Ottilie: An Eighteenth Century Idyl

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1

PSEUDONrM LIBRARY

THE

PSEUDONYM LIBRARY.

1, MADEMOISELLE IXB.

LAMBERT.

ELEANOR

3. MYSTERY OF

THECAM-

4. THE aCHOOl

- OF ART.

S. AMARYLLIS.

6, THE h6tEL

TERRE.

D'ANGLE-

7. A RUSSIAN PRIEST.

'■ ^°a"mora i?"^

lONS AND

9. EUROPEAN

RELA

10. JOHN SHERI

«AN.

■ 1. THROUGH THE RED-

ii.CREEN TE

A: A Love

|. HEAVY LADEN.

i. makAR'S dream.

1. A NEW ENGLAND CAC-
TUS.
i. THE HERB OF LOVE.

VICT.

|. GENTLEMAN UPCOTT'S
DAUGHTER.

1. COLETTE.
OTTILIE.

031S0

VERNON LEE

i OTTILIE:

AN EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
, IDYL

^i-'

SECOND EDITION

LONDON
r. FISHER UNWIN

1

CONTENTS.

«

iNTROnUCTOKV

■ '5

1 CHAPTER I, ■ • ■ ■

■ ^^

k CHAPTER II. . - - ■

■ 63

1 =:::::

. io6
. 148

j aSK 81 55

By THE SAME AUTHOR.

\ BALDWIN : Vlawa and AapinHons.

JUVENILIA: iSstheticsl Questions,
EUPHORION : Studies in the Rfnsis

MISS BROWM. ^H

\ VANITAS: Polite StoriM. ^

HAUNTINGS : Fantastic Stories.
THE PRINCE OP THE HUNDRED

SOUPS.

Il

PREFACE.

^ HE trade of an Es-
sayist has its draw-
backs. The Essayist
is an amphibious crea-
ture, neither fish, flesh,
nor fowl : something of the nature
of a centaur, possessing some of
the instincts of a human creature
and perhaps some of its good
points, but obliged, on account
of hoofs and tail, to wear saddle
and blinkers, and be kept tied
up in a stable ; above all, warned
off from every agreeable path or
garden alley by the inscription.

" Only foot passengers allowed,"
For an Essajist possesses, inas-
much as he is an Essayist, some
of the instincts of the superior
creature called a novelist : a
certain half imaginative percep-
tion of the past, a certain love
of character and incident and
description, a certain tendency
to weave fancies about realities ;
but as the centaur has hoofs, so
the Essayist has peculiarities
which exclude him from the
pleasant places of iiction, which
render it proper that he should
run along on the beaten
of history, and be tied up in t]
narrow little stable of fact.

Those who have not ex]
rienced it cannot guess ho¥?
narrow, how very narrow, that
stable of fact is; how straight
and arid are often those roads of
history. The Essayist is study-
ing an old town, a historii

laas

1

I

character, an epoch of intellec-
tual life. In so doing it is next
to impossible that there should
not come into his mind all man-
ner of things which the cruel
distinction, separating him from
the novelist, forbids his even
having the satisfaction of work-
ing out, of explaining. When
an Essayist tells you about this
or that Italian or Flemish or
German city, about the old
houses and belfries and porti-
coes, about the history of the
past, do you think that he has
told you all that he might ?
Why, he would have told you
about certain men and women
of former days whom he saw in
those houses and under those
porticoes ; he might have con-
fided to you curious scraps of
stories told him by the chimes
in those towers. But all that
would not have been true ; it

I would have been partly romance,
I bosh, balderdash, anj-thing you
I like, but not fact. Hence it
I must not be said. Again, with
regard to the historical person ;
I how many readers guess at the
I terrible temptation of the po<
\ Essayist to tell you some adved
tures and thoughts and feelingj
which he feels perfectly per-
suaded happened in the life and
passed through the mind of the
historical character ? But who
dares, without any facts in sup-

»port, merely from his own strong
conviction, to take away the
reputation of some long dead
man or woman, much less to
reinstate him or her in it ? Such
things are permissible only to
respectable historians : Essay-
^^ ists must not encroach on the^^
^K-novelist's ground. ^^^

^^B But there is a worse tera^^H
^Ktation than these. In studyii^^f

any historical epoch, in trying
to understand its temper and
ways, there rise up before the
unluciiy Essayist vague forms
of men and women whose names
he does not know, whose parent-
age is obscure ; in short, who
have never existed, and who yet
present him with a more com-
plete notion of the reality of the
men and women of those times
than any real, contradictory,
imperfectly seen creatures for
whose existevice history will
vouch.

Of such ligures, all the more
true for being imaginary, some
must have come to each of us
Essayists, great and small : im-
portant, tragic creatures to those
who deal with the solemn, tragic
realities of the middle ages and
of the Renaissance; slight, tri-
I fli[?g, trumpery, to such as have,
h like myself, dealt with more

INTRODUCTORY.

^ BOUT forty years ago
every one who stayed

any time in the little
Franconian town of
W must have no-
ticed an old couple who seemed
to form part and parcel of the
place. Every summer morning
they would issue out of their
wide-roofed, one-storeyed house
on the outskirts of the town,
walk slowly through one of the
avenues of lime trees, the old
lady leaning lightly on the old

gish and the bank
with sedge and osiers
was tall, thin, but ^
always neatly dressei
with a black silk sh
large, round cap c
muslin, from beneath
peared only a few s
curls; she carried a
cule and a long-can<
The gentleman was
more worn-looking thi
panion; he walked s
she would stop ever]
then to let him repose
an old-fashioned dre
time of Napoleon, w

INTRODUCTORY. 1 7

for them on their walks; some
few, standing at their shop doors,
would bow, but very few ever
addressed them. One or two
old people, an old lawyer, and
an old clerk, would occasionally
be seen entering their house.
They often spoke with the pea-
sants who were working in the
fields, and would sometimes stop
some of the school children and
talk with them as they sat on the
bench by the riverside. No one
seemed well acquainted with
them, but every one respected
them immensely.

The old couple, who were not
man and wife, but brother and

sister, had lived at W from

time immemorial, and no one
had ever seen them separate.
The old man was called "the
Poet" by the townsfolk. He
had enjoyed some literary repu-
tation at the end of the last

^

century and the beginning of
this one. His works, with the
exception of a little volume of
verse and some collections of
popular legends which he had
taken down from the mouth of
the peasantry, were mostly tales
of the fantastic, humorous, and
pathetic style, slightly monoto-
nous, and to our mind childish,
which had been so popular in
the time of Jean Paul and Hoff-
mann, and which are now well-
nigh forgotten. People at W

maintained that in all these pro-
ductions the sister had done at
least half the work; and indeed
the general opinion seems to
have been that she was the
master mind of the two. And
truly, although she must have
been several years older than
her brother, she seemed, with
her bright serenity, to give life
and strength to the weakly,

melancholy, and wistful-looking
old man. She was always the
more cordial and talkative of
the two, beckoning to the pea-
sants and school children to
come and talk with them.

So the old couple went day
after day, month after month,
year after year, to sit on their
accustomed bench beneath the
lime trees by the riverside. But
one spring they failed to appear
as usual with the first sunshine
and flowers, and at length there
came only the old gentleman, in
black, all by himaelf, leaning on
his cane. He came and sat on
the accustomed seat, and re-
mained hy the riverside, looking
vaguely at the stream flowing
slowly among the tangled reeds
and willows and water-lilies.
Besides this accustomed walk,
he would daily go to the little
cemetery on the ramparts, where

I

earliest personal re-
collections are of mjrj
sister ; all previous
ones are indistinct and
indirect — remem-
brances of remembrances — which
aeem to have no connexion with
my present ideality.

I was born at Halberstadt on
the 22nd of March, 1759, and
was christened Christoph Rein-
hart, after my paternal grand-
father, Baron von Craussen, of
Glogau. My father had been an
l«fhcer in the Electoral service.

but having fallen into ill-health,
was living at that time on a
small pension, and on the re-
mains of the fortune of my
mother, who died at my birth.
It was a great piece of good luck,
in our circumstances, that my
half-sister should be educated at
the expense of the court, in a
school for the daughters of poor
officers which had Just been
founded by one of the Electoral
princesses.

This Princess was an elderly
spinster, who devoted all her
e«ergies to meddling in other
people's concerns ; and as the
school was placed under her
immediate supervision, she had
frequent opportunities of re-
marking my sister. Thus it
came about that Ottilie entered
into Her Highness's service as
reader, before she had attained
the age prescribed for quitting

K

the school. The old Princei
took a violent fancy for my sisti
as people perfectly idle and ex-
cessively self- important always
do take violent fancies. She
rmade a sort of museum of clever
ipeople, and the passion of her
life was to enlarge her collei
tion.

My sister was pretty and quiti
young, very active and patient,
always ready to help Her
Highness in her ever-changing
^schemes, and always bearing
[■with perfect serenity the ups
and downs in the old Princess'
temper. Her Highness used to
speak of her as " the golden
Ottiiie," and she determined to
do something great for her at
some indefinite period ; mean-
while, nothing in the world
lid have induced her to part
with so invaluable a creature.
lonsequently when, on the death

er

it,~

OTTILIE. 35

of my father, Ottilie begged to

resign her situation on my ac-
count, Her Highness became
perfectly frantic. She threa-
tened and entreated, accused
my sister of the blackest ingra-
titude, and heaped golden pro-
mises before her. All to no
purpose. As Ottilie could not
part on good terms with Her
Highness, there was nothing for
it but to resign herself to leave
her on bad ones. She packed
her trunks, dismissed her maid,
and early one morning slipped
out of the palace and of the
capital. She afterwards wrote
to the Princess begging her to
forgive her seeming ingratitude,
and explaining that it had be-
come her duty to take care of
her little orphan brother. She
wrote a second time, but Her
Highness would neither forgive
nor answer, and no more was

3ieard at court of " the golden
^Ottilie."

On escaping from the palace,
Ottilie got into the coach for \
Aspern, where my father had |
died. There she found m
miserable, half-shaven urchin,
entirely left to my own devices, i
and spending my time playingj
Ewith the ragamufBns in the J
■gutters.

These are no recollections itjj
ie proper sense of the wordj
I they are rather traditions whiclyl
have been handed down froml
^ear to year by a series of perJ
tons bearing my name.
I do not remember our sett*]
' ling at Questenburg— indeed, ll
cannot imagine the time whenfl
the old place was not familiar to*
us. Questenburg is situated in
the Hartz region, but in a part
jyliich contradicts all the
tnd weird notions which

are usually awakened by that
name. It lies in a fertile valley,
surrounded by hif^h fir-clad hills,
and the fields and meadows and
orchards are broken here and
there by steep rocks, covered
with luxuriant verdure.

We lived in the principal
thoroughfare of the old town,
in a corner house, so placed that
from our bow window one could
look up the narrow and tortuous
street as far as the Geist Kirche,
with its fountain surmounted by
a quaint armed saint ; while on
other side one could see the trees
of the bastions overtopping the
gable roofs. This bow window
of ours was a splendid thing— a
kind of truncated tower, ending
below in a squashed imp with
a curly tail, and above in a
conical cap covered with leaden
tiles. The window panes were
formed of convex plates of glass

b

set in lead ; on the sills were
red cushions, and from large
green boxes dangled carnations
and convolvulus.

We were highly considered
Questenburg. We kept an olt
woman servant ; my sister had
a spinet in the bow window, and
I wore brown and plum-coloured
velveteen on Sundays — all signs
of prosperity in the eyes of the
Questenburgers. When Ottilid
met the Burgomaster or tiM
Pfarrer (parson) or the school—
master, these dignitaries saluted
her deferentially, and coming out
of church she was greeted re-
spectfully by every one. People
in Questenburg knew that she
had been educated as a lady in
■the capital ; some few had even
a faint tradition of her residence
at court, which last, however,
was generally treated as a myth.
What was, however, evident an^

ns

i

omuE. 29

undeniable was that my sister
did not resemble in any respects
the fair inhabitants of Questen-
burg; that she neither dressed,
nor walked, nor talked like
any of them; that, in short,
Ottilie von Craussen was no
more like the provincial ladies
than a meteor is like street
lamps. Could she not speak
French ? Could she not work
silk tulips in tambour work?
Did she not play the harpsichord
and sing Italian canzonets ?
Did she not live most genteelly
in one of the best houses of the
town ? Was there not always
abundance of coffee and sugar in
her household ? And such being
the case, how could she be re-
garded otherwise than as a
superior kind of being by the
townspeople? Such were my
notions when I was a little boy ;
later I learnt that whosoever

I

K riei

I 30 OTTILIE.

dares to be superior to his or

her neighbours, very soon be-
comes the victim of avenging
gossip.

Ottilie taught me to read and
to write — a most ungrateful
piece of work, as I was uncom-
monly slow and dull for my age.
My sister had, during her resi-
dence at court, been infected by
the educational theories of those
days, which, holding the mind
to he a blank sheet of paper, or
a piece of shapeless, malleable
wax, attempted to lead man
back to pristine virtue by eschew-
ing everything which seemed
artificial or pedantic. Besides
these fashionable views, she had
a natural fear of disgusting me
entirely with every kind of study.
This education, undertaken by
a girl absolutely without expe-
rience, pulled on one side by the
theories in vogue, and on the

^1

other by her natural good sense,
was strange indeed : the drollest
mixture of pedantry and sim-
plicity, of pedagogical experi-
ments and natural inspirations.
My sister would not attempt
teaching me to read before
having awakened in me some
love of literature ; but she found
at the same time that, as this
disposition delayed making its
appearance, I was running a
great risk of remaining illiterate
all my life. In the fine spring
and summer mornings we used
to go together to the fields in
the vicinity of the town, or else
we descended into the moat,
once full of water, often polluted
by the blood of Swedes and
Imperialists, but now converted
into a pleasant meadow, over-
hung by the vast elms and lime
trees of the ramparts. When I
was tired of picking flowers and

3"

I

running after butterflies, Ottif
made me sit on the grass, pulled
a bobbin of thread from her reti-
cule, and taught me to make
chains of violets or of daisies.
When this occupation began to
bore me, she would replace the
bobbin in the reticule, and begin
telling me one of the many
stories she was constantly col-
lecting for my benefit. They
were for the most part our popu-
lar fairy tales ; but when, many
years later, I chanced to hear
or to read them in their original
form, I was astonished to find
how greatly they differed from
my sister's version. It would
seem as if her imagination refined
and beautified all that passed
through it : her knights were
more gallant and courteous, her
ladies more lovely and graceful,
her fairies more ethereal and
charming than the original ones,

and the palaces and castles of
our Mdrchen looked like so many
hovels compared with the re-
splendent structures of her fancy.
Then she sent me to school,
but less, I think, for the sake of
instruction than for that of meet-
ing children of my own age.
The schoolmaster was the son
of the old clergyman of the
parish, and was himself the
father of a numerous family.
This worthy had aspirations and
pretensions somewhat above
those of his fellow citizens. He
had been once or twice at the
capital, whence he had brought
an affectation of science and
novelty, which produced the fun-
niest effect conceivable. Every
year he received the most recent
scientific encyclopaedia, and a
band-box containing a white
horse-bair wig of the latest
fashion. He liked coming to

i

34 OTTILIE,

see my sister, whom he amused,
and at the same time bored,
with his interminable pompous
speeches. The poor pedantic
creature persuaded himself that
he had made an impression not
only on Ottilie's mind but like-
wise on her heart ; and, his wife
having died, he one day offered
her his heart, his science, and
his wig — inestimable gifts which
my sister declined with the
greatest solemnity, waiting till
he had left to give vent to her
merriment with me, who had
been listening at the keyhole.

But I am losing the thread of
my narrative.

Soon after our arrival at
Questenburg — at least my very
indistinct recollections make me
suppose that it must have been
in that remote period — my sister
became intimate with two elderly
young ladies of our town nobility.

OTTILIE. 3S

They were of most ancient
lineage, but poor ; and, having
been unable to ensnare, as others
of their rank had done, some
convenient burgher, they pro-
fessed the most splendid disdain
for the plebeian society of Quest-
enburg. They lived alone with
their father, a half-pay officer,
and they considered as a god-
send the arrival of a young lady
of their own rank — a lady who
had even been at court without
bringing back the insufferable
arrogance of the governor's wife
and her set. My sister, who was
too good and sincere not to be-
lieve that all others resembled
her in this respect, thought her-
self honoured by the friendship
of these ladies, whose age she
obstinately believed to be not
more than twenty-four years,
and whose merits she defended
valiantly against whomsoever

3<i

J

^

dared to question it. These
young ladies, like Tassn's So-
fronia, " vergini di gi^ matura
verginiti," literally besieged my
sister. They were perpetually
coining to see her, or sending
her notes, books, pieces of needle-
work or messages by their old
servant, the decrepit factotum of
their noble house. They were
tall, spare, and sandy-haired ;
they dressed strictly in the
fashion, that is to say, in the
fashion of twenty years before,
with a vast hoop and an andrienne
embroidered with flowers as dis-
coloured as themselves. They
came to my sister at all hours
of the day ; they called her
"dearest Ottilie ; " they copied
her tambour-work patterns; they
carried off her books and strum-
med on her harpsichord ; but
although they disturbed and
bored her not a little, they

OTTILIE. 37

adroitly managed to get her

affection, by pretending to have
a great deal for me. This was
Ottilia's weak point : she was
ready to believe in those who
pretended to sympathise with
her tastes, and especially who
made a show of loving me.

But this friendship was not of
long duration. There arrived
one day at Questenburg a cousin
of the young ladies, a little
cavalry officer, whom each of
them regarded as her own espe-
cial prey ; and truly this white-
faced, fair-haired, meek, weak
creature ran considerable risk
from two such determined Ama-
zons. Unfortunately, as they
were taking a walk with their
cousin, they stumbled upon my
sister, who was taking me out
to the bastions. It was impos-
sible not to present him to their
dearest Ottilie,who received him,

rad aad beud; i
i tbu,fadnibb

to fDO, I c
sow rcsd the foortii '<
JEaeii! irithout havi
of two doUs dressed
mi Hat, one Gf wl
dardj' somtiQg sod

Beb to coasole him ■

OITILIE. 41

on the porcelain stove, and to
seek the crumbs on the table.
These signs of a compassionate
nature pleased my sister above
all things.

Sometimes when I was in bed
1 heard her playing the harp-
sichord or singing, and one night
1 actually rose and went in my
night-shirt to listen at the door.
This very nearly put a stop to
her performances ; but, finding
that I took pleasure in music,
she merely changed the hour of
her playing. She had a clear,
feeble voice, like so many of our
women, but she sang in a style
_ very different from theirs. She
^■^^ studied at court under th&
^^Bellent Italians at(
^^^fctoral ct)»BI

38 OTTILIE.

as she received every one, with
extreme grace. From that
moment the young ladies ceased
to be secure of their prey; the
oBicer gradually diminished his
attentions, frequented my sister's
walks, and being violently abused
therefore by his cousins, he ceded
to his timid character and fled
from Questenburg. Of course
there could be no more thought
of friendship between the two
young ladies and Ottilie, whom
they treated as a coquette and
a designing little upstart. They
never came to return her books
nor to strum on her harpsichord,
and a cold nod on meeting at
the church door was the only
sign of their acquaintance.

During the long winter even-
ings, when the snow beat against
the lattice, my sister used to
read to me some hook of history
or travel, seated on the black

m

horse-hair sofa, while I
perched on one of its a
These stories made a vivid im-
pression on my mind, and having
been presented with a box
colours and two brushes,
amused myself drawing the moai
emotional scenes of Ottilie's nar-
ratives. A ball with a straighf
line and three dots served as a
head, a kind of braided bag as a
body, and four sticks as legs and
arms. If in these paintings of
mine the human body was not
represented with much nobility,
there was, on the other hand, an
excessive display of cabbage
trees, of camels, of winged
horses, and of purple and gold
clothes ; not to mention the
sugar-plums, ginger- bread, and
other sweets, which I drew of
colossal proportions. In this
fashion I succeeded in obtaining
sufBciently vivid ideas of all I

40 OITILIE.

read and heard ; and I must
confess that, horrible as it may
appear to you, I cannot even
now read the fourth book of the
^neid without having a vision
of two dolls dressed in purple
and blue, one of whom is evi-
dently narrating some pathetic
circumstance to the other, who
seeks to console him by the offer
of numerous gigantic sugar-
plums.

I was of a soft disposition,
and when the sparrows and
robins flew against our window-
panes, shaking their frozen
wings, the sight of the poor
little sufferers gave me pain — an
almost physical pain— so I would
open the window, and throw out
on to the sill crumbs of my own
bread. At first they would not
come to fetch it in my presence,
later they grew accustomed to
enter the room boldly, to perch

on the porcelain stove, and to
seek the crumbs on the table.
These signs of a compassionate
nature pleased my sister above
all things.

Sometimes when I was in bed
I heard her playing the harp-
sichord or singing, and one night
I actually rose and went in my
night-shirt to listen at the door.
This very nearly put a stop to
her performances ; but, finding
that I took pleasure in music,
she merely changed the hour of
her playing. She had a clear,
feeble voice, like so many of our
women, but she sang in a style
very different from thtirs. She
had studied at court under the
excellent Italians attached to the
Electoral chapel. She likewise
played the harpsichord very well;
but I preferred to hear her sing,
for what child does not care
ten times more for a tune indiffe-

I

rently hummed than for the moat
perfect keyboard gymnastics ?
To say the truth, 1 never really
loved music, despite all the fine
phrases I have written about it.
I would ask my sister to sing for
me, and then, after a few minutes,
I felt bored, and interrupted her
with some irrelevant question
Nevertheless Ottilie taught m^
some little songs, of which I dielj
not comprehend the words
the least, and, as I sang them t<^
my own satisfaction, I foui
music less tiresome.

There is one thing which cat
be perfectly appreciated only a
a child, and only in a littl^
German town, and that is sprinj
Ottilie took me out into
fields still covered with dew am
frost, and we came home ladoj
with sprigs of elm and lia
covered with tiny leaflets,
with twigs of willow, coveit

OTTILIE, 43

with fresh rind and greyish silky
buds. How we did steal the
pear and cherry blossoms 1 and
then the delight of the first
strawberries, which the peasants
brought yet unripe, little, stunted,
hard, greenish things, tied into
bunches with their white blos-
soms.

At school I became acquainted
with the childien of the neigh-
bourhood, and after lessons I
amused myself with them — in
winter throwing snowballs, mak-
ing snow men, and sliding in the
frozen gutters ; in summer be-
neath the flowering sweet-smell-
ing lime trees round the Gcisi
Kirche. Sometimes they invited
me to their houses, where I
had an opportunity of studying
Questenburg society. A half-
dozen women, dressed with a vast
lot of flashy ribbons, sat round a
work-table knitting grey woollen

44

I

stockings, sipping coffee-dregs,
and chattering without intermis-
sion : the technical name for
such an assenibly is Kaffee
Klatsch Geselhchaft — coffee and
scandal company.

In the same room sat the mj
reading and smoking their loi
pipes, but taking no apparent
notice of the female part of the
society. I, on the contrary,
was wonderfully attracted by
the mysterious talk of the
women, and I could not con-
ceive how my sister could resist
the temptation of joining in
it. One day, however, I dis-
covered with surprise and horror
what was being discussed in
these circles. The party was in
the house of our old Pfarrer.
He was seated near the large
porcelain stove, writing his
sermon and smoking piously ;
the women were assembled u

I

OTTILIE. 45

the opposite end of the room,

round a work-table, on which
stood their coffee-cups. Curio-
sity was stronger than prudence:
I slipped behind a light wooden
cupboard, at the risk of knock-
ing down the gilt cups and
inevitable cardboard pumpkin
which surmounted it. And this
is what I could make out of their
talk. The daughter of the
Pfarrer spoke :

"They say, however, tliat she
is of good family "

"Good family, indeed! Good
fiddlesticks 1 " answered the
Burgermeister's lady. " The
daughter of a starving lieu-
tenant."

Here they lowered their voices ;
then, after a moment —

"Fraulein von Craussen,"said
the soapmaker's maiden sister,
" has lived in too good society
to be able to put up with ours,"

46 OTTILIE.

" Too good ? Too good, d|
you say ? " put in another,
"Who can tell whether it was
too good ? Generally peoplt
remain in good society wher
they are a credit to it,"

" Fraulein von Craussen," eX'
plained the charitable school'
master's wife, "is a very respect-
able person. Poor thing ! I feai
— hem — that she is a little-
hem — " And she touched , hei
crimped cap mysteriously with
her knitting-needle.

" That's a confounded lie,'
politely shouted Kasper, nephew
of the Pfarrer, from his stovi
corner ; " a confounded lie ; anc
you would do much better, I car
tell you, to mind your own affair:
and not meddle with othei
people's." And he puffed angnl)
at his pipe.

The matrons were hushed
awestricken, for Kasper was i

buriy giant of eighteen, the Esau
of his family, and Questenburger
ladies had no great faith in the
chivalry of their male relatives.

This disagreeable adventure of
social revelation drew my atten-
tion to Kasper; and I noticed
that we met him often in our
walks, and in places where
neither his gun nor his dog
could be of any use At first
he avoided coming up with us,
taking some path through the
bushes, and when this was im-
possible, he brushed quickly past
us, saluting awkwardly. When,
as was frequently the case, the
Pfarrer's children made fun of
me, and attempted to pull me
about, Kasper came to the
rescue on my behalf. Amongst
these children there was one who
especially delighted in mocking
and tormenting me; this was the
notary's little girl, Wilhelraine,

the prettiest little demon imagin-

^

able, and already well aware of
her charms. She pulled me
about much worse than the
others did ; she beat me and
pulled my nose and ears most
mercilessly. One aftemo<
Kasper saw her thus busied.

"Let that boy go," he sal)
removing his long pipe from
mouth.

Wilhelmine laughed, made a
face at him, and pulled my
yet more violcntly^they had tied.,
me safely, arms and legs,
chair.

" Let that boy alone," repeat)
Kasper, threateningly.

Again she pulled my earai
and again she made a face at
him.

The giant jumped up, threw
his pipe aside, and seizing Wil-
helmine by the waist, carried her
shrieking and kicking to the winw.

und

iOSt^_

: a
irs

1

dow. With one strong arm he
held her fast against his shoulder,
while with the other he opened
the window.

" Ah, little good-for-nothing ? "
he cried in a terrible voice, vary-
ing from a shrill treble to a
cavernous bass, " promise never
again to touch that boy, or 1
pitch thee out of the win-
dow."

" Let me go," shrieked Wilhel-
mine, kicking frantically. "I will
never touch him again — never,
never; only let me loose, dear,
good Herr Kasper — do let me
loose."

Kasper set her down.

" Kleiner Benger — little devil,"
he said, and proceeded to liberate
me.

While he was bending over
the chair to which I had been
bound, Kasper whispered to me,
not without a certain timidity.

" Salute thy sister, Fraulein \
Craussen ; I mean for me. Th
wilt not forget, Christoph ? "

"Don't fear," I answered, a
scampered off as fast as I coo
To tell the truth, the very fi
thing I did was to forget
about Rasper's message. On
turning home I found that i
sister had made me a beauti
waistcoat, olive -coloured, w
silk flowers, out of an old g
dress of hers, and this was qt
enough to take all other thoug
out of my head. Neverthelt
Kasper did not diminish in
siduity towards me. He wai
wild, adventurous fellow, alw:
scouring the country and rar
ling into the hills. He invaria
brought something for me fr
these expeditions— a branch
apple blossom, a bunch of strj
berries, or some queer sto;
and one day he fastened in

hat the beautiful wing of a jay
which he had recently shot,

" Where did you get that ? "
asked my sister on remarking
it ; and, taking my hat, she
stroked the delicate grey and
sea-blue feathers. " Where did
you get that?"

" Kasper gave it me — Kas-
per the Pfarrer's nephew," I
answered, adding with some hesi-
tation, " You can't think how
nice he is. He makes me a
present of all sorts of flowers
and queer stones — he is very
good to me." My conscience
was stung by the recollection
of the way I had neglected to
give the poor fellow's message.

"Why did you not mention
him before ? " said my sister.
*' I should like to give him some
pleasure in return. Is he younger
than you ? "

" What ! " I exclaimed, " don't

I

I

J

I

— and he pointed to me — "Chris-
toph is quite a doctor compared
with me."

These confidences were uttered
with an air of pathetic goosish-
ness that surpassed everything.
I was disgusted with Kasper ; I
had hoped that he might make a
favourable impression on my sis-
ter, for her opinion was my touch-
stone, and I felt humiliated by
being under obligations to such
a booby. Kasper was not worthy
of being my protector, that much
was evident to my precocious
conceit. I now saw that Kasper
was stupid, babyish, and awk-
ward; and from this moment !
began to treat him in a high and
mighty way; to think his atten-
tions rather impertinent, and his
little presents, his strawberry
bunches and feathers, a nuisance.
I was a graceless, ungrateful little

cal, eaten up by vanity. Po<

'oqc^l

OTTILIE. 5S

Kasper, already sufficiently de-
pressed by his sense of stupidity
and gawkiness, only redoubled
in his efforts at pleasing me. He
would sometimes come to see us,
and my sister always received
him well. She was grateful for
me, and did her best to overcome
the poor fellow's shyness, and to
make him feel comfortable, try-
ing to talk on the subjects on
which he might be supposed to
know something, although they
bored her to death. As to me,
with my head full of romance
heroes, of Achilleses, and Rinal-
dos, and Rogers, I regarded Ot-
tilie and myself as totallydifferent
from the rest of humanity, like
some sort of mysterious king's
children, and I had a vague ex-
pectation that some vei'y grand
fate, far above anything Questen-
burg could afford, was lying in
store for us. I knew Ottilie had

been at court, although she rarely
alluded to it ; and I had some
confused notion of eventually re-
turning there in state. Perhaps
Ottilie might marry a king's son.
I used to lie on the grass beneath
the lime trees, my chin in my
hands, thinking over all the fine
doings when the marriage would J
take place ; the king's son in"
[ armour, riding a magnificent
kToan charger, and followed by
'splendidly mounted and dressed
knights and pages, would com
to fetch us — or rather, he woulj
send his mother in a gold coacl
that was it, and Ottilie would get3
in and sit by her side, and I op-J^
posite — or they would bring me a
splendid horse with a gilt bridleJ
and we should ride through thftj
town, all the people lookingfl
out of the windows. That illJ"
natured burgomaster's wife, howI
I astonisheu and humbled sh^

OTTILIE. 57

would be ! And that old donkey
the schoolmaster, who had had
the impudence to propose to
Ottilie, what would he look
like? And I would give a little
nod to Kasper. I might get
him appointed head forester, or
something of that sort. And
so, without mentioning it to
my sister {what instinct always
made me keep these visions of
glory to myself?) I continued
to expect the arrival of the
king's son, who was to wed
her. The king's son did finally
make his appearance. He
came, however, without either
the magnificently caparisoned
horses or the gilt coach, and he
wore neither armour nor brocade
nor a full-bottomed wig ; he came
on foot, wearing the little cap of
a student and a large pair of top-
boots, and proved iiimself to be
no other than Kasper, who was

setting forth for the universn

The poor youth

in del

affliction. He sought me as a con-
fidant of his woes and of his love.

"Aha," I thought shrewdly,
" it's the grocer's daughter."
The thought never entered my
brain that Kasper could be so
hopelessly mad as to view him-
self in the light of a king's son.
However, with many flourishes
and sighs, he revealed the whole
myster>'. He begged and sup-
plicated me, conjuring me in the
name of all the bunches of cher-
ries, all the apples, and all the
leaden soldiers he had given
me, to ask my sister whether
she would accept him as her
aftianced, and to bring him the
answer before the diligence star-
ted ; he would wait for it beneath
our windows.

I could scarcely restrain my
indignation and scorn at such a

OTTILIE. 59

l1; still, Kasper had cer-
tainly put me under obligations,
so I refrained, and let him go
off without a word.

What should I do? It was
midday ; the diligence started at
seven in the evening. I could
never summon up the courage to
carry so preposterous a message
to my sister, to mention to her a
proposal so ludicrous and so de-
rogatory to our station. How-
ever, I had tacitly promised an
answer, I must try and get one.
I avoided my sister's presence;
I sat biting my pen-tip, and re-
solving how best to break the
news to her. I would tell her
at dinner. Dinner came, I sat
opposite to her, shifted my knife
and fork, knocked the salt out of
the salt-cellar, and spilled some
stewed cherries over the table-
cloth, without being able to
Bumnaon up my courage. We

6a

I

finished dinner without
having said a word about the^
matter. How could I ever ex-
plain to her tlie boldness of that
madman? Six o'clock struck;
my sister went out to visit the
burgomaster's wife. "She will
be back in ten minutes," I
thought, and went to the window
and looked out, waiting for her
return. The half-hour struck,
and she was not back ; a quarter
to seven struck slowly, and still
no sign of her. At that momeq^
Kasper made bis appearance
beneath the lime trees in front]
of the Geist Ktrche, his knapsacfc
on his back, his stick in hiatf
hand. He advanced slowly a
stationed himself beneath ourJ
window. I retreated precipW
tately into the room. I couljil
see him looking up anxiouslyvl
I returned to the window ;
ieyes met his. I had not fuhille^|

OTTILIE. 6 1

his errand, I had not kept my
word ; what could be done ?
" Good-bye, Kaspcr ! " I cried
cheerily; "good-bye, and may
you have a good journey ! " And
I shut the window quickly. He
turned and walked away rapidly.
That evening I felt very un-
comfortable ; my conscience re-
proached me. Poor Kasper, he
had been very friendly towards
me after all ; I was sorry for
him. I determined to tell Ottilie,
and I did. But somehow or
other, and almost independently
of my volition, the story took
a ludicrous turn. My nervous
dread of being involved in Ras-
per's absurd predicament led me
to show him in the most ridicu-
lous light ; instead of an advo-
cate I was almost a prosecutor ;
and although I kept my word, I
certainly did not do so to his
advantage.

^

My sister was very much
amused at the story. I, with
the superficiaHty and ready con-
tempt of a child, let her see only
the ludicrous side of the picture;
but it had also its pathetic one,
and I have since thought with
repentance of the bitter dis-
appointment of the poor, silly
boy, making his first entrance
into the world with only failu;
and scorn as his companion»^
his first, absurd vision of 1
and poetry made the playthin
of a conceited little rascal lili
myself.

CHAPTER 11.

^EARS went by; those
years which, seen
through the haze and
distance of time, look
hke the hill-tops gilded
by the rising sun, all purple and
rosy, even if at the moment they
were bleak and joyless. I no
longer lived in my world of
childish dreams; I thought no
more about knights' and kings'
sons ; the world was beginning
to disclose itself to me, and I
was beginning to feel the power
to see it in its full reality. I
ceased also to view Ottilie in the
same light as before ; she was

1

64 OTTILIE.

no longer the fairy, the

chanted princess of former yeai
She seemed to have undergont
, a sudden change, to have become
quite a new creature; my 01
level had risen, and only m
as it were, could I begin to
fully into her character.

I was possessed by a sudi
and intense curiosity. Duri)
our walks I was constantly re-
marking new things : the magni-
ficent curve of the oak branches,
the grand tints of the rocks,
struck me as if I had never
before seen an oak tree or a rock
in my life. The curling lines of
the bluebells and the waxen
blossoms of the lime tree arrested
my attention ; yet how many
bluebells had I not plucked
before, how many lime blossoms
had not dropped at my feet,
unnoticed, or noticed at least in
so different a fashion I Those

OTTILIE. 65

very books which I had formerly

devoured merely for the sake of
the strange and fantastic adven-
tures they narrated, were now
dear to me only for the sake of
the reflection they contained of
all this beautiful surrounding
nature, and of the echo I heard
in them of the passionate energy
which filled me. This is the
moment when, as a rule, boys,
ceasing to be children, seek
among those of their own years
for a chosen companion, with
whom to enjoy this new life and
its dreams ; dreams neither of
love nor of ambition, but of un-
bounded knowledge, of unlimited
activity ; when their parents'
house begins to appear a prison
to their eyes, seeking for distant
and unattainable horizons; when
they instinctively avoid those
older than themselves, from a
consciousness, as it were, that
5

66

from them they would hear that
knowledge is finite, activity
limited, and that in this poor
world everything is smaller than
they think. But this was not
the case with me. Bj' my side
was a companion sympathising
with all my feelings; willing like
myself to view the world like
some vast park, made for activity
and joy. Ottilie was still a
young, a very young woman,
and instead of growing older she
seemed to grow younger- It
was simple enough: hitherto she
had to act as my mother, now
she could become once more my
sister ; instead of a child who
merely loved and venerated her,
she had now by her side a youth
who could sympathise with J
and appreciate.

With Ottilie no longer i
teacher, but as a fellow j
I made rapid progress in allj

67

studies. She had taught me
French and Italian ; we learned

English together, English which
was then the rage ; and, luckily,
chance sent me a first-rate
classical teacher. It was a rare
piece of good luck to find so
learned and so unpedantic a
scholar in uncultured, pedantic
Questenburg, which, for litera-
ture and philosophy, had never
got beyond Gellert's hymns and
Gottsched's lucubrations.

Dr. Willibald was a bright
little shrivelled-up old man, who
had been for many years tutor in
one of the noble families of our
neighbourhood; and had, since
the completion of his pupils'
education, established himself at
Questenburg, where he lived on
a miserable pittance. He in-
habited two little rooms in the
gabled attic of a joiner's house ;
during the winter he was wont

in order to save fire\
put up with the cc
the joiner's table. >
Willibald was some
Epicurean and an
had a few straw-boti
and scarcely a bit o
attic ; but he alwa
vast green leather
and wrapped his leg
fortable fur-lined clo
some of the finest
hyacinths I have e\
I truly think that "v
he made in the wint
on their account thai
He had also a fe

rt

OTTILIE. 69

least the sight of the pears and
melons and peaches in the
baskets, but he never bought
more than a kreutzer worth of
hard cherries or sour currants,
with which he returned home in
great contentment. The poor
fellow's favourite theory was that
to a superior mind the mere
sight of fruit or poultry or cakes
is quite enough — " it sets the
imagination to work, and the
pleasures of the imagination are
worth more than those of the
senses."

My sister was much amused
by his philosophy, and often sent
him fruit and cakes of her own
baking, in order, she said, to
convert him from such heresy.
Despite his rather humble cir-
cumstances. Dr. Willibald con-
sidered that to be his pupil was
a high privilege ; and he was not
so far wrong. He was a very

70 OTTIUE.

cultivated man, cultivated ac-
cording to the notions of the old
school ; his culture smacking a
little of the dancing-school and
drawing-room — very Frenchified,
very dandified, very full of little
graceful affectations, and with
the gallantry of a Dresden-china
shepherd. The ancient writers
he was well acquainted with, but
did not really enjoy much, except
indeed Horace, who he said was
a modern and an homme d'esprit.
He would make apologetic com-
ments on Homer and ^schylus,
trying to give their expressions
a tittle more grace and elegance
when translating them for my
sister. He regretted their bar-
barism and want of wit, and in
his heart of hearts would have
given all Homer, with all Ariosto
and Tasso into the bargain, for
a canto of the Henriade. The
English he esteemed as an

original people, but they too
were sad barbarians, with their
contempt for the three unities,
their stage-ghosts, and their
sending away of ladies after
dinner, whitjh he had witnessed
on his travels. The Germans
he considered as utterly hopeless
boors, pendants, and clowns, and
he viewed with horror their at-
tempt to emancipate their litera-
ture from imitation of the French.
Klopstock, Ottilie's favourite,
had to be hidden away on his
appearance ; and as to Lessing,
Willibald had written a whole
volume in refutation of his pesti-
lent Drammaturgie.

These opinions of Willibald's
were the cause of frequent
squabbles between us, for, as I
grew up, some of the works of
our new literary school fell into
my hands and excited my en-
thusiasm. Gotz von Berlichtngen

n

especially delighted me ; for
months I thought of nothing
but knights and ladies and secret
tribunals, and eagerly poked into
every ruined castle of the neigh-
bourhood. The consequence was
that Willibald got into a violent
rage, threw his heautiful Elzevir
Lucretius at my head, and was
induced to resume the lessons
only by OLtilie's entreaties. The
old fellow was moreover horribly
impatient, and had a look which
set all declensions and conjuga-
tions whizzing wildly through
my brain, so that no power of
will could settle them in their
places. I had little facility in
learning any sort of lesson, and
had my sister not worked at the
Latin and Greek grammars and
privately examined me in them,
Willibald would soon have
given up teaching me. On Sua*
days and holidays Willibald i

ald^H

OTTILII'- 73

variably came to take coffee with
us, dressed in his best, and with
his most graceful little airs and
affectations. My sister, who knew
his foibles, used herself to bake
delicious cinnamon cakes for
him ; and these, united to her
good coffee, rejuvenated him
marveliousiy, and inspired him
with the most poetical flights
of enthusiasm. He sometimes
brought Ottilie a present of
flowers and fruit, which he pre-
tended to have got by accident,
but which we well knew had
been bought out of his miser-
able little savings. These gifts
pained Ottilie dreadfully, but she
hid her feelings, and received
them with apparent perfect
pleasure and unsuspiciousness,
knowing that poor people some-
times indulge in presents as a
luxury, and that you can afford
tbem as much pleasure by re-

ceiving with gratitude as by
giving with grace, Willibald
was sometimes rather a bore,
quoting Latin, talking French,
putting on all sorts of absurd
little airs of gallantry, and boast-
ing of his great acquaintances ;
but he was so simple and
childish withal, that it was im-
possible not to like him. When
he had taken his coffee and
cakes (he was always given some
to take home, on the supposition
that he had shown no appetite),
and when he had made his
compliments and told his anec-
dotes, the little old gentleman
would draw from a case an old
battered instrument called a viola
da gamba ("the favourite instru-
ment of my dear friend the late
Prince Nicholas Esterhazy,
heigho I " he would always in-
form us), on which he performed
very tolerably. He was

I

vnvm

OTTIUE. 75

sionately fond of music, used to
boast of having been the intimate
friend of the famous chapel-
master Hasse, and his wife 'the
Faustina,' and his great delight
was to play to Ottilie's accom-
paniment. Once or twice I took
up the German flute and tried to
join in the performance, but
Willibald speedily began to
scream at my mistakes and call
me a Hun and a Vandal, and
drove me away from the spinet.
So I settled myself in the large
armchair by the stove, and read,
or tried to read, raising my head
every now and then to enjoy the
absurd gestures and grimaces of
Willibald, who, his fiddle on his
knee, wielded his bow with fury,
hummed snatches of melody,
and twisted and jerked on his
chair till the powder flew from
his horsehair wig. Willibald
professed the highest respect

J 6 01TILIE.

and admiration for Ottilie,
spect and admiration almost
equal to that which he felt for
himself. "A beautiful soul I
quelle belle dme!" he would ex-
claim, raising his eyes and
smacking his lips. " What a
divine woman ! Noj nowhere
will you lind a woman with such
a soul for poetry, such a nymph-
like bearing, who is such a
splendid accompanist and such
an unrivalled maker of cinnamon
cakes ! "

One spring morning, when I
was between fourteen and fifteen
I met for the first time a visitor
in Dr. Willibald's attic. He
was a man of uncertain age, but
still youngish, tall, well-made,
dark, with strongly marked
handsome features. He was
elegantly dressed, with travelling
boots, and his hair tied behind in

siik bag. I saw at a glan<

anc«tfl

that he was no Questenburger.
On my appearance he rose and
took ieave of my master.

" Who is that ? " I asked,
much astonished, as Willibald
returned from escorting the
stranger to the head of the
stairs.

" That ? " answered the old
gentleman, with a look of in-
effable scorn. " That ? "

And he proceeded to explain,
with many contemptuous shrugs
and grimaces, that his visitor
was a certain Moritz, a youngster
with a smattering of learning
and a great deal of conceit, who
had wheedled himself into the
favour of the Elector, who had
made him a court councillor, and
had sent him to Italy to buy
pictures and statues for him ;
" a fellow full of new-fangled
notions, but without a grain of
sense in his head," said Willi-

78 OTTILIE.

bald. This Moritz had, it ap-
peared, inherited some property
near Questenburg, and was en-
gaged in a lawsuit concerning
it. He had brought Wiliibald a
letter from a friend of his in the
capital — with whom the little
old man was, or pretended to be,
in great wrath for sending him
such a fellow. Further Wiliibald
could not inform me. During
this first visit there must have
been some literary or phil
phical rub between himself
the stranger, for he seemed
much out of humour.

Returning home from
lesson I met the worthy school-
master, who was in a flurry of
excitement about this very Coun-
cillor Moritz, for Moritz was, he
informed me with deep awe, a
famous man in the capital ; and
all famous men of the capital

^

were so many gods of Olympm^B

OTTILIE. 79

for our schoolmaster. Moritz
had been sent to Italy by the
Elector, and had stayed there
five years. He had written books
and edited prints of antiquities ;
but what the books were about
no one at Questenburg could tell.
Five years in Italy ! I exclaimed
within myself; and my interest in
Councillor Moritz increased all
of a sudden amazingly. How
much I would give to know a
person who had been in Italy —
who had seen with his own eyes
the Forum, the Capitol, Vesu-
vius, the woods of orange, the
vine-wreathed elms, the sea !
The sea ! — that wonderful thing
which I was never destined to
behold. All that strange fasci-
nation of the unknown South,
which we Germans have inheri-
ted from our barbarian ancestors
which sent down Alaric an d
Alboin as destroyers, and Wine-

80 OTTILEE.

kelmann and Gothe as rebuilders
of antiquity- — all this awakened
in my mind. Moritz had been
in Italy ; I must know him. As
I turned a street comer I met
the Councillor. He seemed to
recognise me, but continued his
walk. Instinctively I looked
after him ; I did not venture to
address him, yet how many
questions rose up to my lips.
It never entered my mind that
Willibald might be misinformed
prejudiced, and that the
stranger might be anything but
a lucky upstart ; but he had been
Italy, and that was merit
enough in my eyes.

Next morning, passing across
the little square which surrounds
the Geist Kirche, I saw Coun-
cillor Moritz seated under one
the large flowering Hme tri
I approached, hung about
an air of indifference, pretent

;;oun-

]

to be waiting for some one, walked
up and down in hopes of his re-
marking me, for in my conceit I
thought I was a very striking
youtii, Moritz was reading some
letters, and did not once look up
from them. I grew desperate ;
the wooden bench was long, so I
summoned up courage and sat
down on the extreme edge of it,
as far as possible from the Coun-
cillor. At length he folded his
papers, put them in his pocket,
and looked in my direction. His
dark, handsome face bore a slight
expression of amusement. I do
believe that he had remarked all
my dodges and guessed at their
motive. I reddened, and lifted
my hat. He slightly touched
his in return, and, always with
the same peiturbing look of sup-
pressed amusement, asked me
whether I was not the pupil of
Dr. Willibald. I could have

sworn that he had heard all the
old gentleman's sarcastic re-
marks about himself, for his
face bore the queerest look of
dry humour, I felt more and
more uncomfortable, and an-
swered his questions concerning
my studies in anything but a
striking manner. At length I
lost all patience and prudence,
and remarked :

" You have been in Italy
lately ? "

Moritz understood ; perhaps
he may have remembered his
own feelings as a youth, before
Italy had become more than a
mere delightful dream for him.

" Yes," he answered, " I
have come almost straight from
Rome;" and sparing me the
embarrassment of questioning
him on his stay there, he began
to talk about Italy and its
■wonders; and ended by telling

OTTILIE. 83

me that if I cared to see some
prints and drawings he had
brought back with him, I might
come to his inn the next morn-
ing.

I related my adventure exult-
ingly to my sister, and the next
morning, dressed in my holiday
suit, went to seek my new ac-
quaintance at the Inn of the
Three Kings. Councillor Moritz
occupied the best suite (if suite
it might be called) in the old,
brown, rickety inn ; the sign
swung beneath his windows,
and the lime trees pushed their
flowers against his panes, I
was received by a demure, dark
lad, the Councillor's valet. He
could not understand a word of
German, so I very gladly ad-
dressed him in my home-learnt
Italian, which must have
sounded strange indeed to his
Roman ears. Moritz was busy

with his lawyer, but he bade me
enter, and produced a portfolio of
beautiful prints and drawings of
Italian scenery and antiquities.
These were the first reproduc-
tions of antique works of art
that had fallen into my hands.
At first I felt puzzled, and did
not well know what to feel or
think about them. I was glad
the Councillor was busy with his
lawyer, for I knew I should find
nothing to say about them.
Mechanically I turned over
page after page, and looked
at statue after statue ; those
large, round-limbed, motionless
white figures, with their pupil-
less eyes, were so different from
all I had ever seen before,
or been accustomed to think
beautiful — so different from
Willibald's smooth and finikin_
French engravings after Migi
and Watteau, whose del

OTTILIE. 85

execution had hitherto been
my delight. I felt stupid and
strange. The lawyer left ;
Moritz came up to me, pre-
vented my rising, and, looking
over my shoulder at the engra-
vings, said simply — " Well ? "

I raised my eyes, not knowing
what to answer. He looked at
me with the same air of amuse-
ment — " You don't like them ? "

I reddened and stammered.

" You don't like them ? " he
repeated. I felt that he was
laughing at me. He had seen
my enthusiasm for Italian things,
and now that I had them before
me I looked like a fool. I sum-
moned up courage.

" I have never seen such
things before," I answered
boldly. " I don't know whether
I like them or not."

" Do you know Latin and
Greek 7 " he asked me.

S6

" Yes," I answered.

" Have you ever read Homer?"

I nodded. H

" Do you know whether yo<jfl
like him or not ? "

The question seemed like an
insult. I raised my head, and
my face said more than my
words.

" Homer is not like these," I
answered quickly. "These are
dead. His heroes live, and act,
and suffer; I care for them.
These are doing nothing; they
have no eyes, they are asleep or
dead."

Moritz looked at me, for t
first time with interest,
went to a shelf and took down j
book.

" Have you read this ? "
asked, handing it to me.

" No," I answered. It
Lessing's Laocoon.

" Take it home and read it^

«7

he said ; " and then if 3'ou care to
see the prints again, come to
me."

I was bewildered- I took the
book, thanked him, and went
home.

Well, I read the Laocoon ; it
did not at first convert me, but
it opened my eyes to the exist-
ence of an antique world of
which Willibald, with all his
knowledge of Greek and Latin,
knew nothing, I returned to
Councillor Moritz, saw his prints
again, talked over them with
him, was lent one volume after
another of Winckelmann's great
books, and little by little became
a fervent admirer of antiquity
and of the man who was its
expounder to me. The Coun-
cillor might well afford to smile
at what he knew to be Willi-
bald's opinions concerning him ;
he was a man of quite another

character, of quite anothi
school; one of those who wei
destined to demolish the fals
classic ideal of the French, b
means of what was far moi
potent than all the romanti
dramas and secret tribunals an
armed knights of the who;
romantic school — by the con
prehension of real, genuin
antiquity.

Moritz was an ardent proselyi
of Winckelmann ; he was hin
self a writer on art, possessii
much learning and acumei
This I discovered only aft
some time, when he lent me
delightful journey in Italy, whi(
turned out to be by himself, 'h/.
sister, who had followed n
mental adventures with dei
interest, read the book and Wi
delighted with it, and she becan
very curious to see the gre
man in person. I too was e

OTTILIE, Sg

tremely desirous to bring my
hero to Ottilie, and at the same
time to show her off to him, for
I felt sure he must admire her.
But it seemed next to impossible
to bring about a meeting between
them. We occasionally saw him
at a distance, but, somehow or
other, there was no meeting him.
The fact was — and I understood
it as soon as I began to mention
my sister to Moritz — that the
Councillor dreaded nothing so
much as being bored, and held
no creature in greater horror
than the female inhabitant of a
provincial town. At length,
finding him impervious to all
insinuations, I proposed taking
him to our house with so much
directness that he could not pos-
sibly refuse. My sister would
have been horribly mortified and
angry at my want of delicacy,
but I .did not care. So, one

I

90 OTTILIE.

morning, I had the triumph of
preceding the Councillor on our
wooden staircase, and of rushing
into the kitchen, where my sister
was making tarts, with the
exulting exclamation, " Here he
is ! " I returned to our little
parlour, where I had left the
Councillor. What might be his
impressions of our abode ? I
asked myself with anxiety ; and
for the first time a sense of our
poverty came over me. The
dear little room seemed rusty
and mean, for the furniture was
faded, and whatever ornaments
it could boast were worn and
old-fashioned ; I felt ashamed.
The Councillor's impression was
less harsh than mine. He told
me, long afterwards, that in this
modest, homely little room he
had at once perceived a some-
thing — an indefinable something
-in the arrangement of chairs

and tables and flower-pots, in
the look of books and prints, that
revealed refinement and a habit
of elegance, quite unknown in
our good town of Questenburg.
My sister, instead of keeping
Moritz waiting while she made a
hurried and ostentatious toilette,
as most women would have done,
thought it more civil not to
delay ; she unrolled her sleeves,
removed her kitchen apron, and
in less than a minute made her
appearance. Yet she looked
elegant and dignified, and
Moritz was evidently surprised
at such an unexpected apparition
as that of a refined, handsome,
and intelligent woman, still
young, and in some respects
almost girlish, when he had ex-
pected a coarse, stupid Questen-
burger dame. Ottilie began con-
versation with perfect ease ; and
for the first time I became aware

g2 OTTILIB,

how complete a woman of the
world she was, she who for eight
years had seen only school-
masters' and burgomasters'
wives.

Moritx stayed a good time.
When he had left I impatiently
asked my sister what she thought
of him; and here again I was
surprised, for, although she djd
ample justice to his intelligence
and manners, the Councillor was
by no means so unique a ph(
in her eyes as in mine.

Moritz eagerly snatched
this unexpected alleviation of
what to him was exile in a bar-
barous country, and not only
returned to our house, but came
often, very often, until he could
come nooftenerfor fearof setting
all the tongues of Questenburg
chattering. He seemed to take
more and more pleasure in my
sister's conversation, and per-

OTTIUC. 93

haps he discovered even in me
something that awakened his
interest. Dr. Willibald was at
first furious at "the upstart's
insolence," but when he had
met the Councillor once or twice
at our house, even he had to
admit that after all the Elector
might have been justified in dis-
tinguishing Moritz—" although
he knows nothing whatever about
antiquities," the old gentleman
always put in as a saving clause.
These summer months of the
year 1776 were a delightful
period in our lives, and I believe
no less so in that of Councillor
Moritz. His conversation was
fascinating, so full of ideas and
images, always bright with new
theories and new views, rich in
description and anecdote — alto-
gether far superior to any of his
writings, excellent as some of
them are. He had travelled

speaking he coul(
a masterly fashi
pictures of Roms
of the Papal cour
and lifelike as h
statues and picti
quent. After hav
fused all pooi
aesthetical and
notions, he wouh
fellow into a state
describing his Ro
climate, the sunst
gardens, the grai
and, above all,
musical performan
Italy was then (m

OTTILIE. 95

he enjoyed hearing her perform,
for music was one of the many
luxuries which had become
necessary to him, and my sister
sang and played really well. In
this intellectual atmosphere, my
studies, with Moritz*s additional
assistance, progressed rapidly,
and thus added to our general
happiness.

Well, we were all four of us
very happy, too conscious of
happiness to remain so long.
Little by little I began to be
aware of a change; was it in
myself or in my surroundings?
I cannot tell, but I felt it never-
theless painfully. It was like
the first gentle motion of a boat;
the traveller can scarcely say
whether it is he or the shore that
is moving, and if he abandon
himself to the impression he
becomes filled with an inde-
finable discomfort. Gradually

the feeling became stronger; it
was as if I were being pushed by
imperceptible degrees out of the
circle occupied by Ottilie and
the Councillor. They were
getting nearer each other, and I
proportionately further and fur-
ther from both. Yet there was
not the slightest coldness or
diminution of affection on the
part of my sister. I was still
what I had always been for her,
but — but another was becoming,
not indeed what I had been, but
something quite different and
superior in her affection. I felt
all this long before I could
explain it to myself; but when
I did explain it, the feelii^fl
became insupportable to tfjH
excessively sensitive and egd^
tistic nature, rendered morbidly
jealous of having been my sister's
e thought, her life, he
iiat was I now ? Merely h

brother. I was at once effemi-
nate and passionate in temper,
requiring constant caresses and
flatteries, and capable of furious
outbursts if denied them. A
strange mixture of the child and
of the man — I, who ought to
have been simpiy a boy. Feeling
as a child, I felt overcome by
heart - breaking loneliness ; I
would have cried and sobbed
and forced my sister to soothe
me. Feeling as a man, I de-
spised my morbid affection, and
would have looked at everything
with almost brutal indifference.
I had moments of the bitterest
weakness, and others of the most
stubborn stolidity. At one mo-
ment I could scarcely refrain
from throwing myself into my
sister's arms and entreating her
to send awayMoritz. At another
I was ready to tell the Coun-
cillor that he was free to taJ

Ottilie, that I did not care what

she did, that I wished only for
liberty. At times jealousy would
drive me out of the house, and I
would throw myself sobbing on
the grass of the ramparts. At
others I sat buried in my books,
answering rudelyand insultingly
whatever remark was made to
me. And I was for a long time
the only one who suspected the
real state of matters. Neither
Ottilie nor Moritz realised their
feelings towards each other, and
old Willibald was blinder than
either of them. But the extra-
ordinary change which had come
over me was unmistakable ; there
was no possibility of being blind
to my melancholy, my sulkiness,
and my outbursts of violence.

Ottilie, incapable of solving
the riddle, asked the Councillor's
advice on the subject. The cold,
resolute, unsentimental

OTTILIE. 99

laughed at it all, and told her to
send me to school if she would
cure me, " He has been spoilt,"
I heard him say ; and from that
moment I hated him implacably.
Thus the summer advanced;
the lawsuit which kept Moritz at
Questenburg drew to a close, and
every day his feelings and those
of my sister became stronger,
and my jealousy more violent.
And now, as the moment of
parting approached, both the
Councillor and Ottilie discovered
that that parting must never take
place ; that they could no longer
be easily separated, but must be
violently wrenched from each
other. I looked on fiercely and
prepared for a final struggle. A
struggle, a battle it must be ;
there could be no compromise
between me and Moritz; he was
determined to make Ottilie his
wife, but, as he declared before

me, after one of my tits of jealous
ra{;e, his wife must be his and
solely his. Me he considered as
a spoilt and morbid child, whose
jealous susceptibility he despised
all the more as he himself, a
self-made man, had never
received any kind treatment in
his own lonely childhood.
" Christoph," he said, " can be
only one of two things to me —
my son, or a stranger. As my
son I shall insist on his being
sent abroad and cured of this
ridiculous morbidness, that he
go into the world and there
harden his absurd over-sensitive
character ; in this case I shall
be acting for his own good.
If, on the contrary, you refuse to
let me deal with him as a son, I
can regard him only as an in-
truder, and his sentimental folly
as a nuisance, and I shall be
forced to keep him at a distance^

I will permit of no middle course,
I will endure no division of
authority in my house."

Moritx spoke calmly, decidedly,
but without any harshness ; he
had good sense on his side, and
knew that while thus acting for
his own dignity and peace, he
would also be acting for my
eventual good. I had been
seated gloomily during his
speech : when he had done, I
rose, and, striking the table, I
cried hoarsely :

" Councillor Moritz, I would
rather die than be your son ! In
your house I never will stay one
hour. Nor need you fear any
intrusion. If my sister becomes
your wife, I renounce her, and
never wish to see her again. Let
her choose between us."

Moritz did not look at all
angry, but merely burst out
laughing.

" My poor child," he said,
"you shall be sent to school,"

" We shall see that ! " I cried
fiercely, and involuntarily raised
my arm against him. The
Councillor merely switched
across my knuckles, with his
cane ; I cried out with rage.

" Moritz," cried Ottilie, white
with pain and fear, " please go ;
I cannot speak to you now,

"You must decide sooner
later," he insisted. " By
laying you merely expose your-
self to repetitions of this disgust-
ing childish nonsense."

" Decide ! " I exclaimed, my
eyes flashing; "I am ready to
leave this house to-n
day, this very hour, the motni
it becomes his house."

My sister was in
agony,

" Councillor Moritz,'
peated, " I entreat you to

4

away, I cannot speak further
on the subject at this moment."

The Councillor took his hat
and cane.

" I go since you desire it," he
said, bowing slightly, and fixing
his eyes on her discomposed
face, " I will not urge that my
own happiness is at stake ; but
let me add, that in throwing aside
a man who loves you and is
worthy of you, in sacrificing
your own future, you will also
be compromising the future of
this foolish headstrong child;
and that your yielding to his
momentary madness will cost
both you and him dear in future
years. It is only in healthy in-
dependence that he can be really
happy, and you will discover the
truth of it when your happiness
be broken, together with his."

And the Councillor left the
room.

N
¥

My sister had to choose, and
she made her choice. Moritz,
without once losing his calm .
self-possession, appealed to hetfl
reason, to her affection for him^
self; I went on like one mad,
entreating and threatening, and
thus for one miserable, most
miserable, week. At the end
of it, one dreary October morn-
ing, a travelling carriage drove
up to the "Three Kings;" the
Councillor's luggage was packed
on to it, and he left Questenburg
for Munich, whence he was to
proceed back to Rome. And
that whole summer, which had
seemed to us so short and yet
formed so deep a chasm in our.—
lives, was never mentioned ;
our conversation. We resume!
our former solitary life as if i
had never been interrupted;
Ottilie was graver and a littl
.melancholy, and I felt sometimcR^

OTTILIE. 105

as if I had committed some great
crime. A vague wish to leave
Questenburg came over me, but
I suppressed it and never let
Ottilie suspect its existence.
Once or twice, in this state of
vague discontent, a fear entered
my mind : could the Councillor's
prediction prove a true one ?

I

CHAPTER III.

^m ?jgg|)HEN I had comply
^^P W^yff niy nineteenth i
■^^ M\uMS '^^^ Questenburg
J(Ai/SyJy[ the first time.

1^^*^—^ sister had for ye(
been saving up money to s^
me to the University — moi
which had cost her manyJ
privation, and every thalerJ
which had been put by with 1
bitter thought it brought
nearer to the day when for j
first time we should be a(4
rated ; when for the iirst (
she would be left quite aid
But she never let a wonj

regret escape her lips; and when
she was stooping over my trunk,
the day before my departure,
and I thought I saw tears on
her face, and raised her up and
kissed her, unable to speak, she
tried to smile and assume an air
of perfect cheerfulness.

I had longed to see the world,
and when I had got over the
pang of separation, enjoyed my
journey, my entry into a new
life, amazingly. But when fairly
settled at the university, I began
to see things less cheerfully. I
was poor, timid, inexperienced,
and horribly sensitive ; I had
been educated by a woman and
had almost acquired a woman's
delicacy and susceptibility, and
all a woman's habits of order, of
quiet, of subdued intellectual
life ; and such I found myself
thrown among a lot of vigorous
and manly, but excessively wild

I

land undisciplined, youths. I
Ifelt at once dislike, contempt,
and fear of these young men,
and they in return regarded me
witii no friendly eyes, calling me
a sneak and a Frenchman, for
our national feeling was then at
the highest, at least in literary
L matters. So I kept out of theii
I way as much as possible,
became engrossed in my studii
What was particularly rael;
choly was that my means
not permit of my spending my
holidays at Questenburg, on
account of the very long and
expensive journey, so that these
years seemed like an unbroken
period of exiie. I cared for my
studies, for the approval of the
professors ; but what I cared
most for were Ottilie's lelti
and the post days were
happiest. Thus I continued
La couple of years, till at lengt]

ired

physical and mental weariness

forced me out of my habits of
solitude and study, and made
me seek, despite myself, the once
despised company of my feliow-
scholars. It was the year 178S,
in that time of morbid, feverish,
and almost delirious intellectual
life, which took its name from
Klinger's famous play of " Sturm
unci Drang." Wild and stormy
that generation truly was; the
most absolute contempt and
loathing for everything long
established and formal, an in-
tense admiration for individual
freedom as opposed to social
institutions, a frantic desire to
return to brute nature, an un-
bridled striving after originality,
allied to wholesale and uncriti-
cising imitation; a boiling and
seething of all things good and
bad, which filled our literature
with paradoxes of all kinds, the

Ifitrangest of all being the
I existence of absurd whimpering
sentimentalism by the side of a
disgusting love of horrors : such
was our literary atmosphere, out
of which only a very few men were
of sufficient mental stature to rail
their heads. The university
which I was happened to be
perfect hotbed of the self-styled
[ geniuses of whom those years
' were so prolific ; and I found
myself thrown on to the society
of a number of crazy youths
given up to what they were
Lpleased to call " the life
■genius." There was little stud]
and the lessons of the appointi
professors were a mere fan
At the same time there
tremendous ferment of litera:
philosophiciiijand social theoriesj
of which s 3nie of the openinj
^scenes of 5ichiller's " Robbers
hve the bcsit notion. Here Wl

ch

1

a wholesale manufactory of
Ossianesque poems, in which
every species of platitude was
whimpered or bawled out in the
name of the supposed bards, at
that time closely connected with
ancient Teuton warriors ; there
(I mean in some other corner of
the university) were established
so many workshops for the pro-
duction of romantic tragedies,
in which paradoxes, hyperboles,
murders, seductions, and abomi-
nations of all sorts were heaped
together, till it seemed as if a
poet was to be valued according
to the number of people whom
he slaughtered on the stage.
These plays very naturally pro-
voked the censure of the pro-
fessors, who looked upon all
this genius-life as a dangerous
nuisance, and thence arose per-
petual feuds between them and
the students, whose common

OTTILIE.

I

episodes were riots in the lecture-
rooms, cat serenades under the
professors' windows, and incar-
cerations. When I arrived at
the university an absurd story
was afloat about a sister in-
stitution at a neighbouring town,
where it was said that some
of the most intrepid among the
stormy students had resolved
to assassinate a peculiarly ob-
noxious old doctor of philosophy ;
that they had cast lots as to
who was to execute this heroic
deed, and that, the plot having
been discovered, the conspirators
had fled from the uDiversity,
formed a gang in a neighbouring
forest, and had become the
terror of the district, after the
fashion of Karl Moor and his

comrades. ^^H

Besides these dramatic auth(a^^|

^L who went about in rags alj^l

^^L swaggered over the atroctttdj^H

they daily invented, there was
a class of milder and better-
conducted students, well-born
and delicately nurtured youths
who were suffering from the
fever of sentimentalism, lyric
poets, imitators of Ossian and
of Klopstock, They were always
weeping in verse, and ended by
weeping in prose. After trying
to make others believe that they
were the victims of some myste-
rious fate, and consumed by some
unknown ill, they got to believe
it themselves. Suicide was com-
mon among them, at least theo-
retically, and some of the poor
creatures really ended in mad-
houses. For a long time I tried
to steer clear of both categories,
and to fortify myself against the
prevalent malady by serious
study and constant correspond-
ence with my sister; but at
length I too was carried along

i
I

I

by the current. 1 never, indeed,
had any sympathy for the hlood-
thirsty tragedians, but the
melancholy lyrists gradually
attracted me. The soft, moon-
light-tinted, suicidal melancholy
of these young men was not
without something pleasing and
poetical, at least to my mind as
it was then situated ; they praised
some very doleful elegies of mine,
showed deep sympathy for the
general depression produced by
overwork, and altogether made
me ten times move dismal,
home-sick, and forlorn than I
had been before. The senti-
mental epidemic soon declared
itself in me. I felt the neces-
sity of solitude, and was soon
tbe prey of a mysterious grief,
of despair, without the very
faintest ground or reason. No
Charlotte happening to cross
my path, nor indeed any ot^^H

lady who might account for this
condition unto myself (the citi-
zens' dauf^hteis were hopelessly
vulgar in my eyes), I permitted
an intense desire to see my sister
again to lay hold of me ; nay, I
did all I could to foster this
foolish and artificial home-sick-
ness. Soon it became impossible
for me to think of Ottilie without
being oppressed by grief; and
the remembrance of every trifling
detail of my Questenburg life
made the tears come into my
eyes. To assuage my grief, I
wrote some elegies on the
subject, which elegies, according
to the habit of heart-broken
poets, I took good care to
print.

My melancholy was not, how-
ever, a pretence; far from it.
It is impossible to conceive the
effect on a nervous person of a
long residence in a mental at-

I mosphere heavy with sick^^

I sentiment. More than once,

[ I walked on the banks of the

I river, tearing the grass and

. flowers with my stick as I went

I along, 1 have stopped suddenly,

remained gazing at the water,

until I was seized by an almost

irresistible impulse to throw

myself into the eddying stream.

My friends viewed me with

interest and admiration ; for

these morbid creatures I had

the double attraction of being

a hero and a psychological

study. They whispered that I ,

always carried a bottle

laudanum on me — others coil^

tended that it was a. pistol, an^

that they had actually seen it3|

muzzle protuding out of

pocket — and there was a general]

expectation that some fine day {

should be found lying lifelesl

■ among the sedge on the riva

side, or weltering in a pool of
blood in my study. Many of

them were ready prepared to
weep my untimely end in tender
elegies, or to develop my story
in a whimpenn,^ novel. Unfor-
tunately for these literary projects
my tale was destined to have a
different catastrophe, and one
which would have intensely
disgusted these romanticists.
The longing to return to Ottilie
became irresistible. I felt that
my only means of cure lay in
sacrificing all — university edu-
cation, literary career, fame,
everything, in order to return to
Questenburg ; and in this mad
condition, all these sacriBces
seemed to add to the efficacy of
the cure. Without saying a word
to any one, I paid what small
debts I had, made a bundle of
my books and clothes (the greater
number being too bulky, I simply

I ]l8 OTTILIE.

a

O

I

and heroically left behind), and
set out on foot for Questenburg.
It was an essential feature of
this crazy plan that the immense
journey should be made on foot,
at the risk of being robbed or
failing ill on the wayside, eating
little and avoiding human habi-
tations as far as possible. My
sentimental fever had reached
the stage of delirium; but this
stage was its last, and preluded
recovery.

After a journey of many days
in broiling August weather, ex-
hausted by an effort so entirely
beyond my forces — for I was not
a good walker — and in a state of
violent excitement, I at length
reached Questenburg. Instead
of entering the town at once, I
stopped some hours at a little
lie outskirts, waiting for
dusk before finishing my journey.
Imagine the amazement,

horror of my sister, who thought
I was studying comfortably at

B , when I suddenly walked

into the kitchen, covered with
dust, unshaven, my clothes and
shoes in tatters, and looking

altogether as if- Really I

don't know what possible cir-
cumstances could explain my ap-
pearance. Ottilie's first thought,
rapid as lightning, was that I
had been expelled, or obliged for
some unknown reason to run
away from the university ; and
she received me with every
expression of affection and
anxious sympathy. I wanted
to explain all at once, but she
would not listen ; she insisted
on my putting on clean clothes,
resting and eating first, for I was
evidently sinking from exhaus-
tion. When I had got on fresli
things, and had rested awhile,
and put my sore and bruised

feet into soft slippers, she spreat
a napkin, and placed knife and
fork and glass on the table, in
front of the sofa on which I lay,
and brought me some dinner.
Then only, and seeing that I could
not eat a morsel, did she permit
me to explain the cause of my
sudden return. I shall never
forget her look of dismay when
she heard that I had sacrificed
everything and ruined my career
for no rational object whatever.
Somehow or other, once in her
presence, I found it wholly im-
possible to explain why I had
done all this. I felt dazed and
ashamed. I could not tell her,
who seemed serenity and good
sense personified, all about ray
melancholy state, my irresistible
desire to return home, and the
I relentless fate which was op-
l pressing me. She, knowing
nothing of the sentimental

ea^^^

i

demic, took these words for a
sort of delirious raving ; and
what with my strange looks and
stranger adventures, she strongly
suspected that I must be insane
—and perhaps she was not very
far from the truth. The follow-
ing day my old master, Dr.
Willibald, was sent for in great
haste. As soon as he had re-
covered from his first shock of
astonishment at the news, he
pretended to consider the whole
matter as quite natural, said that
he had predicted it all along,
and that that was what came
of not listening to his admoni-
tions. However, he was wholly
unable to give Ottilie any advice
on the subject, and pondered
vainly over a means of recover-
ing a dozen excellent linen shirts,
a score of well-bound books and
other valuables, which I had left
behind at the university. Mean-

while, I was in bed, and, as soon
appeared, ill — ill of exhaustion
and excitement.

My malady lasted a good time ;
it left me weak in body, but at
least mentally healthy. One
morning during my conva-
lescence, as the sunbeams played
amid the folds of my white bed-
curtains, and outside the swallows
flew to and fro with that rushing,
cutting sound which has always
been so dear to me, it seemed as
if a horrible weight had been
removed from my heart and a
mist cleared away from my eyes,
I got up, dressed, and went to
the open window. I leaned both
arms on the scarlet cushion and
peeped over the tops of geraniums
and carnations. On one side was
the tortuous, rough-paved street,
in which the sunshine was alter-
nated by the deep shadows of the
old bow windows, from which

hung flowers, forming bright
spots on the deep-hued old
wood. The servant- maids were
sweeping the house steps and
drawing water at the fountain
surmounted by the stone knight.
Turning in the other direction, I
could see tlie Geht Kirche, in
whose niches only one poor little
saint had been left by our over-
zealous Lutheran fathers. The
church was surrounded by a
double row of old lime trees,
forming a little square, closed in
by chains, on which some school-
boys were swinging, with their
heeis up and their heads down,
in a state of high enjoyment.
And meanwhile the swallows
were crossing and re-crossing
before the window, with their
dear, cheerful, breezy noise. A
new life seemed to dawn for me.
I was released from all routine
of study, free from every sickly

fancy; I had nothing to do but
to live. And the life I led during
the first months after my return,
and after my mental and bodily
cure, was indeed sweet. I walked
about in all the dear well-known
places with my sister. I read
only such books as amused me.
I began several pieces of literary
work, which I was too happy,
too free and buoyant, to care to
finish. I enjoyed all the pleasures
of convalescence; but as my re-
covery became complete, a certain
lassitude came over me. I wished
to do something, but could not
find the courage to begin, and
with habitual yawns came regret
and almost remorse. Why had
I left the university ? Fool that
I had been ! But what was the
use of regretting; it was now too
late to repair. In short, the
peace and idleness which '.
seemed so delightful after

OTTILIE. 125

feverish excitement which had
preceded them, were beginning
to be distasteful to me.

At the same time I could
foresee no termination to this
state of matters, for there was
no possibility of returning to the
university after my disgraceful
flight, and I saw nothing else
that could occupy my energies.
But interest, the most unex-
pected, suddenly came to me.

One day, being bored to death,
I took it into my head to pay a
round of visits to some of my
old playmates.

The first I found on my path
was the good, stupid Kasper, who,
having been cured of his absurd
passion for my sister, had studied
theology, given up shooting, and
was now settled in life as a most
exemplary husband, father, and
pastor of souls. He received
me with open arms, and intro-

duced me to his wife, a lai
the purest Qiiestenburg
very white, very fat, and he
merry, by whom Kasper wa
about as by a married Ami
Despite their cordiality, ne
of the worthy couple possi
much attraction for me ; ;
found myself frequenting
house, scarcely knowing wl
wherefore. Yet the reason
very simple. One of the inr
of the Pfarrer's house was
wife's cousin, an extremely p
little blonde, full of grace ai
vacity. The first time I
saw her, she was seated se
by a window, the creeping p
of whose flower-pots forn
beautiful framework of s
and leaves for her delicate
curly head. She was se
at a new dress, and hum
a popular song ; and at
moment she struck me a

pretty that some time later I
tried to reproduce tiiat scene in
some lines. I reminded her in
them how, as children, we had
played together, and how she
had one day tied me hand and
foot to a chair. I added that I
feared she might now be tying
me down once more, but with
how much harder bonds.

Of course I kept these lines
to myself. Wilhelmine — for it
was that same Wilhelmine whom
Kasper had once called " little
devil," and threatened to throw
out of the window — Wilhelmine
would either not have under-
stood a word of them, or been
grievously offended. She was
an, adorable little creature, with
a mixture of modesty and arch-
ness, and a constant, birdlike
cheei-f Illness. Henceforth I no
longer suffered from variety of
thought and depression, and Ot-

tilie remarked with surprise
pleasure the improvement ir
spirits.

One day I found Wilheli
as usual at the window, bu'
work lay on her knees and
was absorbed in a book, wl
blushing at being caught,
laid down at my approach.

" What has the power c
interesting you ? " I asked, f
cing jealously at the book w
lay on her work-table. I tho'
I knew that thin, shabby 1
volume in the gray binding
took it up, opened it, and re;
line — I durst not raise my
for shame and confusion.
book was a collection of 1
rymose poems which I
published anonymously at
university, and which — hes
only can tell how — had go
Questenburg, and into her
session.

Wilhelmine blushed at being
caught reading poetry; I too
blushed, but it was from shame.
I felt ashamed that these miser-
able, false, artificial pieces of
morbid vapidness should be read
by that sweet, gay creature,
so lovely in her cheerfulness
and simplicity.

Wilhelmine looked up in my
face ; she thought I despised
her for reading them.

" They are so beautiful," she
said, hesitatingly.

" Do you think so ? " And I
shrugged my shoulders con-
temptuously.

" Don't you think them beau-
tiful, really?" she asked, eagerly.
" Have you seen that lovely piece
beginning, ' The unhappy Morna
wept over her harp in the pale
moonlight ? ' "

She repeated one or two lines

of that most insipid piece of im-

9

becility, and her voice anc
almost made them seem
to me.

" Do you know who
them ?" she asked.

My vanity was too grea

" Would you like to kno'
author, Jungfer Wilhelmim

" Do yon know him ? '
exclaimed in excitement.

" He has the honour of f
ing before you." And I m
graceful bow, clashing my
together.

" You ! Is it possible ? "

Thus passed the winter
the spring I went with the
tor's family and a large ni
of friends (Ottilie never
for these riotous meetings^
the woods, to pick that \
sweet-scented little herb era
with a tiny white star, \
they called " May-herb."
at home, Wilhelmine and

pastor's wife washed the earth
off the fragrant plants, and
placed immense bundles of them
in soup-tureens, together with
lemon-rind, sugar, cloves, and
cinnamon ; white wine was
poured into the vessels, and the
whole put by to ferment in the
cellar.

Some days later I received an
invitation to drink the " May
wine " at the pastor's house.
Ottilie was of course invited,
but, as usual, she preferred stay-
ing at home and playing duets
with Dr. WiJlibald. I must
confess to my shame that I was
relieved by this decision ; I felt
shy of meeting Wilhelmine in
Ottilie's presence. What could
she have thought of my caring
for a girl so — so— in short, so
different from herself?

I put on my new apple-green
coat, with brass buttons, and an

i

embroidered yellow waistcoat, I
stuck a scarlet geranium in my
hat, and betook myself to
the pastor's house. Wilhelmine
seemed more charming than
ever with her white pinafore
on, filling our glasses with the
fragrant cool mixture ; and as
she methodically put her empty
ladle into the jar, and carefully
brought it out filled to the brim,
I composed a little May wine
song, which we all sang in
chorus over the supper-table.

Then there were long walks
and excursions all through the
summer. On Sundays, after the
second sermon, the Pfarrer, his
family, and a few friends, would
walk to some mill by the river-
side, where the miller served
coffee and cinnamon cake ; or
else to some ruined castle in the
woods, where Wilhelmine spread
a table-cloth and unpacked her

OTTILIK. 133

hampers of provisions on the
mossy ground ; and after laugh-
ing, dancing, games, and ghost
story-telling, we all returned
home in the early moonlight.

This idyllic life awakened my
muse ; not indeed that whim-
pering lady of university days,
but a cheerful and simple one —
not unlike, as I thought, my
dear little Wilhelmine.

A short time before Voss's
Louise had created a great sen-
sation ; it was a pleasant and
original poem, in which the
metre and style of Homer were
used to describe, rather over-
minutely and pompously, the life
of a rustic clergyman. It pro-
duced a number of imitations
which, together with itself, were
swept away into oblivion by
Goethe's Hermann and Dorothea.
I too was fired by this example,
and set to work upon a poem in

hexameters, describing my ac-
quaintance with Wilhelnaine,
our walks, the May-wine brew-
ing, and all the little incidents
which interrupted the sweet
monotony of our life. I read
a few passages {not those about
herself, of cours^) to Wii-
helmine ; I think she took it
for prose, but it pleased her
nevertheless, and pleased me
because it pleased her. I felt
bound to submit it to my sister,
but 1 was ashamed. I gave her
the first two cantos, and bolted
out of the house. I did not
venture to ait near her while
she was reading those
which contained the first i
lation of my love for Wilhelrt
I returned for supper. We"
opposite each other. She scarcely
made a remark, but 1 felt soi
thing was coming. I coul4j
eat, I tied my napkin into- k

while

carcely
t 50 IM<M

]

OTTILIK. 13s

and made little houses of bread
crust without venturing to look
Ottilie ill the face. When we
had finished supper, she opened
a drawer, took my manuscript
from it, and handed it gravely
to me.

" Here is your poem," she
said ; but a second later her
assumed indifference gave way.
She threw her arms round my
neck, and asked why I had
waited so long to tell her a
piece of news that must make
her so happy as that of my
attachment for Wilhelmine. I
felt ashamed before so much
goodnt;ss, ashamed of having
been unable to conceive its ex-
istence. Then 1 told her how
much I loved Wilhelmine, how
sweet a girt she was ; and talked
a deal of rubbish about the
noble and delightful task of cul-
tivating so charming a fiowe

I

136

of raising her by the pow
love to my own level.

Ottilie smiled incredulout
all this ; she knew it to be
self-delusion, but she knew
that such delusions are \
keeping. I firmly believe'
this : I was in love with
helmine, and I therefore fa:
she must be worthy of my
well, perhaps she was, fo
love was not worth much,
head was full of golden j
for the future, but someho
other my sister was alwayi
out in them ; at least, she fo
no necessary part of them,
sometimes struck me. I
wicked, and kissed Ottilie,
felt as if I could cry.
merely smiled, for she
dreamed what was passtn,
my mind.

Ottilie of conrse expecte(
to conform to our good old

man custom of long engage-
ments, and so did Wilhelmine's
parents. They would not hear
of giving their daughter to a
young fellow without any busi-
ness in life. They wished me
to go forth, and return to marry
Wilhelmine only when I should
have gained the means of sup-
porting her, Ottilie, on the
other hand, while strongly im-
pressed with the reasonableness
of these views, was mainly
swayed by a fear that I might
repent of so rash a step as that
of marrying the very iirst girl I
fancied. Wilhelmine she thought
well of, but she earnestly wished
to give me time to know her,
myself, and the world better,
before irrevocably fixing my des-
tiny. This opposition enraged
me ; it seemed to me as if time
were merely being lost. I hated
the idea of once more entering

the world all alone. I almost
dreaded that my dreams might
be realised too late — that I might
attain the prize when I had
grown weary of waiting for it.
I was impatient to realise my
ideal, and no exhortations could
stop me. Once, as Ottilie had
been entreating me to take time
to consider the matter, im-
patience got the better of me,
and I let drop ungrateful and
cruel words :

" You are wasting my lifeS
have been taken care of tooU
Let me take care
henceforward."

" Do so," answered Ottil
The words had wounded her
deeply : it was as if I reproached
her with wishing to cheat me of
my happiness. The ingratitude
struck her down. After that s he
made no further resistani
tried to be indifferent

m]n^H
>ttili^

whole business, yet even at that
very moment she made a sacri-
fice, one of the greatest a woman
of her pride could possibly make.
Dr. Willibald got to know,
through some correspondent of

his, that Prince L , one of

the greatest people at court, was
in search of a librarian for his
magnificent library, which had
got into hopeless confusion, as
his Excellency cared not a jot
about books. The salary was
liberal, considering that the
place was a sinecure, or very
nearly so, and the Prince lodged
the librarian in the villa contain-
ing the library.

"There is a chance for us!"
exclaimed Wilhelmine. " We
can marry at once ! Nothing to
do, a good salary, lodging !
Think, how lucky ! "

The fact of the place being :
sinecure, and the post one not

very far removed from that
sen'ant, riither displeased
yet if only 1 could get the
for the moment, I said tc
self, and mitil I could find i
thing better, I could many
helmine at once, and so be
new Ufe without fuilher i
There was a chance of ol
ing this place. I knew it,
must do myself the justice t
that I never mentioned
Ottilie ; that I never askei
to sacrifice her pride so £
to write to the aunt of F

L , to that very Ele<

Princess whose service she
so abruptly left, who had
so rudely deaf to her exp
tions and her apologies,
apply to the Princess won
to subject Ottilie either 1
insulting rebuff, or to a hi
ating forgiveness. The Pri
had been in the wrong, and

persisted in the wrong spirit to-
wards her, and she was the last
person of whom Ottihe could
beg a favour — and such a
favour !

In his unsuspecting meanness.
Dr. Willibald mentioned the
course to Ottilie as one about
which there could not be a
moment's hesitation. " Only
write a line," he pleaded, "to
your former mistress ; she is
sure to forgive all. I will help
you to concoct the letter, and
you are sure to get the post for
your brother ; he will be inde-
pendent, able to marry — you will
have secured his happiness."

" I cannot do it ; I have done
enough for him," answered
Ottilie, in a tone which com-
pletely silenced Willibald. He
reported the conversation to me
the following day. I was never
more enraged with him than on

that occasion. " My sister shall
never beg for me, nor will I ever
be a pensioner!" I exclaimed;
and ran off to assure my sister
that I was wholly ignorant of
Willibald's proposal, and that I
would rather die than submit
her to such an humiliation.

" I never thought the proposal
came from you," she answered
coldly.

But it was then too late ;
those words of Willihald's, "You
will secure his happiness," had
revived the memory of mine.
"You are wasting my life!"
No, Ottilie would not waste my
life; she would not neglect to
secure my happiness. Rather
than expose herself to such a
reproach, she would sacrifice
every particle of pride, and ex-
tend her hand as a beggar. She
had written to her former pa-
troness. I did not know it till

OTTILIE. 143

the answer came : civil, as that
of a well-bred aristocrat should
be to a former poor dependant,
and this cold civility was just
the greatest insult that could be
offered to us. The office of

librarian to Prince L was

promised, and the Princess was
even so munificent as to bid her
secretary enclose money to pay
my journey to the capital,
whither I was begged to go as
soon as convenient. In my first
bitter humiliation I could have
trampled the letter and the
money under foot. This was
what I had brought on my sister
—to be answered like a beggar,
and see me treated like a valet !
And she had been a court lady,
our father had been an officer,
our grandfather a baron ! And
all this what for ? To enable
me to marry a little shopkeeper's
daughter, the niece of a soap-

144 OTTILIK,

maker! My sister tried to
soothe me ; she had felt the
sacrifice more bitterly than I
could have done, but she had
made up her mind to it ; it was
her duty ; there could be no
further complaint. Wilhelmine,
on the contrary, was overjoj'ed ;
and for a moment her joy made
me almost hate her. She was
quite happy to live in the posi-
tion of a servant ; why not ?
She was not well-born like our-
selves. And I could be in love
with her ? Well, I was, and
very much in love — so much in
love that the near prospect of
my happiness soon made
forget all humiliations.

There remained yet anofl
sacrifice for my sister — that ol
parting. We could not find any
one desirous of buying our house
at Questenburg, and short of
selling it, there was no means

OTTILIE. 1 45

of raising funds to enable her to
live in the capital, where Prince

L allowed me and my wife

food and lodging, but no spare
premises which could be occu-
pied by Ottilie.

However, it was agreed that
no effort should be spared to sell
the house, and that at the worst
I, on my part {considering I
should be free of board and
lodging), and she on hers, might
save up sufficient money for her
to join us, according to my cal-
culations, at the end of two
years. This was a great conso-
lation ; I felt quite gay ; besides,
who knows I might not make
money by some literary work?
But Ottilie seemed sad — so sad
that it quite vexed me.

" Why are you not happy
when I am ? " I asked Ottilie
on the morning of my wedding.

"I am happy," she answered.

^HE first year of ray
married life and of my
residence in the capital
was most happy. How
fortunate I had been in
obtaining the post of hbrarian to

Prince L ! The prince was

away on a diplomatic mission in
Russia ; and the magnificent
viila on the outskirts of the town
all shut up, and left in charge to
only a steward and a few old
servants ; and, besides them,
Wilhelmine and myself were its
only occupants. We had

OTTILIE, 149

Hghtful set of rooms overlooking
the gardens and opening on to
the library ; in them we were
served our meals as if we be-
longed to the Prince's own family.
I felt almost as if I were the
owner of all this magnificence,
and enjoyed my wife's delight at
the beautifully laid-out gardens,
the magnificently gilded rooms,
the pictures and statues and
furniture, as if it had all be-
longed to me.

There was no one else present
to claim it all, and the sense of
grandeur was quite delightful.
Could I not take advantage of
the ample space allotted me, and
entreat my sister to live with
us ? I often meditated over the
question, but always came to the
conclusion that Prince
having bargained only for my
wife and myself, I had no right
to take advantage of his libera-

i

should hav<

have obtainc

sent to anot

troduced; bi

^y mind. 1

enjoyed vast

pendence, mj;

ofa family, n^

house— or at

which, being

considered as j

^ was noi
Prince L

^o get his lib
^^der, in ^h
thoroughly ag
She was alwa

f^A i:l

OTTILIE. 151

When there was nothing to copy
out she insisted on employing
her time cutting out and pasting
labels, or dusting the books. It
was delightful to see the dear,
bright girl seated on the floor
among a chaos of quartos and
folios, scissors and gluepot by
her side, pretending to be very
actively and seriously employed.
Or else she would climb on to a
ladder, and with her feather
broom bring the dust out of the
innumerable old volumes, until
she appeared as if in a cloud. I
would look up from my work ;
she would immediately chide me
for my indolence ; I, in return,
would lift her off the ladder,
whether she liked it or no. A
battle ensued, she pursuing me
with her feather brush, sending
clouds of dust into my face ; I
trying to hide behind the tables
and reading - desks, until she

hunted me out, and we rushed
through the whole length of the
library, jumping over the books
on the ground, laughing and
shouting in a way which must
have considerably surprised all
the philosophers whose busts
looked gravely down upon us.
These " literary occupations," as
they were officially called, sug-
gested Sonne poems, in which I
described our studies and our
battles among the books. But
the catalogue did not progress
much, and it was lucky for me

that Prince L never troubled

his head about the state of his
library. In the feeling of mv
new dignity I took the 1
occasionally to invite some 1
rary men to partake of our i
The servants said nothing ; I
served as much as I des
on the finest plate, They^
afraid of my complaining^

orriLiE. 153

Prince L in case of a re-
fusal, and I quieted my con-
science by giving a few thalers
to the cook ; not enough cer-
tainly to pay for the game and
fruit and wines, but enough to
make him anxious to please me.
After all, was it not better that
the venison should be eaten and
the ripe peaches plucked? Prince

L was none the poorer for

it : such at least was Wilhel-
mine's argument — the argument,
I have no doubt, of Eve about
the apple. It was too funny to
see my merry little wife pre-
siding over one of these literary
dinners ; to see her assumed
gravity and hidden roguisbness
towards those heavy, learned
clodhoppers, and their attempts
to please the frolicsome, impish
creature, whose ways must have
put a sad disorder into the dustv
contents of their venerab'

I

1 54 OTTILJE.

I did not neglect my wife's
education : I used to read her
fragments of classic poetry and
expound philosophical theories
to her with as much gravity as
I could muster. She, mean-
while, would sit at the table,
cutting little rows of puppets
out of paper, and making them
dance across the books. This
inattention being perceived by
me put an end to the lesson,
which invariably wound up with
loud laughter. I also took Wil-
helmine to the play, which was

excellent at D in those days.

She took a child's interest Jrt
the representation, squeezing my
hand with delight whenever the
hero made a fine speech or got a
legacy, frowning at the villain,
weeping copiously at the partingK
of lovers, and barely restraining
cries of horror at the vigorous
suicides and assassinations in

OTTIME. 1 55

which the dramas of those days
abounded.

Ah! days of joy, of childish
joy! Why did they last so
short a time ! The beginning
of all the evil was when, one
fine day, Prince L returned

with an immense train of ser-
vants. We shrank as it were
into a corner ; our grand time
was over. Our delightful apart-
ments had to be surrendered to
the master, and we were given
instead two rooms that looked
uncommonly like attics. Com-
plain we could not; better rooms
had to be reserved for the guests,
the secretaries, the valets, the
lackeys, the cooks — for any one
who stood in higher estimation
with the Prince than did his
librarian. This was not all :
the pompous major-domo sent
me word through his secretary
that the servants of His

I

cellency could no longer be em-
ployed in waiting on me and my
wife, and that henceforward Herr
Bibliothekar and his lady must
be pleased to dine with the rest
of the household. And what did
that mean ? Perhaps with the
Prince's secretaries or chapel-
master ? Oh, no ; they were
either admitted to his own board
or served by special servants.
The librarian must take his seat
at the upper servants' tables,
below His Excellency's valet, and
between His Excellency's head
cooks.

I could have torn every book
in the library into rags in the
first rage of that announcement.
I, the son of an honourable
oEBcer, the grandson of a baron,
the brother of Ottilie von Craus-
sen, a writer, a poet, to be seated
among the Prince's flunkeys 1
led my wife to the table, He»

knows with what suppressed
rage ! Wilhelmine was by no
means so sensitive ; she was
vexed at our having lost our
nice rooms, but as to dining
with ail these smart and pom-
pous people in livery, that seemed
no great hardship to her. She
had never seen any one half as
grand, and almost conceived it
to be an honour. They were
servants, it is true ; but Wilhel-
mine had never clearly made out
in what the position of a librarian
differed from that of a butler : to
her mind the dignity was pretty
well equal. The flunkeys saw
by my face that I did not relish
their company ; they looked at
me with cold contempt, scarcely
saying a word, and began, in
their most pompous way, to
discuss fashionable news. To
my horror Wilhelmine listened
quite awestricken to the anec-

1S3 OTTILIE.

dotes and remarks retailed by
the valets and cooks. I saw her
eyes open as they familiarly men-
tioned Princes, Dukes, Electors,
Kings, and discussed their family
affairs. Electors ! Kings ! they
had seen them, approached them,
heard their words. Wilhelmine
could not have listened to the
chat of a party of ambassadors,
mitred abbots and knights of the
Golden Fleece, with more re-
spect than she did to these
glorious lackeys, who showed off
their stock of court news as for
the purpose of displaying their
superiority over a shabby, con-
ceited bookworm of a libra;;

So much for the first til
rigorously maintained my
serve towards my table
panions. His Excellency mig
indeed force me to dine witb(|
servants, but not to talk n

them. This obstinate silence
irritated the whole flunkeydom
against rae; they soon behaved
with studied rudeness towards
us, exchanging sneers and words
such as they knew I could not
like my wife to hear ; and I had
to swallow my humiliation —
bitter, fierce humiliation.

One day, however, His Ex-
cellency's valet permitted him-
self to use language such as
would, perhaps, have pleased
the Prince, but did not please
me. I requested him to change
his subject and expressions, and
remember the presence of my
wife. He merely laughed. I
gave my arm to Wilhelmine, all
terrified at this scene, and led
her to our room; then I returned,
and in uncontrollable fury caught
the fellow by the collar and caned
him then and there. The other
servants looked on in amazement

I

and admiration at the boldl
of the librarian.

"You shall get it!

how

xcellen cy
giv«t i^^

the fellow, as I left th
And I did. The next

Prince L 's secretary brought

me word that His Excellenc]
no longer required my ser
and required my rooms.

What would I have giv«t 1
be back at Questenburg ! But
here I must stay, for in the
capital at least I might obtain
work. A friend got me a place
as clerk at a banker's ; the pay
and the work were both small,
and I determined to strain every
nerve in order to gain money by
some literary work, and possibly
obtain a professor's or tutor's
post.

Wilhelmine, utterly ignorant
of money matters, was qtii te
delighted at th'
I took, delighted at havioe-^

own servant woman, her own
kitchen, her own storeroom, and
prepared to play at house-
keeping as she had before played
at catalogue - making. But I
was no longer in the mood for
play; for such play was not
natural to my character, at least
not for any length of time. All
the long - suppressed animal
spirits and light - heartedness
of my nature had burst out
under Wilhelmine's first in-
fluence; I was like a child, who
long kept to its books, suddenly
finds itself in the company of
other children ; but the books
have had an influence on the
child, and it will not play as
long as its companions. So it
was with me: all this frivolous
gaiety had found its vent, but it
had exhausted itself. I had been
brought up alone with a serious
and thoughtful woman ; my cha-

I

racter had been cast in a serious
mould, and I was now tired
of the life of almost childish
thoughtlessness and mirth which
I was leading. I had now
enough of laughing and romping,
and longed for some mind, strong
and serene, with which I could
repose in intellectual quiet ; just
as, when a child, I used to re-
turn, wearied of the schoolboys'
games, to ask my sister for a
story or a song. What would
I not then have given for Ottilie !
But Ottilie could not come. The
two years were drawing to a
close, and, instead of savings, I
found only debts ; I was sepa-
rated from her by the deep gulf
of poverty. Yet howimperiously
I felt the want of society like
hers 1 My wife was by ray side
ready to laugh and be merry ;
but how could I say to her, " I
am tired of laughing; I long for

serious talk"? She would not
have understood me. When I
attempted to discuss my plans
and ideas with Wilhelmine I in-
variably perceived that she did
not understand them ; she under-
stood my words, but not my
mind. More than once, with
Wilhelmine seated opposite me,
I have felt alone — terribly, irre-
mediably solitary.

Yet I had not the courage to
own to myself that I had com-
mitted a fatal error in imagining
that a childish character like
Wilhelmine could suffice for the
happiness of a man like myself,
older in temper than in years.
I buried myself in my hooks ; I
tried to fill up the blank in my
life by working for money and for
fame; I tried to persuade myself
that a little money and a little
reputation would make me happy.
And little by little Wilhelmine's

I

164

spirits began to sink :
poverty, the necessity for
constantly working, the con-
tinual preoccupation in which
she found me — all this began to
chill her warm nature ; in-
difference and dissatisfaction
are terribly contagious. At
first she could not well under-
stand what had changed in our
relations ; she thought it was
merely the want of money which
made me gloomy, but later she
became conscious that there was
a deeper evil ; she thought me
cold and ungrateful ; she became
unhappy also at our not having
a child, and attributed my cold-
ness to this cause. Would we
had had a child 1 not that I care4r

ich about (

I had hadjj

^ere, but too much child]
i for the last three yei
but it would have been a bonT
.union, a common interest (aJ

orrjLiK. 165

there could be no other) between
us ; above all, it would have
been something to take my place
in poor Wilhelmine's affections.

Have you read Jean Paul's
Fruit, Flovjer, and Thorn Pieces ?
If you have, you doubtless
smiled at the description of
Siebeniias's married life; but
when I first read the book I
could have sobbed over it, for
I knew such a life — the double
isolation of an intellectual man
and an unintellectual woman,
childless and without any interest
in common — such a miserable
life as that of Siebenkas and
Lenette. And Siebenkas had
had a friend ; I had none : and
after all he had pretended to be
dead and let his wife marry
Pelzstiefel; there was no such
remedy possible for me.

Thus we live on, most of our
acquaintances deeming us a very

j66

happy couple, we who were so
unhappy ! I felt the weight of
the chain I bore, but I knew
that I had riveted it T,vith my
own hand, and that in justice
I must bear it without complaint.
Besides, I, a man, could bear it.
True, I was severed from all I
really loved ; true, there was a
terrible void in my heart ; but
I could find work to distract and
absorb my thoughts, I could find
men capable of understanding
me. But Wilhelmine, poor little
childish soul, living only for love,
and with whom love meant only
play, who could sympathize with
her ? who could fill up the void
in her life ? I felt that the fault
was on my side ; I knew that my
blunder had faded this sweet,
simple little flovver. I saw her
droop and wither ; I felt remorse
and rage at myself; I tried to
return to our former life ; I threw

my manuscripts into the fire,
locked up my books. I took her
to the play, to halls, and on ex-
cursions ; I would have given
my last penny to see once more
that bright look of former days
in her face. I tried to revive
that happy, foolish life of five
years ago. All in vain ; both of
us were too much altered.
Wilhelmine let herself be led
about passively ; nothing could
cheer her, nothing could amuse
her. Her bright, confiding
temper had altered into a sullen,
brooding apathy. She took a
kind of pleasure in rebuffing my
advances. I did my best, only
to make matters worse. For-
merly I had sat down to my
desk and wished to be serious
when Wilhelmine had wanted to
romp and laugh ; now that I
tried to amuse her she wished to
be serious. When I asked her J

1 63

to take a walk she chose to stay
at borne and read her whimpering
novels; when I proposed going
to the play, she had a headache
and preferred keeping her rooi
I perceived that my efforts wi
being intentionally frustrati
that she took a pleasure io
widening the gulf I was trying
to bridge over. Her sullen re^^
serve, her cold, prudish
began to irritate me ; I beci
peevish and rough.

One day I lost all control
myself : I had proposed, asj
last attempt, to take her a lit
journey (she had once delight
in the notion) in the great foi
near the capital. She declii
coldly, and was for resuming
eternal novel, but I snatched
book, and, with an explanatioi
impatience, threw it into the
stove. I was very soriy
moment afterwards. I hu;

1

implored her forgiveness ; she
smiled coldly.

" There is nothing to forgive,"
she said, prudishly ; " only a
trumpery book burnt ; " and so
saying she drew a second volume
from the drawer of her work-
table.

That was the beginning of the
end. During this miserable time
my thoughts had constantly re-
verted to my sister, whom, in
the ingratitude of happiness, I
had left all alone. All alone !
I now knew all that these words
mean ; I had learned it from my
own craving for sympathy. I
thought of Ottilie sitting down
day after day to her lonely
meals, going day after day on
her solitary walks ; the bitterness
of a sort of remorse was added to
the misery of my own isolation-
One day I could bear it no
longer. I told my wife I

sur^

jmed
d we

1 70 OTTILIE

determined to return to Questen-
burg, and asked her to prepa
for departure.

"To Questenburg ! " she 1
claimed, unable to hide her siJi
prise beneath her usual assumed
indifference, " Why should we
reforn to Questenburg ? "

She should have known !
she no recoilection of Ottilieil
all Ottilie had been for me ?

" Because I want to see my
sister," I answered, impatiently.

" You have done very well
without her these five years; I
don't see why there shouldJ
any such hurrj^" answered '
helmine, peevishly.

"/do."

" Oh I " exclaimed Wilheln
"that alters the question
not know that your sister wa
necessary to your happiness.!

Her cold, sneering tonef
asperated me.

"She is necessary to my hap-
piness ! " I exclaimed. " Would
to Heaven I had known it
earlier ! "

At these hasty words my wife
forgot all her sullen patience ;
this seemed insult added to in-
jury — injury long rankling in her
heart. What ! I was so weary
of her that I needed Ottilie !
What ! she had grown so old
and dull that Ottilie was required
to amuse me ; she was to be the
servant, the pupil of my sister!
No ; to Questenburg she would
never return ! And in that out-
burst of long pent-up anger
Wilhelmine dared to insult
Ottilie's age and looks ; to in-
sult the life which had been
faded in my service. At that
moment Wilhelmine seemed
transformed, a coarse and
narrow mind was revealed to
me such as I had guessed

I

17s OTTiLlE.

beneath her sweet exterior ;]
difference on ray part

changed into positive aversion.
There was a terrible scene — a
series of terrible scenes— pro-
voked daily, hourly, by a word or
a look. Then, as if exhausted,
my wife locked herself up in her
room. Her meals were carried
in by the servant; she would not
permit me to approach. Nor did
I wish to ; I was dazed and
bewildered by this new phase
in our relations. I knew not
how it might all end, but this
much I determined — to return to
Questenburg at any price to
seek advice and aid from OttJlie.
So a fortnight passed, and my
wife would not leave her room.
One day a visitor was announced ;
it was her father. Me he did
not deign to notice, bu
I her room as if he
own house and I

stranger. I understood all :
Wilhelmine had sent for him.
Did she hope to frighten me
back into love ? or was it mere
violence of anger ? I waited
calmly for the old man to leave
her room. He did so, and then
began violently to upbraid me.
He was a coarse, passionate man,
and had never much approved of
his daughter's marriage with me.
There was no stemming his
abuse, no possibiiity of making
him listen to reason. He ac-
cused me of neglecting, of insult-
ing my wife, of letting her starve,
of every possible wrong towards
her. I let bim go on, for he
seemed more mad than sane.
At length I could stand it no
longer. Forgetting who he was,
as he had forgotten who I was,
I told bim to leave my bouse
without a word more. He did
so, but leading his daughter with

him. I saw him again, but her
never : to my house she would
never return, despite all my
efforts at a reconciliation. The
old man wanted to fight me
(perhaps that his daughter might
be left a widow), but instead of
a second 1 sent him a lawyer,
who drew out a formal separa-
tion between Wilhelmine and

Thus ended ray brief married
life. Had I been wholly or par-
tially in the wrong ? I cannot
tell ; all seemed to have hap-
pened without any volition oa
my part, by the irresistible
weight of circumstances.

When my sister and I had
met and embraced, we stood for
a moment looking silently at
each other. Six years ago I had
left Questenburg scarcely more
than a lad, now I returned older
by twenty years. Ottilie was

still slender and erect, but deep
lines had formed round her mouth
and eyes, and her serenity was
that of a mind which has been
victorious after long struggles.
I felt that there now no longer
existed any disparity of age be-
tween us ; I had suffered as she
had ; but alas ! while she had
suffered from a generous sacri-
fice, I had suffered from niy own
selfish wilfulness.

Dr. Willibald came. He was
ready to burst out into reproaches
against me, to triumph over the
dismal ending of my egotistic
obstinacy ; but when he saw me,
and the change in my appearance,
he remained silent and merely
shook hands. Otttlie bade us
sit down at the little supper-
table arranged as of old ; but
none of us could eat. We talked
but little, and no allusion was
made to my recent troubles ;

I

I

1 76 OTTIL

was all as if nothing had chi
since I last sat there. Al
supper Ottilie opened the spinet,
Willibald took his viola da gainba
from its case, and they began
of those old, familiar duets.
Poor old Willibald ! He
his fiddle had been my sister's
only friends during that weary
time of solitude. They alone
had soothed her disappointment
when post after post passed with-
out bringing a letter from me.
I felt as in a dream ; I looked
round the room — nothing was
changed, all in its accustomed
place. The duet came to an
end. Willibald put up his
and returned home. I rem;
alone with Ottilie. She pit
both her hands on "my should
and looked into my face as she
had done when I had fii-st told
her of my love for Wilheli
Wc were standing i

to an
lis n^^j

she noticed that I was looking
at the white hairs among her
brown ones. She smiled, but
without any sadness.

" I have grown old," she said.

" So have I," I answered ;
" but we should not complain of
Time and his doings, since he
has taught us that we were made
only for each other."

And I kissed those few white
hairs.

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