CHAPTER XXXI.
HUMMEL'S TRIUMPH.
There was a lowering sultriness in nature, and also in the busy world of men. The barometer fell suddenly; thunder and hail coursed over the country; confidence was gone, stocks became worthless paper; lamentation followed arrogance; water stood in the streets; and the straw hats disappeared as if wafted away by the storm.
Whoever in these changing times might wish to observe Mr. Hummel in a good-humored frame of mind must do so in the afternoon before three o'clock, when he opened his garden door and seated himself near the hedge. During this hour he gave audience to benevolent thoughts; he listened to the striking of the city clock, and regulated his watch; he read the daily paper, counted the regular promenaders, who daily walked at the same hour to the wood and back again to the city, and he accosted his acquaintances and received their greetings. These acquaintances were for the most part householders, hard-headed men, members of the city commissions, and councillors.
To-day he was sitting at the open door, looking proudly at the opposite house, in which some secret commotion was perceptible; he examined the passersby, and returned with dignity the bows and greetings of the citizens. The first acquaintance was Mr. Wenzel, a gentleman of means, and his sponsor, who for many years had taken a constitutional every day, summer and winter, through the meadows to get into perspiration. It was the one steady business of his life, and he talked of little else.
"Good day, Hummel."
"Good day, Wenzel. Any success to-day?" asked Mr. Hummel.
"Pretty fair, only it took a long time," said Mr. Wenzel, "but I must not stop. I only wanted to ask you how things are going with him over the way?"
"Why that?" asked Hummel, annoyed.
"Do you not know that his book-keeper has disappeared?"
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Hummel.
"They say he has speculated on the stock exchange, and escaped to America. But I must be off; good day."
Mr. Wenzel hastily departed.
Mr. Hummel remained in a state of great astonishment. He heard the voice of the city-councillor calling out:
"Good day, Mr. Hummel--a warm day--90 degrees in the shade. Have you heard?" he said, pointing with his stick to the neighboring house.
"Nothing," cried Hummel; "one lives in this place like in a prison. Whether it is fire, pestilence, or the arrival of high personages, it is only by pure accident one hears of it. What is all this about the absconding book-keeper?"
"It appears that your neighbor placed too much confidence in the man, and he has secretly used the name of his employer in some mad speculations, and fled last night. They say it is to the amount of forty thousand."
"Then Hahn is ruined," said Hummel, "irredeemably. I am not surprised at it; the fellow has always been impractical."
"Perhaps things are not so bad," said the councillor, as he left him.
Mr. Hummel remained alone with his thoughts. "Naturally." He said to himself, "It was inevitable. In everything, high-flown--houses, windows, and garden fancies--never any rest; the man is gone out like a candle."
He forgot the passers-by, and moved backwards and forwards on his main walk, looking sometimes with curiosity at the hostile house. "Out like a candle," he repeated, with the satisfaction of a tragic actor who endeavors to give the most terrific expression to the telling words of his rôle. He had vexed himself half a century about that man; before his disposition to corpulency had begun, he had despised this man's ways and business. This feeling had been his daily entertainment; it was one of his daily necessities, like his boot-jack and his green boat. Now the hour was come when fate paid off the man over the way for having injured Mr. Hummel by his presence in life. Hummel looked at the house and shrugged his shoulders; the man who had placed that deformed structure before his eyes was now in danger of being driven out of it. He looked at the temple and the muse; this toy of the poor devil would soon be torn down by some stranger. Hummel went to the sitting-room; there also he walked up and down, and told his wife of Mr. Hahn's misfortune in short sentences. He observed, out of the corners of his eyes, that Mrs. Philippine hastened, nervously, to the sofa, and frequently clasped her hands; and that Laura rushed into the next room, and could not refrain from bursting into tears; and he repeated, with dreadful satisfaction, the terrible words: "He has gone out like a candle."
He behaved in the same way at the factory; he paced slowly up and down the warehouse, looked majestically on a heap of hareskins, took one of the finest hats out of a bandbox, held it towards the window, gave it a stroke with the brush, and muttered again: "It's all up with him." To-day his book-keeper, for the first time in his life, was late at his desk: he had heard of the misfortune on his way; he related it in an excited manner to his principal, and finally maliciously repeated the unfortunate words: "It's all up with him." Hummel gave him a piercing look, and snorted so that the timid heart of the clerk sank within him.
"Do you wish also to become manager of my business like that runaway? I thank you for this proof of your confidence. I have no use for such bandit-like proceedings; I am my own manager, sir, and I object to every kind of secret dealing behind my back."
"But, Mr. Hummel, I have carried on no secret dealings."
"The devil thank you for that," roared out Hummel, in his fiercest bass. "There is no more confidence on earth: nothing is firm; the holiest relations are unscrupulously violated; one can no longer trust one's friends; now even one's enemies make off. At night you lie down to sleep quietly as a German, and in the morning you wake up as a Frenchman; and if you sigh for your German coffee, your hostess brings a dish of Parisian spinach to your bed. I should be glad to learn of you on what spot of this earth we are now settled."
"In Valley Row, Mr. Hummel."
"There the last remains of our good genius spoke out. Look through the window. What stands there?" pointing to the neighboring house.
"Park Street, Mr. Hummel."
"Indeed?" asked Hummel, ironically. "Since primeval times, since your ancestors sat on the trees here nibbling beechmast, this place has been called Valley Row. In this valley I laid the foundations of my house, and enclosed in the wall an inscription for later excavators: 'Henry Hummel, No. 1.' Now the machinations of yonder extinguished straw-man have upset this truth. In spite of my protest in court, we have become transformed into park denizens by a police ordinance. Scarcely has this happened, when that man's book-keeper transforms himself into an American. Do you believe that Knips, junior, this salamander, would have ventured on this misdeed if his own principal had not set him the example? There you have the consequences of everlasting changes and improvements. For twenty years we have gone on together, but I believe now you are capable of throwing up your place and entering into another business. Bah, sir! you ought to be ashamed of your century."
It was a sorrowful day for the Hahn family. The master of the house had gone to his office in the city at the usual hour in the morning, and had awaited his book-keeper in vain. When at last he sent to the young man's dwelling, the porter brought back word that the former had departed, and left a letter on his table for Mr. Hahn. Hahn read the letter, and sank down upon his desk with sudden terror. He had always carried on his business like an honest tradesman. He had begun with small means, and had become a well to do man by his own energy; but he had confided his money matters more to his clever clerk than was prudent. The young man had grown up under his eyes, and had gradually, by his pliant, zealous service, won full confidence, and had shortly before been granted the right of signing the name of the firm to financial obligations. The new manager had succumbed to the temptations of these turbulent times and had, unknown to his principal, ventured on rash speculations. In the letter he made open confession. He had stolen a small sum for his flight: but Mr. Hahn would on the following day have to meet his losses to the amount of about twenty thousand thalers. The thunder-bolt fell from a clear heaven into the peaceful life of the merchant. Mr. Hahn sent for his son. The doctor hastened to the police-office, to his solicitor, and to his business friends, and returned again to the office to comfort his father, who sat as if paralyzed before his desk, hopelessly looking into the future.
Dinner-time came, when Mr. Hahn must impart his misfortune to his wife, and there was lamentation within the house. Mrs. Hahn went distractedly through the rooms, and Dorothy wrung her hands and cried. In the afternoon the Doctor again hastened to his acquaintances and to money-lenders; but during this week there was a panic, every one mistrusted the other. Money was scarce, and the Doctor found nothing but sympathy, and complaints of the fearful times. The flight of the book-keeper made even confidential friends suspicious as to the extent of the obligations of the firm. Even by a mortgage on the house, with the greatest sacrifice, no sufficient sum could be obtained. The danger was more threatening every hour, the anguish greater. Towards evening the Doctor returned home to his parents after his last fruitless expedition. To his father he had shown a cheerful countenance, and comforted him bravely; but the thought was incessantly present to his mind, that this misfortune would divide him utterly from his loved one. Now he sat weary and alone in the dark sitting-room, and looked towards the lighted windows of the neighboring houses.
He well knew that one friend would not fail his father in distress. But the Professor was at a distance, and any help he could give would be insufficient; at the best it would come too late. There were only a few hours before the decisive moment. The intervening time, one of rest for all others, was one of endless torture to his father, in which he contemplated, with staring eyes and feverish pulse, a hundred-fold the bitterness of the ensuing day, and the son was terrified at the effect which the dreadful strain would have on the sensitive nature of his father.
There was a slight rustle in the dark room--a light figure stood beside the Doctor. Laura seized his hand and held it fast within hers. She bent down to him, and looked in his sorrowful countenance. "I have felt the anxiety of these hours. I can no longer bear solitude," she said, gently. "Is there, no help?"
"I fear, none."
She stroked his curly hair with her hand.
"You have chosen it as your lot to despise what others so anxiously desire. The light of the sun, which illumines your brow, should never be darkened by earthly cares. Be proud, Fritz; you have never had cause to be more so than at this hour, for such a misfortune cannot rob you of anything that is worth a pang."
"My poor father!" cried Fritz.
"Yet your father is happy," continued Laura, "for he has brought up a son to whom it is scarcely a sacrifice to be deprived of what appears to other men the highest happiness. For whom had your dear parents amassed money but for you? Now you may show them how free and great you rise above these anxieties for perishable metal."
"If I feel the misfortune of this day to my own life," said the Doctor, "it is only for the sake of another."
"If it could comfort you, my friend," exclaimed Laura, with an outburst of feeling, "I will tell you today that I hold true to you, whatever may happen."
"Dear Laura!" cried the Doctor.
Her voice sang softly in his ear like a bird:
"I am glad, Fritz, that you care for me."
Fritz laid his cheek tenderly on her hand.
"I will endeavor not to be unworthy of you," continued Laura. "I have long tried in secret all that I, a poor maiden, can do, to free myself from the trivial follies that trouble our life. I have considered fully how one can keep house with very little, and I no longer spend money on useless dress and such rubbish. I am anxious also to earn something. I give lessons, Fritz, and people are satisfied with me. One requires little to live upon, I have found that out. I have no greater pleasure in my room than the thought of making myself independent. That is what I have wished to express briefly to you to-day. One thing more, Fritz; if I do not see you, I always think of and care about you."
Fritz stretched out his arms towards her, but she withdrew herself from him, nodded to him once more at the door, then flew swiftly across the street back to her attic room.
There she stood in the dark with beating heart; a pale ray of light gleamed through the window and lighted up the shepherd pair on the inkstand, so that they seemed to hover illuminated in the air. This day Laura did not think of her secret diary, she looked towards the window where her loved one sat, and again tears gushed from her eyes; but she composed herself with quick decision, fetched a light and a jug of water from the kitchen, collected her lace collars and cuffs and soaked them in a basin--she could do all this herself too. It was another little saving, it might sometime be of use to Fritz.
Mr. Hummel closed his office and continued to rove about. The door of Laura's room opened, the daughter shrank within herself when she saw her father cross the threshold solemnly, like a messenger of Fate. Hummel moved towards his daughter and looked sharply at her weeping eyes.
"On account of him over the way, I suppose." Laura hid her face in her hands, again her sorrow overpowered her.
"There you have your little bells," he grumbled in a low tone. "There you have your pocket-handkerchiefs and your Indians. It is all over with the people there." He slapped her on the shoulder with his large hand. "Be quiet. We are not responsible for his ruin; your pocket-handkerchiefs prove nothing."
It became dark; Hummel walked up and down the street between the two houses, looking at the hostile dwelling from the park side, where it was less accessible to him, and his broad face assumed a triumphant smile. At last he discovered an acquaintance who was hastening out of it, and followed him.
"What is the state of the case?" he asked, seizing the arm of the other. "Can he save himself?"
His business friend shrugged his shoulders.
"It cannot remain a secret," he said, and explained the situation and danger of the adversary.
"Will he be able to procure money to meet it?"
The other again shrugged his shoulders.
"Hardly to-morrow. Money is not to be had at any price. The man is of course worth more; the business is good, and the house unencumbered."
"The house is not worth twenty thousand," interposed Hummel.
"No matter; in a sound state of the money market he would bear the blow without danger, now I fear the worst."
"I have said it, he has gone out like a candle," muttered Hummel, and abruptly turned his steps towards his house.
In the Doctor's room father and son were sitting over letters and accounts, the light of the lamp shone on the gilded titles of the books against the wall, and the portfolios containing the treasures industriously collected by the Doctor from all corners of the world, and bound up and placed here in grand array--now they were again to be dispersed. The son was endeavoring to inspire his despairing father with courage.
"If the misfortune cannot be prevented which has come upon us like a hurricane, we must bear it like men: you can save your honor. The greatest sorrow that I feel is that I can now be of so little use to you, and that the advice of every man of business is of more value than the help of your own son."
The father laid his head on the table, powerless and stupefied.
The door opened, and from the dark hall a strange form entered the room with heavy steps. The Doctor sprang up and stared at the hard features of a well-known face. Mr. Hahn uttered a shriek and rose hastily from the sofa to leave the room.
"Mr. Hummel!" exclaimed the Doctor, alarmed.
"Of course," replied Hummel; "it is I, who else should it be?" He laid a packet on the table. "Here are twenty thousand thalers in certified City Bonds, and here is a receipt for you both to sign. To-morrow you shall give a mortgage for it upon your house: the papers must be repaid in kind, for I do not mean to lose by it, exchange is too bad now. The mortgage shall run for ten years, in order that you may not think I wish to take your house; you can pay me back when you please, the whole at once, or by degrees. I know your business, no money can now be obtained upon your straw; but in ten years the loss may be recovered. I make only one condition, that no human being shall know of this loan, least of all your wife, and my wife and daughter. For this I have good reasons. Do not look at me as the cat looks at the king," he continued, turning to the Doctor. "Set to work, count the bonds and note their numbers. Make no speeches, I am not a man of sentiment, and figures of rhetoric are no use to me. I think of my security also. The house is scarcely worth twenty thousand thalers, but it satisfies me. If you should wish to carry it off I should see it. You have taken care that it should be near enough to my eyes. Now count, please, and sign the receipt, Doctor," he said, authoritatively, pushing him down on his chair.
"Mr. Hummel," began Hahn, somewhat indistinctly, for it was difficult for him to speak in his emotion, "I shall never forget this hour to the end of my life." He wished to go up to him and give him his hand, but the tears streamed from his eyes and he was obliged to cover his face with his pocket-handkerchief.
"Be seated," said Hummel, pushing him down on the sofa; "steadiness and stoicism are always the main thing; they are better than Chinese toys. I shall say nothing further to-day, and you must say nothing to me of this occurrence. To-morrow everything will be made smooth before the notary and the registrar, and interest must be punctually paid, quarterly; for the rest, our relation to each other remains the same. For, you see, we are not merely men, we are also business people. As a man, I well know what are your good points, even when you complain of me. But our houses and our business do not agree. We have been opponents twenty years, felt against straw, with our hobbies and our trellis-work fences. That may remain so; what is not harmonious need not harmonise. When you call me bristles and felt, I will be coarse to you, and I will consider you as a straw blockhead as often as I am angry with you. But with all that, we may have, as now, private business together; and if ever, which I hope will never happen, robbers should plunder me, you will do for me as much as you can. This I know and have always known, and therefore I am come to you to-day."
Hahn gave him a look of warm gratitude, and again raised his pocket-handkerchief.
Hummel laid his hand heavily upon his head, as with a little child and said, gently, "You are a visionary, Hahn. The doctor is ready now; sign, and do not either of you take this misfortune too much to heart. There," he continued, strewing sand over the paper carefully, "to-morrow, about nine o'clock, I will send my solicitor to your office. Stay where you are; the staircase is badly lighted, but I shall find my way. Good night."
He entered the street, and looked contemptuously at the hostile walls. "No mortgage?" he muttered. "H. Hummel, first and last, twenty thousand;" At home he vouchsafed some comforting words to his ladies. "I have heard that the people there will be able to pull through, so I forbid further lamenting. If ever, in conformity with miserable fashion, you should need a straw hat, you may take your money rather to the Hahns than to others; I give my permission."
Some days after Fritz Hahn entered the small office of Mr. Hummel. The latter motioned to his bookkeeper to withdraw, and began, coolly, from his arm chair, "What do you bring me, Doctor?"
"My father feels it a duty to meet the great confidence that you have shown him, by giving you an insight into the state of his business, and begs you to assist him in his arrangements. He is of opinion, that until this disastrous affair has passed over, he should do nothing important without your assent."
Hummel laughed. "What! I am to give advice, and that too, in the management of your business? You would put me in a position that is preposterous, and one against which I protest."
The Doctor silently placed before him a statement of assets and liabilities.
"You are a sharp customer," cried Hummel, "but for an old fox this trap is not cunningly enough laid." With that he looked at the credit and debit, and took a pencil in his hand. "Here I find among the assets five hundred thalers for books that are to be sold. I did not know that your father had this hobby also."
"They are my books, Mr. Hummel. I have of late years spent more money upon these than was absolutely necessary for my work. I am determined to sell what I can do without; a book-dealer has already offered to pay this sum in two instalments."
"The sheriff is never allowed to levy on instruments of trade," said Hummel, making a stroke through that entry in the ledger. "I believe, indeed, that they are unreadable stuff, but the world has many dark corners; and as you have a fancy to be an anomalous dick among your fellows, you shall remain in your hole." He regarded the Doctor with an ironical twinkle in his eye. "Have you nothing further to say? I do not mean with reference to your father's business, I have nothing further to do with that, but upon another subject, which you yourself seem to carry on; from your movements of late you evidently wish to associate yourself with my daughter Laura?"
The Doctor colored. "I should have chosen another day for the declaration which you now demand of me. But it is my anxious wish to come to an understanding with you concerning it. I have long entertained a secret hope that time would lessen your aversion to me."
"Time?" interrupted Hummel; "that's absurd."
"Now by the noble assistance which you have extended to my father, I am placed in a position towards you which is so painful to me that I must beg of you not to refuse me your sympathy. With strenuous exertion and fortunate circumstances it would now be years before I could acquire a position to maintain a wife."
"Starving trade," interposed Mr. Hummel, in a grumbling tone.
"I love your daughter and I cannot sacrifice this feeling. But I have lost the prospect of offering her a future which could in some measure answer to what she is entitled to expect; and the helping hand which you have extended to my father makes me so dependent on you that I must avoid what would excite your displeasure. Therefore I see a desolate future before me."
"Exactly as I prophesied," replied Mr. Hummel, "wretched and weak."
The Doctor drew back, but at the same time he laid his hand on his neighbor's arm. "This manner of language will serve you no longer, Mr. Hummel," said he smiling.
"Noble, but abject," repeated Hummel with satisfaction. "You should be ashamed, sir; do you pretend to be a lover? You wish to know how to please my daughter Laura, such an evasive, forlorn specimen as you? Will you regulate your feelings according to my mortgage? If you are in love, I expect that you should conduct yourself like a rampant lion, jealous and fierce. Bah, sir! you are a beautiful Adonis to me, or whatever else that fellow Nicodemus was called."
"Mr. Hummel, I ask for your daughter's hand," cried the Doctor.
"I refuse it you," cried Hummel. "You mistake my words. I do not think of throwing my daughter into this bargain also. But you must not misunderstand my refusal to give you my daughter; your duty is to pursue her more fiercely than ever. You must attack me, and force yourself into my house; in return for which I reserve to myself the right to show you the way out. But I have always said it, you are wanting in courage."
"Mr. Hummel," replied the Doctor, with dignity, "allow me to remark that you should no longer be on the offensive with me."
"Why not?" asked Hummel.
The Doctor pointed to the papers.
"What has happened in this matter makes it difficult for me to use strong language to you. It can be no pleasure to you to attack one who cannot defend himself."
"These pretentions are really ridiculous," replied Hummel. "Because I have given you my money must I cease to treat you as you deserve? Because you, perhaps, are not disinclined to marry my daughter, am I to stroke you with a velvet brush? Did one ever hear such nonsense?"
"You mistake," continued the Doctor, civilly, "if you think that I am not in a position to answer what you say. I therefore do myself the honor of remarking to you that your mockery is so wounding that even the kindness you have shown loses its value."
"Have done with your kindness--it was only kindness from revenge."
"Then I will as honestly tell you," continued the Doctor, "that it was a very bitter hour to me when you entered our house. I knew how oppressive the obligation which you then conferred upon us would be for the rest of my life. But I looked at my poor father, and the thought of his misery closed my mouth. For my own part, I would rather have begged my bread than taken your money."
"Go on," cried Hummel.
"What you have done for my father does not give you a right to ill-treat me. This conversation strengthens me in the conviction that I have had from the outset, that we must exert ourselves to the utmost to repay you the money we have received, as soon as possible. You have crossed out the item in which I credited my books, but I shall sell them."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Hummel.
"I shall do it, however insignificant the sum may be in comparison with our debt, because the tyranny which you wish to exercise over me threatens to become insupportable. I at least will not be indebted to you in this way."
"Yet you wish it in another way that suits you better."
"Yes," replied the Doctor. "As you have so contemptuously rejected the greatest sacrifice I could make, I shall continue to woo your daughter, even against your will. I shall endeavor to speak to her whenever I can, and to make myself as acceptable to her as is possible in my position. You yourself have shown me this way. You will therefore be satisfied if I enter upon it, and if you are not, I shall pay no regard to your displeasure."
"At last," cried Hummel, "it all comes to light I see now that you have some fire in you; therefore we will talk quietly over this business. You are not the husband whom I could have wished for my daughter. I have kept you away from my house, but it has been of no use, for a cursed sentiment has arisen between you; I therefore intend now to carry on the affair differently. I shall not object to you coming to my house sometimes. I depend upon your doing it with discretion. I will ignore your presence, and my daughter shall have an opportunity of seeing how you compare with the four walls. We will both await the result."
"I do not agree to this proposal," replied the Doctor. "I do not expect that you should give me your daughter's hand now, and I only accept the entrance into your family on condition that you yourself will treat me as becomes a guest in your house, and that you will perform the duties of a friendly host. I cannot suffer that you should speak to me in the way you have done in our conversation to-day. Any insult, either by words or by neglect, I will not bear from you. I am not only desirous to please your daughter, but also to be agreeable to yourself. For that I demand opportunity. If you do not agree to this condition, I prefer not to come at all."
"Humboldt, do not undertake too much at once," replied Mr. Hummel, shaking his head, "for you see I esteem you, but I really do not like you. Therefore I will consider how far I can make myself pleasant to you; I assure you it will be hard work. Meanwhile, take these papers with you. Your father has bought the lesson, that he should himself look after his own money affairs. For the rest, matters are not in a bad state, and he will be able to help himself out of it; you do not need either me or another. Good morning, Doctor."
The doctor took the papers under his arm.
"I beg you to shake hands, Mr. Hummel."
"Not so hastily," replied Hummel.
"I am sorry for it," said the Doctor, smiling, "but I cannot be denied to-day."
"Only from innate politeness," rejoined Hummel, "not from good will."
He held out his large hand to him.
"Keep your books," he cried out, to the departing visitor. "I can see through that scheme, you will buy them again, and then I shall have to pay for them anyhow."
CHAPTER XXXII.
A CHAPTER FROM TACITUS.
Tobias Bachhuber! when your sponsors concluded that you should be called Tobias they did bad service to you and your descendants. For he who bears that name is by fate subjected to experiences that do not fall to the lot of more favorably named men. Who ever passed so miserable a honey-moon as Tobias the younger, the poor son of the blind man? For was he not obliged to fast, and to struggle with a murderous spirit just at a time when a spiritual struggle would be highly disagreeable to any mortal? Even you, blessed Bachhuber, have bitterly experienced the misfortune of your name. Whether the fatal war with Sweden may have arisen because the Swedes hankered after your manuscript, will not be discussed here; it is to be hoped that new historical investigations may yet bring this secret motive of action to light. But it cannot be denied that you yourself suffered lamentably in the war, and the curse of your name still clings to the treasure which you concealed. All who have anything to do with it have their eyes blinded, and an evil spirit destroys their hopes.
The Professor also was tormented with this blindness, and troubled by the demon. He had found nothing. Many would have been weary and given it up, but his eagerness only increased, for he did not, by any means, search heedlessly; he knew very well that the discovery depended on a long chain of accidents which were beyond all calculation. But he wished to do all in his power; his task was to give assurance to the learned of the world that the archives, collections, and inventories of the Sovereign had been thoroughly examined. This certainty at least he could obtain better than any one else, and he would thus do his duty both to the Sovereign and to Learning. But his impatience became more eager, and the cheerful excitement he felt at first increased to uncomfortable agitation; constant disappointment disturbed his daily frame of mind. He often sat lost in thought, nay, he was always speaking of the treasure, and Ilse could not please him; her objections and even her consolation wounded him, for he was very much vexed that she did not partake of his zeal. He knew accurately what would be the appearance of the manuscript--a large, thick quarto, very old characters, perhaps of the sixth century, much faded, and many leaves half destroyed, for he could not conceal from himself that the mischievous spirit of the times, water and the rats, might have made havoc with it.
One day the Professor entered the Princess's study with heightened color.
"At last I can bring you a good report. In a small bundle of deeds in the Marshal's office, which had hitherto unaccountably escaped me, I have found a lost entry on a single sheet. The chests which the official at Bielstein sent in the beginning of the last century to the vanished castle are briefly designated as numbers one and two, with a remark that they contained besides old cross-bows, arrows, &c., manuscripts of the monastery of Rossau. Thus, there were two chests with manuscripts of the monastery in them."
The Princess looked with curiosity at the sheet which he laid before her.
"It was high time that this account should come to light," continued the Professor, gaily; "for I confess to your Highness that the phantom pursued me day and night. This is a valuable confirmation that I am on the right path."
"Yes," cried the Princess, "I am convinced we shall find the treasure. If I could but help you a little. If it could be obtained by magic, I would gladly put on my magic girdle and call upon Lady Hecate. Unfortunately this mode of calling spirits to one's aid is out of date, and it is difficult to learn the secret art by which learned gentlemen unearth their treasures."
"I also am now little better than a wretched exorcist," answered the Professor. "It would be a bad recommendation for me if your Highness were to judge of my work by what I have achieved here in stirring up the old dust. One is delighted and disappointed, like a child. It is fortunate that fate does not often tease us book-writers with such tricks; what we do for the benefit of others does not depend upon accidental discoveries."
"I can form an idea of the seriousness of the work which I do not see," exclaimed the Princess. "Your kindness has opened at least an aperture through which I can look into the workshop of creative minds. I can understand that the labor of learned men must have an irresistible attraction for those who belong to that silent community. I envy the women whose happiness it is to live their whole lives within the sphere of such occupations."
"We are bold conquerors at the writing-table," answered the Professor; "but the incongruity between our inward freedom and outward helplessness is often felt by the conqueror and those about him. They who really pass their lives with us may easily fathom us, and can with difficulty bear our one-sidedness. For, your Highness, learned men themselves are like the books they write. In general we are badly prepared for the whirl of business, and sometimes helpless in the manifold activity of our time. We are true friends to men in those hours in which they seek new strength for the struggle of life, but in the struggle itself we are generally unskilful assistants."
"Are you thinking of yourself in speaking thus?" asked the Princess, quickly.
"I had in my mind a picture of the combined traits of many of my fellow-workers, but if your Highness inquires, about myself, I also am in this respect a regular man of learning. For I have often had opportunity of remarking how imperfect is my judgment on all questions in which my learning or my moral feeling do not give me assurance."
"I do not like that, Mr. Werner," cried the Princess, leaning gravely back in her arm-chair. "My fancy took its highest flight; I sat as sovereign of the world, prepared to make my people happy, and I made you my minister of state."
"Your confidence gives me pleasure," replied the Professor; "but if your Highness should ever be in the position to seek for an assistant in government, I could not accept this dignity with a good conscience unless your Highness's subjects had all been passed through the bookbinder's press, and wore little coats of pasteboard, and had on their backs labels that told the contents of each."
The Princess laughed, but her eyes rested with deep feeling on the honest countenance of the man. She rose and approached him.
"You are always true, open, and high-minded."
"Thanks for your judgment," replied the Professor, much pleased. "Even your Highness treats me like a spirit that dwells in a book; you praise me as openly as if I did not understand the words that you speak. I beg permission to convey to your Highness my feelings also in a review."
"What I am like, I do not wish to hear from you," exclaimed the Princess; "for you would, in spite of the harmlessness which you boast of, end by reading me as plainly as if I had a morocco-covered back and gilt edges. But I am serious when I praise you. Yes, Mr. Werner, since you have been with us I have attained to a better understanding of the value of life. You do not know what an advantage it is for me to have intercourse with a mind which, undisturbed by the little trifles around it, only serves its high goddess of Truth. The turmoil of daily life bears hard upon us, and perplexes us; those by whom I am surrounded, even the best of them, all think and care about themselves, and make convenient compacts between their feeling of duty and their egotism. But in you I perceive unselfishness and the incessant devotion of yourself to the highest labor of man. There is something great and lofty in this that overpowers me with admiration. I feel the worth of such an existence, like a new light that penetrates my soul. Never have I known any one about me so inspired with heaven in his breast. That is my review of you, Professor Werner; it is, perhaps, not well written, but it comes from my heart."
The eyes of the learned man shone as he looked at the enthusiastic countenance of the princely child, but he was silent. There was a long pause. The Princess turned away, and bent over her books. At last she began, with gentle voice:
"You are going to your daily work, I will do so also. Before you leave me, I beg of you to be my instructor: I have marked a place in the work no art that you had the kindness to bring from the library, which I could not quite understand."
The Professor took the open book from her hand, and laughed.
"This is the theory of quite a different art; it is not the right book."
The Princess read, "How to make blanc-mange." She opened the title page: "Common-sense cook-book of an old Nuremberg cook." She turned the book round with astonishment; it was the same simple binding.
"How does this come here?" she exclaimed, with vexation, and rang for her maid.
"No one has been here," said the latter, "except the Princes, a short time ago."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Princess, depressed. "Then there is no hope. We are now under the dominion of a mischievous spirit, and must wait till our book returns. Farewell, Mr. Werner; if the mischievous spirit restores me the book I shall call you back."
When the Professor had taken leave, the maid came back alarmed and brought the lost Archæology in a sad condition. The book was in the cage of the monkey. Giocco had studied it industriously, and was furious when the volume was taken away from him.
At the same hour the Chamberlain was standing before the Sovereign.
"Your friends from the University have domesticated themselves with us; I take for granted that you have done your best to make our city agreeable to them."
"Professor Werner appears well contented," replied the Chamberlain, with reserve.
"Has your sister Malwine made the acquaintance of the Professor's wife?"
"Unfortunately my sister has been obliged to nurse a sick aunt in the country."
"That is a pity," replied the Sovereign; "she may have reason to regret this accident. Some time ago you expressed your opinion that some practical occupation would be beneficial to the Hereditary Prince; I have considered the matter. It will be necessary to find the means of a temporary residence in the district of Rossau. The old forester's lodge will not be ill adapted to it. I have determined by additional building to change the house into a habitable residence. The Hereditary Prince must be on the spot to plan the building according to his wishes, and you will accompany him. The architect has orders to draw the plans according to the Prince's directions. I only wish to speak to him about the proposed estimate. Meanwhile the Hereditary Prince will occupy the rooms that are reserved for me in the forester's lodge. But as the building will not take up his whole time, he may employ his leisure in obtaining an insight into our agricultural methods, at the farm of the adjoining proprietor. He should learn about field-work and book-keeping. The year is already far advanced, which makes a speedy departure advisable. I hope this arrangement will meet a wish that you have long entertained. The beautiful country and the quiet wood will be a refreshment to you after your winterwork."
The Chamberlain bowed dismayed before his master, who so graciously pronounced his banishment from Court. He hastened to the Hereditary Prince and related the bad tidings.
"It is exile!" he exclaimed, beside himself.
"Make your preparations speedily," replied the Hereditary Prince quietly. "I am prepared to go at once."
The Hereditary Prince went to his father.
"I will do what you command, and make every effort to please you. If you, as a father, consider this residence in a distant place useful, I feel that you understand better than I what will be beneficial for my future. But," he continued, with hesitation, "I cannot go from here without making a request which I have much at heart."
"Speak, Benno," said the Sovereign, graciously.
"I beg of you to permit the Professor and his wife to depart as quickly as possible from the neighborhood of the Court."
"Why so?" asked the Sovereign sharply.
"Their residence here is hurtful to Mrs. Werner. Her reputation is endangered by the unusual position in which she is placed. I owe him and her great gratitude; their happiness is a matter of concern to me, and I am tormented by the thought that their stay in our parts threatens to disturb the peace of their life."
"And why does your gratitude fear a disturbance of the happiness that is so dear to you?" asked the Sovereign.
"It is said that the Pavillion is a fateful residence for an honorable woman," replied the Hereditary Prince, decidedly.
"If what you call honor is endangered by her dwelling there, then that virtue is easily lost," said the Sovereign, bitterly.
"It is not the dwelling alone," continued the Hereditary Prince; "the ladies of the Court have been quite reserved in their conduct toward her; she is ill spoken of: gossip and calumny are busy in fabricating a false representation of her innocent life."
"I hear with astonishment," said the Sovereign, "the lively interest you take in the stranger; yet, if I am rightly informed, you yourself during this time have shown her little chivalrous attention."
"I have not done so," exclaimed the Hereditary Prince, "because I have felt myself bound to avoid, at least so far as I was concerned, any conduct that might injure her. I saw the jeering looks of our gentlemen when she arrived; I heard their derogatory words about the new beauty who was shut up in that house, and my heart beat with shame and anger. Therefore I have painfully controlled myself; I have feigned indifference before those about me, and I have been cold in my demeanor towards her; but, my father, it has been a hard task to me, and I have felt deep and bitter anxiety in the past few weeks; for the happiest hours of my life at college were passed in her society."
The Sovereign had turned away; he now showed his son a smiling countenance.
"So that was the reason of your reserve. I had forgotten that you had reached the age of tender susceptibility and were inclined to expend more emotion and sentiment on your relations to women than is good for you. Yet I could envy you this. Unfortunately, life does not long retain its sensitive feelings." He approached the Prince, and continued, good-humoredly: "I do not deny, Benno, that in your interest I regarded the arrival of our visitors differently. For a prince of your nature there is perhaps nothing so fraught with culture as the tender feeling for a woman who makes no demands on the external life of her friend, and yet gives him all the charm of an intimate union of soul. Love affairs with ladies of the Court or with assuming intrigants would be dangerous for you; you must be on your guard that the woman to whom you devote yourself will not trifle with you and selfishly make use of you for her own ends. From all that I knew, your connection with the lady in the Pavilion was just what would be advantageous for your future life. From reasons of which I have full appreciation, you have avoided accepting this idyllic relation. You yourself have not chosen what I, with the best intentions, prepared for you; it seems to me, therefore, that you have lost the right in this affair to express any wishes whatever."
"Father," exclaimed the Hereditary Prince, horrified, and wringing his hands, "your saying this to me is indeed unkind. I had a dark foreboding that the invitation to them had some secret object in view. I have struggled with this suspicion, and blamed myself for it; now I am dismayed with the thought that I myself am the innocent cause of this misfortune to these good people. Your words give me the right to repeat my request: let them go as soon as possible, or you will make your son miserable."
"I perceive an entirely new phase of your character," replied the Sovereign; "and I am thankful to you for the insight that you have at last accorded me into your silent nature. You are either a fantastical dreamer, or you have a talent for diplomacy that I have never attributed to you."
"I have never been other than candid to you," exclaimed the Hereditary Prince.
"Shall the lady return to her home at Bielstein to be saved?" asked the Sovereign mockingly.
"No," replied the Hereditary Prince, in a low tone.
"Your demand scarcely deserves an answer," continued the father. "The strangers have been called here for a certain time. The husband is not in my service. I am neither in a position to send them away, as they have given me no reason for dissatisfaction, nor to keep them here against their will."
"Forgive me, my father," exclaimed the Hereditary Prince. "You have yourself, by the gracious attention which you daily show to the wife, by your civil gifts and frequent visits, occasioned the Court to think that you take a special personal interest in her."
"Is the Court so busy in reporting to you what I, through the unbecoming conduct of others, have thought fit to do?" asked the Sovereign.
"Little is reported to me of what those about us say, and be assured that I do not lend a ready ear to their conjectures; but it is inevitable that I sometimes must hear what occupies them all and makes them all indignant. They venture to maintain even, that every one who does not show her attention is in disgrace with you; and they think that they show special firmness of character and respectability in refusing to be civil to her. You, as well as she, are threatened with calumny. Forgive me, my father, for being thus frank. You yourself have by your favor brought the lady into this dangerous position, and therefore it lies with you to deliver her from it."
"The Court always becomes virtuous when its master selects for distinction a lady who does not belong to their circle; and you will soon learn the value of such strict morals," replied the Sovereign. "It must be a strong sentiment, Benno, which drives your timid nature to the utmost limits of the freedom of speech that is allowable from a son to a father."
The pale face of the Hereditary Prince colored.
"Yes, my father," he cried, "hear what to every other ear will remain a secret; I love that lady with fervent and devoted heart. I would with pleasure make the greatest sacrifice in my power for her. I have felt the power that the beauty and innocence of a woman can exercise on a man. More than once have I strengthened myself by contact with her pure spirit. I was happy when near her, and unhappy when I could not look into her eyes. For a whole year I have thought in secret of her, and in this sorrowful feeling I have grown to be a man. That I have now courage to speak thus to you, I owe to the influence which she has exercised upon me. I know, my father, how unhappy such a passion makes one; I know the misery of being for ever deprived of the woman one loves. The thought of the peace of her pure soul alone has sustained me in hours of bitterness. Now you know all. I have confided my secret to you and I beg of you, my Sovereign and father, to receive this confidence with indulgence. If you have hitherto cared for my welfare, now is the time when you can show me the highest proof of our sincerity. Honor the woman who is loved by your unhappy son."
The countenance of the Sovereign had changed while his son was speaking, and the latter was terrified at its menacing expression.
"Seek, for your tale, the ear of some knight-errant who eagerly drinks the water into which a tear of his lady-love has dropped."
"Yes, I seek your knightly help, my liege and Sovereign," cried the Hereditary Prince, beside himself. "I conjure you, do not let me implore you in vain. I call upon you, as the head of our illustrious house, and as a member of the order whose device we both wear, to do a service to me and for her. Do not refuse her your support in her danger."
"We are not attending a mediæval ceremony," replied the Sovereign, coldly, "and your speech does not accord with the tone of practical life. I have not desired your confidence--you have thrust it upon me in too bold a manner. Do not wonder that your father is angry with your presumptuous speech, and that your Sovereign dismisses you with displeasure."
The Hereditary Prince turned pale and stepped back.
"The anger of my father and the displeasure of my Sovereign are misfortunes which I feel deeply; but still more fearful to me is the thought, that here at Court an injury is done to an innocent person--an injury in which I must have a share. However heavily your anger may fall upon me, yet I must tell you that you have exposed the lady to misrepresentation, and as long as I stand before you I will repeat it, and not desist from my request to remove her from here, for the sake of her honor and ours."
"As your words flutter ceaselessly about the same empty phantom," replied the Sovereign, "it is time to put an end to this conversation. You will depart at once, and leave it to time to enable me to forget, if I ever can do so, what I have heard from you to-day. Till then you may reflect in solitude on your folly, in wishing to play the part of guardian to strangers who are quite in a position to take care of themselves."
The Hereditary Prince bowed.
"Has my most Sovereign liege any commands for me?" he asked, with trembling lips.
The Sovereign replied sullenly:
"It only remains to you how to excite the ill-will of the strangers against your father."
"Your Highness knows that such conduct would not become me."
The Sovereign waved his hand, and his son departed with a silent bow.
Immediately upon quitting the apartment of the father, the Prince ordered his carriage, and then hastened to his sister. The Princess looked anxiously into his disturbed countenance.
"You are going away?" she exclaimed.
"Farewell!" he said, holding out his hand to her. "I am going into the country to build a new castle for us in case we should wish to change the scene of action."
"When do you return, Benno?"
The Hereditary Prince shrugged his shoulders.
"When the Sovereign commands. My task is now to become something of an architect and farmer; this is a useful occupation. Farewell, Sidonie. If chance should bring you together with Mrs. Werner, I would be greatly indebted to you if you would not attend to the gossip of the Court, but remember that she is a worthy lady, and that I owe her a great debt of gratitude."
"Are you dissatisfied with me, my brother?" asked the Princess, anxiously.
"Make reparation for it, Siddy, as best you can. Farewell!"
Prince Victor accompanied him to the carriage. The Hereditary Prince clasped his hand, and looked significantly towards the Pavilion. Victor nodded. "That's my opinion too," he said. "Before I go back to my garrison I will visit you in the land of cat-tails. I expect to find you as a brother hermit, with a long beard and a cap made of tree-bark. Farewell, Knight Toggenburg, and learn there that the best philosophy on earth is to consider every day as lost on which one cannot do some foolish trick. If one does not do this business one's self, others will take the trouble off one's hands. It is always more pleasant to be the hammer than the anvil."
The Sovereign was gloomy and silent at dinner; only short remarks fell from his lips, and sometimes a bitter jest, from which one remarked that he was striving for composure; the Court understood that this unpleasant mood was connected with the departure of the Hereditary Prince, and every one took care not to irritate him. The Professor alone was able to draw a smile from him, when he good-humoredly told about the enchanted castle, Solitude. After dinner the Sovereign conversed with one of his aides-de-camp as well as the Professor. The latter turned to the High Steward; and although he usually avoided the reserved politeness of the man, he on this occasion asked him some indifferent questions. The High Steward answered civilly that the Marshal, who was close by, could give him the best information, and he changed his place. Immediately afterwards the Sovereign walked straight through the company to the High Steward, and drew him into the recess of the window, and began:
"You accompanied me on my first journey to Italy, and, if I am not mistaken, partook a little of my fondness for antiquities. Our collection is being newly arranged and a catalogue fully prepared."
The High Steward expressed his acknowledgment of this princely liberality.
"Professor Werner is very active," continued the Sovereign; "it is delightful to see how well he understands to arrange the specimens."
The High Steward remained silent.
"Your Excellency will remember how when in Italy we were much amused at the enthusiasm of collectors who, luring strangers into their cabinets, wildly gesticulated and rhapsodized over some illegible inscription. Like most other men, our guest is also afflicted with a hobby. He suspected that an old manuscript lay concealed in a house in our principality; therefore he married the daughter of the proprietor; and as, in spite of that, he did not find the treasure, he is now secretly seeking this phantasm in the old garrets of the palace. Has he never spoken to you of it?"
"I have as yet had no occasion to seek his confidence," replied the High Steward.
"Then you have missed something," continued the Sovereign; "in his way he speaks well and readily about it; it will amuse you to examine more closely this species of folly. Come presently with him into my study."
The High Steward bowed; and on the breaking up of the party, informed the Professor that the Sovereign wished to speak to him.
The gentlemen entered the Sovereign's apartment, in order to afford him an hour of entertainment.
"I have told his Excellency," the Sovereign began, "that you have a special object of interest which you pursue like a sportsman. How about the manuscript?"
The Professor related his new discovery of the two chests.
"The next hunting-ground which I hope to try will be the garrets and rooms in the summer castle of the Princess; if these yield me no booty, I would hardly know of any place that has not been searched."
"I shall be delighted if you soon attain your object," said the Sovereign, looking at the High Steward. "I assume that the discovery of this manuscript will be of great importance for your own professional career. Of course you will consent to publish the same."
"It would be the noblest task that could fall to my lot," replied the Professor, "always supposing that your Highness would graciously entrust the work to me."
"You shall undertake the work, and no other," replied the Sovereign, laughing, "so far as I have the right to decide it. So the invisible book will be really of great importance to learning?"
"The greatest importance. The contents of it will be of the highest value to every scholar. I think it would also interest your Highness," said the Professor, innocently, "for the Roman Tacitus is in a certain sense a Court historian; the main point of his narrative is the characters of the Emperors who, in the first century of our era, decided the fate of the old world. It is indeed, on the whole, a sorrowful picture."
"Did he belong to the hostile party?" inquired the Sovereign.
"He is the great narrator of the peculiar deformity of character found in the sovereigns of the ancient world; we have to thank him for a series of psychological studies of a malady that then developed itself on the throne."
"That is new to me," replied the Sovereign, fidgeting on his chair.
"Your Highness will, I am convinced, view the various forms of this mental malady with the greatest sympathy, and will find in other periods of the past--nay, even in the earlier civilization of our own people--many remarkable parallel cases."
"Do you speak of a special malady that only befalls rulers?" asked the Sovereign; "physicians will be grateful to you for this discovery."
"In fact," answered the Professor, eagerly, "the fearful importance of this phenomenon is far too little estimated; no other has exercised such an immeasurable influence on the fate of nations. The destruction by pestilence and war is small in comparison with the fatal devastation of nations which has been occasioned by this special misfortune of the rulers. For this malady, which raged long after Tacitus among the Roman emperors, is not an ailing that is confined to ancient Rome--it is undoubtedly as old as the despotisms of the human race; even later it has been the lot of numerous rulers in Christian states; it has produced deformed and grotesque characters in every period; it has been for thousands of years the worm enclosed in the brain, consuming the marrow of the head, destroying the judgment and corroding the moral feelings, until at last nothing remained but the hollow glitter of life. Sometimes it became madness which could be proved by medical men, but in numerous other cases the capacity for practical life did not cease and the secret mischief was carefully concealed. There were periods when only occasional firmly-established minds preserved their full healthy vigor; and again other centuries when the heads that wore a diadem inhaled a fresh atmosphere from the people. I am convinced that he whose vocation it is to investigate accurately the conditions of later times will, in the course of his studies, discover the same malady under a milder form. My life lies far from these observations, but the Roman state undoubtedly shows the strangest forms of the malady; for there were the widest relations, and such a powerful development of human nature both in virtue and vice as has seldom since been found in history."
"It seems to be a particular pleasure to the learned gentlemen to bring to light these sufferings of former rulers," said the Sovereign.
"They are certainly instructive for all times," continued the Professor, confidently, "for by fearful example they impress upon one the truth that the higher a man's position is, the greater is the necessity of barriers to restrain the arbitrariness of his nature. Your Highness's independent judgment and rich experience will enable you to discern, more distinctly than any one in my sphere of life, that the phenomena of this malady always show themselves where the ruling powers have less to fear and to honor than other mortals. What preserves a man in ordinary situations is that he feels himself at every moment of his life under strict and incessant control; his friends, the law, and the interest of others surround him on all sides, they demand imperiously that he should conform his thoughts and will by rules which secure the welfare of others. At all times the power of these fetters is less effective on the ruler; he can easily cast off what confines him, an ungracious movement of the hand frightens the monitor forever from his side. From morning to evening he is surrounded by persons who accommodate themselves to him; no friend reminds him of his duty, no law punishes him. Hundreds of examples teach us that former rulers, even amidst great outward success, suffered from inward ravages, where they were not guarded by a strong public opinion, or incessantly constrained by the powerful participation of the people in the state. We cannot but think of the gigantic power of a general and conqueror whose successes and victories brought devastation and excessive sin into his own life; he became a fearful sham, a liar to himself and a liar to the world before he was overthrown, and long before he died. To investigate similar cases is, as I said, not my vocation."
"No," said the Sovereign, in a faint voice.
"The distant time," began the High Steward, "of which you speak, was a sad epoch for the people as well as the rulers. If I am not mistaken a feeling of decay was general, and the admired writers were of little value; at least it appears to me that Apuleius and Lucan were frivolous and deplorably vulgar men."
The Professor looked surprised at the courtier.
"In my youth such authors were much read," he continued. "I do not blame the better ones of that period, when they turned away with disgust at such doings, and withdrew into the most retired private life, or into the Theban wilderness. Therefore when you speak of a malady of the Roman emperors, I might retort that it was only the result of the monstrous malady of the people; although I see quite well that during this corruption individuals accomplished a great advance in the human race, the freeing the people from the exclusiveness of nationality to the unity of culture, and the new ideal which was brought upon earth by Christianity."
"Undoubtedly the form of the state, and the style of culture which each individual emperor found, were decisive for his life. Every one is, in this sense, the child of his own time, and when it is a question of judging the measure of his guilt, it is fitting to weigh cautiously such considerations. But what I had the honor of pointing out to his Highness as the special merit of Tacitus, is only the masterly way with which he describes the peculiar symptoms and course of the Cæsarean insanity."
"They were all mad," interrupted the Sovereign, with a hoarse voice.
"Pardon, gracious Sir," rejoined the Professor, innocently. "Augustus became a better man on the throne, and almost a century after the time of Tacitus there were good and moderate rulers. But something of the curse which unlimited power exercises on the soul may be discovered in most of the Roman emperors. In the better ones it was like a malady which seldom showed itself, but was restrained by good sense or a good disposition. Many of them indeed were utterly corrupted, and in them the malady developed in definite gradation, the law of which one can easily understand."
"Then you also know how these people were at heart!" said the Sovereign, looking shyly at the Professor.
The High Steward retreated towards a window.
"It is not difficult in general to follow the course of the malady," replied the Professor, engrossed with his subject. "The first accession to power has an elevating tendency. The highest earthly vocation raises even narrow-minded men like Claudius; depraved villians like Caligula, Nero, and Domitian, showed a certain nobleness at first. There is an eager desire to please, and strenuous exertion to establish themselves by graciousness; a fear of influential persons or of the opposition of the masses compels a certain moderation. But arbitrary power has made men slaves, and the slavish feeling shows itself in an abject veneration which puts the emperor on a pinnacle above other men; he is treated as if specially favored by the gods, nay, as if his soul was an emanation of godly power. Amid this adoration by all, and the security of power, egotism soon increases. The accidental demands of an unrestrained will become reckless, the soul gradually loses the power of distinguishing between good and evil; his personal wishes appear to the ruler henceforth as the necessity of the state, and every whim of the moment must be satisfied. Distrust of all who are independent leads to senseless suspicion; he who will not be pliant is set aside as an enemy, and he who adapts himself with suppleness is sure to exercise a mastery over his master. Family bonds are severed, the nearest relations are watched as secret enemies, the deceptive show of hearty confidence is maintained, but suddenly some evil deed breaks through the veil that hypocrisy has drawn over a hollow existence."
The Sovereign slowly drew back his chair from the fire into the dark.
"The idea of the Roman state at last entirely vanishes from the soul, only personal dependence is required; true devotion to the state becomes a crime. This helplessness, and the cessation of the power of judging of the worth--nay, even of the attachment of men--betoken an advance of the malady by which all sense of accountability is impaired. Now the elements of which the character is formed become more contracted and onesided, the will more frivolous and paltry. A childish weakness becomes perceptible; pleasure in miserable trifles and empty jokes, together with knavish tricks which destroy without aim; it becomes enjoyment not only to torment and see the torments of others, but also an irresistible pleasure to drag all that is venerated down to a common level. It is very remarkable how, in consequence of this decay of thought, an unquiet and destructive sensuality takes the place of all. Its dark power becomes overmastering, and instead of the honorable old age which gives dignity even to the weak, we are disgusted by the repugnant picture of decrepit debauchees, like Tiberius and Claudius. The last powers of life are destroyed by shameless and refined profligacy."
"That is very remarkable," repeated the Sovereign, mechanically.
The Professor concluded: "Thus are accomplished the four gradations of ruin; first, gigantic egotism; then suspicion and hypocrisy; then childish senselessness; and, lastly, repugnant excesses."
The Sovereign rose slowly from his chair; he tottered, and the High Steward drew near to him terrified, but he supported himself with his hand on the arm of the chair, and, turning languidly to the Professor without looking at him, said, slowly:
"I thank the gentleman for a pleasant hour."
One could perceive the effort which it cost him to bring out the words.
In going out the Professor asked in a low tone of the High Steward:
"I fear I have wearied the Sovereign by this long discussion?"
The High Steward looked with astonishment at the frank countenance of the scholar:
"I do not doubt that the Sovereign will very soon show you that he has listened with attention."