The Lord High Steward bowed and left the room; the furrows deepened in the face of the Prince as he looked after the old man.

The consequence of this conversation was that the Hereditary Prince was sent to the University, where the event did not create so much commotion as was expected at Court.

The Rector, one evening, came to Professor Werner, and after greeting Ilse, began, "You set a good example to your country when you came to us; a communication has been made from head-quarters to the University that in the next term your Hereditary Prince will begin his studies with us." Then, turning to the Professor, he continued: "It is expected that we shall all do what we can, compatibly with the duties of our office, to advance the education of the young Prince. I have to convey to you the wishes of his Highness that you should lecture to the Hereditary Prince in his own room."

"I shall give no Prince's lectures," replied the Professor; "my branch of learning is too comprehensive for that; it cannot be put into a nutsh.e.l.l."

"Perhaps you could lecture on some popular theme," advised the prudent Rector. "It appears to me that greater value attaches to the beneficial effect of your personal intercourse with the Prince than to the contents of your lectures."

"If it is agreeable to the Prince to be in our house, and he will accommodate himself to our habits, I shall show him every respectful and fitting attention. But in my course of instruction I shall make no change on his account. If he attends my lectures as a student, well and good; but I will never give any private lessons in his room or in that of any one else."

"Will not your refusal be regarded as an incivility?" rejoined the Rector.

"It is possible," replied the Professor, "and I must acknowledge to you that in this case it is particularly painful to me. But no personal consideration shall induce me to give up a principle. I have formerly experienced how humiliating it is to have to fashion and fit a serious subject to the comprehension of a boy who has not the necessary preparatory knowledge and the power of grasping and taking a real interest in it. I shall never do it again. But I will do all that I can for this young gentleman, although I must confess that my studies lie far from the high road of princely education. If they wish to learn of us what may be profitable for their future life, they must do so in a regular way, and they should come to us with the preparatory knowledge which alone will make it possible for them to derive advantage from learning. I have here and there observed from a distance how sad is the education of most of them. The shallow and superficial nature of their training, which renders it almost impossible for them to take a warm interest is any domain of intellectual labor, is also of little value for their future life, and gives them little capacity for their duties as rulers. We partic.i.p.ate in inflicting this injury, if we impart a mere varnish of learned culture to youths who have not in truth as much knowledge as a freshman. And that is usually the object. It is not necessary to visit the University in order to become a useful man; but if one enters this difficult path--and I think undoubtedly that every future ruler ought to do so--it should be in a way that will secure valuable results. I do not condemn the teachers who think otherwise,"

concluded the Professor, "there are undoubtedly subjects in which a succinct presentation of some of the leading principles is possible and profitable. But the study of ancient learning is not of this cla.s.s, and, therefore, I beg to be excused from giving private lessons to the young Prince."

The Rector expressed his approbation of these principles.

"My poor Hereditary Prince," cried Ilse, pityingly, when the Rector left.

"My poor ma.n.u.script," retorted the Professor, laughing.

"But you have made an exception in favor of your wife," rejoined Ilse.

"Here the instruction is only the guide to the elucidation of our whole life," replied the Professor. "Under these circ.u.mstances, you will be able to contemplate only from a distance the future Sovereign of Bielstein as belonging to you; and I shall also lose certain faint hopes which I had built upon the pa.s.sing acquaintance with his father.

For it is undoubtedly probable that my refusal will be considered as an act of capricious pride."

The Professor might have been at ease upon this point. Care would be taken that his views should not reach the destination for which they were intended. The sharpness would be blunted, the point broken, for indeed in the higher regions such an idea would be considered so monstrous that it could only be put down to the account of a reprobate man; and this was by no means the case with the Professor.

The Rector was cautious enough to give plausible reasons for Werner's refusal, and at the Prince's palace it was determined that the Hereditary Prince should attend the Professor's lectures. From a syllabus of Werner's lectures a course was selected; it was on the inspection and explanation of casts of antique sculpture, during which the Hereditary Prince and his attendant had at least not to sit among a crowd of colored caps, but could wander about in princely isolation.

Again did the ripened ears of corn wave gently under the autumn breeze, when Ilse went with her husband to the home of her childhood to visit her father. A year abounding in happiness, but not free from pain, had pa.s.sed. Her own life also had been a little history in which she had experienced peace and strife, progress and weakness. Her pale cheeks showed that she had encountered suffering, and her thoughtful countenance portrayed the serious thoughts that had pa.s.sed through her mind; but when she glanced at the weather-beaten church, and fixed her eyes on the dark roof of her father's house, everything was forgotten, and she felt again as a child in the peaceful home which now appeared so refreshing and comforting. The farm-people thronged round the gate; and her sisters rushed to meet her, and her father, towering above all, helped her and her husband out of the carriage. She clasped every one of them in a silent embrace; but when little Franz sprang up to her, she pressed him to her heart, and, losing all her composure, burst into tears, and the father was obliged to take the child from her arms.

They could only pay a short visit, for his professional duties compelled the Professor to return home soon; and though he had proposed to Ilse to remain longer with her father, she declined doing so.

The father looked searchingly at the manner and countenance of his daughter, and made the Professor tell him repeatedly how rapidly and easily she had made herself at home in the city. Meanwhile Ilse flew through the farm-yard and garden out into the fields, again gambolling with her little sisters, who would not let go her hand.

"You are all grown," she exclaimed, "but my curly head most of all--he will be like his father. You will be a country gentleman, Franz."

"No, a Professor," answered the boy.

"Ah, you poor child!" said Ilse.

The laborers left their work and hastened to meet her, and there were many kind greetings and questions: the head carter stopped his horses, and the grey mare tossed her head. "She knows you well," said the man, cracking his whip gaily.

Ilse went into the village, to pay a tribute of respect to the dead and to visit the living. It was with difficulty that she could get away from the invalid Benz, and when at last she did so, he called for his slate, and with trembling hands gave expression to his joy in poetry.

She then made a careful inspection of the farm-yard. Accompanied by a train of maids, she walked between the rows of cattle, in spite of her fashionable dress, like the legendary Frau Berchta, who scattered blessings throughout the stable and house. She stopped before every horned head; the cows raised their mouths to her, lowing; and there was some important news to tell of each. The maids proudly showed her the young calves, and begged her to give names to the grown-up heifers--for the proprietor had desired that these young ones should be named by Ilse--and she gave them the distinguished names of Kalypso and Xantippe. All was familiar, all as formerly, and yet at every step there was something new to eye and ear.

Clara showed her household accounts: the young girl had kept them admirably. The praises which were bestowed upon her by the house-keeper and by the dairy maid, in confidential conversations, gave Ilse great pleasure, and she said: "Now, I am quite satisfied you can do without me here."

Towards evening the Professor sought his wife, who had been absent some hours. He heard the noise of the children by the brook, and guessed where Ilse was. When he turned round the rock by the cave he saw her sitting in the shadow, her eyes turned to her father's house. He called her name, and stretched out his arms towards her; she flew to his bosom, and said, softly: "I know that my home is in your heart; bear with me, when old recollections crowd upon my mind and move me deeply."

At night, when her father conducted the Professor to his bedroom, still conversing with him upon business and politics, Ilse sent her sister Clara to bed, and seated herself in her chair. When her father came in to fetch his candle from the table, he found Ilse again in her old place, waiting to bid him good night, while she handed him the candle stick. He placed it on the table, and, walking up and down the room, as he had done of yore, began, "You are paler and more serious than you used to be. Will that pa.s.s?"

"I hope it will," replied his daughter. After a time she continued, "They believe and think very differently in the city from what we do, father."

The father nodded. "That was the reason I was anxious about you."

"And it is impossible for me to free myself from painful thoughts,"

said Ilse, softly.

"Poor child," said the father, "it pa.s.ses my powers to help you. For us, in the country, it is easy to believe in a father's care, when one goes across the fields and sees the growth of everything. But let a simple countryman say a word in confidence to you. Moderation and self-renunciation are necessary in all earthly concerns. We are not better in the country and more sensible because we care little for what is mysterious to man. We have no time for subtle inquiries, and if a thought alarms us, our work helps to dispel our doubts. But thoughts return frequently. I have had days--and have still--when my brains have been on the rack, although I knew that no good would come of it; therefore I now endeavor to keep such thoughts away. This is prudence, but it is not courage. You are placed in a sphere in which hearing and reflecting are unavoidable. You must struggle through it, Ilse. But do not forget two things: on difficult subjects men take very different points of view, and on that account they have, from the most ancient times, hated and slaughtered each other like cannibals, merely because each considered himself in the right. This should be a warning to us.

There is only one thing effectual against doubts: to do your duty and concern yourself with what lies in your daily path; for the rest, do not despair because one thinks differently from another. Are you sure of your husband's love?"

"Yes," replied Ilse.

"And have you a thorough respect for his conduct to yourself and others?"

"Yes."

"Then all is well," said the father; "for a tree is known by its fruits. As regards the rest, do not worry about the present or the future. Give me the candle, and go to your husband. Good night, Frau Professor."

[END OF FIRST VOLUME.]

THE

LOST Ma.n.u.sCRIPT

A NOVEL

BY GUSTAV FREYTAG

Authorized Translation from the Sixteenth German Edition _COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME_