Because you, perhaps, are not disinclined to marry my daughter, am I to stroke you with a velvet brush? Did one ever hear such nonsense?"

"You mistake," continued the Doctor, civilly, "if you think that I am not in a position to answer what you say. I therefore do myself the honor of remarking to you that your mockery is so wounding that even the kindness you have shown loses its value."

"Have done with your kindness--it was only kindness from revenge."

"Then I will as honestly tell you," continued the Doctor, "that it was a very bitter hour to me when you entered our house. I knew how oppressive the obligation which you then conferred upon us would be for the rest of my life. But I looked at my poor father, and the thought of his misery closed my mouth. For my own part, I would rather have begged my bread than taken your money."

"Go on," cried Hummel.

"What you have done for my father does not give you a right to ill-treat me. This conversation strengthens me in the conviction that I have had from the outset, that we must exert ourselves to the utmost to repay you the money we have received, as soon as possible. You have crossed out the item in which I credited my books, but I shall sell them."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Hummel.

"I shall do it, however insignificant the sum may be in comparison with our debt, because the tyranny which you wish to exercise over me threatens to become insupportable. I at least will not be indebted to you in this way."

"Yet you wish it in another way that suits you better."

"Yes," replied the Doctor. "As you have so contemptuously rejected the greatest sacrifice I could make, I shall continue to woo your daughter, even against your will. I shall endeavor to speak to her whenever I can, and to make myself as acceptable to her as is possible in my position. You yourself have shown me this way. You will therefore be satisfied if I enter upon it, and if you are not, I shall pay no regard to your displeasure."

"At last," cried Hummel, "it all comes to light I see now that you have some fire in you; therefore we will talk quietly over this business.

You are not the husband whom I could have wished for my daughter. I have kept you away from my house, but it has been of no use, for a cursed sentiment has arisen between you; I therefore intend now to carry on the affair differently. I shall not object to you coming to my house sometimes. I depend upon your doing it with discretion. I will ignore your presence, and my daughter shall have an opportunity of seeing how you compare with the four walls. We will both await the result."

"I do not agree to this proposal," replied the Doctor. "I do not expect that you should give me your daughter's hand now, and I only accept the entrance into your family on condition that you yourself will treat me as becomes a guest in your house, and that you will perform the duties of a friendly host. I cannot suffer that you should speak to me in the way you have done in our conversation to-day. Any insult, either by words or by neglect, I will not bear from you. I am not only desirous to please your daughter, but also to be agreeable to yourself. For that I demand opportunity. If you do not agree to this condition, I prefer not to come at all."

"Humboldt, do not undertake too much at once," replied Mr. Hummel, shaking his head, "for you see I esteem you, but I really do not like you. Therefore I will consider how far I can make myself pleasant to you; I a.s.sure you it will be hard work. Meanwhile, take these papers with you. Your father has bought the lesson, that he should himself look after his own money affairs. For the rest, matters are not in a bad state, and he will be able to help himself out of it; you do not need either me or another. Good morning, Doctor."

The doctor took the papers under his arm.

"I beg you to shake hands, Mr. Hummel."

"Not so hastily," replied Hummel.

"I am sorry for it," said the Doctor, smiling, "but I cannot be denied to-day."

"Only from innate politeness," rejoined Hummel, "not from good will."

He held out his large hand to him.

"Keep your books," he cried out, to the departing visitor. "I can see through that scheme, you will buy them again, and then I shall have to pay for them anyhow."

_CHAPTER x.x.xII_.

A CHAPTER FROM TACITUS.

Tobias Bachhuber! when your sponsors concluded that you should be called Tobias they did bad service to you and your descendants. For he who bears that name is by fate subjected to experiences that do not fall to the lot of more favorably named men. Who ever pa.s.sed so miserable a honey-moon as Tobias the younger, the poor son of the blind man? For was he not obliged to fast, and to struggle with a murderous spirit just at a time when a spiritual struggle would be highly disagreeable to any mortal? Even you, blessed Bachhuber, have bitterly experienced the misfortune of your name. Whether the fatal war with Sweden may have arisen because the Swedes hankered after your ma.n.u.script, will not be discussed here; it is to be hoped that new historical investigations may yet bring this secret motive of action to light. But it cannot be denied that you yourself suffered lamentably in the war, and the curse of your name still clings to the treasure which you concealed. All who have anything to do with it have their eyes blinded, and an evil spirit destroys their hopes.

The Professor also was tormented with this blindness, and troubled by the demon. He had found nothing. Many would have been weary and given it up, but his eagerness only increased, for he did not, by any means, search heedlessly; he knew very well that the discovery depended on a long chain of accidents which were beyond all calculation. But he wished to do all in his power; his task was to give a.s.surance to the learned of the world that the archives, collections, and inventories of the Sovereign had been thoroughly examined. This certainty at least he could obtain better than any one else, and he would thus do his duty both to the Sovereign and to Learning. But his impatience became more eager, and the cheerful excitement he felt at first increased to uncomfortable agitation; constant disappointment disturbed his daily frame of mind. He often sat lost in thought, nay, he was always speaking of the treasure, and Ilse could not please him; her objections and even her consolation wounded him, for he was very much vexed that she did not partake of his zeal. He knew accurately what would be the appearance of the ma.n.u.script--a large, thick quarto, very old characters, perhaps of the sixth century, much faded, and many leaves half destroyed, for he could not conceal from himself that the mischievous spirit of the times, water and the rats, might have made havoc with it.

One day the Professor entered the Princess's study with heightened color.

"At last I can bring you a good report. In a small bundle of deeds in the Marshal's office, which had hitherto unaccountably escaped me, I have found a lost entry on a single sheet. The chests which the official at Bielstein sent in the beginning of the last century to the vanished castle are briefly designated as numbers one and two, with a remark that they contained besides old cross-bows, arrows, &c., ma.n.u.scripts of the monastery of Rossau. Thus, there were two chests with ma.n.u.scripts of the monastery in them."

The Princess looked with curiosity at the sheet which he laid before her.

"It was high time that this account should come to light," continued the Professor, gaily; "for I confess to your Highness that the phantom pursued me day and night. This is a valuable confirmation that I am on the right path."

"Yes," cried the Princess, "I am convinced we shall find the treasure.

If I could but help you a little. If it could be obtained by magic, I would gladly put on my magic girdle and call upon Lady Hecate.

Unfortunately this mode of calling spirits to one's aid is out of date, and it is difficult to learn the secret art by which learned gentlemen unearth their treasures."

"I also am now little better than a wretched exorcist," answered the Professor. "It would be a bad recommendation for me if your Highness were to judge of my work by what I have achieved here in stirring up the old dust. One is delighted and disappointed, like a child. It is fortunate that fate does not often tease us book-writers with such tricks; what we do for the benefit of others does not depend upon accidental discoveries."

"I can form an idea of the seriousness of the work which I do not see,"

exclaimed the Princess. "Your kindness has opened at least an aperture through which I can look into the workshop of creative minds. I can understand that the labor of learned men must have an irresistible attraction for those who belong to that silent community. I envy the women whose happiness it is to live their whole lives within the sphere of such occupations."

"We are bold conquerors at the writing-table," answered the Professor; "but the incongruity between our inward freedom and outward helplessness is often felt by the conqueror and those about him. They who really pa.s.s their lives with us may easily fathom us, and can with difficulty bear our one-sidedness. For, your Highness, learned men themselves are like the books they write. In general we are badly prepared for the whirl of business, and sometimes helpless in the manifold activity of our time. We are true friends to men in those hours in which they seek new strength for the struggle of life, but in the struggle itself we are generally unskilful a.s.sistants."

"Are you thinking of yourself in speaking thus?" asked the Princess, quickly.

"I had in my mind a picture of the combined traits of many of my fellow-workers, but if your Highness inquires, about myself, I also am in this respect a regular man of learning. For I have often had opportunity of remarking how imperfect is my judgment on all questions in which my learning or my moral feeling do not give me a.s.surance."

"I do not like that, Mr. Werner," cried the Princess, leaning gravely back in her arm-chair. "My fancy took its highest flight; I sat as sovereign of the world, prepared to make my people happy, and I made you my minister of state."

"Your confidence gives me pleasure," replied the Professor; "but if your Highness should ever be in the position to seek for an a.s.sistant in government, I could not accept this dignity with a good conscience unless your Highness's subjects had all been pa.s.sed through the bookbinder's press, and wore little coats of pasteboard, and had on their backs labels that told the contents of each."

The Princess laughed, but her eyes rested with deep feeling on the honest countenance of the man. She rose and approached him.

"You are always true, open, and high-minded."

"Thanks for your judgment," replied the Professor, much pleased. "Even your Highness treats me like a spirit that dwells in a book; you praise me as openly as if I did not understand the words that you speak. I beg permission to convey to your Highness my feelings also in a review."

"What I am like, I do not wish to hear from you," exclaimed the Princess; "for you would, in spite of the harmlessness which you boast of, end by reading me as plainly as if I had a morocco-covered back and gilt edges. But I am serious when I praise you. Yes, Mr. Werner, since you have been with us I have attained to a better understanding of the value of life. You do not know what an advantage it is for me to have intercourse with a mind which, undisturbed by the little trifles around it, only serves its high G.o.ddess of Truth. The turmoil of daily life bears hard upon us, and perplexes us; those by whom I am surrounded, even the best of them, all think and care about themselves, and make convenient compacts between their feeling of duty and their egotism.

But in you I perceive unselfishness and the incessant devotion of yourself to the highest labor of man. There is something great and lofty in this that overpowers me with admiration. I feel the worth of such an existence, like a new light that penetrates my soul. Never have I known any one about me so inspired with heaven in his breast. That is my review of you, Professor Werner; it is, perhaps, not well written, but it comes from my heart."

The eyes of the learned man shone as he looked at the enthusiastic countenance of the princely child, but he was silent. There was a long pause. The Princess turned away, and bent over her books. At last she began, with gentle voice:

"You are going to your daily work, I will do so also. Before you leave me, I beg of you to be my instructor: I have marked a place in the work no art that you had the kindness to bring from the library, which I could not quite understand."

The Professor took the open book from her hand, and laughed.

"This is the theory of quite a different art; it is not the right book."

The Princess read, "How to make blanc-mange." She opened the t.i.tle page: "Common-sense cook-book of an old Nuremberg cook." She turned the book round with astonishment; it was the same simple binding.

"How does this come here?" she exclaimed, with vexation, and rang for her maid.