arches of the bridge, and +the spires and roofs of the town were as strongly marked as if +cut out of pasteboard. Amid this fairy scene, a little boat was +floating silently down the stream. Emma closed the window +hastily, and drew the curtains close.</p> + +<p>"I hate him; and yet I will pray for him," said she, as she +laid her weary head upon that pillow, from which, but a few +months before, she thought she should never raise it again. "O, +that I had died then! I dare not love him, but I will pray for +him!"</p> + +<p>Sweet child! If the face of the deceiver comes so often +between thee and Heaven, I tremble for thy fate! The plant that +sprang from Helen's tears destroyed serpents;--would that from +thine might spring up heart's-ease;--some plant, at least, to +destroy the serpents in thy bosom. Believe me, upon the margin of +celestial streams alone, those simples grow, which cure the +heartache!</p> + +<p>And this the silent stars beheld, looking downfrom heaven, and +told it not again. This, likewise, the Frau Himmelhahn beheld, +looking from her chamber-window, and was not so discreet as the +silent stars.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="2_7">CHAPTER VI. GLIMPSES INTO +CLOUD-LAND.</a></h3> + +<p>"There are many things, which, having no corporeal evidence, +can be perceived and comprehended only by the discursive energies +of reason. Hence the ambiguous nature of matter can be +comprehended only by adulterated opinion. Matter is the principle +of all bodies, and is stamped with the impression of forms. Fire, +air, and water derive their origin and principle from the scalene +triangle. But the earth was created from right-angled triangles, +of which two of the sides are equal. The sphere and the pyramid +contain in themselves the figure of fire; but the octaedron was +destined to be the figure of air, and the icosaedron of water. +The right-angled isosceles triangle produces from itself a +square, andthe square generates from itself the cube, which is +the figure peculiar to earth. But the figure of a beautiful and +perfect sphere was imparted to the most beautiful and perfect +world, that it might be indigent of nothing, but contain all +things, embracing and comprehending them in itself, and thus +might be excellent and admirable, similar to and in concord with +itself, ever moving musically and melodiously. If I use a novel +language, excuse me. As Apuleius says, pardon must be granted to +novelty of words, when it serves to illustrate the obscurity of +things."</p> + +<p>These words came from the lips of the lion-like philosopher, +who has been noticed before in these pages. He was sitting with +Flemming, smoking a long pipe. As the Baron said, he was indeed a +strange owl; for the owl is a grave bird; a monk, who chants +midnight mass in the great temple of Nature;--an anchorite,--a +pillar saint,--the very Simeon Stylites of his neighbourhood. +Such, likewise, was the philosophical Professor. Solitary, but +with a mighty current, flowed the river of his life, like the +Nile, without a tributary stream, and making fertile only a +single strip in the vast desert. His temperament had been in +youth a joyous one; and now, amid all his sorrows and privations, +for he had many, he looked upon the world as a glad, bright, +glorious world. On the many joys of life he gazed still with the +eyes of childhood, from the far-gone Past upward, trusting, +hoping;--and upon its sorrows with the eyes of age, from the +distant Future, downward, triumphant, not despairing. He loved +solitude, and silence, and candle-light, and the deep midnight. +"For," said he, "if the morning hours are the wings of the day, I +only fold them about me to sleep more sweetly; knowing that, at +its other extremity, the day, like the fowls of the air, has an +epicurean morsel,--a parson's nose; and on this oily midnight my +spirit revels and is glad."</p> + +<p>Such was the Professor, who had been talking in a +half-intelligible strain for two hours or more. The Baron had +fallen fast asleep in his chair; but Flemming sat listening with +excited imagination, and the Professor continued in the following +words, which, to the best of his listener's memory, seemed +gleaned here and there from Fichte's Destiny of Man, and +Shubert's History of the Soul.</p> + +<p>"Life is one, and universal; its forms many and individual. +Throughout this beautiful and wonderful creation there is +never-ceasing motion, without rest by night or day, ever weaving +to and fro. Swifter than a weaver's shuttle it flies from Birth +to Death, from Death to Birth; from the beginning seeks the end, +and finds it not, for the seeming end is only a dim beginning of +a new out-going and endeavour after the end. As the ice upon the +mountain, when the warm breath of the summer sun breathes upon +it, melts, and divides into drops, each of which reflects an +image of the sun; so life, in the smile of God's love, divides +itself into separate forms, each bearing in it and reflecting an +image of God's love. Of all these forms the highest and most +perfect inits god-likeness is the human soul. The vast cathedral +of Nature is full of holy scriptures, and shapes of deep, +mysterious meaning; but all is solitary and silent there; no +bending knee, no uplifted eye, no lip adoring, praying. Into this +vast cathedral comes the human soul, seeking its Creator; and the +universal silence is changed to sound, and the sound is +harmonious, and has a meaning, and is comprehended and felt. It +was an ancient saying of the Persians, that the waters rush from +the mountains and hurry forth into all the lands to find the Lord +of the Earth; and the flame of the Fire, when it awakes, gazes no +more upon the ground, but mounts heavenward to seek the Lord of +Heaven; and here and there the Earth has built the great +watch-towers of the mountains, and they lift their heads far up +into the sky, and gaze ever upward and around, to see if the +Judge of the World comes not! Thus in Nature herself, without +man, there lies a waiting, and hoping, a looking and yearning, +after an unknown somewhat. Yes; when, above there, where the +mountain lifts its head over all others, that it may be alone +with the clouds and storms of heaven, the lonely eagle looks +forth into the gray dawn, to see if the day comes not! when, by +the mountain torrent, the brooding raven listens to hear if the +chamois is returning from his nightly pasture in the valley; and +when the soon uprising sun calls out the spicy odors of the +thousand flowers, the Alpine flowers, with heaven's deep blue and +the blush of sunset on their leaves;--then there awakes in +Nature, and the soul of man can see and comprehend it, an +expectation and a longing for a future revelation of God's +majesty. It awakens, also, when in the fulness of life, field and +forest rest at noon, and through the stillness is heard only the +song of the grasshopper and the hum of the bee; and when at +evening the singing lark, up from the sweet-smelling vineyards +rises, or in the later hours of night Orion puts on his shining +armour, to walk forth in the fields of heaven. But in the soul of +man alone is this longing changed to certainty and fulfilled. For +lo! thelight of the sun and the stars shines through the air, and +is nowhere visible and seen; the planets hasten with more than +the speed of the storm through infinite space, and their +footsteps are not heard, but where the sunlight strikes the firm +surface of the planets, where the stormwind smites the wall of +the mountain cliff, there is the one seen and the other heard. +Thus is the glory of God made visible, and may be seen, where in +the soul of man it meets its likeness changeless and +firm-standing. Thus, then, stands Man;--a mountain on the +boundary between two worlds;--its foot in one, its summit +far-rising into the other. From this summit the manifold +landscape of life is visible, the way of the Past and Perishable, +which we have left behind us; and, as we evermore ascend, bright +glimpses of the daybreak of Eternity beyond us!"</p> + +<p>Flemming would fain have interrupted this discourse at times, +to answer and inquire, but the Professor went on, warming and +glowing more andmore. At length, there was a short pause, and +Flemming said;</p> + +<p>"All these indefinite longings,--these yearnings after an +unknown somewhat, I have felt and still feel within me; but not +yet their fulfilment."</p> + +<p>"That is because you have not faith;" answered the Professor. +"The Present is an age of doubt and disbelief, and darkness; out +of which shall arise a clear and bright Hereafter. In the second +part of Goethe's Faust, there is a grand and striking scene, +where in the classical Walpurgis Night, on the Pharsalian Plains, +the mocking Mephistopheles sits down between the solemn antique +Sphinxes, and boldly questions them, and reads their riddles. The +red light of innumerable watch-fires glares all round about, and +shines upon the terrible face of the arch-scoffer; while on +either side, severe, majestic, solemnly serene, we behold the +gigantic forms of the children of Chimæra, half buried in +the earth, their mild eyes gazing fixedly, as if they heard +through the midnight, the swift-rushing wings of the +Stymphalides, striving to outstrip the speed of Alcides' arrows! +Angry griffins are near them; and not far are Sirens, singing +their wondrous songs from the rocking branches of the willow +trees! Even thus does a scoffing and unbelieving Present sit +down, between an unknown Future and a too believing Past, and +question and challenge the gigantic forms of faith, half buried +in the sands of Time, and gazing forward steadfastly into the +night, whilst sounds of anger and voices of delight alternate vex +and soothe the ear of man!--But the time will come, when the soul +of man shall return again childlike and trustful to its faith in +God; and look God in the face and die; for it is an old saying, +full of deep, mysterious meaning, that he must die, who hath +looked upon a God. And this is the fate of the soul, that it +should die continually. No sooner here on earth does it awake to +its peculiar being, than it struggles to behold and comprehend +the Spirit of Life. In the first dim twilight of its existence, +it beholds this spirit, is pervaded by its energies,--is quick +and creative likethe spirit itself, and yet slumbers away into +death after having seen it. But the image it has seen, remains, +in the eternal procreation, as a homogeneal existence, is again +renewed, and the seeming death, from moment to moment, becomes +the source of kind after kind of existences in ever-ascending +series. The soul aspires ever onward to love and to behold. It +sees the image more perfect in the brightening twilight of the +dawn, in the ever higher-rising sun. It sleeps again, dying in +the clearer vision; but the image seen remains as a permanent +kind; and the slumberer awakes anew and ever higher after its own +image, till at length, in the full blaze of noonday, a being +comes forth, which, like the eagle, can behold the sun and die +not. Then both live on, even when this bodily element, the mist +and vapor through which the young eagle gazed, dissolves and +falls to earth."</p> + +<p>"I am not sure that I understand you," said Flemming; "but if +I do, you mean to say, that, as the body continually changes and +takes unto itselfnew properties, and is not the same to-day as +yesterday, so likewise the soul lays aside its idiosyncrasies, +and is changed by acquiring new powers, and thus may be said to +die. And hence, properly speaking, the soul lives always in the +Present, and has, and can have, no Future; for the Future becomes +the Present, and the soul that then lives in me is a higher and +more perfect soul; and so onward forevermore."</p> + +<p>"I mean what I say," continued the Professor; "and can find no +more appropriate language to express my meaning than that which I +have used. But as I said before, pardon must be granted to the +novelty of words, when it serves to illustrate the obscurity of +things. And I think you will see clearly from what I have said, +that this earthly life, when seen hereafter from heaven, will +seem like an hour passed long ago, and dimly remembered;--that +long, laborious, full of joys and sorrows as it is, it will then +have dwindled down to a mere point, hardly visible to the +far-reaching ken of the disembodied spirit. But the spirit itself +soars onward. And thus death is neither an end nor a beginning. +It is a transition not from one existence to another, but from +one state of existence to another. No link is broken in the chain +of being; any more than in passing from infancy to manhood, from +manhood to old age. There are seasons of reverie and deep +abstraction, which seem to me analogous to death. The soul +gradually loses its consciousness of what is passing around it; +and takes no longer cognizance of objects which are near. It +seems for the moment to have dissolved its connexion with the +body. It has passed as it were into another state of being. It +lives in another world. It has flown over lands and seas; and +holds communion with those it loves, in distant regions of the +earth, and the more distant heaven. It sees familiar faces, and +hears beloved voices, which to the bodily senses are no longer +visible and audible. And this likewise is death; save that when +we die, the soul returns no more to the dwelling it has +left."</p> + +<p>"You seem to take it for granted," interrupted Flemming, +"that, in our reveries, the soul really goes out of the body into +distant places, instead of summoning up their semblance within +itself by the power of memory and imagination!"</p> + +<p>"Something I must take for granted," replied the Professor. +"We will not discuss that point now. I speak not without +forethought. Just observe what a glorious thing human life is, +when seen in this light; and how glorious man's destiny. I am; +thou art; he is! seems but a school-boy's conjugation. But +therein lies a great mystery. These words are significant of +much. We behold all round about us one vast union, in which no +man can labor for himself without laboring at the same time for +all others; a glimpse of truth, which by the universal harmony of +things becomes an inward benediction, and lifts the soul mightily +upward. Still more so, when a man regards himself as a necessary +member of this union. The feeling of our dignity and our power +grows strong, when we say to ourselves; My being is not +objectless and in vain; I am a necessary link in the great chain, +which, from the full development of consciousness in the first +man, reaches forward into eternity. All the great, and wise, and +good among mankind, all the benefactors of the human race, whose +names I read in the world's history, and the still greater number +of those, whose good deeds have outlived their names,--all those +have labored for me. I have entered into their harvest. I walk +the green earth, which they inhabited. I tread in their +footsteps, from which blessings grow. I can undertake the sublime +task, which they once undertook, the task of making our common +brotherhood wiser and happier. I can build forward, where they +were forced to leave off; and bring nearer to perfection the +great edifice which they left uncompleted. And at length I, too, +must leave it, and go hence. O, this is the sublimest thought of +all! I can never finish the noble task; therefore, so sure as +this task is my destiny, I can never cease to work, and +consequently never cease to be. What men call death cannot break +off this task, which is never-ending; consequently no periodis +set to my being, and I am eternal. I lift my head boldly to the +threatening mountain peaks, and to the roaring cataract, and to +the storm-clouds swimming in the fire-sea overhead and say; I am +eternal, and defy your power! Break, break over me! and thou +Earth, and thou Heaven, mingle in the wild tumult! and ye +Elements foam and rage, and destroy this atom of dust,--this +body, which I call mine! My will alone, with its fixed purpose, +shall hover brave and triumphant over the ruins of the universe; +for I have comprehended my destiny; and it is more durable than +ye! It is eternal; and I, who recognise it, I likewise am +eternal! Tell me, my friend, have you no faith in this?"</p> + +<p>"I have;" answered Flemming, and there was another pause. He +then said;</p> + +<p>"I have listened to you patiently and without interruption. +Now listen to me. You complain of the skepticism of the age. This +is one form in which the philosophic spirit of the age presents +itself. Let me tell you, that another form, whichit assumes, is +that of poetic reverie. Plato of old had dreams like these; and +the Mystics of the Middle Ages; and still their disciples walk in +the cloud-land and dream-land of this poetic philosophy. Pleasant +and cool upon their souls lie the shadows of the trees under +which Plato taught. From their whispering leaves comes wafted +across the noise of populous centuries a solemn and mysterious +sound, which to them is the voice of the Soul of the World. All +nature has become spiritualized and transfigured; and, wrapt in +beautiful, vague dreams of the real and the ideal, they live in +this green world, like the little child in the German tale, who +sits by the margin of a woodland lake, and hears the blue heaven +and the branches overhead dispute with their reflection in the +water, which is the reality and which the image. I willingly +confess, that such day-dreams as these appeal strongly to my +imagination. Visitants and attendants are they of those lofty +souls, which, soaring ever higher and higher, build themselves +nests under the very eaves of the stars, forgetful that +theycannot live on air, but must descend to earth for food. Yet I +recognise them as day-dreams only; as shadows, not substantial +things. What I mainly dislike in the New Philosophy, is the cool +impertinence with which an old idea, folded in a new garment, +looks you in the face and pretends not to know you, though you +have been familiar friends from childhood. I remember an English +author who, in speaking of your German Philosophies, says very +wisely; `Often a proposition of inscrutable and dread aspect, +when resolutely grappled with, and torn from its shady den, and +its bristling entrenchments of uncouth terminology,--and dragged +forth into the open light of day, to be seen by the natural eye +and tried by merely human understanding, proves to be a very +harmless truth, familiar to us from old, sometimes so familiar as +to be a truism. Too frequently the anxious novice is reminded of +Dryden in the Battle of the Books; there is a helmet of rusty +iron, dark, grim, gigantic; and within it, at the farthest +corner, is a head no bigger than a walnut.'--Can you believe, +thatthese words ever came from the lips of Carlyle! He has +himself taken up the uncouth terminology of late; and many pure, +simple minds are much offended at it. They seem to take it as a +personal insult. They are angry; and deny the just meed of +praise. It is, however, hardly worth while to lose our presence +of mind. Let us rather profit as we may, even from this +spectacle, and recognise the monarch in his masquerade. For, +hooded and wrapped about with that strange and antique garb, +there walks a kingly, a most royal soul, even as the Emperor +Charles walked amid solemn cloisters under a monk's cowl;--a +monarch still in soul. Such things are not new in the history of +the world. Ever and anon they sweep over the earth, and blow +themselves out soon, and then there is quiet for a season, and +the atmosphere of Truth seems more serene. Why would you preach +to the wind? Why reason with thunder-showers? Better sit quiet, +and see them pass over like a pageant, cloudy, superb, and +vast."</p> + +<p>The Professor smiled self-complacently, but said not a word. +Flemming continued;</p> + +<p>"I will add no more than this;--there are many speculations in +Literature, Philosophy, and Religion, which, though pleasant to +walk in, and lying under the shadow of great names, yet lead to +no important result. They resemble rather those roads in the +western forests of my native land, which, though broad and +pleasant at first, and lying beneath the shadow of great +branches, finally dwindle to a squirrel track, and run up a +tree!"</p> + +<p>The Professor hardly knew whether he should laugh or be +offended at this sally; and, laying his hand upon Flemming's arm, +he said seriously;</p> + +<p>"Believe me, my young friend, the time will come, when you +will think more wisely on these things. And with you, I trust, +that time will soon come; since it moves more speedily with some +than with others. For what is Time? The shadow on the dial,--the +striking of the clock,--the running of the sand,--day and +night,--summerand winter,--months, years, centuries! These are +but arbitrary and outward signs,--the measure of Time, not Time +itself! Time is the Life of the Soul. If not this, then tell me +what it is?"</p> + +<p>The high and animated tone of voice in which the Professor +uttered these words aroused the Baron from his sleep; and, not +distinctly comprehending what was said, but thinking the +Professor asked what time it was, he innocently exclaimed;</p> + +<p>"I should think it must be near midnight!"</p> + +<p>This somewhat disconcerted the Professor, who took his leave +soon afterward. When he was gone the Baron said;</p> + +<p>"Excuse me for treating your guest so cavalierly. His +transcendentalism annoyed me not a little; and I took refuge in +sleep. One would think, to judge by the language of this sect, +that they alone saw any beauty in Nature; and, when I hear one of +them discourse, I am instantly reminded of Goethe's Baccalaureus, +when he exclaims; `The world was not before I created it; +Ibrought the sun up out of the sea; with me began the changeful +course of the moon; the day decked itself on my account; the +earth grew green and blossomed to meet me; at my nod in that +first night, the pomp of all the stars developed itself; who but +I set you free from all the bonds of Philisterlike, contracting +thoughts? I, however, emancipated as my mind assures me I am, +gladly pursue my inward light, advance boldly in a transport +peculiarly my own, the bright before me, and the dark +behind!'--Do you not see a resemblance? O, they might be modest +enough to confess, that one straggling ray of light may, by some +accident, reach the blind eyes of even us poor, benighted +heathens?"</p> + +<p>"Alas! how little veneration we have!" said Flemming. "I could +not help closing the discussion with a jest. An ill-timed levity +often takes me by surprise. On all such occasions I think of a +scene at the University, where, in the midst of a grave +discussion on the possibility of Absolute Motion, a scholar said +he had seen a rock splitopen, from which sprang a toad, who could +not be supposed to have any knowledge of the external world, and +consequently his motion must have been absolute. The learned +Professor, who presided on that occasion, was hardly more +startled and astonished, than was our learned Professor, five +minutes ago. But come; wind up your watch, and let us go to +bed."</p> + +<p>"By the way," said the Baron, "did you mind what a curious +head he has. There are two crowns upon it."</p> + +<p>"That is a sign," replied Flemming, "that he will eat his +bread in two kingdoms."</p> + +<p>"I think the poor man would be very thankful," said the Baron +with a smile, "if he were always sure of eating it in one. He is +what the Transcendentalists call a god-intoxicated man; and I +advise him, as Sauteul advised Bossuet, to go to Patmos and write +a new Apocalypse."</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="2_8">CHAPTER VII. MILL-WHEELS AND +OTHER WHEELS.</a></h3> + +<p>A few days after this the Baron received letters from his +sister, telling him, that her physicians had prescribed a few +weeks at the Baths of Ems, and urging him to meet her there +before the fashionable season.</p> + +<p>"Come," said he to Flemming; "make this short journey with me. +We will pass a few pleasant days at Ems, and visit the other +watering-places of Nassau. It will drive away the melancholy +day-dreams that haunt you. Perhaps some future bride is even now +waiting for you, with dim presentiments and undefined longings, +at the Serpent's Bath."</p> + +<p>"Or some widow of Ems, with a cork-leg!" said Flemming, +smiling; and then added, in a toneof voice half jest, half +earnest, "Certainly; let us go in pursuit of her;--</p> + +<p>`Whoe'er she be,</p> + +<p>That not impossible she,</p> + +<p>That shall command my heart and me.</p> + +<p>Where'er she lie,</p> + +<p>Hidden from mortal eye,</p> + +<p>In shady leaves of destiny.' "</p> + +<p>They started in the afternoon for Frankfort, pursuing their +way slowly along the lovely Bergstrasse, famed throughout Germany +for its beauty. They passed the ruined house where Martin Luther +lay concealed after the Diet of Worms, and through the village of +Handschuhsheimer, as old as the days of King Pepin the Short,--a +hamlet, lying under the hills, half-buried in blossoms and green +leaves. Close on the right rose the mountains of the mysterious +Odenwald; and on the left lay the Neckar, like a steel bow in the +meadow. Farther westward, a thin, smoky vapor betrayed the course +of the Rhine; beyond which, like a troubled sea, ran the blue, +billowy Alsatian hills. Song of birds, and sound of evening +bells, and fragrance of sweet blossoms filled the air; and silent +and slow sank the broad red sun, half-hidden amid folding +clouds.</p> + +<p>"We shall not pass the night at Weinheim," said the Baron to +the postilion, who had dismounted to walk up the hill, leading to +the town. "You may drive to the mill in the Valley of +Birkenau."</p> + +<p>The postilion seized one of his fat horses by the tail, and +swung himself up to his seat again. They rattled through the +paved streets of Weinheim, and took no heed of the host of the +Golden Eagle, who stood so invitingly at the door of his own inn; +and the ruins of Burg Windeck, above there, on its mountain +throne, frowned at them for hurrying by, without staying to do +him homage.</p> + +<p>"The old ruin looks well from the valley," said the Baron; +"but let us beware of climbing that steep hill. Most travellers +are like children; they must needs touch whatever they behold. +They climb up to every old broken tooth of acastle, which they +find on their way;--get a toilsome ascent and hot sunshine for +their pains, and come down wearied and disappointed. I trust we +are wiser."</p> + +<p>They crossed the bridge, and turned up the stream, passing +under an arch of stone, which serves as a gateway to this +enchanted Valley of Birkenau. A cool and lovely valley! shut in +by high hills;--shaded by alder-trees and tall poplars, under +which rushes the Wechsnitz, a noisy mountain brook, that ever and +anon puts its broad shoulder to the wheel of a mill, and shows +that it can labor as well as laugh. At one of these mills they +stopped for the night.</p> + +<p>A mill forms as characteristic a feature in the romantic +German landscape, as in the romantic German tale. It is not only +a mill, but likewise an ale-house and rural inn; so that the +associations it suggests are not of labor only, but also of +pleasure. It stands in the narrow defile, with its picturesque, +thatched roof; thither throng thepeasants, of a holiday; and +there are rustic dances under the trees.</p> + +<p>In the twilight of the fast-approaching summer night, the +Baron and Flemming walked forth along the borders of the stream. +As they heard it, rushing and gushing among the stones and +tangled roots, and the great wheel turning in the current, with +its never-ceasing plash! plash! it brought to their minds that +exquisite, simple song of Goethe, the Youth and the Mill-brook. +It was for the moment a nymph, which sang to them in the voice of +the waters.</p> + +<p>"I am persuaded," said Flemming, "that, in order fully to +understand and fell the popular poetry of Germany, one must be +familiar with the German landscape. Many sweet little poems are +the outbreaks of momentary feelings;--words, to which the song of +birds, the rustling of leaves, and the gurgle of cool waters form +the appropriate music. Or perhaps I should say they are words, +which man has composed to the music of nature. Can you not, even +now, hear this brooklet tellingyou how it is on its way to the +mill, where at day-break the miller's daughter opens her window, +and comes down to bathe her face in its stream, and her bosom is +so full and white, that it kindles the glow of love in the cool +waters!"</p> + +<p>"A most delightful ballad, truly," said the Baron. "But like +many others of our little songs, it requires a poet to fell and +understand it. Sing them in the valley and woodland shadows, and +under the leafy roofs of garden walks, and at night, and alone, +as they were written. Sing them not in the loud world,--for the +loud world laughs such things to scorn. It is Mueller who says, +in that little song, where the maiden bids the moon good +evening;</p> + +<p>`This song was made to be sung at night,</p> + +<p>And he who reads it in broad daylight,</p> + +<p>Will never read the mystery right;</p> + +<p>And yet it is childlike easy!'</p> + +<p>He has written a great many pretty songs, in which the +momentary, indefinite longings and impulses of the soul of man +find an expression. Hecalls them the songs of a Wandering +Horn-player. There is one among them much to our present purpose. +He expresses in it, the feeling of unrest and desire of motion, +which the sight and sound of running waters often produce in us. +It is entitled, `Whither?' and is worth repeating to you.</p> + +<p>`I heard a brooklet gushing</p> + +<p>From its rocky fountain near,</p> + +<p>Down into the valley rushing,</p> + +<p>So fresh and wondrous clear.</p> + +<p>`I know not what came o'er me,</p> + +<p>Nor who the counsel gave;</p> + +<p>But I must hasten downward,</p> + +<p>All with my pilgrim-stave.</p> + +<p>`Downward, and ever farther,</p> + +<p>And ever the brook beside;</p> + +<p>And ever fresher murmured,</p> + +<p>And ever clearer the tide.</p> + +<p>`Is this the way I was going?</p> + +<p>Whither, O brooklet, say!</p> + +<p>Thou hast, with thy soft murmur,</p> + +<p>Murmured my senses away.</p> + +<p>`What do I say of a murmur?</p> + +<p>That can no murmur be;</p> + +<p>'T is the water-nymphs, that are singing</p> + +<p>Their roundelays under me.</p> + +<p>`Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur,</p> + +<p>And wander merrily near;</p> + +<p>The wheels of a mill are going</p> + +<p>In every brooklet clear.' "</p> + +<p>"There you have the poetic reverie," said Flemming, "and the +dull prose commentary and explanation in matter of fact. The song +is pretty; and was probably suggested by some such scene as this, +which we are now beholding. Doubtless all your old national +traditions sprang up in the popular mind as this song in the +poet's."</p> + +<p>"Your opinion is certainly correct," answered the Baron; "and +yet all this play of poetic fancy does not prevent me from +feeling the chill night air, and the pangs of hunger. Let us go +back to the mill, and see what our landlady has for supper. Did +you observe what a loud, sharp voice she has?"</p> + +<p>"People always have, who live in mills, and near +water-falls."</p> + +<p>On the following morning they emerged unwillingly from the +green, dark valley, and journeyed along the level highway to +Frankfort, where in the evening they heard the glorious Don +Giovanni of Mozart. Of all operas this was Flemming's favorite. +What rapturous flights of sound! what thrilling, pathetic chimes! +what wild, joyous revelry of passion! what a delirium of +sense!--what an expression of agony and woe! all the feelings of +suffering and rejoicing humanity sympathized with and finding a +voice in those tones. Flemming and the Baron listened with +ever-increasing delight.</p> + +<p>"How wonderful this is!" exclaimed Flemming, transported by +his feelings. "How the chorus swells and dies, like the wind of +summer! How those passages of mysterious import seem to wave to +and fro, like the swaying branches of trees; from which anon some +solitary sweetvoice darts off like a bird, and floats away and +revels in the bright, warm sunshine! And then mark! how, amid the +chorus of a hundred voices and a hundred instruments,--of flutes, +and drums, and trumpets,--this universal shout and whirl-wind of +the vexed air, you can so clearly distinguish the melancholy +vibration of a single string, touched by the finger,--a mournful, +sobbing sound! Ah, this is indeed human life! where in the +rushing, noisy crowd, and amid sounds of gladness, and a thousand +mingling emotions, distinctly audible to the ear of thought, are +the pulsations of some melancholy string of the heart, touched by +an invisible hand."</p> + +<p>Then came, in the midst of these excited feelings, the ballet; +drawing its magic net about the soul. And soon, from the tangled +yet harmonious mazes of the dance, came forth a sylph-like form, +her scarf floating behind her, as if she were fanning the air +with gauze-like wings. Noiseless as a feather or a snow-flake +falls, did her feet touch the earth. She seemed to floatin the +air, and the floor to bend and wave under her, as a branch, when +a bird alights upon it, and takes wing again. Loud and rapturous +applause followed each wonderful step, each voluptuous movement; +and, with a flushed cheek and burning eye, and bosom panting to +be free, stood the gracefully majestic figure for a moment still, +and then the winged feet of the swift dancing-girls glanced round +her, and she was lost again in the throng.</p> + +<p>"How truly exquisite this is!" exclaimed the Baron, after +joining loudly in the applause. "What a noble figure! What grace! +what attitudes! How much soul in every motion! how much +expression in every gesture! I assure you, it produces upon me +the same effect as a beautiful poem. It is a poem. Every step is +a word; and the whole together a poem!"</p> + +<p>The Baron and Flemming were delighted with the scene; and at +the same time exceedingly amused with the countenance of an old +prude in the next box, who seemed to look upon the wholemagic +show, with such feelings as Michal, Saul's daughter, experienced, +when she looked from her window and saw King David dancing and +leaping with his scanty garments.</p> + +<p>"After all," said Flemming, "the old French priest was not so +far out of the way, when he said, in his coarse dialect, that the +dance is the Devil's procession; and paint and ornaments, the +whetting of the devil's sword; and the ring that is made in +dancing, the devil's grindstone, whereon he sharpens his sword; +and finally, that a ballet is the pomp and mass of the Devil, and +whosoever entereth therein, entereth into his pomp and mass; for +the woman who singeth is the prioress of the Devil, and they that +answer are clerks, and they that look on are parishioners, and +the cymbals and flutes are the bells, and the musicians that play +are the ministers, of the Devil."</p> + +<p>"No doubt this good lady near us, thinks so likewise," +answered the Baron laughing; "but she likes it, for all +that."</p> + +<p>When the play was over the Baron begged Flemming to sit still, +till the crowd had gone.</p> + +<p>"I have a strange fancy," said he, "whenever I come to the +theatre, to see the end of all things. When the crowd is gone, +and the curtain raised again to air the house, and the lamps are +all out, save here and there one behind the scenes, the contrast +with what has gone before is most impressive. Every thing wears a +dream-like aspect. The empty boxes and stalls,--the silence,--the +smoky twilight, and the magic scene dismantled, produce in me a +strange, mysterious feeling. It is like a dim reflection of a +theatre in water, or in a dusty mirror; and reminds me of some of +Hoffmann's wild Tales. It is a practical moral lesson,--a +commentary on the play, and makes the show complete."</p> + +<p>It was truly as he said; only tenfold more desolate, solemn, +and impressive; and produced upon the mind the effect we +experience, when slumber is suddenly broken, and dreams and +realities mingle, and we know not yet whether we sleep or wake. +As they at length passed out through the dimly-lighted passage, +they heard a vulgar-looking fellow, with a sensual face and +shaggy whiskers, say to some persons who were standing near him, +and seemed to be hangers-on of the play-house;</p> + +<p>"I shall run her six nights at Munich, and then take her on to +Vienna."</p> + +<p>Flemming thought he was speaking of some favorite horse. He +was speaking of his beautiful wife, the ballet-dancer.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="2_9">CHAPTER VIII. OLD +HUMBUG.</a></h3> + +<p>What most interested our travellers in the ancient city of +Frankfort, was neither the opera nor the Ariadne of Dannecker, +but the house in which Goethe was born, and the scenes he +frequented in his childhood, and remembered in his old age. Such +for example are the walks around the city, outside the moat; the +bridge over the Maine, with the golden cock on the cross, which +the poet beheld and marvelled at when a boy; the cloister of the +Barefooted Friars, through which he stole with mysterious awe to +sit by the oilcloth-covered table of old Rector Albrecht; and the +garden in which his grandfather walked up and down among +fruit-trees and rose-bushes, in long morning gown, black velvet +cap, and the antique leather gloves, which he annually received +as Mayor on Pipers-Doomsday, representing a kind of middle +personage between Alcinous and Laertes. Thus, O Genius! are thy +foot-prints hallowed; and the star shines forever over the place +of thy nativity.</p> + +<p>"Your English critics may rail as they list," said the Baron, +while he and Flemming were returning from a stroll in the leafy +gardens, outside the moat; "but, after all, Goethe was a +magnificent old fellow. Only think of his life; his youth of +passion, alternately aspiring and desponding, stormy, impetuous, +headlong;--his romantic manhood, in which passion assumes the +form of strength; assiduous, careful, toiling, without haste, +without rest; and his sublime old age,--the age of serene and +classic repose, where he stands like Atlas, as Claudian has +painted him in the Battle of the Giants, holding the world aloft +upon his head, the ocean-streams hard frozen in his hoary +locks."</p> + +<p>"A good illustration of what the world calls his +indifferentism."</p> + +<p>"And do you know I rather like this indifferentism? Did you +never have the misfortune to live in a community, where a +difficulty in the parish seemed to announce the end of the world? +or to know one of the benefactors of the human race, in the very +`storm and pressure period' of his indiscreet enthusiasm? If you +have, I think you will see something beautiful in the calm and +dignified attitude which the old philosopher assumes."</p> + +<p>"It is a pity, that his admirers had not a little of this +philosophic coolness. It amuses me to read the various epithets, +which they apply to him; The Dear, dear Man! The Life-enjoying +Man! The All-sided One! The Representative of Poetry upon earth! +The Many-sided Master-Mind of Germany! His enemies rush into the +other extreme, and hurl at him the fierce names of Old Humbug! +and Old Heathen! which hit like pistol-bullets."</p> + +<p>"I confess, he was no saint."</p> + +<p>"No; his philosophy is the old ethnic philosophy. You will +find it all in a convenient andconcentrated, portable form in +Horace's beautiful Ode to Thaliarcus. What I most object to in +the old gentleman is his sensuality."</p> + +<p>"O nonsense. Nothing can be purer than the Iphigenia; it is as +cold and passionless as a marble statue."</p> + +<p>"Very true; but you cannot say the same of some of the Roman +Elegies and of that monstrous book the Elective Affinities."</p> + +<p>"Ah, my friend, Goethe is an artist; and looks upon all things +as objects of art merely. Why should he not be allowed to copy in +words what painters and sculptors copy in colors and in +marble?"</p> + +<p>"The artist shows his character in the choice of his subject. +Goethe never sculptured an Apollo, nor painted a Madonna. He +gives us only sinful Magdalens and rampant Fauns. He does not so +much idealize as realize."</p> + +<p>"He only copies nature."</p> + +<p>"So did the artists, who made the bronzelamps of Pompeii. +Would you hang one of those in your hall? To say that a man is an +artist and copies nature is not enough. There are two great +schools of art; the imitative and the imaginative. The latter is +the most noble, and most enduring; and Goethe belonged rather to +the former. Have you read Menzel's attack upon him?"</p> + +<p>"It is truly ferocious. The Suabian hews into him lustily. I +hope you do not side with him."</p> + +<p>"By no means. He goes too far. He blames the poet for not +being a politician. He might as well blame him for not being a +missionary to the Sandwich Islands."</p> + +<p>"And what do you think of Eckermann?"</p> + +<p>"I think he is a toady; a kind of German Boswell. Goethe knew +he was drawing his portrait, and attitudinized accordingly. He +works very hard to make a Saint Peter out of an old Jupiter, as +the Catholics did at Rome."</p> + +<p>"Well; call him Old Humbug, or Old Heathen, or what you +please; I maintain, that, with all his errors and short-comings, +he was a glorious specimen of a man."</p> + +<p>"He certainly was. Did it ever occur to you that he was in +some points like Ben Franklin? a kind of rhymed Ben Franklin? The +practical tendency of his mind was the same; his love of science +was the same; his benignant, philosophic spirit was the same; and +a vast number of his little poetic maxims and sooth-sayings seem +nothing more than the worldly wisdom of Poor Richard, +versified."</p> + +<p>"What most offends me is, that now every German jackass must +have a kick at the dead lion."</p> + +<p>"And every one who passes through Weimar must throw a book +upon his grave, as travellers did of old a stone upon the grave +of Manfredi, at Benevento. But, of all that has been said or +sung, what most pleases me is Heine's Apologetic, if I may so +call it; in which he says, that the minor poets, who flourished +under the imperialreign of Goethe `resemble a young forest, where +the trees first show their own magnitude after the oak of a +hundred years, whose branches had towered above and overshadowed +them, has fallen. There was not wanting an opposition, that +strove against Goethe, this majestic tree. Men of the most +warring opinions united themselves for the contest. The adherents +of the old faith, the orthodox, were vexed, that, in the trunk of +the vast tree, no niche with its holy image was to be found; nay, +that even the naked Dryads of paganism were permitted to play +their witchery there; and gladly, with consecrated axe, would +they have imitated the holy Boniface, and levelled the enchanted +oak to the ground. The followers of the new faith, the apostles +of liberalism, were vexed on the other hand, that the tree could +not serve as the Tree of Liberty, or, at any rate, as a +barricade. In fact the tree was too high; no one could plant the +red cap upon its summit, or dance the Carmagnole beneath its +branches. The multitude, however, venerated this tree for the +veryreason, that it reared itself with such independent grandeur, +and so graciously filled the world with its odor, while its +branches, streaming magnificently toward heaven, made it appear, +as if the stars were only the golden fruit of its wondrous +limbs.' Don't you think that beautiful?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, very beautiful. And I am glad to see, that you can find +something to admire in my favorite author, notwithstanding his +frailties; or, to use an old German saying, that you can drive +the hens out of the garden without trampling down the beds."</p> + +<p>"Here is the old gentleman himself!" exclaimed Flemming.</p> + +<p>"Where!" cried the Baron, as if for the moment he expected to +see the living figure of the poet walking before them.</p> + +<p>"Here at the window,--that full-length cast. Excellent, is it +not! He is dressed, as usual, in his long yellow nankeen surtout, +with a white cravat crossed in front. What a magnificent head! +and what a posture! He stands like a tower ofstrength. And, by +Heavens! he was nearly eighty years old, when that was made."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"You can see by the date on the pedestal."</p> + +<p>"You are right. And yet how erect he stands, with his square +shoulders braced back, and his hands behind him. He looks as if +he were standing before the fire. I feel tempted to put a live +coal into his hand, it lies so invitingly half-open. Gleim's +description of him, soon after he went to Weimar, is very +different from this. Do you recollect it?"</p> + +<p>"No, I do not."</p> + +<p>"It is a story, which good old father Gleim used to tell with +great delight. He was one evening reading the Göttingen +Musen-Almanach in a select society at Weimar, when a young man +came in, dressed in a short, green shooting-jacket, booted and +spurred, and having a pair of brilliant, black, Italian eyes. He +in turn offered to read; but finding probably the poetry of the +Musen-Almanach of that year rather too insipid for him, he soon +began to improvise the wildest and most fantastic poems +imaginable, and in all possible forms and measures, all the while +pretending to read from the book. `That is either Goethe or the +Devil,' said good old father Gleim to Wieland, who sat near him. +To which the `Great I of Osmannstadt' replied; `It is both, for +he has the Devil in him to-night; and at such times he is like a +wanton colt, that flings out before and behind, and you will do +well not to go too near him!' "</p> + +<p>"Very good!"</p> + +<p>"And now that noble figure is but mould. Only a few months +ago, those majestic eyes looked for the last time on the light of +a pleasant spring morning. Calm, like a god, the old man sat; and +with a smile seemed to bid farewell to the light of day, on which +he had gazed for more than eighty years. Books were near him, and +the pen which had just dropped, as it were from his dying +fingers. `Open the shutters, and let in more light!' were the +last words that came from those lips. Slowly stretching forth his +hand, he seemed to write inthe air; and, as it sank down again +and was motionless, the spirit of the old man departed."</p> + +<p>"And yet the world goes on. It is strange how soon, when a +great man dies, his place is filled; and so completely, that he +seems no longer wanted. But let us step in here. I wish to buy +that cast; and send it home to a friend."</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="2_10">CHAPTER IX. THE DAYLIGHT OF THE +DWARFS, AND THE FALLING STAR.</a></h3> + +<p>After lingering a day or two in Frankfort, the two friends +struck across through Hochheim to the Rhine, and then up among +the hills of the Rheingau to Schlangenbad, where they tarried +only to bathe, and to dine; and then pursued their way to +Langenschwalbach. The town lies in a valley, with gently-sloping +hills around it, and long avenues of poplars leading forth into +the fields. One interminable street cuts the town in twain, and +there are old houses with curious faces carved upon their fronts, +and dates of the olden time.</p> + +<p>Our travellers soon sallied forth from their hotel, impatient +to drink the strength-giving watersof the fountains. They +continued their walk far up the valley under the poplars. The new +grain was waving in the fields; the birds singing in the trees +and in the air; and every thing seemed glad, save a poor old man, +who came tottering out of the woods, with a heavy bundle of +sticks on his shoulders.</p> + +<p>Returning upon their steps, they passed down the valley and +through the long street to the tumble-down old Lutheran church. A +flight of stone steps leads from the street to the green terrace +or platform on which the church stands, and which, in ancient +times, was the churchyard, or as the Germans more devoutly say, +God's-acre; where generations are scattered like seeds, and that +which is sown in corruption shall be raised hereafter in +incorruption. On the steps stood an old man,--a very old +man,--holding a little girl by the hand. He took off his greasy +cap as they passed, and wished them good day. His teeth were +gone; he could hardly articulate a syllable. The Baron asked him +how old the church was. Hegave no answer; but when the question +was repeated, came close up to them, and taking off his cap +again, turned his ear attentively, and said;</p> + +<p>"I am hard of hearing."</p> + +<p>"Poor old man," said Flemming; "He is as much a ruin as the +church we are entering. It will not be long before he, too, shall +be sown as seed in this God's-acre!"</p> + +<p>The little girl ran into a house close at hand, and brought +out the great key. The church door swung open, and, descending a +few steps, they passed through a low-roofed passage into the +church. All was in ruin. The gravestones in the pavement were +started from their places; the vaults beneath yawned; the roof +above was falling piecemeal; there were rents in the old tower; +and mysterious passages, and side doors with crazy flights of +wooden steps, leading down into the churchyard. Amid all this +ruin, one thing only stood erect; it was a statue of a knight in +armour, standing in a niche under the pulpit.</p> + +<p>"Who is this?" said Flemming to the old sexton; "who is this, +that stands here so solemnly in marble, and seems to be keeping +guard over the dead men below?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know," replied the old man; "but I have heard my +grandfather say it was the statue of a great warrior!"</p> + +<p>"There is history for you!" exclaimed the Baron. "There is +fame! To have a statue of marble, and yet have your name +forgotten by the sexton of your parish, who can remember only, +that he once heard his grandfather say, that you were a great +warrior!"</p> + +<p>Flemming made no reply, for he was thinking of the days, when +from that old pulpit, some bold reformer thundered down the first +tidings of a new doctrine, and the roof echoed with the grand old +hymns of Martin Luther.</p> + +<p>When he communicated his thoughts to the Baron, the only +answer he received was;</p> + +<p>"After all, what is the use of so much preaching? Do you think +the fishes, that heard the sermon of St. Anthony, were any better +than thosewho did not? I commend to your favorable notice the +fish-sermon of this saint, as recorded by Abraham à Santa +Clara. You will find it in your favorite Wonder-Horn."</p> + +<p>Thus passed the day at Langenschwalbach; and the evening at +the Allée-Saal was quite solitary; for as yet no company +had arrived to fill its chambers, or sit under the trees before +the door. The next morning even Flemming and the Baron were gone; +for the German's heart was beating with strong desire to embrace +his sister; and the heart of his friend cared little whither he +went, sobeit he were not too much alone.</p> + +<p>After a few hours' drive, they were looking down from the +summit of a hill right upon the house-tops of Ems. There it lay, +deep sunk in the hollow beneath them, as if some inhabitant of +Sirius, like him spoken of in Voltaire's tale of Micromegas, held +it in the hollow of his hand. High and peaked rise the hills, +that throw their shadows into this romantic valley, and at their +base winds the river Lahn. Our travellersdrove through the one +long street, composed entirely of hotels and lodging-houses. Sick +people looked out of the windows, as they passed. Others were +walking leisurely up and down, beneath the few decapitated trees, +which represent a public promenade; and a boy, with a blue frock +and crimson cap, was driving three donkeys down the street. In +short, they were in a fashionable watering-place; as yet +sprinkled only by a few pattering drops of the summer rain of +strangers, which generally follows the first hot days.</p> + +<p>On alighting at the London Hotel, the Baron found--not his +sister, but only a letter from her, saying she had changed her +mind and gone to the Baths of Franconia. This was a +disappointment, which the Baron pocketed with the letter, and +said not a word more about either. It was his way; his +life-philosophy in small things and great. In the evening, they +went to an æsthetic tea, at the house of the Frau Kranich, +the wife of a rich banker of Frankfort.</p> + +<p>"I must tell you about this Frau Kranich," said the Baron to +Flemming, on the way. "She is a woman of talent and beauty, and +just in the prime of life. But, unfortunately, very ambitious. +Her mania is, to make a figure in the fashionable world; and to +this end she married a rich banker of Frankfort, old enough to be +her father, not to say her grandfather, hoping, doubtless, that +he would soon die; for, if ever a woman wished to be a widow, she +is that woman. But the old fellow is tough and won't die. +Moreover, he is deaf, and crabbed, and penurious, and half the +time bed-ridden. The wife is a model of virtue, notwithstanding +her weakness. She nurses the old gentleman as if he were a child. +And, to crown all, he hates society, and will not hear of his +wife's receiving or going into company."</p> + +<p>"How, then, can she give soirées?" asked Flemming.</p> + +<p>"I was just going to tell you," continued the Baron. "The gay +lady has no taste for long evenings with the old gentleman in the +back chamber;--for being thus chained like a criminal under +Mezentius, face to face with a dead body. So she puts him to bed +first, and--"</p> + +<p>"Gives him opium."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I dare say; and then gives herself a soirée, +without his knowing any thing about it. This course of deception +is truly hateful in itself, and must be particularly so to her, +for she is not a low, or an immoral woman; but one of those who, +not having strength enough to complete the sacrifice they have +had strength enough to commence, are betrayed into a life of +duplicity and falsehood."</p> + +<p>They had now reached the house, and were ushered into a room +gaily lighted and filled with guests. The hostess came forward to +receive them, dressed in white, and sailing down the room like a +swan. When the customary salutations had passed and Flemming had +been duly presented, the Baron said, not without a certain degree +of malice;</p> + +<p>"And, my dear Frau Kranich, how is your good husband to +night?"</p> + +<p>This question was about as discreet as a cannon-ball. But the +lady replied in the simplicity of her heart, and not in the least +disconcerted;</p> + +<p>"The same as ever, my dear Baron. It is astonishing how he +holds out. But let us not talk of these things now. I must +introduce your friend to his countryman, the Grand Duke of +Mississippi; alike remarkable for his wealth, his modesty, and +the extreme simplicity of his manners. He drives only six horses. +Besides, he is known as a man of learning and piety;--has his +private chapel, and private clergyman, who always preaches +against the vanity of worldly riches. He has also a private +secretary, whose sole duty is to smoke to him, that he may enjoy +the aroma of Spanish cigars, without the trouble of smoking."</p> + +<p>"Decidedly a man of genius!"</p> + +<p>Here Flemming was introduced to his illustrious countryman; a +person who seemed to consist chiefly of linen, such a display did +he make of collar, bosom, and wristbands.</p> + +<p>"Pray, Mr. Flemming, what do you think of that Rembrandt?" +said he, pointing to a picture onthe wall. "Exquisite picture! +The grandeur of sentiment and splendor of chiaroscuro are of the +first order. Just observe the liquidity of the water, and the +silveryness of the clouds! Great power! There is a bravura of +handling in that picture, Sir, which requires the eye of the +connoisseur to appreciate."</p> + +<p>"Yes, a most undoubted--copy!"</p> + +<p>And here their conversation ended; for at that moment the +little Moldavian Prince Jerkin made his way through the crowd, +with his snuff-box as usual in his hand, and hurried up to +Flemming whom he had known in Heidelberg. He was eager to let +every one know that he spoke English, and in his haste began by +making a mistake.</p> + +<p>"Good bye! Good bye! Mr. Flemming!" said he, instead of good +evening. "I am ravished to see you in Ems. Nice place;--all that +there is of most nice. I drink my water and am good! Do you not +think the Frau Kranich has a very beautiful leather?"</p> + +<p>He meant skin. Flemming laughed outright; but it was not +perceived by the Prince, because at that moment he was pushed +aside, in the rush of a gallopade, and Flemming beheld his face +no more. At the same moment the Baron introduced a friend of his, +who also spoke English and said;</p> + +<p>"You will sup with me to-night. I have some Rhine-wine, which +will be a seduction to you."</p> + +<p>Soon after, the Baron stood with an impassioned, romantic lady +leaning on his arm, examining a copy of Raphael's Fornarina.</p> + +<p>"Ach! I wish I had been the Fornarina," sighed the +impassioned, romantic lady.</p> + +<p>"Then, my dear Madam," replied the Baron, "I wish I had been +Raphael."</p> + +<p>And so likewise said to himself a very tall man with fiery red +hair, and fancy whiskers, who was waltzing round and round in one +spot, and in a most extraordinary waistcoat; thus representing a +fiery, floating-light, to warn men of the hidden rocks, on which +the breath of vanity drives them shipwreck. At length, his +partner, tired of spinning, sank upon a sofa, like a child's top, +when it reels and falls.</p> + +<p>"You do not like the waltz?" said an elderly French gentleman, +remarking the expression of Flemming's countenance.</p> + +<p>"O yes; among the figurantes of the Opera. But I confess, it +sometimes makes me shudder to see a young rake clasp his arms +round the waist of a pure and innocent girl. What would you say, +were you to see him sitting on a sofa with his arms round your +wife?"</p> + +<p>"Mere prejudice of education," replied the French gentleman. +"I know that situation. I have read all about it in the +Bibliothèque de Romans Choisis!"</p> + +<p>And merrily went the dance; and bright eyes and flushed cheeks +were not wanting among the dancers;</p> + +<p>"And they waxed red, and waxed warm,</p> + +<p>And rested, panting, arm in arm,"</p> + +<p>and the Strauss-walzes sounded pleasantly in the ears of +Flemming, who, though he never danced, yet, like Henry of +Ofterdingen, in the Romance of Novalis, thought to music. The +wheeling waltz set the wheels of his fancy going. And thus the +moments glided on, and the footsteps of Time were not heard amid +the sound of music and voices.</p> + +<p>But suddenly this scene of gayety was interrupted. The door +opened wide; and the short figure of a gray-haired old man +presented itself, with a flushed countenance and wild eyes. He +was but half-dressed, and in his hand held a silver candlestick +without a light. A sheet was wound round his head, like a turban; +and he tottered forward with a vacant, bewildered look, +exclaiming;</p> + +<p>"I am Mahomet, the king of the Jews!"</p> + +<p>At the same moment he fell in a swoon; and was borne out of +the room by the servants. Flemming looked at the lady of the +festival, and she was deadly pale. For a moment all was +confusion; and the dance and the music stopped. Theimpression +produced on the company was at once ludicrous and awful. They +tried in vain to rally. The whole society was like a dead body, +from which the spirit has departed. Ere long the guests had all +dispersed, and left the lady of the mansion to her mournful, +expiring lamps, and still more mournful reflections.</p> + +<p>"Truly," said Flemming, to the Baron, as they wended their way +homeward, "this seems not like reality; but like one of the sharp +contrasts we find in novels. Who shall say, after this, that +there is not more romance in real life, than we find written in +books!"</p> + +<p>"Not more romance," said the Baron, "but a different +romance."</p> + +<p>A still more tragic scene had been that evening enacted in +Heidelberg. Just as the sun set, two female figures walked along +the romantic woodland path-way, leading to the Angel's Meadow, a +little green opening on the brow of one of the high hills, which +see themselves in the Neckar and hear the solemn bells of +Kloster-Neuburg. The evening shadows were falling broad and long; +and the cuckoo began to sing.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" said the eldest of the two figures, +repeating an old German popular rhyme,</p> + +<p>`Cuckoo! Cuckoo!</p> + +<p>Tell me true,</p> + +<p>Tell me fair and fine,</p> + +<p>How long must I unmarried pine!' "</p> + +<p>It was the voice of an evil spirit, that spoke in the person +of Madeleine; and the pale and shrinking figure, that walked by +her side, and listened to those words, was Emma of Ilmenau. A +young man joined them, where the path turns into the thick +woodlands; and they disappeared among the shadowy branches. It +was the Polish Count.</p> + +<p>The forget-me-nots looked up to heaven with their meek blue +eyes, from their home in the Angel's Meadow. Calmly stood the +mountain of All-Saints, in its majestic, holy stillness;--the +river flowed so far below, that the murmur of itswaters was not +heard;--there was not a sigh of the evening wind among the +leaves,--not a sound upon the earth nor in the air;--and yet that +night there fell a star from heaven!</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="2_11">CHAPTER X. THE +PARTING.</a></h3> + +<p>It was now that season of the year, which an old English +writer calls the amiable month of June, and at that hour of the +day, when, face to face, the rising moon beholds the setting sun. +As yet the stars were few in heaven. But, after the heat of the +day, the coolness and the twilight descended like a benediction +upon the earth, by all those gentle sounds attended, which are +the meek companions of the night.</p> + +<p>Flemming and the Baron had passed the afternoon at the Castle. +They had rambled once more together, and for the last time, over +the magnificent ruin. On the morrow they were to part, perhaps +forever. The Baron was going to Berlin, to join his sister; and +Flemming, drivenforward by the restless spirit within him, longed +once more for a change of scene, and was going to the Tyrol and +Switzerland. Alas! he never said to the passing hour; "Stay, for +thou art fair!" but reached forward into the dark future, with +unsatisfied longings and aimless desires, that were never +still.</p> + +<p>As the day was closing, they sat down on the terrace of +Elisabeth's Garden. The sun had set beyond the blue Alsatian +hills; and on the valley of the Rhine fell the purple mist, like +the mantle of the departing prophet from his fiery chariot. Over +the castle walls, and the trees of the garden, rose the large +moon; and between the contending daylight and moonlight there +were as yet no shadows. But at length the shadows came; +transparent and faint outlines, that deepened into form. In the +valley below only the river gleamed, like steel; and here and +there the lamps were lighted in the town. Solemnly stood the +leafy lindentrees in the garden near them, their trunks in +darkness and their summits bronzed with moonlight; and in his +niche in the great round tower, overhung with ivy, like a +majestic phantom, stood the gray statue of Louis, with his +venerable beard, and shirt of mail, and flowing mantle; and the +mild, majestic countenance looked forth into the silent night, as +the countenance of a seer, who reads the stars. At intervals the +wind of the summer night passed through the ruined castle and the +trees, and they sent forth a sound as if nature were sighing in +her dreams; and for a moment overhead the broad leaves gently +clashed together, like brazen cymbals, with a tinkling sound; and +then all was still, save the sweet, passionate song of +nightingales, that nowhere upon earth sing more sweetly than in +the gardens of Heidelberg Castle.</p> + +<p>The hour, the scene, and the near-approaching separation of +the two young friends, had filled their hearts with a pleasant, +though at the same time not painless excitement. They had been +conversing about the magnificent old ruin, and the ages in which +it had been built, and the vicissitudesof time and war, that had +battered down its walls, and left it "tenantless, save to the +crannying wind."</p> + +<p>"How sorrowful and sublime is the face of that statue yonder," +said Flemming. "It reminds me of the old Danish hero Beowulf; for +careful, sorrowing, he seeth in his son's bower the wine-hall +deserted, the resort of the wind, noiseless; the knight sleepeth; +the warrior lieth in darkness; there is no noise of the harp, no +joy in the dwellings, as there was before."</p> + +<p>"Even as you say," replied the Baron; "but it often astonishes +me, that, coming from that fresh green world of yours beyond the +sea, you should feel so much interest in these old things; nay, +at times, seem so to have drunk in their spirit, as really to +live in the times of old. For my part, I do not see what charm +there is in the pale and wrinkled countenance of the Past, so to +entice the soul of a young man. It seems to me like falling in +love with one's grandmother. Give me the Present;--warm, glowing, +palpitating with life. She is my mistress; and the Future stands +waiting like my wife that is to be, for whom, to tell the truth, +I care very little just now. Indeed, my friend, I wish you would +take more heed of this philosophy of mine; and not waste the +golden hours of youth in vain regrets for the past, and +indefinite, dim longings for the future. Youth comes but once in +a lifetime."</p> + +<p>"Therefore," said Flemming; "let us so enjoy it as to be still +young when we are old. For my part, I grow happier as I grow +older. When I compare my sensations and enjoyments now, with what +they were ten years ago, the comparison is vastly in favor of the +present. Much of the fever and fretfulness of life is over. The +world and I look each other more calmly in the face. My mind is +more self-possessed. It has done me good to be somewhat parched +by the heat and drenched by the rain of life."</p> + +<p>"Now you speak like an old philosopher," answered the Baron, +laughing. "But you deceive yourself. I never knew a more +restless, feverishspirit than yours. Do not think you have gained +the mastery yet. You are only riding at anchor here in an eddy of +the stream; you will soon be swept away again in the mighty +current and whirl of accident. Do not trust this momentary calm. +I know you better than you know yourself. There is something +Faust-like in you; you would fain grasp the highest and the +deepest; and `reel from desire to enjoyment, and in enjoyment +languish for desire.' When a momentary change of feeling comes +over you, you think the change permanent, and thus live in +constant self-deception."</p> + +<p>"I confess," said Flemming, "there may be some truth in what +you say. There are times when my soul is restless; and a voice +sounds within me, like the trump of the archangel, and thoughts +that were buried, long ago, come out of their graves. At such +times my favorite occupations and pursuits no longer charm me. +The quiet face of Nature seems to mock me."</p> + +<p>"There certainly are seasons," replied the Baron, "when Nature +seems not to sympathizewith her beloved children. She sits there +so eternally calm and self-possessed, so very motherly and +serene, and cares so little whether the heart of her child breaks +or not, that at times I almost lose my patience. About that, too, +she cares so little, that, out of sheer obstinacy, I become +good-humored again, and then she smiles."</p> + +<p>"I think we must confess, however," continued Flemming, "that +all this springs from our own imperfection, not from hers. How +beautiful is this green world, which we inhabit! See yonder, how +the moonlight mingles with the mist! What a glorious night is +this! Truly every man has a Paradise around him until he sins, +and the angel of an accusing conscience drives him from his Eden. +And even then there are holy hours, when this angel sleeps, and +man comes back, and, with the innocent eyes of a child, looks +into his lost Paradise again,--into the broad gates and rural +solitudes of Nature. I feel this often. We have much to enjoy in +the quiet and retirement of ourown thoughts. Boisterous mirth and +loud laughter are not my mood. I love that tranquillity of soul, +in which we feel the blessing of existence, and which in itself +is a prayer and a thanksgiving. I find, however, that, as I grow +older, I love the country less, and the city more."</p> + +<p>"Yes," interrupted the Baron; "and presently you will love the +city less and the country more. Say at once, that you have an +undefined longing for both; and prefer town or country, according +to the mood you are in. I think a man must be of a very quiet and +happy nature, who can long endure the country; and, moreover, +very well contented with his own insignificant person, very +self-complacent, to be continually occupied with himself and his +own thoughts. To say the least, a city life makes one more +tolerant and liberal in his judgment of others. One is not +eternally wrapped up in self-contemplation; which, after all, is +only a more holy kind of vanity."</p> + +<p>In conversation like this, the hours glided away; till at +length, from the Giant's Tower, the Castleclock struck twelve, +with a sound that seemed to come from the Middle Ages. Like +watchmen from their belfries the city clocks answered it, one by +one. Then distant and muffled sounds were heard. Inarticulate +words seemed to blot the foggy air, as if written on wet paper. +These were the bells of Handschuhsheimer, and of other villages +on the broad plain of the Rhine, and among the hills of the +Odenwald; mysterious sounds, that seemed not of this world.</p> + +<p>Beneath them, in the shadow of the hills, lay the valley, like +a fathomless, black gulf; and above were the cloistered stars, +that, nun-like, walk the holy aisles of heaven. The city was +asleep in the valley below; all asleep and silent, save the +clocks, that had just struck twelve, and the veering, golden +weathercocks, that were swimming in the moonshine, like golden +fishes, in a glass vase. And again the wind of the summer night +passed through the old Castle, and the trees, and the +nightingales recorded under the dark, shadowy leaves, and the +heart of Flemming was full.</p> + +<p>When he had retired to his chamber, a feeling of utter +loneliness came over him. The night before one begins a journey +is always a dismal night; for, as Byron says,</p> + +<p>"In leaving even the most unpleasant people</p> + +<p>And places, one keeps looking at the steeple!"</p> + +<p>And how much more so when the place and people are pleasant; +as was the case with those, that Flemming was now leaving. No +wonder he was sad and sleepless. Thoughts came and went, and +bright and gloomy fancies, and dreams and visions, and sweet +faces looked under his closed eyelids, and vanished away, and +came again, and again departed. He heard the clock strike from +hour to hour, and said, "Another hour is gone." At length the +birds began to sing; and ever and anon the cock crew. He arose, +and looked forth into the gray dawn; and before him lay the city +he was so soon to leave, all white and ghastly, like a city that +had arisen from its grave.</p> + +<p>"All things must change," said he to the Baron, as he embraced +him, and held him by the hand."Friends must be torn asunder, and +swept along in the current of events, to see each other seldom, +and perchance no more. For ever and ever in the eddies of time +and accident we whirl away. Besides which, some of us have a +perpetual motion in our wooden heads, as Wodenblock had in his +wooden leg; and like him we travel on, without rest or sleep, and +have hardly time to take a friend by the hand in passing; and at +length are seen hurrying through some distant land, worn to a +skeleton, and all unknown."</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="3">BOOK III.</a></h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="3_1">Epigraph</a></h3> + +<p>"Take away the lights, too;</p> + +<p>The moon lends me too much to find my fears;</p> + +<p>And those devotions I am now to pay,</p> + +<p>Are written in my heart, not in thy book;</p> + +<p>And I shall read them there without a taper."</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="3_2">CHAPTER I. SUMMER-TIME.</a></h3> + +<p>They were right,--those old German Minnesingers,--to sing the +pleasant summer-time! What a time it is! How June stands +illuminated in the Calendar! The windows are all wide open; only +the Venetian blinds closed. Here and there a long streak of +sunshine streams in through a crevice. We hear the low sound of +the wind among the trees; and, as it swells and freshens, the +distant doors clap to, with a sudden sound. The trees are heavy +with leaves; and the gardens full of blossoms, red and white. The +whole atmosphere is laden with perfume and sunshine. The birds +sing. The cock struts about, and crows loftily. Insects chirp in +the grass. Yellow butter-cups stud the green carpet like golden +buttons, and the red blossoms of the clover like rubies. The +elm-trees reach their long, pendulous branches almost to the +ground. White clouds sail aloft; and vapors fret the blue sky +with silver threads. The white village gleams afar against the +dark hills. Through the meadow winds the river,--careless, +indolent. It seems to love the country, and is in no haste to +reach the sea. The bee only is at work,--the hot and angry bee. +All things else are at play; he never plays, and is vexed that +any one should.</p> + +<p>People drive out from town to breathe, and to be happy. Most +of them have flowers in their hands; bunches of apple-blossoms, +and still oftener lilacs. Ye denizens of the crowded city, how +pleasant to you is the change from the sultry streets to the open +fields, fragrant with clover-blossoms! how pleasant the fresh, +breezy country air, dashed with brine from the meadows! +howpleasant, above all, the flowers, the manifold, beautiful +flowers!</p> + +<p>It is no longer day. Through the trees rises the red moon, and +the stars are scarcely seen. In the vast shadow of night, the +coolness and the dews descend. I sit at the open window to enjoy +them; and hear only the voice of the summer wind. Like black +hulks, the shadows of the great trees ride at anchor on the +billowy sea of grass. I cannot see the red and blue flowers, but +I know that they are there. Far away in the meadow gleams the +silver Charles. The tramp of horses' hoofs sounds from the wooden +bridge. Then all is still, save the continuous wind of the summer +night. Sometimes I know not if it be the wind or the sound of the +neighbouring sea. The village clock strikes; and I feel that I am +not alone.</p> + +<p>How different is it in the city! It is late, and the crowd is +gone. You step out upon the balcony, and lie in the very bosom of +the cool, dewy night, as if you folded her garments about you. +The whole starry heaven is spread out overhead. Beneath lies the +public walk with trees, like a fathomless, black gulf, into whose +silent darkness the spirit plunges and floats away, with some +beloved spirit clasped in its embrace. The lamps are still +burning up and down the long street. People go by, with grotesque +shadows, now foreshortened and now lengthening away into the +darkness and vanishing, while a new one springs up behind the +walker, and seems to pass him on the sidewalk. The iron gates of +the park shut with a jangling clang. There are footsteps, and +loud voices;--a tumult,--a drunken brawl,--an alarm of +fire;--then silence again. And now at length the city is asleep, +and we can see the night. The belated moon looks over the roofs, +and finds no one to welcome her. The moonlight is broken. It lies +here and there in the squares, and the opening of +streets,--angular, like blocks of white marble.</p> + +<p>Under such a green, triumphal arch, O Reader! with the odor of +flowers about thee, and the song of birds, shalt thou pass onward +into the enchanted land, as through the Ivory Gate of dreams! And +as a prelude and majestic march, one sweet human voice, I know +not whose, but coming from the bosom of the Alps, sings this +sublime ode, which the Alpine echoes repeat afar.</p> + +<p>"Come, golden Evening! In the west</p> + +<p>Enthrone the storm-dispelling sun,</p> + +<p>And let the triple rainbow rest</p> + +<p>O'er all the mountain tops;--'t is done;</p> + +<p>The tempest ceases; bold and bright,</p> + +<p>The rainbow shoots from hill to hill;</p> + +<p>Down sinks the sun; on presses night;</p> + +<p>Mont Blanc is lovely still!</p> + +<p>"There take thy stand, my spirit;--spread</p> + +<p>The world of shadows at thy feet;</p> + +<p>And mark how calmly overhead,</p> + +<p>The stars, like saints in glory, meet.</p> + +<p>While, hid in solitude sublime,</p> + +<p>Methinks I muse on Nature's tomb,</p> + +<p>And hear the passing foot of Time</p> + +<p>Step through the silent gloom.</p> + +<p>"All in a moment, crash on crash,</p> + +<p>From precipice to precipice,</p> + +<p>An avalanche's ruins dash</p> + +<p>Down to the nethermost abyss,</p> + +<p>Invisible; the ear alone</p> + +<p>Pursues the uproar till it dies;</p> + +<p>Echo to Echo, groan for groan,</p> + +<p>From deep to deep, replies.</p> + +<p>"Silence again the darkness seals,</p> + +<p>Darkness that may be felt;--but soon</p> + +<p>The silver-clouded east reveals</p> + +<p>The midnight spectre of the moon;</p> + +<p>In half-eclipse she lifts her horn,</p> + +<p>Yet, o'er the host of heaven supreme,</p> + +<p>Brings the faint semblance of a morn,</p> + +<p>With her awakening beam.</p> + +<p>"Ah! at her touch, these Alpine heights</p> + +<p>Unreal mockeries appear;</p> + +<p>With blacker shadows, ghastlier lights,</p> + +<p>Emerging as she climbs the sphere;</p> + +<p>A crowd of apparitions pale!</p> + +<p>I hold my breath in chill suspense,</p> + +<p>They seem so exquisitely frail,</p> + +<p>Lest they should vanish hence.</p> + +<p>"I breathe again, I freely breathe;</p> + +<p>Thee, Leman's Lake, once more I trace,</p> + +<p>Like Dian's crescent far beneath,</p> + +<p>As beautiful as Dian's face:</p> + +<p>Pride of the land that gave me birth!</p> + +<p>All that thy waves reflect I love,</p> + +<p>Where heaven itself, brought down to earth,</p> + +<p>Looks fairer than above.</p> + +<p>"Safe on thy banks again I stray;</p> + +<p>The trance of poesy is o'er,</p> + +<p>And I am here at dawn of day,</p> + +<p>Gazing on mountains as before,</p> + +<p>Where all the strange mutations wrought,</p> + +<p>Were magic feats of my own mind;</p> + +<p>For, in that fairy land of thought,</p> + +<p>Whate'er I seek, I find."</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="3_3">CHAPTER II. +FOOT-TRAVELLING.</a></h3> + +<p>Tell me, my soul, why art thou restless? Why dost thou look +forward to the future with such strong desire? The present is +thine,--and the past;--and the future shall be! O that thou didst +look forward to the great hereafter with half the longing +wherewith thou longest for an earthly future,--which a few days +at most will bring thee! to the meeting of the dead, as to the +meeting of the absent! Thou glorious spirit-land! O, that I could +behold thee as thou art,--the region of life, and light, and +love, and the dwelling-place of those beloved ones, whose being +has flowed onward like a silver-clear stream into the +solemn-sounding main, into the ocean of Eternity.</p> + +<p>Such were the thoughts that passed through thesoul of +Flemming, as he lay in utter solitude and silence on the rounded +summit of one of the mountains of the Furca Pass, and gazed, with +tears in his eyes, and ardent longing in his heart, up into the +blue-swimming heaven overhead, and at the glaciers and snowy +mountain-peaks around him. Highest and whitest of all, stood the +peak of the Jungfrau, which seemed near him, though it rose afar +off from the bosom of the Lauterbrunner Thal. There it stood, +holy and high and pure, the bride of heaven, all veiled and +clothed in white, and lifted the thoughts of the beholder +heavenward. O, he little thought then, as he gazed at it with +longing and delight, how soon a form was to arise in his own +soul, as holy, and high, and pure as this, and like this point +heavenward.</p> + +<p>Thus lay the traveller on the mountain summit, reposing his +weary limbs on the short, brown grass, which more resembled moss +than grass. He had sent his guide forward, that he might be +alone. His soul within him was wild with a fierce and painful +delight. The mountain air excited him; the mountain solitudes +enticed, yet maddened him. Every peak, every sharp, jagged +iceberg, seemed to pierce him. The silence was awful and sublime. +It was like that in the soul of a dying man, when he hears no +more the sounds of earth. He seemed to be laying aside his +earthly garments. The heavens were near unto him; but between him +and heaven every evil deed he had done arose gigantic, like those +mountain-peaks, and breathed an icy breath upon him. O, let not +the soul that suffers, dare to look Nature in the face, where she +sits majestically aloft in the solitude of the mountains; for her +face is hard and stern, and looks not in compassion upon her weak +and erring child. It is the countenance of an accusing archangel, +who summons us to judgment. In the valley she wears the +countenance of a Virgin Mother, looking at us with tearful eyes, +and a face of pity and love!</p> + +<p>But yesterday Flemming had come up the valley of the Saint +Gothard Pass, through Amsteg, where the Kerstelenbach comes +dashing down the Maderaner Thal, from its snowy cradle overhead. +The road is steep, and runs on zigzag terraces. The sides of the +mountains are barren cliffs; and from their cloud-capped summits, +unheard amid the roar of the great torrent below, come streams of +snowwhite foam, leaping from rock to rock, like the mountain +chamois. As you advance, the scene grows wilder and more +desolate. There is not a tree in sight,--not a human habitation. +Clouds, black as midnight, lower upon you from the ravines +overhead; and the mountain torrent beneath is but a sheet of +foam, and sends up an incessant roar. A sudden turn in the road +brings you in sight of a lofty bridge, stepping from cliff to +cliff with a single stride. A fearful cataract howls beneath it, +like an evil spirit, and fills the air with mist; and the +mountain wind claps its hands and shrieks through the narrow +pass, Ha! ha!--This is the Devil's Bridge. It leads the traveller +across the fearful chasm, and through a mountain gallery into the +broad, green, silent meadow of Andermath.</p> + +<p>Even the sunny morning, which followed thisgloomy day, had not +chased the desolate impression from the soul of Flemming. His +excitement increased as he lost himself more and more among the +mountains; and now, as he lay all alone on the summit of the +sunny hill, with only glaciers and snowy peaks about him, his +soul, as I have said, was wild with a fierce and painful +delight.</p> + +<p>A human voice broke his reverie. He looked, and beheld at a +short distance from him, the athletic form of a mountain +herdsman, who was approaching the spot where he lay. He was a +young man, clothed in a rustic garb, and holding a long staff in +his hand. When Flemming rose, he stood still, and gazed at him, +as if he loved the face of man, even in a stranger, and longed to +hear a human voice, though it might speak in an unknown tongue. +He answered Flemming's salutation in a rude mountain dialect, and +in reply to his questions said;</p> + +<p>"I, with two others, have charge of two hundred head of cattle +on these mountains. Throughthe two summer months we remain here +night and day; for which we receive each a Napoleon."</p> + +<p>Flemming gave him half his summer wages. He was glad to do a +good deed in secret, and yet so near heaven. The man received it +as his due, like a toll-keeper; and soon after departed, leaving +the traveller alone. And the traveller went his way down the +mountain, as one distraught. He stopped only to pluck one bright +blue flower, which bloomed all alone in the vast desert, and +looked up at him, as if to say; "O take me with you! leave me not +here companionless!"</p> + +<p>Ere long he reached the magnificent glacier of the Rhone; a +frozen cataract, more than two thousand feet in height, and many +miles broad at its base. It fills the whole valley between two +mountains, running back to their summits. At the base it is +arched, like a dome; and above, jagged and rough, and resembles a +mass of gigantic crystals, of a pale emerald tint, mingled with +white. A snowy crust covers its surface; but at every rent and +crevice the pale green ice shines clear in thesun. Its shape is +that of a glove, lying with the palm downwards, and the fingers +crooked and close together. It is a gauntlet of ice, which, +centuries ago, Winter, the King of these mountains, threw down in +defiance to the Sun; and year by year the Sun strives in vain to +lift it from the ground on the point of his glittering spear. A +feeling of wonder and delight came over the soul of Flemming when +he beheld it, and he shouted and cried aloud;</p> + +<p>"How wonderful! how glorious!"</p> + +<p>After lingering a few hours in the cold, desolate valley, he +climbed in the afternoon the steep Mayen-Wand, on the Grimsel, +passed the Lake of the Dead, with its ink-black waters; and +through the melting snow, and over slippery stepping-stones in +the beds of numberless shallow brooks, descended to the Grimsel +Hospital, where he passed the night, and thought it the most lone +and desolate spot, that man ever slept in.</p> + +<p>On the morrow, he rose with the day; and the rising sun found +him already standing on the rusticbridge, which hangs over the +verge of the Falls of the Aar at Handeck, where the river pitches +down a precipice into a narrow and fearful abyss, shut in by +perpendicular cliffs. At right angles with it comes the beautiful +Aerlenbach; and halfway down the double cascade mingles into one. +Thus he pursued his way down the Hasli Thal into the Bernese +Oberland, restless, impatient, he knew not why, stopping seldom, +and never long, and then rushing forward again, like the rushing +river whose steps he followed, and in whose ice-cold waters ever +and anon he bathed his wrists, to cool the fever in his blood; +for the noonday sun was hot.</p> + +<p>His heart dilated in the dilating valley, that grew broader +and greener at every step. The sight of human faces and human +dwellings soothed him; and through the fields of summer grain, in +the broad meadows of Imgrund, he walked with a heart that ached +no more, but trembled only, as our eyelids when we have done +weeping. As he climbed the opposite hill, which hems in this +romanticvalley, and, like a heavy yoke, chafes the neck of the +Aar, he believed the ancient tradition, which says, that once the +valley was a lake. From the summit of the hill he looked +southward upon a beautiful landscape of gardens, and fields of +grain, and woodlands, and meadows, and the ancient castle of +Resti, looking down upon Meyringen. And now all around him were +the singing of birds, and grateful shadows of the leafy trees; +and sheeted waterfalls dropping from the woodland cliffs, seen +only, but unheard, the fluted columns breaking into mist, and +fretted with frequent spires and ornaments of foam, and not +unlike the towers of a Gothic church inverted. There, in one +white sheet of foam, the Riechenbach pours down into its deep +beaker, into which the sun never shines. Face to face it beholds +the Alpbach falling from the opposite hill, "like a downward +smoke." When Flemming saw the innumerable runnels, sliding down +the mountain-side, and leaping, all life and gladness, he would +fain have clasped them in his arms and been their playmate, and +revelled withthem in their freedom and delight. Yet he was weary +with the day's journey, and entered the village of Meyringen, +embowered in cherry-trees, which were then laden with fruit, more +like a way-worn traveller than an enthusiastic poet. As he went +up the tavern steps he said in his heart, with the Italian +Aretino; "He who has not been at a tavern, knows not what a +paradise it is. O holy tavern! O miraculous tavern! holy, because +no carking cares are there, nor weariness, nor pain; and +miraculous, because of the spits, which of themselves turn round +and round! Of a truth all courtesy and good manners come from +taverns, so full of bows, and Signor, sì! and Signor, +nò!"</p> + +<p>But even in the tavern he could not rest long. The same +evening at sunset he was floating on the lake of Brienz, in an +open boat, close under the cascade of the Giessbach, hearing the +peasants sing the Ranz des Vaches. He slept that night at the +other extremity of the lake, in a large house, which, like Saint +Peter's at Joppa, stood by the water's side. The next day he +wasted inwriting letters, musing in this green nest, and paddling +about the lake again; and in the evening went across the +beautiful meadows to Interlachen, where many things happened to +him, and detained him long.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="3_4">CHAPTER III. +INTERLACHEN.</a></h3> + +<p>Interlachen! How peacefully, by the margin of the +swift-rushing Aar, thou liest, on the broad lap of those romantic +meadows, all overshadowed by the wide arms of giant trees! Only +the round towers of thine ancient cloister rise above their +summits; the round towers themselves, but a child's playthings +under the great church-towers of the mountains. Close beside thee +are lakes, which the flowing band of the river ties together. +Before thee opens the magnificent valley of Lauterbrunn, where +the cloud-hooded Monk and pale Virgin stand like Saint Francis +and his Bride of Snow; and all around thee are fields, and +orchards, and hamlets green, from which the church-bells answer +each other at evening! The eveningsun was setting when I first +beheld thee! The sun of life will set ere I forget thee! Surely +it was a scene like this, that inspired the soul of the Swiss +poet, in his Song of the Bell!</p> + +<p>"Bell! thou soundest merrily,</p> + +<p>When the bridal party</p> + +<p>To the church doth hie!</p> + +<p>Bell! thou soundest solemnly,</p> + +<p>When, on Sabbath morning,</p> + +<p>Fields deserted lie!</p> + +<p>"Bell! thou soundest merrily;</p> + +<p>Tellest thou at evening,</p> + +<p>Bed-time draweth nigh!</p> + +<p>Bell! thou soundest mournfully;</p> + +<p>Tellest thou the bitter</p> + +<p>Parting hath gone by!</p> + +<p>"Say! how canst thou mourn?</p> + +<p>How canst thou rejoice?</p> + +<p>Art but metal dull!</p> + +<p>And yet all our sorrowings,</p> + +<p>And all our rejoicings,</p> + +<p>Thou dost feel them all!</p> + +<p>"God hath wonders many,</p> + +<p>Which we cannot fathom,</p> + +<p>Placed within thy form!</p> + +<p>When the heart is sinking,</p> + +<p>Thou alone canst raise it,</p> + +<p>Trembling in the storm!"</p> + +<p>Paul Flemming alighted at one of the principal hotels. The +landlord came out to meet him. He had great eyes and a green +coat; and reminded Flemming of the innkeeper mentioned in the +Golden Ass, who had been changed by magic into a frog, and +croaked to his customers from the lees of a wine-cask. His house, +he said, was full; and so was every house in Interlachen; but, if +the gentleman would walk into the parlour, he would procure a +chamber for him, in the neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>On the sofa sat a gentleman, reading; a stout gentleman of +perhaps forty-five, round, ruddy, and with a head, which, being a +little bald on the top, looked not unlike a crow's nest, with one +egg in it. A good-humored face turned from the book as Flemming +entered; and a good-humored voice exclaimed;</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha! Mr. Flemming! Is it you, or your apparition! I told +you we should meet again! though you were for taking an eternal +farewell of your fellow-traveller."</p> + +<p>Saying these words, the stout gentleman rose and shook +Flemming heartily by the hand. And Flemming returned the shake as +heartily, recognising in this ruddy personage, a former +travelling companion, Mr. Berkley, whom he had left, a week or +two previous, toiling up the Righi. Mr. Berkley was an Englishman +of fortune; a good-humored, humane old bachelor; remarkable alike +for his common sense and his eccentricity. That is to say, the +basis of his character was good, sound common sense, trodden down +and smoothed by education; but this level groundwork his strange +and whimsical fancy used as a dancing-floor, whereon to exhibit +her eccentric tricks. His ruling passion was cold-bathing; and he +usually ate his breakfast sitting in a tub of cold water, and +reading a newspaper. He kissed every child he met; and to every +old man, said in passing, "God bless you!" with such an +expression of voice and countenance, that no one could doubt his +sincerity. He reminded one of Roger Bontemps, or the Little Man +in Gray; though with a difference.</p> + +<p>"The last time I had the pleasure of seeing you, Mr. Berkley," +said Flemming, "was at Goldau, just as you were going up the +Righi. I hope you were gratified with a fine sunrise on the +mountain top."</p> + +<p>"No, Sir, I was not!" replied Mr. Berkley. "It is all a +humbug! a confounded humbug! They made such a noise about their +sunrise, that I determined I would not see it. So I lay snug in +bed; and only peeped through the window curtain. That was enough. +Just above the house, on the top of the hill, stood some fifty +half-dressed, romantic individuals, shivering in the wet grass; +and, a short distance from them, a miserable wretch, blowing a +long, wooden horn. That's your sunrise on the Righi, is it? said +I; and went to sleep again. The best thing I saw at the Culm, was +the advertisement on the bed-room doors, saying, that, if the +ladies would wear the quilts and blankets for shawls, when they +went out to see the sunrise, they must pay for the washing. Take +my word for it, the Righi is a great humbug!"</p> + +<p>"Where have you been since?"</p> + +<p>"At Zurich and Schaffhausen. If you go to Zurich, beware how +you stop at the Raven. They will cheat you. They cheated me; but +I had my revenge, for, when we reached Schaffhausen, I wrote in +the Traveller's Book;</p> + +<p>Beware of the Raven of Zurich!</p> + +<p>'T is a bird of omen ill;</p> + +<p>With a noisy and an unclean nest,</p> + +<p>And a very, very long bill.</p> + +<p>If you go to the Golden Falken you will find it there. I am +the author of those lines!"</p> + +<p>"Bitter as Juvenal!" exclaimed Flemming.</p> + +<p>"Not in the least bitter," said Mr. Berkley. "It is all true. +Go to the Raven and see. But this Interlachen! this Interlachen! +It is the loveliest spot on the face of the earth," he continued, +stretching out both arms, as if to embrace the objectof his +affection. "There,--only look out there!"</p> + +<p>Here he pointed to the window. Flemming looked, and beheld a +scene of transcendent beauty. The plain was covered already by +the brown shade of the summer twilight. From the cottage roofs in +Unterseen rose here and there a thin column of smoke over the +tops of the trees and mingled with the evening shadows. The +Valley of Lauterbrunnen was filled with a blue haze. Far above, +in the clear, cloudless heaven, the white forehead of the +Jungfrau blushed at the last kiss of the departing sun. It was a +glorious Transfiguration of Nature! And when the village bells +began to ring, and a single voice at a great distance was heard +yodling forth a ballad, it rather broke than increased the +enchantment of a scene, where silence was more musical than +sound.</p> + +<p>For a long time they gazed at the gloaming landscape, and +spake not. At length people came into the parlour, and laid aside +their shawls and hats, and exchanged a word or two with Berkley +to Flemming they were all unknown. To him it was all Mr. Brown +and Mrs. Johnson, and nothing more. The conversation turned upon +the various excursions of the day. Some had been at the +Staubbach, others at the Grindelwald; others at the Lake of Thun; +and nobody before had ever experienced half the rapture, which +they had experienced that day. And thus they sat in the twilight, +as people love to do, at the close of a summer day. As yet the +lamps had not been lighted; and one could not distinguish faces; +but voices only, and forms, like shadows.</p> + +<p>Presently a female figure, clothed in black, entered the room +and sat down by the window. She rather listened to the +conversation, than joined in it; but the few words she said were +spoken in a voice so musical and full of soul, that it moved the +soul of Flemming, like a whisper from heaven.</p> + +<p>O, how wonderful is the human voice! It is indeed the organ of +the soul! The intellect of man sits enthroned visibly upon his +forehead and in his eye; and the heart of man is written uponhis +countenance. But the soul reveals itself in the voice only; as +God revealed himself to the prophet of old in the still, small +voice; and in a voice from the burning bush. The soul of man is +audible, not visible. A sound alone betrays the flowing of the +eternal fountain, invisible to man!</p> + +<p>Flemming would fain have sat and listened for hours to the +sound of that unknown voice. He felt sure, in his secret heart, +that the being from whom it came was beautiful. His imagination +filled up the faint outline, which the eye beheld in the fading +twilight, and the figure stood already in his mind, like +Raphael's beautiful Madonna in the Dresden gallery. He was never +more mistaken in his life. The voice belonged to a beautiful +being, it is true; but her beauty was different from that of any +Madonna which Raphael ever painted; as he would have seen, had he +waited till the lamps were lighted. But in the midst of his +reverie and saint-painting, the landlord came in, andtold him he +had found a chamber, which he begged him to go and look at.</p> + +<p>Flemming took his leave and departed. Berkley went with him, +to see, he said, what kind of a nest his young friend was to +sleep in.</p> + +<p>"The chamber is not what I could wish," said the landlord, as +he led them across the street. "It is in the old cloister. But +to-morrow or next day, you can no doubt have a room at the +house."</p> + +<p>The name of the cloister struck Flemming's imagination +pleasantly. He was owl enough to like ruins and old chambers, +where nuns or friars had slept. And he said to Berkley;</p> + +<p>"So, you perceive, my nest is to be in a cloister. It already +makes me think of a bird's-nest I once saw on an old tower of +Heidelberg castle, built in the jaws of a lion, which formerly +served as a spout. But pray tell me, who was that young lady, +with the soft voice?"</p> + +<p>"What young lady with the soft voice?"</p> + +<p>"The young lady in black, who sat by the window."</p> + +<p>"O, she is the daughter of an English officer, who died not +long ago at Naples. She is passing the summer here with her +mother, for her health."</p> + +<p>"What is her name?"</p> + +<p>"Ashburton."</p> + +<p>"Is she beautiful?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least; but very intellectual. A woman of genius, I +should say."</p> + +<p>And now they had reached the walls of the cloister, and passed +under an arched gateway, and close beneath the round towers, +which Flemming had already seen, rising with their cone-shaped +roofs above the trees, like tall tapers, with extinguishers upon +them.</p> + +<p>"It is not so bad, as it looks," said the landlord, knocking +at a small door, in the main building. "The Bailiff lives in one +part of it."</p> + +<p>A servant girl, with a candle in her hand, opened the door, +and conducted Flemming and Berkley to the chamber which had been +engaged. It was a large room on the lower floor, wainscoted with +pine, and unpainted. Three lofty and narrowwindows, with leaden +lattices and small panes, looked southward towards the valley of +Lauterbrunnen and the mountains. In one corner was a large square +bed, with a tester and checked curtains. In another, a huge stove +of painted tiles, reaching almost to the ceiling. An old sofa, a +few high-backed antique chairs, and a table, completed the +furniture of the room.</p> + +<p>Thus Flemming took possession of his monkish cell and +dormitory. He ordered tea, and began to feel at home. Berkley +passed the evening with him. On going away he said;</p> + +<p>"Good night! I leave you to the care of the Virgin and all the +Saints. If the ghost of any old monk comes back after his +prayer-book, my compliments to him. If I were a younger man, you +certainly should see a ghost. Good night!"</p> + +<p>When he had departed, Flemming opened the lattice of one of +the windows. The moon had risen, and silvered the dark outline of +the nearest hills; while, afar off, the snowy summits of the +Jungfrau and the Silver-Horn shone like a white cloud in the sky. +Close beneath the windows was a flower-garden; and the breath of +the summer night came to him with dewy fragrance. There was a +grateful seclusion about the place. He blessed the happy +accident, which gave him such a lodging, and fell asleep that +night thinking of the nuns, who once had slept in the same quiet +cells; but neither wimpled nun nor cowled monk appeared to him in +his dreams; not even the face of Mary Ashburton; nor did he hear +her voice.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="3_5">CHAPTER IV. THE EVENING AND THE +MORNING STAR.</a></h3> + +<p>Old Froissart tells us, in his Chronicles, that when King +Edward beheld the Countess of Salisbury at her castle gate, he +thought he had never seen before so noble nor so fair a lady; he +was stricken therewith to the heart with a sparkle of fine love, +that endured long after; he thought no lady in the world so +worthy to be beloved, as she. And so likewise thought Paul +Flemming, when he beheld the English lady in the fair light of a +summer morning. I will not disguise the truth. She is my heroine; +and I mean to describe her with great truth and beauty, so that +all shall be in love with her, and I most of all.</p> + +<p>Mary Ashburton was in her twentieth summer. Like the fair +maiden Amoret, she was sitting inthe lap of womanhood. They did +her wrong, who said she was not beautiful; and yet</p> + +<p>"she was not fair,</p> + +<p>Nor beautiful;--those words express her not.</p> + +<p>But O, her looks had something excellent,</p> + +<p>That wants a name!"</p> + +<p>Her face had a wonderful fascination in it. It was such a +calm, quiet face, with the light of the rising soul shining so +peacefully through it. At times it wore an expression of +seriousness,--of sorrow even; and then seemed to make the very +air bright with what the Italian poets so beautifully call the +lampeggiar dell' angelico riso,--the lightning of the angelic +smile.</p> + +<p>And O, those eyes,--those deep, unutterable eyes, with +"down-falling eyelids, full of dreams and slumber," and within +them a cold, living light, as in mountain lakes at evening, or in +the river of Paradise, forever gliding,</p> + +<p>"with a brown, brown current</p> + +<p>Under the shade perpetual, that never</p> + +<p>Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon."</p> + +<p>I dislike an eye that twinkles like a star. Those only are +beautiful which, like the planets, have a steady, lambent +light;--are luminous, but not sparkling. Such eyes the Greek +poets give to the Immortals. But I forget myself.</p> + +<p>The lady's figure was striking. Every step, every attitude was +graceful, and yet lofty, as if inspired by the soul within. +Angels in the old poetic philosophy have such forms; it was the +soul itself imprinted on the air. And what a soul was hers! A +temple dedicated to Heaven, and, like the Pantheon at Rome, +lighted only from above. And earthly passions in the form of gods +were no longer there, but the sweet and thoughtful faces of +Christ, and the Virgin Mary, and the Saints. Thus there was not +one discordant thing in her; but a perfect harmony of figure, and +face, and soul, in a word of the whole being. And he who had a +soul to comprehend hers, must of necessity love her, and, having +once loved her, could love no other woman forevermore.</p> + +<p>No wonder, then, that Flemming felt his heartdrawn towards +her, as, in her morning walk, she passed him, sitting alone under +the great walnut trees near the cloister, and thinking of Heaven, +but not of her. She, too, was alone. Her cheek was no longer +pale; but glowing and bright, with the inspiration of the summer +air. Flemming gazed after her till she disappeared, even as a +vision of his dreams, he knew not whither. He was not yet in +love, but very near it; for he thanked God, that he had made such +beautiful beings to walk the earth.</p> + +<p>Last night he had heard a voice to which his soul responded; +and he might have gone on his way, and taken no farther heed. But +he would have heard that voice afterwards, whenever at evening he +thought of this evening at Interlachen. To-day he had seen more +clearly the vision, and his restless soul calm. The place seemed +pleasant to him; and he could not go. He did not ask himself +whence came this calm. He felt it; and was happy in the feeling; +and blessed thelandscape and the summer morning, as if they +possessed the wonder-working power.</p> + +<p>"A pleasant morning dream to you;" said a friendly voice; and +at the same moment some one laid his hand upon Flemming's +shoulder. It was Berkley. He had approached unseen and +unheard.</p> + +<p>"I see by the smile on your countenance," he continued, "that +it is no day-incubus."</p> + +<p>"You are right," replied Flemming. "It was a pleasant dream, +which you have put to flight."</p> + +<p>"And I am glad to see, that you have also put to flight the +gloomy thoughts which used to haunt you. I like to see people +cheerful and happy. What is the use of giving way to sadness in +this beautiful world?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! this beautiful world!" said Flemming, with a smile. +"Indeed, I know not what to think of it. Sometimes it is all +gladness and sunshine, and Heaven itself lies not far off. And +then it changes suddenly; and is dark and sorrowful, and clouds +shut out the sky. In the lives of the saddestof us, there are +bright days like this, when we feel as if we could take the great +world in our arms and kiss it. Then come the gloomy hours, when +the fire will neither burn on our hearths nor in our hearts; and +all without and within is dismal, cold, and dark. Believe me, +every heart has its secret sorrows, which the world knows not, +and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad."</p> + +<p>"And who says we don't?" interrupted Berkley. "Come, come! Let +us go to breakfast. The morning air has given me a rude appetite. +I long to say grace over a fresh egg; and eat salt with my worst +enemies; namely, the Cockneys at the hotel. After breakfast you +must give yourself up wholly to me. I shall take you to the +Grindelwald!"</p> + +<p>"To-day, then, you do not breakfast like Diogenes, but consent +to leave your tub."</p> + +<p>"Yes, for the pleasure of your company. I shall also blow out +the light in my lantern, having found you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you."</p> + +<p>The breakfast passed without any unusual occurrence. Flemming +watched the entrance of every guest; but she came not,--the guest +he most desired to see.</p> + +<p>"And now for the Grindelwald!" said Berkley.</p> + +<p>"Why such haste? We have the whole day before us. There is +time enough."</p> + +<p>"Not a moment to loso, I assure you. The carriage is at the +door."</p> + +<p>They drove up the valley of Lauterbrunnen, and turned eastward +among the mountains of the Grindelwald. There they passed the +day; half-frozen by the icy breath of the Great Glacier, upon +whose surface stand pyramids and blocks of ice, like the +tombstones of a cemetery. It was a weary day to Flemming. He +wished himself at Interlachen; and was glad when, towards +evening, he saw once more the cone-roofed towers of the cloister +rising above the walnut trees.</p> + +<p>That evening is written in red letters in his history. It gave +him another revelation of thebeauty and excellence of the female +character and intellect; not wholly new to him, yet now renewed +and fortified. It was from the lips of Mary Ashburton, that the +revelation came. Her form arose, like a tremulous evening star, +in the firmament of his soul. He conversed with her; and with her +alone; and knew not when to go. All others were to him as if they +were not there. He saw their forms, but saw them as the forms of +inanimate things. At length her mother came; and Flemming beheld +in her but another Mary Ashburton, with beauty more mature;--the +same forehead and eyes, the same majestic figure; and, as yet, no +trace of age. He gazed upon her with a feeling of delight, not +unmingled with holy awe. She was to him the rich and glowing +Evening, from whose bosom the tremulous star was born.</p> + +<p>Berkley took no active part in the conversation, but did what +was much more to the purpose, that it is to say, arranged a drive +for the next day with the Ashburtons, and of course invited +Flemming, who went home that night with a halo round hishead; and +wondering much at a dandy, who stood at the door of the hotel, +and said to his companion, as Flemming passed;</p> + +<p>"What do you call this place? I have been here two hours +already, and find it devilish dull!"</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="3_6">CHAPTER V. A RAINY DAY.</a></h3> + +<p>When Flemming awoke the next morning he saw the sky dark and +lowering. From the mountain tops hung a curtain of mist, whose +heavy folds waved to and fro in the valley below. Over all the +landscape, the soft, summer rain was falling. No admiring eyes +would look up that day at the Staubbach.</p> + +<p>A rainy day in Switzerland puts a sudden stop to many +diversions. The coachman may drive to the tavern and then back to +the stable; but no farther. The sunburnt guide may sit at the +ale-house door, and welcome; and the boatman whistle and curse +the clouds, at his own sweet will; but no foot stirs abroad for +all that; no traveller moves, if he has time to stay. The rainy +daygives him time for reflection. He has leisure now to take +cognizance of his impressions, and make up his account with the +mountains. He remembers, too, that he has friends at home; and +writes up the Journal, neglected for a week or more; and letters +neglected longer; or finishes the rough pencil-sketch, begun +yesterday in the open air. On the whole he is not sorry it rains; +though disappointed.</p> + +<p>Flemming was both sorry and disappointed; but he did not on +that account fail to go over to the Ashburtons at the appointed +hour. He found them sitting in the parlour. The mother was +reading, and the daughter retouching a sketch of the Lake of +Thun. After the usual salutations, Flemming seated himself near +the daughter, and said;</p> + +<p>"We shall have no Staubbach to-day, I presume; only this +Giessbach from the clouds."</p> + +<p>"Nothing more, I suppose. So we must be content to stay +in-doors; and listen to the soundof the eves-dropping rain. It +gives me time to finish some of these rough sketches."</p> + +<p>"It is a pleasant pastime," said Flemming; "and I perceive you +are very skilful. I am delighted to see, that you can draw a +straight line. I never before saw a lady's sketch-book, in which +all the towers did not resemble the leaning Tower of Pisa. I +always tremble for the little men under them."</p> + +<p>"How absurd!" exclaimed Mary Ashburton, with a smile that +passed through the misty air of Flemming's thoughts, like a +sunbeam; "For one, I succeed much better in straight lines than +in any others. Here I have been trying a half-hour to make this +water-wheel round; and round it never will be."</p> + +<p>"Then let it remain as it is. It looks uncommonly picturesque, +and may pass for a new invention."</p> + +<p>The lady continued to sketch, and Flemming to gaze at her +beautiful face; often repeating to himself those lines in +Marlow's Faust;</p> + +<p>"O thou art fairer than the evening air,</p> + +<p>Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars!"</p> + +<p>He certainly would have betrayed himself to the maternal eye +of Mrs. Ashburton, had she not been wholly absorbed in the +follies of a fashionable novel. Ere long the fair sketcher had +paused for a moment; and Flemming had taken her sketch-book in +his hands and was looking it through from the beginning with +ever-increasing delight, half of which he dared not express, +though he favored her with some comments and bursts of +admiration.</p> + +<p>"This is truly a very beautiful sketch of Murten and the +battle-field! How quietly the land-scape sleeps there by the +lake, after the battle! Did you ever read the ballad of Veit +Weber, the shoe-maker, on this subject? He says, the routed +Burgundians jumped into the lake, and the Swiss Leaguers shot +them down like wild ducks among the reeds. He fought in the +battle and wrote the ballad afterwards;--</p> + +<p>'He had himself laid hand on sword,</p> + +<p>He who this rhyme did write;</p> + +<p>Till evening mowed he with the sword,</p> + +<p>And sang the song at night.' "</p> + +<p>"You must give me the whole ballad," said Miss Ashburton; "it +will serve to illustrate the sketch."</p> + +<p>"And the sketch to illustrate the ballad. And now we suddenly +slide down the Alps into Italy, and are even in Rome, if I +mistake not. This is surely a head of Homer?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied the lady, with a little enthusiasm. "Do you not +remember the marble bust at Rome? When I first beheld that bust, +it absolutely inspired me with awe. It is not the face of a man, +but of a god!"</p> + +<p>"And you have done it no injustice in your copy," said +Flemming, catching a new enthusiasm from hers. "With what a +classic grace the fillet, passing round the majestic forehead, +confines his flowing locks, which mingle with his beard! The +countenance, too, is calm, majestic, godlike! Even the fixed and +sightless eyeballs do not mar the imageof the seer! Such were the +sightless eyes of the blind old man of Chios. They seem to look +with mournful solemnity into the mysterious future; and the +marble lips to repeat that prophetic passage in the Hymn to +Apollo; 'Let me also hope to be remembered in ages to come. And +when any one, born of the tribes of men, comes hither, a weary +traveller, and inquires, who is the sweetest of the Singing Men, +that resort to your feasts, and whom you most delight to hear, do +you make answer for me. It is the Blind Man, who dwells in Chios; +his songs excel all that can ever be sung!' But do you really +believe, that this is a portrait of Homer?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not! It is only an artist's dream. It was thus, +that Homer appeared to him in his visions of the antique world. +Every one, you know, forms an image in his fancy of persons and +things he has never seen; and the artist reproduces them in +marble or on canvass."</p> + +<p>"And what is the image in your fancy? Is it like this?"</p> + +<p>"No; not entirely. I have drawn my impressions from another +source. Whenever I think of Homer, which is not often, he walks +before me, solemn and serene, as in the vision of the great +Italian; in countenance neither sorrowful nor glad, followed by +other bards, and holding in his right hand a sword!"</p> + +<p>"That is a finer conception, than even this," said Flemming. +"And I perceive from your words, as well as from this book, that +you have a true feeling for art, and understand what it is. You +have had bright glimpses into the enchanted land."</p> + +<p>"I trust," replied the lady modestly, "that I am not wholly +without this feeling. Certainly I have as strong and passionate a +love of Art as of Nature."</p> + +<p>"But does it not often offend you to hear people speaking of +Art and Nature as opposite and discordant things? Surely nothing +can be more false. Nature is a revelation of God; Art a +revelation of man. Indeed, Art signifies no more than this. Art +is Power. That is the original meaning of the word. It is the +creative power by which the soul of man makes itself known, +through some external manifestation or outward sign. As we can +always hear the voice of God, walking in the garden, in the cool +of the day, or under the star-light, where, to quote one of this +poet's verses, 'high prospects and the brows of all steep hills +and pinnacles thrust up themselves for shows';--so, under the +twilight and the starlight of past ages, do we hear the voice of +man, walking amid the works of his hands, and city walls and +towers and the spires of churches, thrust up themselves for +shows."</p> + +<p>The lady smiled at his warmth; and he continued;</p> + +<p>"This, however, is but a similitude; and Art and Nature are +more nearly allied than by similitudes only. Art is the +revelation of man; and not merely that, but likewise the +revelation of Nature, speaking through man. Art preëxists in +Nature, and Nature is reproduced in Art. As vaporsfrom the ocean, +floating landward and dissolved in rain, are carried back in +rivers to the ocean, so thoughts and the semblances of things +that fall upon the soul of man in showers, flow out again in +living streams of Art, and lose themselves in the great ocean, +which is Nature. Art and Nature are not, then, discordant, but +ever harmoniously working in each other."</p> + +<p>Enthusiasm begets enthusiasm. Flemming spake with such evident +interest in the subject, that Miss Ashburton did not fail to +manifest some interest in what he said; and, encouraged by this, +he proceeded;</p> + +<p>"Thus in this wondrous world wherein we live, which is the +World of Nature, man has made unto himself another world hardly +less wondrous, which is the World of Art. And it lies infolded +and compassed about by the other,</p> + +<p>'And the clear region where 't was born,</p> + +<p>Round in itself incloses.'</p> + +<p>Taking this view of art, I think we understand more easily the +skill of the artist, and the differencebetween him and the mere +amateur. What we call miracles and wonders of art are not so to +him who created them. For they were created by the natural +movements of his own great soul. Statues, paintings, churches, +poems, are but shadows of himself;--shadows in marble, colors, +stone, words. He feels and recognises their beauty; but he +thought these thoughts and produced these things as easily as +inferior minds do thoughts and things inferior. Perhaps more +easily. Vague images and shapes of beauty floating through the +soul, the semblances of things as yet indefinite or ill-defined, +and perfect only when put in art,--this Possible Intellect, as +the Scholastic Philosophers have termed it,--the artist shares in +common with us all. The lovers of art are many. But the Active +Intellect, the creative power,--the power to put these shapes and +images in art, to imbody the indefinite, and render perfect, is +his alone. He shares the gift with few. He knows not even whence +nor how this is. He knows only that it is; that God has given him +the power, which has been denied to others."</p> + +<p>"I should have known you were just from Germany," said the +lady, with a smile, "even if you had not told me so. You are an +enthusiast for the Germans. For my part I cannot endure their +harsh language."</p> + +<p>"You would like it better, if you knew it better," answered +Flemming. "It is not harsh to me; but homelike, hearty, and full +of feeling, like the sound of happy voices at a fireside, of a +winter's night, when the wind blows, and the fire crackles, and +hisses, and snaps. I do indeed love the Germans; the men are so +hale and hearty, and the Fräuleins so tender and true!"</p> + +<p>"I always think of men with pipes and beer, and women with +knittingwork."</p> + +<p>"O, those are English prejudices," exclaimed Flemming. +"Nothing can be more--"</p> + +<p>"And their very literature presents itself to my imagination +under the same forms."</p> + +<p>"I see you have read only English criticisms; and have an +idea, that all German books smell, as it were, 'of groceries, of +brown papers, filled withgreasy cakes and slices of bacon; and of +fryings in frowzy back-parlours; and this shuts you out from a +glorious world of poetry, romance, and dreams!"</p> + +<p>Mary Ashburton smiled, and Flemming continued to turn over the +leaves of the sketch-book, with an occasional criticism and +witticism. At length he came to a leaf which was written in +pencil. People of a lively imagination are generally curious, and +always so when a little in love.</p> + +<p>"Here is a pencil-sketch," said he, with an entreating look, +"which I would fain examine with the rest."</p> + +<p>"You may do so, if you wish; but you will find it the poorest +sketch in the book. I was trying one day to draw the picture of +an artist's life in Rome, as it presented itself to my +imagination; and this is the result. Perhaps it may awaken some +pleasant recollection in your mind."</p> + +<p>Flemming waited no longer; but read with the eyes of a lover, +not of a critic, the following description, which inspired him +with a new enthusiasm for Art, and for Mary Ashburton.</p> + +<p>"I often reflect with delight upon the young artist's life in +Rome. A stranger from the cold and gloomy North, he has crossed +the Alps, and with the devotion of a pilgrim journeyed to the +Eternal City. He dwells perhaps upon the Pincian Hill; and hardly +a house there, which is not inhabited by artists from foreign +lands. The very room he lives in has been their abode from time +out of mind. Their names are written all over the walls; perhaps +some further record of them left in a rough sketch upon the +window-shutter, with an inscription and a date. These things +consecrate the place, in his imagination. Even these names, +though unknown to him, are not without associations in his +mind.</p> + +<p>"In that warm latitude he rises with the day. The night-vapors +are already rolling away over the Campagna sea-ward. As he looks +from his window, above and beyond their white folds he recognises +the tremulous blue sea at Ostia. Over Soracte rises the +sun,--over his own beloved mountain; though no longer worshipped +there, asof old. Before him, the antique house, where Raphael +lived, casts its long, brown shadow down into the heart of modern +Rome. The city lies still asleep and silent. But above its dark +roofs, more than two hundred steeples catch the sunshine on their +gilded weather-cocks. Presently the bells begin to ring, and, as +the artist listens to their pleasant chimes, he knows that in +each of those churches over the high altar, hangs a painting by +some great master's hand, whose beauty comes between him and +heaven, so that he cannot pray, but wonder only.</p> + +<p>"Among these works of art he passes the day; but oftenest in +St. Peter's and the Vatican. Up the vast marble +stair-case,--through the Corridor Chiaramonti,--through +vestibules, galleries, chambers,--he passes, as in a dream. All +are filled with busts and statues; or painted in daring frescoes. +What forms of strength and beauty! what glorious creations of the +human mind! and in that last chamber of all, standing alone upon +his pedestal, the Apollo found at Actium,--in such a majestic +attitude,--with such a noble countenance, life-like, +god-like!</p> + +<p>"Or perhaps he passes into the chambers of the painters; but +goes no further than the second. For in the middle of that +chamber a large painting stands upon the heavy easel, as if +unfinished, though more than three hundred years ago the great +artist completed it, and then laid his pencil away forever, +leaving this last benediction to the world. It is the +Transfiguration of Christ by Raphael. A child looks not at the +stars with greater wonder, than the artist at this painting. He +knows how many studious years are in that picture. He knows the +difficult path that leads to perfection, having himself taken +some of the first steps.--Thus he recalls the hour, when that +broad canvass was first stretched upon its frame, and Raphael +stood before it, and laid the first colors upon it, and beheld +the figures one by one born into life, and 'looked upon the work +of his own hands with a smile, that it should have succeeded so +well.' He recalls too, the hour, when, the task accomplished, the +pencil dropped from the master's dying hand, and his eyes closed +to open on a more glorious transfiguration, and at length the +dead Raphael lay in his own studio, before this wonderful +painting, more glorious than any conqueror under the banners and +armorial hatchments of his funeral!</p> + +<p>"Think you, that such sights and thoughts as these do not move +the heart of a young man and an artist! And when he goes forth +into the open air, the sun is going down, and the gray ruins of +an antique world receive him. From the Palace of the Cæsars +he looks down into the Forum, or towards the Coliseum; or +westward sees the last sunshine strike the bronze Archangel, +which stands upon the Tomb of Adrian. He walks amid a world of +Art in ruins. The very street-lamps, that light him homeward, +burn before some painted or sculptured image of the Madonna! What +wonder is it, if dreams visit him in his sleep,--nay, if his +whole life seem to him a dream! What wonder, if, with a feverish +heart and quick hand, he strive to reproduce those dreams in +marble or on canvass."</p> + +<p>Foolish Paul Flemming! who both admired and praised this +little sketch, and yet was too blind to see, that it was written +from the heart, and not from the imagination! Foolish Paul +Flemming! who thought, that a girl of twenty could write thus, +without a reason! Close upon this followed another pencil sketch, +which he likewise read, with the lady's permission. It was +this.</p> + +<p>"The whole period of the Middle Ages seems very strange to me. +At times I cannot persuade myself that such things could have +been, as history tells us; that such a strange world was a part +of our world,--that such a strange life was a part of the life, +which seems to us who are living it now, so passionless and +commonplace. It is only when I stand amid ruined castles, that +look at me so mournfully, and behold the heavy armour of old +knights, hanging upon the wainscot of Gothic chambers; or when I +walk amid the aisles of some dusky minster, whose walls are +narrative ofhoar antiquity, and whose very bells have been +baptized, and see the carved oaken stalls in the choir, where so +many generations of monks have sat and sung, and the tombs, where +now they sleep in silence, to awake no more to their midnight +psalms;--it is only at such times, that the history of the Middle +Ages is a reality to me, and not a passage in romance.</p> + +<p>"Likewise the illuminated manuscripts of those ages have +something of this power of making the dead Past a living Present +in my mind. What curious figures are emblazoned on the creaking +parchment, making its yellow leaves laugh with gay colors! You +seem to come upon them unawares. Their faces have an expression +of wonder. They seem all to be just startled from their sleep by +the sound you made when you unloosed the brazen clasps, and +opened the curiously-carved oaken covers, that turn on hinges, +like the great gates of a city. To the building of that city some +diligent monk gave the whole of a long life. With what strange +denizens he peopled it! Adam and Eve standing under a tree, she, +with the apple in her hand;--the patriarch Abraham, with a tree +growing out of his body, and his descendants sitting owl-like +upon its branches;--ladies with flowing locks of gold; knights in +armour, with most fantastic, long-toed shoes; jousts and +tournaments; and Minnesingers, and lovers, whose heads reach to +the towers, where their ladies sit;--and all so angular, so +simple, so childlike,--all in such simple attitudes, with such +great eyes, and holding up such long, lank fingers!--These things +are characteristic of the Middle Ages, and persuade me of the +truth of history."</p> + +<p>At this moment Berkley entered, with a Swiss cottage, which he +had just bought as a present for somebody's child in England; and +a cane with a chamois-horn on the end of it, which he had just +bought for himself. This was the first time, that Flemming had +been sorry to see the good-natured man. His presence interrupted +the delightful conversation he was carrying on "under four eyes," +with Mary Ashburton. He reallythought Berkley a bore, and +wondered it had never occurred to him before. Mrs. Ashburton, +too, must needs lay down her book; and the conversation became +general. Strange to say, the Swiss dinner-hour of one o'clock, +did not come a moment too soon for Flemming. It did not even +occur to him that it was early; for he was seated beside Mary +Ashburton, and at dinner one can say so much, without being +overheard.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="3_7">CHAPTER VI. AFTER DINNER, AND +AFTER THE MANNER OF THE BEST CRITICS.</a></h3> + +<p>When the learned Thomas Diafoirus wooed the fair +Angélique, he drew from his pocket a medical thesis, and +presented it to her, as the first-fruits of his genius; and at +the same time, invited her, with her father's permission, to +attend the dissection of a woman, upon whom he was to lecture. +Paul Flemming did nearly the same thing; and so often, that it +had become a habit. He was continually drawing, from his pocket +or his memory, some scrap of song or story; and inviting some +fair Angélique, either with her father's permission or +without, to attend the dissection of anauthor, upon whom he was +to discourse. He soon gave proofs of this to Mary Ashburton.</p> + +<p>"What books have we here for afternoon reading?" said +Flemming, taking a volume from the parlour table, when they had +returned from the dining-room. "O, it is Uhland's Poems. Have you +read any thing of his? He and Tieck are the best living poets of +Germany. They dispute the palm of superiority. Let me give you a +lesson in German, this afternoon, Miss Ashburton; so that no one +may accuse you of 'omitting the sweet benefit of time, to clothe +your age with angel-like perfection.' I have opened at random +upon the ballad of the Black Knight. You repeat the German after +me, and I will translate to you. Pfingsten war, das Fest der +Freude!"</p> + +<p>"I should never persuade my unwilling lips to pronounce such +sounds. So I beg you not to perplex me with your German, but read +me the ballad in English."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, listen. I will improvise a translation for your +own particular benefit.</p> + +<p>"'T was Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness,</p> + +<p>When woods and fields put off all sadness.</p> + +<p>Thus began the King and spake;</p> + +<p>'So from the halls</p> + +<p>Of ancient Hofburg's walls,</p> + +<p>A luxuriant Spring shall break.'</p> + +<p>"Drums and trumpets echo loudly,</p> + +<p>Wave the crimson banners proudly.</p> + +<p>From balcony the King looked on;</p> + +<p>In the play of spears,</p> + +<p>Fell all the cavaliers,</p> + +<p>Before the monarch's stalwart son.</p> + +<p>"To the barrier of the fight,</p> + +<p>Rode at last a sable Knight.</p> + +<p>'Sir Knight! your name and scutcheon, say!'</p> + +<p>'Should I speak it here,</p> + +<p>Ye would stand aghast with fear;</p> + +<p>Am a Prince of mighty sway!'</p> + +<p>"When he rode into the lists,</p> + +<p>The arch of heaven grew black with mists,</p> + +<p>And the castle 'gan to rock.</p> + +<p>At the first blow,</p> + +<p>Fell the youth from saddle-bow,</p> + +<p>Hardly rises from the shock.</p> + +<p>"Pipe and viol call the dances,</p> + +<p>Torch-light through the high halls glances;</p> + +<p>Waves a mighty shadow in.</p> + +<p>With manner bland</p> + +<p>Doth ask the maiden's hand,</p> + +<p>Doth with her the dance begin.</p> + +<p>"Danced in sable iron sark,</p> + +<p>Danced a measure weird and dark,</p> + +<p>Coldly clasped her limbs around.</p> + +<p>From breast and hair</p> + +<p>Down fall from her the fair</p> + +<p>Flowerets wilted to the ground.</p> + +<p>"To the sumptuous banquet came</p> + +<p>Every Knight and every Dame.</p> + +<p>'Twixt son and daughter all distraught,</p> + +<p>With mournful mind</p> + +<p>The ancient King reclined,</p> + +<p>Gazed at them in silent thought.</p> + +<p>"Pale the children both did look,</p> + +<p>But the guest a beaker took;</p> + +<p>'Golden wine will make you whole!"</p> + +<p>The children drank,</p> + +<p>Gave many a courteous thank;</p> + +<p>'O that draught was very cool!'</p> + +<p>"Each the father's breast embraces,</p> + +<p>Son and daughter; and their faces</p> + +<p>Colorless grow utterly.</p> + +<p>Whichever way</p> + +<p>Looks the fear-struck father gray,</p> + +<p>He beholds his children die.</p> + +<p>" 'Woe! the blessed children both,</p> + +<p>Takest thou in the joy of youth;</p> + +<p>Take me, too, the joyless father!'</p> + +<p>Spake the Grim Guest,</p> + +<p>From his hollow, cavernous breast;</p> + +<p>'Roses in the spring I gather!' "</p> + +<p>"That is indeed a striking ballad!" said Miss Ashburton, "but +rather too grim and ghostly for this dull afternoon."</p> + +<p>"It begins joyously enough with the feast of Pentecost, and +the crimson banners at the old castle. Then the contrast is well +managed. The Knight in black mail, and the waving in of the +mighty shadow in the dance, and the dropping of the faded +flowers, are all strikingly presented to the imagination. +However, it tellsits own story, and needs no explanation. Here is +something in a different vein, though still melancholy. The +Castle by the Sea. Shall I read it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you like."</p> + +<p>Flemming read;</p> + +<p>"Hast thou seen that lordly castle,</p> + +<p>That Castle by the Sea?</p> + +<p>Golden and red above it</p> + +<p>The clouds float gorgeously.</p> + +<p>"And fain it would stoop downward</p> + +<p>To the mirrored wave below;</p> + +<p>And fain it would soar upward</p> + +<p>In the evening's crimson glow.</p> + +<p>" 'Well have I seen that castle,</p> + +<p>That Castle by the Sea,</p> + +<p>And the moon above it standing,</p> + +<p>And the mist rise solemnly.'</p> + +<p>"The winds and the waves of ocean,</p> + +<p>Had they a merry chime?</p> + +<p>Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers,</p> + +<p>The harp and the minstrel's rhyme?</p> + +<p>" 'The winds and the waves of ocean,</p> + +<p>They rested quietly,</p> + +<p>But I heard on the gale a sound of wail,</p> + +<p>And tears came to my eye.'</p> + +<p>"And sawest thou on the turrets</p> + +<p>The King and his royal bride?</p> + +<p>And the wave of their crimson mantles?</p> + +<p>And the golden crown of pride?</p> + +<p>"Led they not forth in rapture</p> + +<p>A beauteous maiden there?</p> + +<p>Resplendent as the morning sun,</p> + +<p>Beaming with golden hair?</p> + +<p>" 'Well saw I the ancient parents,</p> + +<p>Without the crown of pride;</p> + +<p>They were moving slow, in weeds of woe,</p> + +<p>No maiden was by their side!'</p> + +<p>How do you like that?"</p> + +<p>"It is very graceful, and pretty. But Uhland seems to leave a +great deal to his reader's imagination. All his readers should be +poets themselves, or they will hardly comprehend him. I confess, +Ihardly understand the passage where he speaks of the castle's +stooping downward to the mirrored wave below, and then soaring +upward into the gleaming sky. I suppose, however, he wishes to +express the momentary illusion we experience at beholding a +perfect reflection of an old tower in the sea, and look at it as +if it were not a mere shadow in the water; and yet the real tower +rises far above, and seems to float in the crimson evening +clouds. Is that the meaning?"</p> + +<p>"I should think it was. To me it is all a beautiful cloud +landscape, which I comprehend and feel, and yet should find some +difficulty perhaps in explaining."</p> + +<p>"And why need one always explain? Some feelings are quite +untranslatable. No language has yet been found for them. They +gleam upon us beautifully through the dim twilight of fancy, and +yet, when we bring them close to us, and hold them up to the +light of reason, lose their beauty, all at once; just as +glow-worms, which gleam with such a spiritual light in the +shadows of evening, when brought in where the candlesare lighted, +are found to be only worms, like so many others."</p> + +<p>"Very true. We ought sometimes to be content with feeling. +Here, now, is an exquisite piece, which soothes one like the fall +of evening shadows,--like the dewy coolness of twilight after a +sultry day. I shall not give you a bald translation of my own, +because I have laid up in my memory another, which, though not +very literal, equals the original in beauty. Observe how finely +it commences.</p> + +<p>"Many a year is in its grave,</p> + +<p>Since I crossed this restless wave;</p> + +<p>And the evening, fair as ever,</p> + +<p>Shines on ruin, rock, and river.</p> + +<p>"Then, in this same boat, beside,</p> + +<p>Sat two comrades old and tried;</p> + +<p>One with all a father's truth,</p> + +<p>One with all the fire of youth.</p> + +<p>"One on earth in silence wrought,</p> + +<p>And his grave in silence sought;</p> + +<p>But the younger, brighter form</p> + +<p>Passed in battle and in storm!</p> + +<p>"So, whene'er I turn my eye</p> + +<p>Back upon the days gone by,</p> + +<p>Saddening thoughts of friends come o'er me,--</p> + +<p>Friends, who closed their course before me.</p> + +<p>"Yet what binds us, friend to friend,</p> + +<p>But that soul with soul can blend?</p> + +<p>Soul-like were those hours of yore;</p> + +<p>Let us walk in soul once more!</p> + +<p>"Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee;</p> + +<p>Take,--I give it willingly;</p> + +<p>For, invisibly to thee,</p> + +<p>Spirits twain have crossed with me!"</p> + +<p>"O, that is beautiful,--'beautiful exceedingly!' Who +translated it?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know. I wish I could find him out. It is certainly +admirably done; though in the measure of the original there is +something like the rocking motion of a boat, which is not +preserved in the translation."</p> + +<p>"And is Uhland always so soothing and spiritual?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he generally looks into the spirit-world. I am now +trying to find here a little poem on the Death of a Country +Clergyman; in which he introduces a beautiful picture. But I +cannot turn to it. No matter. He describes the spirit of the good +old man, returning to earth on a bright summer morning, and +standing amid the golden corn and the red and blue flowers, and +mildly greeting the reapers as of old. The idea is beautiful, is +it not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, very beautiful!"</p> + +<p>"But there is nothing morbid in Uhland's mind. He is always +fresh and invigorating, like a breezy morning. In this he differs +entirely from such writers as Salis and Matthisson."</p> + +<p>"And who are they?"</p> + +<p>"Two melancholy gentlemen to whom life was only a Dismal +Swamp, upon whose margin they walked with cambric handkerchiefs +in their hands, sobbing and sighing, and making signals to Death, +to come and ferry them over the lake. And now their spirits stand +in the green fields of German song, like two weeping-willows, +bending over agrave. To read their poems, is like wandering +through a village churchyard on a summer evening, reading the +inscription upon the grave-stones, and recalling sweet images of +the departed; while above you,</p> + +<p>'Hark! in the holy grove of palms,</p> + +<p>Where the stream of life runs free,</p> + +<p>Echoes, in the angels' psalms,</p> + +<p>'Sister spirit! hail to thee!' "</p> + +<p>"How musically those lines flow! Are they Matthisson's!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; and they do indeed flow musically. I wish I had his +poems here. I should like to read to you his Elegy on the Ruins +of an Ancient Castle. It is an imitation of Gray's Elegy. You +have been at Baden-Baden?</p> + +<p>"Yes; last summer."</p> + +<p>"And have not forgotten--"</p> + +<p>"The old castle? Of course not. What a magnificent ruin it +is!"</p> + +<p>"That is the scene of Matthisson's Poem, andseems to have +filled the melancholy bard with more than wonted +inspiration."</p> + +<p>"I should like very much to see the poem, I remember that old +ruin with so much delight."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry I have not a translation of it for you. Instead of +it I will give you a sweet and mournful poem from Salis. It is +called the Song of the Silent Land.</p> + +<p>"Into the Silent Land!</p> + +<p>Ah! who shall lead us thither!</p> + +<p>Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather,</p> + +<p>And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand.</p> + +<p>Who leads us with a gentle hand,</p> + +<p>Thither, oh, thither.</p> + +<p>Into the Silent Land?</p> + +<p>"Into the Silent Land!</p> + +<p>To you, ye boundless regions</p> + +<p>Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions</p> + +<p>Of beauteous souls! Eternity's own band!</p> + +<p>Who in Life's battle firm doth stand,</p> + +<p>Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms</p> + +<p>Into the Silent Land!</p> + +<p>"O Land! O Land!</p> + +<p>For all the broken-hearted</p> + +<p>The mildest herald by our fate allotted,</p> + +<p>Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand</p> + +<p>To lead us with a gentle hand</p> + +<p>Into the land of the great departed,</p> + +<p>Into the Silent Land!</p> + +<p>Is not that a beautiful poem?"</p> + +<p>Mary Ashburton made no answer. She had turned away to hide her +tears. Flemming wondered, that Berkley could say she was not +beautiful. Still he was rather pleased than offended at it. He +felt at that moment how sweet a thing it would be to possess one, +who should seem beautiful to him alone, and yet to him be more +beautiful than all the world beside! How bright the world became +to him at that thought! It was like one of those paintings in +which all the light streams from the face of the Virgin. O, there +is nothing holier in this life of ours, than the first +consciousness of love,--the first fluttering of its silken wings; +the first rising sound and breath of thatwind, which is so soon +to sweep through the soul, to purify or to destroy!</p> + +<p>Old histories tell us, that the great Emperor Charlemagne +stamped his edicts with the hilt of his sword. The greater +Emperor, Death, stamps his with the blade; and they are signed +and executed with the same stroke. Flemming received that night a +letter from Heidelberg, which told him, that Emma of Ilmenau was +dead. The fate of this poor girl affected him deeply; and he said +in his heart;</p> + +<p>"Father in Heaven! Why was the lot of this weak and erring +child so hard! What had she done, to be so tempted in her +weakness, and perish? Why didst thou suffer her gentle affections +to lead her thus astray?"</p> + +<p>And, through the silence of the awful midnight, the voice of +an avalanche answered from the distant mountains, and seemed to +say;</p> + +<p>"Peace! peace! Why dost thou question God's providence!"</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="3_8">CHAPTER VII. TAKE CARE!</a></h3> + +<p>Fair is the valley of Lauterbrunnen with its green meadows and +overhanging cliffs. The ruined castle of Unspunnen stands like an +armed warder at the gate of the enchanted land. In calm serenity +the snowy mountains rise beyond. Fairer than the Rock of +Balmarusa, you frowning precipice looks down upon us; and, from +the topmost cliff, the white pennon of the Brook of Dust shimmers +and waves in the sunny air!</p> + +<p>It was a bright, beautiful morning after nightrain. Every +dewdrop and raindrop had a whole heaven within it; and so had the +heart of Paul Flemming, as, with Mrs. Ashburton and her dark-eyed +daughter, he drove up the Valley of Lauter-brunnen,--the Valley +of Fountains-Only.</p> + +<p>"How beautiful the Jungfrau looks this morning!" exclaimed he, +looking at Mary Ashburton.</p> + +<p>She thought he meant the mountain, and assented. But he meant +her likewise.</p> + +<p>"And the mountains, beyond," he continued; "the Monk and the +Silver-horn, the Wetter-horn the Schreck-horn, and the +Schwarz-horn, all those sublime apostles of Nature, whose sermons +are avalanches! Did you ever behold anything more grand!"</p> + +<p>"O yes. Mont Blanc is more grand, when you behold it from the +hills opposite. It was there that I was most moved by the +magnificence of Swiss scenery. It was a morning like this; and +the clouds, that were hovering about on their huge, shadowy +wings, made the scene only the more magnificent. Before me lay +the whole panorama of the Alps; pine forests standing dark and +solemn at the base of the mountains; and half-way up a veil of +mist; above which rose the snowy summits, and sharp needles of +rock, which seemed to float in the air, like a fairy world. Then +the glaciersstood on either side, winding down through the +mountain ravines; and, high above all, rose the white, dome-like +summit of Mont Blanc. And ever and anon from the shroud of mist +came the awful sound of an avalanche, and a continual roar, as of +the wind through a forest of pines, filled the air. It was the +roar of the Arve and Aveiron, breaking from their icy fountains. +Then the mists began to pass away; and it seemed as if the whole +firmament were rolling together. It recalled to my mind that +sublime passage in the Apocalypse; 'I saw a great white throne; +and him that sat thereon; before whose face the heavens and the +earth fled away, and found no place!' O, I cannot believe that +upon this earth there is a more magnificent scene."</p> + +<p>"It must be grand, indeed," replied Flemming. "And those +mighty glaciers,--huge monsters with bristling crests, creeping +down into the valley! for it is said they really move."</p> + +<p>"Yes; it filled me with a strange sensation of awe to think of +this. They seemed to me like the dragons of Northern Romance, +which come down from the mountains and devour whole villages. A +little hamlet in Chamouni was once abandoned by its inhabitants, +terrified at the approach of the icy dragon. But is it possible +you have never been at Chamouni?</p> + +<p>"Never. The great marvel still remains unseen by me."</p> + +<p>"Then how can you linger here so long? Were I in your place I +would not lose an hour."</p> + +<p>These words passed over the opening blossoms of hope in the +soul of Flemming, like a cold wind over the flowers in +spring-time. He bore it as best he could, and changed the +subject.</p> + +<p>I do not mean to describe the Valley of Lauterbrunnen, nor the +bright day passed there. I know that my gentle reader is blessed +with the divine gift of a poetic fancy; and can see already how +the mountains rise, and the torrents fall, and the sweet valley +lies between; and how, along the dusty road, the herdsman blows +his horn, and travellers come and go in charabans, like Punch and +Judy in a show-box. He knows already how romantic ladies sketch +romantic scenes; while sweet gentlemen gather sweet flowers; and +how cold meat tastes under the shadow of trees, and how time +flies when we are in love, and the beloved one near. One little +incident I must, however, mention, lest his fancy should not +suggest it.</p> + +<p>Flemming was still sitting with the ladies, on the green slope +near the Staubbach, or Brook of Dust, when a young man clad in +green, came down the valley. It was a German student, with flaxen +ringlets hanging over his shoulders, and a guitar in his hand. +His step was free and elastic, and his countenance wore the +joyous expression of youth and health. He approached the company +with a courteous salutation; and, after the manner of travelling +students, asked charity with the confident air of one +unaccustomed to refusal. Nor was he refused in this instance. The +presence of those we love makes us compassionate and generous. +Flemming gave him a piece of gold; and after a short conversation +he seated himself, at alittle distance on the grass, and began to +play and sing. Wonderful and many were the sweet accords and +plaintive sounds that came from that little instrument, touched +by the student's hand. Every feeling of the human heart seemed to +find an expression there, and awaken a kindred feeling in the +hearts of those who heard him. He sang sweet German songs, so +full of longing, and of pleasing sadness, and hope and fear, and +passionate desire, and soul-subduing sorrow, that the tears came +into Mary Ashburton's eyes, though she understood not the words +he sang. Then his countenance glowed with triumph, and he beat +the strings like a drum, and sang;</p> + +<p>"O, how the drum beats so loud!</p> + +<p>Close beside me in the fight,</p> + +<p>My dying brother says, Good Night!</p> + +<p>And the cannon's awful breath</p> + +<p>Screams the loud halloo of Death!</p> + +<p>And the drum,</p> + +<p>And the drum,</p> + +<p>Beats so loud!"</p> + +<p>Many were the words of praise, when the young musician ended; +and, as he rose to depart, they still entreated for one song +more. Whereupon he played a lively prelude; and, looking full +into Flemming's face, sang with a pleasant smile, and still in +German, this little song.</p> + +<p>"I KNOW a maiden fair to see,</p> + +<p>Take care!</p> + +<p>She can both false and friendly be,</p> + +<p>Beware! Beware!</p> + +<p>Trust her not,</p> + +<p>She is fooling thee!</p> + +<p>"She has two eyes, so soft and brown,</p> + +<p>Take care!</p> + +<p>She gives a side-glance and looks down,</p> + +<p>Beware! Beware!</p> + +<p>Trust her not,</p> + +<p>She is fooling thee!</p> + +<p>"And she has hair of a golden hue,</p> + +<p>Take care!</p> + +<p>And what she says, it is not true,</p> + +<p>Beware! Beware!</p> + +<p>Trust her not,</p> + +<p>She is fooling thee!</p> + +<p>"She has a bosom as white as snow,</p> + +<p>Take care!</p> + +<p>She knows how much it is best to show,</p> + +<p>Beware! Beware!</p> + +<p>Trust her not,</p> + +<p>She is fooling thee!</p> + +<p>"She gives thee a garland woven fair,</p> + +<p>Take care!</p> + +<p>It is a fool's cap for thee to wear,</p> + +<p>Beware! Beware!</p> + +<p>Trust her not,</p> + +<p>She is fooling thee!"</p> + +<p>The last stanza he sung in a laughing, triumphant tone, which +resounded above the loud clang of his guitar, like the jeering +laugh of Till Eulenspiegel. Then slinging his guitar over his +shoulder, he took off his green cap, and made a leg to the +ladies, in the style of Gil Blas; waved his hand in the air, and +walked quickly down the valley, singing "Adé! Adé! +Adé!"</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="3_9">CHAPTER VIII. THE FOUNTAIN OF +OBLIVION.</a></h3> + +<p>The power of magic in the Middle Ages created monsters, who +followed the unhappy magician everywhere. The power of Love in +all ages creates angels, who likewise follow the happy or unhappy +lover everywhere, even in his dreams. By such an angel was Paul +Flemming now haunted, both when he waked and when he slept. He +walked as in a dream; and was hardly conscious of the presence of +those around him. A sweet face looked at him from every page of +every book he read; and it was the face of Mary Ashburton! a +sweet voice spake to him in every sound he heard; and it was the +voice of Mary Ashburton! Day and night succeeded each other, with +pleasant interchange of light and darkness; but to him thepassing +of time was only as a dream. When he arose in the morning, he +thought only of her, and wondered if she were yet awake; and when +he lay down at night he thought only of her, and how, like the +Lady Christabel,</p> + +<p>"Her gentle limbs she did undress,</p> + +<p>And lay down in her loveliness."</p> + +<p>And the livelong day he was with her, either in reality or in +day-dreams, hardly less real; for, in each delirious vision of +his waking hours, her beauteous form passed like the form of +Beatrice through Dante's heaven; and, as he lay in the summer +afternoon, and heard at times the sound of the wind in the trees, +and the sound of Sabbath bells ascending up to heaven, holy +wishes and prayers ascended with them from his inmost soul, +beseeching that he might not love in vain! And whenever, in +silence and alone, he looked into the silent, lonely countenance +of Night, he recalled the impassioned lines of Plato;--</p> + +<p>"Lookest thou at the stars? If I were heaven,</p> + +<p>With all the eyes of heaven would I look down on thee!"</p> + +<p>O how beautiful it is to love! Even thou, that sneerest at +this page, and laughest in cold indifference or scorn if others +are near thee, thou, too, must acknowledge its truth when thou +art alone; and confess, that a foolish world is prone to laugh in +public, at what in private it reverences, as one of the highest +impulses of our nature,--namely, Love!</p> + +<p>One by one the objects of our affection depart from us. But +our affections remain, and like vines stretch forth their broken, +wounded tendrils for support. The bleeding heart needs a balm to +heal it; and there is none but the love of its kind,--none but +the affection of a human heart! Thus the wounded, broken +affections of Flemming began to lift themselves from the dust and +cling around this new object. Days and weeks passed; and, like +the Student Crisostomo, he ceased to love because he began to +adore. And with this adoration mingled the prayer, that, in that +hour when the world is still, and the voices that praise are +mute, and reflection cometh like twilight, and themaiden, in her +day-dreams, counted the number of her friends, some voice in the +sacred silence of her thoughts might whisper his name! And was it +indeed so? Did any voice in the sacred silence of her thoughts +whisper his name?--We shall soon learn.</p> + +<p>They were sitting together one morning, on the green, flowery +meadow, under the ruins of Burg Unspunnen. She was sketching the +ruins. The birds were singing one and all, as if there were no +aching hearts, no sin nor sorrow, in the world. So motionless was +the bright air, that the shadow of the trees lay engraven on the +grass. The distant snow-peaks sparkled in the sun, and nothing +frowned, save the square tower of the old ruin above them.</p> + +<p>"What a pity it is," said the lady, as she stopped to rest her +weary fingers; "what a pity it is, that there is no old tradition +connected with this ruin."</p> + +<p>"I will make you one, if you wish," said Flemming.</p> + +<p>"Can you make old traditions?"</p> + +<p>"O yes; I made three the other day for the Rhine, and one very +old one for the Black Forest. A lady with dishevelled hair; a +robber with a horrible slouched hat; and a night-storm among the +roaring pines."</p> + +<p>"Delightful! Do make one for me."</p> + +<p>"With the greatest pleasure. Where will you have the scene? +Here, or in the Black Forest?"</p> + +<p>"In the Black Forest, by all means? Begin."</p> + +<p>"First promise not to interrupt me. If you snap the golden +threads of thought, they will float away on the air like gossamer +threads, and I shall never be able to recover them."</p> + +<p>"I promise."</p> + +<p>"Listen, then, to the Tradition of 'The Fountain of Oblivion.' +"</p> + +<p>"Begin."</p> + +<p>Flemming was reclining on the flowery turf, at the lady's +feet, looking up with dreamy eyes into her sweet face, and then +into the leaves of the linden-trees overhead.</p> + +<p>"Gentle Lady! Dost thou remember the linden-trees of +Bülach, those tall and stately trees, with velvet down upon +their shining leaves and rustic benches underneath their +overhanging eaves! A leafy dwelling, fit to be the home of elf or +fairy, where first I told my love to thee, thou cold and stately +Hermione! A little peasant girl stood near, and listened all the +while, with eyes of wonder and delight, and an unconscious smile, +to hear the stranger still speak on in accents deep yet +mild,--none else was with us in that hour, save God and that +peasant child!"</p> + +<p>"Why, it is in rhyme!"</p> + +<p>"No, no! the rhyme is only in your imagination. You promised +not to interrupt me, and you have already snapped asunder the +gossamer threads of as sweet a dream as was ever spun from a +poet's brain."</p> + +<p>"It certainly did rhyme!"</p> + +<p>"This was the reverie of the Student Hieronymus, as he sat at +midnight in his chamber, with his hands clasped together, and +resting upon anopen volume, which he should have been reading. +His pale face was raised, and the pupils of his eyes dilated as +if the spirit-world were open before him, and some beauteous +vision were standing there, and drawing the student's soul +through his eyes up into Heaven, as the evening sun through +parting summer-clouds, seems to draw into its bosom the vapors of +the earth. O, it was a sweet vision! I can see it before me +now!</p> + +<p>"Near the student stood an antique bronze lamp, with strange +figures carved upon it. It was a magic lamp, which once belonged +to the Arabian astrologer El Geber, in Spain. Its light was +beautiful as the light of stars; and, night after night, as the +lonely wight sat alone and read in his lofty tower, through the +mist, and mirk, and dropping rain, it streamed out into the +darkness, and was seen by many wakeful eyes. To the poor Student +Hieronymus it was a wonderful Aladdin's Lamp; for in its flame a +Divinity revealed herself unto him, and showed him treasures. +Whenever he opened a ponderous, antiquatedtome, it seemed as if +some angel opened for him the gates of Paradise; and already he +was known in the city as Hieronymus the Learned.</p> + +<p>"But, alas! he could read no more. The charm was broken. Hour +after hour he passed with his hands clasped before him, and his +fair eyes gazing at vacancy. What could so disturb the studies of +this melancholy wight? Lady, he was in love! Have you ever been +in love? He had seen the face of the beautiful Hermione; and as, +when we have thoughtlessly looked at the sun, our dazzled eyes, +though closed, behold it still; so he beheld by day and by night +the radiant image of her upon whom he had too rashly gazed. Alas! +he was unhappy; for the proud Hermione disdained the love of a +poor student, whose only wealth was a magic lamp. In marble +halls, and amid the gay crowd that worshipped her, she had almost +forgotten that such a being lived as the Student Hieronymus. The +adoration of his heart had been to her only as the perfume of a +wild flower, which she had carelessly crushedwith her foot in +passing. But he had lost all; for he had lost the quiet of his +thoughts; and his agitated soul reflected only broken and +distorted images of things. The world laughed at the poor +student, who, in his torn and threadbare cassock, dared to lift +his eyes to the Lady Hermione; while he sat alone, in his +desolate chamber, and suffered in silence. He remembered many +things, which he would fain forget; but which, if he had +forgotten them, he would wish again to remember. Such were the +linden-trees of Bülach, under whose pleasant shade he had +told his love to Hermione. This was the scene which he wished +most to forget, yet loved most to remember; and of this he was +now dreaming, with his hands clasped upon his book, and that kind +of music in his thoughts, which you, Lady, mistook for rhyme.</p> + +<p>"Suddenly the cathedral clock struck twelve with a melancholy +clang. It roused the Student Hieronymus from his dream; and rang +in his ears, like the iron hoofs of the steeds of Time. Themagic +hour had come, when the Divinity of the lamp most willingly +revealed herself to her votary. The bronze figures seemed alive; +a white cloud rose from the flame and spread itself through the +chamber, whose four walls dilated into magnificent cloud vistas; +a fragrance, as of wild-flowers, filled the air; and a dreamy +music, like distant, sweetchiming bells, announced the approach +of the midnight Divinity. Through his streaming tears the +heart-broken Student beheld her once more descending a pass in +the snowy cloud-mountains, as, at evening, the dewy Hesperus +comes from the bosom of the mist, and assumes his station in the +sky. At her approach, his spirit grew more calm; for her presence +was, to his feverish heart, like a tropical night,--beautiful and +soothing and invigorating. At length she stood before him +revealed in all her beauty; and he comprehended the visible +language of her sweet but silent lips; which seemed to +say;--'What would the Student Hieronymus to-night?'--'Peace!' he +answered, raising his clasped hands, and smiling through +histears. 'The Student Hieronymus imploreth peace!' 'Then go,' +said the spirit, 'go to the Fountain of Oblivion in the deepest +solitude of the Black Forest, and cast this scroll into its +waters; and thou shalt be at peace once more. Hieronymus opened +his arms to embrace the Divinity, for her countenance assumed the +features of Hermione; but she vanished away; the music ceased; +the gorgeous cloud-land sank and fell asunder; and the student +was alone within the four bare walls of his chamber. As he bowed +his head downward, his eye fell upon a parchment scroll, which +was lying beside the lamp. Upon it was written only the name of +Hermione!</p> + +<p>"The next morning Hieronymus put the scroll into his bosom, +and went his way in search of the Fountain of Oblivion. A few +days brought him to the skirts of the Black Forest. He entered, +not without a feeling of dread, that land of shadows; and passed +onward under melancholy pines and cedars, whose branches grew +abroad and mingled together, and, as they swayed up and down, +filled the air with solemn twilight and a sound of sorrow. As he +advanced into the forest, the waving moss hung, like curtains, +from the branches overhead, and more and more shut out the light +of heaven; and he knew that the Fountain of Oblivion was not far +off. Even then the sound of falling waters was mingling with the +roar of the pines overhead; and ere long he came to a river, +moving in solemn majesty through the forest, and falling with a +dull, leaden sound into a motionless and stagnant lake, above +which the branches of the forest met and mingled, forming +perpetual night. This was the Fountain of Oblivion.</p> + +<p>"Upon its brink the student paused, and gazed into the dark +waters with a steadfast look. They were limpid waters, dark with +shadows only. And as he gazed, he beheld, far down in their +silent depths, dim and ill-defined outlines, wavering to and fro, +like the folds of a white garment in the twilight. Then more +distinct and permanent shapes arose;--shapes familiar to his +mind, yet forgotten and remembered again, as the fragmentsof a +dream; till at length, far, far below him he beheld the great +city of the Past, with silent marble streets, and moss-grown +walls, and spires uprising with a wave-like, flickering motion. +And amid the crowd that thronged those streets, he beheld faces +once familiar and dear to him; and heard sorrowful, sweet voices, +singing; 'O forget us not! forget us not!' and then the distant, +mournful sound of funeral bells, that were tolling below, in the +city of the Past. But in the gardens of that city, there were +children playing, and among them, one who wore his features, as +they had been in childhood. He was leading a little girl by the +hand, and caressed her often, and adorned her with flowers. Then, +like a dream, the scene changed, and the boy had grown older, and +stood alone, gazing into the sky; and, as he gazed, his +countenance changed again, and Hieronymus beheld him, as if it +had been his own image in the clear water; and before him stood a +beauteous maiden, whose face was like the face of Hermione, and +he feared lest the scroll had fallen into the water, as he bent +overit. Starting as from a dream he put his hand into his bosom +and breathed freely again, when he found the scroll still there. +He drew it forth, and read the blessed name of Hermione, and the +city beneath him vanished away, and the air grew fragrant as with +the breath of May-flowers, and a light streamed through the +shadowy forest and gleamed upon the lake; and the Student +Hieronymus pressed the dear name to his lips and exclaimed with +streaming eyes; 'O, scorn me as thou wilt, still, still will I +love thee; and thy name shall irradiate the gloom of my life, and +make the waters of Oblivion smile!' And the name was no longer +Hermione, but was changed to Mary; and the Student Hieronymus--is +lying at your feet! O, gentle Lady!</p> + +<p>'I did hear you talk</p> + +<p>Far above singing; after you were gone</p> + +<p>I grew acquainted with my heart, and searched</p> + +<p>What stirred it so! Alas! I found it love."</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="3_10">CHAPTER IX. A TALK ON THE +STAIRS.</a></h3> + +<p>No! I will not describe that scene; nor how pale the stately +lady sat on the border of the green, sunny meadow! The hearts of +some women tremble like leaves at every breath of love which +reaches them, and then are still again. Others, like the ocean, +are moved only by the breath of a storm, and not so easily lulled +to rest. And such was the proud heart of Mary Ashburton. It had +remained unmoved by the presence of this stranger; and the sound +of his footsteps and his voice excited in it no emotion. He had +deceived himself! Silently they walked homeward through the green +meadow. The very sunshine was sad; and the rising wind, through +the old ruin above them, sounded in his ears like a hollow +laugh!</p> + +<p>Flemming went straight to his chamber. On the way, he passed +the walnut trees under which he had first seen the face of Mary +Ashburton. Involuntarily he closed his eyes. They were full of +tears. O, there are places in this fair world, which we never +wish to see again, however dear they may be to us! The towers of +the old Franciscan convent never looked so gloomily as then, +though the bright summer sun was shining full upon them.</p> + +<p>In his chamber he found Berkley. He was looking out of the +window, whistling.</p> + +<p>"This evening I leave Interlachen forever," said Flemming, +rather abruptly. Berkley stared.</p> + +<p>"Indeed! Pray what is the matter? You look as pale as a +ghost!"</p> + +<p>"And have good reason to look pale," replied Flemming +bitterly. "Hoffmann says, in one of his note-books, that, on the +eleventh of March, at half past eight o'clock, precisely, he was +an ass. That is what I was this morning at half past ten o'clock, +precisely, and am now, and I suppose always shall be."</p> + +<p>He tried to laugh, but could not. He then related to Berkley +the whole story, from beginning to end.</p> + +<p>"This is a miserable piece of business!" exclaimed Berkley, +when he had finished. "Strange enough! And yet I have long ceased +to marvel at the caprices of women. Did not Pan captivate the +chaste Diana? Did not Titania love Nick Bottom, with his ass's +head? Do you think that maidens' eyes are no longer touched with +the juice of love-in-idleness! Take my word for it, she is in +love with somebody else. There must be some reason for this. No; +women never have any reasons, except their will. But never mind. +Keep a stout heart. Care killed a cat. After all,--what is she? +Who is she? Only a--"</p> + +<p>"Hush! hush," exclaimed Flemming, in great excitement. "Not +one word more, I beseech you. Do not think to console me, by +depreciating her. She is very dear to me still; a beautiful, +high-minded, noble woman."</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Berkley; "that is the waywith you all, you +young men. You see a sweet face, or a something, you know not +what, and flickering reason says, Good night; amen to common +sense. The imagination invests the beloved object with a thousand +superlative charms; furnishes her with all the purple and fine +linen, all the rich apparel and furniture, of human nature. I did +the same when I was young. I was once as desperately in love as +you are now; and went through all the</p> + +<p>'Delicious deaths, soft exhalations</p> + +<p>Of soul; dear and divine annihilations,</p> + +<p>A thousand unknown rites</p> + +<p>Of joys, and rarified delights.'</p> + +<p>I adored and was rejected. 'You are in love with certain +attributes,' said the lady. 'Damn your attributes, Madam,' said +I; 'I know nothing of attributes.' 'Sir,' said she, with dignity, +'you have been drinking.' So we parted. She was married +afterwards to another, who knew something about attributes, I +suppose. I have seen her once since, and only once. She had a +baby in a yellow gown. I hate a baby in a yellow gown. How glad I +am she did not marry me. One of these days, you will be glad you +have been rejected. Take my word for it."</p> + +<p>"All that does not prevent my lot from being a very melancholy +one!" said Flemming sadly.</p> + +<p>"O, never mind the lot," cried Berkley laughing, "so long as +you don't get Lot's wife. If the cucumber is bitter, throw it +away, as the philosopher Marcus Antoninus says, in his +Meditations. Forget her, and all will be as if you had not known +her."</p> + +<p>"I shall never forget her," replied Flemming, rather solemnly. +"Not my pride, but my affections, are wounded; and the wound is +too deep ever to heal. I shall carry it with me always. I enter +no more into the world, but will dwell only in the world of my +own thoughts. All great and unusual occurrences, whether of joy +or sorrow, lift us above this earth; and we should do well always +to preserve this elevation. Hitherto I have not done so. But now +I will no more descend; I will sit apart and above the world, +with my mournful, yet holy thoughts."</p> + +<p>"Whew! You had better go into society; the whirl and delirium +will cure you in a week. If you find a lady, who pleases you very +much, and you wish to marry her, and she will not listen to such +a horrid thing, I see but one remedy, which is to find another, +who pleases you more, and who will listen to it."</p> + +<p>"No, my friend; you do not understand my character," said +Flemming, shaking his head. "I love this woman with a deep, and +lasting affection. I shall never cease to love her. This may be +madness in me; but so it is. Alas and alas! Paracelsus of old +wasted life in trying to discover its elixir, which after all +turned out to be alcohol; and instead of being made immortal upon +earth, he died drunk on the floor of a tavern. The like happens +to many of us. We waste our best years in distilling the sweetest +flowers of life into love-potions, which after all do not +immortalize, butonly intoxicate us. By Heaven! we are all of us +mad."</p> + +<p>"But are you sure the case is utterly hopeless?"</p> + +<p>"Utterly! utterly!"</p> + +<p>"And yet I perceive you have not laid aside all hope. You +still flatter yourself, that the lady's heart may change. The +great secret of happiness consists not in enjoying, but in +renouncing. But it is hard, very hard. Hope has as many lives as +a cat or a king. I dare say you have heard the old Italian +proverb, 'The King never dies.' But perhaps you have never heard, +that, at the court of Naples, where the dead body of a monarch +lies in state, his dinner is carried up to him as usual, and the +court physician tastes it, to see that it be not poisoned, and +then the servants bear it out again, saying 'The King does not +dine to-day.' Hope in our souls is King; and we also say, 'The +King never dies.' Even when in reality he lies dead within us, in +a kind of solemn mockery we offer him his accustomed food, but +are constrainedto say, 'The King does not dine to-day.' It must +be an evil day, indeed, when a king of Naples has no heart for +his dinner! but you yourself are a proof, that the King never +dies. You are feeding your King, although you say he is +dead."</p> + +<p>"To show you, that I do not wish to cherish hope," replied +Flemming, I shall leave Interlachen to-morrow morning. I am going +to the Tyrol."</p> + +<p>"You are right," said Berkley; "there is nothing so good for +sorrow as rapid motion in the open air. I shall go with you; +though probably your conversation will not be very various; +nothing but Edward and Kunigunde."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>"Go to Berlin, and you will find out. However, jesting apart, +I will do all I can to cheer you, and make you forget the Dark +Ladie, and this untoward accident."</p> + +<p>"Accident!" said Flemming. "This is no accident, but God's +Providence, which brought us together, to punish me for my +sins."</p> + +<p>"O, my friend," interrupted Berkley, "if you see the finger of +Providence so distinctly in every act of your life, you will end +by thinking yourself an Apostle and Envoy Extraordinary. I see +nothing so very uncommon in what has happened to you."</p> + +<p>"What! not when our souls are so akin to each other! When we +seemed so formed to be together,--to be one!"</p> + +<p>"I have often observed," replied Berkley coldly, "that those +who are of kindred souls, rarely wed together; almost as rarely +as those who are akin by blood. There seems, indeed, to be such a +thing as spiritual incest. Therefore, mad lover, do not think to +persuade thyself and thy scornful lady, that you have kindred +souls; but rather the contrary; that you are much unlike; and +each wanting in those qualities which most mark and distinguish +the other. Trust me, thy courtship will then be more prosperous. +But good morning. I must prepare for this sudden journey."</p> + +<p>On the following morning, Flemming and Berkleystarted on their +way to Innsbruck, like Huon of Bordeaux and Scherasmin on their +way to Babylon. Berkley's self-assumed duty was to console his +companion; a duty which he performed like an old Spanish +Matadora, a woman whose business was to attend the sick, and put +her elbow into the stomach of the dying to shorten their +agony.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="4">BOOK IV.</a></h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="4_1">Epigraph</a></h3> + +<p>"Mortal, they softly say,</p> + +<p>Peace to thy heart!</p> + +<p>We too, yes, mortal,</p> + +<p>Have been as thou art;</p> + +<p>Hope-lifted, doubt-depressed,</p> + +<p>Seeing in part,</p> + +<p>Tried, troubled, tempted,--</p> + +<p>Sustained,--as thou art."</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="4_2">CHAPTER I. A MISERERE.</a></h3> + +<p>In the Orlando Innamorato, Malagigi, the necromancer, puts all +the company to sleep by reading to them from a book. Some books +have this power of themselves and need no necromancer. Fearing, +gentle reader, that mine may be of this kind, I have provided +these introductory chapters, from time to time, like stalls or +Misereres in a church, with flowery canopies and poppy-heads over +them, where thou mayest sit down and sleep.</p> + +<p>No,--the figure is not a bad one. This book does somewhat +resemble a minster, in the Romanesque style, with pinnacles, and +flying buttresses, and roofs,</p> + +<p>"Gargoyled with greyhounds, and with many lions</p> + +<p>Made of fine gold, with divers sundry dragons."</p> + +<p>You step into its shade and coolness out of the hot streets of +life; a mysterious light streams through the painted glass of the +marigold windows, staining the cusps and crumpled leaves of the +window-shafts, and the cherubs and holy-water-stoups below. Here +and there is an image of the Virgin Mary; and other images, "in +divers vestures, called weepers, stand in housings made about the +tomb"; and, above all, swells the vast dome of heaven, with its +star-mouldings, and the flaming constellations, like the mosaics +in the dome of St. Peter's. Have you not heard funeral psalms +from the chauntry? Have you not heard the sound of church-bells, +as I promised; mysterious sounds from the Past and Future, as +from the belfries outside the cathedral; even such a mournful, +mellow, watery peal of bells, as is heard sometimes at sea, from +cities afar off below the horizon?</p> + +<p>I know not how this Romanesque, and at times flamboyant, style +of architecture may please thecritics. They may wish, perhaps, +that I had omitted some of my many ornaments, my arabesques, and +roses, and fantastic spouts, and Holy-Roods and +Gallilee-steeples. But would it then have been Romanesque?</p> + +<p>But perhaps, gentle reader, thou art one of those, who think +the days of Romance gone forever. Believe it not! O, believe it +not! Thou hast at this moment in thy heart as sweet a romance as +was ever written. Thou art not less a woman, because thou dost +not sit aloft in a tower, with a tassel-gentle on thy wrist! Thou +art not less a man, because thou wearest no hauberk, nor +mail-sark, and goest not on horseback after foolish adventures! +Nay, nay! Every one has a Romance in his own heart. All that has +blessed or awed the world lies there; and</p> + +<p>"The oracle within him, that which lives,</p> + +<p>He must invoke and question,--not dead books,</p> + +<p>Not ordinances, not mould-rotten papers."</p> + +<p>Sooner or later some passages of every one's romance must be +written, either in words or actions. They will proclaim the +truth; for Truth is thought, which has assumed its appropriate +garments, either of words or actions; while Falsehood is thought, +which, disguised in words or actions not its own, comes before +the blind old world, as Jacob came before the patriarch Isaac, +clothed in the goodly raiment of his brother Esau. And the world, +like the patriarch, is often deceived; for, though the voice is +Jacob's voice, yet the hands are the hands of Esau, and the False +takes away the birth-right and the blessing from the True. Hence +it is, that the world so often lifts up its voice and weeps.</p> + +<p>That very pleasing and fanciful Chinese Romance, the Shadow in +the Water, ends with the hero's marrying both the heroines. I +hope my gentle reader feels curious to know the end of this +Romance, which is a shadow upon the earth; and see whether there +be any marriage at all in it.</p> + +<p>That is the very point I am now thinking of, as I sit here at +my pleasant chamber window, and enjoy the balmy air of a bright +summer morning, and watch the motions of the golden robin, that +sits on its swinging nest on the outermost, pendulous branch of +yonder elm. The broad meadows and the steel-blue river remind me +of the meadows of Unterseen, and the river Aar; and beyond them +rise magnificent snow-white clouds, piled up like Alps. Thus the +shades of Washington and William Tell seem to walk together on +these Elysian Fields; for it was here, that in days long gone, +our great Patriot dwelt; and yonder clouds so much resemble the +snowy Alps, that they remind me irresistibly of the Swiss. Noble +examples of a high purpose and a fixed will! Do they not move, +Hyperion-like on high? Were they not, likewise, sons of Heaven +and Earth?</p> + +<p>Nothing can be more lovely than these summer mornings; nor +than the southern window at which I sit and write, in this old +mansion, which is like an Italian Villa. But O, this +lassitude,--thisweariness,--when all around me is so bright! I +have this morning a singular longing for flowers; a wish to +stroll among the roses and carnations, and inhale their breath, +as if it would revive me. I wish I knew the man, who called +flowers "the fugitive poetry of Nature." From this distance, from +these scholastic shades,--from this leafy, blossoming, and +beautiful Cambridge, I stretch forth my hand to grasp his, as the +hand of a poet!--Yes; this morning I would rather stroll with him +among the gay flowers, than sit here and write. I feel so +weary!</p> + +<p>Old men with their staves, says the Spanish poet, are ever +knocking at the door of the grave. But I am not old. The Spanish +poet might have included the young also.--No matter! Courage, and +forward! The Romance must be finished; and finished soon.</p> + +<p>O thou poor authorling! Reach a little deeper into the human +heart! Touch those strings,--touch those deeper strings, and more +boldly, or the notes will die away like whispers, and no earshall +hear them, save thine own! And, to cheer thy solitary labor, +remember, that the secret studies of an author are the sunken +piers upon which is to rest the bridge of his fame, spanning the +dark waters of Oblivion. They are out of sight; but without them +no superstructure can stand secure!</p> + +<p>And now, Reader, since the sermon is over, and we are still +sitting here in this Miserere, let us read aloud a page from the +old parchment manuscript on the lettern before us; let us sing it +through these dusky aisles, like a Gregorian Chant, and startle +the sleeping congregation!</p> + +<p>"I have read of the great river Euripus, which ebbeth and +floweth seven times a day, and with such violence, that it +carrieth ships upon it with full sail, directly against the wind. +Seven times in an hour ebbeth and floweth rash opinion, in the +torrent of indiscreet and troublesome apprehensions; carrying +critic calumny and squint-eyed detraction mainly against the wind +of wisdom and judgment."</p> + +<p>In secula seculorum! Amen!</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="4_3">CHAPTER II. CURFEW +BELLS.</a></h3> + +<p>Welcome Disappointment! Thy hand is cold and hard, but it is +the hand of a friend! Thy voice is stern and harsh, but it is the +voice of a friend! O, there is something sublime in calm +endurance, something sublime in the resolute, fixed purpose of +suffering without complaining, which makes disappointment +oftentimes better than success!</p> + +<p>The emperor Isaac Angelus made a treaty with Saladin, and +tried to purchase the Holy Sepulchre with gold. Richard +Lion-heart scorned such alliance, and sought to recover it by +battle. Thus do weak minds make treaties with the passions they +cannot overcome, and try to purchase happiness at the expense of +principle. But the resolute will of a strong man scorns such +means; and struggles nobly with his foe, to achieve great deeds. +Therefore, whosoever thou art that sufferest, try not to +dissipate thy sorrow by the breath of the world, nor drown its +voice in thoughtless merriment. It is a treacherous peace that is +purchased by indulgence. Rather take this sorrow to thy heart, +and make it a part of thee, and it shall nourish thee till thou +art strong again.</p> + +<p>The shadows of the mind are like those of the body. In the +morning of life they all lie behind us; at noon, we trample them +under foot; and in the evening they stretch long, broad, and +deepening before us. Are not, then, the sorrows of childhood as +dark as those of age? Are not the morning shadows of life as deep +and broad as those of its evening? Yes; but morning shadows soon +fade away, while those of evening reach forward into the night +and mingle with the coming darkness. Man is begotten in delight +and born in pain; and in these are the rapture and labor of his +life fore-shadowed from the beginning. But thelife of man upon +this fair earth is made up for the most part of little pains and +little pleasures. The great wonder-flowers bloom but once in a +lifetime.</p> + +<p>A week had already elapsed since the events recorded in the +last chapter. Paul Flemming went his way, a melancholy man, +"drinking the sweet wormwood of his sorrow." He did not rail at +Providence and call it fate, but suffered and was silent. It is a +beautiful trait in the lover's character, that he thinks no evil +of the object loved. What he suffered was no swift storm of +feeling, that passes away with a noise, and leaves the heart +clearer; but a dark phantom had risen up in the clear night, and, +like that of Adamastor, hid the stars; and if it ever vanished +away for a season, still the deep sound of the moaning main would +be heard afar, through many a dark and lonely hour. And thus he +journeyed on, wrapped in desponding gloom, and mainly heedless of +all things around him. His mind was distempered. That one face +was always before him; that one voice forever saying;</p> + +<p>"You are not the Magician."</p> + +<p>Painful, indeed, it is to be misunderstood and undervalued by +those we love. But this, too, in our life, must we learn to bear +without a murmur; for it is a tale often repeated.</p> + +<p>There are persons in this world to whom all local associations +are naught. The genius of the place speaks not to them. Even on +battle-fields, where the voice of this genius is wont to be +loudest, they hear only the sound of their own voices; they meet +there only their own dull and pedantic thoughts, as the old +grammarian Brunetto Latini met on the plain of Roncesvalles a +poor student riding on a bay mule. This was not always the case +with Paul Flemming, but it had become so now. He felt no interest +in the scenery around him. He hardly looked at it. Even the +difficult mountain-passes, where, from his rocky eyrie the +eagle-eyed Tyrolese peasant had watched his foe, and the roaring, +turbid torrent underneath, which had swallowed up the bloody +corse, that fell from the rocks like a crushed worm, awakened no +lively emotion in his breast. All around him seemed dreamy and +vague; all within dim, as in a sun's eclipse. As the moon, +whether visible or invisible, has power over the tides of the +ocean, so the face of that lady, whether present or absent, had +power over the tides of his soul; both by day and night, both +waking and sleeping. In every pale face and dark eye he saw a +resemblance to her; and what the day denied him in reality, the +night gave him in dreams.</p> + +<p>"This is a strange, fantastic world," said Berkley, after a +very long silence, during which the two travellers had been +sitting each in his corner of the travelling carriage, wrapped in +his own reflections. "A very strange, fantastic world; where each +one pursues his own golden bubble, and laughs at his neighbour +for doing the same. I have been thinking how a moral +Linnæus would classify our race. I think he would divide +it, not as Lord Byron did, into two great classes, the bores and +those who are bored, but into three, namely; Happy Men, Lucky +Dogs, and Miserable Wretches. This is more true and +philosophical, though perhaps not quite so comprehensive. He is +the Happy Man, who, blessed with modest ease, a wife and +children,--sits enthroned in the hearts of his family, and knows +no other ambition, than that of making those around him happy. +But the Lucky Dog is he, who, free from all domestic cares, +saunters up and down his room, in morning gown and slippers; +drums on the window of a rainy day; and, as he stirs his evening +fire, snaps his fingers at the world, and says, 'I have no wife +nor children, good or bad, to provide for.' I had a friend, who +is now no more. He was taken away in the bloom of life, by a very +rapid--widow. He was by birth and by profession a beau,--born +with a quizzing-glass and a cane. Cock of the walk, he flapped +his wings, and crowed among the feathered tribe. But alas! a +fair, white partlet has torn his crest out, and he shall crow no +more. You will generally find him of a morning, smelling round a +beef-cart, with domestic felicity written in every line of his +countenance; and sometimes meet him in a cross-street at noon, +hurrying homeward, with a beef-steak on a wooden skewer, or a +fresh fish, with a piece of tarred twine run through its gills. +In the evening he rocks the cradle, and gets up in the night when +the child cries. Like a Goth, of the Dark Ages, he consults his +wife on all mighty matters, and looks upon her as a being of more +than human goodness and wisdom. In short, the ladies all say he +is a very domestic man, and makes a good husband; which, under +the rose, is only a more polite way of saying he is hen-pecked. +He is a Happy Man. I have another dear friend, who is a +sexagenary bachelor. He has one of those well-oiled dispositions, +which turn upon the hinges of the world without creaking. The +hey-day of life is over with him; but his old age is sunny and +chirping; and a merry heart still nestles in his tottering frame, +like a swallow that builds in a tumble-down chimney. He is a +professed Squire of Dames. The rustle of a silk gown is music to +his ears, and his imagination is continuallylantern-led by some +will-with-a-wisp in the shape of a lady's stomacher. In his +devotion to the fair sex,--the muslin, as he calls it,--he is the +gentle flower of chivalry. It is amusing to see how quick he +strikes into the scent of a lady's handkerchief. When once fairly +in pursuit, there is no such thing as throwing him out. His heart +looks out at his eye; and his inward delight tingles down to the +tail of his coat. He loves to bask in the sunshine of a smile; +when he can breathe the sweet atmosphere of kid gloves and +cambric handkerchiefs, his soul is in its element; and his +supreme delight is to pass the morning, to use his own quaint +language, 'in making dodging calls, and wiggling round among the +ladies!' He is a lucky dog!"</p> + +<p>"And as a specimen of the class of Miserable Wretches, I +suppose you will take me," said Flemming, making an effort to +enter into his friend's humor. "Certainly I am wretched enough. +You may make me the stuffed bear,--the specimen of this +class."</p> + +<p>"By no means," replied Berkley; "you are not reduced so low. +He only is utterly wretched, who is the slave of his own +passions, or those of others. This, I trust, will never be your +condition. Why so wan and pale, fond lover? Do you remember Sir +John Suckling's Song?</p> + +<p>'Why so wan and pale, fond lover;</p> + +<p>Pr'ythee why so pale?</p> + +<p>Will, if looking well can't move her,</p> + +<p>Looking ill prevail?</p> + +<p>Pr'ythee why so pale?</p> + +<p>'Why so dull and mute, young sinner;</p> + +<p>Pr'ythee why so mute?</p> + +<p>Will, if speaking well can't win her,</p> + +<p>Saying nothing do 't?</p> + +<p>Pr'ythee why so mute?</p> + +<p>'Quit, quit, for shame! this cannot move,</p> + +<p>This cannot take her!</p> + +<p>If of herself she do not love,</p> + +<p>Nothing will make her!</p> + +<p>The devil take her!'</p> + +<p>How do you like that?"</p> + +<p>"To you I say quit, quit for shame;" replied Flemming. "Why +quote the songs of that witty and licentious age? Have you no +better consolation to offer me? How many, many times must I tell +you, that I bear the lady no ill-will. I do not blame her for not +loving me. I desire her happiness, even at the sacrifice of my +own."</p> + +<p>"That is generous in you, and deserves a better fate. But you +are so figurative in all you say, that a stranger would think you +had no real feeling,--and only fancied yourself in love."</p> + +<p>"Expression of feeling is different with different minds. It +is not always simple. Some minds, when excited, naturally speak +in figures and similitudes. They do not on that account feel less +deeply. This is obvious in our commonest modes of speech. It +depends upon the individual."</p> + +<p>"Kyrie Eleëson!"</p> + +<p>"Well, abuse my figures of speech as much as you please. What +I insist upon is, that you shall not abuse the lady. When did you +ever hear me breathe a whisper against her?"</p> + +<p>"Oho! Now you speak like Launce to his dog!"</p> + +<p>Their conversation, which had begun so merrily, was here +suddenly interrupted by a rattling peal of thunder, that +announced a near-approaching storm. It was late in the afternoon, +and the whole heaven black with low, trailing clouds. Still +blacker the storm came sailing up majestically from the +southwest, with almost unbroken volleys of distant thunder. The +wind seemed to be storming a cloud redoubt; and marched onward +with dust, and the green banners of the trees flapping in the +air, and heavy cannonading, and occasionally an explosion, like +the blowing up of a powder-wagon. Mingled with this was the sound +of thunder-bells from a village not far off. They were all +ringing dolefully to ward off the thunderbolt. At the entrance of +the village stood a large wooden crucifix; around which was a +crowd of priests and peasants, kneeling in the wet grass, by the +roadside, with their hands and eyes lifted toheaven, and praying +for rain. Their prayer was soon answered.</p> + +<p>The travellers drove on with the driving wind and rain. They +had come from Landeck, and hoped to reach Innsbruck before +midnight. Night closed in, and Flemming fell asleep with the loud +storm overhead, and at his feet the roaring Inn, a mountain +torrent leaping onward as wild and restless, as when it first +sprang from its cradle in the solitudes of Engaddin; meet emblem +of himself, thus rushing through the night. His slumber was long, +but broken; and at length he awoke in terror; for he heard a +voice pronounce in his ear distinctly these words;</p> + +<p>"They have brought the dead body."</p> + +<p>They were driving by a churchyard at the entrance of a town; +and among the tombs a dim lamp was burning before an image of the +Virgin. It had a most unearthly appearance. Flemming almost +feared to see the congregation of the dead go into the church and +sing their midnight mass. He spoke to Berkley; but received no +answer; he was in a deep sleep.</p> + +<p>"Then it was only a dream," said he to himself; "yet how +distinct the voice was! O, if we had spiritual organs, to see and +hear things now invisible and inaudible to us, we should behold +the whole air filled with the departing souls of that vast +multitude which every moment dies,--should behold them streaming +up like thin vapors heaven-ward, and hear the startling blast of +the archangel's trump sounding incessant through the universe and +proclaiming the awful judgment day. Truly the soul departs not +alone on its last journey, but spirits of its kind attend it, +when not ministering angels; and they go in families to the +unknown land! Neither in life nor in death are we alone."</p> + +<p>He slept again at intervals; and at length, though long after +midnight, reached Innsbruck between sleeping and waking; his mind +filled with dim recollections of the unspeakably dismal +night-journey;--the climbing of hills, and plunging into dark +ravines;--the momentary rattling of the wheels over paved streets +of towns, and the succeeding hollow rolling and tramping on the +wetearth;--the blackness of the night;--the thunder and lightning +and rain; the roar of waters, leaping through deep chasms by the +road-side, and the wind through the mountain-passes, sounding +loud and long, like the irrepressible laughter of the gods.</p> + +<p>The travellers on the morrow lingered not long in Innsbruck. +They did not fail, however, to visit the tomb of Maximilian in +the Franciscan Church of the Holy Cross, and gaze with some +admiration upon the twenty-eight gigantic bronze statues of +Godfrey of Bouillon, and King Arthur and Ernest the Iron-man, and +Frederick of the Empty Pockets, kings and heroes, and others, +which stand leaning on their swords between the columns of the +church, as if guarding the tomb of the dead. These statues +reminded Flemming of the bronze giants, which strike the hours on +the belfry of San Basso, in Venice, and of the flail-armed +monsters, that guarded the gateway of Angulaffer's castle in +Oberon. After gazing awhile at these motionless sentinels, they +went forth, and strolled throughthe public gardens, with the +jagged mountains right over their heads, and all around them +tall, melancholy pines, like Tyrolese peasants, with shaggy hair; +and at their feet the mad torrent of the Inn, sweeping with +turbid waves through the midst of the town. In the afternoon they +drove on towards Salzburg through the magnificent mountain-passes +of Waidering and Unken.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="4_4">CHAPTER III. SHADOWS ON THE +WALL.</a></h3> + +<p>On the following morning Flemming awoke in a chamber of the +Golden Ship at Salzburg, just as the clock in the Dome-church +opposite was striking ten. The window-shutters were closed, and +the room nearly dark. He was lying on his back, with his hands +crossed upon his breast, and his eyes looking up at the white +curtains overhead. He thought them the white marble canopy of a +tomb, and himself the marble statue, lying beneath. When the +clock ceased striking, the eight and twenty gigantic bronze +statues from the Church of Holy Rood in Innsbruck stalked into +the chamber, and arranged themselves along the walls, which +spread into dimly-lighted aisles and arches. On the painted +windows he saw Interlachen, withits Franciscan cloister, and the +Square Tower of the ruins. In a pendent, overhead, stood the +German student, as Saint Vitus; and on a lavatory, or basin of +holy-water, below, sat a cherub, with the form and features of +Berkley. Then the organ-pipes began to blow, and he heard the +voices of an invisible choir chanting. And anon the gilded gates +in the bronze screen before the chancel opened, and a bridal +procession passed through. The bride was clothed in the garb of +the Middle Ages; and held a book in her hand, with velvet covers, +and golden clasps. It was Mary Ashburton. She looked at him as +she passed. Her face was pale; and there were tears in her sweet +eyes. Then the gates closed again; and one of the oaken +poppy-heads over a carved stall, in the shape of an owl, flapped +its broad wings, and hooted, "Towhit! to-whoo!" Then the whole +scene changed; and he thought himself a monk's-head on a +gutterspout; and it rained dismally; and Berkley was standing +under with an umbrella, laughing!</p> + +<p>In other words, Flemming was in a ragingfever, and delirious. +He remained in this state for a week. The first thing he was +conscious of was hearing the doctor say to Berkley;</p> + +<p>"The crisis is passed. I now consider him out of danger."</p> + +<p>He then fell into a sweet sleep; the wild fever had swept away +like an angry, red cloud, and the refreshing summer rain began to +fall like dew upon the parched earth. Still another week; and +Flemming was, "sitting clothed, and in his right mind." Berkley +had been reading to him; and still held the book in his hand, +with his fore-finger between the leaves. It was a volume of +Hoffmann's writings.</p> + +<p>"How very strange it is," said he, "that you can hardly open +the biography of any German author, but you will find it begin +with an account of his grandfather. It will tell you how the +venerable old man walked up and down the garden among the gay +flowers, wrapped in his morning gown, which is likewise covered +with flowers, and perhaps wearing on his head a little velvet +cap. Oryou will find him sitting by the chimney-corner in the +great chair, smoking his ancestral pipe, with shaggy eyebrows and +eyes like birdsnests under the eaves of a house, and a mouth like +a Nuremberg nutcracker's. The future poet climbs upon the old +man's knees. His genius is not recognised yet. He is thought for +the most part a dull boy. His father is an austere man, or +perhaps dead. But the mother is still there, a sickly, saint-like +woman, with knitting-work, and an elder sister, who has already +been in love, and wears rings on her fingers;--</p> + +<p>'Death's heads, and such mementos,</p> + +<p>Her grandmother and worm-eaten aunts left to her,</p> + +<p>To tell her what her beauty must arrive at.' "</p> + +<p>"But this is not the case with the life of Hoffmann, if I +recollect right."</p> + +<p>"No, not precisely. Instead of the grandfather we have the +grandmother, a stately dame, who has long since shaken hands with +the vanities of life. The mother, separated from her husband, is +sick in mind and body, and flits to and fro, like a shadow. Then +there is an affectionate maiden aunt; and an uncle, a retired +judge, the terror of little boys,--the Giant Despair of this +Doubting Castle in Koenigsberg; and occasionally the benign +countenance of a venerable grand-uncle, whom Lamotte +Fouqué called a hero of the olden time in morning gown and +slippers, looks in at the door and smiles. In the upper story of +the same house lived a poor boy with his mother, who was so far +crazed as to believe herself to be the Virgin Mary, and her son +the Saviour of the world. Wild fancies, likewise, were to sweep +through the brain of that child. He was to meet Hoffmann +elsewhere and be his friend in after years, though as yet they +knew nothing of each other. This was Werner, who has made some +noise in German literature as the author of many wild +Destiny-Dramas."</p> + +<p>"Hoffmann died, I believe, in Berlin."</p> + +<p>"Yes. He left Koenigsberg at twenty years of age, and passed +the next eight years of his life in the Prussian-Polish +Provinces, where he held some petty office under government; and +took to himselfmany bad habits and a Polish wife. After this he +was Music-Director at various German theatres, and led a +wandering, wretched life for ten years. He then went to Berlin as +Clerk of the Exchange, and there remained till his death, which +took place some seven or eight years afterward."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see him?"</p> + +<p>"I was in Berlin during his lifetime, and saw him frequently. +I shall never forget the first time. It was at one of the +æsthetic Teas, given by a literary lady Unter den Linden, +where the lions were fed with convenient food, from tea and bread +and butter, up to oysters and Rhine-wine. During the evening my +attention was arrested by the entrance of a strange little +figure, with a wild head of brown hair. His eyes were bright +gray; and his thin lips closely pressed together with an +expression of not unpleasing irony. This strangelooking personage +began to bow his way through the crowd, with quick, nervous, +hinge-like motions, much resembling those of a marionette. He had +a hoarse voice, and such a rapid utterance, that although I +understood German well enough for ordinary purposes, I could not +understand one half he said. Ere long he had seated himself at +the piano-forte, and was improvising such wild, sweet fancies, +that the music of one's dreams is not more sweet and wild. Then +suddenly some painful thought seemed to pass over his mind, as if +he imagined, that he was there to amuse the company. He rose from +the piano-forte, and seated himself in another part of the room; +where he began to make grimaces, and talk loud while others were +singing. Finally he disappeared, like a hobgoblin, laughing, 'Ho! +ho! ho!' I asked a person beside me who this strange being was. +'That was Hoffmann,' was the answer. 'The Devil!' said I. 'Yes,' +continued my informant; 'and if you should follow him now, you +would see him plunge into an obscure and unfrequented +wine-cellar, and there, amid boon companions, with wine and +tobacco-smoke, and quirks and quibbles, and quaint, witty +sayings, turn the dim night into glorious day.' "</p> + +<p>"What a strange being!"</p> + +<p>"I once saw him at one of his night-carouses. He was sitting +in his glory, at the head of the table; not stupidly drunk, but +warmed with wine, which made him madly eloquent, as the Devil's +Elixir did the Monk Medardus. There, in the full tide of witty +discourse, or, if silent, his gray, hawk eye flashing from +beneath his matted hair, and taking note of all that was +grotesque in the company round him, sat this unfortunate genius, +till the day began to dawn. Then he found his way homeward, +having, like the souls of the envious in Purgatory, his eyelids +sewed together with iron wire;--though his was from champagne +bottles. At such hours he wrote his wild, fantastic tales. To his +excited fancy everything assumed a spectral look. The shadows of +familiar things about him stalked like ghosts through the haunted +chambers of his soul; and the old portraits on the walls winked +at him, and seemed stepping down from their frames; till, aghast +at the spectral throng about him, he would call his wife from her +bed, to sit by him while he wrote."</p> + +<p>"No wonder he died in the prime of life!"</p> + +<p>"No. The only wonder is, that he could have followed this +course of life for six years. I am astonished that it did not +kill him sooner."</p> + +<p>"But death came at last in an appalling shape."</p> + +<p>"Yes; his forty-sixth birth day found him sitting at home in +his arm-chair, with his friends around him. But the rare old +wine,--he always drank the best,--touched not the sick-man's lips +that night. His wonted humor was gone. Of all his 'jibes, his +gambols, his songs, his flashes of merriment, that were wont to +set the table on a roar, not one now, to mock his own +grinning!--quite chap-fallen.'--The conversation was of death and +the grave. And when one of his friends said, that life was not +the highest good, Hoffmann interrupted him, exclaiming with a +startling earnestness; 'No, no! Life, life, only life! on any +condition whatsoever!' Five months after this he had ceased to +suffer, because he had ceased to live. He died piecemeal. His +feet and hands, his legs and arms, gradually, and in succession, +became motionless, dead. But his spirit was not dead, nor +motionless; and, through the solitary day or sleepless night, +lying in his bed, he dictated to an amanuensis his last stories. +Strange stories, indeed, were they for a dying man to write! Yet +such delight did he take in dictating them, that he said to his +friend Hitzig, that, upon the whole, he was willing to give up +forever the use of his hands, if he could but preserve the power +of writing by dictation. Such was his love of life,--of what he +called the sweet habitude of being!"</p> + +<p>"Was it not he, who in his last hours expressed such a longing +to behold the green fields once more; and exclaimed; 'Heaven! it +is already summer, and I have not yet seen a single green tree!' +"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that was Hoffmann. Soon afterwards he died. The closing +scene was striking. He gradually lost all sensation, though his +mind remained vigorous. Feeling no more pain, he said to his +physician; 'It will soon be over now. I feel no more pain.' He +thought himself well again; but the physician knew that he was +dying, and said; 'Yes, it will soon be over!' The next morning he +called his wife to his bed-side; and begged her to fold his +motionless hands together. Then, as he raised his eyes to heaven, +she heard him say, 'We must, then, think of God, also!' More +sorrowful words than these have seldom fallen from the lips of +man. Shortly afterwards the flame of life glared up within him; +he said he was well again; that in the evening he should go on +with the story he was writing; and wished that the last sentence +might be read over to him. Shortly after this they turned his +face to the wall, and he died."</p> + +<p>"And thus passed to its account a human soul, after much +self-inflicted suffering. Let us tread lightly upon the poet's +ashes. For my part, I confess, that I have not the heart to take +him from the general crowd of erring, sinful men, and judge him +harshly. The little I have seen of the world, and know of the +history of mankind, teaches me to look upon the errors of others +in sorrow, not inanger. When I take the history of one poor heart +that has sinned and suffered, and represent to myself the +struggles and temptations it has passed,--the brief pulsations of +joy,--the feverish inquie-tude of hope and fear,--the tears of +regret,--the feebleness of purpose,--the pressure of want,--the +desertion of friends,--the scorn of a world that has little +charity,--the desolation of the soul's sanctuary,--and +threatening voices within,--health gone,--happiness gone,--even +hope, that stays longest with us, gone,--I have little heart for +aught else than thankfulness, that it is not so with me, and +would fain leave the erring soul of my fellow-man with Him, from +whose hands it came,</p> + +<p>'even as a little child,</p> + +<p>Weeping and laughing in its childish sport.' "</p> + +<p>"You are right. And it is worth a student's while to observe +calmly how tobacco, wine, and midnight did their work like fiends +upon the delicate frame of Hoffmann; and no less thoroughly upon +his delicate mind. He who drinks beer, thinks beer; and he who +drinks wine, thinks wine;--and he who drinks midnight, thinks +midnight. He was a man of rare intellect. He was endowed with +racy humor and sarcastic wit, and a glorious imagination. But the +fire of his genius burned not peacefully, and with a steady +flame, upon the hearth of his home. It was a glaring and +irregular flame;--for the branches that he fed it with, were not +branches from the Tree of Life,--but from another tree that grew +in Paradise,--and they were wet with the unhealthy dews of night, +and more unhealthy wine; and thus, amid smoke and ashes the fire +burned fitfully, and went out with a glare, which leaves the +beholder blind."</p> + +<p>"This fire within him was a Meleager's fire-brand; and, when +it burned out, he died. And, as you say, marks of all this are +clearly visible in Hoffmann's writings. Indeed, when I read his +strange fancies, it is with me, as when in the summer night I +hear the rising wind among the trees, and the branches bow, and +beckon with their long fingers, and voices go gibbering and +mockingthrough the air. A feeling of awe and mysterious dread +comes over me. I wish to hear the sound of living voice or +footstep near me,--to see a friendly and familiar face. In truth, +if it be late at night, the reader as well as the writer of these +unearthly fancies, would fain have a patient, meek-eyed wife, +with her knitting-work, at his elbow."</p> + +<p>Berkley smiled; but Flemming continued without noticing the +smile, though he knew what was passing in the mind of his +friend;</p> + +<p>"The life and writings of this singular being interest me in a +high degree. Oftentimes one may learn more from a man's errors, +than from his virtues. Moreover, from the common sympathies of +our nature, souls that have struggled and suffered are dear to +me. Willingly do I recognise their brotherhood. Scars upon their +foreheads do not so deform them, that they cease to interest. +They are always signs of struggle; though alas! too often, +likewise, of defeat. Seasons of unhealthy, dreamy, vague delight, +are followed by seasons ofweariness and darkness. Where are then +the bright fancies, that, amid the great stillness of the night, +arise like stars in the firmament of our souls? The morning +dawns, the light of common day shines in upon us, and the heavens +are without a star! From the lives of such men we learn, that +mere pleasant sensations are not happiness;--that sensual +pleasures are to be drunk sparingly, and, as it were, from the +palm of the hand; and that those who bow down upon their knees to +drink of these bright streams that water life, are not chosen of +God either to overthrow or to overcome!"</p> + +<p>"I think you are very lenient in your judgment. This is not +the usual defect of critics. Like Shakspeare's samphire-gatherer, +they have a dreadful trade! and, to make the simile complete, +they ought to hang for it!"</p> + +<p>"Methinks it would be hard to hang a man for the sake of a +simile. But which of Hoffmann's works is it, that you have in +your hand?"</p> + +<p>"His Phatasy-Pieces in Callot's manner. Who was this +Callot?"</p> + +<p>"He was a Lorrain painter of the seventeenth century, +celebrated for his wild and grotesque conceptions. These sketches +of Hoffmann are imitations of his style. They are full of humor, +poetry, and brilliant imagination."</p> + +<p>"And which of them shall I read to you? The Ritter Glück; +or the Musical Sufferings of John Kreisler; or that very +exquisite story of the Golden Jar, wherein is depicted the life +of Poesy, in this common-place world of ours?"</p> + +<p>"Read the shortest. Read Kreisler. That will amuse me. It is a +picture of his own sufferings at the æsthetic Teas in +Berlin, supposed to be written in pencil on the blank leaves of a +music-book."</p> + +<p>Thereupon Berkley leaned back in his easychair, and read as +follows.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="4_5">CHAPTER IV. MUSICAL SUFFERINGS +OF JOHN KREISLER.</a></h3> + +<p>"They are all gone! I might have known it by the whispering, +shuffling, coughing, buzzing through all the notes of the gamut. +It was a true swarm of bees, leaving the old hive. Gottlieb has +lighted fresh candles for me, and placed a bottle of Burgundy on +the piano-forte. I can play no more, I am perfectly exhausted. My +glorious old friend here on the music-stand is to blame for that. +Again he has borne me away through the air, as Mephistopheles did +Faust, and so high, that I took not the slightest notice of the +little men under me, though I dare say they made noise enough. A +rascally, worthless, wasted evening! But now I am well and merry! +However, while I was playing, I took out my pencil, and on +pagesixty-three, under the last system, noted down a couple of +good flourishes in cipher with my right hand, while the left was +struggling away in the torrent of sweet sounds. Upon the blank +page at the end I go on writing. I leave all ciphers and sweet +tones, and with true delight, like a sick man restored to health, +who can never stop relating what he has suffered, I note down +here circumstantially the dire agonies of this evening's +tea-party. And not for myself alone, but likewise for all those +who from time to time may amuse and edify themselves with my copy +of John Sebastian Bach's Variations for the Piano-forte, +published by Nägeli in Zürich, and who find my marks at +the end of the thirtieth variation, and, led on by the great +Latin Verte, (I will write it down the moment I get through this +doleful statement of grievances,) turn over the leaf and +read.</p> + +<p>"They will at once see the connexion. They know, that the +Geheimerath Rödelein's house is a charming house to visit +in, and that he has two daughters, of whom the whole fashionable +world proclaims with enthusiasm, that they dance like goddesses, +speak French like angels, and play and sing and draw like the +Muses. The Geheimerath Rödelein is a rich man. At his +quarterly dinners he brings on the most delicious wines and +richest dishes. All is established on a footing of the greatest +elegance; and whoever at his tea-parties does not amuse himself +heavenly, has no ton, no esprit, and particularly no taste for +the fine arts. It is with an eye to these, that, with the tea, +punch, wine, ice-creams, etc., a little music is always served +up, which, like the other refreshments, is very quietly swallowed +by the fashionable world.</p> + +<p>"The arrangements are as follows.--After every guest has had +time enough to drink as many cups of tea as he may wish, and +punch and ices have been handed round twice, the servants wheel +out the card-tables for the elder and more solid part of the +company, who had rather play cards than any musical instrument; +and, to tell the truth, this kind of playing does not make such a +useless noise as others, and you hear only the clink of +money.</p> + +<p>"This is a hint for the younger part of the company to pounce +upon the Misses Rödelein. A great tumult ensues; in the +midst of which you can distinguish these words,--</p> + +<p>"'Schönes Fräulein! do not refuse us the +gratification of your heavenly talent! O, sing something! that's +a good dear!--impossible,--bad cold,--the last ball! have not +practised anything,--oh, do, do, we beg of you,' etc.</p> + +<p>"Meanwhile Gottlieb has opened the piano-forte, and placed the +well-known music-book on the stand; and from the card-table cries +the respectable mamma,--</p> + +<p>" 'Chantez donc, mes enfans!'</p> + +<p>"That is the cue of my part. I place myself at the +piano-forte, and the Rödeleins are led up to the instrument +in triumph.</p> + +<p>"And now another difficulty arises. Neither wishes to sing +first.</p> + +<p>"'You know, dear Nanette, how dreadful hoarse I am.'</p> + +<p>"'Why, my dear Marie, I am as hoarse as you are.'</p> + +<p>"'I sing so badly!--'</p> + +<p>"'O, my dear child; do begin!'</p> + +<p>"My suggestion, (I always make the same!) that they should +both begin together with a duet, is loudly applauded;--the +music-book is thumbed over, and the leaf, carefully folded down, +is at length found, and away we go with Dolce dell' anima, +etc.</p> + +<p>"To tell the truth, the talent of the Misses Rödelein is +not the smallest. I have been an instructer here only five years, +and little short of two years in the Rödelein family. In +this short time, Fräulein Nanette has made such progress, +that a tune, which she has heard at the theatre only ten times, +and has played on the piano-forte, at farthest, ten times more, +she will sing right off, so that you know in a moment what it is. +Fräulein Marie catches it at the eighth time; and if she is +sometimes a quarter of a note lower than the piano-forte, after +all it is very tolerable, considering her pretty little +doll-face, and very passable rosy-lips.</p> + +<p>"After the duet, a universal chorus of applause! And now +arriettas and duettinos succeed each other, and right merrily I +hammer away at the thousand-times-repeated accompaniment. During +the singing, the Finanzräthin Eberstein, by coughing and +humming, has given to understand that she also sings. +Fräulein Nanette says;</p> + +<p>"'But, my dear Finanzräthin, now you must let us hear +your exquisite voice.'</p> + +<p>"A new tumult arises. She has a bad cold in her head,--she +does not know anything by heart! Gottlieb brings straightway two +armfuls of music-books; and the leaves are turned over again and +again. First she thinks she will sing Der Hölle Rache, etc., +then Hebe sich, etc., then Ach, Ich liebte, etc. In this +embarrassment, I propose, Ein Veilchen auf der Wiese, etc. But +she is for the heroic style; she wants to make a display, and +finally selects the aria in Constantia.</p> + +<p>"O scream, squeak, mew, gurgle, groan, agonize, quiver, +quaver, just as much as you please, Madam,--I have my foot on the +fortissimo pedal, and thunder myself deaf! O Satan, Satan! which +of thy goblins damned has got into this throat, pinching, and +kicking, and cuffing the tones about so! Four strings have +snapped already, and one hammer is lamed for life. My ears ring +again,--my head hums,--my nerves tremble! Have all the harsh +notes from the cracked trumpet of a strolling-player been +imprisoned in this little throat! (But this excites me,--I must +drink a glass of Burgundy.)</p> + +<p>"The applause was unbounded; and some one observed, that the +Finanzräthin and Mozart had put me quite in a blaze. I +smiled with downcast eyes, very stupidly. I could but acknowledge +it. And now all talents, which hitherto had bloomed unseen, were +in motion, wildly flitting to and fro. They were bent upon a +surfeit of music; tuttis, finales, choruses must be performed. +The Canonicus Kratzer sings, you know, a heavenly bass, as was +observed by the gentleman yonder, with the head of Titus +Andronicus, who modestly remarked also, that he himself was +properly only a second-ratetenor; but, though he said it, who +should not say it, was nevertheless member of several academies +of music. Forthwith preparations are made for the first chorus in +the opera of Titus. It went off gloriously. The Canonicus, +standing close behind me, thundered out the bass over my head, as +if he were singing with bass-drums and trumpet obbligato in a +cathedral. He struck the notes gloriously; but in his hurry he +got the tempo just about twice too slow. However, he was true to +himself at least in this, that through the whole piece he dragged +along just half a beat behind the rest. The others showed a most +decided penchant for the ancient Greek music, which, as is well +known, having nothing to do with harmony, ran on in unison or +monotone. They all sang treble, with slight variations, caused by +accidental rising and falling of the voice, say some quarter of a +note.</p> + +<p>"This somewhat noisy affair produced a universal tragic state +of feeling, namely a kind of terror, even at the card-tables, +which for the momentcould no longer, as before, chime in +melodramatic, by weaving into the music sundry exclamations; as, +for instance;</p> + +<p>" 'O! I loved,--eight and forty,--was so happy,--I pass,--then +I knew not,--whist,--pangs of love,--follow suit,' etc.--It has a +very pretty effect. (I fill my glass.)</p> + +<p>"That was the highest point of the musical exhibition this +evening. 'Now it is all over,' thought I to myself. I shut the +book, and got up from the piano-forte. But the baron, my ancient +tenor, came up to me, and said;</p> + +<p>" 'My dear Herr Capellmeister, they say you play the most +exquisite voluntaries! Now do play us one; only a short one, I +entreat you!'</p> + +<p>"I answered very drily, that to-day my fantasies had all gone +a wool-gathering; and, while we are talking about it, a devil, in +the shape of a dandy, with two waistcoats, had smelt out Bach's +Variations, which were lying under my hat in the next room. He +thinks they are merely little variations, such as Nel cor mio non +più sento, or Ah, vous dirai-je, maman, etc., and insists +upon it, that I shall play them. I try to excuse myself, but they +all attack me. So then, 'Listen, and burst with ennui,' think I +to myself,--and begin to work away.</p> + +<p>"When I had got to variation number three, several ladies +departed, followed by the gentleman with the Titus-Andronicus +head. The Rödeleins, as their teacher was playing, stood it +out, though not without difficulty, to number twelve. Number +fifteen made the man with two waistcoats take to his heels. Out +of most excessive politeness, the Baron stayed till number +thirty, and drank up all the punch, which Gottlieb placed on the +piano-forte for me.</p> + +<p>"I should have brought all to a happy conclusion, but, alas! +this number thirty,--the theme,--tore me irresistibly away. +Suddenly the quarto leaves spread out to a gigantic folio, on +which a thousand imitations and developments of the theme stood +written, and I could not choose but play them. The notes became +alive, and glimmered and hopped all round about me,--an electric +firestreamed through the tips of my fingers into the keys,--the +spirit, from which it gushed forth, spread his broad wings over +my soul, the whole room was filled with a thick mist, in which +the candles burned dim,--and through which peered forth now a +nose, and anon a pair of eyes, and then suddenly vanished away +again. And thus it came to pass, that I was left alone with my +Sebastian Bach, by Gottlieb attended, as by a familiar spirit. +(Your good health, Sir.)</p> + +<p>"Is an honest musician to be tormented with music, as I have +been to-day, and am so often tormented? Verily, no art is so +damnably abused, as this same glorious, holy Musica, who, in her +delicate being, is so easily desecrated. Have you real +talent,--real feeling for art? Then study music;--do something +worthy of the art,--and dedicate your whole soul to the beloved +saint. If without this you have a fancy for quavers and +demi-semi-quavers, practise for yourself and by yourself, and +torment not therewith the Capellmeister Kreisler and others.</p> + +<p>"Well, now I might go home, and put the finishing touch to my +sonata for the piano-forte; but it is not yet eleven o'clock, +and, withal, a beautiful summer night. I will lay any wager, +that, at my next-door neighbour's, (the Oberjägermeister,) +the young ladies are sitting at the window, screaming down into +the street, for the twentieth time, with harsh, sharp, piercing +voices, 'When thine eye is beaming love,'--but only the first +stanza, over and over again. Obliquely across the way, some one +is murdering the flute, and has, moreover, lungs like Rameau's +nephew; and, in notes of 'linked sweetness long drawn out,' his +neighbour is trying acoustic experiments on the French horn. The +numerous dogs of the neighbourhood are growing unquiet, and my +landlord's cat, inspired by that sweet duet, is making close by +my window (for, of course, my musico-poetic laboratory is an +attic,) certain tender confessions,--upward through the whole +chromatic scale, soft complaining, to the neighbour's puss, with +whom he has been in love since March last! Till this is all +fairly over, II think will sit quietly here. Besides, there is +still blank paper and Burgundy left, of which I forthwith take a +sip.</p> + +<p>"There is, as I have heard, an ancient law, forbidding those, +who followed any noisy handicraft, from living near literary men. +Should not then musical composers, poor, and hard beset, and who, +moreover, are forced to coin their inspiration into gold, to spin +out the thread of life withal, be allowed to apply this law to +themselves, and banish out of the neighbourhood all +ballad-singers and bagpipers? What would a painter say, while +transferring to his canvass a form of ideal beauty, if you should +hold up before him all manner of wild faces and ugly masks? He +might shut his eyes, and in this way, at least, quietly follow +out the images of fancy. Cotton, in one's ears, is of no use; one +still hears the dreadful massacre. And then the idea,--the bare +idea, 'Now they are going to sing,--now the horn strikes up,'--is +enough to send one's sublimest conceptions to the very +devil."</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="4_6">CHAPTER V. SAINT +GILGEN.</a></h3> + +<p>It was a bright Sunday morning when Flemming and Berkley left +behind them the cloud-capped hills of Salzburg, and journeyed +eastward towards the lakes. The landscape around them was one to +attune their souls to holy musings. Field, forest, hill and vale, +fresh air, and the perfume of clover-fields and new-mown hay, +birds singing, and the sound of village bells, and the moving +breeze among the branches,--no laborers in the fields, but +peasants on their way to church, coming across the green +pastures, with roses in their hats,--the beauty and quiet of the +holy day of rest,--all, all in earth and air, breathed upon the +soul like a benediction.</p> + +<p>They stopped to change horses at Hof, a handfulof houses on +the brow of a breezy hill, the church and tavern standing +opposite to each other, and nothing between them but the dusty +road, and the churchyard, with its iron crosses, and the +fluttering tinsel of the funeral garlands. In the churchyard and +at the tavern-door, were groups of peasants, waiting for divine +service to begin. They were clothed in their holiday dresses. The +men wore breeches and long boots, and frock-coats with large +metal buttons; the women, straw hats, and gay calico gowns, with +short waists and scant folds. They were adorned with a profusion +of great, trumpery ornaments, and reminded Flemming of the +Indians in the frontier villages of America. Near the +churchyard-gate was a booth, filled with flaunting calicos; and +opposite sat an old woman behind a table, which was loaded with +ginger-bread. She had a roulette at her elbow, where the peasants +risked a kreutzer for a cake. On other tables, cases of knives, +scythes, reaping-hooks, and other implements of husbandry were +offered for sale.</p> + +<p>The travellers continued their journey, without stopping to +hear mass. In the course of the forenoon they came suddenly in +sight of the beautiful Lake of Saint Wolfgang, lying deep beneath +them in the valley. On its shore, under them, sat the white +village of Saint Gilgen, like a swan upon its reedy nest. They +seemed to have taken it unawares, and as it were clapped their +hands upon it in its sleep, and almost expected to see it spread +its broad, snow-white wings, and fly away. The whole scene was +one of surpassing beauty.</p> + +<p>They drove leisurely down the steep hill, and stopped at the +village inn. Before the door was a magnificent, broad-armed tree, +with benches and tables beneath its shadow. On the front of the +house was written in large letters, "Post-Tavern by Franz +Schoendorfer"; and over this was a large sun-dial, and a +half-effaced painting of a bear-hunt, covering the whole side of +the house, and mostly red. Just as they drove up, a procession of +priests with banners, and peasants with their hats in their +hands, passed by towards the church. They were singing a solemn +psalm. At the same moment, a smart servant girl, with a black +straw hat, set coquettishly on her flaxen hair, and a large +silver spoon stuck in her girdle, came out of the tavern, and +asked Flemming what he would please to order for breakfast.</p> + +<p>Breakfast was soon ready, and was served up at the head of the +stairs, on an old-fashioned oaken table in the great hall, into +which the chambers opened. Berkley ordered at the same time a tub +of cold water, in which he seated himself, with his coat on, and +a bed-quilt thrown round his knees. Thus he sat for an hour; ate +his breakfast, and smoked a pipe, and laughed a good deal. He +then went to bed and slept till dinner time. Meanwhile Flemming +sat in his chamber and read. It was a large room in the front of +the house, looking upon the village and the lake. The windows +were latticed, with small panes, and the window-sills filled with +fragrant flowers.</p> + +<p>At length the heat of the noon was over. Day, like a weary +pilgrim, had reached the westerngate of Heaven, and Evening +stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal-shoon. +Flemming and Berkley sallied forth to ramble by the borders of +the lake. Down the cool, green glades and alleys, beneath the +illuminated leaves of the forest, over the rising grounds, in the +glimmering fretwork of sunshine and leaf-shadow,--an exhilarating +walk! The cool evening air by the lake was like a bath. They +drank the freshness of the hour in thirsty draughts, and their +breasts heaved rejoicing and revived, after the feverish, long +confinement of the sultry summer day. And there, too, lay the +lake, so beautiful and still! Did it not recall, think ye, the +lake of Thun?</p> + +<p>On their return homeward they passed near the village +churchyard.</p> + +<p>"Let us go in and see how the dead rest," said Flemming, as +they passed beneath the belfry of the church; and they went in, +and lingered among the tombs and the evening shadows.</p> + +<p>How peaceful is the dwelling-place of those who inhabit the +green hamlets, and populous cities of the dead! They need no +antidote for care,--nor armour against fate. No morning sun +shines in at the closed windows, and awakens them, nor shall +until the last great day. At most a straggling sunbeam creeps in +through the crumbling wall of an old neglected tomb,--a strange +visiter, that stays not long. And there they all sleep, the holy +ones, with their arms crossed upon their breasts, or lying +motionless by their sides,--not carved in marble by the hand of +man, but formed in dust, by the hand of God. God's peace be with +them. No one comes to them now, to hold them by the hand, and +with delicate fingers smooth their hair. They heed no more the +blandishments of earthly friendship. They need us not, however +much we may need them. And yet they silently await our +coming.</p> + +<p>Beautiful is that season of life, when we can say, in the +language of Scripture, "Thou hast the dew of thy youth." But of +these flowers Death gathers many. He places them upon his bosom, +and his form becomes transformed into somethingless terrific than +before. We learn to gaze and shudder not; for he carries in his +arms the sweet blossoms of our earthly hopes. We shall see them +all again, blooming in a happier land.</p> + +<p>Yes, Death brings us again to our friends. They are waiting +for us, and we shall not live long. They have gone before us, and +are like the angels in heaven. They stand upon the borders of the +grave to welcome us, with the countenance of affection, which +they wore on earth; yet more lovely, more radiant, more +spiritual! O, he spake well who said, that graves are the +foot-prints of angels.</p> + +<p>Death has taken thee, too, and thou hast the dew of thy youth. +He has placed thee upon his bosom, and his stern countenance +wears a smile. The far country, toward which we journey, seems +nearer to us, and the way less dark; for thou hast gone before, +passing so quietly to thy rest, that day itself dies not more +calmly!</p> + +<p>It was in an hour of blessed communion with the souls of the +departed, that the sweet poet Henry Vaughan wrote those few +lines, whichhave made death lovely, and his own name +immortal!</p> + +<p>"They are all gone into a world of light,</p> + +<p>And I alone sit lingering here!</p> + +<p>Their very memory is fair and bright,</p> + +<p>And my sad thoughts doth clear.</p> + +<p>"It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,</p> + +<p>Like stars upon some gloomy grove,</p> + +<p>Or those faint beams in which the hill is dressed,</p> + +<p>After the sun's remove.</p> + +<p>"I see them walking in an air of glory,</p> + +<p>Whose light doth trample on my days,</p> + +<p>My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,</p> + +<p>Mere glimmerings and decays.</p> + +<p>"O holy hope, and high humility,</p> + +<p>High as the heavens above!</p> + +<p>These are your walks, and ye have showed them me,</p> + +<p>To kindle my cold love.</p> + +<p>"Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just!</p> + +<p>Shining nowhere but in the dark!</p> + +<p>What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,</p> + +<p>Could man outlook that mark!</p> + +<p>"He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may know,</p> + +<p>At first sight, if the bird be flown;</p> + +<p>But what fair field or grove he sings in now,</p> + +<p>That is to him unknown.</p> + +<p>"And yet as angels, in some brighter dreams,</p> + +<p>Call to the soul, when man doth sleep,</p> + +<p>So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,</p> + +<p>And into glory peep!"</p> + +<p>Such were Flemming's thoughts, as he stood among the tombs at +evening in the churchyard of Saint Gilgen. A holy calm stole over +him. The fever of his heart was allayed. He had a moment's rest +from pain; and went back to his chamber in peace. Whence came +this holy calm, this long-desired tranquillity? He knew not; yet +the place seemed consecrated. He resolved to linger there, beside +the lake, which was a Pool of Bethesda for him; and let Berkley +go on alone to the baths of Ischel. He would wait for him there +in the solitude of Saint Gilgen. Long after they had parted for +the night, he sat in his chamber, and thought of what he had +suffered, and enjoyedthe silence within and without. Hour after +hour, slipped by unheeded, as he sat lost in his reverie. At +length, his candle sank in its socket, gave one flickering gleam, +and expired with a sob. This aroused him.</p> + +<p>He went to the window, and peered out into the dark night. It +was very late. Twice already since midnight had the great +pulpit-orator Time, like a preacher in the days of the Puritans, +turned the hour-glass on his high pulpit, the church belfry, and +still went on with his sermon, thundering downward to the +congregation in the churchyard and in the village. But they heard +him not. They were all asleep in their narrow pews, namely, in +their beds and in their graves. Soon afterward the cock crew; and +the cloudy heaven, like the apostle, who denied his Lord, wept +bitterly.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="4_7">CHAPTER VI. SAINT +WOLFGANG.</a></h3> + +<p>The morning is lovely beyond expression. The heat of the sun +is great; but a gentle wind cools the air. Birds never sang more +loud and clear. The flowers, too, on the window-sill, and on the +table, rose, geranium, and the delicate crimson cactus, are all +so beautiful, that we think the German poet right, when he calls +the flowers "stars in the firmament of the earth." Out of doors +all is quiet. Opposite the window stands the village schoolhouse. +There are two parasite trees, with their outspread branches +nailed against the white walls, like the wings of culprit kites. +There the rods grow. Under them, on a bench at the door, sit +school-girls; and barefoot urchins in breeches are spelling out +their lessons. The clock strikestwelve, and one by one they +disappear, and go into the hive, like bees at the sound of a +brass pan. At the door of the next house sits a poor woman, +knitting in the shade; and in front of her is an aqueduct pouring +its cool, clear water into a rough wooden trough. A travelling +carriage without horses, stands at the inn-door, and a postilion +in red jacket is talking with a blacksmith, who wears blue +woollen stockings and a leather apron. Beyond is a stable, and +still further a cluster of houses and the village church. They +are repairing the belfry and the bulbous steeple. A little +farther, over the roofs of the houses, you can see Saint +Wolfgang's Lake. Water so bright and beautiful hardly flows +elsewhere. Green, and blue, and silver-white run into each other, +with almost imperceptible change, like the streaks on the sides +of a mackerel. And above are the pinnacles of the mountains; some +bald, and rocky, and cone-shaped, and others bold, and broad, and +dark with pines.</p> + +<p>Such was the scene, which Paul Flemming beheldfrom his window +a few mornings after Berkley's departure. The quiet of the place +had soothed him. He had become more calm. His heart complained +less loudly in the holy village silence, as we are wont to lower +our voices when those around us speak in whispers. He began to +feel at times an interest in the lowly things around him. The +face of the landscape pleased him, but more than this the face of +the poor woman who sat knitting in the shade. It was a pale, meek +countenance, with more delicacy in its features than is usual +among peasantry. It wore also an expression of patient suffering. +As he was looking at her, a deformed child came out of the door +and hung upon her knees. She caressed him affectionately. It was +her child; in whom she beheld her own fair features distorted and +hardly to be recognised, as one sometimes sees his face reflected +from the bowl of a spoon.</p> + +<p>The child's deformity and the mother's tenderness interested +the feelings of Flemming. The landlady told him something of the +poor woman's history. She was the widow of a blacksmith, who had +died soon after their marriage. But she survived to become a +mother, just as, in oaks, immediately after fecundation, the male +flower fades and falls, while the female continues and ripens +into perfect fruit. Alas! her child was deformed. Yet she looked +upon him with eyes of maternal fondness and pity, loving him +still more for his deformity. And in her heart she said, as the +Mexicans say to their new-born offspring, "Child, thou art come +into the world to suffer. Endure, and hold thy peace." Though +poor, she was not entirely destitute; for her husband had left +her, beside the deformed child, a life estate in a tomb in the +churchyard of Saint Gilgen. During the week she labored for other +people, and on Sundays for herself, by going to church and +reading the Bible. On one of the blank leaves she had recorded +the day of her birth, and that of her child's, likewise her +marriage and her husband's death. Thus she lived, poor, patient +and resigned. Her heart was a passion-flower, bearing within it +the crown of thorns and the cross of Christ. Her ideas of Heaven +were few and simple. She rejected the doctrine that it was a +place of constant activity, and not of repose, and believed, +that, when she at length reached it, she should work no more, but +sit always in a clean white apron, and sing psalms.</p> + +<p>As Flemming sat meditating on these things, he paid new homage +in his heart to the beauty and excellence of the female +character. He thought of the absent and the dead; and said, with +tears in his eyes;</p> + +<p>"Shall I thank God for the green Summer, and the mild air, and +the flowers, and the stars, and all that makes this world so +beautiful, and not for the good and beautiful beings I have known +in it? Has not their presence been sweeter to me than flowers? +Are they not higher and holier than the stars? Are they not more +to me than all things else?"</p> + +<p>Thus the morning passed away in musings; andin the afternoon, +when Flemming was preparing to go down to the lake, as his custom +was, a carriage drew up before the door, and, to his great +astonishment, out jumped Berkley. The first thing he did was to +give the Postmaster, who stood near the door, a smart cut with +his whip. The sufferer gently expostulated, saying,</p> + +<p>"Pray, Sir, don't; I am lame."</p> + +<p>Whereupon Berkley desisted, and began instead to shake the +Postmaster's wife by the shoulders, and order his dinner in +English. But all this was done so good-naturedly, and with such a +rosy, laughing face, that no offence was taken.</p> + +<p>"So you have returned much sooner than you intended;" said +Flemming, after the first friendly salutations.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Berkley; "I got tired of Ischel,--very tired. I +did not find the friends there, whom I expected. Now I am going +back to Salzburg, and then to Gastein. There I shall certainly +find them. You must go with me."</p> + +<p>Flemming declined the invitation; and proposedto Berkley, that +he should join him in his excursion on the lake.</p> + +<p>"You shall hear the grand echo of the Falkenstein," said he, +"and behold the scene of the Bridal Tragedy; and then we will go +on as far as the village of Saint Wolfgang, which you have not +yet seen, except across the lake."</p> + +<p>"Well, this afternoon I devote to you; for to-morrow we part +once more, and who knows when we shall meet again?"</p> + +<p>They went down to the water's side without farther delay; and, +taking a boat with two oars, struck across an elbow of the lake +towards a barren rock by the eastern shore, from which a small +white monument shone in the sun.</p> + +<p>"That monument," said one of the boatmen, a stout young lad in +leather breeches, "was built by a butcher, to the glory of Saint +Wolfgang, who saved him from drowning. He was one day riding an +ox to market along the opposite bank; when the animal taking +fright, sprang into the water, and swam over to this place, with +the butcher on his back."</p> + +<p>"And do you think he could have done this," asked Berkley; "if +Saint Wolfgang had not helped him?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not!" answered leather-breeches; and the Englishman +laughed.</p> + +<p>From this point they rowed along under the shore to a low +promontory, upon which stood another monument, commemorating a +more tragical event.</p> + +<p>"This is the place I was speaking of," said Flemming, as the +boatmen rested on their oars. "The melancholy and singular event +it commemorates happened more than two centuries ago. There was a +bridal party here upon the ice one winter; and in the midst of +the dance the ice broke, and the whole merry company were drowned +together, except the fiddlers, who were sitting on the +shore."</p> + +<p>They looked in silence at the monument, and at the blue quiet +water, under which the bones of the dancers lay buried, hand in +hand. The monument is of stone, painted white, with an +over-hangingroof to shelter it from storms. In a niche in front +is a small image of the Saviour, in a sitting posture; and an +inscription, upon a marble tablet below, says that it was placed +there by Longinus Walther and his wife Barbara Juliana von +Hainberg; themselves long since peacefully crumbled to dust, side +by side in some churchyard.</p> + +<p>"That was breaking the ice with a vengeance!" said Berkley, as +they pushed out into the lake again; and ere long they were +floating beneath the mighty precipice of Falkenstein; a steep +wall of rock, crowned with a chapel and a hermitage, where in +days of old lived the holy Saint Wolfgang. It is now haunted only +by an echo, so distinct and loud, that one might imagine the +ghost of the departed saint to be sitting there, and repeating +the voices from below, not word by word, but sentence by +sentence, as if he were passing them up to the recording +angel.</p> + +<p>"Ho! ho! ho!" shouted Berkley; and the sound seemed to strike +the wall of stone, like the flapping of steel plates; "Ho! ho! +ho! How areyou to-day, Saint Wolfgang! You infernal old rascal! +How is the Frau von Wolfgang!--God save great George the King! +Damn your eyes! Hold your tongue! Ho! ho! ha! ha! hi!"</p> + +<p>And the words were recorded above; and a voice repeated them +with awful distinctness in the blue depths overhead, and Flemming +felt in his inmost soul the contrast between the holy heavens, +and the mockery of laughter, and the idle words, which fall back +from the sky above us and soil not its purity.</p> + +<p>In half an hour they were at the village of Saint Wolfgang, +threading a narrow street, above which the roofs of quaint, +picturesque old houses almost met. It led them to a Gothic +church; a magnificent one for a village;--in front of which was a +small court, shut in by Italian-looking houses, with balconies, +and flowers at the windows. Here a bronze fountain of elaborate +workmanship was playing in the shade. On its summit stood an +image of the patron Saint of the village; and, running round the +under lip of the water-basin below, they read this inscription in +old German rhymes;</p> + +<p>"I am in the honor of Saint Wolfgang raised. Abbot Wolfgang +Habel of Emensee, he hath made me for the use and delight of poor +pilgrim wight. Neither gold nor wine hath he; at this water shall +he merry be. In the year of the Lord fifteen hundred and fifteen, +hath the work completed been. God be praised!"</p> + +<p>As they were deciphering the rude characters of this pious +inscription, a village priest came down a high flight of steps +from the parsonage near the church, and courteously saluted the +strangers. After returning the salutation, the mad Englishman, +without preface, asked him how many natural children were +annually born in the parish. The question seemed to astonish the +good father, but he answered it civilly, as he did several other +questions, which Flemming thought rather indiscreet, to say the +least.</p> + +<p>"You will excuse our curiosity," said he to the priest, by way +of apology. "We are strangersfrom distant countries. My friend is +an Englishman and I an American."</p> + +<p>Berkley, however, was not so easily silenced. After a few +moments' conversation he broke out into most audacious Latin, in +which the only words clearly intelligible were;</p> + +<p>"Plurimum reverende, in Christo religiosissime, ac clarissime +Domine, necnon et amice observandissime! Petrus sic est locutus; +'Nec argentum mihi, nec aurum est; sed quod habeo, hoc tibi do; +surge et ambula.' "</p> + +<p>He seemed to be speaking of the fountain. The priest answered +meekly,</p> + +<p>"Non intellexi, Domine!"</p> + +<p>But Berkley continued with great volubility to speak of his +being a stranger in the land, and all men being strangers upon +earth, and hoping to meet the good priest hereafter in the +kingdom of Heaven. The priest seemed confounded, and abashed. +Through the mist of a strange pronunciation he could recognise +only here and there afamiliar word. He took out his snuff-box; +and tried to quote a passage from Saint Paul;</p> + +<p>"Ut dixit Sanctus Paulus; qui bene facit--"</p> + +<p>Here his memory failed him, or, as the French say, he was at +the end of his Latin, and, stretching forth his long forefinger, +he concluded in German;</p> + +<p>"Yes;--I don't--so clearly remember--what he did say."</p> + +<p>The Englishman helped him through with a moral phrase; and +then pulling off his hat, exclaimed very solemnly;</p> + +<p>"Vale, domine doctissime et reverendissime!"</p> + +<p>And the Dominie, as if pursued by a demon, made a sudden and +precipitate retreat down a flight of steps into the street.</p> + +<p>"There!" said Berkley laughing, "I beat him at his own +weapons. What do you say of my Latin?"</p> + +<p>"I say of it," replied Flemming, "what Holophernes said of Sir +Nathaniel's; 'Priscian a little scratched; 't will serve.' I +think I have heardbetter. But what a whim! I thought I should +have laughed aloud."</p> + +<p>They were still sitting by the bronze fountain when the priest +returned, accompanied by a short man, with large feet, and a long +blue surtout, so greasy, that it reminded one of Polilla's in the +Spanish play, which was lined with slices of pork. His +countenance was broad and placid, but his blue eyes gleamed with +a wild, mysterious, sorrowful expression. Flemming thought the +Latin contest was to be renewed, with more powder and heavier +guns. He was mistaken. The stranger saluted him in German, and +said, that, having heard he was from America, he had come to +question him about that distant country, for which he was on the +point of embarking. There was nothing peculiar in his manner, nor +in the questions he asked, nor the remarks he made. They were the +usual questions and remarks about cities and climate, and sailing +the sea. At length Flemming asked him the object of his journey +to America. Thestranger came close up to him, and lowering his +voice, said very solemnly;</p> + +<p>"That holy man, Frederick Baraga, missionary among the Indians +at Lacroix, on Lake Superior, has returned to his father-land, +Krain; and I am chosen by Heaven to go forth as Minister +Extraordinary of Christ, to unite all nations and people in one +church!"</p> + +<p>Flemming almost started at the singular earnestness, with +which he uttered these words; and looked at him attentively, +thinking to see the face of a madman. But the modest, unassuming +look of that placid countenance was unchanged; only in the eyes +burned a mysterious light, as if candles had been lighted in the +brain, to magnify the daylight there.</p> + +<p>"It is truly a high vocation," said he in reply. "But are you +sure, that this is no hallucination? Are you certain, that you +have been chosen by Heaven for this great work?"</p> + +<p>"I am certain," replied the German, in a tone of great +calmness and sincerity; "and, if Saint Peter and Saint Paul +should come down from Heaven to assure me of it, my faith would +be no stronger than it now is. It has been declared to me by many +signs and wonders. I can no longer doubt, nor hesitate. I have +already heard the voice of the Spirit, speaking to me at night; +and I know that I am an apostle; and chosen for this work."</p> + +<p>Such was the calm enthusiasm with which he spoke, that +Flemming could not choose but listen. He felt interested in this +strange being. There was something awe-inspiring in the spirit +that possessed him. After a short pause he continued;</p> + +<p>"If you wish to know who I am, I can tell you in few words. I +think you will not find the story without interest."</p> + +<p>He then went on to relate the circumstances recorded in the +following chapter.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="4_8">CHAPTER VII. THE STORY OF +BROTHER BERNARDUS.</a></h3> + +<p>"I was born in the city of Stein, in the land of Krain. My +pious mother Gertrude sang me psalms and spiritual songs in +childhood; and often, when I awoke in the night, I saw her still +sitting, patiently at her work by the stove, and heard her +singing those hymns of heaven, or praying in the midnight +darkness when her work was done. It was for me she prayed. Thus, +from my earliest childhood, I breathed the breath of pious +aspirations. Afterwards I went to Laybach as a student of +theology; and after the usual course of study, was ordained a +priest. I went forth to the care of souls; my own soul filled +with the faith, that ere long all people would be united in one +church. Yet attimes my heart was heavy, to behold how many +nations there are who have not heard of Christ; and how those, +who are called Christians, are divided into numberless sects, and +how among these are many who are Christians in name only. I +determined to devote myself to the great work of the one church +universal; and for this purpose, to give myself wholly up to the +study of the Evangelists and the Fathers. I retired to the +Benedictine cloister of Saint Paul in the valley of Lavant. The +father-confessor in the nunnery of Laak, where I then lived, +strengthened me in this resolve. I had long walked with this +angel of God in a human form, and his parting benediction sank +deep into my soul. The Prince-Abbot Berthold, of blessed memory, +was then head of the Benedictine convent. He received me kindly, +and led me to the library; where I gazed with secret rapture on +the vast folios of the Christian Fathers, from which, as from an +arsenal, I was to draw the weapons of holy warfare. In the study +of these, the year of my noviciate passed. I becamea Franciscan +friar; and took the name of Brother Bernardus. Yet my course of +life remained unchanged. I seldom left the cloister; but sat in +my cell, and pored over those tomes of holy wisdom. About this +time the aged confessor in Laak departed this life. His death was +made known to me in a dream. It must have been after midnight, +when I thought that I came into the church, which was brilliantly +lighted up. The dead body of the venerable saint was brought in, +attended by a great crowd. It seemed to me, that I must go up +into the pulpit and pronounce his funeral oration; and, as I +ascended the stairs, the words of my text came into my mind; +'Blessed in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.' My +funeral sermon ended in a strain of exultation; and I awoke with +'Amen!' upon my lips. A few days afterwards, I heard that on that +night the old man died. After this event I became restless and +melancholy. I strove in vain to drive from me my gloomy thoughts. +I could no longer study. I was no longer contented in the +cloister. I even thought of leaving it.</p> + +<p>"One night I had gone to bed early, according to my custom, +and had fallen asleep. Suddenly I was awakened by a bright and +wonderful light, which shone all about me, and filled me with +heavenly rapture. Shortly after I heard a voice, which pronounced +distinctly these words, in the Sclavonian tongue; 'Remain in the +cloister!' It was the voice of my departed mother. I was fully +awake; yet saw nothing but the bright light, which disappeared, +when the words had been spoken. Still it was broad daylight in my +chamber. I thought I had slept beyond my usual hour. I looked at +my watch. It was just one o'clock after midnight. Suddenly the +daylight vanished, and it was dark. In the morning I arose, as if +new-born, through the wonderful light, and the words of my +mother's voice. It was no dream. I knew it was the will of God +that I should stay; and I could again give myself up to quiet +study. I read the whole Bible through once more in theoriginal +text; and went on with the Fathers, in chronological order. +Often, after the apparition of the light, I awoke at the same +hour; and though I heard no voice and saw no light, yet was +refreshed with heavenly consolation.</p> + +<p>"Not long after this an important event happened in the +cloister. In the absence of the deacon of the Abbey, I was to +preach the Thanksgiving sermon of Harvest-home. During the week +the Prince-Abbot Berthold gave up the ghost; and my sermon became +at once a Thanks-giving and Funeral Sermon. Perhaps it may not be +unworthy of notice, that I was thus called to pronounce the +burial discourse over the body of the last reigning, spiritual +Prince Abbot in Germany. He was a man of God, and worthy of this +honor.</p> + +<p>"One year after this event, I was appointed Professor of +Biblical Hermeneutics in Klagenfurt, and left the Abbey forever. +In Klagenfurt I remained ten years, dwelling in the same house, +and eating at the same table, with seventeen other professors. +Their conversation naturally suggestednew topics of study, and +brought to my notice books, which I had never before seen. One +day I heard at table, that Maurus Cappellari, a monk of +Camaldoli, had been elected Pope, under the name of Gregory +Sixteenth. He was spoken of as a very learned man, who had +written many books. At this time I was a firm believer in the +Pope's infallibility; and when I heard these books mentioned, +there arose in me an irresistible longing to read them. I +inquired for them; but they were nowhere to be had. At length I +heard, that his most important work, The Triumph of the Holy See, +and of the Church, had been translated into German and published +in Augsburg. Ere long the precious volume was in my hands. I +began to read it with the profoundest awe. The farther I read, +the more my wonder grew. The subject was of the deepest interest +to me. I could not lay the book out of my hand, till I had read +it through with the closest attention. Now at length my eyes were +opened. I saw before me a monk, who had been educated in an +Italian cloister; who, indeed, had read much, and yet only what +was calculated to strengthen him in the prejudices of his +childhood; and who had entirely neglected those studies upon +which a bishop should most rely, in order to work out the +salvation of man. I perceived at the same time, that this was the +strongest instrument for battering down the walls, which separate +Christian from Christian. I saw, though as yet dimly, the way in +which the union of Christians in the one true church was to be +accomplished. I knew not whether to be most astonished at my own +blindness, that, in all my previous studies, I had not perceived, +what the reading of this single book made manifest to me; or at +the blindness of the Pope, who had undertaken to justify such +follies, without perceiving that at the same moment he was +himself lying in fatal error. But since I have learned more +thoroughly the ways of the Lord, I am now no more astonished at +this, but pray only to Divine providence, who so mysteriously +prepares all people to be united in one true church. I no longer +believed in the Pope's infallibility; nay, I believed even, that, +to the great injury of humanity, he lay in fatal error. I felt, +moreover, that now the time had fully come, when I should +publicly show myself, and found in America a parish and a school, +and become the spiritual guide of men, and the schoolmaster of +children.</p> + +<p>"It was then, and on that account, that I wrote in the Latin +tongue my great work on Biblical Hermeneutics. But in Germany it +cannot be published. The Austrian censor of the press cannot find +time to read it, though I think, that if I have spent so many +laborious days and sleepless nights in writing it, this man ought +likewise to find time enough not only to read it, but to examine +all the grounds of my reasoning, and point out to me any errors, +if he can find any. Notwithstanding, the Spirit gave me no +repose, but urged me ever mightily on to the perfection of my +great work.</p> + +<p>"One morning I sat writing, under peculiar influences of the +Spirit, upon the Confusion of Tongues, the Division of the +People, and the importance ofthe study of Comparative Philology, +in reference to their union in one church. So wrapped was I in +the thought, that I came late into my lecture-room; and after +lecture returned to my chamber, where I wrote till the clock +struck twelve. At dinner, one of the Professors asked if any one +had seen the star, about which so much was said. The Professor of +Physics, said, that the student Johannes Schminke had come to him +in the greatest haste, and besought him to go out and see the +wonderful star; but, being incredulous about it, he made no +haste, and, when they came into the street, the star had +disappeared. When I heard the star spoken of, my soul was filled +with rapture; and a voice within me seemed to say, 'The great +time is approaching; labor unweariedly in thy work.' I sought out +the student; and like Herod, inquired diligently what time the +star appeared. He informed me, that, just as the clock was +striking eight, in the morning, he went out of his house to go to +the college, and saw on the square a crowd looking at a bright +star. It was the veryhour, when I was writing alone in my chamber +on the importance of Comparative Philology in bringing about the +union of all nations. I felt, that my hour had come. Strangely +moved, I walked up and down my chamber. The evening twilight came +on. I lighted my lamp, and drew the green curtains before the +windows, and sat down to read. But hardly had I taken the book +into my hand, when the Spirit began to move me, and urge me then +to make my last decision and resolve. I made a secret vow, that I +would undertake the voyage to America. Suddenly my troubled +thoughts were still. An unwonted rapture filled my heart. I sat +and read till the supper bell rang. They were speaking at table +of a red glaring meteor, which had just been seen in the air, +southeast from Klagenfurt; and had suddenly disappeared with a +dull, hollow sound. It was the very moment at which I had taken +my final resolution to leave my native land. Every great purpose +and event of my life, seemed heralded and attended by divine +messengers; the voices of thedead; the bright morning star, +shining in the clear sunshine; and the red meteor in the evening +twilight.</p> + +<p>"I now began seriously to prepare for my departure. The +chamber I occupied, had once been the library of a Franciscan +convent. Only a thick wall separated it from the church. In this +wall was a niche, with heavy folding-doors, which had served the +Franciscans as a repository for prohibited books. Here also I +kept my papers, and my great work on Biblical Hermeneutics. The +inside of the doors was covered with horrible caricatures of +Luther, Melancthon, Calvin, and other great men. I used often to +look at them with the deepest melancholy, when I thought that +these great men likewise had labored upon earth, and fought with +Satan in the church. But they were persecuted, denounced, +condemned to die. So perhaps will it be with me. I thought of +this often; and armed myself against the fear of death. I was in +constant apprehension, lest the police should search my chamber +during my absence, and, by examining my papers, discover my +doctrine and designs. But the Spirit said to me; 'Be of good +cheer; I will so blind the eyes of thy enemies, that it shall not +once occur to them to think of thy writings.'</p> + +<p>"At length, after many difficulties and temptations of the +Devil, I am on my way to America. Yesterday I took leave of my +dearest friend, Gregory Kuscher, in Hallstadt. He seemed filled +with the Spirit of God, and has wonderfully strengthened me in my +purpose. All the hosts of heaven looked on, and were glad. The +old man kissed me at parting; and I ascended the mountain as if +angels bore me up in their arms. Near the summit, lay a newly +fallen avalanche, over which, as yet, no footsteps had passed. +This was my last temptation. 'Ha!' cried I aloud, 'Satan has +prepared a snare for me; but I will conquer him with godly +weapons.' I sprang over the treacherous snow, with greater faith +than St. Peter walked the waters of the Lake of Galilee; and came +down the valley, while the mountain peaks yetshone in the setting +sun. God smiles upon me. I go forth, full of hopeful courage. On +Christmas next, I shall excommunicate the Pope."</p> + +<p>Saying these words, he slowly and solemnly took his leave, +like one conscious of the great events which await him, and +withdrew with the other priest into the church. Flemming could +not smile as Berkley did; for in the solitary, singular +enthusiast, who had just left them, he saw only another +melancholy victim to solitude and over-labor of the brain; and +felt how painful a thing it is, thus to become unconsciously the +alms-man of other men's sympathies, a kind of blind beggar for +the charity of a good wish or a prayer.</p> + +<p>The sun was now setting. Silently they floated back to Saint +Gilgen, amid the cool evening shadows. The village clock struck +nine as they landed; and as Berkley was to depart early in the +morning, he went to bed betimes. On bidding Flemming good night +he said;</p> + +<p>"I shall not see you in the morning; so good bye, and God +bless you. Remember my partingwords. Never mind trifles. In this +world a man must either be anvil or hammer. Care killed a +cat!"</p> + +<p>"I have heard you say that so often," replied Flemming, +laughing, "that I begin to believe it is true. But I wonder if +Care shaved his left eyebrow, after doing the deed, as the +ancient Egyptians used to do!"</p> + +<p>"Aha! now you are sweeping cobwebs from the sky! Good night! +Good night!"</p> + +<p>A sorrowful event happened in the neighbourhood that night. +The widow's child died suddenly. "Woe is me!"--thus mourns the +childless mother in one of the funeral songs of Greenland; "Woe +is me, that I should gaze upon thy place and find it vacant! In +vain for thee thy mother dries the sea-drenched garments!" Not in +these words, but in thoughts like these, did the poor mother +bewail the death of her child, thinking mostly of the vacant +place, and the daily cares and solicitudes of maternal love. +Flemming saw a light in her chamber, and shadows moving toand +fro, as he stood by the window, gazing into the starry, silent +sky. But he little thought of the awful domestic tragedy, which +was even then enacted behind those thin curtains!</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="4_9">CHAPTER VIII. FOOT-PRINTS OF +ANGELS.</a></h3> + +<p>It was Sunday morning; and the church bells were all ringing +together. From all the neighbouring villages, came the solemn, +joyful sounds, floating through the sunny air, mellow and faint +and low,--all mingling into one harmonious chime, like the sound +of some distant organ in heaven. Anon they ceased; and the woods, +and the clouds, and the whole village, and the very air itself +seemed to pray, so silent was it everywhere.</p> + +<p>Two venerable old men,--high priests and patriarchs were they +in the land,--went up the pulpit stairs, as Moses and Aaron went +up Mount Hor, in the sight of all the congregation,--for the +pulpit stairs were in front, and very high.</p> + +<p>Paul Flemming will never forget the sermon he heard that +day,--no, not even if he should live to be as old as he who +preached it. The text was, "I know that my Redeemer liveth." It +was meant to console the pious, poor widow, who sat right below +him at the foot of the pulpit stairs, all in black, and her heart +breaking. He said nothing of the terrors of death, nor of the +gloom of the narrow house, but, looking beyond these things, as +mere circumstances to which the imagination mainly gives +importance, he told his hearers of the innocence of childhood +upon earth, and the holiness of childhood in heaven, and how the +beautiful Lord Jesus was once a little child, and now in heaven +the spirits of little children walked with him, and gathered +flowers in the fields of Paradise. Good old man! In behalf of +humanity, I thank thee for these benignant words! And, still more +than I, the bereaved mother thanked thee, and from that hour, +though she wept in secret for her child, yet</p> + +<p>"She knew he was with Jesus,</p> + +<p>And she asked him not again."</p> + +<p>After the sermon, Paul Flemming walked forth alone into the +churchyard. There was no one there, save a little boy, who was +fishing with a pin hook in a grave half full of water. But a few +moments afterward, through the arched gateway under the belfry, +came a funeral procession. At its head walked a priest in white +surplice, chanting. Peasants, old and young, followed him, with +burning tapers in their hands. A young girl carried in her arms a +dead child, wrapped in its little winding sheet. The grave was +close under the wall, by the church door. A vase of holy water +stood beside it. The sexton took the child from the girl's arms, +and put it into a coffin; and, as he placed it in the grave, the +girl held over it a cross, wreathed with roses, and the priest +and peasants sang a funeral hymn. When this was over, the priest +sprinkled the grave and the crowd with holy water; and then they +all went into the church, each one stopping as he passed the +grave to throw a handful of earth into it, and sprinkle it with +holy water.</p> + +<p>A few moments afterwards, the voice of the priest was heard +saying mass in the church, and Flemming saw the toothless old +sexton treading the fresh earth into the grave of the little +child, with his clouted shoes. He approached him, and asked the +age of the deceased. The sexton leaned a moment on his spade, and +shrugging his shoulders replied;</p> + +<p>"Only an hour or two. It was born in the night, and died this +morning early?"</p> + +<p>"A brief existence," said Flemming. "The child seems to have +been born only to be buried, and have its name recorded on a +wooden tombstone."</p> + +<p>The sexton went on with his work, and made no reply. Flemming +still lingered among the graves, gazing with wonder at the +strange devices, by which man has rendered death horrible and the +grave loathsome.</p> + +<p>In the Temple of Juno at Elis, Sleep and his twin-brother +Death were represented as children reposing in the arms of Night. +On various funeral monuments of the ancients the Genius of Death +issculptured as a beautiful youth, leaning on an inverted torch, +in the attitude of repose, his wings folded and his feet crossed. +In such peaceful and attractive forms, did the imagination of +ancient poets and sculptors represent death. And these were men +in whose souls the religion of Nature was like the light of +stars, beautiful, but faint and cold! Strange, that in later +days, this angel of God, which leads us with a gentle hand, into +the "Land of the great departed, into the silent Land," should +have been transformed into a monstrous and terrific thing! Such +is the spectral rider on the white horse;--such the ghastly +skeleton with scythe and hour-glass;--the Reaper, whose name is +Death!</p> + +<p>One of the most popular themes of poetry and painting in the +Middle Ages, and continuing down even into modern times, was the +Dance of Death. In almost all languages is it written,--the +apparition of the grim spectre, putting a sudden stop to all +business, and leading men away into the "remarkable retirement" +of the grave. Itis written in an ancient Spanish Poem, and +painted on a wooden bridge in Switzerland. The designs of Holbein +are well known. The most striking among them is that, where, from +a group of children sitting round a cottage hearth, Death has +taken one by the hand, and is leading it out of the door. Quietly +and unresisting goes the little child, and in its countenance no +grief, but wonder only; while the other children are weeping and +stretching forth their hands in vain towards their departing +brother. A beautiful design it is, in all save the skeleton. An +angel had been better, with folded wings, and torch inverted!</p> + +<p>And now the sun was growing high and warm. A little chapel, +whose door stood open, seemed to invite Flemming to enter and +enjoy the grateful coolness. He went in. There was no one there. +The walls were covered with paintings and sculpture of the rudest +kind, and with a few funeral tablets. There was nothing there to +move the heart to devotion; but in that hour the heart of +Flemming was weak,--weak as a child's. He bowed hisstubborn +knees, and wept. And oh! how many disappointed hopes, how many +bitter recollections, how much of wounded pride, and unrequited +love, were in those tears, through which he read on a marble +tablet in the chapel wall opposite, this singular +inscription;</p> + +<p>"Look not mournfully into the Past. It comes not back again. +Wisely improve the Present. It is thine. Go forth to meet the +shadowy Future, without fear, and with a manly heart."</p> + +<p>It seemed to him, as if the unknown tenant of that grave had +opened his lips of dust, and spoken to him the words of +consolation, which his soul needed, and which no friend had yet +spoken. In a moment the anguish of his thoughts was still. The +stone was rolled away from the door of his heart; death was no +longer there, but an angel clothed in white. He stood up, and his +eyes were no more bleared with tears; and, looking into the +bright, morning heaven, he said;</p> + +<p>"I will be strong!"</p> + +<p>Men sometimes go down into tombs, with painfullongings to +behold once more the faces of their departed friends; and as they +gaze upon them, lying there so peacefully with the semblance, +that they wore on earth, the sweet breath of heaven touches them, +and the features crumble and fall together, and are but dust. So +did his soul then descend for the last time into the great tomb +of the Past, with painful longings to behold once more the dear +faces of those he had loved; and the sweet breath of heaven +touched them, and they would not stay, but crumbled away and +perished as he gazed. They, too, were dust. And thus, +far-sounding, he heard the great gate of the Past shut behind him +as the Divine Poet did the gate of Paradise, when the angel +pointed him the way up the Holy Mountain; and to him likewise was +it forbidden to look back.</p> + +<p>In the life of every man, there are sudden transitions of +feeling, which seem almost miraculous. At once, as if some +magician had touched the heavens and the earth, the dark clouds +melt into the air, the wind falls, and serenity succeedsthe +storm. The causes which produce these sudden changes may have +been long at work within us, but the changes themselves are +instantaneous, and apparently without sufficient cause. It was so +with Flemming; and from that hour forth he resolved, that he +would no longer veer with every shifting wind of circumstance; no +longer be a child's plaything in the hands of Fate, which we +ourselves do make or mar. He resolved henceforward not to lean on +others; but to walk self-confident and self-possessed; no longer +to waste his years in vain regrets, nor wait the fulfilment of +boundless hopes and indiscreet desires; but to live in the +Present wisely, alike forgetful of the Past, and careless of what +the mysterious Future might bring. And from that moment he was +calm, and strong; he was reconciled with himself! His thoughts +turned to his distant home beyond the sea. An indescribable, +sweet feeling rose within him.</p> + +<p>"Thither will I turn my wandering footsteps," said he; "and be +a man among men, and no longer a dreamer among shadows. +Henceforth bemine a life of action and reality! I will work in my +own sphere, nor wish it other than it is. This alone is health +and happiness. This alone is Life;</p> + +<p>'Life that shall send</p> + +<p>A challenge to its end,</p> + +<p>And when it comes, say, Welcome, friend!'</p> + +<p>Why have I not made these sage reflections, this wise resolve, +sooner? Can such a simple result spring only from the long and +intricate process of experience? Alas! it is not till Time, with +reckless hand, has torn out half the leaves from the Book of +Human Life, to light the fires of passion with, from day to day, +that Man begins to see, that the leaves which remain are few in +number, and to remember, faintly at first, and then more clearly, +that, upon the earlier pages of that book, was written a story of +happy innocence, which he would fain read over again. Then come +listless irresolution, and the inevitable inaction of despair; or +else the firm resolve to record upon the leaves that still +remain, a more noble history, than the child's story, with which +the book began."</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="4_10">CHAPTER IX. THE LAST +PANG.</a></h3> + +<p>"Farewell to thee, Saint Gilgen!" said Flemming, as he turned +on the brow of the hill, to take his last look at the lake and +the village below, and felt that this was one of the few spots on +the wide earth to which he could say farewell with regret. "Thy +majestic hills have impressed themselves upon my soul, as a seal +upon wax. The quiet beauty of thy lake shall be to me forever an +image of peace and purity and stillness, and that inscription in +thy little churchyard, a sentence of wisdom for my after +life."</p> + +<p>Before the setting of the same sun, which then shone on that +fair landscape, he was far on his way towards Munich. He had left +far behind him the mountains of the Tyrol; and beheld themfor the +last time in the soft evening twilight, their bases green with +forest trees, and here and there, a sharp rocky spire, and a +rounded summit capped with snow. There they lay, their backs, +like the backs of camels; a mighty caravan, reposing at evening +in its march across the desert.</p> + +<p>From Munich he passed through Augsburg and Ulm, on his way to +Stuttgard. At the entrances of towns and villages, he saw large +crucifixes; and on the fronts of many houses, coarse paintings +and images of saints. In Gunzburg three priests in black were +slowly passing down the street, and women fell on their knees to +receive their blessing. There were many beggars, too, in the +streets; and an old man who was making hay in a field by the +road-side, when he saw the carriage approaching, threw down his +rake, and came tumbling over the ditch, with his hat held out in +both hands, uttering the most dismal wail. The next day, the +bright yellow jackets of the postilions, and the two great +tassels of their bugle-horns, dangling down their backs, like two +cauliflowers, told him he was in Würtemberg; and, late in +the evening, he stopped at a hotel in Stuttgard; and from his +chamber-window, saw, in the bright moonlight, the old Gothic +cathedral, with its narrow, lancet windows and jutting +buttresses, right in front of him. Ere long he had forgotten all +his cares and sorrows in sleep, and with them his hopes, and +wishes, and good resolves.</p> + +<p>He was still sitting at breakfast in his chamber, the next +morning, when the great bell of the cathedral opposite began to +ring, and reminded him that it was Sunday. Ere long the organ +answered from within, and from its golden lips breathed forth a +psalm. The congregation began to assemble, and Flemming went up +with them to the house of the Lord. In the body of the church he +found the pews all filled or locked; they seemed to belong to +families. He went up into the gallery, and looked over the +psalm-book of a peasant, while the congregation sang the sublime +old hymn of Martin Luther,</p> + +<p>"Our God, he is a tower of strength,</p> + +<p>A trusty shield and weapon."</p> + +<p>During the singing, a fat clergyman, clad in black, with a +white surplice thrown loosely about him, came pacing along one of +the aisles, from beneath the organ-loft and ascended the pulpit. +After the hymn, he read a portion of Scripture, and then +said;</p> + +<p>"Let us unite in silent prayer."</p> + +<p>And turning round, he knelt in the pulpit, while the +congregation remained standing. For a while there was a +breathless silence in the church, which to Flemming was more +solemnly impressive than any audible prayer. The clergyman then +arose, and began his sermon. His theme was the Reformation; and +he attempted to prove how much easier it was to enter the kingdom +of Heaven through the gateways of the Reformed Evangelical Dutch +church, than by the aisles and penitential stair-cases of Saint +Peter's. He then gave a history of the Reformation; and, when +Flemming thought he was near the end, he heard him say, that he +should divide his discourse into four heads. This reminded him of +the sturdy old Puritan, Cotton Mather, who after preaching an +hour, would coolly turn the hour-glass on the pulpit, and say; +"Now, my beloved hearers, let us take another glass." He stole +out into the silent, deserted street, and went to visit the +veteran sculptor Dannecker. He found him in his parlour, sitting +alone, with his psalm-book, and the reminiscences of a life of +eighty years. As Flemming entered, he arose from the sofa, and +tottered towards him; a venerable old man, of low stature, and +dressed in a loose white jacket, with a face like Franklin's, his +white hair flowing over his shoulders, and a pale, blue eye.</p> + +<p>"So you are from America," said he. "But you have a German +name. Paul Flemming was one of our old poets. I have never been +in America, and never shall go there. I am now too old. I have +been in Paris and in Rome. But that was long ago. I am now eight +and seventy years old."</p> + +<p>Here he took Flemming by the hand, and made him sit down by +his side, on the sofa. And Flemmingfelt a mysterious awe creep +over him, on touching the hand of the good old man, who sat so +serenely amid the gathering shade of years, and listened to +life's curfew-bell, telling, with eight and seventy solemn +strokes, that the hour had come, when the fires of all earthly +passion must be quenched within, and man must prepare to lie down +and rest till the morning.</p> + +<p>"You see," he continued, in a melancholy tone, "my hands are +cold; colder than yours. They were warmer once. I am now an old +man."</p> + +<p>"Yet these are the hands," answered Flemming, "that sculptured +the beauteous Ariadne and the Panther. The soul never grows +old."</p> + +<p>"Nor does Nature," said the old man, pleased with this +allusion to his great work, and pointing to the green trees +before his window. "This pleasure I have left to me. My sight is +still good. I can even distinguish objects on the side of yonder +mountain. My hearing is also unimpaired. For all which, I thank +God."</p> + +<p>Then, directing Flemming's attention to a fine engraving, +which hung on the opposite wall of the room, he continued;</p> + +<p>"That is an engraving of Canova's Religion. I love to sit here +and look at it, for hours together. It is beautiful. He made the +statue for his native town, where they had no church, until he +built them one. He placed the statue in it. This engraving he +sent me as a present. Ah, he was a dear, good man. The name of +his native town I have forgotten. My memory fails me. I cannot +remember names."</p> + +<p>Fearful that he had disturbed the old man in his morning +devotions, Flemming did not remain long, but took his leave with +regret. There was something impressive in the scene he had +witnessed;--this beautiful old age of the artist; sitting by the +open window, in the bright summer morning,--the labor of life +accomplished, the horizon reached, where heaven and earth +meet,--thinking it was angel's music, when he heard the +church-bells ring; himself too old to go. As he walked back to +his chamber, he thought within himself, whether he likewise might +not accomplish something, which should live after him;--might not +bring something permanent out of this fast-fleeting life of man, +and then sit down, like the artist, in serene old age, and fold +his hands in silence. He wondered how a man felt when he grew so +old, that he could no longer go to church, but must sit at home +and read the bible in large print. His heart was full of +indefinite longings, mingled with regrets; longings to accomplish +something worthy of life; regret, that as yet he had accomplished +nothing, but had felt and dreamed only. Thus the warm days in +spring bring forth passion-flowers and forget-menots. It is only +after mid-summer, when the days grow shorter and hotter, that +fruit begins to appear. Then, the heat of the day brings forward +the harvest, and after the harvest, the leaves fall, and there is +a gray frost. Much meditating upon these things, Paul Flemming +reached his hotel. At that moment a person clad in green came +down the church-steps, and crossed the street. It was the German +student, of Interlachen. Flemming started as if a green snake had +suddenly crossed his path. He took refuge in his chamber.</p> + +<p>That night as he was sitting alone in his chamber, having made +his preparation to depart the following morning, his attention +was arrested by the sound of a female voice in the next room. A +thin partition, with a door, separated it from his own. He had +not before observed that the room was occupied. But, in the +stillness of the night, the tones of that voice struck his ear. +He listened. It was a lady, reading the prayers of the English +Church. The tones were familiar; and awakened at once a thousand +painfully sweet recollections. It was the voice of Mary +Ashburton! His heart could not be deceived; and all its wounds +began to bleed afresh, like those of a murdered man, when the +murderer approaches. His first impulse was of affection only, +boundless, irrepressible, delirious, as of old in the green +valley of Interlachen. He waited for the voice to cease; that he +might go to her, and behold her face once more. And then his +pride rose up within him, and rebuked this weakness. He +remembered his firm resolve; and blushed to find himself so +feeble. And the voice ceased; and yet he did not go. Pride had so +far gained the mastery over affection. He lay down upon his bed, +like a child as he was. All about him was silence, and the +silence was holy, for she was near; so near that he could almost +hear the beating of her heart. He knew now for the first time how +weak he was, and how strong his passion for that woman. His heart +was like the altar of the Israelites of old; and, though drenched +with tears, as with rain, it was kindled at once by the holy fire +from heaven!</p> + +<p>Towards morning he fell asleep, exhausted with the strong +excitement; and, in that hour when, sleep being "nigh unto the +soul," visions are deemed prophetic, he dreamed. O blessed +visionof the morning, stay! thou wert so fair! He stood again on +the green sunny meadow, beneath the ruined towers; and she was by +his side, with her pale, speaking countenance and holy eyes; and +he kissed her fair forehead; and she turned her face towards him +beaming with affection and said, "I confess it now; you are the +Magician!" and pressed him in a meek embrace, that he, "might +rather feel than see the swelling of her heart." And then she +faded away from his arms, and her face became transfigured, and +her voice like the voice of an angel in heaven;--and he awoke, +and was alone!</p> + +<p>It was broad daylight; and he heard the postilion, and the +stamping of horses' hoofs on the pavement at the door. At the +same moment his servant came in, with coffee, and told him all +was ready. He did not dare to stay. But, throwing himself into +the carriage, he cast one look towards the window of the Dark +Ladie, and a moment afterwards had left her forever! He had drunk +thelast drop of the bitter cup, and now laid the golden goblet +gently down, knowing that he should behold it no more!</p> + +<p>No more! O how majestically mournful are those words! They +sound like the roar of the wind through a forest of pines!</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HYPERION ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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