The Lost Manuscript: A Novel

CHAPTER XXX.

VEXATIONS.

The year began well in every respect. Woodcock and snipe had betaken themselves to their homes before the sportsmen had donned their boots, and the March-daffodils had really bloomed in March. The moon, between its first and last quarter, smiled every evening with wry, distorted mouth. At Court the Princess had turned her mind to search after lost manuscripts with the Professor, and in the city an uncommon inclination to quaff the punch of the fragrant woodruff-plant was perceptible among the citizens and tempted them to daring undertakings. Even quiet heads were infected by the intoxication of the season; straw and paper ruled supreme. All the world wore not only hats but also caps of straw; all the world occupied themselves with speculations and new investments. The house of Hahn was in the ascendant. The orders were so numerous that they could not be executed. In all the corners of the house sat girls, sewing straw plaits together; the smell of the brimstone in the street and neighboring gardens was insupportable. In the evenings Mr. Hummel sat on his upturned boat, like Napoleon at St. Helena, a vanquished man. With angry contempt he regarded the tumult of humanity. Repeatedly did his acquaintances call upon him to launch into the great activity of the time, to become a member of some stock-company, to found a bank, dig for coal, or smelt iron. He rejected all these proposals. When he went into his idle workshops, where he was only occupied in a struggle with moths, his book-keeper ventured to make a remark as to the possible future fashions in Parisian hats; he laughed demoniacally and replied:

"I cannot indulge in any speculation as to the covering that people will require when these wild projects cease; but if you wish to know what will be the next fashion, I will inform you. People will wear pitch-caps. I wonder that you are still at your desk. Why do you not do like others of your colleagues, who spend their time in wine-shops?"

"Mr. Hummel, my means do not allow of that," replied the depressed man.

"Your means!" cried Hummel; "who asks after that now? Lucifer-matches are as good as ready money. The street-porters discount bills and give one another their likenesses. Why do you not live like the book-keeper Knips over there? When I bought an orange for my wife of the Italian, I saw him sitting in the back room with a bottle of iced champagne. Why should you not put yourself on ice in this hot weather? These are nothing but ruinous, hare-brained projects; it is a Sodom and Gomorrah; the straw fire burns, but it will come to a frightful end."

Mr. Hummel closed his office and walked in the twilight into the park, where he wandered up and down on the frontiers of his territory like a spirit. He was awakened from his meditations by the wild barking of his brindle favorite, who rushed up to a bench in a shady part of the park, and savagely seized the boots and trousers of a man sitting there. Hummel approached nearer; a small man and a young woman hastily separated. Hummel was sufficiently man of the world not to let himself be seen, and he hastened back to his garden and continued his walk in wild strides.

"I knew it; I always said so; I have given a warning all along. Poor devil!"

Then he walked angrily towards the great beech-tree on his own premises and forgot the supper hour, so that his wife had to call him twice from the garden. When he was sitting at table also he looked as dark as a thunder-cloud, and expressed such a deep contempt for human nature that the ladies soon became silent. Laura made another effort to lead the conversation to the wife of the Burgomaster, who had shown great respect for Hummel whenever she passed by, but he broke out with the terrible words:

"She is no better than the rest of womankind."

"That is enough, Hummel," exclaimed his wife; "this conduct is very unpleasant, and I must beg of you not to indulge so far in your ill-temper as to let it deprive you of a proper judgment of the worth of women. I can forgive much, but never an insult to the nobleness of human nature."

"Away with you and your noble human nature," replied Hummel, rising from the table, and pushing back his chair; he then rushed vehemently into the next room, where, in the dusk, he continued pacing angrily to and fro, for he was much disturbed about Gabriel. Certainly the social position of this man was not exalted; he was not a relation, not a householder, not even a citizen. Accordingly, Mr. Hummel revolved in his mind whether an interference in the secret feelings of this man became him. He did not come to a decision without a struggle, but he could not silence the voice which sounded in the corner of his heart in favor of Gabriel.

Meanwhile, the ladies were sitting at their disturbed repast. Laura looked down gloomily; such scenes were not new to her, and they became more painful. The mother was in great consternation at this anger against the world of femininity, and sank beneath the waves of stormy thoughts. At last she came to the conviction that Hummel was jealous. That was very ludicrous, and there certainly was no cause for such a feeling, but the vagaries of men were incalculable. The comic actor had come the day before at her invitation, and he had been very entertaining; he had enjoyed the wine and dinner, and on taking leave had kissed her hand with a true theatrical expression. Was it possible that this expression had produced the mischief? Mrs. Hummel began to pace up and down, looking in the mirror in passing by, and determined, like a valiant housewife, to hold forth to her husband this very evening on his folly.

"Go up stairs Laura," she said, softly, to her daughter, "I wish to speak to your father alone."

Laura silently took the candle and carried it to her private table. She placed herself at the window and looked toward the neighbor's house, where the Doctor's lamp still glimmered through the curtains. She wrung her hands, and exclaimed:

"Away, away from here; that is the only way to save myself and him."

Meanwhile, Mrs. Hummel had the supper removed, and, mustering courage for the impending encounter, at last entered the room in which Mr. Hummel was still blustering about.

"Henry," she began solemnly, "are you yet in a state of mind to consider calmly the circumstances which have robbed you of all composure?"

"No," cried Hummel, throwing a boot at the door.

"I know the cause of your anger," continued Mrs. Hummel, looking modestly down. "No explanation is necessary for that. It is possible that he may sometimes have ventured more than was necessary in looks and small remarks; but he is amiable and full of talent, and we must make allowances for his vocation."

"He is a miserable fop," cried Mr. Hummel, hurling his second boot from him.

"That is not true," cried Mrs. Hummel, warmly. "But if it were, Henry--even if you could judge him utterly unworthy,--do not forget that pride and a feeling of duty dwell in the heart of your wife, and that your suspicion is an insult to these protecting genii."

"She is a coquettish, silly flirt," replied Hummel, dragging his slippers from under his bed.

Mrs. Hummel started back horrified.

"Your wife has not deserved this treatment. You tread under foot what should be holy to you. Come to your senses, I conjure you; your jealousy approaches to madness."

"I jealous of such a person!" cried Hummel, contemptuously, vehemently knocking the ashes from his pipe. "Then I must indeed be out of my mind. Leave me in peace with all this nonsense."

Mrs. Hummel seized her pocket-handkerchief and began to sob:

"He has so often amused me; he tells anecdotes as I never heard any one in my life; but if he excites you, so that you lose your reason and insult your wife by calling her names, I have made many sacrifices during our wedded life, and he also must fall on the altar of domestic peace. Accept it, he shall never again be invited."

"Who is he?" asked Hummel.

"Who but the comedian?"

"Who is she?"

"Mrs. Hummel gave him a look which showed indubitably that she herself was the lady.

"Is it possible," exclaimed Hummel in astonishment, "that is how the land lies? Why do you want to slaughter your theatrical buffoon on the altar of domestic peace? Rather put something slaughtered before him; that would be more agreeable to his cultivated palate. Be composed, Philippine. You are often unintelligible in your speeches, and you make too much ado; you spin your theatrical webs in your head, and you have your humors and confused ideas in general; but for the rest, you are my worthy wife, of whom no evil shall be thought either by myself or others. Now do not thwart me, for I have determined to write him a letter."

While Mrs. Hummel, stupefied, seated herself on the sofa, and considered whether she should be mortified or tranquilized by her husband's praise, and whether she had been under a foolish delusion, or that her Henry's madness had taken the new form of bonhomie, Mr. Hummel wrote as follows:--

"My Dear Gabriel,--Yesterday, on the 17th of this month, at 7.45 in the evening, I saw, on bench No. 4, on the common, Dorothy from over the way sitting with Knips junior. This is for warning and further consideration. I am ready to act according to your orders. Straw, Gabriel!--Your affectionate

H. Hummel."

By the same post a letter flew from Laura to Ilse in the Pavilion. The faithful soul wrote sorrowfully. The little quarrels of the house and the neighborhood vexed her more than was necessary. Of the Doctor she saw little, and what was the bitterest grief for her, she had given away the last song; she had nothing more to send to the Doctor, and wished to continue the correspondence without inclosures. Ilse was greatly surprised by one sentence, the sense of which was not very clear to her: "I have obtained permission from Miss Jeannette to give lessons in her institution. I will no longer be a useless bread-eater. Since I have lost your society all is cold and desolate about me. My only comfort is, that I at least am prepared to fly into foreign parts, and there collect the grains which I need for the prolongation of my life."

"Where is my husband?" asked Ilse, of her maid.

"The Professor has gone to her Highness, the Princess."

"Call Gabriel."

"He has received bad news, and is sitting in his room."

Immediately afterwards Gabriel entered, with a distressed countenance.

"What has happened?" asked Ilse, alarmed.

"It is my own affair only," replied Gabriel, with quivering voice; "it is no good news that this letter has brought to me."

He took out of his pocket Hummel's crumpled letter, and turning away, leaned his head against the window-sill.

"Poor Gabriel!" exclaimed Ilse. "But there may still be some explanation to justify the girl."

"I thank you for your confidence in her, Mrs. Werner," replied Gabriel, solemnly, "but this letter informs me of my misfortune. He who has written to me is true as gold. But I knew all, before I had received it. She did not answer my last letter; she has not sent me the pocket-book; and yesterday evening, when I went out and was thinking of her, a lark flew towards me and sang a song that made me certain of it."

"That is folly, Gabriel, You ought not to let your judgment be influenced because a bird accidentally occasioned you sorrowful thoughts."

"It was evident, Mrs. Werner," replied Gabriel, sorrowfully. "Just as the lark flew up and I was thinking of Dorothy, the words which I heard as a child and which I have not heard since, occurred to me. It is no superstition, and I can repeat the sentence to you:

This thought came to me, and then I heard, as distinctly as if some one was whispering the answer in my ear:

Gabriel took out his pocket-handkerchief.

"That was a certain foreboding that Dorothy had been false to me."

"Gabriel, I fear she was always fickle-minded," exclaimed Ilse.

"She has a heart like a bird," said Gabriel, apologetically. "She is not a serious person, and it is her nature to be friendly with all. That I knew; but her gaiety, light-heartedness, and pleasant jesting made her dear to me. It was a misfortune for me and her that I was obliged to leave her just when she began to favor me and discourage others who were showing her attention. For I know that the book-keeper had long had his eyes upon her, and had prospects which would enable him to marry her, and that was a better provision than I could give her."

"Something must be done about this," said Ilse. "Do you want to go back to the city to ascertain how matters stand? My husband will immediately give you permission. Perhaps it is not so bad after all."

"For me it is as bad as it can be, Mrs. Werner. If you will have the kindness to look after Dorothy, to see that she is not made unhappy, I will thank you from my heart. I shall never see her again. If one loves any one, one should not leave them alone when they are in temptation."

Ilse endeavored to comfort him, but Gabriel's words went to her heart.

"The third sits alone," she repeated, in a tone of sorrow.

Ilse was again alone in the hall, looking sadly at the strange walls. All the sorrow that had ever moved a human soul in this room, jealousy and wounded pride, feverish expectation and hopeless longing, mourning over the destruction of happiness, and terror for the future, the cries of anguish and the plaints of tormented conscience, all these now awoke an indistinct and trembling echo in the heart of the woman.

"It is strange and gloomy here, and if I try to express in words what distresses me, all power of expression fails me. I am no prisoner, and yet the air that surrounds me is that of a dungeon. The Chamberlain has not been near me for days, and the young Prince, who used to speak to me as to a friend, comes seldom, and then but for a few minutes, and it is worse than if he were not here. He is as depressed as I am, and looks at me as if he felt the same nameless anguish. And his father? when he comes to me he is so kind that one cannot but like him; but as soon as he turns his back his features appear before my mind distorted. It is not good to be near the great people of the world; they seem to take a fancy to one and open their heart as to friends, and one scarcely feels the elevation of mind occasioned by this, when tormenting spirits seem suddenly to draw them back into their invisible realm, and one is troubled and excited about them. Such a life is destructive of peace.

"Felix says, one ought not to care about these frivolous people. How can one avoid interest and anxiety about them when the welfare of their souls is a blessing to all?

"Is it only this that gives you such restless thoughts. Ilse?" she asked herself; "is it this, or is it pride, now wounded, and now again flattered; or is it anguish about the loved one whom she wishes secretly to tear from you?

"Why am I so fearful about you, my Felix? Why do I despair because he has found a woman here of the same stamp of mind as his own? Am I not so also? Have I too not unfolded in the light of his mind? I am no longer the ignorant country-girl that he once brought from among the herds. If I am deficient in the attractive charm of the distinguished lady, what can she give him more than I? He is no boy, and he knows that every hour I live for him. I despise you, miserable thoughts; how have you found entrance into my soul? I am no prisoner within these walls, and if I linger here where you have power over me, I remain on his account. One should not forsake him whom one loves,--that word was spoken for me also. My father's child shall not cry and mourn even though her loved one should be sitting with the Princess by the hazel-bush."

Gabriel was stealing along in a distant part of the pleasure-ground. He suddenly felt a touch on his shoulder; Prince Victor was standing behind him.

"Friend Gabriel?"

"At your Highness's commands."

"Where have you served?"

"With the Blue Hussars."

"Good," nodded the Prince; "we are in the same branch of the service. I hear you are a trustworthy fellow. But what is the matter with you?" He took out his purse. "We will share; take what you want."

Gabriel shook his head.

"Then the women are at fault," cried the Prince; "that is worse. Is she proud?"

Gabriel dissented.

"Is she faithless?"

The poor fellow turned away.

"I am, alas! a bad intercessor with parents," said the Prince, sympathizingly; "the race of fathers have little confidence in me. But if it is only a question of appealing to a girl's conscience, then depend upon me."

"I thank you for your good-will. Highness, but nothing can help me. I will have to fight it out alone."

He turned away again.

"Bah! comrade, have you forgotten the soldiers' saying: 'Like all, love one, grieve for none?' If your heart is heavy, you should not rove about as you do. In lack of another companion put up for the time with me."

"That is too much honor," said Gabriel, taking off his cap.

The Prince had during this conversation gradually led him into a thicket; he seated himself on the root of an old tree, and motioned Gabriel to the next trunk.

"We are in concealment here; you look out that way, I will watch this road, that no one can surprise us. How do your lodgings please you? Have you found pleasant acquaintances?"

"I think it prudent to trust no one here," answered Gabriel, cautiously.

"But I do not belong here; there is no reason why you should not make me an exception. You may assume that we belong to the same company, that we are sitting by the same fire, and drinking from the same flask. You are right: all is not so safe here as it looks. I do not like these nocturnal disturbances in the castle. Have you heard of them?"

Gabriel assented.

"In such an old castle," continued the Prince, "there are many doors that few know--perhaps also passages in the wall. Whether it is spirits or something else, who knows? It glides about and sometimes comes out when one least expects it; and just when one has put on one's night-shirt a secret door is opened, or a plank in the floor rises, and a cursed apparition floats up, removes what is on the table, and before one can bethink oneself, disappears again."

"Who can allow such a thing, your Highness?" replied Gabriel, valiantly.

"Who can be on his guard?" said the Prince, laughing; "it stretches out its hand, and one becomes immovable; it holds a sponge before the nose of the sleeper and he does not awake."

Gabriel listened attentively.

"People say that in the Pavilion all is not secure," continued the Prince. "It would be as well for a trusty man to make an examination in secret; and if an entrance should be found that is not regular it should be fastened with a screw or a bolt. It is indeed uncertain whether or not one may find such a thing, for such devil's work is slyly managed."

He nodded significantly to Gabriel, who stared at him in great astonishment.

"That is only a thought of mine," said the Prince; "but when a soldier is in foreign quarters he looks after every security during the time that his people sleep."

"I understand all," replied Gabriel, in a low voice.

"One must not cause others unnecessary alarm," continued the Prince; "but in secret one may do one's duty like a brave man. I see you are that." The Prince rose from his seat. "If you should at any time need my help, or have anything to tell me which no one else should know, I have a fellow with a great moustache, a good, quiet man; make his acquaintance. For the rest, take care of yourselves here. There is a lackey who idles about near you; if there are any errands to do he can attend to them. It is a good thing for a family to have a trustworthy man at hand in a strange house. Good day, comrade, I hope I have changed the current of your thoughts."

He went away; Gabriel remained in deep thought. The bantering of the Prince had roused the honest man from his sorrow; he busied himself now about the house in the day-time, but in the evening, when his master and mistress were at the theatre, he was to be seen sometimes with the Prince's servant in confidential conversation on a garden bench.

The spirit of sad foreboding spread its grey veil over the walls of the Pavilion, but in the Sovereign's castle meanwhile an invisible hobgoblin of another kind was at work, disturbing great and small. The stable was in consternation. The Prince's favorite saddle-horse was a white Ivenacker. When in the morning the groom went to the horse, he found it with a large black heart painted on its chest. He could not wash out the scandalous mark, probably the evil spirit had in this prank employed a dye intended for the hair of man. Connoisseurs declared that only time could heal the injury. They could not help making it known to the Sovereign who was violently angry, and set the strictest investigations on foot. The night-watchers of the stable had seen no one, no stranger's foot had entered the place; only the groom of Prince Victor, a moustached foreigner, had, at the same time with the other stable servants, cleaned the horse that he had lately received as a present from a relative. The man was examined, he spoke little German, was said by the other servants to be harmless and simple, and nothing could be learnt from him. Finally, the stable-boy who had kept watch was dismissed from service. He disappeared from the capital, and would have been reduced to great misery if Prince Victor had not provided for the poor wretch in his garrison.

There was a great uproar among the ballet-girls. In the new tragic ballet, "The Water Sprite," the first dancer, Guiseppa Scarletti, had a brilliant rôle, in which she was to wear green-silk trunks, with rich silver trimmings. When she was to put on this part of the costume, which was very important for the rôle, for the first representation, her assistant was so awkward as to hand it to her wrong side foremost. The lady expressed her displeasure strongly, the tire-woman turned it round, and it was still wrong. Upon nearer inspection of this piece of art, it was discovered, with dismay, that it presented two convex surfaces like the shell of a bivalve. Mademoiselle Scarletti broke out into a fury, and then into tears and finally hysterics; the manager and the intendant were called; the artiste declared that after this disgrace and disturbance she could not dance. It was not until Prince Victor, whom she highly esteemed, came into the dressing-room to express his deep indignation, and the Sovereign desired her to be told that the insult should be punished in the severest manner, that she recovered sufficient courage to play the difficult rôle. Meanwhile the fairylike rapidity of the theatrical tailor had remedied the injury to her dress. She danced superbly, but with a sad expression that became her well. The intendant was already rejoicing that the misfortune had thus passed off, when suddenly, in the midst of the last scene, when the whole depth of the stage was disclosed, the exchanged trunks appeared under Bengal lights in the water nymph's grotto, hanging peacefully upon two projecting points of a silver rock, as if a water sprite had hung them up to dry. Upon this there was a disturbance, and loud laughter among the audience, and the curtain had to fall before the Bengal lights were extinguished. It all looked like revenge, but again the culprit could not be discovered.

The hair of all the servants stood on end. They knew that in the bad times of the princely house a black lady walked through the corridors and rooms, which portended misfortune to it. The belief in this was general; even the High Marshal shared in it; the black lady had appeared to his grandfather, when, on a lonely night, he was awaiting the return of his gracious master. One evening, after the Court had withdrawn, the Marshal was walking, with the lackey carrying a light before him, through the empty rooms to the wing in which Prince Victor lodged, in order to smoke a cigar with him. Suddenly the lackey started back and pointed, trembling, to a corner. There stood the black figure, the head covered with a veil; she raised her hand threateningly, and disappeared through a door in the tapestry. The light fell out of the hand of the lackey, the Marshal groped in the dark to the anteroom of the Prince, and sank down on the sofa there. When the Prince entered from his dressing-room he found him in a state of the highest consternation: even a glass of punch, which he himself poured out, could not arouse him from his depression. The news that the black lady had appeared flew throughout the castle; an uneasy foreboding of evil occupied the Court. In the evening the lackeys ran hurriedly through the corridor, and were frightened at the echo of their own steps, and the Court ladies would not leave their rooms without escort. The Sovereign also heard of it; his brow contracted gloomily, and at dinner he looked contemptuously at the Marshal.

Even the Court ladies were not spared. Miss von Lossau, who lodged in a wing of the palace over the rooms of the Princess, returned to her apartment one night in the happiest frame of mind. Prince Victor had paid her marked attentions. He had been very amusing, and had shown a degree of feeling which he had never before evinced. Her maid undressed her, and she laid herself to rest with sweet and pleasant thoughts. All was quiet: she fell into her first sleep. The image of the Prince danced before her; then she heard a slight noise; there was a crackling; something moved slowly under her bed. She started; the mysterious noise ceased. She was on the point of deluding herself into the belief that it was a dream, when the noise was repeated under the bed, and something came clattering out. She heard an alarming sound, and saw by the faint light of the night-lamp that a ball was slowly pushing itself behind the chair, and stopping in front of the bed. Half unconscious from terror, she jumped out of bed, touched a strange object with her naked foot, at once felt a sharp pain, and sank back with a scream. She now raised a loud cry for help, till her maid rushed in, and tremblingly lit the candle. The lady was still shrieking in a corner, where the prickly spectre-ball still lingered in quiet timidity, and gradually showed itself to be a great hedgehog, which was sitting there, still dreamy from its winter sleep, with tears on its nose. Miss Lossau became ill from fright. When the physician hastened to her the next morning, he found the lackeys and maidservants collected in close conclave before her door. On the door was pasted a white placard, on which was to be read, in large characters, "Bettina von Lossau, Princely Court Spy." Again there was the strictest investigation, and again the culprit was not discovered.

But the spirit of torment that had quartered itself under the roof of the castle did not confine its tricks to the Court and its household: it ventured to disturb the Professor also in his learned work.

Ilse was sitting alone, looking absent-mindedly at the pictures of Reynard the Fox, when the lackey threw open the door, announcing:

"His Highness, the Sovereign!"

The Sovereign glanced at the picture in the open book.

"So that is the view you take of our position. The satire of those pages is bitter, but they contain imperishable truth."

Ilse closed the book, coloring.

"The ill-behaved beasts are rude egotists; it is otherwise among men."

"Do you think so?" asked the Sovereign. "Those who have had experience with them will not judge so leniently. The two-legged animals that pursue their aims at the courts of princes are, for the most part, as reckless in their egotism, and as much inclined to profess their attachment. It is not easy to restrain their pretensions."

"Amongst the bad there are surely some better, in whom good preponderates?" rejoined Ilse.

The Sovereign inclined his head civilly.

"He who has to watch all keenly feels the narrow-mindedness of every individual, for he must know where and how far he can place confidence. Such an observation of various natures, which is always seeking to separate the reality from the glitter, to sound the worth of different characters, and to retain for the observer superior judgment, sharpens the perception of the deficiencies of others. It is possible that we may sometimes judge too severely, while you, with your warm feeling, fall into the amiable weakness of viewing men in too favorable a light."

"My lot, then, is happier," exclaimed Ilse, looking at the Sovereign, with honest commiseration.

"It is sweeter and happier," said the latter with feeling, "to give one's self up without restraint to one's feelings, to associate innocently with a few whom one chooses freely, to avoid by slight effort the ill-disposed, and to open one's heart gladly, and without restraint, to those one loves. But he who is condemned to live in the cold atmosphere of business, struggling against countless interests which clash together, can only carry on this existence by surrounding his daily life with regulations which will at least preserve him from overwhelming burdens and annoyances, and compel the foxes and wolves to bend their stubborn heads. Such rules of Court and government are no perfect work; there will often be complaints against them. You, perhaps, may have had occasion to remark that the customs and etiquette of a Court are not without harshness; yet they are necessary, for it makes it easy to us to withdraw and keep within ourselves, and maintain a certain isolation, which helps us to preserve our inward freedom."

Ilse looked conscious.

"But believe me," continued the Sovereign, "we still are human beings; we would gladly give ourselves up to the impulse of the moment, and live without restraint with those whom we esteem. We must often sacrifice ourselves, and we experience moments when such sacrifices are very severe."

"But within the princely family itself these considerations do not apply," exclaimed Ilse. "The mutual intercourse of father and children, brothers and sisters,--these holy relations can never be disturbed."

A cloud came over the countenance of the Sovereign.

"Even they suffer in their exposed position. We do not live together; we see each other less alone, generally under the observation of others. Each has his special circle of interest, is influenced by those about him, who perhaps diminish his confidence in his nearest relations. You know my son; he has all the qualifications of a good, open-hearted man, but you will have observed how suspicious and reserved he has become."

Ilse forgot all caution, and again felt a little proud of being a confidante.

"Forgive me," she explained; "I have never found that. He is only bashful, and sometimes a little awkward."

The Sovereign smiled.

"You lately expressed an opinion with reference to what would be advantageous for his future. That he should for a time become acquainted with the management of a large family estate; it would undoubtedly be good for him to learn the work of a country gentleman by experience. Besides this, he is not happy at Court."

Ilse nodded.

"Have you also remarked that?" asked the Sovereign.

"I will give good advice for my Prince," thought Ilse, "even if it is not quite agreeable to him. May I venture to say," she said aloud, "that this is the best time of all. For he must learn, your Highness, the spring tilling, which is in full operation, so there must be no delay."

The Sovereign was much pleased with this zeal.

"It will not be easy to find a place," he said.

"Perhaps your Highness has an estate in the neighborhood where there is a small manor-house."

"Then he could come often to the city," replied the Sovereign sharply.

"That would not do," continued Ilse, eagerly. "He must first thoroughly know the work of the people, and for that be constantly in the fields."

"I could not find a better adviser," said the Sovereign, in excellent humor. "There is nothing in the vicinity that will answer; I have thought, however, of your father's estate."

Ilse started with surprise.

"But our mode of life is not adapted for the accommodation of a prince," she replied with reserve. "No, gracious Sovereign, the domestic arrangements of our family would not be suitable to the pretensions of the young man. I say nothing of other considerations which formerly never occurred to me, and which have first come home to me here. Therefore, if I may speak what I feel, I am of opinion that this, for many reasons, will not answer."

"It was only a thought," replied the Sovereign, good-humoredly. "The object may perhaps be attained without encroaching upon your father. It has been my wish," he continued, with chivalrous politeness, "to give you and your father a public proof of my esteem. I have special reasons for it." He looked significantly at Ilse, and she thought of the birthday of the Princess.

"I know the reason," she said softly.

The Sovereign drew his chair near.

"Your father has a large family?" he asked. "I have a vague recollection of having seen several rosy-cheeked boys about."

"They were my brothers," said Ilse, laughing; "they are handsome little fellows, gracious Sovereign, if I, as a sister, may praise them; they are at present somewhat uncouth, but good and clever. My Franz wrote to me only yesterday to beg me to greet your Highness for him. The little urchin thinks it is the right thing. Now, as I have the opportunity, I will show you the letter as he has written it; it is a stupid, childish message, but it comes from a good heart."

She felt in her pocket and brought forth a letter written in fair characters.

"See, your Highness, how well the child writes. But I must not show you the letter, for your Highness would find in it a confirmation of your opinion, that men have always selfish wishes in the background when they think of their princes. The poor boy also has his wish."

"Then let us have it," said the Sovereign.

Ilse showed him the letter; the Sovereign graciously took hold of the letter, and in doing so, his hand rested on hers.

"He is so barefaced as to ask your highness for an india-rubber ball. The ball is already bought."

She jumped up and brought a gigantic colored ball.

"This I shall send to him to-day, and I shall write to him that it is not seemly to beg of so great a personage. He is nine years old, but still very childish--your highness must forgive him."

Enchanted by this frank open-heartedness, the Sovereign said:

"Write to him, at the same time, that I wish to tell him he must endeavor to preserve through the dangerous paths of life the pure feeling and loyal spirit of his eldest sister. I also feel how great is the blessing of your character to all who have the happiness of breathing your atmosphere. In a course of life which is filled with harrowing impressions, in which hatred and suspicion take more from the peace of the soul than hours of repose can restore to it, I have still retained my susceptibility for the innocent freshness of a mind like yours. You give me genuine pleasure."

Again he laid his hand gently on hers; Ilse looked down confused at the praise of her dear Sovereign.

A hasty step approached; the Sovereign rose, and the Professor entered. He bowed to the Sovereign, and looked surprised at his wife.

"You are not ill?" he exclaimed. "Pardon, gracious Sir, I came in great anxiety about my wife. A strange boy rang the bell at the Museum, and brought a message that I must go immediately to see my wife, as she was ill; fortunately it was a mistake."

"I am thankful for the error," replied the Sovereign, "as it gives me the opportunity of saying to you what I was intending to mention to Madame Werner; orders have been given at the stable that a carriage shall be ready for you at any hour that you wish to take a journey in the neighborhood to pursue your mysterious investigations."

He took leave graciously.

The Sovereign opened the window of his study; the air was sultry, the sun had been shining long upon the earth; now it had vanished, heavy clouds rolled themselves, like great shapeless porpoises, over the city and castle. The Sovereign fetched a deep breath, but the heavy, sultry air forced the smoke from the chimneys of the castle down to his window, enveloping his head like a great mist. He hastily opened the door of the gallery which led to the reception-rooms, and walked out. Against the walls hung a row of oil pictures, the portraits of beautiful ladies whom he had once favored with his attentions. His look strayed from one to the other; at the end of the row was an empty place; he stopped before it, and his fancy painted a picture with blonde hair, and a true-hearted, frank light in the eyes, more touching than any of the other faces.

"So late," he said, to himself. "It is the last place and the strongest feeling. They are fools who tell us that years make us indifferent. If I had come across her at the other end," he glanced back along the gallery, "at the beginning of my life, when I yet looked longingly at the roses on the cheeks of maidens and was touched by the song of hedge-sparrows, would such a woman then have preserved in me what I have lost forever? Useless thoughts of the past! I must in the present keep firm hold of what has come within the reach of my hand. She is indifferent about the weak youth; but she feels herself uneasy here, and if she tries to escape me I have no power to keep her back. I remain alone; daily the same wearisome faces, whose thoughts one knows before they are spoken, whose wishes one knows before they open their mouths, and whom one sees to be prepared with feigned feelings. Whatever wit or will they have works secretly against me; what I receive from them is only the artificial glitter of life. It is sad to be a master before whom living souls turn into machines, and year after year to open the lid and examine the works. I myself have made them," he said, jeeringly, "but I am weary of my work."

"I know that the doubt arises often in my mind," the Sovereign murmured, "whether my unhappy skill has made them lies of human nature, or whether I myself am an automaton, which when wound up nods and repeats the same gracious words without thought. I know there are hours when I am ashamed of myself, when I strut about the stage as a clown or a bully; I see the wires that move my joints; I feel a desire to place my own head in the vice in order to improve what is faulty in it, and I see a large chest open into which I am thrown when my rôle is played out."

"Oh," he groaned, from the depths of his heart. "I know that I am a reality, if not by day, yet at night. None of those about me are tormented in lonely hours as I am; their temples do not beat with fever heat when they lie down after their day's work.

"What pleasure have I amidst these dull tapestry-rooms, or among the old pictures of Mother Nature? Laughing without amusement, angry about trifles,--everything cold, indifferent, and soulless!

"It is only in rare moments, when I have been with her, that I feel like another man; then the warm blood courses through my veins. When in her honest simplicity she talks of all that she loves and takes pleasure in, a woman with a child's heart, then I become young again like her. She talked to me of her brother 'curly-head.' I see the boy before me, a lively lad, with his sister's eyes. I see the little simpleton eating his bread and butter, and it moves me as if I were reading a touching story. I long to catch up the boy in my arms as if he belonged to me.

"She herself is true and upright; it is a pure mind, and beneath her calm gentleness strong passion lies concealed. What a passion she fell into when my messenger offered her the patent of nobility! She is a woman to live with whom is worth some trouble, and to gain whom a man would do much.

"But what can I do? What I can give her will be of little value to her; what I take from her--how will she make up her mind to that?" He looked timidly at the empty place on the wall. "Another picture was to have hung there," he exclaimed; "why is it not there? Why does the remembrance of one long gone lie on my brain like a stone, the pressure of which I feel every day when mingling among men, and every night when I rest my weary head upon my hands? That woman slept many years ago in the same room where now the stranger reposes; she did not awake, as it would have been right for her to have done; when she did awake and came to consciousness, a spring broke in her weak mind, and she remained a soulless body."

A feverish shudder passed through him; he shook himself and rushed out of the gallery, looked shyly behind him, and closed the door.

"The violence of passion is extinguished," he continued, after a time; "with years one becomes more cautious. I will hold her fast, whatever may be the result; it is no longer the burning glow of youth, it is the heart of a ripened man that I offer to her. With firm patience will I await what time prepares for me; slowly will this fruit ripen in the warm sun. I shall persevere, but I will hold her fast. Her husband is becoming suspicious about her; it was an awkward excuse that he invented; he also is struggling out of my hand. I must keep her, and only childish means can be used for these childlike hearts."

The bell rang, the servant entered, and received an order.

Magister Knips appeared before the Sovereign; his cheeks were flushed, and vehement excitement worked in his features.

"Have you read the memorial which Professor Werner has written concerning the manuscript?" asked the Sovereign, carelessly. "What is your opinion of it?"

"It is a prodigious, astounding account, Most Gracious Prince and Sovereign. I may well say that I feel this discovery in all my limbs. If the manuscript should be found, the fame attending the discovery will be imperishable; it would be discussed in the preface of every edition in which the question of the manuscript occurred, to the end of the world; it would raise the learned man to whose lot this greatest earthly good fortune should fall, high above his fellow mortals. Your exalted Highness also, according to Act 22, § 127, of the law of the country, would undoubtedly have the first right to the discovered treasure, and his Highness would be hailed among all people as the protector of a new era of knowledge concerning the Romans."

The Sovereign listened with satisfaction to the enthusiasm of the Magister, who in his excitement forgot his humble bearing, and pathetically stretched out his arm in the direction in which he saw the radiant crown hovering above the head of the Sovereign.

"All this would occur if one found the treasure," said the Sovereign; "but it is not yet found."

Knips collapsed.

"Undoubtedly it is presumptuous to think that such a happiness could fall to the lot of any human being, yet it would be a sin to doubt its possibility."

"Professor Werner seems to attach much value to the discovery," rejoined the Sovereign, indifferently.

"He could not be a man of sterling judgment who did not feel the importance of this gain as much as does your Highness's most humble servant and slave."

The Sovereign interrupted the speaker.

"Mr. Von Weidegg has proposed to you to remain in my service. Have you agreed to do so?"

"With the feelings of a rescued man," exclaimed Knips, "who ventures to lay at your Highness's feet thanks and blessing with unbounded veneration."

"Have you already engaged yourself?"

"In the most binding way."

"Good," said the Sovereign, stopping the stream of the Magister's respectful assurances by a motion of his hand. "It has been reported to me, Magister that you have a special good fortune in finding such rarities--good fortune," repeated the Sovereign, "or what comes to the same thing, skill. Do you seriously believe that these indistinct traces will lead to the lost treasure?"

"Who can now maintain that such a discovery is impossible?" cried the Magister. "If I might be allowed, with the deepest respect, to express my views, which burst forth from my heart like a cry of joy, it is, I dare not say probable, but yet not improbable, that an accident might lead to it. Yet if I may venture respectfully to express my experience, which perhaps is only a superstition, if the manuscript be found, it will not be found where one expects, but somewhere else. Hitherto whenever in my humble existence I have had the good fortune of making a discovery--I mention only the Italian Homer of 1848--it has always been contrary to all anticipations; and what your most exalted Grace calls my skill is--if I must explain the secret of my good fortune--really nothing but the circumstance that I have generally sought where, according to human probability, no treasure could be supposed to lie."

"The views which you entertain are certainly not solacing for an impatient person," said the Sovereign, "for that may last a long time."

"Generations may pass away," replied Knips, "but the present and the future will search until the manuscript be found."

"That is but poor comfort," said the Sovereign, laughing; "and I confess, Magister, you disappoint by these words the lively expectation which I cherished, that your dexterity and skill would soon obtain for me the pleasure of seeing the book in the hands of the Professor--the book itself, or at least some palpable proof of its existence. I am a layman in all these things, and can form no judgment of the importance which you attach to the discovery. To me at present it is only to play off a joke, or--to repeat the words which you lately used with respect to your miniatures--only for the sake of raillery."

The expression and manner of the Magister altered gradually, as if under the spell of an enchanter; he shrank into himself, laid his head on his shoulder, and looked with a terrified eagerness at the Sovereign.

"In short, I wish that Mr. Werner should soon be put upon a certain trace of the manuscript, if it is not possible to obtain the manuscript itself."

Knips remained silent, staring at the speaker.

"I desire you," continued the Sovereign, emphatically, "to employ the talent you have already shown for this object. Your help must, of course, remain my secret, for I should like Mr. Werner to have the pleasure of making the discovery himself."

"It must be a large manuscript," stammered out Knips.

"I fear," replied the Sovereign, carelessly, "it must long have been torn to pieces. It is not impossible that some scattered leaves may have been preserved somewhere."

The Magister stood thunderstruck.

"It is difficult to satisfy the Professor."

"So much the greater will be your merit and reward."

Knips remained silent, in a state of terror.

"Has your confidence vanished, Magister?" said the Sovereign, ironically. "It is not the first time that you have succeeded in such a discovery." He approached closer to the little man. "I know something of former trials of your dexterity, and I have no doubt of the comprehensiveness of your talent."

Knips started, but still he remained speechless.

"For the rest, I am contented with your activity," continued the Sovereign, in a changed voice. "I do not doubt that you will in many ways know how to make yourself useful to the officials of my Court, and thereby consult your own future interest."

"What high honor!" said Knips, pitifully, drawing out his pocket-handkerchief.

"As regards the lost manuscript," continued the Sovereign, "the stay of Mr. Werner will, I fear, be only temporary. The task of pursuing the investigations in our country would, in that event, fall upon you."

Knips raised his head, and a ray of pleasure passed over his troubled face.

"If the manuscript is, in fact, as valuable as the learned gentlemen seem to think, then in case, after the departure of the Professor, there is still something to discover, you will have found with us an occupation which is especially suited to you."

"This prospect is the highest and most honorable which my life can attain to," replied Knips, more courageously.

"Good," said the Sovereign; "endeavor to deserve this claim, and try first what your dexterity can do."

"I will take pains to serve your Highness," replied the Magister, his eyes cast on the ground.

Knips left the private apartment. The little man, who now descended the staircase, looked very different from the happy Magister who a few minutes before had ascended it. His pale face was bent forward, and his eyes wandered furtively over the faces of the servants, who watched him inquisitively. He seized his hat mechanically, and he, the Magister, put it on his head while still in the royal castle. He went out into the court; the storm swept through the streets, whirled the dust round him, and blew his coat-tails forward.

"He drives me on; how can I withstand him?" murmured Knips. "Shall I return to my proof-sheets in that cold room? Shall I all my life depend on the favor of professors, always in anxiety lest an accident should betray to these learned men that I once overreached them and derided them?

"But here I pass a pleasant life, and have opportunities of being the cleverest among the ignorant and making myself indispensable to them! I am so already; the Sovereign has shown himself to me as one comrade does to another, and he can, if I do as he wishes, as little part from me as the parchment from the writing on it."

He wiped the cold sweat from his brow.

"I myself will find the manuscript," he continued, more confidently. "Jacobi Knipsii sollertia inventum. I know the great secret, and I will search day by day where only a wood-louse can creep or a spider hang its web. Then it will be for me to decide whether I shall take the Professor as an assistant to edit it, or another. Perhaps I will take him and he will be thankful to me. He will hardly find the treasure, he is too dignified to listen and to spy out where the chests are concealed."

The Magister hastened his steps; the wind whistled in sharp tones behind him,--it tore from the trees the dry leaves of the last year, and scattered them on the hat of the little man. The dust whirled more rapidly round him; it covered the dark Court dress with a pale grey coating, it pursued and enveloped him, so that the foliage of the trees and the figures of men disappeared from his sight, and he hastened onward wrapped in a cloud of dust and dead leaves. Again he raised his pocket-handkerchief, sighed, and wiped the perspiration from his temples.