"'Why, what is the matter?' asked the pretty girl. 'What is the matter?'

"I had let her arm slip out of mine and made my escape to the remotest room. There I threw myself upon a low sofa in a dark corner, and lay brooding over the grievous blunder I had committed. While I thought I was playing with a good-natured poodle-dog, I had been engaged with a formidable bear! They had represented this man to me as just as malicious as he was learned and witty. Would he not be sore to remember my sarcasms and bitter sayings in that evil hour when I was lying helpless on the examination-table, ready to be dissected? It was a desperate case.

"I heard a noise near me, and raised my head--before me stood Professor Berger. I jumped up instantly.

"'Allow me to sit down by you,' said the eccentric man, and sat down on the low sofa, beckoning me to follow his example. 'I like you, and I wish to become better acquainted with you. I am Professor Berger; whom have I the honor to address?'

"'My name is Stein.'

"'You are a student, or, rather, you have been a student. What have you studied?'

"'I wish I could simply answer, Philology; but as that would not be exactly true, I can only say I would I had studied Philology.'

"'How so?'

"'Because then I would be less afraid of the honor of becoming better known to you.'

"A smile played around the lips of the professor, pa.s.sed up the cheek, and was lost in the corner of the right eye.

"'You are a candidate for honors?'

"'Yes; but with little hope.'

"The smile came down again from the eye to the lips.

"'And therefore you are frightened at seeing me, as Hamlet was before his father's ghost?'

"'At least I do not see you very clearly.'

"'Well, then, you see yourself that we must become better acquainted with each other. Will you come to-morrow evening, or some other evening, when you have time and inclination, and drink a gla.s.s of punch with me?'

"Of course I did not refuse.

"And this was the beginning of my acquaintance with this strange man, whom I now may call my friend. We have ever since that day met daily, as long as I remained in Grunwald, and I value the deep insight into one of the most remarkable characters which was thus afforded me by the intimate intercourse with him, far more highly than the practical advantages which I derived from my friendship with so great a scholar.

I am almost afraid there must exist some affinity between him and myself, or we would not so quickly have discovered what was sympathetic in each of us; nor would we have learnt so soon to speak with such unreserved candor, and to understand each other by a mere word or a hint. I say I am afraid, because Berger is a most unhappy man. The bright lights of his brilliant wit play upon a dark background full of storms. He is standing alone in the world, misjudged by everybody, feared by many, loved by none. Why that is so, I dare not tell even you, for friendship is a temple to which no third person can be admitted. But I shudder whenever I think of the dark night that must break down upon him as soon as old age dims the light of the bright torch which now alone illumines the terrible waste of his miserable heart. Perhaps, however--who knows?--that may prove fortunate for him.

Perhaps the words which he now often quotes, half in bitter irony and half in melancholy conviction: 'Blessed are the poor in spirit!' may yet become a truth for him.

"My intimacy with the learned man had surrounded me, in the eyes of the world, with a halo, which made me hope that under such protection I might, like the heroes of Homer, safely pa.s.s through the dangers of the impending battle--the examination. On the morning of the decisive day, Berger said to me: 'Do you know, dear Stein, I have a great mind to reject you?'

"'Why?'

"'Because I fear to lose you--to lose you twice. Great G.o.d! what changes may not happen to a man whom we seat in the easy-chair of an office, and whom we crown with the night-cap of a dignity! You may actually see the day when you will consider Horace a great poet and Cicero a distinguished philosopher--why, you may in due time, and from sheer disgust of life, become a learned professor like myself.'

"The examination had been held, and I had received, as Berger called it, license to thresh empty straw. One day he came to me, an open letter in his hand, and asked:

"'Would you like to become a tutor in a n.o.bleman's family?'

"'I hardly think I would.'

"'Perhaps so; but the offer is so tempting that it is at least worth your while to consider the matter. You would have to bind yourself for four years.'

"'And you call that a tempting offer? Four years? Not four weeks!'

"'Just listen. Of these four years, two only will be spent at the house; the other two you are to travel with your pupil. You want to see the world, and you ought to see it, even if it were only in order to learn that men have a right to like dogs everywhere. You have no means of your own, and you are too civilized to be a good vagabond. Well now, here you have the finest opportunity, such as may not present itself a second time in all your life.'

"'And who is the Alexander whose Aristotle I am to be?'

"'A young lord, like the hero of Macedonia. I have seen the n.o.ble race last year in Ostend. The father, a Baron Grenwitz, is a nullity; the baroness, an unknown quant.i.ty, which I could not ascertain. At all events, she is a clever woman. I know that that is no small attraction for you. She speaks three or four modern languages, to say nothing of her mother tongue. I even suspect her of having secretly read Latin and Greek with her present tutor, a certain Bauer, who has studied here, and was a thoroughly well-educated youth.'

"'And you, who have told me yourself that you have written a book about the n.o.bles and against the n.o.bles, which, unfortunately, cannot be printed anywhere in Germany, although specially intended for Germany--you advise me, who hold the same pariah notions about this Brahmin caste, to go over to the army of our hereditary enemies?'

"'That is exactly the fun,' laughed Berger. 'I want you to go there like a Mohican into the camp of the Iroquois, and I am delighted at the spoil you will bring back with you. We will hang them up in our wigwams, and enjoy them heartily.'

"'And if I lose my scalp among them--what then?'

"'Then I am the last of the Mohicans, and smoke my calumet in loneliness on the grave of my Uncas.'

"He rested his head on his hand, and stared grimly at the distance.

'Yes, yes, I know,' he growled, 'the Big Serpent, when it is tired hissing at men, will creep into a deep mora.s.s and perish there alone.'

"I took his hand in mine: 'That shall not be so; at least not as long as I live.'

"He looked at me sadly.

"'But you will die before me,' he said; 'the big Serpent is tough and you are soft--much too soft for this hard world. But let us leave that alone. What do you think of my offer?'

"'That I like it only so-so.'

"'Then I must play my last trump,' cried Berger, jumping up. 'Hear, then, you incredulous man, that the house to which I wish to send you owns an angel in the shape of a most lovely girl. She is the sister of your Alexander, and, G.o.d be thanked, as yet at a boarding-school in Hamburg. I hate her, for she has caused me infinite trouble. All the mad dreams of my youth revived when I saw her, and worried me like fair ghosts. At last I ran away as soon as I saw her coming on the smooth sand of the beach, with her light straw-hat. Yes, I must tell you; I wrote those sonnets which I read to you the other day, and which I told you I had composed thirty years ago at Heligoland, only last year at Ostend. You were good enough to call them glowing with love, and heaven knows what else--well, I was bewitched by the fair demon, and I wrote them with blood, the blood of my heart. But you will not tell that to anybody?'

"'Why not? Not a soul would believe me.'

"'There you are right And now?'

"'Now I am less inclined than ever. I do not wish to repeat the foolish story of the love affair between a tutor and the daughter of a n.o.ble house, which I have read over and over again in so many a novel. And if the girl is really so beautiful and lovely, that----'

"'That even the dry branches put out fresh leaves--what might then happen to the green wood?' interrupted me Berger, laughing aloud.

'Well, then, fall in love! why not? My dear fellow, the book of life, for people like ourselves, has the same t.i.tle as one of Balzac's novels: _Illusions Perdues_. Every day only adds a new chapter, and the shorter the book, the better and the more interesting it is. But since it must needs be written, and cannot be written by any other means, it is, after all, immaterial whether we go east or west; we pa.s.s through the same experiences here and there. Therefore I say once more: Go to Grenwitz!'

"What could I do? It seemed to me my duty to fulfil the wish of my friend, to whom I owed so much. And then, was not Berger right in saying that it was immaterial whether I went east or west? In fine, I packed my trunks, bade my Mentor farewell, and went across to this island."

CHAPTER III.

Oswald had always lived in the city. His manners, his views, his attachments were all those of a city man. Thus it happened that when he saw himself suddenly, and as if by magic, transferred to the country, he was charmed and almost intoxicated with the unspeakable beauty of the first bright summer days at a beautiful country place. He enjoyed it more than most men. Everything was so new and yet so strangely familiar to him, as when we find ourselves in a country which we fancy we have seen before in a dream. Was the dark blue vault, which rose higher and higher every day, the same sky which hung so sadly and mournfully over the ocean of houses in the great city? Were these sparkling lights the same lonely stars to which he had now and then glanced up as he came from the opera or from a party? Could a summer morning really be so rich in splendor, a summer evening really so soft and almost lascivious? Had he never heard birds sing, that he must now listen forever to their simple piping? Had he never seen flowers, that he must stand and gaze at their bright colors and strange forms without ever being tired? He felt like a person who comes back to life again after a severe illness. The recent past lay behind him, covered with a thick veil; but days long since gone by, memories drowned in an ocean of oblivion, rose once more before his mind's eye like a dazzling, deceiving Fata Morgana. "Why, there is larkspur!" he cried out one of those days, full of happy surprise, as he saw the flower blooming brightly on many a bed of the garden in which he was walking up and down.