HOW WOMEN LOVE

(Soul Analysis. )

Translated from the German of

MAX NORDAU, Author of "Degeneration, " "The Malady of the Century, ""The Comedy of Sentiment, " Etc. , Etc

Copyright, 1898, by F. T. Neely. Copyright, 1901, by Hurst & Co. New YorkHurst & CompanyPublishers

CONTENTS

 Justice or Revenge

 Prince and Peasant

 The Art of Growing Old

 How Women Love

 A Midsummer Night's Dream

JUSTICE OR REVENGE. 

CHAPTER I. 

A more unequally matched couple than the cartwright Molnár and his wifecan seldom be seen. When, on Sunday, the pair went to church throughthe main street of Kisfalu, an insignificant village in the Pesthcounty, every one looked after them, though every child, nay, every curin the hamlet, knew them and, during the five years since theirmarriage, might have become accustomed to the spectacle. But it seemedas though it produced an ever new and surprising effect upon the by nomeans sensitive inhabitants of Kisfalu, who imposed no constraint uponthemselves to conceal the emotions awakened by the sight of the Molnárpair. They never called the husband by any other name than "CsunyaPista, " ugly Stephen. And he well merited the epithet. He wasone-eyed, had a broken, shapeless nose, and an ugly scar, on which nohair grew, upon his upper lip, so that his moustache looked as if ithad been shaven off there; to complete the picture, one of his uppereye-teeth and incisors were missing, and he had the unpleasant habit ofputting his tongue into these gaps in his upper row of teeth, whichrendered his countenance still more repulsive. 

The wife, on the contrary, was a very beautiful woman, a magnificenttype of the Magyar race. She was tall, powerful, only perhaps a trifletoo broad-shouldered. Her intensely dark hair and sparkling black eyessuited the warm bronze hue of her plump face, which, with its littlemouth filled with magnificent teeth, its fresh full lips, thetransparent, enamel like crimson of the firm, round cheeks, and thesomewhat low, but beautifully formed brow, suggested a newly-ripepeach. This unusually healthy countenance, overspread with a lightdown, involuntarily produced in the spectator the impression that itmust exhale a warm, intoxicating, spicy fragrance; it looked sotempting that one would fain have bitten it. 

This had been much the feeling of the Uhlan officers who, with part ofa company of men, were stationed in Kisfalu. From the first day thatthe three gentlemen had entered their village garrison the beautifulwoman had attracted their attention, and they had seen in the husband'sugliness a pleasant encouragement to make gallant advances. Thecaptain, a Bohemian gentleman, was the first to introduce himself tothe fair wife. The morning of the second day after his arrival in thehamlet, taking advantage of the absence of the master of the house, hestole into the miserable clay hut tenanted by the ill-assorted pair, but remained inside only a few minutes, after which he came out with adeeply-flushed face and somewhat hasty steps, cast stealthy glancesaround him to the right and left, and then hurried away. In theafternoon of the same day, the young lieutenant tried his luck, but hetoo left the cartwright's hut more quickly than he had entered, and notexactly with the air of a conqueror. In the evening the threegentlemen met in the spare room of the tavern where they took theirmeals, and were remarkably taciturn and ill-tempered. On the third daythe slender, handsome first lieutenant called on the cartwright's wife. He was a far-famed conqueror of women's hearts, which he was accustomedto win with as little trouble as a child gathers strawberries in thewoods, and was envied by the whole regiment for his numberlesssuccesses, which he did not treat with too much reticence. This timethe adventure lasted somewhat longer; those who were passing heard loudoutcries and uproar for a short time, as if a wrestling match weregoing on in the hut, and the letter-carrier, an old woman, who was justgoing by, even stood still in surprise and curiosity. The curiositywas satisfied, for she soon saw the handsome Uhlan officer rush out, pressing his hand to his cheek as if he had a violent toothache. Helooked very much dishevelled and made off with noticeable haste. Hedid not appear in the tavern at noon, so in the afternoon his twocomrades sent their orderlies to him to enquire about his health; inthe evening he joined them at table and showed his astonished friends abroad strip of black court-plaster on his right cheek. 

"What does that mean?" asked the captain. 

"It seems to be a bad cut, " observed the lieutenant. 

"Razor? sword-stroke? cat's claw?" continued the captain, pursuing hisenquiries. 

"Woman's nails!" burst forth the Don Juan of the regiment, and now thegame of hide-and-seek between the trio ended, and they bewailed to oneanother, with comic despair, the ill-luck they had all encountered. 

She had courteously asked the captain to what she owed the honour ofhis visit, and when, instead of answering, he pinched her plump cheekand put his arm around her waist, she flew into a passion and pointedto the door with the voice and gesture of an insulted queen. Thelieutenant had found her far more ungracious; she did not ask what hedesired, but angrily thundered, almost before he crossed the threshold, an order to march which permitted neither remonstrance nor refusal;finally, at the appearance of the first lieutenant, she had passed fromthe position of defence to that of assault, shrieked at him with acrimson face and flashing eyes to be off at once, if he valued thesmooth skin of his cheeks; and when, somewhat bewildered, yet notwholly intimidated, he had ventured, notwithstanding this by no meansencouraging reception, to attempt to seize and embrace her, as he wasaccustomed to do with the colonel's wife's maid, when, making eyes athim in the ante-room, she whispered under her breath: "Let me go, orI'll scream!" she rushed upon him literally like a wild-cat, and, in aninstant, so mauled him that he could neither hear nor see, andconsidered himself fortunate to find his way out quickly. And when allthree heroes had finished their tragi-comic general confession, theyunanimously exclaimed: "The woman has the very devil in her!"

They would have learned this truth without being obliged to passthrough all sorts of experiences, if, instead of indulging inself-complacent speculations concerning the possible combination ofcircumstances which had united the beautiful woman to so ugly a man, they had enquired about the cause of this remarkable phenomenon. Theywould then have heard a strange tale which might have deterred themfrom finding in Molnár's hideousness encouragement to pursue his wifewith gallantries. 

CHAPTER II. 

Yes, Molnár's wife had the devil in her, and it was her familyheritage. Her father, a poor cottager and day labourer, had been inhis youth one of the most notorious and boldest brawlers in theneighborhood; even now, when prematurely aged and half-broken down bywant and hard work, people willingly avoided him and did not sit at thesame table in the tavern if it could be helped. In former years he hadbeen a frequent inmate of the county prison, where the bruises and cutsreceived in the brawl on whose account he was incarcerated had time toheal; two years before he had been in jail three months because he hadused a manure-fork to prevent a tax-collector from seizing his bed, andthe beautiful Panna had then gone to the capital once or twice a weekto carry him cheese, wine, bread, and underclothing, and otherwise makehis situation easier, so far as she could. 

The family vice of sudden fits of passion had increased to a tragedy inthe destiny of the only son. He was a handsome fellow, slender as apine-tree, the image of his sister, whom he loved with a tendernessvery unusual among peasants; he early became the supporter andcompanion of his father in his Sunday brawls, and the village was notat all displeased when he was drafted into the army. It would havebeen an easy matter, as he was an only son, to release him frommilitary service, but he was obliged to go because two fathers ofsoldiers could not be found in the village to give the testimonynecessary for his liberation. He became a conscript in 1865, and, ayear after, the double war between Prussia and Italy broke out. Theyoung fellow's regiment was stationed in the Venetian provinces. Onenight he was assigned to outpost duty in the field; the enemy was notnear, it was mid-summer, a sultry night, and the poor wretch fellasleep. Unfortunately, the commander of the guard, a young lieutenantfull of over-zeal for the service, was inspecting the outposts anddiscovered the sleeper, to whom he angrily gave a kick to recall him toconsciousness of his duty. The lad started up, and without hesitationor reflection, dealt his assailant a furious blow in the face. Therewas a great uproar, soldiers rushed forward, and had the utmostdifficulty in mastering the enraged young fellow; he was taken toheadquarters in irons, and, after a short trial by court-martial, shoton the same day. The family did not learn the terrible news untilweeks later, from a dry official letter of the regimental commander. How terrible was the grief of the father and sister! The man aged tenyears in a week, and the girl, at that time a child twelve years old, became so pale and thin from sorrow that the neighbors thought shewould not survive it. Not survive it? What do we not outlive! Sheconquered the anguish and developed into the most beautiful maiden inthe village. 

There was an austere charm, an unintentional, unconscious attraction inher, which won every one. Her notorious origin was not visited uponher, and even the rich girls in the village gladly made her theirfriend. While at work in the fields she sang in a ringing voice; inthe spinning-room, in winter, she was full of jests and merry tales, asgay and gracious as beseemed her age. Probably on account of hervivacious temperament and the feeling of vigour which robust healthbestows, she was extremely fond of dancing, and never failed on Sundaysto appear in the large courtyard of the tavern when, in the afternoon, the whirling and stamping began. Her beauty would doubtless have madeher the most popular partner among the girls, had not the lads felt acertain fear of her. A purring kitten among her girl companions, readyto give and take practical jokes, she was all claws and teeth againstmen, and many a bold youth who, after the dance, attempted to take theusual liberties, met with so severe a rebuff that he bore for a week amemento in the shape of a scratch across his whole face. Therefore shedid not have a superabundance of partners, and thus escaped thejealousy which, otherwise, her charms would certainly have roused inthe other girls. 

A dispensation of Providence rendered her irritability the means ofdeciding the whole course of her life. 

One Sunday, late in the summer, soon after the reaping and threshingwere over--she was then twenty--she again stood in the bright warmafternoon sunshine in the spacious courtyard of the village tavern, among a gay group of giggling lasses, waiting with joyful impatiencefor the dancing to begin. The two village gipsies who made bricksduring the week and played on Sundays, were already there, leaningagainst one of the wooden pillars of the porch in front of the house, and tuning their fiddles. The lads crowded together, shouting jestingremarks to the group of girls, who answered them promptly and to thepoint. One after another the young men left their companions and tookfrom the laughing bevy of maidens a partner, who, as village customrequired, at first resisted, but finally yielded to the gentleforce--not without some pleasantly exciting struggling and pulling--andwas soon whirling around with her cavalier amid shouting and stamping, till the dust rose in clouds. 

The beautiful Panna, for reasons already known to us, was not the firstperson invited to dance. But at last her turn came also, and she couldjump with a neighbour's son, till she was out of breath, to her heart'scontent. After spending more than fifteen minutes in vigourous, rapidmotion, she finally sank, in happy exhaustion, upon a pile of bricksnear a coach-house which was being built, and with flaming cheeks andpanting bosom struggled for breath. Pista, the cartwright, profited bythe moment to approach, and with gay cries and gestures invite her todance again. Pista was a handsome fellow, but had the unfortunatepropensity of drinking on Sundays, and this time was evidentlyintoxicated. The vinous suitor was not to Panna's taste, besides, shewas already tired, and she did not answer his first speech. But as hedid not desist, but seized her arm to drag her up and away by force, she tartly answered that she would not dance now. This only made himstill more persistent. 

"Why, why, you fierce little darling, do you suppose you can't bemastered?" he cried, trying with both hands to seize her beautifulblack head to press a smack upon her lips. She thrust him back once, twice, with a more and more violent shove, but he returned to theattack, becoming ruder and more vehement. Then she lost herself-control, and the choleric family blood suddenly seethed in herveins. Bending down to the heap of bricks on which she had just sat, she grasped a fragment and, with the speed of lightning, dealt herpersecutor a furious blow. Misfortune guided her hand, and she struckhim full in the face. Pista shrieked and staggered to the neighbouringwall, against which he leaned half-fainting, while between the fingersof the hands which he had raised to the wounded spot, the red bloodgushed in a horribly abundant stream. 

All this had been the work of a moment, and the young people who filledthe courtyard did not notice the outrageous act until the mischief wasdone. Shrieks, running hither and thither, and confusion followed. The fiddlers stopped and stretched their necks, but prudently keptaloof, as they had learned to do during frequent brawls; the girlsscreamed and wrung their hands, the youths shouted hasty questions, crowding around their bleeding companion. Water was quickly procured, cold bandages were applied to the swollen, shapeless face, and otherefforts were made to relieve him, while at the same time he wasbesieged with questions about the event. 

After dealing the fatal blow Panna had stood for a moment deadly pale, as if paralyzed, and then darted off as though pursued by fiends. Perhaps this was fortunate, for she would have fared badly if theenraged lads had had her in their power, when all, amid the confusedmedley of outcries, had learned the truth. There was no time to pursueher, for Pista seemed to be constantly growing worse; the cold waterand fomentations did not stop the bleeding; he soon lost consciousnessand lay on the ground amid the terrified, helpless group, an inertmass, until some one made the sensible proposal to carry him home tohis mother, a poor widow, which, with their united strength, wasinstantly done. 

Meanwhile, Panna had rushed to her own home, locked herself in, and saton the bench by the stove, an image of grief and despair. She wasincapable of coherent thought, nothing but the spectacle of thebleeding Pista staggering against the wall, stood distinctly before hermind. But she could not give herself up to her desolate brooding long:at the end of fifteen minutes the bolted door shook violently. Shestarted up and listened; it was her father, and she reluctantly went tothe door and opened it. The old man entered, shot the bolt behind him, and asked in a trembling voice:

"For God's sake, child, what have you done?'"

Panna burst into a flood of tears; they were the first she had shedsince the incident described. 

"He pressed upon me too boldly. And I didn't mean to do it. I onlywanted to keep him off. "

"You were possessed. The devil is in us. To kill a man by a blow!"

The girl shrieked aloud. "Kill, do you say?"

"Sol was just told. They say he is dead. "

"That is impossible, it's a lie, " Panna murmured in a hollow tone, while her face looked corpse-like. She seemed to cower into herselfand to grow smaller, as if the earth was swallowing her by inches. Butthis condition lasted only a few minutes, then she roused herself andhurried out, ere her father could detain her. She entered a narrowpath which ran behind the houses and was usually deserted, and raced asfast as her feet would carry her to the hut occupied by Frau Molnár, which was close at hand. Springing across the narrow ditch whichbordered the back of the yard, she hurried through the kitchen-gardenbehind the house and in an instant was in the only room it containedexcept the kitchen. On the bed lay a human form from which came agroan, and beside it sat old Frau Molnár, who wrung her hands withoutturning her eyes from her suffering son. Thank God, he was not dead, the first glance at the piteous scene showed that. Panna involuntarilyclasped her hands and uttered a deep sigh of relief. Frau Molnár nowfirst noticed Panna's entrance; at first she seemed unable to believeher eyes, and gazed fixedly at the girl, with her mouth wide open, thenstarting up she rushed at her and began to belabour her with bothfists, while heaping, in a voice choked by fury, the most horribleinvectives upon her head. Panna feebly warded off the blows withoutstretched arms, hung her head, and stammered softly:

"Frau Molnár, Frau Molnár, spare the sick man, it will hurt him if youmake such a noise. Have pity on me and tell me what the injury is. "

"You insolent wench, you God-forsaken, "--a fresh torrent of vileinvectives followed--"do you still venture to cross my threshold?Begone, or I'll serve you as you did my poor Pista. "

The mother again gained the ascendancy over the vengeful woman. 

She turned from Panna, and hastened to her son, on whom she flungherself, wailing aloud and weeping. The girl took advantage of thediversion to leave the room slowly, unnoticed. She had seen enough;Pista was alive; but he must be badly injured, for his whole head waswrapped in bandages, and he had evidently neither seen nor heardanything of the last scene which, moreover, had lasted only a brieftime. 

Panna did not go far. A wooden bench stood by the wall of the houseunder the little window of the kitchen, which looked out into the yard. Here she sat down and remained motionless until it grew dark. She hadseen by the bandages that the doctor must have been there, and hopedthat he would return in the evening. If this hope was not fulfilled, she could go to him without danger after nightfall, for she wasdetermined to speak to him that very day and obtain the informationwhich Pista's mother had refused. Before darkness had entirely closedin the physician really did appear, and entered the hut without heedingthe girl sitting on a bench near the door, perhaps without noticingher. Panna waited patiently till, at the end of a long quarter of anhour, he came out, then, with swift decision she went up to him andtouched his arm. He turned and when he recognized her, exclaimed insurprise: "Panna!"

"Softly, Doctor, " she pleaded with glance and voice, then added: "Tellme frankly how he is, frankly, I entreat you. "

"You have done something very, very bad there, " replied the physicianhesitatingly, then paused. 

"His life is not in danger?"

"Perhaps not, but he will be a cripple all his days. One eye iscompletely destroyed, the nose entirely crushed, the upper lip gashedentirely through, and two teeth are gone. "

"Horrible, horrible!" groaned Panna, wringing her hands in speechlessgrief. 

"He will not lose his life, as I said, though he has lost a great dealof blood from the wound in the lips, and the lost eye may yet cause ustrouble, but the poor fellow will remain a monster all his days. Nogirl will ever look at him again. "

"There's no need of it, " she answered hastily, and when the physicianlooked at her questioningly, she went on more quietly as if talking toherself: "If only he gets well, if he is only able to be up again. "Then, thanking the doctor, she bade him good-night, and returned slowlyand absently to her father's hut. 

All night long Panna tossed sleeplessly on her bed, and with theearliest dawn she rose, went to her father, who was also awake, andbegged him to go to old Frau Molnár and entreat her forgiveness andpermission for her, Panna, to nurse the wounded man. 

At the same time she took from her neck a pretty silver crucifix, suchas peasant women wear, a heritage from her mother, who died young, andgave it to her father to offer to the old woman as an atonement. Shehad nothing more valuable, or she would have bestowed it too. 

"That is well done, " said her father, and went out to discharge hisduty as messenger. 

It was a hard nut which he had to crack. The old mother was againfierce and wrathful and received him with a face as black as night; buthe accosted her gently, reminded her of her Christian faith, andfinally handed her the silver atonement. This touched the old dame'sheart. She burst into a torrent of tears, upbraided him with themagnitude of her misery, said that she would never be able to forgive, but she saw that the girl had acted without any evil design, that shewas sorry----

Pista, who had been delirious during the night, but was now better, hadhitherto listened quietly and intently. Now he interrupted the floodof words his mother poured forth amid her sobs, and said softly, yetfirmly:

"Panna is not entirely to blame; I was persistent, I was tipsy, she wasright to defend herself. True, she need not have been so savage, buthow can she help her blood? I ought to have taken care of myself; Iought to have known whom I was chaffing. " Then, turning to thevisitor, he added: "If it will soothe Panna to know that I am not angrywith her, send your daughter here, and I will tell her so myself. "

Fifteen minutes later Panna was in the Molnárs' hut. She entreated theold mother to attend to her household affairs and not trouble herselfabout the sick man; that should be her care. She arranged thewretched bed, cleared up the room, brought Pista water to drink when hefelt thirsty, and when everything was done, sat silently beside thebed. Pista quietly submitted to everything, and only gazed strangelywith his one eye at the beautiful girl. 

In the course of the morning the physician came and renewed thebandages. Panna stood by his side and kept all sorts of things ready, but she did not have courage to look at the wounds. The doctor thoughtit would be beneficial to have ice. But where was ice to be obtainedin a village at this season of the year! The brewery probably hadsome, but would not be likely to give any away. Panna said nothing, but when the bandages had been renewed and the physician had gone, shehurried directly to the brewery, went to the manager, a good-natured, beery old fellow, and entreated him, in touching words, for some icefor a sick person. The manager blinked at her with his littlehalf-shut eyes, and answered: "You can have it, my child, but notgratis. "

Panna lowered her eyes and murmured mournfully: "I will pay what youask, only not now, I haven't any money, surely you will wait a littlewhile. "

"It needn't be cash, one little kiss will do. "

Panna flushed crimson, and a flash of anger like the lightning of asudden storm blazed over her face; but she controlled herself and heldup her compressed lips to the voluptuary, who rudely smacked them andthen took from her hand the pipkin she had brought, returning it in afew minutes filled with ice. 

The supply did not last long, but, when it was exhausted, Panna did notgo herself, sending in her place old Frau Molnár with a pleasantgreeting to the manager of the brewery. True, the latter frowned andsneeringly asked why Her Highness did not appear in person, but he hadwisdom enough to give the ice for which she asked. 

At the end of a week Pista had improved so much that the ice-bandageswere no longer needed, and he did not require constant nursing. Pannawho, hitherto, had come early in the morning and returned late in theevening, now appeared only twice a day to enquire for the sick man andbring him some refreshment, if it were only a handful of blackberries. Of course, during all this time, there was no end of putting headstogether and whispering, but Panna did not trouble herself about it, and quietly obeyed the dictates of her conscience. 

Thus three weeks had passed since the fateful day. When, on the thirdSunday, Panna entered the Molnár's hut at the usual hour, this timewith a small bottle of wine under her apron, she found Pista, for thefirst time, up, and dressed. He was just turning his back to the dooras the girl came in. She uttered a little exclamation of surprise, Pista turned quickly and--Panna started back with a sudden shriek, theflask fell shattered on the floor, and she covered her face with bothhands. It was her first sight of the young man's horribly disfiguredcountenance without a bandage. 

Pista went up to the trembling girl and said mournfully: "I frightenedyou, but it must have happened some day. I felt just as you do nowwhen, a week ago, I made my mother hand me a looking-glass for thefirst time. I see that it will be best for me to become a Capuchinmonk, henceforth I must give up appearing before the eyes of girls. "

Panna hastily let her hands fall, gazed full at him with her sparklingblack eyes, and said gently:

"You always have girls in your head. Must you please them all?Wouldn't one satisfy you?"

"Why, of course, but the one must be had first, " replied Pista, withforced cheerfulness. 

Panna flushed crimson and made no reply; Pista looked at her insurprise and doubt, but also remained silent, and in a few minutes thegirl went away with drooping head. 

Pista now went to work again and endured days of bitter suffering. Hewas ridiculed because a girl had thrashed him, the cruel nickname of"the Hideous One" was given him, people gazed at him with horrorwhenever he appeared in the street. Panna continued to visit him everySunday, but he received her distantly, taciturnly, even sullenly. 

So Christmas came. On Christmas Eve Panna had a long talk with herfather, and the next morning, after church, he again went to old FrauMolnár and without any preamble, said bluntly and plainly:

"Why won't Pista marry my Panna?"

The widow clasped her hands and answered:

"Would she take him?"

"You are all blind mice together, " scolded the peasant, "of course shewould, or surely she wouldn't do what she has done for months past. Isn't it enough that she runs after the obstinate blockhead? She can'task him to have her. "

Just then Pista himself came in. His mother hesitatingly told him whatshe had just heard, and the old woman looked at him enquiringly andexpectantly. When the young man heard what they were discussing hebecame very pale and agitated, but at first said nothing. Not untilhis mother and the guest assailed him impatiently with "Well?" and "Isit all right?" did he summon up his composure and reply:

"Panna is a good girl, and may God bless her. But I, too, am noscoundrel. Honest folk would spit in my face, if I should acceptPanna's sacrifice. I'd rather live a bachelor forever than let her dome a favour and poison her own life. "

His mother and would-be father-in-law talked in vain, he stillpersisted:

"I cannot believe that Panna loves me, and I won't take favours. "

The simple, narrow-minded fellow did not know that the sense of justiceand absolute necessity can move a human soul as deeply, urge it asstrongly to resolves, as love itself, so from his standpoint he reallywas perfectly right. 

To cut the matter short: Pista remained obdurate from Christmas untilNew Year, notwithstanding that his mother and Panna's father beset himearly and late. The girl suffered very keenly during this period, andher eyes were always reddened by tears. But when New Year came, andstill Pista did not bestir himself, the strong, noble girl, afterviolent conflicts in her artless mind, formed a great resolution, wentto Pista herself, and said without circumlocution, excitement, orhesitation:

"I understand your pride and, if I were a man, would behave as you do. But I beg you to have pity on me. If you don't have an aversion to me, or love another, marry me. I shall not do you a favour, you will do meone. Unless I become your wife, I shall never be happy and contentedso long as I live, but always miserable whenever I think of you. Asyour wife, I shall be at peace, and satisfied with myself. That youare now ugly is of no consequence. I shall see you as you were, before--" Here, for the first time, she hesitated, then with a suddentransition, not without a faint smile, said:

"And it will have its good side, too, I shall not be obliged to bejealous. "

"But I shall!" exclaimed Pista, who had hitherto listened in silence. 

"Nor you either, Pista, " she said quickly, "for whenever I see yourface I shall say to myself how much I must make amends to you and, believe me, it will bind me far more firmly than the handsomestfeatures could. "

Pista was not a man of great intellect or loquacious speech. He nowthrew his arms around Panna's neck, patted her, caressed her, coveredher head and her face with kisses, and burst into weeping that wouldsoften a stone. Panna wept a little, too, then they remained togetheruntil long after noon and, in the evening, went to the spinning-roomand presented themselves as betrothed lovers. Three weeks after theywere married amid a great crowd of the villagers, some of whom pitiedPista, others Panna, and from that time until the moment when theincidents about to be described occurred, they lived together fiveyears in a loyal, model marriage. 

CHAPTER III. 

Besides the church and the tile-roofed town hall built of stone, themain street of Kisfalu contained only one edifice of any pretension, the manor or, as it is called in Hungary, "the castle" of Herr vonAbonyi. It was really a very ordinary structure, only it had a secondstory, stood on an artificial mound, to which on both sides there was avery gentle ascent, and above the ever open door was a moss-grownescutcheon, grey with age, on which a horseman, with brandished sword, could be discerned in vague outlines, worn by time and weather. 

The owner of this mansion, Herr von Abonyi, was a bachelor about fiftyyears old. 

His family had lived more than three hundred years on their ancestralestates, which, it is true, were now considerably diminished, and hewas connected by ties of blood or marriage with all the nobility in thecounty of Pesth. Up to the year 1848 the whole village of Kisfalu, with all its peasants, fields, and feudal prerogatives (such as mill, fish, tavern and other privileges) belonged to the Abonyis, and thepresent lord, Carl von Abonyi, came from that gloomy time, termed--Iknow not why--"patriarchal, " when the peasant had no rights, and thenobleman dwelt in his castle like a little god, omnipotent, unapproachable, only not all-wise and all-good, walked through hisvillage whip in hand, like an American "Massa, " and dealt the peasant ablow across the face if he did not bow humbly and quickly enough, ordered the village Jew to be brought to the manor, stretched on abench by two strong lackeys (called in Hungary heiducks) and soundlythrashed whenever he felt a desire for cheap amusement; regarded thewomen of the village, without exception, as his natural harem, spenthis days and nights in immoderate feasting and wild drinking, derivedall his education from the Bible with 32 leaves (the number of cardscontained in the pack commonly used in the country), and only displayedto ladies of his own station a certain romantic chivalry, which wasmanifested in rude brawling with real or imaginary rivals, unrestrictedduelling on the most trivial pretext, exaggerated gallantry and ardenthomage, serenades which lasted all night long under the windows of thefavoured fair, and similar impassioned, but tasteless eccentricities. At the present time all this has certainly greatly changed, but many ofthe nobles who, in the year 1848, the period of the vasttransformation, had partly or wholly attained maturity, could not orwould not adapt themselves wholly to the new era; in their inmosthearts they still consider themselves the sovereign lords of the soiland its inhabitants, and it is with rage and gnashing of teeth thatthey force themselves not to display this feeling in words and deeds atevery opportunity. 

Abonyi, an only son, was a lieutenant in the Palatine Hussars, when therevolution of 1848 broke out. He at once joined the honveds with histroop and, in their ranks, performed, until the close of the war forfreedom, prodigies of daring on every battle field, rising, in spite ofhis youth, within less than eleven months, to the rank oflieutenant-colonel. After the disaster of Vilagos, he fled from thecountry and spent several years in Turkey as a cavalry officer. In1860, he again returned home and took possession of his estates, whichsince his father's death, occurring meanwhile, had been managed by alegally appointed trustee. What wrath and raging there was! Theregulation of property-ownership had been executed during thetrusteeship, and as Abonyi believed, with outrageous curtailment androbbery of the lords of the estate. The best, most fertile fields--sohe asserted--had been allotted to the parish, the most sandy, barrentracts of the land to him; the parish had the beautiful oak forest, which had already been shamefully ravaged, he, on the other hand, received the reed-grown, marshy border of the stream; in the divisionof the pasturage the peasants had the easily cultivated plain, whichwas therefore at once ploughed by the new owners, he, on the contrary, the gravelly, steep hillside; in short, he was almost insane with ragewhen he first saw what the commission had made of his land, and thetrustee who had unresistingly agreed to all these unjust acts wouldhave fared badly, if he could have laid hands upon him the first timehe went to inspect the bounds of the parish. There was nothing for himto do, however, except to adapt himself to the new state of affairs aswell as he could; for nothing could be accomplished by indictments, because the trustee had possessed full legal authority to act, andeverything had been done in strict accordance with the law. Far lesscould he hope to effect anything by violence, since peasants understandno jesting if their beloved acres are touched, and, at the first signof any intention on his part to disturb their possessions, wouldquickly have set fire to his house and, moreover, tattooed on his body, with the tines of a pitchfork, a protest to which a counter-plea wouldscarcely have been possible. Only he could never carry self-controland composure so far that, after nearly twenty years' habitude, he didnot become furiously excited at the sight of certain pieces of land, and experience something akin to a paroxysm of longing to shoot, like amad dog, the first peasant who came in his way. 

The disposition to command, which he had indulged from childhood, hewas unwilling even now to renounce. Under existing circumstances hisname and property alone would certainly no longer permit him to indulgethis habit, so he sought an office. When the Austrian magistrates wereremoved in Hungary and the ancient county government restored, Abonyihad only needed to express the wish, and the "congregation" of thecounty, which consisted almost exclusively of his relatives andfriends, elected him president of the tribune[1] of his district. 

Now he could imagine himself transported back to the fine old feudaltimes before the March revolution. The peasants were again obliged toraise their hats humbly to him, his hand dispensed justice and mercy, the ancestral rod was brandished at his sign, and the whipping bench, apleasing symbol of his power, always stood ready below the windows ofhis castle. When he drove through the country on official business orpleasure, his carriage was drawn by four horses with a harness hungwith bells; if a peasant's cart was in the way and did not hasten atthe sound of the familiar little bells to move out, the heiduck incoloured livery, with a sword at his side, sitting by the driver, shouted an order and an oath to the laggard, and the coachman, whiledashing by, dealt the disrespectful loiterer a well-aimed blow. Hemight even fare still worse if the humor happened to seize the grandeein the spring carriage. 

It would no longer do to get the village Jew and have him flogged forpastime on long afternoons; but there were still gipsies who weresummoned to the castle to make sport for the noble lord. They playedtheir bewitching melodies, and if he was filled with genuine delight, he gave the fiddlers, right and left, an enthusiastic slap in the facewhich echoed noisily, then took a banknote from his pocket-book, spitupon it and clapped it on the swollen cheeks of the howling gipsies, whereupon they again grinned joyfully and played on with two-foldenergy. 

Although Abonyi was a pattern magistrate, at the second election, whichaccording to the old county system, occurred every three years, hesuffered defeat. Political party considerations and governmentinfluence sustained another candidate. So Abonyi was again relegatedto private life, but his birth and the office he had filled gave himsufficient personal distinction to induce his village, immediatelyafter, to compensate him in some degree for his overthrow by aunanimous election to the position of parish magistrate. 

This gentleman, with whose course of life and prominent personalcharacteristics we are now familiar, went one hot August afternoon tothe stables, which formed the back of the courtyard, to inspect thehorses and carriages, as was his custom. 

Abonyi was in a very bad humour that day, for there had been a violentdispute with the harvesters, who cut and threshed on shares, and whohad claimed more grain for their portion than seemed just to the ownerof the estate. It did not improve his mood to find that his favouritesaddle-horse had its right hind fetlock badly swollen and could not beused for a week. So he entered the coach-house, half of which, separated by a board-partition, served for a hay-loft. 

The first thing on which his eye fell here was a man lying stretchedcomfortably on the straw, snoring. He recognized in the sluggard"hideous Pista, " who had been summoned to the castle that morning toput new spokes into some broken carriage-wheels. The work he hadcommenced, a chaos of naves, spokes, fellies, tires, and a variety oftools, lay in a heap beside him, but he was sleeping the sleep of thejust. 

It needed nothing more to fan Abonyi's secret rage into a blaze offury, and he shouted fiercely:

"Devil take you, you idler, will you get off of my hay?"

Pista, evidently not fully roused by the call, merely grunted a littlein his dream and turned over to continue his nap. But the other couldnow control himself no longer, and dealt the recumbent figure a violentkick, roaring:

"Up, I say, up, you gallows-bird, you're paid for working, not forsnoring!"

Pista, with a sudden spring, stood on his feet, and was instantly wideawake. Looking angrily at the brutal intruder with his one eye, hesaid in a voice quivering with suppressed anger: "I'm not working foryou by the day, but by the job, and if I sleep, I do it at my own loss, not yours. Besides, I don't remember that I ever drank the pledge ofbrotherhood with you. "

Abonyi threw up his head, his face growing crimson as if he hadreceived a blow on the cheek. 

"What, " he shrieked, "does the rascal dare to insult me under my ownroof? I'll teach you at once who I am, and who you are. " And heraised the riding-whip which he usually carried, to deal Pista a blow. 

The latter's kindly, free peasant blood began to boil. Taking a stepbackward, he grasped a pitchfork lying within reach of his hand, andhissed through the gaps in his teeth, as he brandished the weapon ofdefence:

"Woe betide you if you touch me! I'll run the fork into you, as trueas God lives!"

Abonyi uttered a fierce imprecation and hastily retreated three pacesto the door, where he called back to the cartwright, who stillmaintained his threatening attitude: "This will cost you dear, youscoundrel!" and before Pista could suspect what his enemy meant to do, the latter had shut the door and bolted it on the outside. 

Pista's first movement was to throw himself against the door to burstit open with his shoulder, but he paused instinctively as he heardAbonyi's voice, shouting loudly outside. 

"János, " called the latter to the coachman, who stood washing thehorses' harnesses beside the coach-house door, "go up to my chamber andbring me down the revolver, the one on the table by the bed, not theother which hangs on the wall!"

János went, and stillness reigned in the courtyard. Now the prisoner'srage burst forth. "Open! open!" he roared, drumming furiously on theoak-door. Abonyi, who was keeping guard, at first said nothing, but asthe man inside shouted and shook more violently, he called to him: "Bequiet, my son, you'll be let out presently, not to your beautiful wife, but to the parish jail. "

"Open!" yelled the voice inside again, "or I'll set fire to the hay andburn down your flayer's hut. "

This was an absurd, ridiculous threat, for in the first place Pista, ifhe had really attempted to execute it, would have stifled and roastedhimself before the mansion received the slightest injury, and besides, as examination afterwards proved, he had neither matches nor tinderwith him; but Abonyi pretended to take the boast seriously and criedscornfully:

"Better and better! You are a sly fellow! First you threaten me withmurder, now with arson; keep on, run up a big reckoning, when the timefor settlement comes, we will both be present. "

János now appeared and, with a very grave face, handed his master therevolver. 

"Now, my lad, " Abonyi ordered, "run over to the town-hall, bring a pairof strong hand-cuffs and the little judge, [2] the rascal will be put inirons. "

Pista had again heard and remained silent because he had perceived thatblustering and raging were useless. So he stood inside and Abonyioutside of the door, both gazing sullenly into vacancy in excitedanticipation. The gardener, who was laying out a flower-bed whichsurrounded three sides of the fountain in the centre of the courtyard, had witnessed the whole scene from the beginning, but remained at hiswork, apparently without interest. 

The town-hall was only a hundred paces distant. In less than fiveminutes János returned with the beadle. Abonyi now retreated a fewsteps, aimed the revolver, and ordered the beadle to open the door. The bolt flew back, the sides of the folding door rattled apart, andPista was seen on the threshold with his hideous, still horriblydistorted face, the pitchfork yet in his right hand. 

"Forward, march!" Abonyi ordered, and the cartwright steppedhesitatingly out into the courtyard. 

"Put down the pitchfork, vagabond, it belongs to me, " the noblemanagain commanded. 

Pista cast a flashing glance at him and saw the muzzle of the revolverturned toward himself. He silently put down the fork and prepared togo. 

"Now the irons, " Abonyi turned to his men, at the same time shouting tothe gardener, "You fellow there, can't you come and help?"

The gardener pretended not to hear and continued to be absorbed in hisblossoming plants. But, at Abonyi's last words, Pista swiftly seizedthe pitchfork again, shrieking:

"Back, whoever values his life! I'll go voluntarily, I need not bechained, I'm no sharper or thief. "

The coachman and the beadle with the handcuffs hesitated at the sightof the threatening pitchfork. 

"Am I parish-magistrate or not?" raged Abonyi, "do I command here ornot? The vagabond presumes to be refractory, the irons, I say, or----"

Both the servants made a hasty movement toward Pista, the latterretreated to the door of the coach-house, swinging the pitchfork, thebeadle was just seizing his arm, when a shot was suddenly fired. Ashrill shriek followed, and Pista fell backward into the barn. 

"Now he has got it, " said Abonyi, in a low tone, but he had grown verypale. The coachman and the beadle stood beside the door as thoughturned to stone, and the gardener came forward slowly and gloomily. 

"See what's wrong with him, " the nobleman ordered after a pause, duringwhich a death-like silence reigned in the group. 

János timidly approached the motionless form lying in the shade of thebarn, bent over it, listened, and touched it. After a short time hestood up again, and, with a terribly frightened face, said in a voicebarely audible:

"The hole is in the forehead, your honour, he doesn't move, he doesn'tbreathe, I fear"--then after a slight hesitation, very gently--"he isdead. "

Abonyi stared at him, and finally said:

"So much the worse, carry him away from there--home--" and went slowlyinto the castle. 

The servants looked after him a few moments in bewilderment, then laidthe corpse upon two wheels, which they placed on poles, and bore himoff on this improvised bier. This time the gardener lent his aid. 

[1] A Hungarian office. 

[2] Hungarian name for beadle. 

CHAPTER IV. 

When the men, accompanied by several children who were playing in thevillage street and had inquisitively joined the passing procession, appeared at the Molnárs' hut with their horrible burden, the beautifulPanna was standing in the kitchen, churning. At the sight of thelifeless form lying on the bier, she uttered a piercing shriek anddropped the stick from her hands, which fell by her side as thoughparalyzed. It was at least a minute before her body was again subjectto her will and she could rush to the corpse and throw herself proneupon it. 

Meanwhile the men had had time to carry the dead form into the roomadjoining the kitchen and set the bier upon the clay floor, after whichthey took to their heels as if pursued by fiends; at least János andthe beadle did so; the gardener had remained to try to comfort the poorwoman, so suddenly widowed, in the first tempest of her despair. 

Panna lay on her husband's dead body, wringing her hands and moaning:"Oh, God! oh, God!" sobbing until even the gardener, a stolid, weather-beaten peasant, and anything but soft-hearted, could notrestrain his own tears. Not until after several minutes had passed didthe young wife raise herself to her knees, and ask in a voice chokedwith tears, what all this meant, what had happened. 

"The master shot your Pista, " replied the gardener in a tone so lowthat it was scarcely audible. 

"The master? Pista? Shot?" repeated Panna mechanically, absently, asif the words which she slowly uttered belonged to an unknown, incomprehensible language. She stared at the gardener with dilatedeyes, and her lips moved without emitting any sound. At last, however, understanding of the present returned, and the words escaped withdifficulty from her labouring breast: "Oh, God, oh, God, how could ithappen? How could God permit such misery?" Again she was silent, while the gardener looked away and seemed to be examining the oppositehouse with the utmost attention through the panes of the little window. 

But Panna was beginning to think more clearly and to recover from thedull stupor into which the sudden shock had thrown her. Still kneelingbeside the corpse, wringing her hands, and amid floods of tears, shebegan again:

"The master shot my poor Pista from carelessness?"

The gardener hesitated a moment, then he said:

"Not from carelessness, poor woman. "

In an instant Panna was on her feet, stood beside the gardener at asingle bound, grasped him by the shoulder, and said in a firm, harshvoice, while her tears suddenly ceased to flow: "Not from carelessness, you say? Then it was intentional?"

The gardener nodded silently. 

"That is impossible, it cannot be, no innocent person is murdered, andI am certain that Pista has done nothing; he was the gentlest man inthe world, he wouldn't harm a fly, he hadn't drunk a drop of wine infive years, he-- Have no regard for me! Tell me everything, and mayGod reward you for remaining with me in this hour. "

The gardener could no longer withhold the truth, and acquainted herwith the occurrence whose commencement the coachman János had describedto him on the way, whose tragical close he himself had witnessed. Panna listened silently, never averting her eyes from the body duringthe entire story. In the midst of a sentence from the gardener, shesuddenly uttered a shriek, and again threw herself upon the dead man. 

"Here, here is the hole!" she murmured. "Horrible! horrible!"

Hitherto she had had before her eyes only a vague, shapeless, blood-stained vision, without being able to distinguish any details;now for the first time she had seen, amid the blood and oozing brains, the terrible wound in the forehead. But this interruption lasted onlya moment, then Panna again stood beside the gardener and begged him tocontinue. 

He soon reached the catastrophe, which once more drew a scream, orrather a quickly suppressed, gasping sound, from the widow, and thenclosed with a few well-meant, but clumsy, words of consolation. 

Here Panna interrupted him. 

"That's enough, Friend, that's enough; now I know how it all was and Iwill comfort myself. If you have anything to do, don't stay with melonger, and may God reward you for what you have done. "

"What do you mean to do now?" asked the gardener, deeply moved. 

"Nothing. I mean a great many things. I have much to do. "

She went into the kitchen and soon came back with a wooden water-pailand a coarse linen towel. Placing the vessel on the floor beside thecorpse, she began to wash the face, without taking any farther noticeof her visitor. During her melancholy task she only murmured from timeto time in broken sentences; "Oh, God, oh, God!--No, God is notjust--Pista, the gentlest man--he was not like us--he was nothot-tempered--What is God's will?"

The gardener felt that he was not wanted, so, after exhorting the widowto be calm and to come to him if she needed advice or help, he wentaway. She had nodded and, without turning her head, called after himagain: "God will repay you!"

When left alone, Panna carefully dried the dead man's face, placedunder his head a pillow which she took from the bed, kissed his poor, ugly face, --sobbing meanwhile from the very depths of her heart, --andcovered it with a gay little silk kerchief which he had brought to herfrom the last fair. Then she hurriedly made some changes in her owndress and left the house, whose door she locked behind her. 

Without looking round, she walked rapidly to the field where she knewthat her father was working, which she reached in a quarter of an hour. He was toiling with other day-labourers in a potato-patch, pulling theripe roots out of the ground, and when she came up was stooping overhis work. He did not notice his daughter until she was standing by hisside and touched him lightly on the shoulder with her finger. 

Then he straightened himself, exclaiming in great astonishment:

"Panna! What is the matter?"

A glance at her made him start violently, and he added in a subduedvoice:

"A misfortune? Another misfortune?"

Panna did not reply, but grasped his arm and, with long, swift strides, led him far beyond the range of hearing of the other workmen. Whenthey had reached the edge of the field, she said softly:

"Father, Herr von Abonyi has just shot my Pista out of sheerwantonness, like a mad-dog. "

The old peasant staggered back several paces as if he had been hit onthe head with a club. Then his face, whose muscles had contracted tillit resembled a horrible mask, flushed scarlet, he uttered a tremendousoath, and made a sudden movement as though to hurry away. 

But Panna was again at his side, holding him fast. 

"What are you going to do, Father?"

"There--the hoe--the dog must die--he must be killed--now--atonce--I'll run in--I'll split his head--die--the dog, " he panted, trying to wrench himself from his daughter's strong grasp. 

The latter held him still more firmly. 

"No, Father, " she said, "try to be calm. I am quiet. Rage has neverbeen a good counsellor to us. I thought you would take it so, andtherefore I wanted to tell you myself, before you heard it from others. "

The old man swore and struggled, but Panna would not release him. 

"Father, be sensible, we are not living among robbers, an innocent manis not shot down unpunished. You need not split his lordship's head, another will do that, a greater person than you or he. There is a law, there is a court of justice. "

Her father grew calmer, his distorted face began to relax. Panna nowreleased his arm, sat down on the boundary-stone beside which they hadbeen standing, and, gazing fixedly at the ground, while rolling the hemof her apron between her fingers, she continued, speaking more toherself than to him, "We certainly know best that punishment will not fail. They shot ourpoor Marczi, and he only gave a man a blow. If you ever had a littlequarrel with any one in the tavern, they imprisoned you for weeks andmonths. I, too, have atoned for the crime I committed; nothing remainsunpunished, and the nobleman will get his deserts, as we have alwaysreceived ours. "

The sun was setting, and the notes of the vesper-bell echoed from thedistance. The old man picked up his hoe, which he had left in thefurrow and, lost in thought, walked home with his daughter in silence. Panna prepared the bed she had used when a girl in her father's hut, and went to rest early. It is not probable that she slept during thenight. At least she was already completely dressed when, very earlythe next morning, the parish-beadle knocked at the door of the hut, andit was she who opened it. 

He asked for the key of her house, because the corpse must be carriedto the town-hall. 

"Why?"

"Because, early in the forenoon, the committee and the districtphysician will come from the city to hold the coroner's inquest. "

"Will he be present?"

"Who?"

"The--Herr von Abonyi. "

The beadle shrugged his shoulders and said, "I don't know. "

Panna did not give up the key, but went with the beadle herself, andwas present when the latter appeared, with three other men and a bier, and bore the corpse away. 

The coachman János, and another servant, also came to fetch the wheelsand poles on which they had brought the dead man home the day before, and which belonged to the castle. Panna locked her door behind them, and followed the corpse to the town-hall. 

In the centre of the court stood a long black table, surrounded withall sorts of pails and various utensils, and near it a small one withwriting materials and a chair before it. Meanwhile the body was lefton the bier beside the table and covered with a horse-blanket. A greatcrowd of people, among them many women, and even little children, flocked into the building in a very short time, thronged about thebier, the black table, and Panna, who was leaning against it, carryingon a low, eager hum of conversation till it seemed as though countlessswarms of bumble-bees were buzzing through the air. 

About eight o'clock two carriages drove up, from which descended fivedusty gentlemen, dressed in the fashion of the city, and a servant. These were the examining magistrate, the prosecuting attorney, thedistrict physician, a lawyer, and a clerk of the court, then thebeadle, who carried a box containing the dissecting instruments. Inthe absence of the parish-magistrate--it was remembered that Abonyiheld this office--the gentlemen were received by the village notary(parish clerk) and ushered into the interior of the building, where anabundant breakfast awaited them. Meanwhile the people were dismissedfrom the courtyard, and as the mere request did not induce them to movefast enough, were urged forward with gentle force, after which the gatewas closed and bolted on the inside. Panna had been obliged to go outwith the others, but she would not leave the spot, where she was joinedby her father, though she entreated him to return home or go to hiswork in the field and not meddle with anything. 

At nine o'clock the little funeral-bell in the church-steeple began totoll, and at the same time the post-mortem examination took place, butdid not last long, as it was only necessary to open the cavity of theskull. The investigation proved that the missile, a lead, cone-shapedbullet of large calibre, had entered above the left eye, torn its waythrough the left-half of the brain in a curve passing from above to thelower portion within, and lodged in the pons vorolii. Under suchcircumstances, death must have been instantaneous. 

When all was over, the beadle again opened the gate and admitted thecurious throng. The village notary went to Panna and asked whether shewished to have the funeral from the town-hall, or from her own house. She decided in favor of the latter plan, and the notary gave thenecessary orders to the beadle. A coffin had been ordered by thegardener the day before, and was ready for delivery. Some old womenoffered to attend to dressing the body and preparing it for burial, notifying the clergyman, etc. , so Panna was spared all the mournfulbusiness details which demand attention from a crushed spirit at amoment when it is so incapable of forming any sensible, practicalconclusions, and could therefore remain near the committee. 

After the post-mortem examination was over, the members went to viewthe scene of the deed. Panna followed, and was silently permitted todo so by the beadle and the constable, while the throng of villagerswas kept back. A mist dimmed Panna's eyes, when she saw the placewhere the crime was committed, but she bore up bravely and watched theproceedings around her with the utmost attention. 

The gentlemen entered the coach-house and, standing at the door, shecould hear the physician say that he thought he noticed blood-stains onthe floor. The examining magistrate sketched a slight plan of theplace in his note-book, and ordered János and the gardener, who were inthe vicinity, to be brought in by the beadle. They were required topoint out the places where they were standing at the time of themisfortune, and to briefly relate in turn the details of the story, during which the prosecuting attorney and the lawyer for the defensemade notes. All this afforded Panna infinite satisfaction. She felther heart grow lighter, and became calm, almost cheerful. A voice inher soul said: "There--there is justice!" and every letter which thegentlemen, with swiftly moving pencils, scrawled on the paper, seemedto her a link in the steel chain which was being forged before hereyes, ever longer and heavier, and would serve to drag the criminalfettered before the tribunal. 

From the castle, the committee returned to the town-hall, and nowfollowed the real official examination of the witnesses, whose previousinformation had been taken merely as unofficial information, and not aslegal depositions. They were summoned singly into the room andexamined, first János, then the gardener, and lastly the beadle. Whenthe latter came out Panna, who, until then had waited patiently at thethreshold, stepped resolutely into the chamber, though the constabletold her that she had not been summoned. 

The examining magistrate looked at the new-comer in surprise, and askedwhat she wanted. 

"What do I want?" replied Panna in astonishment, "why, to be examinedas the others have been. "

"Were you present when the misfortune happened?"

Panna felt a pang in her heart when the examining magistrate used theword "misfortune. " She would have wished him to say "crime. " But sheanswered with a firm voice. 

"No, I was not present. "

"Then you cannot be a witness. "

"I am not a witness, I am the accuser. "

The lawyer for the defense smiled faintly, but the prosecuting attorneydrew himself up and answered sternly and impressively, before theexamining magistrate had found time to open his mouth. 

"You are mistaken, my good woman. I am the accuser, and you havenothing more to do here. "

"That is true, " the magistrate now remarked. "If you desire to obtaindamages from Herr von Abonyi, you can bring the complaint before thecivil court. You have nothing to do with the criminal trial. "

"But it is my husband, my Pista, who has been murdered!" cried Panna, who was beginning to be greatly excited. 

The prosecuting attorney twirled a lead-pencil between his fingers, butthe examining magistrate rose, took the widow by the hand and led herto the door, saying soothingly: "You don't understand, my good woman;the point in question is not your Pista, but our Pista. He was amember of society, and his cause is the cause of all of us. Rely uponit, you will have justice. " While speaking he had opened the door andgiven the constable a sign to lead the woman away. 

This was not necessary; Panna went voluntarily, after casting a strangelook at the magistrate which somewhat perplexed him. 

The cartwright's funeral took place in the afternoon amid a greatthrong of villagers. Since his mother's death Molnár had had norelatives in the place, and his wife and her father were the onlymourners among the concourse which followed the coffin to the cemetery. The Catholic pastor, who was often Abonyi's partner at his evening cardparties, delivered an edifying address beside the open grave. He tookfor his text the verse (Matthew v. 44): "But I say unto you, Love yourenemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, andpray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you, " and said agreat deal about forgiveness and reconciliation. The listeners weremuch moved, and frequently wiped their eyes. Panna alone was tearlessand sullen, she felt enraged with the fat, prating priest, who did notseem to her to speak sincerely. 

After the funeral she went with her father to his hut, and there thetwo sat at the table opposite to each other, gazing into vacancywithout uttering a word. But they did not remain long undisturbed intheir gloomy meditations, for the door soon opened and the priest camein with a smooth, unctuous: "Praised be Jesus Christ!"

"In eternity, amen!" replied the old man in a dull tone, risingslightly from his chair, while Panna sat still in silence. 

The priest took his seat beside the widow and, in sweet, cajolingwords, began to enlarge upon the subject of his funeral address. Heexhorted her, as her confessor, to remember that she was a Christian, she must forgive her adversaries, nay, even love her enemies, that she, too, might be forgiven; if she cherished anger and vengeance in herheart, her sin would be greater than Herr von Abonyi's----

Here Panna threw back her head and looked at the honeyed speaker sofiercely, that he found it advisable to follow another course. Herepresented to her that Abonyi had committed the deed by someincomprehensible rashness, in a sort of delirium and that he desirednothing more ardently than to make amends for the consequences of theluckless act, so far as lay in human power. While speaking, he put hishand into his pocket and drew out a bank-note of large amount, which helaid on the table. 

Panna could bear no more. Seizing the money furiously, she threw itviolently on the floor and, with rolling eyes and quivering lips, shrieked:

"I want justice, not alms. He must hang--I must see him dead like myPista, before I am at peace. "

The priest now lost his evangelical mildness also, and rose angrily, exclaiming:

"Fie! fie! you are a pagan, a pagan, and belong to all the fiends inhell. " With these pious words he went away. The bank-bill, crushedinto a ball, flew out of the room after him, then the door bangedviolently. 

CHAPTER V. 

The committee, after the official proceedings were over, had returnedto the city, but not until the constable had given the beadleinformation which afforded food for village gossip during several days. It was learned that, directly after the fatal act, Herr von Abonyi hadsaddled a horse and ridden alone to the city to denounce himself. Itwas late in the evening when he reached the examining magistrate'shouse. The latter, an old friend of Abonyi, was much troubled andshocked, and it was long ere he could collect himself sufficiently tobe able to take the deposition of the acknowledged criminal. It wasten o'clock before all the formalities were settled, then themagistrate, deeply agitated, took leave of his unfortunate friend. Theformer had not considered it necessary to arrest him, as Abonyi hadpledged his word of honor to hold himself always ready to obey thesummons of the court. 

Panna of course heard these tales, as well as other people, and shealso noticed how they were received in the village. There werenumerous comments, some foolish, some sensible; as usual, oppositeparties were formed; one condemned Abonyi's being left at liberty, theother thought it perfectly natural, since it could not be supposed thatso great and rich a man as Carl von Abonyi would make his escape undercover of the darkness, like a strolling vagabond who has nothing but astaff and a knapsack. Panna of course belonged to the malcontents. Itdid not enter her head that any one could be permitted to go aboutunmolested, after killing a man. The ingenious distinctions betweenimprisonment while awaiting trial, and imprisonment as a punishmentwere too subtle for her, and she did not wish to understand them; sheonly knew that whenever her father was brought before the examiningmagistrate, he was detained, and used to wait in jail two months andlonger, until at last condemned to a fortnight's imprisonment, whichwas considered expiated by the imprisonment while awaiting trial. 

Justice seemed to her far too slow. What kind of justice was thiswhich delayed so long, so torturingly long? Punishment ought to followcrime as the thunder follows the lightning-flash. The murdered man'sdeath-glazed eyes ought to be still open, when the murderer is danglingon the gallows. This was the demand of Panna's passionate heart, butalso of her peasant-logic, which could comprehend the causal relationbetween sin and expiation clearly and palpably, only when both wereunited in a single melodramatic effect. Why was nothing heard of afinal trial, of a condemnation? For what were the legal gentlemenwaiting? Surely the case was as clear as sunlight, with nocomplication whatever, the criminal had acknowledged everything. Evenif he had not, there were three witnesses who had all been present, thecommittee had seen the corpse, the hole in the forehead, the bulletfrom the revolver, the blood-stains in the coach-house, was not allthis a hundred times enough to condemn a man on the spot? Yet weekafter week elapsed, and nothing new was heard of the matter. 

Meanwhile it was rumoured in the village that Abonyi was visiting afriend, a land-owner in the neighboring county, with whom he wasconstantly engaged in hunting. This might and might not be true. 

At any rate it seemed to Panna atrocious that it was even possible. 

When one evening the gardener, who was no longer in Abonyi's service, came to see the widow, she poured out her heart, which was brimmingwith bitterness, to the kind, faithful fellow. 

"Isn't it enough to enrage a dove, that Pista has been mouldering inthe ground six weeks and his murderer still goes about at liberty, perhaps enjoys himself in hunting?"

The gardener tried to soothe the infuriated woman, and said all sortsof things about the laws, forms, etc. 

"Laws? Forms?" Panna excitedly broke in, "where were these laws andforms when our Marczi, my brother, was executed a few hours after hisoffence? And he had not killed any one, only dealt a harsh officer ablow. "

"That was in the army, Panna, that was in war; it is an entirelydifferent matter. "

"Indeed? And is it also a different matter that, a few years ago, thevine-dresser's Bandi was hung three days after he set fire to hismaster's barn?"

"Of course it is different, at that time we were under martial law. "

"So once it was war and once it was martial law--that's all nonsense, and I'll tell you what it is: our Marczi and the vine-dresser's Bandiwere peasants, and Herr von Abonyi is a gentleman. "

The gardener made no reply, perhaps because he secretly shared Panna'sbelief; but her father, who had been sitting at the table, cuttingtobacco with a huge knife and taking no part in the conversation, suddenly struck its point so violently into the table that it stuckfast, vibrating and buzzing, and exclaimed:

"Panna, Panna, I told you so then! The best way would have been tosplit the dog's skull with the hoe that very day. "

Meanwhile the affair pursued its regular course, which neither theimpatience of those concerned hastens nor their submission delays, andone morning the gardener came to Panna's hut with the news that he hadreceived the summons to appear as witness at the trial, which was totake place in four days. This was nearly three months after themurder, and it was already late in November. 

Panna knew that the witnesses were reimbursed for the expense incurredfor the carriages in which they drove to the city, and begged thegardener to take her with him to the court, which the latter readilypromised. 

On the appointed morning the peasant's vehicle appeared in front ofPanna's hut at a very early hour. It was not yet five o'clock, anddense darkness obscured the village and the neighbourhood. But Pannaalready stood at her door, and was seated in the carriage almost beforeit had stopped. She wore a black dress, a dark shawl covered hershoulders, at her throat was her old silver crucifix, which had againcome into her possession after her mother-in-law's death, and on herhead was a black silk kerchief, which set off her beautiful face somarvellously that one might have supposed she had studied the effect, had not this grave, strong woman been so wholly incapable of any act ofcoquetry. She was pale and thoughtful, and during the whole way didnot address a single word to the gardener, who sat beside her, occasionally glancing at her with admiring approval, only one could seethat the deep gloom which during the past few weeks had constantlyshadowed her features had disappeared. 

In fact, she was calm, almost content. The satisfaction due her hadbeen delayed a strangely long time, but at last it would be hers;to-day she, too, was to learn that the hand of justice could stroke herwith maternal kindness, after having hitherto, during her whole life, experienced only its power to deal blows. 

The road which, in the autumn, had been thoroughly soaked, had recentlybeen frozen hard by the early frosts, and they made such rapid progressthat, after a ride of barely five hours, the vehicle reached the cityand stopped in front of the town hall. 

The beginning of the examination had been fixed at ten o'clock, but itwas fully eleven before it commenced. The room in which it took placepresented no imposing appearance. It was an apartment, or if onechooses to call it so, a hall of ordinary size, with four windows; inthe centre was a wooden railing which divided it into two nearly equalparts; inside was the usual apparatus of justice, a green-covered tablewith writing materials and a black crucifix, between two candlesticks, placed on a platform for the court-room; at the right, also on theplatform, a small table for the prosecuting attorney; below, a woodenbench for the defendant, two police officers, and a little table forthe lawyer for the defence. Outside the railing stood a few woodenbenches, which afforded room for about forty persons. 

When Panna entered with the gardener the other two witnesses, János andthe beadle, were already in the space set apart for the audience, andalso the village notary, the new parish magistrate, a rich peasant andcattle-dealer named Bárány, the pastor, several other residents ofKisfalu, and two or three owners of estates in the county, friends ofthe defendant. 

Panna, who sat in the front row, directly by the railing, had no eyesfor her surroundings, and scarcely noticed that every one was gazing ather with curiosity and interest. Her mood was calm, almost solemn, andshe gazed steadily at the door in the end of the room through which thecourt must enter. 

At last a constable appeared, who moved the armchairs, arranged thepapers on the green table, and then noisily opened the doors. Thethree judges, followed by the constable, came in and took their seats;with them appeared the prosecuting attorney, the same one who had takenpart in the preliminary examination in Kisfalu, and almost immediatelyafter a side-door opened and Herr von Abonyi entered, accompanied byhis lawyer and followed by a man whose uniform cap showed that he wassome official. This individual remained standing at the door, whileAbonyi took his seat on the wooden bench and the lawyer in his chair. 

Abonyi had bowed to the court when he entered, and now cast a searchingglance at the spectators. But he involuntarily started and hastilyaverted his head, without noticing the smiling greetings of hisfriends, for the first things he beheld were Panna's flashing blackeyes, which had pierced him when he first appeared, and which heactually seemed to feel burning through his clothes, and consuming hisbody, as he turned away from them. 

Panna was intensely excited; her heart throbbed violently and hereyebrows contracted in a gloomy frown. Abonyi's appearance haddestroyed a large share of her consoling and soothing illusions. Shehad had a vague idea that he would be brought in in some humiliatingconvict garb, perhaps with handcuffs or even with his feet chained, andsit between two soldiers with fixed bayonets, deserted, humble, penitent. Instead of that she saw Abonyi just as she was in the habitof seeing him, attired in an elegant black suit, smoothly-shaved andcarefully combed, with plump cheeks and smiling lips, head erect andbold eyes, more distinguished in appearance than any one inside therail, without the slightest token in aspect and bearing which couldmark him as a man charged with a heinous crime, in short here, just asin his village, thoroughly the _grand seigneur_. 

The presiding judge opened the proceedings and ordered the clerk of thecourt to read the accusation, which was homicide through negligence, aswell as the minutes of the coroner's inquest and the other documents ofthe investigation, then he proceeded to the examination of the accused, asking the usual questions concerning his name, age, etc. , in acourteous, kindly tone, wholly devoid of sternness, which filled Pannawith vehement rage. This was not the terrible personification of thefell punishment of crime, but a smooth farce, acted amid universalsatisfaction. 

Now the judge reached the kernel of the matter, and asked the defendantto state the circumstances of the event which formed the subject of thelegal proceedings. Abonyi, in a somewhat unsteady voice, related thaton the fatal day he had gone to his coachhouse and found "his workman"asleep; he had roused him and warned him to be more industrious, thenthe fellow became amazingly insolent and defiant, and threatened him soroughly with a pitchfork, that he owed his escape with a whole skinsolely to his rapid flight, and the presence of mind with which hebolted the furious man into the shed. 

Panna listened with dilated eyes and open mouth; a burning flushsuffused her cheeks, her breath came in gasps, and bending far forward, she clenched the railing convulsively with both hands. It seemedincredible that she could have heard correctly. What, is it possibleto lie so in a court of justice, in the presence of the black crucifix, the judges, the listeners? And the prosecutor does not interrupt himin his infamous speech? The earth which holds the murdered man, nowslandered in his very grave, does not open and swallow the shamelessliar?

The gardener, who perceived what was passing in her mind, laid his handupon her arm and whispered into her ear: "For heaven's sake, Panna, keep quiet, control yourself, or if you cannot, go out of the room. "

Panna impatiently motioned to him to keep silent, for the defendant wascontinuing his story. He related how the imprisoned cartwright hadconstantly raged and threatened murder and arson so that, as parishmagistrate, he had considered it his duty to have the dangerous fellowarrested. To intimidate the rebellious man, he had sent for arevolver, which he thought was not loaded, and this was accidentallydischarged----

"Lies! Wretched, base lies!" shrieked Panna, shaking her clenched fistfuriously at Abonyi, who turned pale and paused in his story. Apassing tumult arose; the listeners crowded around Panna, who hadstarted up, and tried to force her back into her seat and to quiet her. The presiding judge frowned and was about to speak, when theprosecuting attorney told him in a hasty whisper who the disturber was. But Panna continued to cry out: "Don't believe him, gentlemen, he islying! He shot him intentionally and without cause. "

She would have said more, but the judge interrupted her, exclaimingviolently: "Silence, unhappy woman, you are making yourself guilty of aserious offence and deserve that we should inflict exemplarypunishment. But we will have compassion on your condition and contentourselves with turning you out of the room. "

At the same time he beckoned to the constable, who, with the individualstanding behind the defendant, and a watchman posted in theaudience-room, seized the screaming woman and, in spite of herstruggles, forced her out of the door. 

This interruption had lasted several minutes and evidently affected allpresent very unpleasantly. Now, calmness gradually returned and thetrial could pursue its course. After the defendant, the turn of thewitnesses came. Their depositions were to elucidate two pointsespecially: whether Molnár had really behaved in such a manner thatdeeds of violence might be expected from him, and it was necessary tothreaten him with a weapon and put him in fetters--also, whether therevolver had been discharged accidentally or intentionally. 

The first witness, János, gave his testimony cautiously and sinuously;he did not know how the dispute had begun; he was not present whilePista uttered the threats of which Herr von Abonyi spoke, as he hadgone first to fetch the revolver and then the beadle; Pista hadcertainly seemed angry and excited, and would not permit handcuffs tobe put upon him; he, János, had his back turned to his master when theshot was fired. 

The beadle, too, could only say that Pista would not suffer himself tobe fettered, and that he had not noticed the discharge of the revolver. 

Now the gardener was summoned. Abonyi looked sharply at him; thewitness bore the gaze quietly and began to speak. He stated that Pistahad always been a harmless, peaceful man, while the nobleman, on thecontrary, was arrogant and harsh in his intercourse with common people. 

The lawyer for the defence interrupted him with the words: "You are notasked for a certificate of good conduct!" and the judge admonished himto keep to the point. 

The gardener, unintimidated, added that Herr von Abonyi had firstinflicted bodily abuse on the cartwright, who was not his employee, andthe latter then threatened him or rather defended himself. 

The judge asked if he had seen this. 

"No, " replied the witness, "but János saw it and told me. "

János was recalled and confronted with the gardener. He could remembernothing about it. 

The examination was continued. The gardener testified that Pista hadbeen willing to submit to arrest, but would not allow himself to behandcuffed, for which, moreover, not the semblance of necessity hadexisted. Besides, Herr von Abonyi had had an evil intention when hesent for the revolver, for he asked expressly for the one lying on thetable by the bed, and the whole parish knew that this weapon was alwaysloaded. So it was false that Herr von Abonyi supposed he held anunloaded pistol in his hand. 

The judge addressed his last question to the witness: "Did you see thedefendant fire the weapon intentionally?"

The gardener replied that no one could have seen that, except a personwho stood directly beside the criminal and watched his finger closely;he could only say that Herr von Abonyi kept the weapon constantlyaimed, and his finger on the trigger, so that he, the gardener, hadinvoluntarily thought that some mischief would happen, and that theshot was fired at the precise moment when Pista raised the pitchforkagainst the servant, who was pressing upon him. 

The lawyer for the defence rose and informed the court that the witnesswas a servant whom Abonyi had discharged. 

"I was discharged after I gave the same testimony at the preliminaryexamination which I have given to-day, " observed the gardener quietly. 

"Speak only when the court questions you!" said the judge reprovingly;then he whispered a short time with his companions in office, andfinally announced that the last witness would not be sworn. 

The gardener looked at the judge in bewilderment and returned to hisplace among the audience. 

The prosecuting attorney now began his speech. He censured Abonyi forsending for the revolver, and the command to handcuff the refractoryman seemed to him to show over-zeal and somewhat unjustifiableseverity; there was no ground to believe that murder was intended, yetthe defendant had committed a grave offence when, yielding to an absurdnotion, he had deemed it proper to threaten the cartwright with afire-arm. He would therefore propose to sentence Abonyi for homicidethrough negligence to--six months' imprisonment. 

Abonyi's lawyer tried to show that the revolver had not beensuperfluous, since it was necessary to inspire a furious man, who wasthreatening deeds of violence, with salutary terror, and therebyrestrain him from excesses. As parish-magistrate, it was Abonyi's dutyto oppose the cartwright, and when the latter scorned and rebelledagainst the authorities, Abonyi had been fully justified in compellingthe cartwright to respect his orders, even by forcibly handcuffing him. For the unfortunate accident which resulted in the loss of a humanlife, Abonyi could not be held responsible, and he therefore requestedthe acquittal of his client. 

The prosecuting attorney replied that it was not fully proved thatMolnár had been so refractory that handcuffing was indispensable; buthe would admit that it was necessary to maintain the dignity of themagistracy energetically, in the midst of a turbulent, insubordinatepopulace. 

Abonyi's lawyer answered that, instead of making any rejoinder, he hadonly one thing to say: his client would engage to provide for theunfortunate Molnár's widow by giving her a large piece of land and alsosettling upon her an annual income, legally secured, of four hundredflorins. 

A murmur of approval ran through the audience, suppressed by a sterncommand from the judge. After a short whispered consultation, duringwhich the defendant was not even led out of the court-room, the judgepronounced the sentence, that the defendant, for the homicide throughnegligence of Stefan Molnár, was condemned to six months imprisonment;any claims for compensation from those entitled to demand them werereserved and could be brought before the civil courts. The prosecutingattorney declared himself satisfied with the sentence, as his proposalhad been fully accepted; the lawyer for the defence exchanged whispersa moment with the condemned man, and then also said that he would giveup the appeal to a higher tribunal; the judge closed the proceedings, and Abonyi went out through the door by which he had entered, while theman with the cap followed respectfully. 

When the gardener came out of the courtroom he saw Panna standing inthe corridor, where she had been waiting since her expulsion from thecourt-room. Hurrying up to him, she asked with an anxious look, "Well?"

"Sentenced!" replied the gardener, turning his head away. 

"Ah!" A low cry escaped her breast and her eyes sparkled. "Sentenced!And when?"

The gardener gazed at her inquiringly. 

"What do you mean by when?"

"Why, when will he be--executed?"

"Executed? you are out of your mind. He is sentenced to six months'imprisonment. "

Meanwhile they had gone down into the courtyard; at the gardener'swords Panna suddenly stood still, stared fixedly at him, and said in ahollow tone:

"You know how I am, and what I feel, why do you jest so unpleasantlywith me?"

"What I tell you is the most bitter earnest. "

"Man! Six months! You are drivelling! That is impossible! A man whohas murdered another can be acquitted, it may be said that he did notkill him, that the guilt was not proved, I understand that; but when itis admitted that he is guilty, he surely cannot be sentenced to sixmonths' imprisonment! That is a mockery of mankind. My brotherstrikes a brutal officer--he is executed; the vine-dresser's Bandiburns a miserable barn--he is executed. This man kills a human beingand gets six months' imprisonment. No, I cannot believe it. "

The gardener contented himself with silently shrugging his shoulders inreply to the woman's passionate outburst of feeling, and pursued hisway. Panna followed him with compressed lips. She could not helpbelieving his communication, but she continually revolved it in hermind, still unable to comprehend its meaning fully. They were seatedin the carriage again, and had driven a considerable distance, when shebegan once more:

"There are higher courts. It cannot be left so. "

"No one entered an appeal, so the case will not go to the highercourts. "

"Then you think that this six months is the last utterance of justice?"

"The last, Panna; only the king or God can still change the sentence. "

Panna's eyes flashed. 

"The king can change the sentence, you say?"

"He, of course, " replied her companion laconically. 

Panna said nothing more on the way home. Only the gardener once heardher murmur:

"Justice is a fine thing, a very fine thing. "

CHAPTER VI. 

It was late in the evening when Panna again reached Kisfalu. Herfather was already expecting her with great impatience and, before sheleft the carriage, shouted a question about the result of the trial. Panna did not answer immediately, but cautiously descended, gratefullypressed the hand of the gardener, who had brought her to her own house, and entered the room with her father. Here she opened her lips for thefirst time, uttering only the words: "Six months!"

Her father struck the table furiously with his clenched fist, shrieking: "Then Hell ought to open its jaws and swallow the wholeband! But wait, I know what to do. Six months will soon be over, andthen I'll make short work with the fine gentleman. I'll be judge andexecutioner in one person, and the trial won't last long, that I swearby all the fiends. "

Panna hastily interrupted him: "For Heaven's sake, Father, hush. Ifany one should hear it might be bad for you. What induces you to saysuch imprudent things? Do you want to be imprisoned for makingdangerous threats? You know that they wouldn't use as much ceremonywith you as with the nobleman. Only keep perfectly cool, we are notobliged to make ourselves the judge, there is still one person higherthan the court, and he will decide our cause. "

"What do you mean?" asked the father, looking inquiringly at Panna. 

"You'll learn; only let me act, and keep cool. "

The old man was not naturally curious, so he desisted and went to rest, Panna following his example. 

The next morning Panna was seen moving to and fro very busily betweenher own house and her father's, and repeatedly entering the town-hall. With her father's help, she carried all their property to his hut andthen offered the empty Molnár house for sale. There was no lack ofpurchasers, but the peasant does not decide quickly to open the stringsof his purse, so it was three days before the bargain was concluded. But at last the business was settled and Panna received several hundredflorins in cash. She gave the larger portion to her father, who boughta vineyard with them, and kept a hundred for herself. When this wasdone, Panna said that she had business in the city, hired a carriage, and went to Pesth. 

The king was at that time in Ofen, where he gave public audiencesdaily. It is an ancient and wise custom of the Hapsburgs to makethemselves easily accessible to the people. In Austro-Hungary norecommendation, gala attire, nor ceremony is requisite in order to seeand speak to the sovereign. On the days when public audience is given, the humblest person is admitted without difficulty, and nothing isexpected from him except that he will appear as clean and whole aspossible, no matter how shabby he may be. The people are well aware ofthis and, at every opportunity, profit by the facility afforded toreach the king; there are persons who go to the monarch with a matterwhich, in other countries, a village magistrate would decide withoutfarther appeal. 

So Panna left her carriage at a peasant tavern outside of the city, andwent on foot directly to the castle at Ofen. The audience began attwelve o'clock, and it still lacked half an hour of this time. Pannapassed through the outer door unrestrained, and was first asked whatshe desired by a guard on duty at the foot of the staircase leading tothe royal apartments. Panna answered fearlessly that she was going tothe audience, and the guardsman kindly showed her the way. 

At the head of the stairs another official met her with the same query, and she gave the same reply. But this time the official also asked forher certificate of admission. Panna did not know what it was, and thefunctionary then explained that the king's audience chamber could notbe entered so unceremoniously from the street, but a person must firstannounce himself and state his business, after which he received noticeof the time when he was to present himself. Of course it would be toolate for to day, but she could be registered for the next audience, which would be given in a fortnight. She probably had her petitionwith her, she need merely give it to him, and he would attend toeverything for her the friendly man said at the close of hisexplanation. 

Panna was obliged to confess that she had no petition, as she hadthought that she would be able to tell the king the whole storyverbally. 

The smiling functionary explained the mistake. She must write thepetition, for the king at the utmost would have only one or two minutesfor her, and no long story could be told in that time; besides, shecould not be recorded without a petition. 

Panna became much dispirited and out of temper. She again saw belovedillusions disappear. She had imagined everything to be far smoother, more simple, easier, and now here also there were difficulties. Shedejectedly followed her guide into an office, where she had all sortsof questions to answer about her name, residence, etc. , and the purposewhich brought her here. To the last inquiry she gave the curtinformation: "I am seeking justice from the king against an unjustsentence. " Then she received a card with a number and a date, and wasdismissed with the remark that she must be there again with herpetition a fortnight thence, on Thursday, punctually at twelve o'clock, noon. 

She had desired to keep her purpose a secret from every one in thevillage; but this was now impossible, for she could not prepare thepetition alone. So she went to the gardener, who had obtained anotherplace, and initiated him into her plans. He eagerly dissuaded her fromthe step, since nothing would come of it, but Panna remained immovablein her confidence in the result. 

"The king, " she said, "will secure me justice. It is impossible thathe should hear of the atrocious sentence and not instantly overthrowit. " And when the gardener continued to try to show her the contrary, she at last grew angry and said curtly: "Well, if you won't help me, I'll go to a lawyer in the city who, for money and fair words, willdraw up the petition. "

The gardener now relinquished any further opposition, and declaredhimself ready to compose the document. 

They were together two days to accomplish the great work with theirunited powers. Evil tongues in the village sharpened themselveseagerly on the remarkable fact, and the rumors about the pair wereendless. Some thought that the beautiful Panna had forgotten uglyPista very quickly, others thought that the gardener was by no meansamiss, though no longer very young; many said still more scandalousthings. The young widow did not trouble herself about this chatter inthe least; she had more important matters in her head and heart, andtherefore could not hear the malicious whispers of the gossips. 

The petition was begun three times, and as often torn in pieces. Pannawanted it to be very energetic, very vehement. The gardener softenedthe passionate expressions and suppressed the violent appeals. Ofcourse he was not a practised writer, and he had serious difficulty inputting his thoughts into the correct form. But at last thecomposition was accomplished, and Panna read it ten times in successiontill she knew every letter by heart. Her influence had been moredominant than the gardener's, and the petition was still very forcible. In awkward, but simple, impressive language, it accused the judge ofpartiality, described Abonyi and his crime in the darkest colors, quoted the cases of the shooting of Marczi and the hanging of Bandi, and finally demanded for Molnár's death the death of his murderer. 

With this document Panna again went to Ofen, and this time she reallyobtained the audience. The whole scene affected her soul like somestrange, wonderful face beheld in a dream. First she waited in theante-room, among hundreds of other persons, most of whom were dressedin splendid uniforms, and covered with the stars of orders. She had noeyes for her surroundings, but thought only of her business and whatshe wanted to say to the king; suddenly her number, called loudly, broke in upon her reverie; Panna did not know how it happened, but thenext moment she found herself in a room, which seemed to her fabulouslymagnificent, before her stood a figure in the uniform of a general, which she could not see distinctly because everything swam before hereyes; she faltered a few words about justice, and fell upon her knees;the figure bent over her, raised her, said a few gentle, pleasantwords, and took the petition from her trembling hand; then she was oncemore in the ante-room, with a hundred confused voices buzzing in herears like the roar of distant surf. When the gardener and her fatherafterwards asked her for details, she was compelled to answer that sheknew nothing, remembered nothing, had seen and heard nothing clearly;she only knew that the king had been very kind and took the petitionfrom her. 

From this time Panna was remarkably quiet and composed. She went abouther usual work, attended to her household duties with her usual care, and seemed to think of the past no longer; at least she did not mentionthe painful incidents of which we are cognizant, either to her fatheror the gardener, who sometimes visited her, and when the latter onceturned the conversation to them, she replied:

"Let us drop that; the matter is now in the right hands; another headis considering it, and we need no longer rack our brains about it. "

The gardener understood what she meant, and her father only half heardthese mysterious words without pondering over their thoroughlyenigmatical meaning. 

Thus six weeks passed away and the end of January was approaching when, one Sunday afternoon, the pastor unexpectedly entered Panna's hut. Without giving the astonished woman time for a remark, he sat down onthe bench near the stove by her side, and said:

"Do not wonder, my child, that I have come again, after you so deeplyoffended and insulted me. I must not bear malice. It is my office toforgive wrong, and I would fain have you follow my example. "

Panna gazed silently into her lap, but the priest continued in a voicewhich grew more and more gentle and insinuating. 

"You see, you are still indulging your savage, pagan vengeance, andcommitting all sorts of follies which will yet ruin you. What is theuse of it? Let the dead rest, and think of the living, of yourself, your future. What is the meaning of your going to the king and givinghim a crazy petition----"

"What, do you know that, too?" cried Panna turning pale; she felt as ifevery drop of blood had gone back to her heart. "So the gardenertattled? Oh, fie! fie!"

"Nonsense, the gardener! We don't need the gardener for that. Thepetition has come from the king's cabinet to the office of the HomeSecretary, which sent it through the county to the parish, that wemight give a report of your mental condition. From your petition, youare believed to be insane, and that is fortunate, or you would bepunished for contempt of court. "

Panna clenched her teeth till the grinding sound could be heard, andobstinately persisted in her silence. 

"Of course I know that your head is clear, only your heart is hardened, and I will pray to God that He may soften it. Herr von Abonyi is avery different Christian. You need not look at me so angrily, what Isay is true. You know that he has great and powerful friends; it wouldcost them only a word, and he would be pardoned. They wished to appealto the king in his behalf, but he would not permit them to take a stepfor him. He repents his deed, he has received a just punishment, andhe wished to endure this sentence to the final moment. Through me, heentreats your forgiveness, he does not wish you and your father toremain his enemies, when he has penitently borne the punishment. Youwill probably owe it to him, if you have no unpleasant consequences tobear on account of your petition. You see how a man of principle andgenerosity behaves! And then, remember what I told you before: Herrvon Abonyi is ready to provide for you all your life, as no one in yourfamily was ever supported. Well, do you say nothing to all this? HaveI nothing to tell the nobleman from you?" The pastor rose, laid hishand upon her shoulder, and looked her in the face. 

Panna shrunk from the touch of his fat fingers, brushed them off, andsaid:

"Tell him it is all very well and we will see. "

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing else. "

The priest departed with an unctuous farewell, and left Panna alone. She remained motionless in the same position, with bent head, her handsresting nervelessly in her lap, her eyes staring into vacancy. So herfather found her when, half an hour after, he returned from the parishtavern. When she saw him, she started from her stupor, rushed to him, and exclaimed amid a violent flood of tears:

"Father, it was all in vain, there is no justice on earth. "

In reply to the astonished old man's anxious questions, she told him, for the first time, the story she had hitherto kept secret of herpetition to the king, and the pitiful result of this final step. 

Her father listened, shaking his head, and said:

"You see if, instead of acting on your own account, you had first askedmy advice, you would have saved yourself this fresh sorrow. I couldhave told you that you would have accomplished nothing with the king. "

Now, for the first time in many weeks, the old man again began to speakof the matter which had never ceased to occupy Panna's whole mind. Hewas choleric, and capable of a hasty deed of violence when excited, buthe was not resentful; he was not the man to cherish anger long, and hadalready gained sufficient calmness to view Abonyi's crime more quietlyand soberly. He represented to his daughter that it would be folly todemand the nobleman's life from the king in exchange for Pista's. 

Panna answered sullenly that she did not perceive the folly; did herfather think that a peasant's life was less valuable than a gentleman's?

"That isn't the point now. You must consider that the master did notkill your Pista intentionally. "

"Stop, Father, don't tell me that. He _did_ kill him intentionally. Idon't care whether the purpose existed days or minutes before, but itwas there; else he would not have sent for the revolver, he would nothave aimed the weapon, touched the trigger, or discharged it. "

"Even admitting that you are right, he has been punished for it. "

Panna laughed bitterly. "Six months! Is that a punishment?"

"For a gentlemen like him, it's a heavy one. And he will provide foryou. "

"Do you, too, talk as the priest does, father? You ought to know mebetter. Do you really believe that I would bargain over Pista's lifefor beggerly alms? I should be ashamed ever to pass the churchyardwhere the poor fellow lies. "

"You are obstinate, Panna. I see very plainly where you are aiming. You always say you want justice, but it seems to me that what you wantis vengeance. "

Panna had never made this distinction, because she was not in the habitof analyzing her feelings. But when her father uttered the word, shereflected a moment, and then said: "Perhaps so. "

Yet she felt that it really was not vengeance which she desired, andshe instantly added:

"No, Father, you are not exactly right, it is not revenge. I should nolonger be enraged against Herr von Abonyi if I could believe that thelaw, which punished what he has done with six months' imprisonment, would for instance have punished you also with six months, if you hadcommitted the same crime. But it cannot be the law, or they would nothave shot Marczi for his little offence, you would not have beenimprisoned three months for a few innocent blows. It is easy to tellme that the case is different. Or is there perhaps a different law forpeasants and for gentlemen? If that is so, then the law is wicked andunjust, and the peasants must make their own. "

The old man did not notice the errors and lack of logic in Panna'swords, but he was probably startled by her gloomy energy. 

"Child, child, " he said, "put these thoughts out of your head. I havedone so too. If I could have laid hands on the murderer at first--mayGod forgive me--I believe that Pista would not have been buried alone. But now that is over, and we must submit. After all, six months'imprisonment is not so small a matter as you suppose. You need onlyask me, I know something about it. Oh, it is hard to spend a winter ina fireless cell, busy all day in dirty, disagreeable work, shivering atnight on the thin straw bed till your heart seems to turn to ice inyour body, and your teeth chatter so that you can't even swear, to saynothing of the horrible vermin, the loathsome food, the tyrannicaljailers--a grave in summer is almost better than the prison in winter. "

Panna made no reply, and the conversation stopped; but her father'slast words had not failed to make a deep impression upon herimagination. She clung to the pictures he had conjured before hermind; she found pleasure in them, painted them in still more vividhues, experienced a degree of consolation in them. While she wasworking in the house, her thoughts were with Abonyi in his prison; shesaw him in the degrading convict-dress, with chains on his feet, as shehad so often found her father when she visited him in jail; there hesat in a little dusky cell on a projecting part of the wall, eatingfrom a wooden bowl filled with a thin broth, repulsive in appearanceand smell and biting pieces of earth-colored bread as hard as a brick;the cell was impregnated with horrible odours; the bare stone flags ofthe floor were icy cold; a ragged, dirty sack of straw, and a thin, tattered coverlet swarming with vermin covered the bench in the corner;in the morning the prisoner, like the others, was obliged to clean hiscell and work at things whose contact sickened him; at noon he walkedup and down the prisonyard, amid thieves and robbers, who jeered at andinsulted the great gentleman; the jailers assailed him with roughwords, perhaps even blows--yes, perhaps, her father was right, possiblyAbonyi might have been better off lying in the grave than enduring thedisgrace and hardships of the prison. 

She gave herself up to these ideas, which almost amounted tohallucinations, with actual delight; she even spoke of them, told theneighbours about them as if they were facts which she had witnessed, and when, early in February, a peasant who had been sentenced to ayear's imprisonment in the county jail for horse-stealing, was releasedand returned to Kisfalu, Panna was one of the first who visited him andasked if he had seen Abonyi in the county prison. 

"Why, of course, " replied the ex-convict, grinning. 

Panna's eyes sparkled. 

"You went to walk in the yard with him? They probably put him inchains?"

"You are talking nonsense, neighbour, " said the peasant. "He wore nochains, and did not go into the yard with us. If I saw him, it'sbecause I waited on him. "

"Waited? You waited on him?"

"Certainly. Surely you don't suppose that he is treated like one ofus! He lives in a pretty room, has his meals sent from the hotel, goesin and out freely during the day, and is only locked up at night forform's sake; he wears his own clothing and is served by the otherprisoners; we all tried to get the place, for he pays like a lord. Hitherto, he hasn't found it very tiresome, for people came to see himevery day and, when there were no visitors, he played cards with thesteward. They say that, on New Year's Eve, he lost 140 florins to him;it gave us something to talk about for a week. "

During this story Panna remained rigid and speechless, listening withher mouth wide open, without interrupting, and when the peasant pausedshe sat still a short time, as if her thoughts were far away, and thenwent out like a sleep-walker, leaving the man staring after her inastonishment at her strange behaviour. 

From this hour she was a different person. She was no longer seen tosmile, she scarcely spoke, did not open her lips all day, and avoidedmeeting people's eyes, even her own father's. When the gardener cameto visit her, she evaded him if possible, and if she could not do that, sat by his side and let him talk while she gazed into vacancy. When, one Sunday afternoon, the priest again appeared in the hut, probably torenew his attempt at reconciliation, she darted out of the door like awill-o'-the-wisp the instant she saw him, leaving the amazed anddisconcerted pastor alone in the room. 

Panna went daily to the churchyard and busied herself for hours abouther husband's grave. She ordered a stone cross from the city with theinscription: "To her cruelly murdered husband by his unforgettingwidow. " But when she wanted to have the monument set up, the priestinterfered with great vehemence and declared he would never permit thiscross to be placed in "his" churchyard. Panna did not make the leastattempt to rebel against this command, but quietly told the workmen tocarry the stone to her house; there it was leaned against the wallopposite to her bed, and daily, when she rose and went to rest, she sata long time on the edge of her pallet, gazing thoughtfully at the crossand inscription. 

Once she interrupted her father in the midst of an ordinaryconversation with the abrupt inquiry, whether, in dismissing aprisoner, the time fixed in the sentence was rigidly kept, and if, forinstance, any one was condemned to six months' imprisonment, this sixmonths would run from the end of the trial or from the followingmorning. 

The old man thought the question strange and did not know how to answerit. He, too, was secretly beginning frequently to share the opinionnow tolerably current in the village, that Panna was not altogetherright in her mind. 

Meanwhile Spring had come, Panna worked industriously in the fields andin the vineyard, nothing betrayed what thoughts were occupying the mindof the silent, reserved woman. Not until the latter part of May didshe begin to grow restless and excited, then she repeatedly entreatedher father and the gardener, though it evidently cost her a greateffort to control herself, to ask at the castle whether the day of themaster's release was known. Her father flatly refused to comply withher crazy wishes, and very earnestly exhorted her to trouble herself nofarther about the castle and its owner. As for the gardener, he hadcautiously intimated repeatedly that it would be unnatural for soyoung, robust, and beautiful a woman to remain a widow long, especiallywhen there was some one who would consider himself only too happy toput an end to her widowhood, and he now added his entreaties to the oldman's that she would at last banish from her mind the memory of theevil past. 

Accident rendered Panna the service she had vainly asked of the twomen. One evening, when she was returning from the fields, she passedthe housekeeper at the castle who, with her back to the road, stoodleaning against the low half-door of a peasant's hut, and called to herfriend who was working in the yard: "Well, the master wrote to-day; hewants János to bring the carriage at six o'clock to-morrow morning totake him from the prison. "

At this moment the peasant woman saw Panna passing, and made thehousekeeper a sign which silenced her at once. But Panna had heardenough. She quickened her pace to reach home quickly, put down herhoe, and ascertained that her father was already in the house. Hervoice betrayed no trace of excitement as she asked if he was going outagain, which he answered in the negative. Then she went to her room, put on a warm woollen shawl, slipped the few florins she stillpossessed into her pocket, and went away, telling her father to go tosleep, she would be back again. 

Hastening to a peasant who lived at the other end of the village, shebegged him to drive her to the city at once; she would pay whatever heasked. The man replied that his horses were tired out, he had driventhem to the pasture, and could not bring them home now, etc. Pannawent to the second house beyond and repeated her request. This peasantwas more curious than his neighbour and asked what she wanted in thecity in such a hurry. 

"My father has suddenly been taken very ill, and I must get a doctor. "

"Why don't you go to the village surgeon if the case is so urgent?"

"I have been there, " was the quick, glib answer which fell from Panna'stongue, "he isn't at home, and won't come before morning. He has beencalled to a farm two miles off. "

"H'm! And you are leaving the sick man all alone?"

"He isn't alone, a neighbour is with him. "

"Wouldn't it be better for you to ask the neighbour to go to the city, and stay with your father yourself?"

"To cut the matter short, neighbour, " Panna, who had grown terriblyimpatient, now burst forth, "will you take me or not? I'll answer yourfoolish questions on the way. "

The peasant cautiously named the price of the ride, which Panna, without a word of objection, instantly placed in his hand, after whichhe at last went to draw out the waggon and harness the horses. A fewminutes later the vehicle was rolling over the dusty high-road. 

Panna, wrapped in her shawl, sat on a bundle of straw which the peasanthad put in to furnish a seat for his passenger, staring with dilatedeyes at the landscape, illumined by a soft radiance. It was amarvellously beautiful night in May. The full moon was shining in acloudless sky, the ripening grain waved mysteriously to and fro in thewhite light, over the darker meadows a light mist was rising which, stirred by the faint breeze, gathered into strange shapes, thendispersed again, now rose a little, now sank, so that the stragglingbushes scattered here and there alternately appeared above the floatingvapour and were submerged in it; the fragrance of the wild flowersmingled with the fresh exhalations from the damp earth and gave thewarm air a stimulating aroma. Now and then, where the bushes grew morethickly along the edge of the road, the rapturous songs of thenightingales were heard, the only sound, except the distant barking ofa dog, or the buzzing of a huge night-beetle flitting past the waggon, which, at times, interrupted the silence of the night. 

But Panna's senses were closed to all this varied beauty. Her wholeexistence, all her thoughts and feelings were now centred upon a singlepoint, the purpose which brought her to the city. With a torturingeffort, which drove the blood to her brain, she again reviewed theevents of the past month, of her whole life. She strove to examinethem on all sides, judge them impartially, consider them from variousstandpoints. 

Was it right that Abonyi should now be at liberty to move about as thegreat lord he had always been, after being permitted to make himselfcomfortable for six months in a prison, which was no jail to him? Wasit not her duty to execute the justice which neither the laws nor menwould practise? Had she not a perfect right to do so, since she, andthose who belonged to her, had hitherto always atoned fully andcompletely, rigidly and more than rigidly, for every sin?

In her early childhood her soul had been ravaged by a terrible grief, which had never been overcome; the law had killed her brother; in hergirlhood, she had been tortured by only too frequent repetitions of thesight of her father, whom the law had loaded with chains and punishedwith severe imprisonment; her sorely wounded heart had foundconsolation only in a single thought which, amid her sufferings andafflictions, had gradually become established as firmly as a rockwithin her soul, that every sin found a harsh punishment, that this wasan immovable, inexorable law of the universe, which could not beescaped, that it would be easier to pluck the stars from the sky thanto do wrong without atoning for it. When, by a sudden act of violence, she injured Pista for life, it was instantly apparent to her that sheowed expiation for it, and she had not hesitated or delayed an instantin punishing herself more severely than any judge would have done, byvoluntarily sacrificing the happiness of her whole existence. This hadcost her no self-conquest, it was a matter of course; the eternal lawof the universe of sin and atonement required it, and to this demandthere could be no resistance. 

This law was her religion, she believed it and could not helpbelieving; if she did not, if there was no august law of the universe, beyond all doubt, that sin exacted pitiless requital, it surely wouldnot have been necessary to shoot her brother, to deliver her father sooften to the hardships of prison-life, to bind her own youth to ahideous being whom she did not love when she married him, whom only theconsciousness of duty voluntarily and proudly fulfilled afterwardsrendered dear to her. If this was not a necessity, surely God, fate, mankind--use whatever name you choose--had basely, atrociously, robbedher brother, her father, and herself of life and happiness, and theirdestiny was enough to cause frenzy, despair, madness!

No, no, that could not be. Fate could not deal so rapaciously with awhole group of human beings; such unprecedented, inconceivableinjustice could not have been done them. They had only experienced thegreat law of the universe and ought not to complain, because it is thecourse of the world. 

But now this law had been violated in the most unparalleled manner;Abonyi had committed a heavy sin and had not atoned for it; this was aphenomenon which shook the foundations of her being, robbed her of allsupport, abruptly reawakened all her slumbering doubts concerning thenecessity of her bitter fate, and unchained the terrible tempests inher soul, which hitherto only intense faith in the stern, but morallynecessary omnipotence of the law of sin and atonement, had succeeded insoothing. Her sense of morality showed her a means of escape from thismental torture, and she did not hesitate to take it. The law of theuniverse must not be belied, it must prove itself in this case, as italways had; since those appointed to the office had shamefully omittedto use it, it became her right and her duty to execute it herself. 

Amid these thoughts, which did not enter her mind dimly and vaguely, but with perfect clearness and distinctness, the hours passed withmagical swiftness and, ere she was aware of it, the springless waggonrolled over the uneven pavement of a street in the suburbs. The noisyrattle of the wheels, which followed their former comparativelynoiseless movement, and the jolts which the vehicle received in thenumerous holes of the roadway quickly roused Panna from her deepreverie and brought her to a consciousness of external things. 

It was about two o'clock in the morning. She asked the peasant todrive to the corner of a certain street, where the doctor whom shewanted, lived; when she reached the desired place she got out, gave herdriver another florin, and said:

"Neighbour, go into a tavern and let your horses rest. You can ridehome whenever you choose; I will ask the doctor to drive out in his owncarriage and to take me with him; we shall get there several hoursearlier with his fresh horses, than with your tired nags, which couldnot turn back at once. "

"You're right there, " replied the peasant, somewhat drowsily, bade hergood-night, and drove off at a walk. In a few minutes the waggon wasout of sight and hearing. 

Panna now moved with rapid steps through several streets, which werealternately flooded with bright moonlight and shrouded in darkness, until she stood before the county jail. This is a barrack-likestructure, whose plain front has for its sole architectural ornamenttwo pairs of columns, which flank the main entrance on both sides. Panna entered the narrow space between the two columns at the left, andsat down with her back resting against the fluted shaft at the stonebase of the pillar, whose shadow completely concealed her. 

She was very weary and exhausted; the tempest of thoughts in her brainwere followed by fatigue and a dull stupor; the silence, the darkness, the warmth of the shawl wrapped closely around her, the motionlessposition which her narrow hiding-place required, exerted a drowsyinfluence, and she soon sank into a torpor which imperceptibly passedinto an uneasy, agitated half slumber, visited by terrible dreams. Panna saw horrible shapes dancing around her, which grasped her withtheir icy hands and dragged her away; sometimes it seemed as if herbrother was brought out and a bullet fired into his head; while she wastrying anxiously to find the wound, it was not her brother, but Pista, who lay there with the hole in his forehead; she wailed aloud and thedead man rose, seized a brick, and dashed it on her head so that shefell bleeding; then again it seemed as though it was not she who lay onthe ground in a pool of blood, but Abonyi, who still held the smokingrevolver in his rigid hand; so the frightful dream faces blended interrible, spectral changes, one horrible visage drove out another, tillPanna, with a low cry of fear, suddenly started from her troubledsleep. A heavy hand had grasped her by the shoulder, and a harsh voiceshouted unintelligible words into her ear. 

When she opened her eyes, she saw a policeman standing before her, shaking her and asking what she was doing here. Panna was terriblystartled for a moment, but she quickly regained her presence of mind, and said:

"My husband is in the jail and will be released early in the morning;so I came here to wait for him. "

"Why, my dear woman, you can't stay here, " replied the policeman; "finda night's lodging, and in the morning you can be here in ample time tomeet your husband. "

"Oh, do let me stay here, I don't know anybody in the city, where am Ito go now in the night, it will surely be morning in two or threehours, " pleaded Panna, at the same time drawing from her pocket aflorin, one of the last she had left, which she slipped into the handof the guardian of order. After this argument the latter evidentlydiscovered that it would be no very serious crime if a beautiful youngwoman waited in front of the jail, on a warm, moon-lit night in May, for her husband's release, for, with an incomprehensible mutter, hepursued his round, on which, during the next two hours, he repeatedlypassed Panna without troubling himself any farther about her. 

All fatigue had now left the watcher and, after this disturbance, shedid not close her eyes a second time. She was once more calm andstrong, and constantly repeated in her mind that she was about to do agood, needful work, pleasing to God. The moon had set, it was growingnoticeably cool, day was dawning in the east; she shivered, a slighttremor ran through her whole frame, yet she remained motionless on herstone seat. Gradually the light grew brighter and brighter, the greatcity gave the first signs of awakening, a few sleepy-looking peoplebegan to pass with echoing footsteps through the street, now and then acarriage drove by, the matin bells pealed from the church steeples, andthe first rays of the rising sun flooded the roofs of the surroundinghouses with ruddy gold. Just at that moment a carriage rolled aroundthe corner, drove in a sharp curve to the door of the jail, andstopped. Panna pressed farther back into her niche and hid her face inher shawl. She had recognized János and an open carriage owned byAbonyi. 

The driver, who had not noticed the dark figure between the pillars, sprang from his box, blanketed the steaming horses, and gave them somebags of oats. Meanwhile the door of the jail had opened, for it wasfive o'clock; a heiduck came out, yawning and stretching, and askedJános:

"For whom are you waiting so early, Brother?"'

"For my master, Herr von Abonyi, who will come presently. "

"Yes, yes, you are to fetch his lordship; well, if you wish, I'll go inand tell the gentleman that you're here. "

"Do, we'll get away sooner. "

The man vanished inside the building and János busied himselfindustriously with his horses, while whistling a little song. It wasnot ten minutes before steps and voices were heard in the doorway. János raised his cap, called: "At your service, " and sprang on the box. Two men appeared on the threshold, both looking as though they had beenup all night--Abonyi and the steward. 

"Cordial thanks and farewell till you see me in Kisfalu!" cried Abonyi, shaking hands with his companion. 

"Good-bye until then! And in Kisfalu I'll give you revenge for thetrifle you lost to-night. "

"If my coachman hadn't come so early, I would have won it all backagain. "

"Why, " said the steward, "if you feel inclined, you can come back andplay on comfortably. "

"Thank you, I've had quite enough of your hospitality for the present, "replied Abonyi, and both laughed heartily, after which they again shookhands with each other. 

The steward, who was shivering, turned back, and Abonyi prepared to getinto the carriage. At the moment when he had one foot on the step andwas half swinging in the air, without any firm hold, Panna sprang out, threw her whole weight upon Abonyi, dragged him to the ground with her, and, almost while falling, with the speed of lightning struck himrepeatedly in the breast with a long, sharp, kitchen knife, which shehad had in her bosom. 

All this had been the work of a few instants. Abonyi had scarcely hadtime to utter a cry. János sat mute with bewilderment on the box, staring with dilated eyes at the two figures on the ground; the stewardturned at the shriek and stood as though spell-bound by the spectaclewhich presented itself. Abonyi lay gasping, with his blood pouringfrom several wounds; Panna had straightened herself and, throwing downthe bloody knife, stood quietly beside her victim. Instantly a greatoutcry arose, János sprang from the carriage and went to the assistanceof his unconscious and evidently dying master, the steward rushed up toPanna and grasped her by the arm, which she permitted withoutresistance, a number of heiducks appeared, Panna was dragged into thedoorway, and a flood of curses and threats was poured upon her. WhileAbonyi was carried into the guard-room under the entrance and laid on awooden-table, where he drew his last breath before a physician could besummoned, a multitude of violent hands dragged Panna, amid fierceabuse, into the courtyard, while the steward shouted loudly:

"Lads! Bring chains for this monster! Chains I say, put irons on herhands and feet. "

Then Panna who, hitherto, had not opened her lips, cried in a resonantvoice, while a strange smile hovered about her quivering lips:

"Why, my dear sir, how long have you used chains? Wouldn't you ratherplay a game of cards with me?"

The steward's face flushed scarlet, he shrieked a few orders to his menin a shrill tone, and rushed back into the guard-room to Abonyi. 

Panna was shoved rather than led down the steps of a flight of cellarstairs and thrust into a dark, stifling cell, where handcuffs were puton. During this proceeding, she made many sneering speeches:

"Give me a handsomely furnished room, too, like the one the noblemanhad! And who will wait on me here?"

"Silence, witch!" cried the heiduck who was chaining her. "Theexecutioner will wait on you when he makes you a head shorter. "

"The executioner? Fool, what nonsense you are talking! No executionerwill touch me. At the utmost I shall get three months imprisonment. If six months is the sentence given for the murder of an innocent man, surely one can't get more than three for killing a murderer. "

At last Panna was left alone and the iron doors of her cell closed withan echoing sound. The crime naturally created the utmost excitement inthe county jail; officials and employees talked of nothing else, andafter learning from János who the criminal was, the opinion wasgenerally expressed that she must be crazy. Before the examiningmagistrate, who was informed of the bloody deed in the course of theforenoon, gave Panna an examination, he sent a physician to see her andgive an opinion of her mental condition. 

The doctor found the young widow lying on the bench, deadly pale andutterly exhausted. She had spent all the power of her soul in thehorrible resolve and its execution, and was now as gentle and tearfulas a frightened child. She entreated the physician to have the ironstaken off; she could not bear them, she would be perfectly quiet; andwhen he promised this she also besought him to write to her father, whose address she gave, in her place. She begged the latter'sforgiveness for what she had done; she could not help it, there must bejustice for gentlemen as well as for peasants. If there was no justicethe world could not exist, everything would be topsy-turvy, and peoplewould kill one another in the public streets just as the wild beastsdid in the woods. She, too, would atone for the sin she had committedthat day, and that would be perfectly just. She also sent a message tothe gardener, thanking him for all the kindness and love which he hadshown her, and hoping that he might have a happier life than Fate hadallotted to her. 

The physician talked with her some time longer, and received quiet, rational, somewhat timid replies. At last he went away shaking hishead, evidently not knowing what to think of this singular woman, buthe succeeded in having the handcuffs removed, and faithfully wrote theletter, as he had promised to do. 

Panna was to be brought before the examining magistrate for the firsttime on the following morning. When the jailer opened the door of thecellar cell, he started back in horror. From the grating in the littlewindow, high up in the stone wall, dangled a rigid human form. Pannahad hung herself in the night by tying the strings of her skirttogether. 

PRINCE AND PEASANT. 

The first regiment of dragoon-guards had been waiting idly behind ascreen of low bushes in a shallow hollow for more than an hour, toreceive the order to advance. 

It was an interesting point in the spacious battle-field of Metz, andan important period in that day of August 16th, 1870, which paved theway for the ultimate prevention of Bazaine's breaking through toVerdun. By rising in the stirrups, or ascending one of the numerousshallow ridges which intersected the meadow, a charming view appeared. 

A few hundred paces in the rear lay the little village of Vionvillewith its slender church-steeple, from whose top floated the flag of thered cross. Several roads bordered with poplars diverged from thehamlet, crossing in straight lines the broad, undulating meadow. Inthe foreground was a tolerably steep declivity, which at this momentformed the boundary of the German lines. Northward and southward, asfar as the eye could reach, extended a ravine several hundred feetwide, at whose bottom a little stream had worn a narrow, windingchannel. The western slope was tolerably gentle, the opposite one, onthe contrary, was somewhat steep. Beyond stretched a bare plain, witha few church steeples and white buildings, in the distant background. Here the French were apparently drawn up in considerable force. 

On the crest of the German hill several batteries were mounted, whichmaintained a rapid fire with bombs. Small bodies of infantry lay onthe ground a short distance in the rear of the artillery. Stillfarther back was the regiment of dragoons, each man with his horse'sbridle wound around his arm, waiting with weary, somewhat stolid faces, for orders. The battle had evidently been at this point some time. Nearly all the enemy's shells fell into the ravine, few reached thelevel ground on the German side, and they, too, thus far, had effectedno special injury. Only a broken gun-carriage and two or three holesin the earth which, surrounded by a loose wall of yellow clay, lookedlike new-made graves, lent the plain something of the character andlocal colouring of a battle-field. The ear had a larger share in themighty work of the day than the eye. From the sides, the front, therear, everywhere, cannon thundered, at a short distance on the rightechoed the rattle of a sharp fire of musketry, while the terrible, ceaseless roar which filled the air alternately swelled and sank, likethe rising and falling flood of melody of a vast orchestra, during thestorm of the pastoral symphony. 

A number of officers had assembled on a little mound in front of theregiment of dragoons, whence they were attentively watching the French. Among them a major stood smoking a cigarette and gazing dreamily intovacancy. He was a man a little under thirty, with a slender figure, somewhat above middle height, and a pale, narrow face, to which coldgrey eyes, and a scornful expression resting upon the colourless lipsshaded by a blond mustache inclining to red, lent a stern, by no meanswinning expression. In this environment of human beings, amid theseexcited young men with their healthful, sunburnt faces, he, with hisimpassive, reserved expression and somewhat listless bearing, lookedstrangely weary and worn. A woman's eye gazing at the group ofofficers would scarcely have regarded him with favour; a man's wouldhave singled him out as the most intellectual of them all. 

Removing his helmet and wiping the perspiration from his forehead withhis handkerchief, he displayed a head on which the hair was alreadygrowing thin and, at the same time, a well-kept, aristocratic hand, with long, thin, bloodless fingers. His whole appearance, even in thelevelling uniform, revealed a man of exalted rank. And, in fact, thisofficer was Prince Louis of Hochstein-Falkenburg-Gerau, the head of anon-reigning line of a German princely race. 

Orphaned at an early age, he found himself at eighteen when, by therules of his House, he attained his majority, in the unrestrictedpossession of a yearly income of several millions. From his mother, avery fine musician, he inherited artistic tastes and a keenappreciation of the beautiful; from his haughty and somewhat eccentricfather a rugged, independent nature, which found every externalconstraint intolerable and wished to obey only the law of its own will. 

It requires little power of imagination to picture how the world looksto the eyes of a young, immensely wealthy scion of royalty. The courttreated Prince Louis with marked distinction, the ladies petted him, gentlemen showed him the most flattering attention. 

Precocious, as people become in the hot-house atmosphere ofaristocratic society, reflective and shy, as only children, who arereared among grown people, without intercourse with companions of theirown age, almost always are, endowed, moreover, with a critical mind, which always confronted appearances sceptically and anxiously went tothe bottom of everything, Prince Louis, unlike so many of his equals inrank, did not accept the tokens of consideration offered him on allsides as a matter of course, but constantly asked himself their cause. He was honest with himself and admitted that he owed his sovereign'sclasp of the hand, the wooing smiles of the ladies, the cordialadvances of men of rank and distinction, not to his own personality, but to his title and his wealth. 

"What do they all know about me?" he often said to himself, when hereturned from an entertainment at court to his splendid palace, tenanted only by servants. "Nothing! They give me no chance to openmy mouth, and if everything I said to-night had been written down andlaid before a man who was capable of judging, that he might give anopinion of the person who made these remarks, he could not truthfullysay anything except: 'The fellow is perhaps not actually a simpleton, but does not surpass mediocrity. ' Yet I am received as if I were someone of consequence. Yes, that's just it: it is not I, Louis, who amtreated so, for no one would trouble himself about me, but Prince Etc. "He became really jealous of "Prince Etc. , " whom he regarded almost asan enemy, who supplanted and cast into the shade his own individuality, and the noble ambition entered his mind to win esteem by hispersonality, not by the external advantages which chance had bestowed. 

But this was no easy matter. "Prince Etc. " everywhere stoodintrusively in his way and would allow poor "Louis" no opportunity. Hewent to a university, less in order to study than to steep himself fora few terms in the poetry of student life. The members of hisextremely aristocratic club formed in two ranks before him when he wentto their tavern, and old professors whom, hitherto, he had admired fortheir works, blushed with joyous emotion when he introduced himself tothem, and in the class-room appeared to address him alone. He soon hadenough of this, and entered the army. The colonel thanked him for thecompliment which he paid the regiment by choosing it, his superiorofficers showed him endless marks of consideration, and if some of themaffected to make no distinction between him and other young officers, he detected in it an intention which also irritated him. As, moreover, he found no special pleasure in the conversations of his comrades, norin the parades, watchwords, and other details of garrison life, heforthwith quitted active service, not without having been promoted, inrapid succession, to first-lieutenant, captain, and major in hisregiment. 

Of course meanwhile woman had entered his existence. But in what amanner! Light relations with actresses, which merely occupied hissenses and left no trace in his life except some considerable sums inthe account book which his faithful family steward kept with greataccuracy; fleeting flirtations with society ladies, which soon becameintolerable because he merely found incomparably greater demands, butotherwise nothing more than with his actresses, toward whom he need useno ceremony. This was all. A great, deep love would have given hislife happiness and purpose; but it did not dawn for him. Was itbecause he did not meet the right woman? Was it because he did notcome out of himself sufficiently? was he, as it were, too much walledin by his indifference to discover, behind the reserve of maidenlytimidity, faint emotions by which his own feelings might have beenkindled? Enough, he passed woman by, without seeing in her aught savea toy. By accident, or to be more accurate, through the jealousy ofanother interest which believed itself threatened, he discovered acleverly woven intrigue to lure him into a marriage with a princesswho, though neither especially beautiful nor wealthy, was yet verypretty, and this so roused his distrust that henceforth he saw in thefavour of matrons and in the smiles of young ladies only speculationsupon his revenue of two millions and his title of prince, and acquireda positive abhorrence of the circles in which people marry. 

Once he had a meeting which narrowly escaped making a deeperimpression. On a journey from the Black Forest to Norderney theprince, who cared nothing for aristocratic isolation, occupied the samecompartment with a young girl from Mayence, who was going to the sameplace. She was remarkably beautiful, charming, gay, and brilliant, andexerted a powerful attraction over the prince. He was extremelyattentive to her during the trip, while she remained pleasantlyindifferent and appeared to care nothing for him. 

Perhaps this very indifference stimulated him, and he continued hisattentions at the North Sea watering place, where he maintained theincognito of Herr von Gerau, the beautiful girl, who was at oncesurrounded by other young gentlemen, only learning from him that he wasa land-owner. She accepted his daily gifts of flowers, it is true, butotherwise showed no more favour to him than to the rest of her suitors. Indeed, she paid even less consideration to the prince than to theothers, which greatly depressed him. Then it happened that a veryexalted personage who was a friend of Prince Louis came to Norderney. The latter was obliged to pay him a ceremonious visit on which he worehis uniform, and now could no longer conceal his rank and name. TheMayence beauty saw him in his handsome blue uniform coat, and learnedthat very day the identity of her admirer. Her manner to him alteredas if by magic. She had eyes for him alone, distinguished him by acordiality which justified the boldest hopes and, by her tender looksand smiles, seemed to be imploring forgiveness for not having perceivedhis value sooner. Prince Louis noticed this sudden change and felt thedeepest shame. 

For two days good and evil fought a hard battle in his soul. Hisinnate nobility of character urged him not to profit by his advantage, to withdraw from a person whom he had discovered to be so superficial. His bitter contempt for women whispered to carry the relation which hadassumed a frivolous turn, to the doubtful end. Baseness triumphed overnobility, and let any man of twenty-four who feels that he is guiltlesscast the first stone at the prince. But his evil genius fartherinstigated him to do something very odious. After a poetic hour, inwhich the Mayence beauty, amid fervid kisses, had asked whether he, herbeloved one, would now be hers forever, he sent her a package whichcontained--his uniform, and a costly pin in the shape of a crown, accompanied by a little note stating that he gave, for her perpetualpossession, all that she had loved in him. 

The remembrance of this unpardonably unchivalrous act often torturedhim afterwards, but his repentance by no means took the form of greaterrespect for women. On the contrary, he became more and more a convertto Don Juan's love--philosophy, and allowed only the millionaire andPrince Etc. To sue for favour, while the sceptical Louis grew whollyaverse to the fair sex. 

From early youth, he had secretly written lyric poetry, and hisproductions, which, it is true, were imitative rather than original, were pleasant to read and correct in form. He sent some under his ownname to great weekly periodicals, and they not only appeared at oncebut he obtained the most flattering requests for more contributions. This afforded him much gratification, but again only for a brief time. Under the influence of his suspicious spirit of investigation, he sentseveral poems, with an unpretending assumed signature, to other papers. He either received no reply or curt rejections in the editors'letter-box. So he was done with that too. 

He tried the "naive" life of pleasure, as he called it. With smallsuccess. Gaming soon ceased to attract him, for at the roulette tablein Monaco he loathed the companionship of old professional gamblerswith their gallows-bird faces, and of bedizened Paris courtesans, andat his club in Berlin or Baden, where he played only with respectablepeople, the stakes were never high enough to permit even the largestpossible gain or loss to excite him. The pleasures of the epicureafforded him more satisfaction, and his table was famous among hispeers. He soon wearied of wine; the discomfort caused by intoxicationseemed to him too large a price to pay for the enjoyment of drinking. This caused his guests to banter him about his moderation, and alludeto the historic drinking-horn of gigantic size, which, as thechronicles of the House attested, his ancestors used to drain at theirbanquets, though in those days the Burgundy was far from its presentperfection, and Canary had not yet been invented. His companions'enthusiasm for drinking at last disgusted him with entertaining, and hegradually lost his taste for choice dinners also. 

Once, while living on his Silesian estates, whose extent was equal to asmall kingdom, he became ill, and was obliged to send for the districtphysician. This man, who afterwards obtained a world-wide reputation, was then young, unknown, and apparently an ordinary country doctor. The prince, however, soon perceived that he was far superior to hiscircumstances and position, and placed himself upon a very confidentialfooting with him. One day he complained of the desolation and monotonyof his life and asked, in a tone between jest and earnest, what heshould do with himself. 

"Give your life a purpose, Prince, " replied Dr. Backer, "strive forsomething. "

Prince Louis smiled scornfully. 

"For what shall I strive? Everything to which the rest of you aspire, which you are struggling with your best powers to attain, I alreadypossess! Money? I cannot spend half my income unless I light mycigars with hundred-thaler notes, or wish to bore a hole through theearth. Women's favour? My visiting cards will obtain more than isdesirable for me. Honours? At six and twenty years old, I have thegrand cross of the highest orders, and have the precedence of every oneexcept a few princes of the blood. Power? Listen, my dear Doctor: Ireally believe that if it suited my pleasure I could shoot a slater offthe roof, and the affair would have no unpleasant results. Fame andimmortality? My name is perhaps somewhat better known than Goethe's. Wherever I desire to appear, I am far more of a lion than the greatestpoet and scholar, and every Prince Hochstein is sure of two lines inthe encyclopaedia and larger historical works, even if he has donenothing except to be born and to die at a reasonable age. So, for whatshould I strive?"

"For satisfaction with yourself, " replied Dr. Backer, "and that youwill find only when you earn what you inherited from your ancestors, inorder to possess it, as Father Goethe says. "

Satisfaction with himself--certainly! But to attain it is the greatestart of life. The prince might gain it if he devoted himself earnestly, not merely in a half-absent dilettante fashion, to some art, science, or useful avocation. Only it required a self-discipline of which, unfortunately, he was incapable. In all pursuits requiring dexterity, all sciences, the first steps are laborious, wearisome, and apparentlythankless, and the Canaan which they promise is reached only afterweary wandering through the desert. Prince Louis did not possess theself-denial requisite for it. So he continued his life devoted topurely external things and meanwhile was as much bored as Jonah in thewhale. He undertook long journeys and disappeared for six months, during which he hunted tigers in India and hippopotami in the BlueNile. When he returned home and was questioned at the club about hisexperiences and whether he had been entertained, he answered with ashrug of the shoulders. 

"Entertained? As if one could be in this vale of tears! There reallyis nothing remarkable about a tiger-hunt. The danger and excitementconcern the poor devils of Hindoos, who rouse the game. I sat in myhowdah on a very quiet elephant and fired as if I were shooting at atarget. Buy some big cats from Asia or Africa, put them into a cage inyour park, and shoot till you kill them. It is about the same thing. True, the scenic effects are less glaring, there are fewersupernumeraries, and there is not so much shrieking and struggling onthe stage. But that seems to me rather an advantage, and one doesn'thave the heat and the snakes. "

His hearers laughed, and an old gentleman remarked:

"You have mental colour-blindness, my dear Prince, and I should notlike to have you guide the engine of my life-train. "

He had hit the mark. Prince Louis saw life uniformly grey. Howinfinitely true are Schiller's words:

 "Each mortal heart some wish, some hope, some fear, Linked with the morrow's dawn, must cherish here To bear the troubles with which earth is rife, The dull montony [Transcriber's note: monotony?] of daily life. "

But Prince Louis wished, hoped, feared nothing, and when he thought ofthe future he beheld it in the form of a drowsy monster, yawningnoisily. He longed like a languishing lover for some excitement, pursued it to the end of the world, but did not succeed in finding it. 

He was just on the eve of going to Norway to hunt reindeer, when thewar of 1870 broke out. In 1866 he had been in Africa and did not hearof the events of the summer until everything was over. This time heasked permission to join his regiment, the first dragoon-guards, whichof course was granted. To tell the truth, he was influenced less bypatriotism and enthusiasm than, in addition to propriety, the hope thatmilitary life would afford him new sensations. 

Had he deceived himself this time also? It almost seemed so; for, during the fortnight which he had spent in the enemy's country, he hadas yet experienced nothing unusual. When a person is attended by twocapable servants, and has an unlimited amount of money at his disposal, he need suffer no discomfort even in the field, especially during avictorious advance, and as yet there had been no opportunity forindividual deeds of heroism, or perilous adventures. 

Thus he had again relapsed into a half-listless mood, while, as we havejust seen him, he stood among his comrades in front of his regimentsmoking his cigarette. Now, however, the French appeared to beadvancing from the other side of the ravine. Their batteries camenearer, their shells began to fly across the gorge and strike behindthe German cannon. One burst amid the division of infantry, killingand wounding several soldiers. Another demolished a gun and made havocamong those who served it. The short sharp whistle of bullets evenbegan to mingle with the peculiar shrill wailing sound of the sugarloafshot, and on the plateau beyond, slender lines of infantry, divergingvery far apart, could be seen moving swiftly onward. They ran forward, flung themselves down, there was a succession of sudden flashes, littleclouds of white smoke rose, a confusing medley of sharp, rattlingreports followed, contrasting disagreeably with the deep, rollingthunder of the artillery; then the men were on their feet again, rushing on, no longer in a perfectly straight line, some in advance, others a little behind, with their faces turned towards the sun, beneath whose rays the red breeches flamed in a vivid, bloody hue, andbuttons, bayonets, all polished bits of metal alternately flashed andvanished. 

The force of artillery was too weak to risk an advance. The colonelwho commanded the batteries ordered some shrapnels to be thrown amongthe advancing lines of French infantry, and was about to move hiscannon a little farther back, when an aide dashed up from the right andreported that he had ridden on in advance of the 38th brigade ofinfantry, one regiment was close behind him, the other was marching asrapidly as possible, and would soon arrive. "Hurrah! Hurrah!" shoutedartillerymen, infantry, and dragoons at the top of their voices. "Hurrah! Hurrah!" came back from the distance, and a regiment ofinfantry, headed by a colonel and a general, advanced at a rapid marchin broad, deep columns from the poplar-bordered road across thepathless meadow. The group of officers exchanged greetings with thenew arrivals, the general received reports, quickly made himselfacquainted with the situation of affairs, and issued orders, signalsechoed, in an instant the masses of infantry separated, lines ofriflemen darted forward and hurried to the edge of the ravine, downwhose slope they were seen running a few minutes later. A second andthird rank followed at a short distance, and, almost ere one was awareof it, the whole regiment had poured down into the hollow. 

This was the Third Westphalian regiment. It had passed so near thegroup of dragoon officers that Prince Louis could have distinguishedevery figure, every face. The poor fellows had been on their feetfourteen hours, marching steadily under the scorching August sun. Athick gray crust of dust, which perspiration had converted into an uglymask, covered their fresh young faces. The uniforms bore marks of theclay in the various camping grounds where they had halted for a shortrest. But nothing now revealed the mortal weariness of the band ofheroes. Their eyes, reddened by the heat, blazed with the enthusiasmfor battle, their parched throats once more gained power to shout"Hurrah!" with the full strength of their voices; their feet, which buta few minutes ago had dragged along the dusty highway with painfuleffort, now moved lightly and elastically, it seemed as though thewhole regiment had been invigorated by some stimulating drink as itinarched into the line of fire. 

The batteries roared above their heads at the French with twofold zeal, "Hurrah, Hurrah!" rose from a thousand throats in the bottom of theravine, one could hear the roll of the drums sounding the march, andloud shouts and cries. Prince Louis watched the assailants, whoseforemost ranks were already climbing the hill on the opposite side. 

"Poor fellows!" he thought, "there they go to death as joyously as ifit were a kirmess dance. They will shout hurrah till they are hoarseor a bullet silences them. Of what are they thinking? Probably ofnothing. A blind impulse to conquer urges them on. And what doesvictory mean to each individual? What advantage will it be to him?How will it benefit his earthly fate, if he escapes death on thebattlefield? The renown of the German name? For me perhaps it has avalue. Yet it is not absolutely certain. My uniform will possiblyderive a prouder lustre; but I wear it so seldom! If I go to Japannext year, perhaps the Mikado will receive me with more distinctionthan if I belonged to a conquered nation. Yet whether we mow down theFrench or they us, I think I shall always receive the same treatment atthe Paris Jockey Club and the Nice Cercle de la Méditerranée. So muchfor me. But these obscure people below--what do they care aboutmilitary fame and the power of a victorious native land? They willnotice nothing of it in their villages. The tax-collector and thegendarme will be just what they were before, and that is all they seeof their native country, yet they are filled with enthusiasm. The factexists. It is as clear as noonday. We owe this to the writers whohave given such beautiful pictures of our native land and militaryrenown, and to the schoolmasters, who have instilled their words intothe souls of the people. Marvellous power of language, which canincite a prosaic peasant lad to sacrifice life joyfully for an abstractidea, a fancy. "

These were his thoughts, --it can neither be denied nor palliated. Butwhile they darted clearly and swiftly through his brain, he felt amental agitation which surprised and bewildered him. It was a strangeperplexity; he felt ashamed and embarrassed; it seemed as though he haduttered his thoughts aloud, and a group of people with grave, noblefaces had listened, and were now gazing at him in silence, but withmingled compassion and contempt. From inaccessible depths of his soul, into which his sober, critical, mocking reason did not shine, amysterious voice appeared to rise, imperiously commanding hisscepticism to be silent. "I am right!" reason ventured to murmur. "You are wrong!" thundered the voice from the depths. "I will notconsciously permit myself to be made giddy by the dizziness of romanticself-deception!" answered reason--but now Prince Louis felt as thoughsome stranger, from whom he must turn indignantly, was uttering thewords. 

The Third Westphalian covered the opposite ascent. The foremost rankswere already at the top and paused a moment, for a murderous firegreeted the first heads which appeared, and several men, mortallywounded, rolled down again. But the rest pressed on, using both handsand feet to climb the hill, whose ascent would have been mere sport forfresh youths, skilled in gymnastic exercises, but which must haveseemed terribly steep to harassed, exhausted troops. As they workedtheir way upward with the utmost zeal, evidently striving to excel oneanother, Prince Louis thought of some stanzas in the Winter Tale of hisfavorite author, Heine:

 "That lovable, worthy Westphalian race, I ever have loved it extremely, A nation so firm, so faithful, so true, Ne'er given to boasting unseemly. How proudly they stood with their lionlike hearts In the noble science of fencing"--[1]

And with their "lion-like hearts" they reached the crest of the hilland, summoning all their remaining breath, dashed forward. But theFrench, comparatively unwearied and, roused to the highest pitch ofcombativeness by the appearance of the enemy directly in their front, threw themselves upon them in greatly superior numbers, and after aclose fight, which by the front ranks of both forces was actuallyconducted in certain places with steel weapons, forced them back to theravine. It was impossible to make a stand there, the poor Westphalianswere obliged to wheel, and tumbled heels over head down the slopeagain, not without leaving a number of killed and wounded. The Frenchwere close behind and reached the bottom of the gorge almost at thesame time. The Westphalians attempted to climb up the opposite sideagain, and then those who were left behind witnessed a heart-rendingspectacle. The German soldiers were so utterly exhausted that theirlimbs could not carry them up the ascent, gentle as it was. They sankdown in throngs as though paralysed, the muskets dropped from theirnerveless hands, which no longer obeyed their will, and the Frenchcould seize hundreds of them and lead them away as prisoners, whilemany fell on the way and were left lying on the ground by the foe. 

Meanwhile a great bustle rose. The Eighth Westphalian regiment hadjust come up and, while the batteries moved rapidly back toward thevillage in the rear, the former, led by the general in person, dasheddown into the ravine to the aid of their sorely imperilled companions. The French recoiled before the shock and a large number of theprisoners were recaptured. Yet the first assault did not succeed indislodging the foe; the French obstinately maintained their position atthe foot of the opposite height, and when attacked there, amid greatloss, with the bayonet, retired step by step up the scarf and againmade a stand at its top. A double flank movement of the Westphalians, however, compelled them to retire somewhat quickly, and the latter, stimulated by the sight, pressed after them cheering. 

But this favourable turn did not last long. During the struggle forthe possession of the valley, the foe had not remained inactive. Newmasses of infantry were brought up, and in the distance cavalryappeared, moving slowly forward. 

Prince Louis had watched the course of the battle with increasingexcitement, feeling his heart alternately beat joyously with twofoldrapidity and then contract in pain till it seemed to stop. Thesituation now seemed to him critical and, glancing around, he found thesame feeling expressed in the looks and faces of the other officers. But the colonel had already beckoned to his orderly and sprung into thesaddle. The trumpets sounded the first signal, a sudden movement ranthrough the ranks of the dragoons, in an instant all were in thesaddle, sabre-sheaths clanked against stirrups, the chains and bars ofthe bits rattled as the horses tossed their heads, then there was asecond blare of trumpets, a shrill neighing, a loud snorting, thepawing and stamping of hoofs, swords flew from their sheaths, and thetroop of horsemen was in motion. 

Prince Louis looked at his watch--it was half-past six o'clock. As, atthe head of the first squadron, he rode a short distance behind thecolonel, the aides of the regiment, and the trumpeters, a strange moodwhich he had never before experienced came over him. The painfulexcitement and quivering impatience, which, during the last half-hour, had made his veins throb to his finger-tips, merged into a joyousconsciousness of purposeful activity, which restored his calmness. Nowhe no longer reflected and criticised. It seemed as if the doubtingspirit had been driven out of him and he was obeying eagerly, confidently, and devoutly as a child a command which filled his wholebeing with an overwhelming desire to press forward. This man, so proudof his personality, who had always sought his happiness in theunrestricted exercise of his individuality, now felt his ego shriveluntil it was imperceptible. He was only a tiny stone in a piece ofmosaic, which formed a noble masterpiece only as a whole. A mightypower, call it a law of nature or the will, whose manifestation is thehistory of the world, had entered into and taken complete possession ofhim. It was not he who now directed his fate, it was decided by someunknown being outside of him. Had he been the most remarkable humanbeing on earth, a Newton, a Goethe, nay, the Saviour Himself, he wouldnow have weighed no more in the balance than the nameless Brandenbergfarm-hand by his side, he would now have had in the mechanism of theworld only the value of a dozen screws or rivets. And, strangelyenough, this merging of his individuality into a whole, as a crystal ofsugar dissolves in water, awakened neither discomfort nor regret. Onthe contrary, it was an unknown delight, which pervaded his whole frameand sent a little shiver of pleasure down his spine. He felt himself avery small personage, and yet, at the same time, a very great one, whohad far outstripped the bounds of his individuality. It seemed asthough he was borne helplessly on by a mighty power, and the thoughtentered his mind that Ganymede must have had similar sensations when heflew heavenward between the rustling pinions of the eagle. He was nowexperiencing the deep and mighty emotion for which he had alwayslonged, and he had obtained it by emerging from his selfish seclusionand finding a point of connection with all mankind. 

The regiment went down the slope at a walk, describing a wide curve, partly to make the descent more easily, partly to avoid the dead andwounded lying in heaps upon the ground at the bottom of the declivity. Now the horses climbed the other side in a slanting line and reachedthe meadow beyond. At a signal from the trumpets, the regiment formedin two divisions which trotted forward, offering a wide front, stillkeeping obliquely to the left for a time, past the cheeringWestphalians, and finally rushing straight upon the foe. 

The thunder of the artillery in front ceased and echoed only from thedistance at the right. From the opposite direction a regiment ofcuirassiers came to meet the dragoons. A few hundred yards separatedthe front ranks of the two, and the trumpets of both regiments could beheard at the same time. The order to attack was given, and withfrantic haste, the lines dashed over the resonant clay soil, which wasabsolutely free from dust. 

It was like a scene from the legends of the Norse gods. Thecuirassiers, riding straight toward the westering sun, glittered andflashed with fairy-like radiance, their shining sword-blades lookedlike tongues of fire, their cuirasses and helmets blazed as if theywere at a white heat, their whole van was steeped in dazzling light, asthough surrounded by a halo. The German dragoons had the sun directlyon their backs. The long black shadows of the horses and riders dashedover the ground before them, as if the cruel shadows of death werepreceding the living against the proud cuirassiers. Now the ranks metwith a terrible crash. The supernaturally majestic scene wastransformed in an instant into a horrible, formless chaos. Overthrownby the force of the shock, horses and riders rolled upon the earth. Masterless steeds dashed wildly in every direction, revolvers snapped, sword-blades clashed, the horses uttered short, harsh screams, theFrenchmen fought amid oaths and exclamations, the Germans, withclinched teeth, dealt blows around them, swords were buried in thebodies of enemies, without their owners clearly seeing what they weredoing, single pairs of foes, hacking furiously at each other, weresuddenly separated by a movement of their horses and brought in frontof new antagonists, only to find themselves the next moment again in adense throng, thigh pressing against thigh, arms firmly pinioned, panting into each other's faces, while the rearing horses tried to biteone another. This frenzied medley lasted perhaps two, perhaps three, minutes. In spite of the irregular swaying to and fro of the mass, thedragoons had constantly advanced, and now the cuirassiers suddenlywheeled their horses and, bending low in their saddles, dashed off in astretching gallop. An exultant "Hurrah!" burst like a peal of thunderfrom the breasts of the terribly excited dragoons, and their steeds, with the blood dripping from their torn flanks, their chests coveredwith flakes of foam, continued their victorious race, while on thefield behind lay hundreds of French and Germans, dead and wounded. 

Signals, shouts, and the waving of sabres gradually slackened theonward rush of the conquerors and brought them to a halt on the brinkof a narrow stream. It seemed to Prince Louis like waking from adream, as he patted the neck of his gallant horse and, panting forbreath, gazed around him. On the opposite side batteries were seenmoving rapidly away, the remnants of the cuirassier regiment werefollowing the artillery, and in the distance, on both sides, columns ofinfantry were hurrying back, not without pouring upon the dragoons, during the retreat, an irregular and ineffective fire. 

"Strange, " said a very young lieutenant beside the prince, showing himhis sword, "half the blade is covered with blood, and cannot havereceived the stain except in a Frenchman's body. Yet I cannot recallhow it happened. "

Prince Louis was about to answer, when he suddenly received atremendous thrust in the breast, as if dealt by the hand of aninvisible giant or the tip of a bull's horn, and, with a low cry, hepressed his hand upon the painful spot. He withdrew it stained withblood, and could just grasp the thought that a bullet had pierced himere his senses failed. 

When he regained his consciousness, he found himself lying on thetrampled turf with his head resting on a saddle. His coat wasunbuttoned and a number of his comrades were busying themselves abouthim. He felt no pain, only an inexpressible weariness and a strange, almost indescribable feeling, something like an internal trickling, which appeared to be rising into his throat and forced him to strugglefor breath like a drowning man. 

"How do you feel, Prince?" asked the lieutenant-colonel, bendinganxiously over him. 

"I feel, " he answered softly, "as if I ought to shout: Long live theking! Long live our native land!" Then, after a brief pause, he addedalmost inaudibly, while a barely perceptible smile flickered over hiswhite lips: "But I certainly am not at a public meeting. "

These were his last words. 

[1] English translation. 

THE ART OF GROWING OLD. 

Baron Robert von Linden was standing between the panels of his triplemirror. The sunlight of a bright May morning was streaming upon himthrough the lofty window so brilliantly that it made the places which itillumined almost transparent. He put his face very close to the crystalsurface, so that it nearly touched and he was obliged to hold his breathin order not to dim it, examining his reflected image a long time, with ascrutiny which at once seeks and fears discoveries, looked at himself infront, then from the side, changed the light, sometimes bringing his faceunder the full radiance of the sunshine, sometimes receiving it atdifferent angles or shading himself slightly with his hand. At last, sighing heavily, he stepped back, laid the tortoise-shell comb and ivorybrush on the marble washstand, sank into the arm-chair standing in thecorner, and bowed his head on his breast, while his arms hung at fulllength as if nerveless. 

Alas! the hour when he made his morning toilet was no longer a happy onefor Baron Robert. He dreaded the inexorable mirror, and yetself-torturing curiosity impelled him to inspect his face with the keenobservation of a Holbein. Not even the least deterioration in hisappearance escaped his search and scrutiny. He perceived and examinedall the ravages which life had made in his exterior: the lines crossingthe brow, the little wrinkles extending from the corners of the eyestoward the temples, the deep ones, as well as those which seemed, as itwere, lightly sketched with a faint stroke to be more strongly markedlater, and which were now visible only in a side-light, the creasedappearance of the lower eyelids and the space between the inner cornersof the eyes and the bridge of the nose, the granulated condition of thesmoothly shaven cheeks, which resembled the peel of ripe oranges or fineMorocco leather; the flabbiness of the narrow strip of skin between theedge of the beard and the ears, which looked as if it had been lightlypowdered with greyish-yellow dust; the pallor near the cheek-bone, whichwas as colourless and withered as a dead tea-rose leaf. He counted thewhite hairs already visible on the temples--he pulled out the ones in themoustache--let the sunbeams play over his hair and, turning and bendinghis head, saw that it was growing thinner and, from the brow to thecrown, showed the smooth scalp shining through. The investigation lasteda long while, he performed it with cruel thoroughness, locking himselfinto his room meanwhile, since he would not allow even his valet to be awitness of the painful discoveries of which he believed that he alone wasaware. 

Perhaps he was not mistaken in this comforting supposition. Hisappearance as a whole was still handsome and stately. Time had notmarred the lines of his slender figure, no increase of flesh enlarged hisgirth, no weakness made his shoulders droop and rounded his back, andwhen dressed with exquisite taste, and carrying his head proudly erect, he walked with a light, elastic step through the streets or across thecarpet of a drawing-room, he would have been taken at a distance, or ifone was a little near-sighted, not only for a handsome man, but even forone still young. 

He said this to himself when, after a few minutes of discouragement, herose from the arm-chair, hastily completed his toilet, and again lookedat the whole effect in the mirror, this time not close at hand, but froma distance of several paces. 

Some one knocked at the door. "The doctor, " said the servant's voice. 

"I'm coming, " replied Baron Robert, hastening to open the door and enterthe adjoining drawing-room, where Dr. Thiel was awaiting him. He cameregularly one morning every week to see the baron before the latter wentout; for Baron Robert was a little anxious about his health, and liked tobe told by the physician, who was also his friend, that certain triflingsymptoms--great thirst on a hot day, slight fatigue after a ball, alittle heaviness in his limbs after a long walk, were of no importance. 

"Well, how are you to-day?" cried Dr. Thiel, rising to meet him. 

"Fairly well, " replied Linden, clasping both his hands. 

"Yet, surely you look rather downcast?" asked the physician. 

"For good reasons, " answered Linden sighing. 

"What is the matter now? Have you no appetite after eating? Do you feelmore tired at midnight than in the morning?"

"Don't ridicule me. You don't know what day this is. "

Thiel looked at him inquiringly. 

"My birthday, " said Linden mournfully. 

"Why, to be sure, " cried Thiel, "let me see, what one is it?"

"No number, " interrupted Linden quickly, covering his friend's mouth withhis hand. 

"You're worse than a coquette, " remarked Thiel, pushing his hand away. He had had "an old coquette" on the tip of his tongue, but suppressed theadjective. "A man can speak of his age without regret, when he is onlyin the mid-forties. "

"Not yet the middle, I beg of you, " Linden eagerly protested, "I amforty-four years old to-day. "

Thiel smiled. "Well, I wish you many happy----"

Linden did not let him finish. "Happiness! Happiness! Is there anyhappiness after youth is over?"

"Everything depends upon what is meant by happiness. "

Linden did not seem to hear what Thiel was saying, but pursued his owntrain of thought. "How futile your science is! You find a bacillushere, a ptomain there. What use is that to me? None! Teach me how tokeep young forever, then I shall have some respect for your staring intoyour beloved microscope. The ancients alone were right in that, as ineverything else. To die young. In undiminished vigour. The gods canbestow no greater happiness. What is there to seek in life when youthhas fled?"

"Nothing, of course, if, like a drone, we have but a single task inexistence: to live. A drone must die, when it has performed its mission. I am not at all blind to the beauty of the butterfly, which lets itsmagnificent velvet wings glisten in the sunshine throughout a long summerday, and has no organs for receiving nourishment, but does nothing excepthover around flowers and the females of his species, wooing and loving, and dies in the evening without ever waking from his ecstasy of delight. It is the same thing with the flower. It blooms, exhales its fragrance, displays beautiful forms and colours merely for the purpose ofpropagation, withering quickly when that purpose is attained. Thebutterfly and the flower are both beautiful. Yet, after all, they areinferior forms of life, and man is higher, though he does not exhalefragrance and usually possesses no velvet wings. "

"Is it so absolutely certain that man is superior? For my part I envythe butterfly and the flower, which perish in the full glory of youth, beauty, and love. That is the way I have always imagined an existenceworth living. A dazzling display of fireworks. A sudden flashing, flaming, crackling, and detonating amid the darkness. A triumphantascent of glittering balls and serpents, before whose splendid hues thestars of heaven pale. At every rain of fire and explosion, a rapturous, ah! and a thunder of applause from the gaping Philistines, who are in atumult of ecstasy at the sight, and thus, without cessation, have flashfollow flash, and report report, in a continual increase of magnificence, until the closing piece on whose marvellous splendour darkness must fallwith no transition. That is life. That is happiness. But the rocketsmust always be fully charged. Otherwise they will not fly upward amiduniversal admiration to the stars, but fizz a little, hop up withridiculous effort, fall plump, and go out pitifully in a malodoroussmoke. A dismal end. "

Robert was silent a moment, evidently pursuing his picture in his mind. Then, as if it were the final result of his train of thought, he added:

"Yes, Doctor, if you could only put a fresh charge into a half-explodedrocket. "

The doctor smiled. 

"To remain always young, we need only do at every age what harmoniseswith it. "

Linden looked disappointed. But Thiel, without allowing himself to bedisturbed by it, continued:

"Are you not young at twenty? Well, play with a humming-top in thestreets at that age, and every one who passes will exclaim: 'What an oldclown! Aren't you ashamed of yourself?' At fifty you consider yourselfold. If, at fifty, you are a commander-in-chief or a chancellor, everybody will say: 'So young a general; a minister so young!'"

Linden rose and went to the window. Thiel followed, laid his hand on hisshoulder, looked him directly in the eye, and said very earnestly:

"Believe me, dear Baron Linden, that is the secret of perpetualyouth--there is no other. A man in the forties is not old--unless hecannot resolve to give up the conceits of a page. "

"Always the same song!" Linden impatiently exclaimed. "Must I renouncelove?"

"Yes, " replied Thiel firmly. 

"I must voluntarily renounce happiness?"

"In your case love is not always synonymous with happiness, " said Thielwith a significant smile. 

"You are particularly agreeable to-day, " remarked Linden sullenly. 

"I owe you the truth. It is a professional and, at the same time, afriendly duty, " said Thiel, rising to go. Linden parted from him with asilent clasp of the hand. 

"Renounce love! No. That he really could not do. Love was the solepurpose of his life which, without it, would seem as cold and gloomy as agrave. "

He was a chosen vessel of pleasure, and apparently destined by nature tobe borne through life in women's arms, handsome, captivating, a flash ofpassion in his tender eyes, his lips yearning for kisses, regarded by themen with wrath and envy, by the women with glowing cheeks and bewilderedhearts. When barely a youth, a page of the Grand Duchess, his attractiveperson and winning grace turned the heads of all the ladies of the court, and it was rumoured that a princess had been his first teacher in thearts of love and, even after decades had passed, still grieved over theirmemory. As the Hereditary Grand Duke's adjutant, he had scarcelyanything to do except to continue to compose his long love-poem, and addverse after verse. At thirty he resigned from active service, which hadnever been active for him, and became manager of the court stage. Hisbrief love-conflicts and easy victories now had another scene fordisplay. After the society of the court the dramatic arts: dancing, singing, acting without choice, or rather with the choice indued by thedesire for beauty, and--change. The years elapsed like a series ofpictures from the fairy-tale of Prince Charming. They formed a frieze ofbewitching groups in all the attitudes which express wooing and granting, languishing and triumphing. Each year was a Decameron, each month asensuous Florentine tale, with a woman's name for title and contents. What a retrospect! His past life resembled a dream whose details blendedindistinctly with one another, leaving only a confused recollection ofsighs, kisses, and tears, melting eyes, half-parted lips, and loosenedtresses, a memory as deliciously soft as a warm, perfumed bath, in whosecaressing waters, in a chamber lit by a rose-hued lamp, one almostdissolves, and yields with thoughts half merging into slumber. 

But the dream seemed to be drawing to a close. Of late a cold hand hadtouched Baron Robert, at first considerately, then more and moreimperiously, to rouse him. He could no longer shut his eyes and ears tothe signs and warnings: for they daily became plainer and more frequent, not merely in his mirror, but also in the unintentionally cruel words ofthe world, that other still more inconsiderate mirror. The prettyingenue of his theatre, one of his last conquests, had recently after aprivate supper, while sitting on his knee and stroking his face, said tohim with overflowing tenderness:

"What a wonderfully handsome man you must have been!"

He had thrust her from him like a viper with so hasty a movement that thepoor girl hardly knew what had happened. She did not suspect that shehad thrust a dagger into the heart of the man she loved. At balls, younggirls now, after a rapid waltz, whispered, blushing: "I am afraid you aretired, " and in the German other partners, who were neither so handsomenor so elegant as he, but young and lively, attracted more attention fromthe ladies and obtained more favours. And had not a young attaché ashort time ago, in reply to the remark that he preferred a sensibleconversation with experienced men to any other social pleasure, said withthoughtless impertinence; "Of course, at your age--" He would have boxedhis ears, if any lady had been within hearing. 

Such frank expressions, which even sensitive people did not avoid, because they did not yet deem him in need of forbearance, caused a degreeof depression which, on some days, became actual melancholy. Then hesought a consoling self-deception in memory, and lost himself in dreamsof the past, as a proud, brave nation, which has suffered defeat, takesrefuge in the history of its former victories, to sustain itself. Shutinto his study for hours he again lived over his triumphs, surrounded bytheir testimonials. He placed before him pictures of himself, taken atdifferent ages. This bewitching page with his smooth, merry face, cladin dainty knee-breeches with bows and a silk doublet, this handsomelieutenant with the downy moustache and the bold, laughing glance, wereimages of him; he had looked thus, perhaps even better; for he rememberedthat the likeness, when taken, did not satisfy him, and that everybodythought he was really far handsomer. He opened secret drawers, whichexhaled an ungodly perfume, very faint, almost imperceptible, like afaded, ghostly odour, yet which excited the nerves in a peculiar way, andsomewhat quickened the pulsation of the heart. These were the archivesof the history of his own heart. There lay in piles packages of letters, methodically tied with coloured ribbons, withered flowers, whose leavesfell from the corona if touched ever so lightly, faded bows, torn laces, which still seemed to palpitate under the rude grasp of a hand rummagingamong them, paper German favours, from which the gloss and gilding hadpeeled, other shapeless, disconnected bits of tinsel which wereincomprehensible unless one knew the memory associated with them, andamong the strange, motley chaos, the most personal mementoes: women'shair smooth, curled, braided, long, and short, arranged by a true eye, with scandalously cool composure, upon a pale lilac varnished board, in awonderful scale of colours, from the highest pitch, the fair locks of theEnglishwoman, resembling a delicate halo, through almost imperceptiblegradations to the deep, shining blue-black of the Sicilian, and portraitsin every form which fashion has devised during the last twenty-fiveyears, and from which the eternal feminine looked, lured, and smiled in ahundred charming embodiments. A circle of spectres rose from thesedrawers and whirled around him, stretching white arms toward him andfixing upon him tearful or glowing eyes. All these cheeks had flushedbeneath his kisses, all these bosoms had been pressed to his own, allthese tresses his trembling fingers had smoothed, surely he might callhimself happier than most mortals, since so much of love's bliss hadfilled all the hours of his existence. 

Doubtless he did say this to himself after such revelling in the past, but in his inmost heart he did not believe it. Don Juan does not perusethe list of the thousand and three himself. He leaves it to Leporellowhile he, without a glance at the older names, increases the succession. The day when the cavalier begins to study his list, his wisest coursewould be to burn it, for then it will no longer be a triumph, but ahumiliation. 

Robert von Linden felt this, but he would not admit it. On the contrary, he intentionally endeavoured to deceive himself. He who had been a GrandSeigneur of love, became a snob of love. He sank to the level of theirresistible travelling salesman who tells the tale of his successes inforeign taverns. He had always left drawing-room gossip to spread hisreputation with its thousand tongues and, by the mere mention of hisname, fill maids and matrons with an exciting mixture of timid fear andeager yearning, indignant pride and tender pity. Now a torturing anxietybeset him lest his great deeds might be forgotten, and he humbled himselfto the character of bard of his own epic poem. He told his lastconquests who, naturally, with self-torturing curiosity inquired aboutit, chapter after chapter of the romance of his heart, half-opened hisfamous drawers and permitted them to catch a glimpse of letters, likenesses, and locks of hair; he strove to soothe his self-esteem byshowing what passions he had inspired, at the risk of having his fairlistener, with a secret smile, imagine exaggeration where, in reality, hewas merely boasting. 

Such was his mental condition at this time. He had toilsomely erected asort of sham paradise of stage scenery, in which he continued to play thecharacter of the youthful lover, which he was scarcely entitled tocontinue in life, and now this luckless doctor, with a careless movement, had thrown down all the painted canvasses with their artificial scenes. 

Thiel's brutal remark: "You must renounce love, " was still echoingpainfully in his soul when he entered the home of Frau von der Lehde, with whom according to old habit, he dined once a week. 

Else von der Lehde was a year or two older than he. She had been maid ofhonor to the princess, when Robert was a page. She had loved him deeply, fervently, and received a little responsive affection in return. Butthat was already so far back in the past. It was a distant memory, suffused with the rosy light of dawn, associated with all the new, freshfeelings of her life, youth, the awakening of her heart, first love, jealousy, and torment. The little idyl, in its day, was noticed by everyone, but people were disposed to regard it as harmless, and Else herselfafterward strove to see it in the same light, though she was well awareof its real condition. Still, a beardless boy of eighteen could notseriously compromise a young lady of twenty, who had been in societythree winters. He was so far from doing so, that the whispers and smilesof this society did not prevent her becoming the wife of President vonder Lehde who, after fifteen years of wedded life, left her a childlesswidow in the most pleasant circumstances. Else had never ceased to becompletely enthralled by Robert. During her husband's life-time, she hadimagined that it was friendship, sisterly, almost maternal friendship. When Herr von der Lehde died, she no longer had any motive for playing afarce with her own conscience, and she told Robert plainly that sheexpected him now to marry her. He was very much surprised and evenslightly amused. Thirty-three years old, at the zenith of his success, living actually in the midst of a flickering blaze of ardent love, he hadthe feeling that it was a very comical idea for a woman who was hiselder, with whom for a decade and a half he had lived on terms of whollyunobjectionable friendship, and whom he had often unhesitatingly made theconfidante of his love-affairs, suddenly to wish him to marry her. Toreturn after the lapse of fifteen years to a dish which he had oncetasted with the eagerness of a greedy boy! This was not to be expected. Love permits no Rip van Winkle adventures. It cannot be taken up whereit was interrupted a generation before. Its drama, whether it is toclose as comedy or tragedy, must be played without long intermissions ina continuous performance to the end, in order not to become intolerablytiresome and foolish. 

Robert did not conceal this from Else, though he endeavoured to findsoftening expressions. But oratorical caution does not deceive a womanwho is in love. Else was very unhappy over the rebuff. Her passion, however, was stronger than her pride, and she humbled herself toentreaties, persuasions, persistent pleading. Robert, to whom thesituation was becoming extremely uncomfortable, ceased to call upon theirritated and excited woman and, as Mahomet showed himself unhesitatinglyready to come to the mountain when the mountain did not come to Mahomet, Robert refused to see his persecutor. For a time Frau von der Lehde wasfilled with the most bitter resentment against the man who disdained her. She had worked herself up into the idea that he owed her expiation, ifnot before the world, surely before her own conscience, and it seemed toher dishonourable that he should evade his duty. But her indignation didnot last. She could no longer live without Robert, and as he quietlyleft her to sulk and did not make the slightest attempt to conciliateher, after several sleepless nights she one day wrote a little note inwhich she gently reproached him for so culpably neglecting her, andexpressed the hope that he would dine with her the next day, and by hisown observation, convince himself that her grief for his long absence wasreally injuring her looks. How wearily she had striven to preventletting a tear fall upon the tinted paper, what heroic courage she hadexpended in finding sportive turns of speech, subdued, even mirthfulexpressions, could not be perceived in the little missive. Robert readit with distrust, but, in spite of the most cautious scrutiny, he did notfind a single word whose vehemence could disquiet him, not a singleletter which was nervously emphasized or written, or betrayed a tremblinghand, so he accepted the invitation. 

Frau von der Lehde made no mistake. Her self-control did not desert hera moment. She received Robert calmly and affectionately, as thoughnothing had occurred between them, the dinner passed delightfully ineasy, gay conversation about all sorts of indifferent matters, and whenhe was leaving she held out both hands and said, looking directly intohis eyes:

"Tuesday, at least, shall again be mine in future, shall it not?"

He kissed her hand, touched by such unselfish, faithful devotion. 

It was a strange relation which, from that time, existed unshadowedbetween these two for more than a decade. Else surrounded Robert with anatmosphere of warm, unvarying tenderness which, though perhaps only fromhabit, she understood how to render a necessity of his life. Sheinsisted upon being the confidant of all his feelings; no outburst ofanger ever betrayed what she experienced during his confessions, not evena sorrowful quiver of the features ever reminded him to be on his guard;she possessed inexhaustible indulgence for his frivolities, earnestsympathy for his fleeting love-sorrows, hateful or ridiculous as theyusually appeared to an uninterested witness, counsel and comfort when anadventure took an unpleasant turn, and she was satisfied if, in anebullition of gratitude, he then pressed her to his heart, kissed herhands and her cheeks, and assured her that she was the dearest, noblest, and most lovable woman whom he had ever known. But when she played thisrôle of a feminine providence, who was apparently free from the ordinaryweaknesses of her sex, when she carefully repressed every emotion ofjealousy at the sight of his inconstancy, she was not free from a selfishmotive. She still hoped that some day he would grow weary of pursuingthe blue will-o'-the-wisps of fleeting sham loves; he would at last longto escape from the marsh into which for decades these capricious, alluring, fleeting flames had deluded him, and would then unresistinglyallow himself to be led by her hand to the firm ground of a triedaffection, in order, even though not until the evening twilight of hisdays, to rest with her, at last her own Robert, whom she need share withno one. 

When Linden, on this Tuesday, appeared at Frau von der Lehde's, she ofcourse instantly noticed his depression, and with her usual sympathy andgentle tenderness, asked:

"Why are you so melancholy, Robert? What has happened?"

"Melancholy?" forcing himself to a wan smile. "I feel nothing of thesort. "

"Yes, Robert; do you suppose that I do not know the meaning of theselines on the forehead and between the eyes?"

Oh, those lines! Surely he knew them, too, he had studied them this verymorning with painful attention, but why need she obtrude them upon him?This was unkind, almost malicious. He released her hand, which he hadheld in his own since his entrance, and silently went to an arm-chair. She followed, took a seat on a stool at his feet, and said caressingly:

"How long has Robert had secrets from Else? May I not know everything?Has one of my sex again proved faithless? Ah, dearest Robert, so few ofus are worth having people trouble themselves about us. "

"That isn't it at all, " Robert answered curtly. 

"What is it, then?"

Robert remained silent a short time, then, averting his eyes from herquestioning gaze, said:

"This is my birthday. "

"You don't suppose that I could forget it? But certainly you do not wishto be congratulated upon it, to have it mentioned?"

Robert laid his hand upon her lips, murmuring:

"Yet I cannot forget your thinking of it, as I see. "

A pause ensued, and he had the unpleasant feeling that his ostrich methodof shunning the sight of a disagreeable fact, must appear very ridiculous. 

"Well, and why does your birthday make you melancholy?" asked Else, kissing his hand as she removed it from her mouth. 

"A woman ought to feel that, without any explanation from me. "

"It isn't the same thing, dear Robert. But I don't philosophize aboutthe distinction. At any rate a woman dreads her birthday only becauseshe is afraid of growing old, and there can be no question of that withyou. At your age a man is not old. "

She smiled so strangely, as she said this. Or did it merely seem so toRobert?

"Well, in any case Doctor Thiel is not of your opinion. He was asdisagreeable as a scrubbing-brush to-day. He gave me a serious morallecture with firstly, secondly, thirdly, and closed with an admonitionthat I must play the dare-devil no longer, or to be more explicit, mustrenounce love. That seemed to me very much wanting in taste. "

"Indeed, Thiel told you that?" She had suddenly become extremely earnestand attentive. 

"Yes. And I consider that he entirely mistakes his vocation. When Iwant preaching I'll apply to the theological faculty. From the medicalprofession I expect strengthening. Thiel seems to confound salve withsanctity. That is not treatment. "

The servant announced dinner, and both went to the table. Else almostalways arranged to be alone with Robert on Tuesday. 

"I think, " she said, when they were seated opposite to each other, "thatyou ought not to take Thiel's words lightly. He is your friend. And, "she added hesitatingly, as Robert did not answer, "he is right. "

"You say that, too?" he exclaimed, indignantly. 

"Yes, dear, dear Robert, yes. I should not have ventured to say it firstand alone. You might have considered it rude and selfish. You cannotthink so in Thiel. When he says to you: Stop!--it is not obtrusive. Since I am merely repeating his view, I have the courage to confess thatit has been for a long time my own opinion. "

"A long time! That is more and more pleasing. "

Frau von der Lehde hesitated a moment. The phrase was really not wellchosen. But the words could not be recalled, so she bravely continued, growing warmer, more urgent, the longer she spoke. 

"Robert, I repeat, Thiel is right. It is time for you to think of yourown happiness. You have bestowed much joy in your life, and, it is true, also caused much sorrow, probably far more sorrow than joy, but you havenot been happy yourself. No, no, do not try to impose upon me. You havenot been happy. You might have been so, you have come near happinesscountless times, but you have always passed it by. You have lived in aconstant state of intoxication, and intoxication is always followed byillness, to escape which you have sought intoxication anew. Robert, youmust feel a loathing of such a life. Women admire or fear you, men envyor abhor you, but how does it aid you? It cannot make you happier. Youpossess great talents. I, who know you as you perhaps do not knowyourself, am conscious of it, and can prove it. You had the capacity foreverything. You only needed to choose, and you might have been a greatpoet, a great musician, a great artist, a great statesman. And what haveyou done with all your brilliant gifts? Used them as men use mirrors tocatch larks, to dazzle silly women. "

Robert had listened silently and looked out of the window. Here heinterrupted her. "To shape one's own life harmoniously is also an art, perhaps the greatest. Whoever makes his life a work of art needs tocreate nothing else, and has rightly used his talents. "

"But that is exactly what I do not see, " cried Else, "the art-productionof your life. Where is the climax, where the harmonious close? Is itaesthetic, is it dignified to pay court to frivolous actresses andballet-dancers, and treat the cheap triumph, before and after, as thoughit were something important? Does not this humiliate a man of intellectin his own eyes? And even if----"

She suppressed what she was going to say, and with a sudden digression, continued:

"Robert, understand at last that happiness is repose. You have hadpassion and excitement enough. It is time for you to know somethingelse; deep and equable as a clear summer evening, without storm andtempest. And you know where to find such love. Ah, Robert, no one onearth ever loved you as I have, not one of the women on whom you havesquandered your heart, your intellect, your health. As a girl Isacrificed for you my pride and my celebrated beauty. You were my firstpassion, and you have remained the sun of my existence. As a young widowI threw myself at your head. You would not accept me. Perhaps to yourdetriment. But that is no consolation. I have forced myself to be yoursister, in order to possess you a little, ah so little. Let me at lastbe more to you, Robert. Thiel tells you that you must love no longer. But you may still allow yourself to be loved. Robert, suffer yourself tobe loved. That is all I ask. Let me be your wife, let me prepare a homefor you. I shall be envied, I shall be proud of you, and repay you witha fidelity and tenderness which no woman can now give you. Consider, Robert, to me you are still the young Greek god of eighteen, whom I loveda generation ago so that it nearly cost my life. Is there any otherwoman who sees you with such eyes? Speak, Robert. "

Robert did speak. He spoke with quiet friendliness. He was certainlyvery grateful to her for her feelings. He returned them with all hisheart, as she knew. But why change a relation in which both had been socomfortable for a generation. It was a delightful emotion to know that, while outwardly free, they were secretly united by warm friendship. Thisbond would not oppress. The fetters of a regular Philistine marriagewould probably burden them, and, after all, it would not be morally sobeautiful and so strong as a daily desired and renewed companionship. He, for his part, at any rate, would desire nothing better than theendless continuance of their present relations. 

Else was not satisfied. She continued to try to persuade and convincehim. She became excited, Robert remained calm. She entreated, he grewmorose and taciturn. Scarcely waiting for the coffee, which he swallowedas swiftly as the warmth of the fragrant beverage permitted, he left Elseimmediately on some slight pretext. 

Far from softening him, Else's eager words had made him indignant, almostincensed. This was certainly an attempt to take him by surprise. For amoment the suspicion even awoke that Thiel was in league with Frau vonder Lehde, his warning, her demand were arranged, a preconcerted attackhad been executed on both sides. True, he did not dwell long upon thisthought, whose improbability he himself soon perceived, but he mentallyrepeated Frau von der Lehde's words again and again. No other woman sawhim with eyes like hers! How did she know that? No woman on earth lovedhim as she did? What if he should show her the contrary? He must nolonger love, only permit himself to be loved! This advice did notdisplease him. In fact perhaps it was sensible to direct a wild lifefull of adventures which, in reality, were meaningless, monotonous, andprofoundly unsatisfying, into the channels of a regulation domesticexistence. But if he himself decided to bring it to a close, it shouldnot be the end which Else wished to force upon him. 

The more deeply he entered into the idea of the late marriage with Else, the more angry it made him. What presumption in this woman, who wasyears his senior! Did she really believe that he, according to her ownestimation a man in the prime of life, had no other claims upon existencethan to possess a home, in other words to have a housekeeper, who wouldmake him soups, and a nurse who would wrap his rheumatic limbs in cottonwool. Deuce take it, he was by no means such an invalid. He was stillsailing erect, before the wind, with swelling canvas and flutteringstreamers. He was no hulk of which wreckers might take possession. Ifhe no longer desired to remain on the high seas, at least he could freelychoose the harbour where he preferred to cast anchor. 

He mentally reviewed the images of the women who had recently made animpression upon him, or on whom he was sure that he had produced animpression, and asked himself with which of them he could probably spenda life of constant intercourse. Always is a long time, and he knew thata woman must possess remarkable qualities not to repel him in the longrun. He had a peculiar method of testing whether a woman was suited tobe his companion for life, and whether he could endure to have hercontinually with him. He imagined that he was taking a wedding journeywith a wife through Italy, was alone with her six weeks, without anyother society, with no stimulus except her presence, and he picturedthese days in every detail. Several apparently thoroughly charming womenwere in this way instantly rejected. One was beautiful and desirable, but stupid as a pike, and he could not help laughing when, in fancy, hesaw himself standing with her before the works of art in Florence andheard her remarks about paintings and statues. Another was clever, butshe talked too much. One could spend an hour with her pleasantly, but awhole day, a whole week--brrr!

This one, after a few days, would long to return to her circle ofadmirers and rivals, and under the dome of St. Peter's dream of the courtentertainments, adorers, and society gossip; that one, with her prosaicnature, would transform the blue grotto of Capri into the office of achief auditor. Others stood the test better, but even with them doubtsarose, which grew stronger the more he thought of them. Perhaps he couldendure a week, a fortnight, with them. But six weeks, two months? No. By that time they would surely have become indifferent, perhapsintolerable. They would certainly have nothing more to offer him, henothing more to say to them. 

In the proportion in which other women's images faded and vanished, onestood forth more and more clearly, and finally filled his whole mentalfield of vision. Fräulein von Markwald--yes, with her the adventuremight be risked. She was as beautiful as any fair one whose likeness hehad kept in his love archives; a tall, proud figure, large dark-blue eyeswhich evidently dreamed of love behind their long, shading lashes, andoften seemed to wake from this ardent trance of bliss with a suddenupward glance, blooming lips for which many a godly man would haverelinquished his soul's salvation without hesitation, an unusually faircomplexion with satiny reflections, and a really regal coronal of richgolden hair--all in all a magnificent creature, such as Nature does notoften create. This was a prize for which the best man might strive. That he would ever weary of her, Linden could not now imagine. When hefancied that she was leaning on his arm, walking with the light, floatingstep peculiar to her along the Chiaja, or the Lung Arno, or that he wassitting with her on the shore of Viarreggio and she leaned her head uponhis breast, it seemed as if palaces, sky, and sea would shine brighterthan of yore as it were in vivified colours. True, Fräulein von Markwaldwas not yet twenty, and he might be her father. But need he hesitate onthat score? At the utmost the difference in age could only disturb her, and it did not. To him her nineteen years were but one charm; the moreperhaps the most powerful of her attractions. In her radiant, vigorousyouth, he might hope to rejuvenate himself. How had he been so blind asnot to perceive it weeks ago! How could he have waited until Thiel'sharsh warning and Else's importunity thrust him into the right path?

Of course it had not escaped the notice of an old practitioner like himthat he had made an impression upon Fräulein von Markwald. The bloodwhich mounted into her cheeks when he approached and spoke to her, theunconsciously seeking glance with which she followed him when he wentaway, the tone of assumed jest, but genuine reproach, with which sheasked if he had selected another poor victim, when he had talked withanother lady somewhat longer or somewhat more earnestly than usual, weretraitors which but too officiously revealed the secret of her heart. Shedid not even defend herself. She had been too short a time at court andin society to be versed in the strategic arts of love or coquetry. Almost in their first conversation she had confessed, with charmingfrankness, that everybody was warning her against him, she had been toldthat he was an extremely dangerous man, she was really a little afraid ofhim; but a certain slight shiver in the presence of a handsome monsterwas a new and strangely delightful feeling. There was no doubt that hislegendary adventures had exerted the customary bewitching influence uponher imagination. The daughter of Eve felt the irresistible hereditaryattraction toward the serpent which had already talked so many feeblyresisting hands into plucking the fatal apple. Hitherto, Robert had notwished to avail himself of his advantage. He had been content with thepleasantly piquant consciousness that his presence made her heart throbfaster, and did not pursue the dawning romance farther, for Fräulein vonMarkwald belonged to one of the best families in the country, and he nowthought of the respect due to the unsullied reputation of a younggirl--he was somewhat less reckless than ten years ago. But now thereshould be a change. Since he had serious intentions he need not shrinkfrom using all means to complete the conquest of this fortress, which, moreover, was already on the point of raising the white flag. 

He did not lose a moment. All the evening he was seen in the littlecourt box, devoting himself most assiduously to Fräulein von Markwald, and this was afterward repeated at every performance. Whenever theprincess gave an evening reception, he seemed to care only for thebeautiful girl, and was always behind or beside her, serving her, talkingwith her, offering her his arm, tenderly solicitous about her on herarrival and departure. The whole court began to watch and to whisper, and Linden's love-making became so apparent, that the princess thought itnecessary to warn Käthe against the tempter and his wiles. FräuleinMarkwald answered blushing, but in a steady voice:

"I thank you, Your Highness, I know that your advice is kindly meant, butI also know that Baron von Linden is a man of honour, and that I havegiven him no reason, to think meanly of me. "

This answer seemed to the princess wholly unsatisfactory, and as shebelieved it her duty to take special care of Käthe, an orphan, she didnot delay in cautiously calling Robert himself to account. What he saidto her the princess kept to herself for a time, but two days later peoplelearned that Käthe's brother, an energetic cavalry officer, attached to aregiment of Hussars in the Rhine country, had suddenly arrived in thecapital from his garrison, and on the following day, which wasWhitsuntide, the "Morning Journal" announced the betrothal of HerrRobert, Baron von Linden, to Fräulein Käthe von Markwald. 

The effect of the news on society was like the bursting of a dynamitecartridge before every individual. Linden capitulated! Linden married!It was incredible. And to whom had he struck the bold corsair flag whichhad so long been the terror of husbands? To Käthe von Markwald, in whomnothing piquant could be discovered which would be likely specially toattract a blasé man of the world! She was beautiful, certainly, but hehad passed by many handsomer women. She was not stupid, but how manycleverer fair ones, with all their craft, had been unable to hold him intheir nets! The event was and remained incomprehensible, it might be--

Frau von der Lehde had sent for Dr. Thiel on Whitsuntide morning, andwhen he entered, silently held out the newspaper. 

"I know it already, " he answered smiling. 

"Do you believe that it is true?"

"Of course it is true. The announcement is signed by the betrothed pair. Besides, Linden told me the news himself. "

"Did he ask your advice?"

"No; he merely told me the accomplished fact. "

Frau von der Lehde crushed the paper and flung it into the corner. 

"But what can have so suddenly led him to this step?"

Thiel shrugged his shoulders. "The resolutions of men are sometimes asincalculable as those of women. "

"He cannot possibly have to atone for a sin. "

"Fräulein von Markwald is above suspicion, " said Thiel sternly, interrupting her. 

"Linden may be still more so, but the world, which does not know him sowell as I and--you, will probably think something of the sort. "

"Certainly. Evil tongues have already begun their work. The newspapercontaining the announcement is still damp, and I have even now heard theconjecture expressed that the baron was marrying Fräulein von Markwaldbecause he had been forced to do so by her brother, who thought thatLinden had compromised her by his attentions. "

"Forced Linden! He who has killed two opponents in a duel! A Hussarofficer will not frighten him. That's nonsense. "

"Of course it is nonsense. Only I don't see why people need go so far toseek an explanation. Linden marries because he thinks he has found asuitable life-companion. He really isn't too young for it. "

"No, " remarked Frau von der Lehde, "but I fear: too old. "

"I don't know that, " observed Thiel. 

"Doctor, you are not in earnest. Linden might still marry a quiet, sensible woman of mature years, but a young girl who might be hisdaughter--he must have lost his senses. "

"Madame, that is still far from being manifest to me, marriage often hasa rejuvenating influence. "

"Marriage with a girl like Käthe Markwald? If I were Linden, I shouldfear eyes like hers. She belongs to the species of sleeping monsters. Woe betide the man who wakes and is not strong enough to conquer them. "

Thiel could not help smiling. "I repeat, marriage often works marvels ofresurrection. And in the worst case--the matter need not yet be takentragically. "

Frau von der Lehde could not console herself for the final loss ofLinden, but she understood that she could do nothing more to hold him orto win him back. In the first place because he could not be reached. Contrary to universal expectation, he soon tore himself away from hischarming fiancée and set off on his summer travels much earlier than informer years. He extended them full three months, which he spent atvarious sea-shore watering-places. He was sometimes seen here, sometimesthere, first at Rägen, then at Sylt, lastly at Heligoland, where the surfis most powerful. The marriage took place early in September. Every oneadmired the bridal pair. Käthe was fresh and blooming as a newly openedMarshal Niel rose, Robert as handsome and elegant as in his best days. The difference in age was scarcely apparent. Only a close observer couldhave noticed a certain nervous anxiety in Robert's face which, thoughbronzed by the sun and the salt air of the sea-shore, was visibly pale. He did not look as happy by the side of his radiant bride as might havebeen expected. Stings of conscience, said many women who had once beenon familiar terms with him and had now had the self-control to come tothe church, which was crowded to suffocation. Frau von der Lehde was notamong them. 

Robert von Linden now realized the dream of the last few months; he tookhis bewitching young wife, his proudest and, as he faithfully resolved, his last conquest, to Italy. But, according to all that was learnedafterward, it was a strange wedding journey. The couple appeared in allthe larger cities of Upper, Middle and Lower Italy, but the newly-weddedpair seemed unable to remain anywhere more than two or three days. Thebride looked depressed and dissatisfied, the bridegroom haggard andunhappy. About three weeks after the marriage, Lieutenant von Markwaldreceived a letter from his sister which induced him to write at once toDoctor Thiel and ask him confidentially what he thought of Baron vonLinden's health, his brother-in-law evidently considered himself veryill; for since his departure he had consulted several physicians at everyplace where they stopped, even for a day, he appeared to be in very lowspirits, and utterly neglected his sister, who was so anxious about himthat she entreated her brother to come to her assistance. Dr. Thielhastened to answer the lieutenant that he need not be uneasy, it wasprobably only an attack of hypochondria. At the same time he asked forhis brother-in-law's address, as he intended to write to him at once. 

About a week after news reached the capital which spread with therapidity of a conflagration. Baron Robert von Linden had died suddenlyat Ischia. This was the version which reached the newspapers and thepublic. But, in the court circle, it was known that the unfortunate manhad committed suicide. Frau von der Lehde had instantly suspected it, she obtained certainty from the lips of the princess, to whom Käthe hadtelegraphed the terrible tidings at the same time she sent the message toher brother. She hastened to Thiel, who was crushed by the event, for hewas not merely an affectionate physician to Linden, but also a loyalfriend. 

"It is horrible, " cried the agitated woman, as she let herself fall intoan arm-chair. 

He answered only by a sorrowful gesture of the hand. 

"Do you know the particulars?"

"A bullet through the head. The night of day before yesterday. In thedressing-room beside the chamber where his wife was lying. "

A pause ensued. Then Else, raising her tearful eyes to the doctor, said:

"You see, you see, this marriage was his destruction. He would be aliveand happy to-day, if he had had me at his side. "

"Or me, " said Thiel. 

Else shook her head. "No, no. He wanted this last romance too late. "

"Or despaired too soon, " replied Thiel, gazing thoughtfully at the bronzestatuette of Asclepius, which stood on the writing-desk before him. 

HOW WOMEN LOVE. 

I. 

ONE WAY. 

It was the first of November, 1878. The Paris Exposition was over, andHerr Rudolph Weltli was preparing to return to his home, Switzerland, after spending a beautiful sunny fortnight on the Seine. He had madethe great bazaar on the Champ de Mars the pretext for his journey; butin reality the study of the exhibition, many as were the interestingobjects it could offer to him, the engineer, was a somewhat minormatter, and he devoted his stay in Paris principally to walks throughthe streets, excursions to the environs, wanderings through themuseums, in short, endless pilgrimages to all the scenes where, morethan a quarter of a century before, the drama of his student's life inParis had been enacted for three years, and whose image was interwovenwith the most beloved memories of his youth. 

A quarter of a century! Almost a human life-time. And, during thislong period, he had not seen Paris again. When he left it he intendedto return very soon and very often. But, as usually happens, lifemorosely opposed this pleasant plan. He was bound by the fetters ofduty, and only imagination could allow itself to wander into thealluring blue distance. 

Whoever makes his first visit to Rome throws a piece of money into theFontana Trevi to be sure that he will see the eternal city again. Weneed not bind ourselves to Paris by such little superstitiouspractices. Its mysterious spell obtains the pledge without anyintervention, and lures and draws the absent one so that he cannot restuntil he returns. But why attribute this spell to Paris alone? Everyplace where we have been young, dreamed, loved, and suffered, possessesit. We feel the affection for it which the ploughman has for the fieldto which he entrusted his seed. We have the desire to see whether weshall still find traces of our wanderings, and are joyously surprisedwhen we discover that wherever we sowed our youth, the best part ofourselves, invisible to others, but tangible to us, a rich harvest ofmemories has sprung up. 

Every year Rudolf planned the journey to Paris, every year he wascompelled to defer it to the next, and he was already beginning toaccustom himself to a sorrowful resignation, when the World's Fair of1878 gave the external impulse for the realization of hislong-cherished dream. 

The holiday weeks on which his mind had been fixed so many years hadpassed as swiftly as a dream, and the daily yoke of professional workmust again be put on. The last day of his stay in Paris fell on theanniversary of All Souls. Rudolf, with the great majority ofParisians, used it to visit the cemeteries. He spent the first hoursof the afternoon in Pčre la Chaise, where, beside the old, well-knowngraves, he inspected with great interest the monuments erected sincehis residence in Paris--of Musset, Rossini, Michelet, Regnault, Countess d'Agoult and other celebrities. From Pčre la Chaise he droveto the cemetery of Montmartre, where he merely wished to place a wreathof immortelles on Heine's grave. But once there, he could not go awaywithout looking about the place a little. 

He strolled slowly along the streets of graves, in which, amidcommonplace stone slabs and insignificant iron crosses, statelymonuments rose at brief intervals, though they rarely bore inscribed ontheir fronts a name of sufficient distinction to afford a justificationfor attracting the attention of the wanderer; while as a rule they wereonly memorials of the vanity extending beyond the grave of the poorobscure mortal whose ashes they sheltered. 

The graves were adorned in various ways for the great festival of thedead. The narrow walks around them were strewn with fresh yellowgravel and river sand; pots of blossoming plants stood on the slabs andat the foot of the crosses; on the arms of the latter hung garlands ofevergreen and yellow or red immortelles, but also the ugly wreaths ofpainted plaster and glass beads with affected inscriptions, whichdishonour Parisian industry. Beside these mounds, where the work of aloving hand was apparent, and whose dead were evidently united byfilaments of love to a tender human being still breathing in thesunshine, forsaken and neglected ones often appeared, on which only afew rain-soaked, decaying leaves of paper wreaths were mouldering, where moss and weeds grew rankly, and in which lay dead for whom no onegrieved, and who were now remembered by none in the world of theliving. But how speedily one is forgotten in Paris. How soon theocean of the world's capital swallows up, not only a human being, buthis family, all his friends and acquaintances, and even his memory! Achill ran down Rudolf's spine as he pondered over the melancholythought of living and dying in Paris as a stranger. 

As he drifted aimlessly on with the flowing human stream, he suddenlyfound himself in a narrow side-path before a monument surrounded by aspecially dense throng. Several rows of people, principally workmenand their wives, were standing around it, those behind thrusting theirheads over the shoulders of the front ranks, the new arrivals pressingimpatiently upon those who had taken the place before them and now, asthough spell-bound by an absorbing spectacle, stood motionless, makingno sign of moving on. Yet the whole crowded group was pervaded by acalmness, a solemn earnestness, not often found among the worshippersin church. Rudolf, whose curiosity was awakened, forced his waythrough the living wall to the front rank, and suddenly stood--beforethe monument of Baudin, the republican representative of the peoplewho, on the 3d of December, 1851, was shot down in the streets of Parisby drunken soldiers, as, girdled with the tri-coloured sash, which madehim recognizable as a member of the legislature, he protested from thetop of a barricade against Bonaparte's _coup d'etat_. A familiaranecdote is associated with the death of this hero. As, surrounded bya few persons of similar views, he was preparing to ascend thebarricade, some workmen passing by shouted derisively: "There goes atwenty-five franc man!" This was the insult with which theproletarians, who were systematically incited against the NationalAssembly, designated the representatives of the people, alluding totheir daily pay. Baudin calmly answered: "You will see presently howone can die for twenty-five francs!" and a moment after, fell under thebullets of the soldiery. 

At the sight of the monument Rudolf felt the emotion which it awakensin every spectator. On a rectangular stone pedestal lies the life-sizebronze figure of Baudin, draped to the breast in a cloak, the left handhanging in the relaxation of death, while the right convulsivelyclutches a symbolical table of laws, with the inscription "La Loi, "through which passes a treacherous rent. Baudin's face is that of amiddle-aged man, with commonplace features, smooth-shaven lips andchin, and the regulation whiskers. But this ordinary countenancebecomes grand and heroic by a horrible hole in the forehead, from whichblood and brains have gushed. Oh, how such a hole in the brow, piercedby a bullet sent to murder liberty, transfigures a man's visage! Asupernatural radiance appears to stream from this tragical opening, into which we cannot gaze without having our eyes overflow with tears. 

Rudolf was more touched by the unspeakably pathetic monument than anyof the others who reverently surrounded it; for he remembered hownarrowly he, too, had escaped a fate akin to that of the martyr beforewhose statue he had unexpectedly wandered. As he followed the pathtoward the exit from the cemetery, he again saw himself on the terriblenight of December 3d and 4th, 1851, lying weltering in his blood, withfailing consciousness, upon the wet pavement of the Rue Montmartre, abullet in his right hip. The memory of that moment was so vivid, thathe fancied he again felt the pain in his hip and began to limp, as hehad done for months after the wound. In the broad avenue leading tothe main entrance new visions rose before him, made still more intenseby the recollections of the coup d'etat evoked by the sight of Baudin'sgrave. At the right he saw the monument of Gottfried Cavaignac in themidst of the great common grave, into which all the nameless victims ofthe street fights were thrown in a horrible medley. This blood-stainedbit of earth surrounds a circular border of flowers, in whose centre, above a low mound covered with stone slabs, rises a plain iron cross. Rudolf entered the sinister circle and paused beside it. Very peculiaremotions stole over him. It seemed as though he were standing within acabalistic line which divided him from the world and life. The airwithin the magic circle appeared more chill than without. He imaginedhe felt a stir and tremor in the ground beneath his feet as if the deadbelow were moving, and scraping with their bony fingers on the cover oftheir narrow abode. 

"I should now be lying there with the rest, if the bullet had taken alittle different course!" he thought, drawing a long breath of relief. He glanced around him. At the foot of the cross was a heap of wreathsand bouquets, and several women were kneeling on the stone slabs, murmuring silent prayers. "Are there still, after the lapse oftwenty-seven years, mourners who remember the dead? No one would havecome for my sake, if they had thrown me there too. "

He was standing beside one of the kneeling women, at whom he gazed withdeep sympathy. She was dressed in black, a long black veil hung fromher head, and she seemed wholly absorbed in her fervour. Feeling asteady gaze fixed upon her, she involuntarily looked up. Their eyesmet. She sank back with a stifled cry which seemed to issue from athroat suddenly compressed. Involuntarily stretching her arms towardhim, while her eyes half closed and consciousness seemed failing, herblanching lips whispered:

"Rudolf! Rudolf!"

He had retreated a step, astonished and bewildered, at the first cry, now he caught the fainting woman in his arms, drew her to his breast, and murmured in a hollow tone:

"Pauline! Is it possible! Pauline!"

She tottered to her feet, her knees trembled, she laid both hands onhis shoulders and gazing steadily at him with head thrown back anddilated eyes, said:

"Is it really you! Is it you, Rudolf. You are alive!"

"So you believed me dead?" he asked in a trembling voice, bowing hishead. 

"I believed that you were down there, " she answered, pointing to thestone slabs at their feet. 

"And you came to-day----"

"To you, Rudolf; to-day as I have come every year for twenty-sevenyears. See, Rudolf, that is the wreath I laid there for you. And, "she added in a very low tone, after a brief pause, "when I suddenly sawyou before me, I thought you had risen from this grave to see me oncemore. "

She again remained silent a short time, during which her glancestimorously caressed him. "And do you know what instantly convinced methat I beheld no ghost? Because you no longer look as you did at thetime when you would have been laid here, if you had really died. Thedead do not change. But you, my poor Rudolf, have certainly altered. "

"Do you find me very much changed?"

Pauline gazed at him a long time. Her eyes wandered slowly over hisfigure, his features, his whole appearance, then, as if speaking toherself, she said:

"Not really, Rudolf, not much, after all. "

She was probably the only person in the world who could say it; theonly one who could see in his countenance the face of the youth oftwenty-three, as a practised eye detects, under a palimpsest, theeffaced, almost invisible characters of the original writing. For her, his former wealth of brown locks still waved in the place of theclosely cut, thin grey hair; she saw the bushy moustache fine andcurled, the wrinkled skin ruddy and smooth, the somewhat corpulentfigure slender and pliant; she transferred to the man of fifty beforeher, feature by feature, the image which lived in her faithful memory, transfigured and handsomer than the reality had ever been. And Rudolfdid the same. His imagination effaced the little wrinkles around hereyes and mouth, restored to those dim black eyes the sparkle andmirthfulness of youth, developed, from the somewhat fleshy outlines, the graceful forms of the cheeks, chin, neck, bust, which he had oncebeheld and loved, recognized the raven braids which alone had lost noneof their beauty, and saw in the faded woman the blooming girl, surrounded by all the magic of her nineteen years, whom he had lefttwenty-seven years ago. 

Her first excitement had calmed a little during the silent observationwhich had occupied several minutes; her voice had regained its naturaltone, and only trembled a little as she asked:

"But now, for Heaven's sake, tell me how all this has happened? Ourconcierge saw you when you fell in the street and were carried away. "

"He saw correctly. "

"Then you were not killed?"

"Merely wounded. "

"Well, and----?"

"You know how I left you. I was excited, bareheaded, mad. When I cameout of the Passage Saumon into the Rue Montmartre, I found the streetdeserted, but I heard the roll of drums in the distance, soldiersseemed to be pressing forward from the boulevard. Several persons ranpast, trying to escape into the side streets. Before I could clearlyunderstand what was going on around me, a volley of musketry was fired, I felt a violent blow and fell. A few paces from me another man fell, who did not move again. A window in the Passage Saumon opened andinstantly closed. 

"The soldiers came up, carrying lanterns and torches. They found theother man first, and threw the light into his face. Several voicesrose and I saw bayonets thrust into his body. Then they came to me. Bayonets were already flashing above me, I instinctively thrust out myhands in defense, an officer cried: 'Halt!' approached me, and askedwho I was. I said as quickly as my mortal fright would permit, that Iwas a Swiss, a pupil of the _École Centrale_, lived in the PassageSaumon, had accidentally entered the street and been wounded by a shot. The officer looked at my hands, they were not blackened by powder. Thelight of the lanterns was cast around--I lay in my own blood, but noweapon was near. 'Where is your hat?' asked the officer. 'I wore nonewhen I left home. ' 'That is suspicious, ' he said, to my terror, butafter a moment's reflection, which to me seemed an eternity, gaveorders that I should be placed in a vegetable dealer's cart, which hadbeen abandoned by the owner, and taken to a hospital. Four soldiersflung me roughly into the vehicle and dragged me to the Hôtel Dieu. "

He paused in his narrative. 

Pauline looked at him and her eyes filled with tears. 

"If I could tell you how I passed that night! You had scarcely goneout, when the concierge rushed into the room, panting: 'MademoisellePauline! Mademoiselle Pauline! They have just shot our MonsieurRudolf and carried him off. ' I wanted to fly down, he forciblyprevented me. I tried to throw myself out of the window, he would notpermit it. I was obliged to wait until morning. Then I ran to themorgue, to the cemeteries, wherever corpses were exposed; I saw many, oh, a horrible number of them, but I did not find you. "

She had blanched to the lips as she spoke, and her eyes looked vacant. Rudolf drew her toward him and she unconsciously let her head sink uponhis shoulder. 

"I was sure that you were dead, " she went on, "and that you had beenflung into this common grave. Everybody whom I asked told me so. Andyou sent no message? Why not, if you were still in the Hotel Dieu?Were you not allowed to do so? Were you unconscious?"

"Both, my poor child. For several days I was so ill that I could formno distinct thoughts. When I grew better, I was placed under rigidsurveillance, for they suspected me of having fought on the barricades. I was compelled to communicate with my ambassador that he might giveinformation about me, and answer----"

"But if you could communicate with your ambassador, you could also havesent me----"

He made no answer. 

"And then you were cured, " she went on more urgently, "and during theselong, long years, did it never enter your mind to care for me?"

He hung his head in embarrassment, and with deep pain avoided theglance she fixed upon him. Why had he not written to her, why had henot returned to his lodgings when he left the hospital? He could notyet tell her the truth, not now, not here. Shame and repentance seizedhim when he thought of it now; simply because he was glad to be able toleave Paris without seeing Pauline again. 

It was the old story, which ever remains new. A young student in Parismeets a pretty young working-girl, who is alone in the world; they arepleased with each other, the girl willingly throws herself into theyoung man's arms, and these arms gladly clasp the affectionate youngcreature who nestles in them. Under favourable circumstances, thiscareless, happy relation lasts a year or two, then comes the time whenthe student has completed his studies and practical life claims him. Farewell to the delightful love-life, with no care for the future, noresponsibility! Farewell to the dove-like nest for two in an atticchamber filled with the roseate morning light of youth and hope! As arule the parting takes place without trouble. He is calm, and she issensible. Then they dine together in the country, for the last time, drink champagne, and separate with blithesome wishes for futureprosperity. Or they are both sentimental. Then there is a littleweeping and sighing, they promise to write to each other and probablydo so for a time, and it is days, perhaps even weeks before the woundin the heart which, happily, is not very deep, heals. 

But often, oh, often----

Well, Rudolf's case was precisely one of these. When it was time toleave Paris to begin his professional life, he perceived with terrorthat the bonds which united him to Pauline were much firmer than he hadever supposed. For two years she had shared his room in the PassageSaumon and, during this whole period, she had not caused him a moment'ssorrow, had always thought only of him, to see him content and happy. She went to her work-room in the morning with a kiss and a smile, andreturned in the evening with a smile and an embrace. If he was at workshe sat quietly in her corner, looking over at him; if he wanted to begay, she was as frolicsome as a poodle. If he took her to the theatre, she kissed his hand in gratitude. If he went out alone, she was sad, but she said nothing and asked no questions, which touched him so muchthat he gradually relinquished the habit of going out alone. If hegave her anything, she was reluctant to accept it; she would scarcelyallow him even to bestow any articles of dress. In the whole two yearshe had never seen her nervous or out of temper. Yet he ought, he mustrepulse this loyal devotion. Yes, he must. For he could not be socrazy as to marry her! At twenty-three! A girl who had been picked upon the sidewalk of the Rue Montmartre. The thought was so absurd thatit was not worth while to dwell upon it a moment. Then, when he toldher that the happiness must now end, he saw her, to his surprise andterror, turn deadly pale and sink back fainting. 

On recovering her consciousness, she burst into endless sobs, clung tohis neck, covered him with burning kisses and tears, and exclaimed:

"No, no, you won't leave me; I cannot, I cannot, I would rather die. "

He vainly endeavored to bring her to reason. She would listen tonothing. "For what do you reproach me?" The question could not helpembarrassing him; for he had nothing with which to reproach her, exceptthat she had been the object of his love, a reproach which of all menon earth he should be the last to make; and that she was poor, which hewas ashamed to utter; and that she was uneducated, which could be noserious obstacle, for she made up for ignorance by natural wit andintelligence, and innate refinement. She wanted reasons, he couldoffer none except: "Why, dear child, surely you will see that we mustpart now. " That, however, was precisely what she could not perceive, and she continued to weep, saying mournfully: "Rudolf, Rudolf, do notleave me. I love you, and that is always something. I want nothingexcept to have you keep me with you. No one will ever love you as Ido. "

These unspeakably painful scenes, to which Rudolf had not the courageto put a heroic end, were repeated many days. When Pauline's tearsbecame unendurable, he went out and wandered for hours through thestreets, restless, out of humour, tortured. It had happened so on thatthird of December, and--

This was the reason that he had not written to her or returned to hislodgings. The soldier's bullet seemed to him a merciful interpositionof Fate, which released him from his difficulties. When health wasrestored, he fairly fled from Paris, leaving behind him the few effectsof a jolly student. This soothed his conscience a little, and moreoverhe told himself that he owed Pauline nothing, that she did not needhim, that she, who possessed a thoroughly reasonable, nay, superiornature, would henceforward pursue the path of honour. True, a secretvoice often cried out to him: "Coward! Coward!" But then he solacedhimself by shrugging his shoulders and thinking that everybody elsewould have done the same, and she would console herself quickly enough. 

Of course he could not confess this to her, but it was not necessary. She had divined it all. 

With a melancholy smile, she said:

"I understand, my poor Rudolf, I understand you were glad to get rid oftroublesome Pauline. The bullet spared you the pain of bidding mefarewell. " She was about to say more, but she forced it all back intoher heart. She had never reproached him, should she do so now, in thespot which, for so many years, she had believed his grave?

Clasping her hand, Rudolf pressed it tenderly, and to give the painfulconversation a pleasanter turn, asked:

"What are you doing now, how do you fare, Pauline?"

"I thank you for asking me. " There was not a tinge of sarcasm orbitterness in these words, nothing but gratitude. "I am getting onperfectly well. I have worked, have made myself independent, and amnow employing eight or ten workwomen, I am well-off, almost rich. "

She divined a question in the expression of his eyes, and said quickly:

"Always, Rudolf, I have always remained faithful to you. I did notlack offers, you can understand that--but I would not accept. I wasashamed. And I wanted to have only your memory in my heart. Does thatsurprise you? I suppose you don't believe it? Of course. It isn't tobe believed. A girl is courted. What else is there. When one haswearied of her, she is abandoned. But she was so foolish as to lovesincerely and can never, never console herself. " This time she wasgrowing bitter. Her lips quivered, and she passed her hand across hereyes, once she sobbed softly. Suddenly she drew from her pocket an oldleather book, which she gave him. While, with emotion, he recognizedit as his own note-book, and found on the first page his half effacedcaricature which a comrade in the _Ecole Centrale_ had once sketched, she took from her bosom an enamelled locket, opened it, and held itbefore his eyes. It was a gift from him, and contained a lock of brownhair--his hair! He could not resist the impulse and clasped herpassionately to his breast, in spite of the people who were passing toand fro outside of the circle of flowers. 

"Do you believe me now?" she asked releasing herself. 

His sole answer was to raise her hand to his lips. 

She held his right hand firmly. "And you, Rudolf?"

With an involuntary movement, he tried to draw it from her grasp. Thisled her to glance quickly at it. The third finger bore a wedding ring. 

Pauline uttered a deep sigh, let his hand fall, closed her eyes, andtottered a moment. Then she suddenly sank upon her knees in the samespot where she had knelt before, and her lips began to murmur a prayer. 

"Pauline!" he cried imploringly. 

She shook her head gently, as though to drive away an inner vision, andturned entirely away from him. 

"Pauline! Let me at least have your address! I will not leave you soagain!"

She bowed her head upon her clasped hands, and neither moved noranswered. 

Rudolf went close to her and laid his hand on her shoulder. A longshudder passed visibly and perceptibly through her whole frame, and sheburied her face still more closely in her hands. 

He understood her--

The first signal of bell ringing sounded, which announced the closingof the cemetery. Rudolf cast a hasty glance towards the entrance. Hiswife and his brother-in-law, with whom he had appointed this place ofmeeting, had just appeared there and were looking in every direction. Rudolf glanced once more at the kneeling supplicant, then with a slow, noiseless, faltering step he left the circle of flowers. He passeddown the wide avenue as though walking in a dream. When he had nearlyreached the gate he stopped and turned for the last time. The westernsky was steeped in the glow of sunset. A light mist was rising fromthe damp ground, filling the paths of the cemetery and effacing theoutlines of the human beings and the monuments. Shrouded by thesefloating vapours, Pauline's motionless dark figure stood forth instrong relief against the bright sky, and seemed to be graduallymerging into a background of flaming crimson sunset. 

Rudolf felt as if he were beholding his own youth fade and melt intowhite cloudlets of mist. 

II. 

ANOTHER WAY. 

"So we have met again, old fellow?" said Wolf Breuning, with heartfeltpleasure, filling his friend Sigmund Friese's glass with wine. 

"May it not be so long before the next meeting, " cried Sigmund, as hetouched glasses and drank. 

Wolf Breuning, a tall, handsome man, with bold blue eyes and a long, parted beard, which seemed as though it was woven of threads of redgold, was the manager of a chemical factory in Paris. Sigmund Friese, shorter in stature, with a gentle, somewhat sensitive face, a short, fair, curly beard, and hair aristocratically thin, which alreadysuggested a diplomatic bald head, was teaching mathematics in anAmerican university. Both were natives of South Germany, friends fromchildhood, and had once plunged into the flood of life from the samespot on the shore, but were afterward washed far apart. 

After a long absence, Sigmund had come from Washington to Europe toattend his sister's wedding, and availed himself of the opportunity, onthe way from Havre to Mannheim, to visit his friend Wolf in Paris. Thelatter met him at the station and took him to his pleasant bachelorlodgings in the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette. Now, scarcely an hourlater, the first overflow of mutual confidences had been exchanged, andthe friends were seated comfortably at dinner. 

"Do you know that it is thirteen years since our last meeting?" askedWolf. 

"Thirteen years!" sighed Sigmund. "How many more times shall weexperience such a period?"

"Never again, " replied Wolf, "the period from the twenty-fourth to thethirty-seventh year. "

"The festal time of life!" said Sigmund; and after a pause, raising theglass to his lips, he added:

"Gone, gone!"

"You have no cause to complain, " said Wolf consolingly; "youth is past, but you have used it well. A great name in science, an honourableposition, comfortable circumstances----"

Sigmund smiled sorrowfully and pointed to his bald head. 

"Yes, my friend, " cried Wolf, "we must make no unreasonable demands onlife. Luxuriant locks, and a well-paid professorship, teeth andcelebrity, youth and orders, prosperity, successes of all kinds, thesewe cannot have unless we are born to royal rank. "

"When we consider how much we strive and how little we attain! What wedream, and to what realities we waken. "

"Sigmund, you are unjust. Thirteen years ago did you imagine, in yourboldest expectations, more than you have now attained?"

"Perhaps not. But, to have it afford me pleasure, I ought to haveattained it immediately after that time. "

"Of course we are more weary when we reach the goal than at the start. "

"But this weariness very materially diminishes our pleasure in havingreached it. "

"Ah, I know the one thing wanting for your happiness, " cried Wolf. 

"Well?"

"A wife. "

"Oh! you have no right to preach marriage, since you have remained abachelor yourself. "

"I am three years younger than you. "

"But you are thirty-seven. "

"True, " replied Wolf, and for a time remained silent and thoughtful. Then he continued:

"What would you have? Fate destines us to live in a foreign country, without family intercourse, far from the circle with which one isunited by early memories and the first affections of the heart; we donot definitely seek, Fate does not help us find. We adjust our livesto habits which really leave no room for a wife, and so the years flitby till some day we discover that we are bachelors and that it is toolate to change. "

"That is exactly my case; I did not suppose it was yours also. "

"With me, " replied Wolf, "something else is added. Recollections whichmake marriage rather dreaded than desired. We know how we have beenloved, and fear that we shall not find such love again. We compare inadvance a virtuous wife with the woman whose distant image is somewhattransfigured by the past, and confess that we have been completelyspoiled for the part of a husband content to sit phlegmatically in thechimney corner. "

"You still think of Helene?" cried Sigmund in surprise. 

"Why shouldn't I?" replied Wolf, "you also remember her, as I see. "

"True, " Sigmund assented. "I have not forgotten her. She was abewitchingly beautiful and charming woman. What a tempting mouth!What wicked eyes! And her clever talk! Her merry disposition!Wherever she was, she filled everything with life and animation. "

Wolf gazed thoughtfully into vacancy, and made no reply. 

"She loved you very dearly, " Sigmund added. 

Still Wolf remained silent. 

"And you loved her. "

"Yes, " Wolf answered at last, drawing his fingers slowly through hisred beard. "I loved Helene very dearly. So long as I was with her, Idid not notice it, and when the child was born, I even felt greatlydisturbed by the thought that I should now have her bound to meforever. Not until after we had separated did I discover how large aplace she had filled in my life. And the more distant that timebecomes, it grows larger instead of less. A reversion of all the lawsof perspective. "

"But an intelligible phenomenon, " observed Sigmund. "Helene hasbecome, in your remembrance, the embodiment of your youth, and thelonging with which you think of her concerns your twenty-four years atleast as much as she herself. "

"It may be so. The fact is that I see Helene in a golden light ofyouth and careless happiness, and cannot think of her without tears. "

"Do you know, friend Wolf, that you perhaps did wrong to leave her?"

"There are hours when I believe it. When we have found a creature whomwe love, and who loves us in return, we ought on no account to give herup. We never know whether it will be possible to replace. And, afterall, love is the only thing which makes life worth living. "

"What would you have, Sigmund? That is the wisdom of mature years. Atfour and twenty we have not yet reached that knowledge. At that time Iperceived only that I had picked Helene up in the Luxembourg gardens, that is, as it were, in the streets. I knew that I was not her firstlove--"

"But her only one, " interposed Sigmund. 

"So she said, yes. But I had the feeling that I owed her nothing. Love for love. This I gave her, and she ought to ask nothing more. Yet it was an extremely careless relation, and I fully realized itsdoubtful character. At that time I should have advised any one else inmy situation to release themselves from it kindly, and--well, I gavemyself the same counsel. 

"Your heart, even then, must have told you that you were wrong, and Ithink your common sense tells you so now. After all, the reasoning ofthe heart and that of the intellect does not differ so widely as sillywise folk suppose. "

Wolf made no answer. 

"Do you remember, " Sigmund began again, "when I came from Heidelberg tovisit you thirteen years ago? It was my first trip to Paris. Thecity, its life, the people, everything produced an overpoweringimpression upon me. And in the midst of this frantic rush was thecharming idyl; you and Helene. Your little room in the quiet streetseemed like a magic isle in the roaring ocean. What was the name ofthat street?"

"The Rue St. Dominique. "

"Yes. I should like to make a pilgrimage there to see the old house. "

"Impossible. The house has been torn down. The street hasdisappeared. The magnificent Boulevard St. Germain now runs throughthere. "

"So nothing is to be found again! Nothing is left of all the beautifulthings which we experience, save the shadow of its memory in our souls!We ought never to return to the scenes of past happiness, unless we aresure of finding them unchanged. "

Sigmund was becoming more and more tender and sensitive. It was hisnature. 

He continued:

"How often I have lived over again the evening when you went to Dr. Amandier's reception, and left me alone with Helene. I was veryawkward. I did not know how I ought to treat her, and the more at easeshe appeared, the more embarassed I became. I paid her compliments, she laughed. Conversation was difficult, for I had no great knowledgeof French. She took pity on me and sat down at the cottage piano. Sheplayed very prettily. Very often she turned round and smiled at me. She was extremely bewitching, and my heart glowed. I envied you. Iplanned all sorts of base things. I paid court to her. I confess itnow. You are not angry with me?"

"Don't fear, " replied Wolf smilingly, "Helene told me about it as soonas I came home. I was not jealous of you. "

"Thank you, " replied Sigmund with comical irritability. "Summoning mywhole vocabulary, I said all sorts of pretty things to her, but whiletalking excitedly, with burning cheeks, she took up the little dog ourfriend Tannemann gave her, and calmly began to hunt for fleas in hiscurly hair. This made me so furious that I started up and rushed offwithout a farewell. "

"But you were appeased the next day, " observed Wolf. 

"Of course. When my blood had become cool, her composure in thepresence of my love-making inspired respect. Then we became the bestfriends, and she remarked: 'Since you no longer say that you love me, Ilove you. ' And do you remember the Sunday excursion?"

"Certainly. To St Cloud. With Tannemann. "

"It was enough to made one die of laughing. Helene intentionallytalked extremely fast, so that Tannemann, who knew little about French, could not understand her. He was terribly provoked because he wascontinually obliged to ask her to repeat everything two or three times. What a merry breakfast we had on the grass in the midst of the ruins!"

"You carried the two bottles of wine in the pockets of your overcoat. "

"And you the ham and the chicken. Helene had the bread and butter andthe dishes in a little basket. Tannemann was to furnish the dessert. But when the time came for that, he declared that there was somemisunderstanding, nothing had been said to him about it. "

"He is still the same skinflint he was then. "

"The same old pedant, too? Whenever Helene kissed you, he looked awayindignantly. "

"Helene was very loving that day. How you blushed when she said thatthe only thing we needed to be thoroughly comfortable was that youshould have brought a little friend too. "

Sigmund sighed deeply. 

"Yes, we were young then, " Wolf said, closing the retrospect. 

"And you at least know that you have been young. You possess beautifulmemories, of which nothing and no one can deprive you. 

 "'Who'er has been clasped in the arms of love, All poverty's ills is for aye raised above; E'en though he should die afar and alone, Still would he possess the blissful hour When kisses upon her lips he did shower, And, e'en in death, she would yet be his own. '"

"Yours?" asked Wolf. 

"Nonsense, that's no mathematician's poetry. Old Storm. "

"The feeling is true, though it is somewhat insipidly expressed. Memories are indeed wealth, though it arouses melancholy to rummageamid the treasure. "

"Tell me, Wolf--what has become of Helene?"

"I hope she is faring very well. "

"You do not know?"

"I will tell you what I know about her. I was going to Spain at thattime, as you are aware, about the copper-mining business. But I had togive it up because I would not leave Helene. Our child died when itwas six weeks old. What would I give if I had the boy now! Then Iconsidered his death the solving of a problem. I told Helene that Imust now go to Huelva. She wanted to accompany me. Of course thatwould not do. There were passionate scenes, but I released myself. She promised to return to her father in Douai, and she kept her word, because for a time her letters came from there. "

"So you wrote to each other?"

"Yes, at first. After some time she suddenly appeared in Paris again. She wrote in apology that she could no longer endure that dull Douaiwith her morose old father. After that I heard nothing from her for along time. Then came a letter informing me that she was going to marrya wine-merchant, who cherished no resentment for her past, as herfather had made a sacrifice!"

"Shame!"

"You just said yourself that I ought to have bound her permanently tomy life. "

"Yes, from love, not for a dowry. Besides, you had less to forgivethan the wine-merchant. "

"What of it--that's the morality of people who are called practical. "

"And then?"

"Then the marriage probably took place. I have heard nothing more fromHelene. "

"Did you not try to learn something about her?"

"To be honest--no. I do not think I have a right to cross her path. And what would have been the object of another advance, since she wasmarried? True--I often feel--but we combat such emotions. "

"She has never made the attempt to see you again? Perhaps she thinksthat you are still in Spain. "

"Or she is dead. For when people have loved each other so ardently inthe glorious days of youth, it is impossible to live and becomestrangers. At least it seems so to me. "

"Ah, Sigmund, life is a cruel extinguisher of lights. "

"Certainly, but there are flames which life does not extinguish. Onlydeath----"

A few months had passed since the meeting of the two friends. SigmundFriese was again in Washington, teaching mathematics, when one day hereceived the following letter from Wolf Breuning. 

"DEAREST SIGMUND:--

"What wonderful things chance can bring to pass in the capital! I amwriting to you under the fresh impression of the incident. You willopen your eyes! I was walking through the Rue Rochechouart about twoo'clock this afternoon when an elegantly dressed lady, coming from theopposite direction, suddenly stopped just in front of me. As I wasabsorbed in thought, at first I took no notice but passed on. After afew steps the fleeting perception became a distinct consciousness, andI involuntarily turned. There the lady still stood, as if rooted tothe spot, looking after me. I went back somewhat hesitatingly, thoughcurious, she hastily advanced to meet me and, ere I could distinguishher features through the thick veil, she cried in a stifled voice: 'Iwas not mistaken! It is really you! What good luck! What good luck!'As she spoke she stretched out both hands, clasped mine, pressed them, and continued to hold them. You have guessed it: Helene. What shallI say to you, my friend? I felt as if I were in a dream. Before mestood the woman of whom I so often thought, since your visit morefrequently and more tenderly than ever, the personification of myhappiest moments, the love of my youth, transfigured by memory, forwhom I had longed twelve years, whom I had never expected to see again!You know that I am not usually sentimental, but my eyes grew dim. Icould say only: 'Helene!' Then we had embraced and kissed eachother--through the veil--as if we were mad, in the public street, andin the presence of the passers-by, who looked at us curiously. Helenetook my arm and drew me quickly forward in silence. A hack waspassing. Helene stopped it, sprang in hastily, and then asked: 'Can wego to your home?' 'Certainly, ' I cried. 'Then give the driver youraddress. ' Now we again sat hand clasped in hand, gazing into eachother's eyes, it was a moment full of mingled bliss and pain, such as Ihave scarcely ever experienced. Then came another shower of kisses andcaresses, this time with the veil thrown back and even the hat laidaside--the twelve years of course have not passed over her leaving notrace, but she is still a beautiful, stylish woman--then followedquestions. I was obliged to relate first how I had fared and what Ihad experienced. She rejoiced that I was unmarried, she pressed myhand when I told her that I had not ceased to think of her. Then shebegan to tell her story. She was married. Happily? She really had nocause to complain. Her husband, of course, was not I, but she made nocomparisons. He treated her kindly. He made a great deal of money. Only she was bored. Besides, he was jealous. It was absurd, since hedid not love her. On account of this jealousy she had been obliged tocease writing to me. She was stupid at that time and did not know forwhat the 'to be kept till called for' had been invented--

"Then we reached my lodgings. I was as soft-hearted and imbecile as astudent at his first love-tryst. I did not wish to degrade thismeeting to the level of a commonplace bachelor adventure. I wanted tokeep the bloom and the fragrance of the flower. 

"I began to speak of the past. "

Alas, dear Sigmund!

"She first said that our meeting occurred in the year 1878. When Iclasped my hands and mournfully exclaimed: 'Then you have forgottenthat it was in 1874, ' she was a little confused, but recovered with theswift remark: 'A date is of no importance, the main thing is that wewere happy, oh, very happy!' I asked if she remembered our little nest. 

"'Certainly!' she cried, clapping her hands in delight. She rememberedthat it was in the Rue St. Dominique, but when I attempted to win fromher a description of the furniture, the view from our two windows, sheevaded it. I turned the conversation to you--I don't mention it tooffend you--but there was not the faintest recollection! Completelyforgotten! I spoke of Tannemann--nothing, nothing! Not until Irecalled the little dog could she remember him, but it was especiallythe animal, the giver very dimly. I alluded to our excursion--her eyessparkled, all the details, even the most minute incidents came back toher, and she related with the utmost fluency, in a rapture of delight, a picnic with breakfast in a hut built of branches and an extravagantquantity of wine--which we had never had together. 

"What a shower-bath! My teeth fairly chattered from it. She noticed mycoldness, asked if I had any other love, became irritated when Ipretended not to hear the question, finally said that she must go, andwas thoroughly offended when I did not detain her. She went awaywithout mentioning another meeting and I let her go, without evenasking where she lived. 

"I shall hardly see her again. I regret that I met her. To-day is thefirst time that I have wholly lost Helene, and the loss gives me pain. It was a beautiful self-delusion, and I would gladly have treasured itto my life's end. 

"You were right when you said that we ought not return to the scenes offormer happiness unless we were sure of finding them unchanged. 

"A thousand kind remembrances from your strangely agitated

"WOLF. 

"_Postscript_. Shall I tell you all I think? I believe that Helene hasmistaken me for some one else----"

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 

PART I. 

Herr von Jagerfeld, a rich manufacturer who had recently been elevatedto the rank of baron in the Bavarian nobility, was celebrating a doublefestival: his silver wedding and the completion of his castle, Franzensruhe, which he had built outside the gates of Marktbreit, onthe slope of one of the hills, which, as the last western spur of theSteigerwald, roll in a gradual descent to the bank of the Main. Thecastle was a magnificent edifice, in the Renaissance style--of course. Red sandstone and white marble had been used, with a beautiful effectof colour, for the façade, which made a lavish display of pilasterswith foliage and vine work, niches containing statues, and bay windowswith beautiful wrought iron railings. The castle stood in the midst ofa lovely park filled with trees a century old, which extended up to thesummit of the hill and down to the river. 

The master of the castle liked a lavish style. He had invited to hishouse-warming numerous guests, to whom, in the spacious apartmentsplanned for this purpose, he could offer a really royal hospitality, atonce magnificent and refined. They were chiefly land-owners from theprovince of the Main, rich merchants and manufacturers from Frankfort, and acquaintances from places still more remote, who had flocked herewith their wives and grown children, so that from early morning themansion had been filled with joyous life. 

The entire company assembled for the first time at the banquet whichtook place in the evening. The large dining-hall, wainscoted withpolished marble in the style of the Italian palaces, whose paintedceiling was supported by fluted columns, was lighted by a superbchandelier with hundreds of wax candles, and contained a long tablevery richly set. Silver ornaments, exquisitely wrought, adorned thecentre and the ends. The china, the array of glasses of all shapeswhich stood beside each plate, bore the initial of the master of thehouse, without any heraldic addition which might recall the recentelevation of rank, a graceful bit of coquetry on the part of a man whohad been successful in life, but who was no upstart. At every platewas also placed a bouquet, in a holder representing a crystal lily witha silver cup. The company harmonized with the luxurious environment. The married ladies attracted the eye by their elegant toilettes andrich jewels, the young girls--among whom were several of bewitchingbeauty and freshness--in simpler costumes, with flowers in their hair, by their natural charms. Even among the monotonous black dress coatsof the men, an eye which took pleasure in colour found some degree ofsatisfaction in the gay uniforms of several Bavarian and Russianofficers. 

The hostess, still a pretty woman, with her wealth of fair hair and herclear complexion, over whose delicate transparency the years had passedwith scarcely a trace, had at her right an elderly general withnumerous orders, who, being a great eater and a very poorconversationalist, feasted his eyes alternately on his plate and on thepretty faces, whispering to his neighbour remarks about the viands andthe feminine guests, whose artless simplicity--they consisted chieflyof a noun and a laudatory adjective--showed a profoundly satisfied andcomfortable mood. At her left sat a highly esteemed friend of thefamily, Dr. Bergmann, a young physician, a tutor in the Wurzburguniversity, who, during the past three years had twice had theopportunity of saving Frau von Jagersfeld and her eldest daughter, incases of severe illness, from threatening death, and to whom the wholefamily therefore felt unbounded gratitude. Bergmann was a handsomeman, still under thirty, whose grave manner made him appear somewhatolder. A thoughtful brow, an absolutely straight nose, large greyeyes, which on first meeting them looked cold and penetrating, lipssomewhat large, yet well modelled, dark beard, and a luxuriant head ofhair which was permitted to wave, stand up, or lie flat at will, werethe individual features which collectively formed a remarkablyinteresting head. His manner showed a peculiar mingling of modesty, nay, timidity, and vigorous self-reliance. It was evident that he wasunaccustomed to the drawing-room and large companies, and felt at easeonly beside a sick-bed. He was rather awkward in aimless chatter, but, on the other hand, firm and clear in professional conversation. A mereboy in the presence of a talkative, pretty girl, but a hero and aconqueror when with a suffering, anxious human being, beseeching hisaid. His left-hand neighbour, the wife of a Frankfort banker, whochatted rapidly about the architecture of the dining-hall and theWagner performances at Bayreuth, received monosyllabic, hesitatingreplies, while he talked eloquently to the lady on his right, thehostess, upon the influence of modern nervousness upon social forms. 

He paid little heed to the guests, and had only glanced at themcarelessly two or three times, bowing to acquaintances, and hastilyobtaining a general impression of the strangers. At each of thesesurveys his eyes had remained fixed upon a lady who sat directlyopposite to him, and whose beauty was remarkable, peculiar, andfascinating. So far as her figure could be seen, while seated, itappeared slight and delicate, without fragility, girlishly immature, yet not lean in form. The small head, supported by a slender, snow-white neck, was a marvel of grace and elegance, instantlyrecalling the bust of Clytie in the British Museum. One involuntarilylooked for the sunflower from whose calyx it really ought to bloom. The brow was narrow and dazzlingly fair, the nose uncommonly delicate, slightly arched at the root, with mobile nostrils, so delicate that onemight believe them transparent; the mouth not very small, butexquisitely shaped, with thin lips, curving obstinately, which curledsometimes sternly, sometimes scornfully, sometimes bitterly, but couldalso smile with infinite sweetness and charm; the chin round andstatuesque, the cheeks neither plump nor hollow, with a delightful playof tender lights and soft, almost imperceptible shadows over theirbright surfaces. But the most remarkable characteristics of this headwere the large blue eyes, deep as the sea, beneath long lashes andnobly-formed brows, and the luxuriant, almost golden-red hair, whosesilken wealth of naturally waving locks rested above the brow in twobands, like the gleaming wings of some bright-hued tropical bird, whilethe light of the candles, shining on the braids, struck out strange, satiny, metallic reflections, and a powdery, glimmering sparkle, asthough the hair was dusted with gold or ruby powder. Her soleornaments were a diamond star in the hair and an antique gold circleton one of her bare arms. The white dress, trimmed on one side of thebosom to the opposite side of the waist with a garland of artificialflowers, looked simple, yet very elegant. The eye of the most criticalwoman could find no fault in the harmony of the toilette, the coldestman could not avert his gaze from the head, which constantly calledforth the two comparisons to a Greek cameo, or a nixie, comparisonswhich the beautiful woman was compelled to hear so often that theyseemed unbearably commonplace. 

The young lieutenant--a count--who sat at her left hand, was probablywhispering something of the sort into her little ear, for her faceassumed a repellently cold, bored expression, and her eyes were fixeddreamily on vacancy, --many times farther away than the earth from thesun, --from her gallant neighbor, the table, and the hall. ButBergmann's gaze must have followed her all this distance, for itsuddenly met hers, and the tall, grave fellow flushed under her pensiveglance. The hostess looked at him just at this moment, and saw theblood mount into his cheeks. 

"What is the matter?" she could not help whispering. 

He blushed a second time, even more deeply. 

But Frau von Jagerfeld had followed his eye, and now said, smiling:"Ah, your opposite neighbor!"

"Who is the lady?" Bergmann asked, with some little embarrassment. 

"Doctor, " replied Frau von Jagerfeld, this time smiling, "take care. Many wings have already been scorched by her. "

"Don't fear, madame. I can endure flames somewhat better than a moth. "

"Come, come, a suspicious reflection of fire is already visible on yourcheeks. "

A shadow of annoyance flitted across Bergmann's face. His hostess laidher hand quickly on his arm, saying:

"Don't be vexed by a little jest, my dear friend. I will tell you whothe beautiful woman is. She is a German-American, and her name is Mrs. Ada Burgess. Young and charming, as you see, the poor woman isunhappy. Her father is the owner of a gold mine somewhere in Nebraska, and was reputed a very wealthy man; at least he lived in extremelyhandsome style in St. Louis, and his daughter, who was considered thehandsomest girl in the west, from the time of her entrance into societywas the reigning belle of every ball and entertainment. Mr. Burgess, who seems to have been a handsome and elegant man, was her most devotedsuitor and appeared to be madly in love with her. Ada did not remaininsensible to the persistent homage, and Burgess bore away the victoryover numerous rivals. But it now appears that he has a base soul andhis main object was the dowry. There, however, he was disappointed. Gold mines, evidently, are not always productive, at least Ada's fatherwas ruined by his, and Ada did not receive a penny. Then the comedy oflove played by Burgess ended. At first he treated her indifferently, then harshly, and soon matters became so bad that she was obliged toseek refuge from her husband's abuse in her parents' house. Her nerveshad been so shaken by the horrible scenes which she experienced, thatyour American colleagues recommended a long residence in Europe for therestoration of her health. She came here, and for several months haslived in Frankfort, where the best society struggles for her. Yon canimagine that a young and beautiful woman entirely alone, whose husbandis invisible, does not remain unassailed. Besides, there is theAmerican independence and confidence of manner which is often mistakenfor emancipation, and by which a man easily feels encouraged--in short, serious attention has been paid to her, and she has seemed to acceptit. Then suddenly there came a repulse and a rupture, which hasalready resulted in injury to several somewhat delicately strungmasculine hearts. Moreover she is very uneven in her manner. Oftengay, even reckless, devising pranks like a spoiled boy, then suddenlyreserved, distant, and stern. True, she is always intellectual, sothat I know many a man who is uncomfortable in her society, to saynothing of women. "

Frau von Jagerfeld had spoken eagerly in a low tone, with frequentinterruptions when courtesy compelled her to listen to the numeroustoasts which were chiefly proposed to her and to the master of thehouse. Mrs. Burgess could not long fail to notice that the two personsopposite were talking about her, and she smilingly shook her fingeracross the table at her friend. 

"Poor woman, " murmured Bergmann, "so bitter in experience at thethreshold of life--But why does she endure her fate? It is so easy tobe set free in America. "

"I don't know. Perhaps on account of her children. "

"Ah--she has children?"

"Two; and it is strange and touching to see how she rears them. Oftenshe treats them like dolls, and amuses herself for hours by dressingand undressing them, dragging them around the room, and then suddenlydropping them in some sofa corner, head down and feet up. Then again, she talks gravely and tenderly to the little creatures, and tries toinstil good principles--it is too comical. But she is a delightfulcreature, oh, a delightful creature----"

The banquet was over, honor was done to the last toast from brimmingchampagne glasses, and the guests went to the drawing-room. Severalminutes elapsed before the gentlemen had escorted the ladies to theirchairs, and the arrangement appointed according to rank and precedence, which had governed the seats assigned at the table, had yielded to freegathering in groups. Mrs. Burgess had dismissed her lieutenant with asomewhat curt bow, and took her place before a beautiful little Menzel, which she examined a long time. Frau von Jagerfeld and Bergmannreleased themselves almost at the same moment, the former from her oldgeneral, the latter from his banker's wife, and again found themselvesside by side. 

"Do you want me to introduce you to Ada?" she asked, quickly. 

He bowed silently, and offered his arm. On reaching Ada, she lightlytouched her on the shoulder, white as mother-of-pearl, with her fan, and when the lady, somewhat surprised, turned, Frau von Jagerfeld, smiling pleasantly, said: "My dear child, let me present to you ourbest friend, Dr. Bergmann. I must devote myself to the rest of myguests, and, unfortunately, have not time to tell you all the good Ithink of him. But you will discover all that is necessary foryourself. You know, my dear, that you are the two most interestingpeople here. It is fitting for you to be together. " With these wordsshe rustled away to address a few kindly words to the architect of thecastle, who was surrounded by a numerous group. 

Bergman stood before Mrs. Burgess, gazing at her gravely and intently. The more at ease of the two, she sat down on a sofa and, with a gestureof the hand, invited him to take the arm-chair in front of it. 

"Frau von Jagerfeld has talked of you a great deal, and veryenthusiastically, " she said, in a musical, somewhat deep, resonantvoice, which thrilled his every nerve like the sound of bells, and ashe bowed, she added, smiling mischievously: "And of me to you; Iwatched you at the table. "

"Yes, " he answered, "and enthusiastically, also. "

"She is a kind friend, I know. " A brief pause followed, which sheabruptly interrupted. "You are a physician, and in spite of youryouth, a famous one--modesty is unnecessary. It is strange--I likephysicians, and yet I fear them. "

"Why?"

"Yes, why? I like them because they are usually earnest, talented men, who have experienced much, know much, and from whom new and remarkablethings can always be learned. I fear them because they have noillusions. "

"Perhaps that is not always correct. "

"Oh, pardon me; how is a physician to preserve any illusions, when heknows human beings thoroughly, sees that an emotion depends upon thenerve of a tooth, a mood upon the degree of moisture contained in theair, and a character upon the healthy or diseased stomach. You leaveyour illusions upon your dissecting tables. "

"What you say might be true if illusions and experiences came from thesame source. But they do not. "

"I don't fully understand. Explain yourself. "

"What you call illusions are ideal images and aspirations, whichoriginate in the sphere of our impulses and feelings, not in oursensible reasoning. But the impulses and feelings are more elementaryand more deeply rooted, thought comes later and remains more on thesurface. We inherit our illusions from the countless generations thathave preceded us, our experiences we draw from our individual lives. An individual experience cannot outweigh the illusions of a thousandancestors, who form a part of our organism. But, pardon me, I havecaught myself in the midst of a tutor's lecture--you see that impulseis stronger than prudence. "

"Do you ask pardon for that? What you say is so interesting. Isuppose you have a very bad opinion of women, since you do not thinkthem capable of understanding you?"

"I do not generalize. Whatever opinion I might have of women, I shouldnot apply it to you. "

"You understand how to pay compliments admirably. You are notcommonplace. "

He made no reply, but gazed at her with so earnest a look, expressiveof such unconscious admiration and worship that she flushed, and with anervous flutter of her fan rose. Bergmann rose also, bowed, and made amovement to retire. Ada opened her eyes in surprise, and involuntarilya word escaped her lips: "Why----"

"I thought I was wearying you. "

She held out her finger-tips, which he pressed so warmly that shehastily withdrew her hand. Going to one of the three large windows inthe drawing-room, she opened it and stepped out upon the broad, projecting balcony, which on the second story extended along the wholefront of the castle. Leaning against the balustrade, both silentlywatched for a moment the scene before them. The July night was warm, and the air was stirless. Not a cloud appeared in the blackish-bluesky, the stars were sparkling brightly, and among them, almost at thezenith, sailed the full moon. At their feet lay the park, from whichrose faint odours of unknown wild flowers and the more pungentfragrance of dewy grass and leafage. Directly in front of the buildingextended a lawn, with beds of flowers, on which the moonlight poured asort of filmy glimmering mist, which gave the green grass and thebright hues of the flower-beds a light, silvery veil. Beyond the lawn, on all sides, towered the trees of the park, intersected by broadpaths, through which the moonbeams flowed like a gleaming white streambetween steep black banks. At the end of the central avenue appearedthe Main, flowing in a broad, calm stream, with here and there a noisy, troubled spot in the midst of its peacefully-gliding waves, where arock or a sand-bar interrupted the mirror-like expanse, and caused arushing, foam-sprinkled whirlpool. Beyond the river, amid the light, floating night-mists, were dimly seen the houses of a little village, on whose window-panes a moonbeam often flashed, and at the left of thepark rose the indistinct mass of the city of Marktbreit, whose steep, narrow streets were filled with shadows, while above the steeples andhigher roofs the moon-rays rippled, bringing them out in bright reliefagainst the dark picture. 

PART II. 

The spell of this moonlight night mounted to the heads of the twosilent watchers on the balcony like an intoxicating draught, and sentcold chills down their spines. Almost without being aware what he wasdoing, Bergmann offered Ada his arm, which she accepted, leaningagainst him with a gentle, clinging movement of her whole figure. There they stood, letting their dreamy eyes wander over the woods, theriver, and the city. They would have forgotten the castle and theentertainment had not the subdued notes of the dance music reached themfrom the ball-room, whose windows opened upon the balcony on theopposite side of the façade, filling the night with low harmonies whichwere continued in the vibrations of their own nerves. 

At this moment the clock in the Marktbreit steeple struck twelve, directly after the sound of a night watchman's horn was heard, and awailing voice, rising in the sleeping streets of the city, called a fewunintelligible words. 

"What was that?" Ada whispered. 

"The night watchman, according to the custom of the country, called thehour with a verse, " replied Bergmann. A few minutes later the call wasrepeated, this time nearer, and so distinctly that it could beunderstood. The night watchman, with mournful emphasis, sung:

 "Twelve strokes Time's limit do teach thee, Man, think of thy mortality. "

"Life in your Germany is like a fairy tale, " said Ada, after repeatingthe verse to herself; "everything is so dreamy; so pervaded withpoetry. "

"Then stay in our Germany, stay with us, " he pleaded, softly, his voiceexpressing far more than his words. 

She shook her little head sorrowfully. "I came five years too late. "

"Do not say that, " replied Bergmann, pressing the bare arm which restedon his closely to his side. "How old are you now?"

It did not occur to her to smile at the question or to answer it, according to the ordinary custom of women, with an affected reply. Shesaid, instead, as simply as a child:

"Twenty-three. "

"And at twenty-three would it be too late to seek and strive forhappiness in life? When sorrow has been experienced so young, it cansurely be regarded as a childish disease and there is nothing to bedone except to forget it as quickly as possible. "

Ada gazed fixedly into vacancy, saying, as if lost in thought:

"No, no. That is not so. There are injuries which are incurable. Themother of two children is old at twenty-three. Since she can no longeroffer a man the full happiness of love, she has no right to expect itfrom him. "

He was about to answer, but with a hasty movement she placed herslender finger on her lip, saying:

"Hush! Not another word on this subject. Look"--and her hand pointed, down to the park. 

From a bow window in the castle a powerful apparatus was sending abroad stream of electric light into the darkness. It often changed andmoved, being thrown now here, then there. In its course it illuminedthe tops of the trees with a faint, livid phosphorescence, interwovethe shrubbery with fantastic gliding spots of light, and gave the turf, wherever it was visible, the appearance of a strip of a glitteringglacier. In the distance, where the light was lost in the dense groupsof trees, it produced the illusion of indistinct shapes gleaming outthere for a moment and then vanishing. It seemed as if one could seesomething mysterious moving or standing, perhaps a human form, wrappedin floating robes, perhaps a white marble statue hidden behind thefoliage, perhaps a mist, gathering and scattering. Night moths andbats, fluttering across the bar of light out of the darkness into thedarkness, shone brightly during the brief period of their passage, thensuddenly vanished again like moss blown through a flame. The electriclight seemed to make a road through the park, spread a silver carpetover it, and invite the two who watched its course to walk along thisshining road to the distance where the shadowy white shapes hovered inthe shrubbery, appearing and disappearing. 

The temptation was irresistible. 

"Let us go down, " said Ada, and a few minutes later, with a lightmantilla over her shoulders, she was walking by his side over thecreaking gravel of the avenue and then over the noiseless side paths. 

How blissful is the wandering of a handsome young couple, with glowinghearts in their breasts, through a moonlit, fragrant summer night!Their feet do not feel the earth on which they tread, but seem to befloating on clouds. Nothing is left of the world save these two andthe night which maternally conceals them--he and she, naught else, likeAdam and Eve, when they were the only human dwellers in Paradise. 

A damp branch of the bushes often brushed Ada's shoulders like anaffectionate, caressing hand, as she slowly passed along. Now and thena bird whose nest was in the underbrush, disturbed in its sleep, fluttered up before them, and, stupid with slumber, flew to aneighboring bough. Ada sometimes plucked a flower, or cautiouslytouched with her finger one of the little glow worms, which in greatnumbers edged the path with their greenish light. They went down tothe Main and back again to the park fence, facing Marktbreit. Just asthey reached it the clock struck one, and the night watchman blew hishorn, and again solemnly intoned his old-fashioned melody:

 "One thing, Lord God of truth, we want; A happy death to us all grant. "

The full magic of the moment held them both in its thrall. Bergmannpassionately clasped Ada's head between his hands, and pressed a long, ardent kiss on her golden hair and her white brow. Drawing a longbreath, she submitted, not shrinking back until his burning lips soughthers. Their hearts beat audibly as they continued their walk, and longpauses interrupted their faltering speech. 

What did they say to each other? Why repeat it? One who has never hadsuch conversations will not understand them, and one who hasexperienced them, only needs to be reminded of them. They are alwaysthe same. Memories of childhood, rapture and extravagance, words ofenthusiastic love, words which create the slight tremor of the skinlike a cool breeze or the caress of toying fingers. So they walked along, long time in the dark park, without heeding the flight of time, far from the world and unutterably happy. 

"I am tired, Karl, " Ada said at last, and leaned her head on hisshoulder. 

They were near a low, grassy bank, a few paces from the central avenue, and almost under the balcony of the castle, but completely concealed bythe dense shadow of the over-arching trees. Karl spread his shawl overthe bank and the ground, placed Ada on it, and reclined at her feet, resting his head in her lap. The balcony and the windows and lights ofthe drawing-room could all be seen from this spot. The window stillstood open, the notes of a piano were heard, and a voice began the song:

 "From out my tears will bloom Full many a flow'ret fair. "

A pretty, but somewhat cold, female voice, with no special tendernessand feeling. Yet the combined poesy of Heine and Schumann triumphedgloriously over the inadequacy of the execution. The wonderful, choral-like melody soared like the flight of a swan over the rapt pair, and completely dissolved their souls in melody and love:

 "Before thy windows shall ring The song of the nightingale, "

sang the woman's voice above, and the accompanying piano completed theair with an organ-like closing accord. 

 "Before thy windows shall ring The song of the nightingale, "

Karl softly repeated, in his beautiful baritone, thrilling with anapproaching tempest of passion, his arms clasped Ada's waist, and hegazed up at her with wild, flaming eyes. She bent down to him and herlips met his, which nearly scorched them. Leaning back, and gentlypushing his head away, she whispered:

"Don't repeat verses by Heine; say something which is yours, and iscomposed for me. "

"That I will, Ada, " he cried, and, kneeling before her, clasping her ina close embrace and devouring her face with rapturous eyes, his wholebeing wrought up to the highest pitch of emotion, he said in a rapidimprovisation, bursting from the inmost depths of his soul:

 "In the shadowy hour when ghosts do flit, Thou art to me a beauteous dream; To thy lips I cling, yet while I love, My happiness scarce real doth seem. "

 "Thy mouth and thy fair hands I kiss, I kiss thine eyes and thy silken hair, And should our lives end at this hour, Still we should die a happy pair. "

Her eyes were half closed, and her bosom heaved. 

After a short pause, he continued slowly in a tremulous voice:

 "Oh, God, that I should find thee here, Only to cause my woe, For thou wilt vanish from my gaze, Ere the first cock doth crow. "

"No, no, " she murmured, almost inaudibly, sinking into his arms, whichclasped her wildly and ardently, pressing her to his heart, while hislips showered kisses upon her and a sudden ecstasy began to cloud hersenses. 

Then, just at that moment, the clock in the Marktbreit church steeplestruck two, the blast of the horn followed, and the mysterious voicerose in the invisible city and sang, this time close at hand andseemingly with significant emphasis:

 "Two paths are to each mortal shown; Lord, guide me in the narrow one. "

As if stung by a serpent, Ada started up, wrenched herself by a suddenmovement from Karl's clasping arms, and hastened away as though pursuedby all the fiends of hell. A moment later, her white figure hadvanished in the castle and Karl found himself alone before the grassybank; he might have believed it a dream if the mantilla had not stilllain there exhaling Ada's favourite perfume, a faint fragrance ofcarnations. 

With heavy, dulled brain, aching limbs, and a strange sense of pain inhis heart, Karl staggered back to the castle and to his room. For along time sleep fled from him. A thousand scenes hovered in a confusedthrong before his fancy, blending into a witch-dance in whose mazes hisown brain seemed to whirl also, until the giddiness became intolerable. He saw Ada in various transformations--now seated opposite to him atthe table--then in the drawing-room--anon clasped in hisarms--sometimes brightly illuminated as the queen of theball-room--sometimes a faint, dark vision against the sombre backgroundof the woodland--he inhaled her favourite perfume, felt the touch ofher arms and her lips--he heard her voice and the melancholy music ofthe night watchman and the notes of the dancing tune from the ballroom, and amid these exciting delusions of the senses a restless, dream-haunted slumber at last overtook him. 

 * * * * * *

It was almost noon when he awoke. At first his head felt confused andempty, but gradually he collected his thoughts, and now the experienceof the previous night again stood clearly before his eyes. He suddenlyrecalled all his feelings during the walk through the woods, and, whiledressing with the utmost haste, he exultingly repeated in a low toneagain and again: "I love her! And she returns my love! And we willnever part. "

His first thought was to seek Ada. The mantilla, which he must return, afforded the pretext. After several inquiries he found her apartments, which were next to those occupied by the mistress of the house. Ada'smaid opened the door and looked at him in surprise when he gave her thepackage and asked if he could see Mrs. Burgess. 

"She has a headache, and probably won't be up to-day, " was the curtanswer, with which the door was closed in his face. This was adisappointment, and he felt very unhappy and forsaken. Yet heendeavoured to combat these feelings and mingled with the other guests. At noon he exchanged a hurried greeting with Frau Von Jagerfeld, wholooked at him intently, but said nothing when he avoided her glance. In the afternoon he walked to Marktbreit and through the villages onthe neighbouring hills, but the longing of his heart soon drove himback to the castle, where for hours he paced patiently up and down thepillared hall upon which most of the rooms occupied by the visitorsopened. In the evening the guests again assembled at a banquet. Bergmann hoped that Ada would be present, and he was not disappointed. The summons to the meal had been given for the third time, nearly allthe other members of the house-party were in the drawing-room whenAda's door at last opened. Karl rushed forward and held out his handto her. She started, paused an instant on the threshold, then hurriedpast him without turning her head, and swiftly vanished. 

Karl stood as if he were turned to stone, gazing after her retreatingfigure; then forgetting the banquet and everything else, he hastened tohis room and wrote Ada a letter, in which he repeated all theexpressions of love lavished upon her during the preceding night, andbegged for an explanation of her recent conduct. This missive he gaveto Ada's maid, with the urgent request to deliver it to her mistressthat very evening before she retired. Then he went out to try toconquer his agitation by a walk in the park, and when he thought thathe had regained his composure, he returned to the drawing-room to seeand to talk with Ada. The meal was over, gaiety reigned throughout thevarious groups, and a storm of reproaches for his absence from thetable assailed him on all sides. But he looked in vain for Ada. Shehad retired immediately after dinner. 

So she was now reading his letter! Perhaps now she was answering him!His heart throbbed wildly at this thought. He would gladly have madeanother attempt to see Ada in her own apartments, but he felt that heowed her due reserve, and determined to have patience until the nextday. 

When, on the following morning, he came out of his bed-chamber into theante-room, he instantly saw on the table a sealed package which borehis address. He tore the wrapper with trembling hands and found withinhis own letter and a gilt-edged book. It was an English copy ofShakespeare's "Midsummer Night's Dream. " On the first page, in awoman's delicate chirography, were the words: "A Midsummer Night'sDream. July 3, 188--. Ada. " That was all. From the servant, whoappeared at his ring, Bergmann learned the package had been left byMrs. Burgess' maid early that morning. Mrs. Burgess had been gone halfan hour.