Ilse shook her head. "No, it is the valiant son of Achilles. At first he was tempted to yield to the cunning counsel of his confederate, and do violence to an unfortunate fellow-creature; but after a long struggle his n.o.ble nature conquers: he sees that it will be wrong, and he a.s.serts his manhood by refusing."

The Professor closed the book, and looked with astonishment at his wife.

"There is," continued Ilse, "in the greatest characters of your Greek poet a stern rigidity that frightens me. Something is wanting in all to make them like us; they do not doubt as we do, nor struggle; even when they do right, their greatness consists in their immovable determination to do something fearful, or rigid persistence in stemming a terrible fate. But while we expect that the strong man shall act powerfully, according to his nature, either for good or evil, he does not gain our full human sympathy, unless we have the certainty that he experiences an inward struggle such as we may ourselves feel."

"Such as we may ourselves feel?" asked the Professor, seriously, laying aside the book. "How do you come by this experience? Have you, Ilse, some secret from your husband?"

Ilse rose and looked at him with dismay.

But the Professor continued, cheerfully: "I will first tell you why I ask, and what I would like to know from you. When I brought you from your country-home you were, in spite of your deep German feeling, in many respects just such as we like to picture to ourselves Nausicaa and Penelope. You freely received impressions from the world around you; you stood sure and strong in a firmly-bound sphere of right and duty; with childlike trust you gathered from the moral habits of your circle, and from Holy Scripture, your standard of judgment and conduct. Your love for me, and contact with other souls, and the insight into a new sphere of knowledge, awakened in your heart pa.s.sionate vibrations; uncertainty came, and then doubt; new thoughts struggled against old impressions, the demands of your new life against the tenor of your maiden years. You were for months more unhappy than I had any idea of.

But now, when I have been rejoicing in your cheerful repose of mind, I find you have acquired a knowledge of human nature that astonishes me.

I have often lately seen, with secret pleasure, how warmly you have sympathized with, and how mildly you have judged, the characters of the drama. I had expected that their hard and monstrous fate would have been repulsive to you, and that you would have felt rapid transitions from tenderness to aversion. But you have sympathy with the dark forms as well as with the bright, as if your soul had begun to antic.i.p.ate that in one's own life, good and evil, blessing and curse, might be a.s.sociated, and as if you had yourself experienced that man has not to follow an outward moral law alone, however exalted its origin, but that he may at some period be compelled to seek for some other law in the depths of his own soul. But such an insight men can only attain when they themselves experience danger and trouble. It is improbable that this should have been the case with you, unless you have gone through some experience to which I have been a stranger. I do not wish to urge your confidence; I know what trust I can repose in you; but if you think fit, I would gladly know what has given rise to this sensitive feeling for the secret struggles of men who are hurried along by a tragic fate."

Ilse seized him by the hand and drew him into her room. "It was on this spot," she exclaimed, "a stranger asked me whether he should expose himself to the danger of death for the sake of his honor, or whether he should expose another in his place. I had given him a right to ask such a question, for I had before spoken to him of his life with greater frankness than was prudent for a careful woman. I stood and struggled against the question that he put to me, but I could not refuse to answer; and, Felix, to tell you the truth, I did not wish to do so. I gave him counsel which might have brought him to a b.l.o.o.d.y end. I gave him that advice secretly, and I became entangled in a fatal web from which I could not extricate myself. I thought of you, but I did not dare to tell you, as you must either have been unfaithful to the duties of your office, or you must for ever have wounded the honorable feelings of another. I questioned our holy teachings: they told me only that my advice was sinful. I was unhappy, Felix, that I had come into this position, but still more unhappy that neither you nor the teachings of my faith could help me out of it. It was no merit of mine that things turned out better than I feared they would. Since that I have known, Felix, what struggles of conscience are; now you know the only secret that I have ever had from you. If I did wrong, judge me mildly, for by all that is sacred I could not have done otherwise."

"And the Prince?" asked her husband, softly.

"He is a good and gentle soul, an immature man, while I was your wife.

With him there was no doubt and no struggle."

"I know enough, you earnest, high-minded woman," said the Professor, "I see that, as against your knowledge of life, I can now pack up my books. For of what value is the teaching of books, however good they may be, in comparison to that of life. A foolish student's duel, in which you were the invisible adviser, has done more, perhaps to form your mind, than my prudent words would have done in the course of years. Be of good courage. Lady Ilse of Bielstein; whatever fate may still await us, I know now that you are fitted for inward struggles, and we need not be solicitous about dangers from without. For, however much we human beings may be troubled and agitated here on earth, he who has once learnt to know himself so well that he is able to read the secret writing of other souls, is well protected against the temptations of the world."

What the German scholar said as he now so warmly clasped his wife in his arms was not amiss, only it is a pity that we have no certainty of reading the secrets of other souls; and it is a pity that the greatest knowledge of the secret writing in the souls of others cannot serve us in warding off the storms of our own pa.s.sions.

The Chamberlain, who now acted as marshal to the Hereditary Prince, was holding a conference with his father upon the concerns of his office.

Among other things there was also the question of promoting Kruger, of b.u.t.ter-machine fame, to higher honors and, what was of no less importance, to the full salary due the valet of an Hereditary Prince.

Contrary to expectations the Sovereign was ready to agree to his proposals, and the Chamberlain, pleased at the gracious humor of his master, was about to take leave, when the Sovereign stopped him by the kind remark, "Your sister Malwine, looks ill; does she dance too much?

You should take care of her delicate health; nothing would be more injurious to such a const.i.tution than an early marriage. I hope to see her pleasant countenance at Court for a long time yet."

Now Fraulein Malwine was secretly betrothed to one of the Sovereign's officers; it was known at Court and in the city, but the betrothed were poor, and the consent of the Sovereign was necessary for their union.

In order to obtain this it was advisable to await a favorable opportunity. Therefore the Chamberlain was alarmed at his master's words; he perceived a secret threat in them, and while he thanked him for his gracious sympathy, his face betrayed his dismay.

After the Sovereign, by this short turn of the peg, had tuned the strings of his instrument, he continued, with indifference: "If you have a quarter of an hour to spare, I wish you to accompany me into the cabinet of antiquities."

They pa.s.sed through corridors and halls into a distant part of the castle, where, on an upper floor, a large collection of old coins, carved stones, and other minor relics of Greek and Roman times, were arranged. Many generations of rulers had contributed to it, but the greatest part had been brought by the Sovereign himself when returning from his travels. He had, in former years, taken great interest in the arrangement of these things, and spent large sums in purchasing others; but gradually this fancy had pa.s.sed off, and for years the feather brush of the curator had only removed the dust for occasional strangers who had happened accidentally to hear of this almost unknown collection, and had honored it with a visit.

The Chamberlain, therefore accompanied his master with the feeling that this unusual idea signified something; and he felt a gloomy antic.i.p.ation that what was impending boded no good. The Sovereign returned with a nod the low obeisance of the dilapidated curator; he pa.s.sed in review the long rows of rooms, had some cases opened for him, took in his hand the written catalogue, and examined carefully the gold coins of Alexander the Great and his successors, and inspected a collection of old gla.s.s vessels and vases, in which the artistic work of the ancient gla.s.s-cutters was particularly striking. Then he asked for the strangers' book, in which the names of the visitors were recorded. After he had sent the man away with a commission, he began, to his attendant: "The collection is less seen that it deserves; I have long thought of having it made better known and more useful to men of learning, by a better arrangement and a good catalogue. It has been one of the little pleasures of my life; I have learnt much by it, and it has at times banished annoyances from my mind. Do you know of any one who would be fitted to undertake the management of a work so important and exacting?"

The Chamberlain bethought himself, but no one occurred to him.

"I should prefer a stranger," continued the Sovereign. "That will give rise to a pa.s.sing and unembarra.s.sed connection. He must of course be learned and have good guarantees of character."

The Chamberlain named several connoiseurs from other capitals. The Sovereign looked at him keenly, and shook his head. "Think it over," he repeated; "perhaps some one will occur to you."

The examination continued. An antique vase interested the Sovereign by reminding him of how he had obtained it. A Roman woman, of great beauty and commanding figure, had suddenly confronted him and offered it to him with such a distinguished manner, that he, as he laughingly expressed it, was so surprised by the unusual demeanor of the woman, and her sonorous voice, that he paid her more than she asked.

No one yet occurred to the Chamberlain.

On his way back to his apartments the Sovereign remained standing in one of the s.p.a.cious but lonely halls and asked the Chamberlain, "Has it not occurred to you that Scarletti dresses badly?"

The Chamberlain dissented, for the actress mentioned was supposed to be in favor.

"Yesterday evening she carried an immense bouquet. To which of our young men is this ungraceful attention to be ascribed?"

Again the Chamberlain was astounded.

"As you are disposed to know nothing to-day," continued the Sovereign, in a sharp tone, "I must tell you that I should be sorry to see the Hereditary Prince having any intercourse whatever with the ladies of the theatre. He is not old enough to carry on such connections with the necessary reserve; and the vanity of these ladies will bring every favor to public notice."

The Chamberlain affirmed, upon his honor, that he knew nothing of these civilities of the Hereditary Prince, and that, even if the a.s.sumption of his gracious master was well founded, it could only have been a pa.s.sing idea of the Prince that had occasioned this gift. "Your Highness will be convinced that I would not lend a hand to anything of this kind."

"But I do not choose that you should close your eyes to it," continued the Sovereign, bitterly; "you stood in the box behind the Hereditary Prince, and you must have seen the coquettish look of admiration which she cast upon him. The present was probably sent by the new valet; let him know that in my service one does not carry two faces under one hood. But I require of you," he continued, more calmly, "that you should redouble your vigilance. What occupies him now?"

"He attends regularly the small evening parties of the Princess."

"And in the day?" added the Sovereign, continuing the examination.

"As your Highness knows, he is fond of music; he plays duets with the music-master."

"What does he read?"

The Chamberlain named some French books. "May I be allowed humbly to make a proposal? It would, in every point of view, be useful to his Highness if he had the pleasure of devising or arranging something--perhaps the laying out of a park, or the management of a farm. I venture to suggest that a similar occupation has been found advantageous to young princes at other courts. Perhaps one of your Highness's castles could be adapted for such a purpose."

"And the Hereditary Prince and Mr. von Weidegg would keep their own court, and remain many months in the year far from ours, at their villa," replied the Sovereign.

"I a.s.sure your Highness that I never thought of such a thing," answered the Chamberlain, offended.

"I do not blame you," replied the Sovereign, with cutting courtesy.

"Consideration for my coffers forbids my a.s.senting to your proposal; but I shall think of it. It is a disappointment to me that the Prince has not learned to take an interest in anything during his stay at the University. Has he had no personal relations during that time that may have given some zest to his life?"

"He took great pleasure in the circle of Professor Werner," replied the good Chamberlain, hesitatingly.

"I hope he preserves a grateful recollection of his teacher."

"He speaks with great interest of him and his family," rejoined the Chamberlain.

"It is well," concluded the Sovereign. "I will take into consideration the question of agricultural occupation; and do not forget to think a little concerning my collection."

This new demand could no longer be withstood by the Chamberlain; he was silent for some minutes, inwardly struggling, while the Sovereign moved on with his head turned towards him, like one who waits for something decisive.

"I do not know that I can propose any one better for the purpose than Professor Werner himself," said the Chamberlain, at last.

The Sovereign again stopped. "You consider him fitted for the work?"

"With respect to his scientific capabilities I naturally can form no judgment," replied the Chamberlain, cautiously.