[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

Volume 2. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The magistrate's horses did not reach the city gate, from the monastery, more quickly than Ulrich. 

As soon as the smith was roused from sleep by the boy's knock andrecognized his voice, he knew what was coming, and silently listened tothe lad's confessions, while he himself hurriedly yet carefully took outhis hidden hoard, filled a bag with the most necessary articles, thrusthis lightest hammer into his belt, and poured water on the glimmeringcoals. Then, locking the door, he sent Ulrich to Hangemarx, with whom hehad already settled many things; for Caspar, the juggler, who learnedmore through his daughters than any other man, had come to him the daybefore, to tell him that something was being plotted against the Jew. 

Adam found the latter still awake and at work. He was prepared for thedanger that threatened him, and ready to fly. No word of complaint, noteven a hasty gesture betrayed the mental anguish of the persecuted man, and the smith's heart melted, as he heard the doctor rouse his wife andchild from their sleep. 

The terrified moans of the startled wife, and Ruth's loud weeping andcurious questions, were soon drowned by the lamentations of old Rahel, who wrapped in even more kerchiefs than usual, rushed into the sitting-room, and while lamenting and scolding in a foreign tongue, gatheredtogether everything that lay at hand. She had dragged a large chestafter her, and now threw in candlesticks, jugs, and even the chessmen andRuth's old doll with a broken head. 

When the third hour after midnight came, the doctor was ready fordeparture. 

Marx's charcoal sledge, with its little horse, stopped before the door. 

This was a strange animal, no larger than a calf, as thin as a goat, andin some places woolly, in others as bare as a scraped poodle. 

The smith helped the dumb woman into the sleigh, the doctor put Ruth inher lap, Ulrich consoled the child, who asked him all sorts of questions, but the old woman would not part from the chest, and could scarcely beinduced to enter the vehicle. 

"You know, across the mountains into the Rhine valley--no matter where, "Costa whispered to the poacher. 

Hangemarx urged on his little horse, and answered, not turning to theIsraelite, who had addressed him, but to Adam, who he thought wouldunderstand him better than the bookworm: "It won't do to go up theravine, without making any circuit. The count's hounds will track us, if they follow. We'll go first up the high road by the Lautenhof. To-morrow will be a fair-day. People will come early from the villagesand tread down the snow, so the dogs will lose the scent. If it wouldonly snow. "

Before the smithy, the doctor held out his hand to Adam, saying: "We parthere, friend. "

"We'll go with you, if agreeable to you. "

"Consider, " the other began warningly, but Adam interrupted him, saying:

"I have considered everything; lost is lost. Ulrich, take the doctor'ssack from his shoulder. "

For a long time nothing more was said. 

The night was clear and cold; the men's footsteps fell noiselessly on thesoft snow, nothing was heard except the creaking of the sledge, and everand anon Elizabeth's low moaning, or a louder word in the old woman'ssoliloquy. Ruth had fallen asleep on her mother's lap, and was breathingheavily. 

At Lautenhof a narrow path led through the mountains deep into theforest. 

As it grew steeper, the snow became knee-deep, and the men helped thelittle horse, which often coughed, tossing its thick head up and down, asif working a churn. Once, when the poor creature met with a very heavyfall, Marx pointed to the green woollen scarf on the animal's neck, andwhispered to the smith "Twenty years old, and has the glanders besides. "

The little beast nodded slowly and mournfully, as if to say: "Life ishard; this will probably be the last time I draw a sleigh. "

The broad, heavy-laden pine-boughs drooped wearily by the roadside, thegleaming surface of the snow stretched in a monotonous sheet of whitebetween the trunks of the trees, the tops of the dark rocks beside theway bore smooth white caps of loose snow, the forest stream was frozenalong the edges, only in the centre did the water trickle through snow-crystals and sharp icicles to the valley. 

So long as the moon shone, flickering rays danced and sparkled on the iceand snow, but afterwards only the tedious glimmer of the universal snow-pall lighted the traveller's way. 

"If it would only snow!" repeated the charcoal-burner. 

The higher they went, the deeper grew the snow, the more wearisome thewading and climbing. 

Often, on the doctor's account, the smith called in a low voice, "Halt!"and then Costa approached the sleigh and asked: "How do you feel?" orsaid: "We are getting on bravely. "

Rahel screamed whenever a fox barked in the distance, a wolf howled, oran owl flew through the treetops, brushing the snow from the brancheswith its wings; but the others also started. Marx alone walked quietlyand undisturbed beside his little horse's thick head; he was familiarwith all the voices of the forest. 

It grew colder towards morning. Ruth woke and cried, and her father, panting for breath, asked: "When shall we rest?"

"Behind the height; ten arrow-shots farther, " replied the charcoal-burner. 

"Courage, " whispered the smith. "Get on the sledge, doctor; we'll push. "

But Costa shook his head, pointed to the panting horse, and draggedhimself onward. 

The poacher must have sent his arrows in a strange curve, for one quarterof an hour after another slipped by, and the top was not yet gained. Meantime it grew lighter and lighter, and the charcoal-burner, withincreasing anxiety, ever and anon raised his head, and glanced aside. The sky was covered with clouds-the light overhead grey, dim, and blendedwith mist. The snow was still dazzling, though it no longer sparkled andglittered, but covered every object with the dull whiteness of chalk. 

Ulrich kept beside the sledge to push it. When Ruth heard him groan, shestroked the hand that grasped the edges, this pleased him; and he smiled. 

When they again stopped, this time on the crest of the ridge, Ulrichnoticed that the charcoal-burner was sniffing the air like a hound, andasked:

"What is it, Marxle?"

The poacher grinned, as he answered: "It's going to snow; I smell it. "

The road now led down towards the valley, and, after a short walk, thecharcoal-burner said:

"We shall find shelter below with Jorg, and a warm fire too, you poorwomen. "

These were cheering words, and came just at the right time, for largesnow-flakes began to fill the air, and a light breeze drove them intothe travellers' faces. "There!" cried Ulrich, pointing to the snowcovered roof of a wooden hut, that stood close before them in a clearingon the edge of the forest. 

Every face brightened, but Marx shook his head doubtfully, muttering:

"No smoke, no barking; the place is empty. Jorg has gone. AtWhitsuntide--how many years ago is it?--the boys left to act asraftsmen, but then he stayed here. "

Reckoning time was not the charcoal-burner's strong point; and the emptyhut, the dreary open window-casements in the mouldering wooden walls, theholes in the roof, through which a quantity of snow had drifted into theonly room in the deserted house, indicated that no human being had soughtshelter here for many a winter. 

Old Rahel uttered a fresh wail of grief, when she saw this shelter; butafter the men had removed the snow as well as they could, and covered theholes in the roof with pine-branches; when Adam had lighted a fire, andthe sacks and coverlets were brought in from the sledge, and laid on adry spot to furnish seats for the women, fresh courage entered theirhearts, and Rahel, unasked, dragged herself to the hearth, and set thesnow-filled pot on the fire. 

"The nag must have two hours' rest, " Marx said, "then they could push onand reach the miller in the ravine before night. There they would findkind friends, for Jacklein had been with him among the 'peasants. '"The snow-water boiled, the doctor and his wife rested, Ulrich and Ruthbrought wood, which the smith had split, to the fire to dry, whensuddenly a terrible cry of grief rang outside of the hut. 

Costa hastily rose, the children followed, and old Rahel, whimpering, drew the upper kerchief on her head over her face. 

The little horse, its tiny legs stretched far apart, was lying in thesnow by the sledge. Beside it knelt Marx, holding the clumsy head on hisknee, and blowing with his crooked mouth into the animal's nostrils. Thecreature showed its yellow teeth, and put out its bluish tongue as if itwanted to lick him; then the heavy head fell, the dying animal's eyesstarted from their sockets, its legs grew perfectly stiff, and this timethe horse was really dead, while the shafts of the sledge vainly thrustthemselves into the air, like the gaping mouth of a deserted bird. 

No farther progress was possible. The women sat trembling in the hut, roasting before the fire, and shivering when a draught touched them. . . . Ruth wept for the poor little horse, and Marx sat as if utterly crushedbeside his old friend's stiffening body, heeding nothing, least of allthe snow, which was making him whiter than the miller, with whom he hadexpected to rest that evening. The doctor gazed in mute despair at hisdumb wife, who, with clasped hands, was praying fervently; the smithpressed his hand upon his brow, vainly pondering over what was to be donenow, until his head ached; while, from the distance, echoed the howl of ahungry wolf, and a pair of ravens alighted on a white bough beside thelittle horse, gazing greedily at the corpse lying in the snow. 

Meantime, the abbot was sitting in his pleasantly-warmed study, which waspervaded by a faint, agreeable perfume, gazing now at the logs burning inthe beautiful marble mantel-piece, and then at the magistrate, who hadbrought him strange tidings. 

The prelate's white woollen morning-robe clung closely around his statelyfigure. Beside him lay, side by side, for comparison, two manuscriptcopies of his favorite book, the idyls of Theocritus, which, for hisamusement, and to excel the translation of Coban Hesse, he was turninginto Latin verse, as the duties of his office gave him leisure. 

The magistrate was standing by the fire-side. He was a thick-set man ofmiddle height, with a large head, and clever but coarse features, asrudely moulded as if they had been carved from wood. He was one of thebest informed lawyers in the country, and his words flowed as smoothlyand clearly from his strong lips, as if every thought in his keen brainwas born fully matured and beautifully finished. 

In the farthest corner of the room, awaiting a sign from his master, stood the magistrate's clerk, a little man with a round head, and legslike the sickle of the waxing or waning moon. He carried under his shortarms two portfolios, filled with important papers. 

"He comes from Portugal, and has lived under an assumed name?" So theabbot repeated, what he had just heard. 

"His name is Lopez, not Costa, " replied the other; "these papers proveit. Give me the portfolio, man! The diploma is in the brown one. "

He handed a parchment to the prelate, who, after reading it, said firmly:

"This Jew is a more important person than we supposed. They are notlavish with such praise in Coimbra. Are you taking good care of thedoctor's books Herr Conrad? I will look at them to-morrow. "

"They are at your disposal. These papers. . . . "

"Leave them, leave them. "

"There will be more than enough for the complaint without them, " saidthe magistrate. "Our town-clerk, who though no student is, as you know, a man of much experience, shares my opinion. " Then he continuedpathetically: "Only he who has cause to fear the law hides his name, only he, who feels guilty, flees the judge. "

A subtle smile, that was not wholly free from bitterness, hovered aroundthe abbot's lips, for he thought of the painful trial and the torture-chamber in the town hall, and no longer saw in the doctor merely the Jew, but the humanist and companion in study. 

His glance again fell on the diploma, and while the other continued hisrepresentations, the prelate stretched himself more comfortably in hisarm-chair and gazed thoughtfully at the ground. Then, as if an idea hadsuddenly occurred to him, he touched his high forehead with the tips ofhis fingers, and suddenly interrupting the eager speaker, said:

"Father Anselm came to us from Porto five years ago, and when there knewevery one who understood Greek. Go, Gutbub, and tell the librarian tocome. " The monk soon appeared. 

Tidings of Ulrich's disappearance and the Jew's flight had spread rapidlythrough the monastery; the news was discussed in the choir, the school, the stable and the kitchen; Father Anselm alone had heard nothing of thematter, though he had been busy in the library before daybreak, and thevexatious incident had been eagerly talked of there. 

It was evident, that the elderly man cared little for anything thathappened in the world, outside of his manuscripts and printing. Hislong, narrow head rested on a thin neck, which did not stand erect, butgrew out between the shoulders like a branch from the stem. His face wasgrey and lined with wrinkles, like pumice-stone, but large bright eyeslent meaning and attraction to the withered countenance. 

At first he listened indifferently to the abbot's story, but as soon asthe Jew's name was mentioned, and he had read the diploma, as swiftly asif he possessed the gift of gathering the whole contents of ten lines ata single comprehensive glance, he said eagerly:

"Lopez, Doctor Lopez was here! And we did not know it, and have notconsulted with him! Where is he? What are people planning against him?"

After he had learned that the Jew had fled, and the abbot requested himto tell all he knew about the doctor, he collected his thoughts andsorrowfully began:

"To be sure, to be sure; the man committed a great offence. He is agreat sinner in God's eyes. You know his guilt?"

"We know everything, " cried the magistrate, with a meaning glance at theprelate. Then, as if he sincerely pitied the criminal, he continued withwell-feigned sympathy: "How did the learned man commit such a misdeed?"

The abbot understood the stratagem, but Anselm's words could not berecalled, and as he himself desired to learn more of the doctor'shistory, he asked the monk to tell what he knew. 

The librarian, in his curt, dry manner, yet with a warmth unusual to him, described the doctor's great learning and brilliant intellect, sayingthat his father, though a Jew, had been in his way an aristocratic man, allied with many a noble family, for until the reign of King Emanuel, whopersecuted the Hebrews, they had enjoyed great distinction in Portugal. In those days it had been hard to distinguish Jews from Christians. Atthe time of the expulsion a few favored Israelites had been allowed tostay, among them the worthy Rodrigo, the doctor's father, who had beenthe king's physician and was held in high esteem by the sovereign. Lopez obtained the highest honors at Coimbra, but instead of followingmedicine, like his father, devoted himself to the humanities. 

"There was no need to earn his living--to earn his living, " continued themonk, speaking slowly and carefully, and repeating the conclusion of hissentence, as if he were in the act of collating two manuscripts, "forRodrigo was one of the wealthiest men in Portugal. His son Lopez wasrich, very rich in friends, and among them were numbered all to whomknowledge was dear. Even among the Christians he had many friends. Among us--I mean in our library--he also obtained great respect. I owehim many a hint, much aid; I mean in referring me to rare books, andexplaining obscure passages. When he no longer visited us, I missed himsorely. I am not curious; or do you think I am? I am not curious, butI could not help inquiring about him, and then I heard very bad things. Women are to blame for everything; of course it was a woman again. Amerchant from Flanders--a Christian--had settled in Porto. The doctor'sfather visited his house; but you probably know all this?"

"Of course! of course!" cried the magistrate. "But go on with yourstory. "

"Old Doctor Rodrigo was the Netherlander's physician, and closed hiseyes on the death-bed. An orphan was left, a girl, who had not a singlerelative in Porto. They said--I mean the young doctors and students whohad seen her--that she was pleasing, very pleasing to the eye. But itwas not on that account, but because she was orphaned and desolate, thatthe physician took the child--I mean the girl. "

"And reared her as a Jewess?" interrupted the magistrate, with aquestioning glance. 

"As a Jewess?" replied the monk, excitedly. "Who says so? He didnothing of the sort. A Christian widow educated her in the physician'scountry-house, not in the city. When the young doctor returned fromCoimbra, he saw her there more than once--more than once; certainly, more often than was good for him. The devil had a finger in the matter. I know, too, how they were married. Before one Jew and two Christianwitnesses, they plighted their troth to each other, and exchanged rings--rings as if it were a Christian ceremony, though he remained a Jew andshe a Christian. He intended to go to the Netherlands with her, but oneof the witnesses betrayed them--denounced them to the Holy Inquisition. This soon interposed of course, for there it interferes with everything, and in this case it was necessary; nay more--a Christian duty. The youngwife was seized in the street with her attendant and thrown into prison;on the rack she entirely lost the power of speech. The old physician andthe doctor were warned in time, and kept closely concealed. ThroughChamberlain de Sa, her uncle--or was it only her cousin?--through de Sathe wife regained her liberty, and then I believe all three fled toFrance--the father, son and wife. But no, they must have come here. . . . "

"There you have it!" cried the magistrate, interrupting the monk, andglancing triumphantly at the prelate. "An old practitioner scents crime, as a tree frog smells rain. Now, for the first time, I can say withcertainty: We have him, and the worst punishment is too little for hisdeserts. There shall be an unparalleled execution, something wonderful, magnificent, grand! You have given me important information, and I thankyou, Father. "

"Then you knew nothing?" faltered the librarian; and, raising his neckhigher than usual, the vein in the centre of his forehead swelled withwrath. 

"No, Anselme!" said the abbot. "But it was your duty to speak, as, unfortunately, it was mine to listen. Come to me again, by and bye; Ihave something to say to you. "

The librarian bowed silently, coldly and proudly, and without vouchsafingthe magistrate a single glance, went back, not to his books, but to hiscell, where he paced up and down a long time, sorrowfully murmuringLopez's name, striking himself on the mouth, pressing his clenched handto his brow, and at last throwing himself on his knees to pray for theJew, before the image of the crucified Redeemer. 

As soon as the monk had left the room, the magistrate exclaimed:

"What unexpected aid! What series of sins lie before us! First thesmall ones. He had never worn the Jews' badge, and allowed himself tobe served by Christians, for Caspar's daughters were often at theHouse to help in sewing. A sword was found in his dwelling, and the Jew, who carries weapons, renounces, since he uses self-protection, the aid ofthe authorities. Finally, we know that Lopez used an assumed name. Nowwe come to the great offences. They are divided into four parts. He haspractised magic spells; he has sought to corrupt a Christian's son byheresies; he has led a Christian woman into a marriage; and he has--I close with the worst--he has reared the daughter of a Christian woman, I mean his wife, a Jewess!"

"Reared his child a Jewess? Do you know that positively?" asked theabbot. 

"She bears the Jewish name of Ruth. What I have taken the liberty tomake prominent are well chosen, clearly-proved crimes, worthy of death. Your learning is great, Reverend Abbot, but I know the old writers, too. The Emperor Constantius made marriages between Jews and Christianspunishable with death. I can show you the passage. "

The abbot felt that the crime of which the Jew was accused was a heavyand unpardonable one, but he regarded only the sin, and it vexed him tosee how the magistrate's zeal was exclusively turned against the unhappycriminal. So he rose, saying with cold hauteur:

"Then do your duty. "

"Rely upon it. We shall capture him and his family to-morrow. The town-clerk is full of zeal too. We shall not be able to harm the child, butit must be taken from the Jew and receive a Christian education. Itwould be our right to do this, even if both parents were Hebrews. Youknow the Freiburg case. No less a personage than the great Ulrich Zasiushas decided, that Jewish children might be baptized without theirfather's knowledge. I beg you to send Father Anselm to the town-hallon Saturday as a witness. "

"Very well, " replied the prelate, but he spoke with so little eagerness, that it justly surprised the magistrate. "Well then, catch the Jew; buttake him alive. And one thing more! I wish to see and speak to thedoctor, before you torture him. "

"I will bring him to you day after to-morrow. " The Nurembergers! theNurembergers!. . . . " replied the abbot, shrugging his shoulders. 

"What do you mean?"

"They don't hang any one till they catch him. " The magistrate regardedthese words as a challenge to put forth every effort for the Jew'scapture, so he answered eagerly: "We shall have him, Your Reverence, weshall surely have him. They are trapped in the snow. The sergeants aresearching the roads; I shall summon your foresters and mine, and put themunder Count Frohlinger's command. It is his duty to aid us. What theycannot find with their attendants, squires, beaters and hounds, is nothidden in the forest. Your blessing, Holy Father, there is no time tolose. "

The abbot was alone. 

He gazed thoughtfully at the coals in the fireplace, recalling everythinghe had just seen and heard, while his vivid power of imagination showedhim the learned, unassuming man, who had spent long years in quietseclusion, industriously devoting himself to the pursuit of knowledge. A slight feeling of envy stole into his heart; how rarely he himself waspermitted to pursue undisturbed, and without interruption, the scientificsubjects, in which alone he found pleasure. 

He was vexed with himself, that he could feel so little anger against acriminal, whose guilt was deserving of death, and reproached himself forlukewarmness. Then he remembered that the Jew had sinned for love, andthat to him who has loved much, much should be forgiven. Finally, itseemed a great boon, that he was soon to be permitted to make theacquaintance of the worthy doctor from Coimbra. Never had the zealousmagistrate appeared so repulsive as to-day, and when he remembered howthe crafty man had outwitted poor Father Anselm in his presence, he feltas if he had himself committed an unworthy deed. And yet, yet--the Jewcould not be saved, and had deserved what threatened him. 

A monk summoned him, but the abbot did not wish to be disturbed, andordered that he should be left an hour alone. 

He now took in his hand a volume he called the mirror of his soul, and inwhich he noted many things "for the confession, " that he desired todetermine to his own satisfaction. To-day he wrote:

"It would be a duty to hate a Jew and criminal, zealously to persecutewhat Holy Church has condemned. Yet I cannot do so. Who is themagistrate, and what are Father Anselm and this learned doctor! The onenarrow-minded, only familiar with the little world he knows and in whichhe lives, the others divinely-gifted, full of knowledge, rulers in thewide domain of thought. And the former outwits the latter, who showthemselves children in comparison with him. How Anselm stood before him!The deceived child was great, the clever man small. What men callcleverness is only small-minded persons' skill in life; simplicity ispeculiar to the truly great man, because petty affairs are too small forhim, and his eye does not count the grains of dust, but looks upward, andhas a share in the infinitude stretching before us. Jesus Christ wasgentle as a child and loved children, he was the Son of God, yetvoluntarily yielded himself into the hands of men. The greatest of greatmen did not belong to the ranks of the clever. Blessed are the meek, Hesaid. I understand those words. He is meek, whose soul is open, clearand pure as a mirror, and the greatest philosophers, the noblest minds Ihave met in life and history were also meek. The brute is clever; wisdomis the cleverness of the noble-minded. We must all follow the Saviour, and he among us, who unites wisdom to meekness, will come nearest to theRedeemer. "

CHAPTER IX. 

Marx had gone out to reconnoitre in a more cheerful mood, for the doctorhad made good the loss sustained in the death of his old nag, and hereturned at noon with good news. 

A wood-carrier, whom he met on the high-road, had told him where Jorg, the charcoal-burner, lived. 

The fugitives could reach his hut before night, and in so doing approachnearer the Rhine valley. Everything was ready for departure, but oldRahel objected to travelling further. She was sitting on a stone beforethe hut, for the smoke in the narrow room oppressed her breathing, and itseemed as if terror had robbed her of her senses. Gazing into vacancywith wild eyes and chattering teeth, she tried to make cakes and moulddumplings out of the snow, which she probably took for flour. Sheneither heard the doctor's call nor saw his wife beckon, and when theformer grasped her to compel her to rise, uttered a loud shriek. At lastthe smith succeeded in persuading her to sit down on the sledge, and theparty moved forward. 

Adam had harnessed himself to the front of the vehicle. Marx went to andfro, pushing when necessary. The dumb woman waded through the snow byher husband's side. "Poor wife!" he said once; but she pressed his armcloser, looking up into his eyes as if she wished to say: "Surely I shalllack nothing, if only you are spared to me!"

She enjoyed his presence as if it were a favor granted by destiny, butonly at chance moments, for she could not banish her fear for him, andof the pursuers--her dread of uncertainty and wandering. 

If snow rattled from a pine-tree, if she noticed Lopez turn his head, orif old Rahel uttered a moan, she shuddered; and this was not unperceivedby her husband, who told himself that she had every reason to lookforward to the next few hours with grave anxiety. Each moment mightbring imprisonment to him and all, and if they discovered--if it weredisclosed who he, who Elizabeth was. . . . 

Ulrich and Ruth brought up the rear, saying little to each other. 

At first the path ascended again, then led down to the valley. It hadstopped snowing long before, and the farther they went the lighter thedrifts became. 

They had journeyed in this way for two hours, when Ruth's strengthfailed, and she stood still with tearful, imploring eyes. The charcoal-burner saw it, and growled:

"Come here, little girl; I'll carry you to the sleigh. "

"No, let me, " Ulrich eagerly interposed. And Ruth exclaimed:

"Yes, you, you shall carry me. "

Marx grasped her around the waist, lifted her high into the air, andplaced her in the boy's arms. She clasped her hands around his neck, andas he walked on pressed her fresh, cool cheek to his. It pleased him, and the thought entered his mind that he had been parted from her a longtime, and it was delightful to have her again. 

His heart swelled more and more; he felt that he would rather have Ruththan everything else in the world, and he drew her towards him as closelyas if an invisible hand were already out-stretched to take her from him. 

To-day her dear, delicate little face was not pale, but glowed crimsonafter the long walk through the frosty, winter air. She was glad to haveUlrich clasp her so firmly, so she pressed her cheek closer to his, loosened her fingers from his neck, caressingly stroked his face with hercold hand, and murmured:

"You are kind, Ulrich, and I love you!"

It sounded so tender and loving, that Ulrich's heart melted, for no onehad spoken to him so since his mother went away. 

He felt strong and joyous, Ruth did not seem at all heavy, and when sheagain clasped her hands around his neck, he said: "I should like to carryyou so always. "

Ruth only nodded, as if the wish pleased her, but he continued:

"In the monastery I had no one, who was very kind to me, for even Lips, well, he was a count--everybody is kind to you. You don't know what itis, to be all alone, and have to struggle against every one. When I wasin the monastery, I often wished that I was lying under the earth; now Idon't want to die, and we will stay with you--father told me so--andeverything will be just as it was, and I shall learn no more Latin, butbecome a painter, or smith-artificer, or anything else, for aught I care, if I'm only not obliged to leave you again. "

He felt Ruth raise her little head, and press her soft lips on hisforehead just over his eyes; then he lowered the arms in which sherested, kissed her mouth, and said: "Now it seems as if I had my motherback again!"

"Does it?" she asked, with sparkling eyes. "Now put me down. I am wellagain, and want to run. "

So saying, she slipped to the ground, and he did not detain her. 

Ruth now walked stoutly on beside the lad, and made him tell her aboutthe bad boys in the monastery, Count Lips, the pictures, the monks, andhis own flight, until, just as it grew dark, they reached the goal oftheir walk. 

Jorg, the charcoal-burner, received them, and opened his hut, but only togo away himself, for though willing to give the fugitives shelter and actagainst the authorities, he did not wish to be present, if the refugeesshould be caught. Caught with them, hung with them! He knew theproverb, and went down to the village, with the florins Adam gave him. 

There was a hearth for cooking in the hut, and two rooms, one large andone small, for in summer the charcoal-burners' wives and children livewith them. The travellers needed rest and refreshment, and might havefound both here, had not fear embittered the food and driven sleep fromtheir weary eyes. 

Jorg was to return early the next morning with a team of horses. Thiswas a great consolation. Old Rahel, too, had regained her self-control, and was sound asleep. 

The children followed her example, and at midnight Elizabeth slept too. 

Marx lay beside the hearth, and from his crooked mouth came a strange, snoring noise, that sounded like the last note of an organ-pipe, fromwhich the air is expiring. 

Hours after all the others were asleep, Adam and the doctor still sat ona sack of straw, engaged in earnest conversation. 

Lopez had told his friend the story of his happiness and sorrow, closingwith the words:

"So you know who we are, and why we left our home. You are giving meyour future, together with many other things; no gift can repay you; butfirst of all, it was due you that you should know my past. "

Then, holding out his hand to the smith, he asked: "You are a Christian;will you still cleave to me, after what you have heard?"

Adam silently pressed the Jew's right hand, and after remaining lost inthought for a time, said in a hollow tone:

"If they catch you, and--Holy Virgin--if they discover. . . . . Ruth. . . . Sheis not really a Jew's child. . . . . Have you reared her as a Jewess?"

"No; only as a good human child. "

"Is she baptized?"

Lopez answered this question also in the negative. The smith shook hishead disapprovingly, but the doctor said: "She knows more about Jesus, than many a Christian child of her age. When she is grown up, she willbe free to follow either her mother or her father. "

"Why have you not become a Christian yourself? Forgive the question. Surely you are one at heart. "

"That, that. . . . You see, there are things. . . . Suppose that every male scionof your family, from generation to generation, for many hundred years, had been a smith, and now a boy should grow up, who said: I--I despiseyour trade?'"

"If Ulrich should say: 'I-I wish to be an artist;' it would be agreeableto me. "

"Even if smiths were persecuted like us Jews, and he ran from your guildto another out of fear?"

"No--that would be base, and can scarcely be compared with your case;for see--you are acquainted with everything, even what is calledChristianity; nay, the Saviour is dear to you; you have already told meso. Well then! Suppose you were a foundling and were shown our faithand yours, and asked for which you would decide, which would you choose?"

"We pray for life and peace, and where peace exists, love cannot belacking, and yet! Perhaps I might decide for yours. "

"There you have it. "

"No, no! We have not done with this question so speedily. See, I do notgrudge you your faith, nor do I wish to disturb it. The child mustbelieve, that all its parents do and require of him is right, but thestranger sees with different, keener eyes, than the son and daughter. You occupy a filial relation towards your Church--I do not. I know thedoctrine of Jesus Christ, and if I had lived in Palestine in his time, should have been one of the first to follow the Master, but since, fromthose days to the present, much human work has mingled with his sublimeteachings. This too must be dear to you, for it belongs to your parents--but it repels me. I have lived, labored and watched all night for thetruth, and were I now to come before the baptismal font and say 'yes' toeverything the priests ask, I should be a liar. "

"They have caused you bitter suffering; tortured your wife, driven youand your family from your home. . . . . "

"I have borne all that patiently, " cried the doctor, deeply moved. "But there are many other sins now committed against me and mine, forwhich there is no forgiveness. I know the great Pagans and their works. Their need of love extends only to the nation, to which they belong, notto humanity. Unselfish justice, is to them the last thing man owes hisfellow-man. Christ extended love to all nations, His heart was largeenough to love all mankind. Human love, the purest and fairest ofvirtues, is the sublime gift, the noble heritage, he left behind to hisbrothers in sorrow. My heart, the poor heart under this black doublet, this heart was created for human love, this soul thirsted, with all itspowers, to help its neighbors and lighten their sorrows. To exercisehuman love is to be good, but they no longer know it, and what is worse, a thousand times worse, they constantly destroy in me and mine the desireto be good, good in the sense of their own Master. Wordly wealth istrash--to be rich the poorest happiness. Yet the Jew is not forbidden tostrive for this, they take scarcely half his gains;--nor can they denyhim the pursuit of the pleasures of the intellect--pure knowledge--forour minds are not feebler or more idle, and soar no less boldly thantheirs. The prophets came from the East! But the happiness of the soul--the right to exercise charity is denied to us. It is a part of charityfor each man to regard his neighbor as himself--to feel for him, as itwere, with his own heart--to lighten his burdens, minister unto him inhis sorrows, and to gladden his happiness. This the Christian denies theJew. Your love ceases when you meet me and mine, and if I sought to putmyself on an equality with the Christian, from the pure desire to satisfyhis Master's most beautiful lesson, what would be my fate? The Jew isnot permitted to be good. Not to be good! Whoever imposes that upon hisbrother, commits a sin for which I know no forgiveness. And if JesusChrist should return to earth and see the pack that hunts us, surely He, who was human love incarnate, would open His arms wide, wide to us, andask: 'Who are these apostles of hate? I know them not!'"

The doctor paused, for the door had opened, and he rose with flushed faceto look into the adjoining room; but the smith held him back, saying:

"Stay, stay! Marx went out into the open air. Ah, Sir! no doubt yourwords are true, but were they Jews who crucified the Saviour?"

"And this crime is daily avenged, " replied Lopez. "How many wicked, howmany low souls, who basely squander divine gifts to obtain worthlesspelf, there are among my people! More than half of them are stripped ofhonor and dignity on your altar of vengeance, and thrust into the arms ofrepulsive avarice. And this, all this. . . . But enough of these things!They rouse my inmost soul to wrath, and I have other matters to discusswith you. "

The scholar now began to speak to the smith, like a dying man, about thefuture of his family, told him where he had concealed his small property, and did not hide the fact, that his marriage had not only drawn upon himthe persecution of the Christians, but the curse of his co-religionists. He took it upon himself to provide for Ulrich, as if he were his ownchild, should any misfortune befall the smith; and Adam promised, if heremained alive and at liberty, to do the same for the doctor's wife anddaughter. 

Meantime, a conversation of a very different nature was held before thehut. 

The poacher was sitting by the fire, when the door opened, and his namewas called. He turned in alarm, but soon regained his composure, for itwas Jorg who beckoned, and then drew him into the forest. 

Marx expected no good news, yet he started when his companion said:

"I know now, who the man is you have brought. He's a Jew. Don't try tohumbug me. The constable from the city has come to the village. Theman, who captures the Israelite, will get fifteen florins. Fifteenflorins, good money. The magistrate will count it, all on one board, andthe vicar says. . . . "

"I don't care much for your priests, " replied Marx. "I am fromWeinsberg, and have found the Jew a worthy man. No one shall touch him. "

"A Jew, and a good man!" cried Jurg, laughing. "If you won't help, somuch the worse for you. You'll risk your neck, and the fifteen florins. . . . . Will you go shares? Yes or no?"

"Heaven's thunder!" murmured the poacher, his crooked mouth watering. "How much is half of fifteen florins?"

"About seven, I should say. "

"A calf and a pig. "

"A swine for the Jew, that will suit. You'll keep him here in the trap. "

"I can't, Jorg; by my soul, I can't! Let me alone!"

"Very well, for aught I care; but the legal gentlemen. The gallows haswaited for you long enough!"

"I can't; I can't. I've been an honest man all my life, and the smithAdam and his dead father have shown me many a kindness. "

"Who means the smith any harm?"

"The receiver is as bad as the thief. If they catch him. . . . "

"He'll be put in the stocks for a week. That's the worst that can befallhim. "

"No, no. Let me alone, --or I'll tell Adam what you're plotting. . . . "

"Then I'll denounce you first, you gallows' fruit, you rogue, youpoacher. They've suspected you a long time! Will you change your mindnow, you blockhead?"

"Yes, yes; but Ulrich is here too, and the boy is as dear to me as my ownchild. "

"I'll come here later, say that no vehicle can be had, and take him awaywith me. When it's all over, I'll let him go. "

"Then I'll keep him. He already helps me as much, as if he were a grownman. Oh, dear, dear! The Jew, the gentle man, and the poor women, andthe little girl, Ruth. . . . "

"Big Jews and little Jews, nothing more. You've told me yourself, howthe Hebrews were persecuted in your dead father's day. So we'll goshares. There's a light in the room still. You'll detain them. CountFrohlinger has been at his hunting-box since last evening. . . . If theyinsist on moving forward, guide them to the village. "

"And I've been an honest man all my life, " whined the poacher, and thencontinued, threateningly: "If you harm a hair on Ulrich's head. . . . "

"Fool that you are! I'll willingly leave the big feeder to you. Go innow, then I'll come and fetch the boy. There's money at stake--fifteenflorins!" Fifteen minutes after, Jorg entered the but. 

The smith and the doctor believed the charcoal-burner, when he told themthat all the vehicles in the village were in use, but he would find oneelsewhere. They must let the boy go with him, to enquire at the farm-houses in another village. Somebody would doubtless be found to risk hishorses. The lad looked like a young nobleman, and the peasants wouldtake earnest-money from him. If he, Jorg, should show them florins, itwould get him into a fine scrape. The people knew he was as poor as abeggar. 

The smith asked the poacher's opinion, and the latter growled:

"That will, doubtless, be a good plan. "

He said no more, and when Adam held out his hand to the boy, and kissedhim on the forehead, and the doctor bade him an affectionate farewell, Marx called himself a Judas, and would gladly have flung the temptingflorins to the four winds, but it was too late. 

The smith and Lopez heard him call anxiously to Jorg: "Take good care ofthe boy!" And when Adam patted him on the shoulder, saying: "You are afaithful fellow, Marx!" he could have howled like a mastiff and revealedall; but it seemed as if he again felt the rope around his neck, so hekept silence. 

CHAPTER X. 

The grey dawn was already glimmering, yet neither the expected vehiclenor Jorg had come. Old Rahel, usually an early riser, was sleeping assoundly as if she had to make up the lost slumber of ten nights; but thesmith's anxiety would no longer allow him to remain in the close room. Ruth followed him into the open air, and when she timidly touched him--for there had always been something unapproachable to her in the silentman's gigantic figure--he looked at her from head to foot, with strange, questioning sympathy, and then asked suddenly, with a haste unusual tohim. 

"Has your father told you about Jesus Christ?"

"Often!" replied Ruth. 

"And do you love Him?"

"Dearly. Father says He loved all children, and called them to Him. "

"Of course, of course!" replied the smith, blushing with shame for hisown distrust. 

The doctor did not follow the others, and as soon as his wife saw thatthey were alone, she beckoned to him. 

Lopez sat down on the couch beside her, and took her hand. The slenderfingers trembled in his clasp, and when, with loving anxiety, he drew hertowards him, he felt the tremor of her delicate limbs, while her eyesexpressed bitter suffering and terrible dread. 

"Are you afraid?" he asked, tenderly. 

Elizabeth shuddered, threw her arms passionately around his neck, andnodded assent. 

"The wagon will convey us to the Rhine Valley, please God, this very day, and there we shall be safe, " he continued, soothingly. But she shook herhead, her features assuming an expression of indifference and contempt. Lopez understood how to read their meaning, and asked: "So it is not thebailiffs you fear; something else is troubling you?"

She nodded again, this time still more eagerly, drew out the crucifix, which she had hitherto kept concealed under her coverlid, showed it tohim, then pointed upward towards heaven, lastly to herself and him, andshrugged her shoulders with an air of deep, mournful renunciation. 

"You are thinking of the other world, " said Lopez; then, fixing his eyeson the ground, he continued, in a lower tone: "I know you are tortured bythe fear of not meeting me there. "

"Yes, " she gasped, with a great effort, pressing her forehead against hisshoulder. 

A hot tear fell on the doctor's hand, and he felt as if his own heart wasweeping with his beloved, anxious wife. 

He knew that this thought had often poisoned her life and, full of tendersympathy, turned her beautiful face towards him and pressed a long kisson her closed eyes, then said, tenderly:

"You are mine, I am yours, and if there is a life beyond the grave, andan eternal justice, the dumb will speak as they desire, and sing wondroussongs with the angels; the sorrowful will again be happy there. We willhope, we will both hope! Do you remember how I read Dante aloud to you, and tried to explain his divine creation, as we sat on the bench by thefig-tree. The sea roared below us, and our hearts swelled higher thanits storm-lashed waves. How soft was the air, how bright the sunshine!This earth seemed doubly beautiful to you and me as, led by the hand ofthe divine seer and singer, we descended shuddering to the nether world. There the good and noble men of ancient times walked in a flowery meadow, and among them the poet beheld in solitary grandeur--do you stillremember how the passage runs? 'E solo in parte vidi 'l Saladino. 'Among them he also saw the Moslem Saladin, the conqueror of theChristians. If any one possessed the key of the mysteries of the otherworld, Elizabeth, it was Dante. He assigned a lofty place to the pagan, who was a true man--a man with a pure mind, a zeal for goodness andright, and I think I shall have a place there too. Courage, Elizabeth, courage!"

A beautiful smile had illumined the wife's features, while she wasreminded of the happiest hours of her life, but when he paused, gazedinto her eyes, and clasped her right hand in his, she was seized with anintense longing to pray once, only once, with him to the Saviour so, drawing her fingers from his, she pressed the image of the Crucified Oneto her breast with her left hand, pleading with mute motions of her lips, inteligible to him alone, and with ardent entreaty in her large, tearfuleyes: "Pray, pray with me, pray to the saviour. "

Lopez was greatly agitated; his heart beat faster, and a strong impulseurged him to start up, cry "no, " and not allow himself to be moved, by anaffectionate meakness, into bowing his manly soul before one, who, tohim, was no more than human. 

The noble figure of the crucified Saviour, carved by an artist's hand inivory, hung from an ebony cross, and he thrust the image back, intendingto turn proudly way, he gazed at the face and found there only pain, quiet endurance, and touching sorrow. Ah, his own heart had often bled, as the pure brow of this poor, persecuted, tortured saint bled beneathits crown of thorns. To defy this silent companion in suffering, was nomanly deed--to pay homage, out of love, to Him, who had brought love intothe world, seemed to possess a sweet, ensnaring charm--so he clasped hisslender hands closely round his dumb wife's fingers, pressed his darkcurls gainst Elizabeth's fair hair, and both, for the first and lasttime, repeated together a mute, fervent prayer. 

Before the hut, and surrounded by the forest, was a large clearing, wheretwo roads crossed. 

Adam, Marx and Ruth had gazed first down one and then the other, to lookfor the wagon, but nothing was to be seen or heard. As, with increasinganxiety, they turned back to the first path, the poacher grew restless. His crooked mouth twisted to and fro in strange contortions, not a muscleof his coarse face was till, and this looked so odd and yet so horrible, that Ruth could not help laughing, and the smith asked what ailed him. 

Marx made no reply; his ear had caught the distant bay of a dog, and heknew what the sound meant. Work at the anvil impairs the hearing, andthe smith did not notice the approaching peril, and repeated: "What ailsyou, man?"

"I am freezing, " replied the charcoal-burner, cowering, with a piteousexpression. 

Ruth heard no more of the conversation, she had stopped and put her handto her ear, listening with head bent forward, to the noises in thedistance. 

Suddenly she uttered a low cry, exclaiming: "There's a dog barking, Meister Adam, I hear it. "

The smith turned pale and shook his head, but she cried earnestly:"Believe me; I hear it. Now it's barking again. "

Adam too, now heard a strange noise in the forest. With lightning speedhe loosened the hammer in his belt, took Ruth by the hand, and ran up theclearing with her. 

Meantime, Lopez had compelled old Rahel to rise. 

Everything must be ready, when Ulrich returned. In his impatience he hadgone to the door, and when he saw Adam hurrying up the glade with thechild, ran anxiously to meet them, thinking that some accident hadhappened to Ulrich. 

"Back, back!" shouted the smith, and Ruth, releasing her hand from his, also motioned and shrieked "Back, back!"

The doctor obeyed the warning, and stopped; but he had scarcely turned, when several dogs appeared at the mouth of the ravine through which theparty had come the day before, and directly after Count Frohlinger, onhorseback, burst from the thicket. 

The nobleman sat throned on his spirited charger, like the sun-godSiegfried. His fair locks floated dishevelled around his head, the steamrising from the dripping steed hovered about him in the fresh winter airlike a light cloud. He had opened and raised his arms, and holding thereins in his left hand, swung his hunting spear with the right. Onperceiving Lopez, a clear, joyous, exultant "Hallo, Halali!" rang fromhis bearded lips. 

To-day Count Frohlinger was not hunting the stag, but special game, aJew. 

The chase led to the right cover, and how well the hounds had done, howstoutly Emir, his swift hunter, had followed. 

This was a morning's work indeed!

"Hallo, Halali!" he shouted exultingly again, and ere the fugitives hadescaped from the clearing, reached the doctor's side, exclaiming:

"Here is my game; to your knees, Jew!"

The count had far outstripped his attendants, and was entirely alone. 

As Lopez stood still with folded arms, paying no heed to his command, heturned the spear, to strike him with the handle. 

Then, for the first time in many years, the old fury awoke in Adam'sheart; and rushing upon the count like a tiger, he threw his powerfularms around his waist, and ere he was aware of the attack, hurled himfrom his horse, set his knee on his breast, snatched the hammer from hisbelt, and with a mighty blow struck the dog that attacked him, to theearth. Then he again swung the iron, to crush the head of his hated foe. But Lopez would not accept deliverance at such a price, and cried in atone of passionate entreaty:

"Let him go, Adam, spare him. "

As he spoke, he clung to the smith's arm, and when the latter tried torelease himself from his grasp, said earnestly:

"We will not follow their example!"

Again the hammer whizzed high in the air, and again the Jew clung to thesmith's arm, this time exclaiming imperiously:

"Spare him, if you are my friend!"

What was his strength in comparison with Adam's? Yet as the hammer rosefor the third time, he again strove to prevent the terrible deed, seizingthe infuriated man's wrist, and gasping, as in the struggle he fell onhis knees beside the count: "Think of Ulrich! This man's son was theonly one, the only one in the whole monastery, who stood by Ulrich, yourchild--in the monastery--he was--his friend--among so many. Spare him--Ulrich! For Ulrich's sake, spare him!"

During this struggle the smith had held the count down with his lefthand, and defended himself against Lopez with the right. 

One jerk, and the hand upraised for murder was free again--but he did notuse it. His friend's last words had paralyzed him. 

"Take it, " he said in a hollow tone, giving the hammer to the doctor. 

The latter seized it, and rising joyously, laid his hand on the shoulderof the smith, who was still kneeling on the count's breast, and saidbeseechingly: "Let that suffice. The man is only. . . . "

He went no farther--a gurgling, piercing cry of pain escaped his lips, and pressing one hand to his breast, and the other to his brow, he sankon the snow beside the stump of a giant pine. 

A squire dashed from the forest--the archer, to whom this noble quarryhad fallen a victim, appeared in the clearing, holding aloft the cross-bow from which he had sent the bolt. His arrow was fixed in the doctor'sbreast; alas, the man had only sent the shaft, to save his fallen masterfrom the hammer in the Jew's hand. 

Count Frohlinger rose, struggling for breath; his hand sought hishunting-knife, but in the fall it had slipped from its sheath and waslying in the snow. 

Adam supported his dying friend in his arms, Ruth ran weeping to the hut, and before the nobleman had fully collected his thoughts, the squirereached his side, and young Count Lips, riding a swift bay-horse, dashedfrom the forest, closely followed by three mounted huntsmen. 

When the attendants saw their master on foot, they too sprang from theirsaddles, Lips did the same, and an eager interchange of question andanswer began among them. 

The nobleman scarcely noticed his son, but greeted with angry words theman who had shot the Jew. Then, deeply excited, he hoarsely ordered hisattendants to bind the smith, who made no resistance, but submitted toeverything like a patient child. 

Lopez no longer needed his arms. 

The dumb wife sat on the stump, with her dying husband resting on herlap. She had thrown her arms around the bleeding form, and the feet hunglimply down, touching the snow. 

Ruth, sobbing bitterly, crouched on the ground by her mother's side, andold Rahel, who had entirely regained her self-control, pressed a cloth, wet with wine, on his forehead. 

The young count approached the dying Jew. His father slowly followed, drew the boy to his side, and said in a low, sad tone:

"I am sorry for the man; he saved my life. "

The wounded man opened his eyes, saw Count Frohlinger, his son and thefettered smith, felt his wife's tears on his brow, and heard Ruth'sagonized weeping. A gentle smile hovered around his pale lips, and whenhe tried to raise his head Elizabeth helped him, pressing it gently toher breast. 

The feeble lips moved and Lopez raised his eyes to her face, as if tothank her, saying in a low voice: "The arrow--don't touch it. . . . Elizabeth--Ruth, we have clung together faithfully, but now--I shallleave you alone, I must leave you. " He paused, a shadow clouded hiseyes, and the lids slowly fell. But he soon raised them again, andfixing his glance steadily on the count, said:

"Hear me, my Lord; a dying man should be heard, even if he is a Jew. See!This is my wife, and this my child. They are Christians. They will soonbe alone in the world, deserted, orphaned. The smith is their onlyfriend. Set him free; they--they, they will need a protector. My wifeis dumb, dumb. . . . Alone in the world. She can neither beseech nor demand. Set Adam free, for the sake of your Saviour, your son, free--yes, free. A wide, wide space must be between you; he must go away with them, faraway. Set him free! I held his arm with the hammer. . . . You know--withthe hammer. Set him free. My death--death atones for everything. "

Again his voice failed, and the count, deeply moved, looked irresolutelynow at him, now at the smith. Lips's eyes filled with tears; and as hesaw his father delay in fulfilling the dying man's last wish, and aglance from the dim eyes met his, he pressed closer to the noble, whostood struggling with many contending emotions, and whispered, weeping:

"My Lord and Father, my Lord and Father, tomorrow will be Christmas. For Christ's sake, for love of me, grant his request: release Ulrich'sfather, set him free! Do so, my noble Father; I want no other Christmasgift. "

Count Frohlinger's heart also overflowed, and when, raising his tear-dimmed eyes, he saw Elizabeth's deep grief stamped on her gentlefeatures, and beheld reclining on her breast, the mild, beautiful face ofthe dying man, it seemed as if he saw before him the sorrowful Mother ofGod--and to-morrow would be Christmas. Wounded pride was silent, heforgot the insult he had sustained, and cried in a voice as loud, as ifhe wished every word to reach the ear now growing dull in death:

"I thank you for your aid, man. Adam is free, and may go with your wifeand child wherever he lists. My word upon it; you can close your eyes inpeace!"

Lopez smiled again, raised his hand as if in gratitude, then let it fallupon his child's head, gazed lovingly at Ruth for the last time, andmurmured in a low tone "Lift my head a little higher, Elizabeth. " Whenshe had obeyed his wish, he gazed earnestly into her face, whisperedsoftly: "A dreamless sleep--reanimated to new forms in the endlesscircle. No!--Do you see, do you hear. . . . Solo in parte'. . . . With you. . . . With you. . . . Oh, oh!--the arrow--draw the arrow from the wound. Elizabeth, Elizabeth--it aches. Well--well--how miserable we were, andyet, yet. . . . You--you--I--we--we know, what happiness is. You--I. . . . Forgive me! I forgive, forgive. . . . "

The dying man's hand fell from his child's head, his eyes closed, but thepleasant smile with which he had perished, hovered around his lips, evenin death. 

CHAPTER XI. 

Count Frohlinger added a low "amen" to the last words of the dying man, then approached the widow, and in the kindly, cordial manner natural tohim, strove to comfort her. 

Finally he ordered his men, to loose the smith's bonds, and instantlyguide him to the frontier with the woman and child. He also spoke toAdam, but said only a few words, not cheery ones as usual, but grave andharsh in purport. 

They were a command to leave the country without delay, and never returnto his home again. 

The Jew's corpse was laid on a bier formed of pine, branches, and thebearers lifted it on their shoulders. Ruth clung closely to her mother, both trembling like leaves in the wind, while he who was dearest tothem on earth was borne away, but only the child could weep. 

The men, whom Count Frohlinger had left behind as a guard, waitedpatiently with the smith for his son's return until noon, then they urgeddeparture, and the party moved forward. 

Not a word was spoken, till the, travellers stopped before the charcoal-burner's house. 

Jorg was in the city, but his wife said that the boy had been there, andhad gone back to the forest an hour before. The tavern could accommodatea great many people, she added, and they could wait for him there. 

The fugitives followed this advice, and after Adam had seen the womenprovided with shelter, he again sought the scene of the misfortune, andwaited there for the boy until night. 

Beside the stump on which his friend had died, he prayed long andearnestly, vowing to his dead preserver to live henceforth solely for hisfamily. Unbroken stillness surrounded him, it seemed as if he were inchurch, and every tree in the forest was a witness of the oath he swore. 

The next morning the smith again sought the charcoal-burner, and thistime found him. Jorg laid the blame to Ulrich's impatience, but promisedto go to Marx in search of him and bring him to the smith. The mencomposing the escort urged haste, so Adam went on without Ulrich towardsthe north-west, to the valley of the Rhine. 

The charcoal-burner had lost the reward offered the informer, and couldnot even earn the money due a messenger. 

He had lured Ulrich to the attic and locked him in there, but during hisabsence the boy escaped. He was a nimble fellow, for he had risked theleap from the window, and then swung himself over the fence into theroad. 

Jorg's conjecture did not deceive him, for as soon as Ulrich perceivedthat he had been betrayed into a trap, he had leaped into the open air. 

He must warn his friends, and anxiety for them winged his feet. 

Once and again he lost his way, but at last found the right path, thoughhe had wasted many hours, first in the village, then behind the lockeddoor, and finally in searching for the right road. 

The sun had already passed the meridian, when he at last reached theclearing. 

The but was deserted; no one answered his loud, anxious shouts. 

Where had they gone?

He searched the wide, snow-covered expanse for traces, and found only toomany. Here horses' hoofs, there large and small feet had pressed thesnow, yonder hounds had run, and--Great Heaven!--here, by the tree-stump, red blood stained the glimmering white ground. 

His breath failed, but he did not cease to search, look, examine. 

Yonder, where for the length of a man the snow had vanished and grass andbrown earth appeared, people had fought together, and there--Holy Virgin!What was this!--there lay his father's hammer. He knew it only too well;it was the smaller one, which to distinguish it from the two largertools, Goliath and Samson, he called David-the boy had swung ita hundred times himself. 

His heart stood still, and when he found some freshly-hewn pine-boughs, and a fir-trunk that had been rejected by one of the men, he said tohimself: "The bier was made here, " and his vivid imagination showed himhis father fighting, struck down, and then a mournful funeral procession. Exulting bailiffs bore a tall strong-limbed corpse, and a slender, black-robed body, his father and his teacher. Then came the quiet, beautifulwife and Ruth in bonds, and behind them Marx and Rahel. He distinctlysaw all this; it even seemed as if he heard the sobs of the women, andwailing bitterly, he thrust his hands in his floating locks and ran toand fro. Suddenly he thought that the troopers would return to seize himalso. Away, away! anywhere--away! a voice roared and buzzed in hisears, and he set out on a run towards the south, always towards thesouth. 

The boy had not eaten a mouthful, since the oatmeal porridge obtained atthe charcoal-burner's, in the morning, but felt neither hunger northirst, and dashed on and on without heeding the way. 

Long after his father had left the clearing for the second time, he stillran on--but gasping for breath while his steps grew slower and shorter. The moon rose, one star after another revealed its light, yet he stillstruggled forward. 

The forest lay behind him; he had reached a broad road, which he followedsouthward, always southward, till his strength utterly failed. His headand hands were burning like fire, yet it was very, very cold; but littlesnow lay here in the valley, and in many places the moonlight showedpatches of bare, dark turf. 

Grief was forgotten. Fatigue, anxiety and hunger completely engrossedthe boy's mind. He felt tempted to throw himself down in the road andsleep, but remembered the frozen people of whom he had heard, and draggedhimself on to the nearest village. The lights had long beenextinguished; as he approached, dogs barked in the yards, and themelancholy lowing of a cow echoed from many a stable. He was again amonghuman beings; the thought exerted a soothing influence; he regained hisself-control, and sought a shelter for the night. 

At the end of the village stood a barn, and Ulrich noticed by themoonlight an open hatchway in the wall. If he could climb up to it! Theframework offered some support for fingers and toes, so he resolved totry it. 

Several times, when Half-way up, he slipped to the ground, but at lastreached the top, and found a bed in the soft hay under a sheltering roof. Surrounded by the fragrance of the dried grasses, he soon fell asleep, and in a dream saw amidst various confused and repulsive shapes, firsthis father with a bleeding wound in his broad chest, and then the doctor, dancing with old Rahel. Last of all Ruth appeared; she led him into theforest to a juniper-bush, and showed him a nest full of young birds. Butthe half-naked creatures vexed him, and he trampled them under foot, overwhich the little girl lamented so loudly and bitterly, that he awoke. 

Morning was already dawning, his head ached, and he was very cold andhungry, but he had no desire nor thought except to proceed; so he againwent out into the open air, brushed off the hay that still clung to hishair and clothes, and walked on towards the south. 

It had grown warmer and was beginning to snow heavily. 

Walking became more and more difficult; his headache grew unendurable, yet his feet still moved, though it seemed as if he wore heavy leadenshoes. 

Several freight-wagons with armed escorts, and a few peasants, withrosaries in their hands, who were on their way to church, met the lad, but no one had overtaken him. 

On the hinge of noon he heard behind him the tramp of horses' hoofs andthe rattle of wheels, approaching nearer and nearer with ominous haste. 

If it should be the troopers!

Ulrich's heart stood still, and turning to look back, he saw severalhorsemen, who were trotting past a spur of the hill around which the roadwound. 

Through the falling flakes the boy perceived glittering weapons, gaydoublets and scarfs, and now--now--all hope was over, they wore CountFrohlinger's colors!

Unless the earth should open before him, there was no escape. The roadbelonged to the horsemen; on the right lay a wide, snow-covered plain, onthe left rose a cliff, kept from falling on the side towards the highwayby a rude wall. It needed this support less on account of the road, thanfor the sake of a graveyard, for which the citizens of the neighboringborough used the gentle slope of the mountain. 

The graves, the bare elder-bushes and bushy cypresses in the cemeterywere covered with snow, and the brighter the white covering that restedon every surrounding object, the stronger was the relief in which theblack crosses stood forth against it. 

A small chapel in the rear of the graveyard caught Ulrich's eye. If itwas possible to climb the wall, he might hide behind it. The horsemenwere already close at his heels, when he summoned all his remainingstrength, rushed to a stone projecting from the wall, and began toclamber up. 

The day before it would have been a small matter for him to reach thecemetery; but now the exhausted boy only dragged himself upward, to slipon the smooth stones and lose the hold, that the dry, snow-covered plantsgrowing in the wide crevices treacherously offered him. 

The horsemen had noticed him, and a young man-at-arms exclaimed:"A runaway! See how the young vagabond acts. I'll seize him. "

He set spurs to his horse as he spoke, and just as the boy succeeded inreaching his goal, grasped his foot; but Ulrich clung fast to agravestone, so the shoe was left in the trooper's hand and his comradesburst into a loud laugh. It sounded merry, but it echoed in the ears ofthe tortured lad like a shriek from hell, and urged him onward. Heleaped over two, five, ten graves--then he stumbled over a head-stoneconcealed by the snow. 

With a great effort he rose again, but ere he reached the chapel fellonce more, and now his will was paralyzed. In mortal terror he clung toa cross, and as his senses failed, thought of "the word. " It seemed asif some one had called the right one, and from pure Weakness and fatigue, he could not remember it. 

The young soldier was not willing to encounter the jeers of his comrades, by letting the vagabond escape. With a curt: "Stop, you rascal, " hethrew the shoe into the graveyard, gave his bridle to the next man in theline; and a few minutes after was kneeling by Ulrich's side. He shookand jerked him, but in vain; then growing anxious, called to the othersthat the boy was probably dead. 

"People never die so quickly!" cried the greyhaired leader of the band:"Give him a blow. "

The youth raised his arm, but did not strike the lad. He had looked intoUlrich's face, and found something there that touched his heart. "No, no, " he shouted, "come up here, Peter; a handsome boy; but it's all overwith him, I say. "

During this delay, the traveller whom the men were escorting, and hisold servant, approached the cemetery at a rapid trot. The former, agentleman of middle age, protected from the cold by costly furs, saw witha single hasty glance the cause of the detention. 

Instantly dismounting, he followed the leader of the troop to the end ofthe wall, where there was a flight of rude steps. 

Ulrich's head now lay in the soldier's arms, and the traveller gazed athim with a look of deep sympathy. The steadfast glance of his brighteyes rested on the boy's features as if spellbound, then he raised hishand, beckoned to the elder soldier, and exclaimed: "Lift him; we'll takehim with us; a corner can be found in the wagon. "

The vehicle, of which the traveller spoke, was slow in coming. It was along four-wheeled equipage, over which, as a protection against wind andstorm, arched a round, sail-cloth cover. The driver crouched among thestraw in a basket behind the horses, like a brooding hen. 

Under the sheltering canopy, among the luggage of the fur-clad gentleman, sat and reclined four travellers, whom the owner of the vehicle hadgradually picked up, and who formed a motley company. 

The two Dominican friars, Magisters Sutor and Stubenrauch, had enteredat Cologne, for the wagon came straight from Holland, and belonged to theartist Antonio Moor of Utrecht, who was going to King Philip's court. The beautiful fur border on the black cap and velvet cloak showed thathe had no occasion to practise economy; he preferred the back of a goodhorse to a seat in a jolting vehicle. 

The ecclesiastics had taken possession of the best places in the back ofthe wagon. They were inseparable brothers, and formed as it were oneperson, for they behaved like two bodies with one soul. In this doublelife, fat Magister Sutor represented the will, lean Stubenrauchreflection and execution. If the former proposed to be down or sit, eator drink, sleep or talk, the latter instantly carried the suggestion intoexecution, rarely neglecting to establish, by wise words, for what reasonthe act in question should be performed precisely at that time. 

Farther towards the front, with his back resting against a chest, lay afine-looking young Lansquenet. He was undoubtedly a gay, active fellow, but now sat mute and melancholy, supporting with his right hand hiswounded left arm, as if it were some brittle vessel. 

Opposite to him rose a heap of loose straw, beneath which somethingstirred from time to time, and from which at short intervals a slightcough was heard. 

As soon as the door in the back of the vehicle opened, and the cold snowyair entered the dark, damp space under the tilt, Magister Sutor's lipsparted in a long-drawn "Ugh!" to which his lean companion instantly addeda torrent of reproachful words about the delay, the draught, the dangerof taking cold. 

When the artist's head appeared in the opening, the priest paused, forMoor paid the travelling expenses; but when his companion Sutor drew hiscloak around him with every token of discomfort and annoyance, hefollowed his example in a still more conspicuous way. 

The artist paid no heed to these gestures, but quietly requested hisguests to make room for the boy. 

A muffled head was suddenly thrust out from under the straw, a voicecried: "A hospital on wheels!" then the head vanished again like that ofa fish, which has risen to take a breath of air. 

"Very true, " replied the artist. "You need not draw up your limbs sofar, my worthy Lansquenet, but I must request these reverend gentlemen tomove a little farther apart, or closer together, and make room for thesick lad on the leather sack. "

While these words were uttered, one of the escort laid the stillsenseless boy under the tilt. 

Magister Sutor noticed the snow that clung to Ulrich's hair and clothing, and while struggling to rise, uttered a repellent "no, " while Stubenrauchhastily added reproachfully: "There will be a perfect pool here, whenthat melts; you gave us these places, Meister Moor, but we hardlyexpected to receive also dripping limbs and rheumatic pains. . . . "

Before he finished the sentence, the bandaged head again appeared fromthe straw, and the high, shrill voice of the man concealed under it, asked? "Was the blood of the wounded wayfarer, the good Samaritan pickedup by the roadside, dry or wet?"

An encouraging glance from Sutor requested Stubenrauch to make anappropriate answer, and the latter in an unctuous tone, hastily replied:"It was the Lord, who caused the Samaritan to find the wounded man by theroadside--this did not happen in our case, for the wet boy is forced uponus, and though we are Samaritans. . . . . "

"You are not yet merciful, " cried the voice from the straw. 

The artist laughed, but the soldier, slapping his thigh with his soundhand, cried:

"In with the boy, you fellows outside; here, put him on my right--movefarther apart, you gentlemen down below; the water will do us no harm, if you'll only give us some of the wine in your basket yonder. "

The priests, willy-nilly, now permitted Ulrich to be laid on the leathernsack between them, and while first Sutor, and then Stubenrauch, shrunkaway to mutter prayers over a rosary for the senseless lad's restorationto consciousness, and to avoid coming in contact with his wet clothes, the artist entered the vehicle, and without asking permission, took thewine from the priests' basket. The soldier helped him, and soon theirunited exertions, with the fiery liquor, revived the fainting boy. 

Moor rode forward, and the wagon jolted on until the day's journey endedat Emmendingen. Count von Hochburg's retainers, who were to serve asescort from this point, would not ride on Christmas day. The artist madeno objection, but when they also declared that no horse should leave thestable on the morrow, which was a second holiday, he shrugged hisshoulders and answered, without any show of anger, but in a firm, haughtytone, that he should then probably be obliged--if necessary with theirmaster's assistance, --to conduct them to Freiburg to-morrow. 

The inns at Emmendingen were among the largest and best in theneighborhood of Freiburg, and on account of the changes of escort, whichfrequently took place here, there was no lack of accommodation fornumerous horses and guests. 

As soon as Ulrich was taken into the warm hostelry he fainted a secondtime, and the artist now cared for him as kindly as if he were the lad'sown father. 

Magister Sutor ordered the roast meats, and his companion Stubenrauchall the other requisites for a substantial meal, in which they had madeconsiderable progress, while the artist was still engaged in ministeringto the sick lad, in which kindly office the little man, who had beenhidden under the straw in the wagon, stoutly assisted. 

He had been a buffoon, and his dress still bore many tokens of his formerprofession. His big head swayed upon his thin neck; his droll, thoughemaciated features constantly changed their expression, and even when hewas not coughing, his mouth was continually in motion. 

As soon as Ulrich breathed calmly and regularly, he searched hisclothing to find some clue to his residence, but everything he discoveredin the lad's pockets only led to more and more amusing and startlingconjectures, for nothing can contain a greater variety of objects thana school-boy's pockets, if we except a school-girl's. 

There was a scrap of paper with a Latin exercise bristling with errors, a smooth stone, a shabby, notched knife, a bit of chalk for drawing, aniron arrow-head, a broken hobnail, and a falconer's glove, which CountLips had given his comrade. The ring the doctor's wife had bestowed asa farewell token, was also discovered around his neck. 

All these things led Pellicanus--so the jester was named--to make many aconjecture, and he left none untried. 

As a mosaic picture is formed from stones, he by a hundred signs, conjured up a vision of the lad's character, home, and the school fromwhich he had run away. 

He called him the son of a noble of moderate property. In this he wasof course mistaken, but in other respects perceived, with wonderfulacuteness, how Ulrich had hitherto been circumstanced, nay even declaredthat he was a motherless child, a fact proved by many things he lacked. The boy had been sent to school too late--Pellicanus was a good Latinscholar--and perhaps had been too early initiated into the mysteries ofriding, hunting, and woodcraft. 

The artist, merely by the boy's appearance, gained a more accurateknowledge of his real nature, than the jester gathered from hisinvestigations and inferences. 

Ulrich pleased him, and when he saw the pen-and-ink sketch on the back ofthe exercise, which Pellicanus showed him, he smiled and feltstrengthened in the resolve to interest himself still more in thehandsome boy, whom fate had thrown in his way. He now only needed todiscover who the lad's parents were, and what had driven him from theschool. 

The surgeon of the little town had bled Ulrich, and soon after he fellinto a sound sleep, and breathed quietly. The artist and jester nowdined together, for the monks had finished their meal long before, andwere taking a noonday nap. Moor ordered roast meat and wine for theLansquenet, who sat modestly in one corner of the large public room, gazing sadly at his wounded arm. 

"Poor fellow!" said the jester, pointing to the handsome young man. "We are brothers in calamity; one just like the other; a cart with abroken wheel. "

"His arm will soon heal, " replied the artist, "but your tool"--here hepointed to his own lips--"is stirring briskly enough now. The monks andI have both made its acquaintance within the past few days. "

"Well, well, " replied Pellicanus, smiling bitterly, "yet they toss meinto the rubbish heap. "

"That would be . . . . . "

"Ah, you think the wise would then be fools with the fools, " interruptedPellicanus. "Not at all. Do you know what our masters expect of us?"

"You are to shorten the time for them with wit and jest. "

"But when must we be real fools, my Lord? Have you considered? Leastof all in happy hours. Then we are expected to play the wise man, warnagainst excess, point out shadows. In sorrow, in times of trouble, then, fool, be a fool! The madder pranks you play, the better. Make everyeffort, and if you understand your trade well, and know your master, youmust compel him to laugh till he cries, when he would fain wail forgrief, like a little girl. You know princes too, sir, but I know thembetter. They are gods on earth, and won't submit to the universal lot ofmortals, to endure pain and anguish. When people are ill, the physicianis summoned, and in trouble we are at hand. Things are as we take them--the gravest face may have a wart, upon which a jest can be made. Whenyou have once laughed at a misfortune, its sting loses its point. Wedeaden it--we light up the darkness--even though it be with a will 'o thewisp--and if we understand our business, manage to hack the lumpy doughof heavy sorrow into little pieces, which even a princely stomach candigest. "

"A coughing fool can do that too, so long as there is nothing wanting inhis upper story. "

"You are mistaken, indeed you are. Great lords only wish to see thevelvet side of life--of death's doings, nothing at all. A man like me--do you hear--a cougher, whose marrow is being consumed--incarnate miseryon two tottering legs--a piteous figure, whom one can no more imagineoutside the grave, than a sportsman without a terrier, or hound--such aperson calls into the ears of the ostrich, that shuts its eyes: 'Deathis pointing at you! Affliction is coming!' It is my duty to draw acurtain between my lord and sorrow; instead of that, my own person bringsincarnate suffering before his eyes. The elector was as wise as if hewere his own fool, when he turned me out of the house. "

"He graciously gave you leave of absence. "

"And Gugelkopf is already installed in the palace as my successor! Mygracious master knows that he won't have to pay the pension long. Hewould willingly have supported me up yonder till I died; but my wish togo to Genoa suited him exactly. The more distance there is between hishealthy highness and the miserable invalid, the better. "

"Why didn't you wait till spring, before taking your departure?"

"Because Genoa is a hot-house, that the poor consumptive does not needin summer. It is pleasant to be there in winter. I learned that threeyears ago, when we visited the duke. Even in January the sun in Liguriawarms your back, and makes it easier to breathe. I'm going by way ofMarseilles. Will you give me the corner in your carriage as far asAvignon?"

"With pleasure! Your health, Pellicanus! A good wish on Christmas day isapt to be fulfilled. "

The artist's deep voice sounded full and cordial, as he uttered thewords. The young soldier heard them, and as Moor and the jester touchedglasses, he raised his own goblet, drained it to the dregs, and askedmodestly: "Will you listen to a few lines of mine, kind sir?"

"Say them, say them!" cried the artist, filling his glass again, whilethe lansquenet, approaching the table, fixed his eyes steadily on thebeaker, and in an embarrassed manner, repeated:

 "On Christmas-day, when Jesus Christ, To save us sinners came, A poor, sore-wounded soldier dared To call upon his name. 'Oh! hear, ' he said, 'my earnest prayer, For the kind, generous man, Who gave the wounded soldier aid, And bore him through the land. So, in Thy shining chariot, I pray, dear Jesus mine, Thou'lt bear him through a happy life To Paradise divine. '"

"Capital, capital!" cried the artist, pledging the lansquenet andinsisting that he should sit down between him and the jester. 

Pellicanus now gazed thoughtfully into vacancy, for what the wounded mancould do, he too might surely accomplish. It was not only ambition, andthe habit of answering every good saying he heard with a better one, butkindly feeling, that urged him to honor the generous benefactor with aspeech. 

After a few minutes, which Moor spent in talking with the soldier, Pellicanus raised his glass, coughed again, and said, first calmly, then in an agitated voice, whose sharp tones grew more and more subdued:

 "A rogue a fool must be, 't is true, Rog'ry sans folly will not do; Where folly joins with roguery, There's little harm, it seems to me. The pope, the king, the youthful squire, Each one the fool's cap doth attire; He who the bauble will not wear, The worst of fools doth soon appear. Thee may the motley still adorn, When, an old man, the laurel crown Thy head doth deck, while gifts less vain, Thine age to bless will still remain. When fair grandchildren thee delight, Mayst then recall this Christmas night. When added years bring whitening hair, The draught of wisdom then wilt share, But it will lack the flavor due, Without a drop of folly too. And if the drop is not at hand, Remember poor old Pellican, Who, half a rogue and half a fool, Yet has a faithful heart and whole. "

"Thanks, thanks!" cried the artist, shaking the jester's hand. "Such aChristmas ought to be lauded! Wisdom, art, and courage at one table!Haven't I fared like the man, who picked up stones by the way side, andto-they were changed to pure gold in his knapsack. "

"The stone was crumbling, " replied the jester; "but as for the gold, itwill stand the test with me, if you seek it in the heart, and not in thepocket. Holy Blasius! Would that my grave might lack filling, as longas my little strong-box here; I'd willingly allow it. "

"And so would I!" laughed the soldier:

"Then travelling will be easy for you, " said the artist. "There was atime, when my pouch was no fuller than yours. I know by the experienceof those days how a poor man feels, and never wish to forget it. I stillowe you my after-dinner speech, but you must let me off, for I can'tspeak your language fluently. In brief, I wish you the recovery of yourhealth, Pellican, and you a joyous life of happiness and honor, my worthycomrade. What is your name?"

"Hans Eitelfritz von der Lucke, from Colln on the Spree, " replied thesoldier. "And, no offence, Herr Moor, God will care for the monks, butthere were three poor invalid fellows in your cart. One goblet more tothe pretty sick boy in there. "

CHAPTER XII. 

After dinner the artist went with his old servant, who had attended tothe horses and then enjoyed a delicious Christmas roast, to Count vonHochburg, to obtain an escort for the next day. 

Pellicanus had undertaken to watch Ulrich, who was still sleepingquietly. 

The jester would gladly have gone to bed himself, for he felt cold andtired, but, though the room could not be heated, he remained faithfullyat his post for hours. With benumbed hands and feet, he watched by thelight of the night-lamp every breath the boy drew, often gazing at himas anxiously and sympathizingly, as if he were his own child. 

When Ulrich at last awoke, he timidly asked when he was, and when thejester had soothed him, begged for a bit of bread, he was so hungry. 

How famished he felt, the contents of the dish that were speedily placedbefore him, soon discovered Pellicanus wanted to feed him like a baby, but the boy took the spoon out of his hand, and the former smilinglywatched the sturdy eater, without disturbing, him, until he was perfectlysatisfied; then he began to perplex the lad with questions, that seemedto him neither very intelligible, nor calculated to inspire confidence. 

"Well, my little bird!" the jester began, joyously anticipating aconfirmation of the clever inferences he had drawn, "I suppose it was along flight to the churchyard, where we found you. On the grave is abetter place than in it, and a bed at Emmendingen, with plenty of gritsand veal, is preferable to being in the snow on the highway, with agrumbling stomach Speak freely, my lad! Where does your nest of robbershang?"

"Nest of robbers?" repeated Ulrich in amazement. 

"Well, castle or the like, for aught I care, " continued Pellicanusinquiringly. "Everybody is at home somewhere, except Mr. Nobody; but asyou are somebody, Nobody cannot possibly be your father. Tell me aboutthe old fellow!"

"My father is dead, " replied the boy, and as the events of the precedingday rushed back upon his memory, he drew the coverlet over his face andwept. 

"Poor fellow!" murmured the jester, hastily drawing his sleeve acrosshis eyes, and leaving the lad in peace, till he showed his face again. Then he continued: "But I suppose you have a mother at home?"

Ulrich shook his head mournfully, and Pellicanus, to conceal his ownemotion, looked at him with a comical grimace, and then said very kindly, though not without a feeling of satisfaction at his own penetration:

"So you are an orphan! Yes, yes! So long as the mother's wings coverit, the young bird doesn't fly so thoughtlessly out of the warm nest intothe wide world. I suppose the Latin school grew too narrow for the youngnobleman?"

Ulrich raised himself, exclaiming in an eager, defiant tone:

"I won't go back to the monastery; that I will not. "

"So that's the way the hare jumps!" cried the fool laughing. "You'vebeen a bad Latin scholar, and the timber in the forest is dearer to you, than the wood in the school-room benches. To be sure, they send out nogreen shoots. Dear Lord, how his face is burning!" So saying, Pellicanus laid his hand on the boy's forehead and when he felt that itwas hot, deemed it better to stop his examination for the day, and onlyasked his patient his name. 

"Ulrich, " was the reply. 

"And what else?"

"Let me alone!" pleaded the boy, drawing the coverlet over his headagain. 

The jester obeyed his wish, and opened the door leading into the tap-room, for some one had knocked. The artist's servant entered, to fetchhis master's portmanteau. Old Count von Hochburg had invited Moor to behis guest, and the painter intended to spend the night at the castle. Pellicanus was to take care of the boy, and if necessary send for thesurgeon again. An hour after, the sick jester lay shivering in his bed, coughing before sleeping and between naps. Ulrich too could obtain noslumber. 

At first he wept softly, for he now clearly realized, for the first time, that he had lost his father and should never see Ruth, the doctor, northe doctor's dumb wife Elizabeth again. Then he wondered how he had cometo Einmendingen, what sort of a place it was, and who the queer littleman could be, who had taken him for a young noble--the quaint little manwith the cough, and a big head, whose eyes sparkled so through his tears. The jester's mistake made him laugh, and he remembered that Ruth had onceadvised him to command the "word, " to transform him into a count. 

Suppose he should say to-morrow, that his father had been a knight?

But the wicked thought only glided through his mind; even before he hadreflected upon it, he felt ashamed of himself, for he was no liar. 

Deny his father! That was very wrong, and when he stretched himself outto sleep, the image of the valiant smith stood with tangible distinctnessbefore his soul. Gravely and sternly he floated upon clouds, and lookedexactly like the pictures Ulrich had seen of God the Father, only he worethe smith's cap on his grey hair. Even in Paradise, the glorified spirithad not relinquished it. 

Ulrich raised his hands as if praying, but hastily let them fall again, for there was a great stir outside of the inn. The tramp of steeds, theloud voices of men, the sound of drums and fifes were audible, then therewas rattling, marching and shouting in the court-yard. 

"A room for the clerk of the muster-roll and paymaster!" cried avoice. 

"Gently, gently, children!" said the deep tones of the provost, who wasthe leader, counsellor and friend of the Lansquenets. "A devout servantmust not bluster at the holy Christmas-tide; he's permitted to drink aglass, Heaven be praised. Your house is to be greatly honored, Landlord!The recruiting for our most gracious commander, Count von Oberstein, is--to be done here. Do you hear, man! Everything to be paid for incash, and not a chicken will be lost; but the wine must be good! Do youunderstand? So this evening broach a cask of your best. Pardon me, children--the very best, I meant to say. "

Ulrich now heard the door of the tap-room open, and fancied he could seethe Lansquenets in gay costumes, each one different from the other, crowdinto the apartment. 

The jester coughed loudly, scolding and muttering to himself; but Ulrichlistened with sparkling eyes to the sounds that came through the ill-fitting door, by which he could hear what was passing in the next room. 

With the clerk of the muster-rolls, the paymaster and provost hadappeared the drummers and fifers, who the day after to-morrow were tosound the license for recruiting, and besides these, twelve Lansquenets, who were evidently no novices. 

Many an exclamation of surprise and pleasure was heard directly aftertheir entrance into the tap-room, and amid the confusion of voices, thename of Hans Eitelfritz fell more than once upon Ulrich's ear. 

The provost's voice sounded unusually cordial, as he greeted the bravefellow with the wounded hand--an honor of great value to the latter, forhe had served five years in the same company with the provost, "FatherKanold, " who read the very depths of his soldiers' hearts, and knew themall as if they were his own sons. 

Ulrich could not understand much amid the medley of voices in theadjoining room, but when Hans Eitelfritz, from Colln on the Spree, askedto be the first one put down on the muster-roll, he distinctly heard theprovost oppose the clerk's scruples, saying warmly "write, write; I'drather have him with one hand, than ten peevish fellows with two. He hasfun and life in him. Advance him some money too, he probably lacks manya piece of armor. "

Meantime the wine-cask must have been opened, for the clink of glasses, and soon after loud singing was audible. 

Just as the second song began, the boy fell asleep, but woke again twohours after, roused by the stillness that had suddenly succeeded theuproar. 

Hans Eitelfritz had declared himself ready to give a new song in his bestvein, and the provost commanded silence. 

The singing now began; during its continuance Ulrich raised himselfhigher and higher in bed, not a word escaped him, either of the songitself, or the chorus, which was repeated by the whole party, withexuberant gayety, amid the loud clinking of goblets. Never before hadthe lad heard such bold, joyous voices; even at the second verse hisheart bounded and it seemed as if he must join in the tune, which he hadquickly caught. The song ran as follows:

 Who, who will venture to hold me back? Drums beat, fifes are playing a merry tune! Down hammer, down pen, what more need I, alack I go to seek fortune, good fortune!

 Oh father, mother, dear sister mine, Blue-eyed maid at the bridge-house, my fair one. Weep not, ye must not at parting repine, I go to seek fortune, good fortune!

 The cannon roar loud, the sword flashes bright, Who'll dare meet the stroke of my falchion? Close-ranked, horse and foot in battle unite, In war, war, dwells fortune, good fortune!

 The city is taken, the booty mine; With red gold, I'll deck--I know whom; Pair maids' cheeks burn red, red too glows the wine, Fortune, Paradise of good fortune!

 Deep, scarlet wounds, brave breasts adorn, Impoverished, crippled age I shun A death of honor, 'mid glory won, This too is good fortune, good fortune!

 A soldier-lad composed this ditty Hans Eitelfritz he, fair Colln's son, His kindred dwell in the goodly city, But he himself in fortune, good fortune!

"He himself in fortune, good fortune, " sang Ulrich also, and while, amidloud shouts of joy, the glasses again clinked against each other, herepeated the glad "fortune, good fortune. " Suddenly, it flashed uponhim like a revelation, "Fortune, " that might be the word!

Such exultant joy, such lark-like trilling, such inspiring promises ofhappiness had never echoed in any word, as they now did from the"fortune, " the young lansquenet so gaily and exultantly uttered. 

"Fortune, Fortune!" he exclaimed aloud, and the jester, who was lyingsleepless in his bed and could not help smiling at the lad's singing, raised himself, saying:

"Do you like the word? Whoever understands how to seize it when it flitsby, will always float on top of everything, like fat on the soup. Rodsare cut from birches, willows, and knotted hazel-sticks-ho! ho! you knowthat, already;--but, for him who has good fortune, larded cakes, rollsand sausages grow. One bold turn of Fortune's wheel will bring him, whohas stood at the bottom, up to the top with the speed of lightning. Brother Queer-fellow says: 'Up and down, like an avalanche. ' But nowturn over and go to sleep. To-morrow will also be a Christmas-day, whichwill perhaps bring you Fortune as a Christmas gift. "

It seemed as if Ulrich had not called upon Fortune in vain, for as soonas he closed his eyes, a pleasant dream bore him with gentle hands to theforge on the market-place, and his mother stood beside the lightedChristmas-tree, pointing to the new sky-blue suit she had made him, andthe apples, nuts, hobby-horse, and jumping jack, with a head as round asa ball, huge ears, and tiny flat legs. He felt far too old for suchchildish toys, and yet took a certain pleasure in them. Then the visionchanged, and he again saw his mother; but this time she was walking amongthe angels in Paradise. A royal crown adorned her golden hair, and shetold him she was permitted to wear it there, because she had been soreviled, and endured so much disgrace on earth. 

When the artist returned from Count von Hochburg's the next morning, hewas not a little surprised to see Ulrich standing before the recruiting-table bright and well. 

The lad's cheeks were glowing with shame and anger, for the clerk of themuster-rolls and paymaster had laughed in his face, when he expressed hisdesire to become a Lansquenet. 

The artist soon learned what was going on, and bade his protege accompanyhim out of doors. Kindly, and without either mockery or reproof, herepresented to him that he was still far too young for military service, and after Ulrich had confirmed everything the painter had already heardfrom the jester, Moor asked who had given him instruction in drawing. 

"My father, and afterwards Father Lukas in the monastery, " replied theboy. "But don't question me as the little man did last night. "

"No, no, " said his protector. "But there are one or two more things Iwish to know. Was your father an artist?"

"No, " murmured the lad, blushing and hesitating. But when he met thestranger's clear gaze, he quickly regained his composure, and said:

"He only knew how to draw, because he understood how to forge beautiful, artistic things. "

"And in what city did you live?"

"In no city. Outside in the woods. "

"Oho!" said the artist, smiling significantly, for he knew that manyknights practised a trade. "Answer only two questions more; then youshall be left in peace until you voluntarily open your heart to me. Whatis your name?"

"Ulrich. "

"I know that; but your father's?"

"Adam. "

"And what else?"

Ulrich gazed silently at the ground, for the smith had borne no othername. 

"Well then, " said Moor, "we will call you Ulrich for the present; thatwill suffice. But have you no relatives? Is no one waiting for you athome?"

"We have led such a solitary life--no one. "

Moor looked fixedly into the boy's face, then nodded, and with a well-satisfied expression, laid his hand on Ulrich's curls, and said:

"Look at me. I am an artist, and if you have any love for my profession, I will teach you. "

"Oh!" cried the boy, clasping his hands in glad surprise. 

"Well then, " Moor continued, "you can't learn much on the way, but we canwork hard in Madrid. We are going now to King Philip of Spain. "

"Spain, Portugal!" murmured Ulrich with sparkling eyes; all he had heardin the doctor's house about these countries returned to his mind. 

"Fortune, good fortune!" cried an exultant voice in his heart. This wasthe "word, " it must be, it was already exerting its spell, and the spellwas to prove its inherent power in the near future. 

That very day the party were to go to Count von Rappoltstein in thevillage of Rappolts, and this time Ulrich was not to plod along on foot, or he in a close baggage-wagon; no, he was to be allowed to ride aspirited horse. The escort would not consist of hired servants, but ofpicked men, and the count was going to join the train in person at thehill crowned by the castle, for Moor had promised to paint a portrait ofthe nobleman's daughter, who had married Count von Rappoltstein. It wasto be a costly Christmas gift, which the old gentleman intended to makehimself and his faithful wife. 

The wagon was also made ready for the journey; but no one rode inside;the jester, closely muffled in wraps, had taken his seat beside thedriver, and the monks were obliged to go on by way of Freiburg, andtherefore could use the vehicle no longer. 

They scolded and complained about it, as if they had been greatlywronged, and when Sutor refused to shake hands with the artist, Stubenrauch angrily turned his back upon the kind-hearted man. 

The offended pair sullenly retired, but the Christmas sun shone nonethe less brightly from the clear sky, the party of travellers had a gay, spick and span, holiday aspect, and the world into which they now faredstoutly forth, was so wide and beautiful, that Ulrich forgot his grief, and joyously waved his new cap in answer to the Lansquenet's farewellgesture. 

It was a merry ride, for on the way they met numerous travellers, whowere going through the hamlet of Rappolts to the "three castles on themountain" and saluted the old nobleman with lively songs. The Counts vonRappoltstein were the "piper-kings, " the patrons of the brotherhood ofmusicians and singers on the Upper Rhine. Usually these joyous birds metat the castle of their "king" on the 8th of September, to pay him theirlittle tax and be generously entertained in return; but this year, onaccount of the plague in the autumn, the festival had been deferred untilthe third day after Christmas, but Ulrich believed 'Fortune' had arrangedit so for him. 

There was plenty of singing, and the violins and rebecs, flutes, andreed-pipes were never silent. One serenade followed another, and even atthe table a new song rang out at each new course. 

The fiery wine, game and sweet cakes at the castle board undoubtedlypleased the palate of the artisan's son, but he enjoyed feasting his earsstill more. He felt as if he were in Heaven, and thought less and lessof the grief he had endured. 

Day by day Fortune shook her horn of plenty, and flung new gifts downupon him. 

He had told the stable-keepers of his power over refractory horses, andafter proving what he could do, was permitted to tame wild stallions andride them about the castle-yard, before the eyes of the old and youngcount and the beautiful young lady. This brought him praise and giftsof new clothes. Many a delicate hand stroked his curls, and it alwaysseemed to him as if his mighty spell could bestow nothing better. 

One day Moor took him aside, and told him that he had commenced aportrait of young Count Rappolstein too. The lad was obliged to bestill, having broken his foot in a fall from his horse, and as Ulrich wasof the same size and age, the artist wished him to put on the youngcount's clothes and serve as a model. 

The smith's son now received the best clothes belonging to hisaristocratic companion in age. The suit was entirely black, but eachgarment of a different material, the stockings silk, the breeches satin, the doublet soft Flanders velvet. Golden-yellow puffs and slashes stoodforth in beautiful relief against the darker stuff. Even the knots ofribbon on the breeches and shoes were as yellow as a blackbird's beak. Delicate lace trimmed the neck and fell on the hands, and a clasp of realgems confined the black and yellow plumes in the velvet hat. 

All this finery was wonderfully becoming to the smith's son, and he musthave been blind, if he had not noticed how old and young nudged eachother at sight of him. The spirit of vanity in his soul laughed indelight, and the lad soon knew the way to the large Venetian mirror, which was carefully kept in the hall of state. This wonderful glassshowed Ulrich for the first time his whole figure and the image whichlooked back at him from the crystal, flattered and pleased him. 

But, more than aught else, he enjoyed watching the artist's hand and eyeduring the sittings. Poor Father Lukas in the monastery must hide hishead before this master. He seemed to actually grow while engaged in hiswork, his shoulders, which he usually liked to carry stooping forward, straightened, the broad, manly breast arched higher, and the kindly eyesgrew stern, nay sometimes wore a terrible expression. 

Although little was said during the sittings, they were always too shortfor the boy. He did not stir, for it always seemed to him as if anymovement would destroy the sacred act he witnessed, and when, in thepauses, he looked at the canvas and saw how swiftly and steadily the workprogressed, he felt as if before his own eyes, he was being born again toa nobler existence. In the wassail-hall hung the portrait of a youngPrince of Navarre, whose life had been saved in the chase by aRappoltstein. Ulrich, attired in the count's clothes, looked exactlylike him. The jester had been the first to perceive this strangecircumstance. Every one, even Moor, agreed with him, and so it happenedthat Pellicanus henceforth called his young friend the Navarrete. Thename pleased the boy. Everything here pleased him, and he was full ofhappiness; only often at night he could not help grieving because, whilehis father was dead, he enjoyed such an overflowing abundance of goodthings, and because he had lost his mother, Ruth, and all who had lovedhim. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Ulrich was obliged to share the jester's sleeping-room, and as Pellicanusshrank from getting out of bed, while suffering from night-sweats, andoften needed something, he roused Ulrich from his sleep, and the latterwas always ready to assist him. This happened more frequently as theycontinued their journey, and the poor little man's illness increased. 

The count had furnished Ulrich with a spirited young horse, thatshortened the road for him by its tricks and capers. But the jester, whobecame more and more attached to the boy, also did his utmost to keep thefeeling of happiness alive in his heart. On warm days he nestled in therack before the tilt with the driver, and when Ulrich rode beside him, opened his eyes to everything that passed before him. 

The jester had a great deal to tell about the country and people, and heembellished the smallest trifle with tales invented by himself, ordevised by others. 

While passing a grove of birches, he asked the lad if he knew why thetrunks of these trees were white, and then explained the cause, asfollows:

"When Orpheus played so exquisitely on his lute, all the trees rushedforward to dance. The birches wanted to come too, but being vain, stopped to put on white dresses, to outdo the others. When they finallyappeared on the dancing-ground, the singer had already gone--and now, summer and winter, year in and year out, they keep their white dresseson, to be prepared, when Orpheus returns and the lute sounds again. "

A cross-bill was perched on a bough in a pine-wood, and the jester saidthat this bird was a very peculiar species. It had originally been grey, and its bill was as straight as a sparrow's, but when the Saviour hungupon the cross, it pitied him, and with its little bill strove to drawthe nails from the wounded hands. In memory of this friendly act, theLord had marked its beak with the cross, and painted a dark-red spot onits breast, where the bird hall been sprinkled with His Son's blood. Other rewards were bestowed upon it, for no other bird could hatch abrood of young ones in winter, and it also had the power of lessening thefever of those, who cherished it. 

A flock of wild geese flew over the road and the hills, and Pellicanuscried: "Look there! They always fly in two straight lines, and form aletter of the alphabet. This time it is an A. Can you see it? When theLord was writing the laws on the tablets, a flock of wild geese flewacross Mt. Sinai, and in doing so, one effaced a letter with its wing. Since that time, they always fly in the shape of a letter, and theirwhole race, that is, all geese, are compelled to let those people whowish to write, pluck the feathers from their wings. "

Pellicanus was fond of talking to the boy in their bedroom. He alwayscalled him Navarrete, and the artist, when in a cheerful mood, followedhis example. 

Ulrich felt great reverence for Moor; the jester, on the contrary, wasonly a good comrade, in whom he speedily reposed entire confidence. 

Many an allusion and jesting word showed that Pellicanus still believedhim to be the son of a knight, and this at last became unendurable to thelad. 

One evening, when they were both in bed, he summoned up his courage andtold him everything he knew about his past life. 

The jester listened attentively, without interrupting him, until Ulrichfinished his story with the words "And while I was gone, the bailiffs anddogs tracked them, but my father resisted, and they killed him and thedoctor. "

"Yes, yes, " murmured the jester. "It's a pity about Costa. Many aChristian might feel honored at resembling some Jews. It is only amisfortune to be born a Hebrew, and be deprived of eating ham. The Jewsare compelled to wear an offensive badge, but many a Christian child isborn with one. For instance, in Sparta they would have hurled me intothe gulf, on account of my big head, and deformed shoulder. Nowadays, people are less merciful, and let men like us drag the cripple's markthrough life. God sees the heart; but men cannot forget their ancestor, the clod of earth--the outside is always more to them than the inside. If my head had only been smaller, and some angel had smoothed myshoulder, I might perhaps now be a cardinal, wear purple, and instead ofriding under a grey tilt, drive in a golden coach, with well-fed blacksteeds. Your body was measured with a straight yard stick, but there'strouble in other places. So your father's name was Adam, and he reallybore no other?"

"No, certainly not. "

"That's too little by half. From this day we'll call you in earnestNavarrete: Ulrich Navarrete. That will be something complete. The nameis only a dress, but if half of it is taken from your body, you are lefthalf-bare and exposed to mockery. The garment must be becoming too, sowe adorn it as we choose. My father was called Kurschner, but at theLatin school Olearius and Faber and Luscinius sat beside me, so I raisedmyself to the rank of a Roman citizen, and turned Kurschner intoPellicanus. . . . "

The jester coughed violently, and continued One thing more. To expectgratitude is folly, nine times out of ten none is reaped, and he who iswise thinks only of himself, and usually omits to seek thanks; but everyone ought to be grateful, for it is burdensome to have enemies, and thereis no one we learn to hate more easily, than the benefactor we repay withingratitude. You ought and must tell the artist your history, for he hasdeserved your confidence. 

The jester's worldly-wise sayings, in which selfishness was alwayspraised as the highest virtue, often seemed very puzzling to the boy, yet many of them were impressed on his young soul. He followed the sickman's advice the very next morning, and he had no cause to regret it, forMoor treated him even more kindly than before. 

Pellicanus intended to part from the travellers at Avignon, to go toMarseilles, and from there by ship to Savona, but before he reached theold city of the popes, he grew so feeble, that Moor scarcely hoped tobring him alive to the goal of his journey. 

The little man's body seemed to continually grow smaller, and his headlarger, while his hollow, livid cheeks looked as if a rose-leaf adornedthe centre of each. 

He often told his travelling-companions about his former life. 

He had originally been destined for the ecclesiastical profession, butthough he surpassed all the other pupils in the school, he was deprivedof the hope of ever becoming a priest, for the Church wants no cripples. He was the child of poor people, and had been obliged to fight his waythrough his career as a student, with great difficulty. 

"How shabby the broad top of my cap often was!" he said. "I was so muchashamed of it. I am so small. Dear me, anybody could see my head, andcould not help noticing all the worn places in the velvet, if he cast hiseyes down. How often have I sat beside the kitchen of a cook-shop, andseasoned dry bread with the smell of roast meat. Often too my poodledogwent out and stole a sausage for me from the butcher. "

At other times the little fellow had fared better; then, sitting in thetaverns, he had given free-play to his wit, and imposed no constraint onhis sharp tongue. 

Once he had been invited by a former boon-companion, to accompany him tohis ancestral castle, to cheer his sick father; and so it happened thathe became a buffoon, wandered from one great lord to another, and finallyentered the elector's service. 

He liked to pretend that he despised the world and hated men, but thisassertion could not be taken literally, and was to be regarded in ageneral, rather than a special sense, for every beautiful thing in theworld kindled eager enthusiasm in his heart, and he remained kindlydisposed towards individuals to the end. 

When Moor once charged him with this, he said, smiling:

"What would you have? Whoever condemns, feels himself superior to theperson upon whom he sits in judgment, and how many fools, like me, fancythemselves great, when they stand on tiptoe, and find fault even with theworks of God! 'The world is evil, ' says the philosopher, and whoeverlistens to him, probably thinks carelessly: 'Hear, hear! He would havemade it better than our Father in heaven. ' Let me have my pleasure. I'm only a little man, but I deal in great things. To criticise a singleinsignificant human creature, seems to me scarcely worth while, but whenwe pronounce judgment on all humanity and the boundless universe, we canopen our mouths-wonderfully wide!"

Once his heart had been filled with love for a beautiful girl, but shehad scornfully rejected his suit and married another. When she waswidowed, and he found her in dire poverty, he helped her with a largeshare of his savings, and performed this kind service again, when thesecond worthless fellow she married had squandered her last penny. 

His life was rich in similar incidents. 

In his actions, the queer little man obeyed the dictates of his heart;in his speech, his head ruled his tongue, and this seemed to him the onlysensible course. To practise unselfish generosity he regarded as asubtle, exquisite pleasure, which he ventured to allow himself, becausehe desired nothing more; others, to whom he did not grudge a prosperouscareer, he must warn against such folly. 

There was a keen, bitter expression on his large, thin face, and whoeversaw him for the first time might easily have supposed him to be a wicked, spiteful man. He knew this, and delighted in frightening the men andmaid-servants at the taverns by hideous grimaces--he boasted of beingable to make ninety-five different faces--until the artist's old valetat last dreaded him like the "Evil One. "

He was particularly gay in Avignon, for he felt better than he had donefor a long time, and ordered a seat to be engaged for him in a vehiclegoing to Marseilles. 

The evening before their separation, he described with sparklingvivacity, the charms of the Ligurian coast, and spoke of the futureas if he were sure of entire recovery and a long life. 

In the night Ulrich heard him groaning louder than usual, and startingup, raised him, as he was in the habit of doing when the poor little manwas tortured by difficulty of breathing. But this time Pellicanus didnot swear and scold, but remained perfectly still, and when his heavyhead fell like a pumpkin on the boy's breast, he was greatly terrifiedand ran to call the artist. 

Moor was soon standing at the head of the sick-bed, holding a light, sothat its rays could fall upon the face of the gasping man. The latteropened his eyes and made three grimaces in quick succession--very comicalones, yet tinged with sadness. 

Pellicanus probably noticed the artist's troubled glance, for he tried tonod to him, but his head was too heavy and his strength too slight, so heonly succeeded in moving it first to the right and then to the left, buthis eyes expressed everything he desired to say. In this way severalminutes elapsed, then Pellicanus smiled, and with a sorrowful gaze, though a mischievous expression hovered around his mouth, scanned:

"'Mox erit' quiet and mute, 'gui modo' jester 'erat'. " Then he said assoftly as if every tone came, not from his chest, but merely from hislips

"Is it agreed, Navarrete, Ulrich Navarrete? I've made the Latin easy foryou, eh? Your hand, boy. Yours, too, dear, dear master. . . . . Moor, Ethiopian--Blackskin. . . . "

The words died away in a low, rattling sound, and the dying man's eyesbecame glazed, but it was several hours before he drew his last breath. 

A priest gave him Extreme Unction, but consciousness did not return. 

After the holy man had left him, his lips moved incessantly, but no onecould understand what he said. Towards morning, the sun of Provence wasshining warmly and brightly into the room and on his bed, when hesuddenly threw his arm above his head, and half speaking, half singing toHans Eitelfritz's melody, let fall from his lips the words: "In fortune, good fortune. " A few minutes after he was dead. 

Moor closed his eyes. Ulrich knelt weeping beside the bed, and kissedhis poor friend's cold hand. 

When he rose, the artist was gazing with silent reverence at the jester'sfeatures; Ulrich followed his eyes, and imagined he was standing in thepresence of a miracle, for the harsh, bitter, troubled face had obtaineda new expression, and was now the countenance of a peaceful, kindly man, who had fallen asleep with pleasant memories in his heart. 

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

No one we learn to hate more easily, than the benefactorOnce laughed at a misfortune, its sting loses its pointTo expect gratitude is follyWhoever condemns, feels himself superior