[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D. W. ]

A WORD, ONLY A WORD

By Georg Ebers

Translated from the German by Mary J. Safford

Volume 1. 

CHAPTER I. 

"A word, only a word!" cried a fresh, boyish voice, then two hands wereloudly clapped and a gay laugh echoed through the forest. Hithertosilence had reigned under the boughs of the pines and tops of thebeeches, but now a wood-pigeon joined in the lad's laugh, and a jay, startled by the clapping of hands, spread its brown wings, delicatelyflecked with blue, and soared from one pine to another. 

Spring had entered the Black Forest a few weeks before. May was justover, yet the weather was as sultry as in midsummer and clouds weregathering in denser and denser masses. The sun was still some distanceabove the horizon, but the valley was so narrow that the day star haddisappeared, before making its majestic entry into the portals of night. 

When it set in a clear sky, it only gilded the border of pine trees onthe crest of the lofty western heights; to-day it was invisible, and theoccasional, quickly interrupted twittering of the birds seemed more inharmony with the threatening clouds and sultry atmosphere than the lad'sgay laughter. 

Every living creature seemed to be holding its breath in anxioussuspense, but Ulrich once more laughed joyously, then bracing his bareknee against a bundle of faggots, cried:

"Give me that stick, Ruth, that I may tie it up. How dry the stuff is, and how it snaps! A word! To sit over books all day long for one stupidword--that's just nonsense!"

"But all words are not alike, " replied the girl. 

"Piff is paff, and paff is puff!" laughed Ulrich. "When I snap thetwigs, you always hear them say 'knack, knack, ' and 'knack' is a wordtoo. The juggler Caspar's magpie, can say twenty. "

"But father said so, " replied Ruth, arranging the dry sticks. "He toilshard, but not for gold and gain, to find the right words. You are alwayswanting to know what he is looking for in his big books, so I plucked upcourage to ask him, and now I know. I suppose he saw I was astonished, for he smiled just as he does when you have asked some foolish questionat lessons, and added that a word was no trifling thing and should not bedespised, for God had made the world out of one single word. "

Ulrich shook his head, and after pondering a few minutes, replied. 

"Do you believe that?"

"Father said so, " was the little girl's only answer. Her words expressedthe firm, immovable security of childish confidence, and the same feelingsparkled in her eyes. She was probably about nine years old, and inevery respect a perfect contrast to her companion, her senior by severalsummers, for the latter was strongly built, and from beneath hisbeautiful fair locks a pair of big blue eyes flashed defiance at theworld, while Ruth was a delicate little creature, with slender limbs, pale cheeks, and coal-black hair. 

The little girl wore a fashionably-made, though shabby dress, shoes andstockings--the boy was barefoot, and his grey doublet looked scarcelyless worn than the short leather breeches, which hardly reached hisknees; yet he must have had some regard for his outer man, for a red knotof real silk was fastened on his shoulder. He could scarcely be thechild of a peasant or woodland laborer--the brow was too high, the noseand red lips were too delicately moulded, the bearing was too proud andfree. 

Ruth's last words had given him food for thought, but he left themunanswered until the last bundle of sticks was tied up. Then he saidhesitatingly:

"My mother--you know. . . . I dare not speak of her before father, he goesinto such a rage; my mother is said to be very wicked--but she never wasso to me, and I long for her day after day, very, very much, as I longfor nothing else. When I was so high, my mother told me a great manythings, such queer things! About a man, who wanted treasures, and beforewhom mountains opened at a word he knew. Of course it's for such a wordyour father is seeking. "

"I don't know, " replied the little girl. "But the word out of which Godmade the whole earth and sky and all the stars must have been a verygreat one. "

Ulrich nodded, then raising his eyes boldly, exclaimed:

"Ah, if he should find it, and would not keep it to himself, but let youtell me! I should know what I wanted. "

Ruth looked at him enquiringly, but he cried laughingly: "I shan't tell. But what would you ask?"

"I? I should ask to have my mother able to speak again like otherpeople. But you would wish. . . . "

"You can't know what I would wish. "

"Yes, yes. You would bring your mother back home again. "

"No, I wasn't thinking of that, " replied Ulrich, flushing scarlet andfixing his eyes on the ground. 

"What, then? Tell me; I won't repeat it. "

"I should like to be one of the count's squires, and always ride with himwhen he goes hunting. "

"Oh!" cried Ruth. "That would be the very thing, if I were a boy likeyou. A squire! But if the word can do everything, it will make you lordof the castle and a powerful count. You can have real velvet clothes, with gay slashes, and a silk bed. "

"And I'll ride the black stallion, and the forest, with all its stagsand deer, will belong to me; as to the people down in the village, I'llshow them!"

Raising his clenched fist and his eyes in menace as he uttered the words, he saw that heavy rain-drops were beginning to fall, and a thunder-showerwas rising. 

Hastily and skilfully loading himself with several bundles of faggots, helaid some on the little girl's shoulders, and went down with her towardsthe valley, paying no heed to the pouring rain, thunder or lightning; butRuth trembled in every limb. 

At the edge of the narrow pass leading to the city they stood still. Themoisture was trickling down its steep sides and had gathered into areddish torrent on the rocky bottom. 

"Come!" cried Ulrich, stepping on to the edge of the ravine, wherestones and sand, loosened by the wet, were now rattling down. 

"I'm afraid, " answered the little girl trembling. "There's another flashof lightning! Oh! dear, oh, dear! how it blazes!--oh! oh! that clap ofthunder!"

She stooped as if the lightning had struck her, covered her face with herlittle hands, and fell on her knees, the bundle of faggots slipping tothe ground. Filled with terror, she murmured as if she could command themighty word: "Oh, Word, Word, get me home!"

Ulrich stamped impatiently, glanced at her with mingled anger andcontempt, and muttering reproaches, threw her bundle and his own into theravine, then roughly seized her hand and dragged her to the edge of thecliff. 

Half-walking, half-slipping, with many an unkind word, though he wasalways careful to support her, the boy scrambled down the steep slopewith his companion, and when they were at last standing in the water atthe bottom of the gully, picked up the dripping fagots and walkedsilently on, carrying her burden as well as his own. 

After a short walk through the running water and mass of earth andstones, slowly sliding towards the valley, several shingled roofsappeared, and the little girl uttered a sigh of relief; for in the row ofshabby houses, each standing by itself, that extended from the forest tothe level end of the ravine, was her own home and the forge belonging toher companion's father. 

It was still raining, but the thunder-storm had passed as quickly as itrose, and twilight was already gathering over the mist-veiled houses andspires of the little city, from which the street ran to the ravine. Thestillness of the evening was only interrupted by a few scattered notes ofbells, the finale of the mighty peal by which the warder had just beentrying to disperse the storm. 

The safety of the town in the narrow forest-valley was well secured, awall and ditch enclosed it; only the houses on the edge of the ravinewere unprotected. True, the mouth of the pass was covered by the fieldpieces on the city wall, and the strong tower beside the gate, but it wasnot incumbent on the citizens to provide for the safety of the row ofhouses up there. It was called the Richtberg and nobody lived thereexcept the rabble, executioners, and poor folk who were not granted therights of citizenship. Adam, the smith, had forfeited his, and Ruth'sfather, Doctor Costa, was a Jew, who ought to be thankful that he wastolerated in the old forester's house. 

The street was perfectly still. A few children were jumping over themud-puddles, and an old washerwoman was putting a wooden vessel under thegutter, to collect the rain-water. 

Ruth breathed more freely when once again in the street and among humanbeings, and soon, clinging to the hand of her father, who had come tomeet her, she entered the house with him and Ulrich. 

CHAPTER II. 

While the boy flung the damp bundles of brushwood on the floor beside thehearth in the doctor's kitchen, a servant from the monastery was leadingthree horses under the rude shed in front of the smith Adam's work-shopThe stately grey-haired monk, who had ridden the strong cream-coloredsteed, was already standing beside the embers of the fire, pressing hishands upon the warm chimney. 

The forge stood open, but spite of knocking and shouting, neither themaster of the place, nor any other living soul appeared. Adam had goneout, but could not be far away, for the door leading from the shop intothe sitting-room, was also unlocked. 

The time was growing long to Father Benedict, so for occupation he triedto lift the heavy hammer. It was a difficult task, though he was noweakling, yet it was not hard for Adam's arm to swing and guide theburden. If only the man had understood how to govern his life as well ashe managed his ponderous tool!

He did not belong to Richtberg. What would his father have said, had helived to see his son dwell here?

The monk had known the old smith well, and he also knew many things aboutthe son and his destiny, yet no more than rumor entrusts to one personconcerning another's life. Even this was enough to explain why Adam hadbecome so reserved, misanthropic and silent a man, though even in hisyouth lie certainly had not been what is termed a gay fellow. 

The forge where he grew up, was still standing in the market-placeof the little city below; it had belonged to his grandfather and great-grandfather. There had never been any lack of custom, to the annoyanceof the wise magistrates, whose discussions were disturbed by thehammering that rang across the ill-paved square to the windows of thecouncil-chamber; but, on the other hand, the idle hours of the watchmenunder the arches of the ground-floor of the town-hall were sweetened bythe bustle before the smithy. 

How Adam had come from the market-place to the Richtberg, is a storyspeedily told. 

He was the only child of his dead parents, and early learned his father'strade. When his mother died, the old man gave his son and partner hisblessing, and some florins to pay his expenses, and sent him away. Hewent directly to Nuremberg, which the old man praised as the high-schoolof the smith's art, and there remained twelve years. When, at the endof that time, news came to Adam that his father was dead, and he hadinherited the forge on the market-place, he wondered to find that he wasthirty years old, and had gone no farther than Nuremberg. True, everything that the rest of the world could do in the art of forgingmight be learned there. 

He was a large, heavy man, and from childhood had moved slowly andreluctantly from the place where he chanced to be. 

If work was pressing, he could not be induced to leave the anvil, evenwhen evening had closed in; if it was pleasant to sit over the beer, heremained till after the last man had gone. While working, he was asmute as the dead to everything that was passing around him; in the tavernhe rarely spoke, and then said only a few words, yet the young artists, sculptors, workers in gold and students liked to see the stout drinkerand good listener at the table, and the members of his guild onlymarvelled how the sensible fellow, who joined in no foolish pranks, andworked in such good earnest, held aloof from them to keep company withthese hairbrained folk, and remained a Papist. 

He might have taken possession of the shop on the market-place directlyafter his father's death, but could not arrange his departure so quickly, and it was fully eight months before he left Nuremberg. 

On the high-road before Schwabach a wagon, occupied by some strollingperformers, overtook the traveller. They belonged to the better class, for they appeared before counts and princes, and were seven in number. The father and four sons played the violin, viola and reboc, and the twodaughters sang to the lute and harp. The old man invited Adam to takethe eighth place in the vehicle, so he counted his pennies, and room wasmade for him opposite Flora, called by her family Florette. Themusicians were going to the fair at Nordlingen, and the smith enjoyedhimself so well with them, that he remained several days after reachingthe goal of the journey. When he at last went away Florette wept, but hewalked straight on until noon, without looking back. Then he lay downunder a blossoming apple-tree, to rest and eat some lunch, but the lunchdid not taste well; and when he shut his eyes he could not sleep, for hethought constantly of Florette. Of course! He had parted from her fartoo soon, and an eager longing seized upon him for the young girl, withher red lips and luxuriant hair. This hair was a perfect golden-yellow;he knew it well, for she had often combed and braided it in the tavern-room beside the straw where they all slept. 

He yearned to hear her laugh too, and would have liked to see her weepagain. 

Then he remembered the desolate smithy in the narrow market-place and thedreary home, recollected that he was thirty years old, and still had nowife. 

A little wife of his own! A wife like Florette! Seventeen years old, a complexion like milk and blood, a creature full of gayety and joyouslife! True, he was no light-hearted lad, but, lying under the apple-treein the month of May, he saw himself in imagination living happily andmerrily in the smithy by the market-place, with the fair-haired girl whohad already shed tears for him. At last he started up, and because hehad determined to go still farther on this day, did so, though for noother reason than to carry out the plan formed the day before. The nextmorning, before sunrise, he was again marching along the highway, thistime not forward towards the Black Forest, but back to Nordlingen. 

That very evening Florette became his betrothed bride, and the followingTuesday his wife. 

The wedding was celebrated in the midst of the turmoil of the fair. Strolling players, jugglers and buffoons were the witnesses, and therewas no lack of music and tinsel. 

A quieter ceremony would have been more agreeable to the plain citizenand sensible blacksmith, but this purgatory had to be passed to reachParadise. 

On Wednesday he went off in a fair wagon with his young wife, and inStuttgart bought with a portion of his savings many articles of householdfurniture, less to stop the gossips' tongues, of which he took no heed, than to do her honor in his own eyes. These things, piled high in awagon of his own, he had sent into his native town as Florette's dowry, for her whole outfit consisted of one pink and one grass-green gown, alute and a little white dog. 

A delightful life now began in the smithy for Adam. The gossips avoidedhis wife, but they stared at her in church, and among them she seemed tohim, not unjustly, like a rose amid vegetables. The marriage he had madewas an abomination to respectable citizens, but Adam did not heed them, and Flora appeared to feel equally happy with him. When, before theclose of the first twelvemonth after their wedding, Ulrich was born, thesmith reached the summit of happiness and remained there for a wholeyear. 

When, during that time, he stood in the bow-window amid the fresh balsam, auricular and yellow wallflowers holding his boy on his shoulder, whilehis wife leaned on his arm, and the pungent odor of scorched hoofsreached his nostrils, and he saw his journeyman and apprentice shoeing ahorse below, he often thought how pleasant it had been pursuing the finerbranches of his craft in Nuremberg, and that he should like to forge aflower again; but the blacksmith's trade was not to be despised either, and surely life with one's wife and child was best. 

In the evening he drank his beer at the Lamb, and once, when the surgeonSiedler called life a miserable vale of tears, he laughed in his face andanswered: "To him who knows how to take it right, it is a delightfulgarden. "

Florette was kind to her husband, and devoted herself to her child, solong as he was an infant, with the most self-sacrificing love. Adamoften spoke of a little daughter, who must look exactly like its mother;but it did not come. 

When little Ulrich at last began to run about in the street, the mother's nomadic blood stirred, and she was constantly dinning itinto her husband's ears that he ought to leave this miserable place andgo to Augsburg or Cologne, where it would be pleasant; but he remainedfirm, and though her power over him was great, she could not move hisresolute will. 

Often she would not cease her entreaties and representations, and whenshe even complained that she was dying of solitude and weariness, hisveins swelled with wrath, and then she was frightened, fled to her roomand wept. If she happened to have a bold day, she threatened to go awayand seek her own relatives. This displeased him, and he made her feel itbitterly, for he was steadfast in everything, even anger, and when hebore ill-will it was not for hours, but months, nor at such times couldhe be conciliated by coaxing or tears. 

By degrees Florette learned to meet his discontent with a shrug of hershoulders, and to arrange her life in her own way. Ulrich was hercomfort, pride and plaything, but sporting with him did not satisfy her. 

While Adam was standing behind the anvil, she sat among the flowers inthe bow-window, and the watchmen now looked higher up than the forge, the worthy magistrates no longer cast unfriendly glances at the smith'shouse, for Florette grew more and more beautiful in the quiet life shenow enjoyed, and many a neighboring noble brought his horse to Adam to beshod, merely to look into the eyes of the artisan's beautiful wife. 

Count von Frohlingen came most frequently of all, and Florette soonlearned to distinguish the hoof-beats of his horse from those of theother steeds, and when he entered the shop, willingly found some pretextfor going there too. In the afternoons she often went with her childoutside the gate, and then always chose the road leading to the count'scastle. There was no lack of careful friends, who warned Adam, but heanswered them angrily, so they learned to be silent. 

Florette had now grown gay again, and sometimes sang like a joyous bird. 

Seven years elapsed, and during the summer of the eighth a scatteredtroop of soldiers came to the city and obtained admission. They werequartered under the arches of the town-hall, but many also lay in thesmithy, for their helmets, breast-plates and other pieces of armorrequired plenty of mending. The ensign, a handsome, proud young fellow, with a dainty moustache, was Adam's most constant customer, and playedvery kindly with Ulrich, when Florette appeared with him. At last theyoung soldier departed, and the very same day Adam was summoned to themonastery, to mend something in the grating before the treasury. 

When he returned, Florette had vanished; "run after the ensign, " peoplesaid, and they were right. Adam did not attempt to wrest her from theseducer; but a great love cannot be torn from the heart like a staff thatis thrust into the ground; it is intertwined with a thousand fibres, andto destroy it utterly is to destroy the heart in which it has taken root, and with it life itself. When he secretly cursed her and called her aviper, he doubtless remembered how innocent, dear and joyous she hadbeen, and then the roots of the destroyed affection put forth new shoots, and he saw before his mental vision ensnaring images, of which he feltashamed as soon as they had vanished. 

Lightning and hail had entered the "delightful garden" of Adam's lifealso, and he had been thrust forth from the little circle of the happyinto the great army of the wretched. 

Purifying powers dwell in undeserved suffering, but no one is made betterby unmerited disgrace, least of all a man like Adam. He had done whatseemed to him his duty, without looking to the right or the left, but nowthe stainless man felt himself dishonored, and with morbid sensitivenessreferred everything he saw and heard to his own disgrace, while theinhabitants of the little town made him feel that he had been ill-advised, when he ventured to make a fiddler's daughter a citizen. 

When he went out, it seemed to him--and usually unjustly--as if peoplewere nudging each other; hands, pointing out-stretched fingers at him, appeared to grow from every eye. At home he found nothing butdesolation, vacuity, sorrow, and a child, who constantly tore open theburning, gnawing wounds in his heart. Ulrich must forget "the viper, "and he sternly forbade him to speak of his mother; but not a day passedon which he would not fain have done so himself. 

The smith did not stay long in the house on the market-place. He wishedto go to Freiburg or Ulm, any place where he had not been with her. Apurchaser for the dwelling, with its lucrative business, was speedilyfound, the furniture was packed, and the new owner was to move in onWednesday, when on Monday Bolz, the jockey, came to Adam's workshop fromRichtberg. The man had been a good customer for years, and boughthundreds of shoes, which he put on the horses at his own forge, for heknew something about the trade. He came to say farewell; he had his ownnest to feather, and could do a more profitable business in the lowlandsthan up here in the forest. Finally he offered Adam his property at avery low price. 

The smith had smiled at the jockey's proposal, still he went to theRichtberg the very next day to see the place. There stood theexecutioner's house, from which the whole street was probably named. One wretched hovel succeeded another. Yonder before a door, Wilhelm theidiot, on whom the city boys played their pranks, smiled into vacancyjust as foolishly as he had done twenty years ago, here lodged Kathrin, with the big goitre, who swept the gutters; in the three grey huts, fromwhich hung numerous articles of ragged clothing, lived two families ofcharcoal-burners, and Caspar, the juggler, a strange man, whom as a boyhe had seen in the pillory, with his deformed daughters, who in winterwashed laces and in summer went with him to the fairs. 

In the hovels, before which numerous children were playing, lived honest, but poor foresters. It was the home of want and misery. Only thejockey's house and one other would have been allowed to exist in thecity. The latter was occupied by the Jew, Costa, who ten years beforehad come from a distant country to the city with his aged father and adumb wife, and remained there, for a little daughter was born and the oldman was afterwards seized with a fatal illness. But the inhabitantswould tolerate no Jews among them, so the stranger moved into theforester's house on the Richtberg which had stood empty because a betterone had been built deeper in the woods. The city treasury could use therent and tax exacted from Jews and demanded of the stranger. The Jewconsented to the magistrate's requirement, but as it soon became knownthat he pored over huge volumes all day long and pursued no business, yetpaid for everything in good money, he was believed to be an alchemist andsorcerer. 

All who lived here were miserable or despised, and when Adam had left theRichtberg he told himself that he no longer belonged among the proud andunblemished and since he felt dishonored and took disgrace in the samedogged earnest, that he did everything else, he believed the people inthe Richtberg were just the right neighbors for him. All knew what it isto be wretched, and many had still heavier disgrace to bear. And then!If want drove his miserable wife back to him, this was the right placefor her and those of her stamp. 

So he bought the jockey's house and well-supplied forge. There would becustomers enough for all he could do there in obscurity. 

He had no cause to repent his bargain. 

The old nurse remained with him and took care of Ulrich, who throveadmirably. His own heart too grew lighter while engaged in designing orexecuting many an artistic piece of work. He sometimes went to the cityto buy iron or coals, but usually avoided any intercourse with thecitizens, who shrugged their shoulders or pointed to their foreheads, when they spoke of him. 

About a year after his removal he had occasion to speak to the file-cutter, and sought him at the Lamb, where a number of Count Frolinger'sretainers were sitting. Adam took no notice of them, but they began tojeer and mock at him. For a time he succeeded in controlling himself, but when red-haired Valentine went too far, a sudden fit of rageoverpowered him and he felled him to the floor. The others now attackedhim and dragged him to their master's castle, where he lay imprisoned forsix months. At last he was brought before the count, who restored him toliberty "for the sake of Florette's beautiful eyes. "

Years had passed since then, during which Adam had lived a quiet, industrious life in the Richtberg with his son. He associated with noone, except Doctor Costa, in whom he found the first and only real friendfate had ever bestowed upon him. 

CHAPTER III. 

Father Benedict had last seen the smith soon after his return fromimprisonment, in the confessional of the monastery. As the monk in hisyouth had served in a troop of the imperial cavalry, he now, spite of hisecclesiastical dignity, managed the stables of the wealthy monastery, andhad formerly come to the smithy in the market-place with many a horse, but since the monks had become involved in a quarrel with the city, Benedict ordered the animals to be shod elsewhere. 

A difficult case reminded him of the skilful, half-forgotten artisan;and when the latter came out of the shed with a sack of coal, Benedictgreeted him with sincere warmth. Adam, too, showed that he was glad tosee the unexpected visitor, and placed his skill at the disposal of themonastery. 

"It has grown late, Adam, " said the monk, loosening the belt he wasaccustomed to wear when riding, which had become damp. "The stormovertook us on the way. The rolling and flashing overhead made thesorrel horse almost tear Gotz's hands off the wrists. Three stepssideways and one forward--so it has grown late, and you can't shoe therascal in the dark. "

"Do you mean the sorrel horse?" asked Adam, in a deep, musical voice, thrusting a blazing pine torch into the iron ring on the forge. 

"Yes, Master Adam. He won't bear shoeing, yet he's very valuable. Wehave nothing to equal him. None of us can control him, but you formerlyzounds!. . . . You haven't grown younger in the last few years either, Adam!Put on your cap; you've lost your hair. Your forehead reaches down toyour neck, but your vigor has remained. Do you remember how you cleftthe anvil at Rodebach?"

"Let that pass, " replied Adam--not angrily, but firmly. "I'll shoe thehorse early to-morrow; it's too late to-day. "

"I thought so!" cried the other, clasping his hands excitedly. "You knowhow we stand towards the citizens on account of the tolls on the bridges. I'd rather lie on thorns than enter the miserable hole. The stable downbelow is large enough! Haven't you a heap of straw for a poor brother inChrist? I need nothing more; I've brought food with me. "

The smith lowered his eyes in embarrassment. He was not hospitable. No stranger had rested under his roof, and everything that disturbed hisseclusion was repugnant to him. Yet he could not refuse; so he answeredcoldly: "I live alone here with my boy, but if you wish, room can bemade. "

The monk accepted as eagerly, as if he had been cordially invited; andafter the horses and groom were supplied with shelter, followed his hostinto the sitting-room next the shop, and placed his saddle-bags on thetable. 

"This is all right, " he said, laughing, as he produced a roast fowl andsome white bread. "But how about the wine? I need something warm insideafter my wet ride. Haven't you a drop in the cellar?"

"No, Father!" replied the smith. But directly after a second thoughtoccurred to him, and he added: "Yes, I can serve you. "

So saying, he opened the cupboard, and when, a short time after, the monkemptied the first goblet, he uttered a long drawn "Ah!" following thecourse of the fiery potion with his hand, till it rested content near hisstomach. His lips quivered a little in the enjoyment of the flavor; thenhe looked benignantly with his unusually round eyes at Adam, sayingcunningly:

"If such grapes grow on your pine-trees, I wish the good Lord had givenFather Noah a pine-tree instead of a vine. By the saints! Thearchbishop has no better wine in his cellar! Give me one little sipmore, and tell me from whom you received the noble gift?"

"Costa gave me the wine. "

"The sorcerer---the Jew?" asked the monk, pushing the goblet away. "But, of course, " he continued, in a half-earnest, half-jesting tone, "when oneconsiders--the wine at the first holy communion, and at the marriage ofCana, and the juice of the grapes King David enjoyed, once lay in Jewishcellars!"

Benedict had doubtless expected a smile or approving word from his host, but the smith's bearded face remained motionless, as if he were dead. 

The monk looked less cheerful, as he began again "You ought not to grudgeyourself a goblet either. Wine moderately enjoyed makes the heart glad;and you don't look like a contented man. Everything in life has not goneaccording to your wishes, but each has his own cross to bear; and as foryou, your name is Adam, and your trials also come from Eve!"

At these words the smith moved his hand from his beard, and began to pushthe round leather cap to and fro on his bald head. A harsh answer wasalready on his lips, when he saw Ulrich, who had paused on the thresholdin bewilderment. The boy had never beheld any guest at his father'stable except the doctor, but hastily collecting his thoughts he kissedthe monk's hand. The priest took the handsome lad by the chin, bent hishead back, looked Adam also in the face, and exclaimed:

"His mouth, nose and eyes he has inherited from your wife, but the shapeof the brow and head is exactly like yours. "

A faint flush suffused Adam's cheeks, and turning quickly to the boy asif he had heard enough, he cried:

"You are late. Where have you been so long?"

"In the forest with Ruth. We were gathering faggots for Dr. Costa. "

"Until now?"

"Rahel had baked some dumplings, so the doctor told me to stay. "

"Then go to bed now. But first take some food to the groom in thestable, and put fresh linen on my bed. Be in the workshop earlyto-morrow morning, there is a horse to be shod. "

The boy looked up thoughtfully and replied: "Yes, but the doctor haschanged the hours; to-morrow the lesson will begin just after sunrise, father. "

"Very well, we'll do without you. Good-night then. "

The monk followed this conversation with interest and increasingdisapproval, his face assuming a totally different expression, for themuscles between his nose and mouth drew farther back, forming with theunderlip an angle turning inward. Thus he gazed with mute reproach atthe smith for some time, then pushed the goblet far away, exclaiming withsincere indignation:

"What doings are these, friend Adam? I'll let the Jew's wine pass, andthe dumplings too for aught I care, though it doesn't make a Christianchild more pleasing in the sight of God, to eat from the same dish withthose on whom the Saviour's innocent blood rests. But that you, a believing Christian, should permit an accursed Jew to lead afoolish lad. . . . "

"Let that pass, " said the smith, interrupting the excited monk; but thelatter would not be restrained, and only continued still more loudly andfirmly: "I won't be stopped. Was such a thing ever heard of? A baptizedChristian, who sends his own son to be taught by the infidel soul-destroyer!"

"Hear me, Father!"

"No indeed. It's for you to hear--you! What was I saying? For you, you who seek for your poor child a soul-destroying infidel as teacher. Do you know what that is? A sin against the Holy Ghost--the worst of allcrimes. Such an abomination! You will have a heavy penance imposed uponyou in the confessional. "

"It's no sin--no abomination!" replied the smith defiantly. 

The angry blood mounted into the monk's cheeks, and he cried:threateningly: "Oho! The chapter will teach you better to your sorrow. Keep the boy away from the Jew, or . . . . . . "

"Or?" repeated the smith, looking Father Benedict steadily in the face. 

The latter's lips curled still more deeply, as after a pause, he replied:"Or excommunication and a fitting punishment will fall upon you and thevagabond doctor. Tit for tat. We have grown tender-hearted, and it islong since a Jew has been burned for an example to many. "

These words did not fail to produce an effect, for though Adam was abrave man, the monk threatened him with things, against which he feltas powerless as when confronted with the might of the tempest and thelightning flashing from the clouds. His features now expressed deepmental anguish, and stretching out his hands repellently towards hisguest, he cried anxiously "No, no! Nothing more can happen to me. Noexcommunication, no punishment, can make my present suffering harder tobear, but if you harm the doctor, I shall curse the hour I invited youto cross my threshold. "

The monk looked at the other in surprise and answered in a more gentletone: "You have always walked in your own way, Adam; but whither are yougoing now? Has the Jew bewitched you, or what binds you to him, that youlook, on his account, as if a thunderbolt had struck you? No one shallhave cause to curse the hour he invited Benedict to be his guest. Seeyour way clearly once more, and when you have come to your senses--why, we monks have two eyes, that we may be able to close one when occasionrequires. Have you any special cause for gratitude to Costa?"

"Many, Father, many !" cried the smith, his voice still trembling withonly too well founded anxiety for his friend. "Listen, and when you knowwhat he has done for me, and are disposed to judge leniently, do notcarry what reaches your ears here before the chapter no, Father--I beseech you--do not. For if it should be I, by whom the doctor cameto ruin, I--I. . . . " The man's voice failed, and his chest heaved soviolently with his gasping breath, that his stout leathern apron roseand fell. 

"Be calm, Adam, be calm, " said the monk, soothingly answering hiscompanion's broken words. "All shall be well, all shall be well. Sitdown, man, and trust me. What is the terrible debt of gratitude you owethe doctor?"

Spite of the other's invitation, the smith remained standing and withdowncast eyes, began:

"I am not good at talking. You know how I was thrown into a dungeon onValentine's account, but no one can understand my feelings during thattime. Ulrich was left alone here among this miserable rabble with nobodyto care for him, for our old maid-servant was seventy. I had buried mymoney in a safe place and there was nothing in the house except a loaf ofbread and a few small coins, barely enough to last three days. The childwas always before my eyes; I saw him ragged, begging, starving. But myanxiety tortured me most, after they had released me and I was going backto my house from the castle. It was a walk of two hours, but each oneseemed as long as St. John's day. Should I find Ulrich or not? What hadbecome of him? It was already dark, when I at last stood before thehouse. Everything was as silent as the grave, and the door was locked. Yet I must get in, so I rapped with my fingers, and then pounded with myfist on the door and shutters, but all in vain. Finally Spittellorle--[A nickname; literally: "Hospital Loura. "]--came out of the red housenext mine, and I heard all. The old woman had become idiotic, and was inthe stocks. Ulrich was at the point of death, and Doctor Costa had takenhim home. When I heard this, I felt the same as you did just now; angerseized upon me, and I was as much ashamed as if I were standing in thepillory. My child with the Jew! There was not much time for reflection, and I set off at full speed for the doctor's house. A light was shiningthrough the window. It was high above the street, but as it stood openand I am tall, I could look in and see over the whole room. At the rightside, next the wall, was a bed, where amid the white pillows lay my boy. The doctor sat by his side, holding the child's hand in his. LittleRuth nestled to him, asking: 'Well, father?' The man smiled. Do youknow him, Pater? He is about thirty years old, and has a pale, calmface. He smiled and said so gratefully, so-so joyously, as if Ulrichwere his own son: 'Thank God, he will be spared to us!' The little girlran to her dumb mother, who was sitting by the stove, winding yarn, exclaiming:

'Mother, he'll get well again. I have prayed for him every day. ' TheJew bent over my child and pressed his lips upon the boy's brow--and I, I--I no longer clenched my fist, and was so overwhelmed with emotion, that I could not help weeping, as if I were still a child myself, andsince then, Pater Benedictus, since. . . . " He paused; the monk rose, laidhis hand on the smith's shoulder, and said:

"It has grown late, Adam. Show me to my couch. Another day will comeearly to-morrow morning, and we should sleep over important matters. Butone thing is settled, and must remain so-under all circumstances: the boyis no longer to be taught by the Jew. He must help you shoe the horsesto-morrow. You will be reasonable!"

The smith made no reply, but lighted the monk to the room where he andhis son usually slept. His own couch was covered with fresh linen forthe guest--Ulrich already lay in his bed, apparently asleep. 

"We have no other room to give you, " said Adam, pointing to the boy; butthe monk was content with his sleeping companions, and after his host hadleft him, gazed earnestly at Ulrich's fresh, handsome face. 

The smith's story had moved him, and he did not go to rest at once, butpaced thoughtfully up and down the room, stepping lightly, that he mightnot disturb the child's slumber. 

Adam had reason to be grateful to the man, and why should there not begood Jews?

He thought of the patriarchs, Moses, Solomon, and the prophets, and hadnot the Saviour himself, and John and Paul, whom he loved above all theapostles, been the children of Jewish mothers, and grown up among Jews?And Adam! the poor fellow had had more than his share of trouble, and hewho believes himself deserted by God, easily turns to the devil. He waswarned now, and the mischief to his son must be stopped once for all. What might not the child hear from the Jew, in these times, when heresywandered about like a roaring lion, and sat by all the roads like asiren. Only by a miracle had this secluded valley been spared the evilteachings, but the peasants had already shown that they grudged thenobles the power, the cities the rich gains, and the priesthood theauthority and earthly possessions, bestowed on them by God. He wasdisposed to let mildness rule, and spare the Jew this time--but only onone condition. 

When he took off his cowl, he looked for a hook on which to hang it, andwhile so doing, perceived on the shelf a row of boards. Taking one down, he found a sketch of an artistic design for the enclosure of a fountain, done by the smith's hand, and directly opposite his bed a linden-woodpanel, on which a portrait was drawn with charcoal. This roused hiscuriosity, and, throwing the light of the torch upon it, he started back, for it was a rudely executed, but wonderfully life-like head of Costa, the Jew. He remembered him perfectly, for he had met him more than once. 

The monk shook his head angrily, but lifted the picture from the shelfand examined more closely the doctor's delicately-cut nose, and the noblearch of the brow. While so doing, he muttered unintelligible words, andwhen at last, with little show of care, he restored the modest work ofart to its old place, Ulrich awoke, and, with a touch of pride, exclaimed:

"I drew that myself, Father!"

"Indeed!" replied the monk. "I know of better models for a pious lad. You must go to sleep now, and to-morrow get up early and help yourfather. Do you understand?"

So saying, with no gentle hand he turned the boy's head towards the wall. The mildness awakened by Adam's story had all vanished to the winds. 

Adam allowed his son to practise idolatry with the Jew, and make picturesof him. This was too much. He threw himself angrily on his couch, andbegan to consider what was to be done in this difficult matter, but sleepsoon brought his reflections to an end. 

Ulrich rose very early, and when Benedict saw him again in the light ofthe young day, and once more looked at the Jew's portrait, drawn by thehandsome boy, a thought came to him as if inspired by the saintsthemselves--the thought of persuading the smith to give his son to themonastery. 

CHAPTER IV. 

This morning Pater Benedictus was a totally different person from theman, who had sat over the wine the night before. Coldly and formally heevaded the smith's questions, until the latter had sent his son away. 

Ulrich, without making any objection, had helped his father shoe thesorrel horse, and in a few minutes, by means of a little stroking overthe eyes and nose, slight caresses, and soothing words, rendered therefractory stallion as docile as a lamb. No horse had ever resistedthe lad, from the time he was a little child, the smith said, thoughfor what reason he did not know. These words pleased the monk, for hewas only too familiar with two fillies, that were perfect fiends forrefractoriness, and the fair-haired boy could show his gratitude forthe schooling he received, by making himself useful in the stable. 

Ulrich must go to the monastery, so Benedictus curtly declared with theutmost positiveness, after the smith had finished his work. At midsummera place would be vacant in the school, and this should be reserved forthe boy. A great favor! What a prospect--to be reared there witharistocratic companions, and instructed in the art of painting. Whetherhe should become a priest, or follow some worldly pursuit, could bedetermined later. In a few years the boy could choose without restraint. 

This plan would settle everything in the best possible way. The Jew neednot be injured, and the smith's imperiled son would be saved. The monkwould hear no objections. Either the accusation against the doctorshould be laid before the chapter, or Ulrich must go to the school. 

In four weeks, on St. John's Day, so Benedictus declared, the smith andhis son might announce their names to the porter. Adam must have savedmany florins, and there would be time enough to get the lad shoes andclothes, that he might hold his own in dress with the other scholars. 

During this whole transaction the smith felt like a wild animal in thehunter's toils, and could say neither "yes" nor "no. " The monk did notinsist upon a promise, but, as he rode away, flattered himself that hehad snatched a soul from the claws of Satan, and gained a prize for themonastery-school and his stable--a reflection that made him verycheerful. 

Adam retrained alone beside the fire. Often, when his heart was heavy, he had seized his huge hammer and deadened his sorrow by hard work; butto-day he let the tool lie, for the consciousness of weakness and lackof will paralyzed his lusty vigor, and he stood with drooping head, asif utterly crushed. The thoughts that moved him could not be exactlyexpressed in words, but doubtless a vision of the desolate forge, wherehe would stand alone by the fire without Ulrich, rose before his mind. Once the idea of closing his house, taking the boy by the hand, andwandering out into the world with him, flitted through his brain. Butthen, what would become of the Jew, and how could he leave this place?Where would his miserable wife, the accursed, lovely sinner, find him, when she sought him again? Ulrich had run out of doors long ago. Hadhe gone to study his lessons with the Jew? He started in terror at thethought. Passing his hands over his eyes, like a dreamer roused fromsleep, he went into his chamber, threw off his apron, cleansed his faceand hands from the soot of the forge, put on his burgher dress, which heonly wore when he went to church or visited the doctor, and entered thestreet. 

The thunder-storm had cleared the air, and the sun shone pleasantly onthe shingled roofs of the miserable houses of the Richtberg. Its rayswere reflected from the little round window-panes, and flickered over thetree-tops on the edge of the ravine. 

The light-green hue of the fresh young foliage on the beeches glitteredas brightly against the dark pines, as if Spring had made them a token ofher mastery over the grave companions of Winter; yet even the pines werenot passed by, and where her finger had touched the tips of the branchesin benediction, appeared tender young shoots, fresh as the grass by thebrook, and green as chrysophase and emerald. 

The stillness of morning reigned within the forest, yet it was full oflife, rich in singing, chirping and twittering. Light streamed from theblue sky through the tree-tops, and the golden sunbeams shimmered anddanced over the branches, trunks and ground, as if they had been prisonedin the woods and could never find their way out. The shadows of the talltrunks lay in transparent bars on the underbrush, luxuriant moss, andferns, and the dew clung to the weeds and grass. 

Nature had celebrated her festival of resurrection at Easter, and the dayafter the morrow joyous Whitsuntide would begin. Fresh green life wasspringing from the stump of every dead tree; even the rocks affordedsustenance to a hundred roots, a mossy covering and network of thornytendrils clung closely to them. The wild vine twined boldly up many atrunk, fruit was already forming on the bilberry bushes, though it stillglimmered with a faint pink hue amid the green of May. A thousandblossoms, white, red, blue and yellow, swayed on their slender stalks, opened their calixes to the bees, unfolded their stars to deck thewoodland carpet, or proudly stretched themselves up as straight ascandles. Grey fungi had shot up after the refreshing rain, and gatheredround the red-capped giants among the mushrooms. Under, over and aroundall this luxuriant vegetation hopped, crawled, flew, fluttered, buzzedand chirped millions of tiny, short-lived creatures. But who heeds themon a sunny Spring morning in the forest, when the birds are singing, twittering, trilling, pecking, cooing and calling so joyously? Murmuringand plashing, the forest stream dashed down its steep bed over rocks andamid moss-covered stones and smooth pebbles to the valley. The hurryingwater lived, and in it dwelt its gay inhabitants, fresh plants grew alongthe banks from source to mouth, while over and around it a third speciesof living creatures sunned themselves, fluttered, buzzed and spundelicate silk threads. 

In the midst of a circular clearing, surrounded by dense woods, smoked acharcoal kiln. It was less easy to breathe here, than down in the forestbelow. Where Nature herself rules, she knows how to guard beauty andpurity, but where man touches her, the former is impaired and the lattersullied. 

It seemed as if the morning sunlight strove to check the smoke from thesmouldering wood, in order to mount freely into the blue sky. Littleclouds floated over the damp, grassy earth, rotting tree-trunks, piles ofwood and heaps of twigs that surrounded the kiln. A moss-grown but stoodat the edge of the forest, and before it sat Ulrich, talking with thecoal-burner. People called this man "Hangemarx, " and in truth helooked in his black rags, like one of those for whom it is a pity thatNature should deck herself in her Spring garb. He had a broad, peasantface, his mouth was awry, and his thick yellowish-red hair, which in manyplaces looked washed out or faded, hung so low over his narrow forehead, that it wholly concealed it, and touched his bushy, snow-white brows. The eyes under them needed to be taken on trust, they were so wellconcealed, but when they peered through the narrow chink between the rowsof lashes, not even a mote escaped them. Ulrich was shaping an arrow, and meantime asking the coal-burner numerous questions, and when thelatter prepared to answer, the boy laughed heartily, for before Hangemarxcould speak, he was obliged to straighten his crooked mouth by threejerking motions, in which his nose and cheeks shared. 

An important matter was being discussed between the two strangelydissimilar companions. 

After it grew dark, Ulrich was to come to the charcoal-burner again. Marx knew where a fine buck couched, and was to drive it towards the boy, that he might shoot it. The host of the Lamb down in the town neededgame, for his Gretel was to be married on Tuesday. True, Marx could killthe animal himself, but Ulrich had learned to shoot too, and if the placewhence the game came should be noised abroad, the charcoal-burner, without any scruples of conscience, could swear that he did not shootthe buck, but found it with the arrow in its heart. 

People called the charcoal-burner a poacher, and he owed his ill-name of"Hangemarx" to the circumstance that once, though long ago, he hadadorned a gallows. Yet he was not a dishonest man, only he rememberedtoo faithfully the bold motto, which, when a boy, one peasant wood-cutteror charcoal-burner whispered to another:

"Forest, stream and meadow are free. "

His dead father had joined the Bundschuh, --[A peasants' league whichderived its name from the shoe, of peculiar shape, worn by its members. ]--adopted this motto, and clung fast to it and with it, to the beliefthat every living thing in the forest belonged to him, as much as to thecity, the nobles, or the monastery. For this faith he had undergone muchsuffering, and owed to it his crooked mouth and ill name, for just as hisbeard was beginning to grow, the father of the reigning count came uponhim, just after he had killed a fawn in the "free" forest. The legs ofthe heavy animal were tied together with ropes, and Marx was obliged totake the ends of the knot between his teeth like a bridle, and drag thecarcass to the castle. While so doing his cheeks were torn open, and theevil deed neither pleased him nor specially strengthened his love for thecount. When, a short time after, the rebellion broke out in Stuhlingen, and he heard that everywhere the peasants were rising against the monksand nobles, he, too, followed the black, red and yellow banner, firstserving with Hans Muller of Bulgenbach, then with Jacklein Rohrbach ofBockingen, and participating with the multitude in the overthrow of thecity and castle of Neuenstein. At Weinsberg he saw Count Helfensteinrush upon the spears, and when the noble countess was driven past him toHeilbronn in the dung-cart, he tossed his cap in the air with the rest. 

The peasant was to be lord now; the yoke of centuries was to be broken;unjust imposts, taxes, tithes and villenage would be forever abolished, while the fourth of the twelve articles he had heard read aloud more thanonce, remained firmly fixed in his memory "Game, birds and fish every oneis free to catch. " Moreover, many a verse from the Gospel, unfavorableto the rich, but promising the kingdom of heaven to the poor, and thatthe last shall be first, had reached his ears. Doubtless many of theleaders glowed with lofty enthusiasm for the liberation of the poorpeople from unendurable serfdom and oppression; but when Marx, and menlike him, left wife and children and risked their lives, they rememberedonly the past, and the injustice they had suffered, and were full of afierce yearning to trample the dainty, torturing demons under theirheavy peasant feet. 

The charcoal-burner had never lighted such bright fires, never tastedsuch delicious meat and spicy wine, as during that period of his life, while vengeance had a still sweeter savor than all the rest. When thecastle fell, and its noble mistress begged for mercy, he enjoyed aforetaste of the promised paradise. Satan has also his Eden of fieryroses, but they do not last long, and when they wither, put forth sharpthorns. The peasants felt them soon enough, for at Sindelfingen theyfound their master in Captain Georg Truchsess of Waldberg. 

Marx fell into his troopers' hands and was hung on the gallows, but onlyin mockery and as a warning to others; for before he and his companionsperished, the men took them down, cut their oath-fingers from theirhands, and drove them back into their old servitude. When he at lastreturned home, his house had been taken from his family, whom he found inextreme poverty. The father of Adam, the smith, to whom he had formerlysold charcoal, redeemed the house, gave him work, and once, when a bandof horsemen came to the city searching for rebellious peasants, the oldman did not forbid him to hide three whole days in his barn. 

Since that time everything had been quiet in Swabia, and neither inforest, stream nor meadow had any freedom existed. 

Marx had only himself to provide for; his wife was dead, and his sonswere raftsmen, who took pine logs to Mayence and Cologne, sometimes evenas far as Holland. He owed gratitude to no one but Adam, and showed inhis way that he was conscious of it, for he taught Ulrich all sorts ofthings which were of no advantage to a boy, except to give him pleasure, though even in so doing he did not forget his own profit. Ulrich was nowfifteen, and could manage a cross-bow and hit the mark like a skilfulhunter, and as the lad did not lack a love for the chase, Marx affordedhim the pleasure. All he had heard about the equal rights of men heengrafted into the boy's soul, and when to-day, for the hundredth time, Ulrich expressed a doubt whether it was not stealing to kill game thatbelonged to the count, the charcoal-burner straightened his mouth, andsaid:

"Forest, stream and meadow are free. Surely you know that. "

The boy gazed thoughtfully at the ground for a time, and then asked:

"The fields too?"

"The fields?" repeated Marx, in surprise. "The fields? The fields are adifferent matter. " He glanced as he spoke, at the field of oats he hadsown in the autumn, and which now bore blades a finger long. "The fieldsare man's work and belong to him who tills them, but the forest, streamand meadow were made by God. Do you understand? What God created forAdam and Eve is everybody's property. "

As the sun rose higher, and the cuckoo began to raise its voice, Ulrich'sname was shouted loudly several times in rapid succession through theforest. The arrow he had been shaping flew into a corner, and with ahasty "When it grows dusk, Marxle!" Ulrich dashed into the woods, andsoon joined his playmate Ruth. 

The pair strolled slowly through the forest by the side of the stream, enjoying the glorious morning, and gathering flowers to carry a bouquetto the little girl's mother. Ruth culled the blossoms daintily with thetips of her fingers; Ulrich wanted to help, and tore the slender stalksin tufts from the roots by the handful. Meantime their tongues were notidle. Ulrich boastfully told her that Pater Benedictus had seen hispicture of her father, recognized it instantly, and muttered somethingover it. His mother's blood was strong in him; his imaginary world was avery different one from that of the narrow-minded boys of the Richtberg. 

His father had told him much, and the doctor still more, about the wide, wide world-kings, artists and great heroes. From Hangemarx he learned, that he possessed the same rights and dignity as all other men, andRuth's wonderful power of imagination peopled his fancy with thestrangest shapes and figures. She made royal crowns of wreaths, transformed the little hut, the lad had built of boughs, behind thedoctor's house, into a glittering imperial palace, converted roundpebbles into ducats and golden zechins--bread and apples into princelybanquets; and when she had placed two stools before the wooden bench onwhich she sat with Ulrich her fancy instantly transformed them into asilver coronation coach with milk-white steeds. When she was a fairy, Ulrich was obliged to be a magician; if she was the queen, he was king. 

When, to give vent to his animal spirits, Ulrich played with theRichtberg boys, he always led them, but allowed himself to be guidedby little Ruth. He knew that the doctor was a despised Jew, that shewas a Jewish child; but his father honored the Hebrew, and the foreignatmosphere, the aristocratic, secluded repose that pervaded the solitaryscholar's house, exerted a strange influence over him. 

When he entered it, a thrill ran through his frame; it seemed as if hewere penetrating into some forbidden sanctuary. He was the only one ofall his playfellows, who was permitted to cross this threshold, and hefelt it as a distinction, for, in spite of his youth, he realized thatthe quiet doctor, who knew everything that existed in heaven and onearth, and yet was as mild and gentle as a child, stood far, far abovethe miserable drudges, who struggled with sinewy hands for mere existenceon the Richtberg. He expected everything from him, and Ruth also seemeda very unusual creature, a delicate work of art, with whom he, and heonly, was allowed to play. 

It might have happened, that when irritated he would upbraid her withbeing a wretched Jewess, but it would scarcely have surprised him, if she had suddenly stood before his eyes as a princess or a phoenix. 

When the Richtberg lay close beneath them, Ruth sat down on a stone, placing her flowers in her lap. Ulrich threw his in too, and, as thebouquet grew, she held it towards him, and he thought it very pretty;but she said, sighing:

"I wish roses grew in the forest; not common hedgeroses, but like thosein Portugal--full, red, and with the real perfume. There is nothing thatsmells sweeter. "

So it always was with the pair. Ruth far outstripped Ulrich in herdesires and wants, thus luring him to follow her. 

"A rose!" repeated Ulrich. "How astonished you look!"

Her wish reminded him of the magic word she had mentioned the day before, and they talked about it all the way home, Ulrich saying that he hadwaked three times in the night on account of it. Ruth eagerlyinterrupted him, exclaiming:

"I thought of it again too, and if any one would tell the what it was, I should know what to wish now. I would not have a single human beingin the world except you and me, and my father and mother. "

"And my little mother!" added Ulrich, earnestly. 

"And your father, too!"

"Why, of course, he, too!" said the boy, as if to make hasty atonementfor his neglect. 

CHAPTER V. 

The sun was shining brightly on the little windows of the Israelite'ssitting-room, which were half open to admit the Spring air, thoughlightly shaded with green curtains, for Costa liked a subdued light, andwas always careful to protect his apartment from the eyes of passers-by. 

There was nothing remarkable to be seen, for the walls were whitewashed, and their only ornament was a garland of lavender leaves, whose perfumeRuth's mother liked to inhale. The whole furniture consisted of a chest, several stools, a bench covered with cushions, a table, and two plainwooden arm-chairs. 

One of the latter had long been the scene of Adam's happiest hours, forhe used to sit in it when he played chess with Costa. 

He had sometimes looked on at the noble game while in Nuremberg; but thedoctor understood it thoroughly, and had initiated him into all itsrules. 

For the first two years Costa had remained far in advance of his pupil, then he was compelled to defend himself in good earnest, and now it notunfrequently happened that the smith vanquished the scholar. True, thelatter was much quicker than the former, who if the situation becamecritical, pondered over it an unconscionably long time. 

Two hands more unlike had rarely met over a chess-board; one suggested astrong, dark ploug-ox, the other a light, slender-limbed palfrey. TheIsraelite's figure looked small in contrast with the smith's giganticframe. How coarse-grained, how heavy with thought the German's big, fairhead appeared, how delicately moulded and intellectual the PortugueseJew's. 

To-day the two men had again sat down to the game, but instead ofplaying, had been talking very, very earnestly. In the course of theconversation the doctor had left his place and was pacing restlessly toand fro. Adam retained his seat. 

His friend's arguments had convinced him. Ulrich was to be sent tothe monastery-school. Costa had also been informed of the danger thatthreatened his own person, and was deeply agitated. The peril was great, very great, yet it was hard, cruelly hard, to quit this peaceful nook. The smith understood what was passing in his mind, and said:

"It is hard for you to go. What binds you here to the Richtberg?"

"Peace, peace!" cried the other. "And then, " he added more calmly, "I have gained land here. "

"You?"

"The large and small graves behind the executioner's house, they are myestates. "

"It is hard, hard to leave them, " said the smith, with drooping head. "All this comes upon you on account of the kindness you have shown myboy; you have had a poor reward from us. "

"Reward?" asked the other, a subtle smile hovering around his lips. "I expect none, neither from you nor fate. I belong to a poor sect, that does not consider whether its deeds will be repaid or not. We lovegoodness, set a high value on it, and practise it, so far as our powerextends, because it is so beautiful. What have men called good? Onlythat which keeps the soul calm. And what is evil? That which fills itwith disquiet. I tell you, that the hearts of those who pursue virtue, though they are driven from their homes, hunted and tortured like noxiousbeasts, are more tranquil than those of their powerful persecutors, whopractise evil. He who seeks any other reward for virtue, than virtueitself, will not lack disappointment. It is neither you nor Ulrich, whodrives me hence, but the mysterious ancient curse, that pursues my peoplewhen they seek to rest; it is, it is. . . . Another time, to-morrow. Thisis enough for to-day. "

When the doctor was alone, he pressed his hand to his brow and groanedaloud. His whole life passed before his mind, and he found in it, besides terrible suffering, great and noble joys, and not an hour inwhich his desire for virtue was weakened. He had spent happy years herein the peace of his simple home, and now must again set forth and wanderon and on, with nothing before his eyes save an uncertain goal, at theend of a long, toilsome road. What had hitherto been his happiness, increased his misery in this hour. It was hard, unspeakably hard, todrag his wife and child through want and sorrow, and could Elizabeth, his wife, bear it again?

He found her in the tiny garden behind the horse, kneeling before aflower-bed to weed it. As he greeted her pleasantly, she rose andbeckoned to him. 

"Let us sit down, " he said, leading her to the bench before the hedge, that separated the garden from the forest. There he meant to tell her, that they must again shake the dust from their feet. 

She had lost the power of speech on the rack in Portugal, and could onlyfalter a few unintelligible words, when greatly excited, but her hearinghad remained, and her husband understood how to read the expression ofher eyes. A great sorrow had drawn a deep line in the high, pure brow, and this also was eloquent; for when she felt happy and at peace it wasscarcely perceptible, but if an anxious or sorrowful mood existed, thefurrow contracted and deepened. To-day it seemed to have entirelydisappeared. Her fair hair was drawn plainly and smoothly, over hertemples, and the slender, slightly stooping figure, resembled a youngtree, which the storm has bowed and deprived of strength and will toraise itself. 

"Beautiful!" she exclaimed in a smothered tone, with much effort, buther bright glance clearly expressed the joy that filled her soul, as shepointed to the green foliage around her and the blue sky over theirheads. 

"Delicious-delicious!" he answered, cordially. "The June day isreflected in your dear face. You have learned to be contented here?"

Elizabeth nodded eagerly, pressing both hands upon her heart, while hereloquent glance told him how well, how grateful and happy, she felt here;and when in reply to his timid question, whether it would be hard for herto leave this place and seek another, a safer home, she gazed at first insurprise, then anxiously into his face, and then, with an eager gestureof refusal, gasped "Not go--not go!" He answered, soothingly:

"No, no; we are still safe here to-day!"

Elizabeth knew her husband, and had keen eyes; a presentiment ofapproaching danger seized upon her. Her features assumed an expressionof terrified expectation and deep grief. The furrow in her browdeepened, and questioning glances and gestures united with the"What?--what?" trembling on her lips. 

"Do not fear!" he replied, tenderly. " We must not spoil the present, because the future might bring something that is not agreeable to us. "

As he uttered the words, she pressed closely to him, clutching his armwith both hands, but he felt the rapid throbbing of her heart, andperceived by the violent agitation expressed in every feature, what deep, unconquerable horror was inspired by the thought of being compelled to goout into the world again, hunted from country to country, from town totown. All that she had suffered for his sake, came back to his memory, and he clasped her trembling hands in his with passionate fervor. Itseemed as if it would be very, very easy, to die with her, but whollyimpossible to thrust her forth again into a foreign land and to anuncertain fate; so, kissing her on her eyes, which were dilated withhorrible fear, he exclaimed, as if no peril, but merely a foolish wishhad suggested the desire to roam:

"Yes, child, it is best here. Let us be content with what we have. Wewill stay!--yes, we will stay!" Elizabeth drew a long breath, as ifrelieved from an incubus, her brow became smooth, and it seemed as if thedumb mouth joined the large upraised eyes in uttering an "Amen, " thatcame from the inmost depths of the heart. 

Costa's soul was saddened and sorely troubled, when he returned to thehouse and his writing-table. The old maid-servant, who had accompaniedhim from Portugal, entered at the same time, and watched hispreparations, shaking her head. She was a small, crippled Jewess, agrey-haired woman, with youthful, bright, dark eyes, and restless hands, that fluttered about her face with rapid, convulsive gestures, while shetalked. 

She had grown old in Portugal, and contracted rheumatism in the unusualcold of the North, so even in Spring she wrapped her head in all the gaykerchiefs she owned. She kept the house scrupulously neat, understoodhow to prepare tempting dishes from very simple materials, and boughteverything she needed for the kitchen. This was no trifling matter forher, since, though she had lived more than nine years in the blackForest, she had learned few German words. Even these the neighborsmistook for Portuguese, though they thought the language bore somedistant resemblance to German. Her gestures they understood perfectly. 

She had voluntarily followed the doctor's father, yet she could notforgive the dead man, for having brought her out of the warm South intothis horrible country. Having been her present master's nurse, she tookmany liberties with him, insisting upon knowing everything that went onin the household, of which she felt herself the oldest, and therefore themost distinguished member; and it was strange how quickly she could hearwhen she chose, spite of her muffled ears!

To-day she had been listening again, and as her master was preparing totake his seat at the table and sharpen his goose-quill, she glancedaround to see that they were entirely alone; then approached, saying inPortuguese:

"Don't begin that, Lopez. You must listen to me first. "

"Must I?" he asked, kindly. 

"If you don't choose to do it, I can go!" she answered, angrily. "To besure, sitting still is more comfortable than running. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"Do you suppose yonder books are the walls of Zion? Do you feel inclinedto make the monks' acquaintance once more?"

"Fie, fie, Rahel, listening again? Go into the kitchen!"

"Directly! Directly! But I will speak first. You pretend, that you areonly staying here to please your wife, but it's no such thing. It'syonder writing that keeps you. I know life, but you and your wife arejust like two children. Evil is forgotten in the twinkling of an eye, and blessing is to come straight from Heaven, like quails and manna. What sort of a creature have your books made you, since you came with thedoctor's hat from Coimbra? Then everybody said: 'Lopez, Senor Lopez. Heavenly Father, what a shining light he'll be!' And now! The Lord havemercy on us! You work, work, and what does it bring you? Not an egg;not a rush! Go to your uncle in the Netherlands. He'll forget thecurse, if you submit! How many of the zechins, your father saved, arestill left?"

Here the doctor interrupted the old woman's torrent of speech with astern "enough!" but she would not allow herself to be checked, andcontinued with increasing volubility. 

"Enough, you say? I fret over perversity enough in silence. May mytongue wither, if I remain mute to-day. Good God! child, are you outof your senses? Everything has been crammed into your poor head, butto be sure it isn't written in the books, that when people find out whathappened in Porto, and that you married a baptized child, a Gentile, a Christian girl. . . . . . "

At these words the doctor rose, laid his hands on the servant's shoulder, and said with grave, quiet earnestness. 

"Whoever speaks of that, may betray it; may betray it. Do youunderstand me, Rahel? I know your good intentions, and therefore tellyou: my wife is content here, and danger is still far away. We shallstay. And besides: since Elizabeth became mine, the Jews avoid me as anaccursed, the Christians as a condemned man. The former close the doors, the latter would fain open them; the gates of a prison, I mean. NoPortuguese will come here, but in the Netherlands there is more than onemonk and one Jew from Porto, and if any of them recognize me and findElizabeth with me, it will involve no less trifle than her life and mine. I shall stay here; you now know why, and can go to your kitchen. "

Old Rahel reluctantly obeyed, yet the doctor did not resume his seat atthe writing-table, but for a long time paced up and down among his booksmore rapidly than usual. 

CHAPTER VI. 

St. John's day was close at hand. Ulrich was to go to the monastery thefollowing morning. Hitherto Father Benedict had been satisfied, and noone molested the doctor. Yet the tranquillity, which formerly exerted sobeneficial an effect, had departed, and the measures of precaution he nowfelt compelled to adopt, like everything else that brought him intoconnection with the world, interrupted the progress of his work. 

The smith was obliged to provide Ulrich with clothing, and for thispurpose went with the lad and a well-filled purse, not to his nativeplace, but to the nearest large city. 

There many a handsome suit of garments hung in the draper's windows, and the barefooted boy blushed crimson with delight, when he stood beforethis splendid show. As he was left free to choose, he instantly selectedthe clothes a nobleman had ordered for his son, and which, from head tofoot, were blue on one side and yellow on the other. But Adam pushedthem angrily aside. Ulrich's pleasure in the gay stuff reminded him ofhis wife's outfit, the pink and green gowns. 

So he bought two dark suits, which fitted the lad's erect figure as ifmoulded upon him, and when the latter stood before him in the inn, neatlydressed, with shoes on his feet, and a student's cap on his head, Adamcould not help gazing at him almost idolatrously. 

The tavern-keeper whispered to the smith, that it was long since he hadseen so handsome a young fellow, and the hostess, after bringing thebeer, stroked the boy's curls with her wet hand. 

On reaching home, Adam permitted his son to go to the doctor's in his newclothes; Ruth screamed with joy when she saw him, walked round and roundhim, and curiously felt the woollen stuff of the doublet and its blueslashes, ever and anon clapping her hands in delight. 

Her parents had expected that the parting would excite her mostpainfully, but she smiled joyously into her playmate's face, when he badeher farewell, for she took the matter in her usual way, not as it reallywas, but as she imagined it to be. Instead of the awkward Ulrich of thepresent, the fairy-prince he was now to become stood before her; he wasto return without fail at Christmas, and then how delightful it would beto play with him again. Of late they had been together even more thanusual, continually seeking for the word, and planning a thousanddelightful things he was to conjure up for her, and she for him andothers. 

It was the Sabbath, and on this day old Rahel always dressed the child ina little yellow silk frock, while on Sunday her mother did the same. Thegown particularly pleased Ulrich's eye, and when she wore it, he alwaysbecame more yielding and obeyed her every wish. So Ruth rejoiced that itchanced to be the Sabbath, and while she passed her hand over hisdoublet, he stroked her silk dress. 

They had not much to say to each other, for their tongues always falteredin the presence of others. The doctor gave Ulrich many an admonitoryword, his wife kissed him, and as a parting remembrance hung a small goldring, with a glittering stone, about his neck, and old Rahel gave him akerchief full of freshly-baked cakes to eat on his way. 

At noon on St. John's day, Ulrich and his father stood before the gate ofthe monastery. Servants and mettled steeds were waiting there, and theporter, pointing to them, said: "Count Frohlinger is within. "

Adam turned pale, pressed his son so convulsively to his breast that hegroaned with pain, sent a laybrother to call Father Benedict, confidedhis child to him, and walked towards home with drooping head. 

Hitherto Ulrich had not known whether to enjoy or dread the thought ofgoing to the monastery-school. The preparations had been pleasantenough, and the prospect of sharing the same bench with the sons ofnoblemen and aristocratic citizens, flattered his unity; but when he sawhis father depart, his heart melted and his eyes grew wet. The monk;noticing this, drew him towards him, patted his shoulder, and said: "Keepup your courage! You will see that it is far pleasanter with us, thandown in the Richtberg. "

This gave Ulrich food for thought, and he did not glance around as theFather led him up the steep stairs to the landing-place, and past therefectory into the court-yard. 

Monks were pacing silently up and down the corridors that surrounded it, and one after another raised his shaven head higher over his white cowl, to cast a look at the new pupil. 

Behind the court-yard stood the stately, gable-roofed building containingthe guest-rooms, and between it and the church lay the school-garden, a meadow planted with fruit trees, separated from the highway by a wall. 

Benedictus opened the wooden gate, and pushed Ulrich into the playground. 

The noise there had been loud enough, but at his entrance the gamestopped, and his future companions nudged each other, scanning him withscrutinizing glances. 

The monk beckoned to several of the pupils, and made them acquainted withthe smith's son, then stroking Ulrich's curls again, left him alone withthe others. 

On St. John's day the boys were given their liberty and allowed to playto their hearts' content. 

They took no special notice of Ulrich, and after having staredsufficiently and exchanged a few words with him, continued theirinterrupted game of trying to throw stones over the church roof. 

Meantime Ulrich looked at his comrades. 

There were large and small, fair and dark lads among them, but not onewith whom he could not have coped. To this point his scrutiny was firstdirected. 

At last he turned his attention to the game. Many of the stones, thathad been thrown, struck the slates on the roof; not one had passed overthe church. The longer the unsuccessful efforts lasted, the more evidentbecame the superior smile on Ulrich's lips, the faster his heartthrobbed. His eyes searched the grass, and when he had discovered aflat, sharp-edged stone, he hurriedly stooped, pressed silently into theranks of the players, and bending the upper part of his body far back, summoned all his strength, and hurled the stone in a beautiful curve highinto the air. 

Forty sparkling eyes followed it, and a loud shout of joy rang out as itvanished behind the church roof. One alone, a tall, thin, black-hairedlad, remained silent, and while the others were begging Ulrich to throwagain, searched for a stone, exerted all his power to equal the 11"greenhorn, " and almost succeeded. Ulrich now sent a second stone afterthe first, and, again the cast was successful. Dark-browed Xaverinstantly seized a new missile, and the contest that now followed soengrossed the attention of all, that they saw and heard nothing until adeep voice, in a firm, though not unkind tone, called: "Stop, boys!No games must be played with the church. "

At these words the younger boys hastily dropped the stones they hadgathered, for the man who had shouted, was no less a personage than theLord Abbot himself. 

Soon the lads approached to kiss the ecclesiastic's hand or sleeve, andthe stately priest, who understood how to guide those subject to him by aglance of his dark eyes, graciously and kindly accepted the salutation. 

"Grave in office, and gay in sport" was his device. Count vonFrohlinger, who had entered the garden with him, looked like one whosemotto runs: "Never grave and always gay. "

The nobleman had not grown younger since Ulrich's mother fled into theworld, but his eyes still sparkled joyously and the brick-red hue thattinged his handsome face between his thick white moustache and his eyes, announced that he was no less friendly to wine than to fair women. Howwell his satin clothes and velvet cloak became him, how beautifully thewhite puffs were relieved against the deep blue of his dress! Howproudly the white and yellow plumes arched over his cap, and how delicatewere the laces on his collar and cuffs! His son, the very image of thehandsome father, stood beside him, and the count had laid his handfamiliarly on his shoulder, as if he were not his child, but a friendand comrade. 

"A devil of a fellow!" whispered the count to the abbot. "Did you seethe fair-haired lad's throw? From what house does the young noble come?"

The prelate shrugged his shoulders, and answered smiling:

"From the smithy at Richtberg. "

"Does he belong to Adam?" laughed the other. "Zounds! I had a bitterhour in the confessional on his mother's account. He has inherited thebeautiful Florette's hair and eyes; otherwise he looks like his father. With your permission, my Lord Abbot, I'll call the boy. "

"Afterwards, afterwards, " replied the superior of the monastery in a toneof friendly denial, which permitted no contradiction. "First tell theboys, what we have decided?"

Count Frohlinger bowed respectfully, then drew his son closer to hisside, and waited for the boys, to whom the abbot beckoned. 

As soon as they had gathered in a group before him, the noblemanexclaimed:

"You have just bid this good-for-nothing farewell. What should you say, if I left him among you till Christmas? The Lord Abbot will keep him, and you, you. . . . "

But he had no time to finish the sentence. The pupils rushed upon him, shouting:

"Stay here, Philipp! Count Lips must stay!"

One little flaxen-headed fellow nestled closely to his regainedprotector, another kissed the count's hand, and two larger boys seizedPhilipp by the arm and tried to drag him away from his father, back intotheir circle. 

The abbot looked on at the tumult kindly, and bright tear-drops ran downinto the old count's beard, for his heart was easily touched. When herecovered his composure, he exclaimed:

"Lips shall stay, you rogues; he shall stay! And the Lord Abbot hasgiven you permission, to come with me to-day to my hunting-box and lighta St. John's fire. There shall be no lack of cakes and wine. "

"Hurrah! hurrah! Long live the count!" shouted the pupils, and allwho had caps tossed them into the air. Ulrich was carried away by theenthusiasm of the others; and all the evil words his father had solavishly heaped on the handsome, merry gentleman--all Hangemarx's abuseof knights and nobles were forgotten. 

The abbot and his companion withdrew, but as soon as the boys knew thatthey were unobserved, Count Lips cried:

"You fellow yonder, you greenhorn, threw the stone over the roof. I sawit. Come here. Over the roof? That should be my right. Whoever breaksthe first window in the steeple, shall be victor. "

The smith's son felt embarrassed, for he shrank from the mischief andfeared his father and the abbot. But when the young count held out hisclosed hands, saying: "If you choose the red stone, you shall throwfirst, " he pointed to his companion's right hand, and, as it concealedthe red pebble, began the contest. He threw the stone, and struck thewindow. Amid loud shouts of exultation from the boys, more than oneround pane of glass, loosened from the leaden casing, rattled in brokenfragments on the church roof, and from thence fell silently on the grass. Count Lips laughed aloud in his delight, and was preparing to followUlrich's example, but the wooden gate was pushed violently open, andBrother Hieronymus, the most severe of all the monks, appeared in theplayground. The zealous priest's cheeks glowed with anger, terrible werethe threats he uttered, and declaring that the festival of St. Johnshould not be celebrated, unless the shameless wretch, who hadblasphemously shattered the steeple window, confessed his fault, he scanned the pupils with rolling eyes. 

Young Count Lips stepped boldly forward, saying beseechingly:

"I did it, Father--unintentionally! Forgive me!"

"You?" asked the monk, his voice growing lower and more gentle, as hecontinued: "Folly and wantonness without end! When will you learndiscretion, Count Philipp? But as you did it unintentionally, I willlet it pass for to-day. "

With these words, the monk left the court-yard; and as soon as the gatehad closed behind him, Ulrich approached his generous companion, and saidin a tone that only he could hear, yet grateful to the inmost depths ofhis heart:

"I will repay you some day. "

"Nonsense!" laughed the young count, throwing his arm over the shoulderof the artisan's son. "If the glass wouldn't rattle, I would throw now;but there's another day coming to-morrow. "

CHAPTER VII. 

Autumn had come. The yellow leaves were fluttering about the schoolplay-ground, the starlings were gathering in flocks on the church roofto take their departure, and Ulrich would fain have gone with them, nomatter where. He could not feel at home in the monastery and among hiscompanions. Always first in Richtberg, he was rarely so here, mostseldom of all in school, for his father had forbidden the doctor toteach him Latin, so in that study he was last of all. 

Often, when every one was asleep, the poor lad sat studying by the ever-burning lamp in the lobby, but in vain. He could not come up with theothers, and the unpleasant feeling of remaining behind, in spite of themost honest effort, spoiled his life and made him irritable. 

His comrades did not spare him, and when they called him "horse-boy, "because he was often obliged to help Pater Benedictus in bringingrefractory horses to reason, he flew into a rage and used his superiorstrength. 

He stood on the worst terms of all with black-haired Xaver, to whom heowed the nickname. 

This boy's father was the chief magistrate of the little city, and wasallowed to take his son home with him at Michaelmas. 

When the black-haired lad returned, he had many things to tell, gatheredfrom half-understood rumor, about Ulrich's parents. Words were nowuttered, that brought the blood to Ulrich's cheeks, yet he intentionallypretended not to hear them, because he dared not contradict tales thatmight be true. He well knew who had brought all these stories to theothers, and answered Xaver's malicious spite with open enmity. 

Count Lips did not trouble himself about any of these things, butremained Ulrich's most intimate friend, and was fond of going with himto see the horses. His vivacious intellect joyously sympathized with thesmith's son, when he told him about Ruth's imaginary visions, and oftenin the play-ground he went apart with Ulrich from their companions; butthis very circumstance was a thing that many, who had formerly been onmore intimate terms with the aristocratic boy, were not disposed toforgive the new-comer. 

Xaver had never been friendly to the count's son, and succeeded inirritating many against their former favorite, because he fancied himselfbetter than they, and still more against Ulrich, who was half a servant, yet presumed to play the master and offer them violence. 

The monks employed in the school soon noticed the ill terms, on which thenew pupil stood with his companions, and did not lack reasons for shakingtheir heads over him. 

Benedictus had not been able to conceal, who had been Ulrich's teacherin Richtberg; and the seeds the Jew had planted in the boy, seemed to bebearing strange and vexatious fruit. 

Father Hieronymus, who instructed the pupils in religion, fairly raged, when he spoke of the destructive doctrines, that haunted the newscholar's head. 

When, soon after Ulrich's reception into the school, he had spoken ofChrist's work of redemption, and asked the boy: "From what is the worldto be delivered by the Saviour's suffering?" the answer was: "From thearrogance of the rich and great. " Hieronymus had spoken of the holysacraments, and put the question: "By what means can the Christian surelyobtain mercy, unless he bolts the door against it--that is, commits amortal sin?" and Ulrich's answer was: "By doing unto others, what youwould have others do unto you. "

Such strange words might be heard by dozens from the boy's lips. Somewere repeated from Hangemarx's sayings, others from the doctor's; andwhen asked where he obtained them, he quoted only the latter, for themonks were not to be allowed to know anything about his intercourse withthe poacher. 

Sharp reproofs and severe penances were now bestowed, for many a wordthat he had thought beautiful and pleasing in the sight of God; and thepoor, tortured young soul often knew no help in its need. 

He could not turn to the dear God and the Saviour, whom he was said tohave blasphemed, for he feared them; but when he could no longer bear hisgrief, discouragement, and yearning, he prayed to the Madonna for help. 

The image of the unhappy woman, about whom he had heard nothing but illwords, who had deserted him, and whose faithlessness gave the other boysa right to jeer at him, floated before his eyes, with that of the pure, holy Virgin in the church, brought by Father Lukas from Italy. 

In spite of all the complaints about him, which were carried to theabbot, the latter thought him a misguided, but good and promising boy, an opinion strengthened by the music-teacher and the artist Lukas, whosebest pupil Ulrich was; but they also were enraged against the Jew, whohad lured this nobly-gifted child along the road of destruction; andoften urged the abbot, who was anything but a zealot, to subject him toan examination by torture. 

In November, the chief magistrate was summoned, and informed of theheresies with which the Hebrew had imperiled the soul of a Christianchild. 

The wise abbot wished to avoid anything, that would cause excitement, during this time of rebellion against the power of the Church, but themagistrate claimed the right to commence proceedings against the doctor. Of course, he said, sufficient proof must be brought against the accused. Father Hieronymus might note down the blasphemous tenets he heard fromthe boy's lips before witnesses, and at the Advent season the smith andhis son would be examined. 

The abbot, who liked to linger over his books, was glad to know that thematter was in the hands of the civil authorities, and enjoined Hieronymusto pay strict attention. 

On the third Sunday in Advent, the magistrate again came to themonastery. His horses had worked their way with the sleigh through thedeep snow in the ravine with much difficulty, and, half-frozen, he wentdirectly to the refectory and there asked for his son. 

The latter was lying with a bandaged eye in the cold dormitory, and whenhis father sought him, he heard that Ulrich had wounded him. 

It would not have needed Xaver's bitter complaints, to rouse his fatherto furious rage against the boy who had committed this violence, and hewas by no means satisfied, when he learned that the culprit had beenexcluded for three weeks from the others' sports, and placed on a veryfrugal diet. He went furiously to the abbot. 

The day before (Saturday), Ulrich had gone at noon, without the youngcount, who was in confinement for some offence, to the snow-covered play-ground, where he was attacked by Xaver and a dozen of his comrades, pushed into a snow-bank, and almost suffocated. The conspirators hadstuffed icicles and snow under his clothes next his skin, taken off hisshoes and filled them with snow, and meantime Xaver jumped upon his back, pressing his face into the snow till Ulrich lost his breath, and believedhis last hour had come. 

Exerting the last remnant of his strength, he had succeeded in throwingoff and seizing his tormentor. While the others fled, he wreaked hisrage on the magistrate's son to his heart's content, first with hisfists, and then with the heavy shoe that lay beside him. Meantime, snowballs had rained upon his body and head from all directions, increasing his fury; and as soon as Xaver no longer struggled he startedup, exclaiming with glowing cheeks and upraised fists:

"Wait, wait, you wicked fellows! The doctor in Richtberg knows a word, by which he shall turn you all into toads and rats, you miserablerascals!"

Xaver had remembered this speech, which he repeated to his father, cleverly enlarged with many a false word. The abbot listened to themagistrate's complaint very quietly. 

The angry father was no sufficient witness for him, yet the matter seemedimportant enough to send for and question Ulrich, though the meal-timehad already begun. The Jew had really spoken to his daughter about themagic word, and the pupil of the monastery had threatened his companionswith it. So the investigation might begin. 

Ulrich was led back to the prison-chamber, where some thin soup and breadawaited him, but he touched neither. Food and drink disgusted him, andhe could neither work nor sit still. 

The little bell, which, summoned all the occupants of the monastery, washeard at an unusual hour, and about vespers the sound of sleigh-bellsattracted him to the window. The abbot and Father Hieronymus weretalking in undertones to the magistrate, who was just preparing to enterhis sleigh. 

They were speaking of him and the doctor, and the pupils had just beensummoned to bear witness against him. No one had told him so, but heknew it, and was seized with such anxiety about the doctor, that dropsof perspiration stood on his brow. 

He was clearly aware that he had mingled his teacher's words with thepoacher's blasphemous sayings, and also that he had put the latter intothe mouth of Ruth's father. 

He was a traitor, a liar, a miserable scoundrel!

He wished to go to the abbot and confess all, yet dared not, and so thehours stole away until the time for the evening mass. 

While in church he strove to pray, not only for himself but for thedoctor, but in vain, he could think of nothing but the trial, and whilekneeling with his hands over his eyes, saw the Jew in fetters before him, and he himself at the trial in the town-hall. 

At last the mass ended. 

Ulrich rose. Just before him hung the large crucifix, and the Saviour onthe cross, who with his head bowed on one side, usually gazed so gentlyand mournfully upon the ground, to-day seemed to look at him with mingledreproach and accusation. 

In the dormitory, his companions avoided him as if he had the plague, buthe scarcely noticed it. 

The moonlight and the reflection from the snow shone brightly through thelittle window, but Ulrich longed for darkness, and buried his face in thepillows. The clock in the steeple struck ten. 

He raised himself and listened to the deep breathing of the sleepers onhis right and left, and the gnawing of a mouse under the bed. 

His heart throbbed faster and more anxiously, but suddenly seemed tostand still, for a low voice had called his name. 

"Ulrich!" it whispered again, and the young count, who lay beside him, rose in bed and bent towards him. Ulrich had told him about the word, and often indulged in wishes with him, as he had formerly done with Ruth. Philipp now whispered:

"They are going to attack the doctor. The abbot and magistratequestioned us, as if it were a matter of life and death. I kept whatI know about the word to myself, for I'm sorry for the Jew, but Xaver, spiteful fellow, made it appear as if you really possessed the spell, and just now he came to me and said his father would seize the Jew earlyto-morrow morning, and then he would be tortured. Whether they will hangor burn him is the question. His life is forfeited, his father said--andthe black-visaged rascal rejoiced over it. "

"Sileutium, turbatores!" cried the sleepy voice of the monk in charge, and the boys hastily drew back into the feathers and were silent. 

The young count soon fell asleep again, but Ulrich buried his head stilldeeper among the pillows; it seemed as if he saw the mild, thoughtfulface of the man, from whom he had received so much affection, gazingreproachfully at him; then the dumb wife appeared before his mind, and he fancied her soft hand was lovingly stroking his cheeks as usual. Ruth also appeared, not in the yellow silk dress, but clad in rags of abeggar, and she wept, hiding her face in her mother's lap. 

He groaned aloud. The clock struck eleven. He rose and listened. Nothing stirred, and slipping on his clothes, he took his shoes in hishand and tried to open the window at the head of his bed. It had stoodopen during the day, but the frost fastened it firmly to the frame. Ulrich braced his foot against the wall and pulled with all his strength, but it resisted one jerk after another; at last it suddenly yielded andflew open, making a slight creaking and rattling, but the monk on guarddid not wake, only murmured softly in his sleep. 

The boy stood motionless for a time, holding his breath, then swunghimself upon the parapet and looked out. The dormitory was in the secondstory of the monastery, above the rampart, but a huge bank of snow rosebeside the wall, and this strengthened his courage. 

With hurrying fingers he made the sign of the cross, a low: "Mary, prayfor me, " rose from his lips, then he shut his eyes and risked the leap. 

There was a buzzing, roaring sound in his ears, his mother's imageblended in strange distortion with the Jew's, then an icy sea swallowedhim, and it seemed as if body and soul were frozen. But this sensationoverpowered him only a few minutes, then working his way out of the massof snow, he drew on his shoes, and dashed as if pursued by a pack ofwolves, down the mountain, through the ravine, across the heights, andfinally along the river to the city and the Richtberg. 

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He was steadfast in everything, even anger