"Tell us, old boy," cried the young people.

"Patience!" said the painter. "The science of physiognomy will always continue a fallacious one, for the very reason that too little regard is paid to barbers, taverns and other historical circ.u.mstances. The face is indeed the expression of the soul, but it suffers remarkably under the way in which it is treated. The brow from its solidity is best off, if a man does not use himself to paint all his little pa.s.sions, vexation and uneasiness, by folds upon its surface. See how n.o.ble is our Edward's, and how much more handsome yet it would be, if the young fellow had thought and employed himself more! The eyes, in consequence of their alertness, running to and fro, likewise preserve themselves tolerably in their play, unless a man weeps them out, like our Crocodile friend there. The mouth now is worse off; that is soon worn down by chattering and unmeaning smiles, as is the case with our worthy librarian; if a man besides wipes it to excess after eating and drinking, its character soon grows undiscernible, especially if from false shame one keeps always curling the lips inward, like our excellent Puritan, who probably p.r.o.nounces their redness lying and unprofitable parade. But the nose, the poor nose, which puts itself forward above all other parts, which distinguishes us unhappy men from all brutes, in whom mouth and snout meet in such friendly union, and which in man is made, like the Hocken and the Blocksberg, the place for all witches and evil spirits to hold their revels: is it not in most men, merely on account of the cold air and a catarrh, turned into a cave of aeolus, and hauled, pulled, stretched and touzled, till it becomes a sounding horn and a battle-trumpet? Is not its pliancy and capacity of education abused, to make almost elephants'-trunks and turkey-c.o.c.ks' bills out of it? More pious souls again press it down and squeeze its arrogance into miserable deformities. All this I saw betimes and spared my nose, yet I could not escape my destiny. I grew up and old with my barber, one of my most intimate friends. This artist, as he turned from one side of my face to the other, used, during this change of position, in order to have a fulcrum, to apply the edge of the razor below to my throat, and pressing and leaning upon this rapidly to gain the other side. This appeared to me alarming. He might slip or stumble, in which case he would in all probability make an incision with the thing supported into its supporter, and my face lie unshaved at his feet. For this a remedy was to be contrived. He meditated, and like a true genius found no difficulty in altering his system and his manner. That is to say, he grasped my nose with his fingers, which gave him the advantage of being able to support himself and rest much longer upon it, and drew it forcibly upwards, particularly as he was shaving my upper lip, and so we gazed on each other's eyes, one heart close to the other, and the razor worked with a deliberate and steady action. It happened however that my friend had always owned one of the most remarkable faces in the world, which the vulgar is used to call frightful, distorted and ugly; he had besides the habit of making grimaces, and ogled me with such cordiality, that at every sitting I could not help answering him, and, being so close to him, involuntarily imitated his other oddities. If he hauled up my nose to an inordinate height, he in return, in order to reach the corners of my mouth with the instrument of his art, pulled my lips and mouth violently across. When in this mechanical manner he had forced a seeming smile upon my countenance, his laugh met me, so amiable, friendly, cordial and affecting, that often out of painful sympathy, and merely to stifle a wicked laugh, the tears came into my eyes. 'Man!

Barber friend!' I exclaimed: 'withhold that benignant contraction of thy muscles; I am not smiling, thou dost but pull the corners of my mouth apart like a spunge.' 'It boots not,' answered the honest soul, 'thy winning graces in that smile force me to return them." Well, so we grinned at one another like apes for minutes together.

"I observed at the end of twelve weeks a striking alteration in my physiognomy. The nose mounted and towered aloft prodigiously, as if it would proclaim war upon my eyes and forehead, not to take into account the really ugly contortions of the cheeks and lips, which however I could not drop, because I had received them as a memento from my friend. I pressed the aspiring nose down again, and once more represented my wishes to my generous friend. Now however good counsel seemed scarce, and an expedient hardly possible. Still he resolved, a second Raphael, to adopt a third unexceptionable manner, and after a few struggles he succeeded, having beforehand cautiously ascertained towards which side the operation might be most advantageously directed, in twisting my nose as he rested upon it; and at this point we remained stationary, and thus inevitable fate has bent it for me; my true face, towards which my developement instinctively tended, has furrowed me with these folds, and deep research and speculation, flaming enthusiasm and glowing love for goodness and excellence, have finally woven this red tissue over the whole."

Loud laughter had accompanied this narrative. The librarian now impetuously demanded Champagne, and the bookseller bawled for punch.

Eulenbock, however, cried out, "Oh! ye vulgar souls! After this heavenly ladder which I have made you climb, to take a look into paradise, can so ign.o.ble, mannered, modern and witless a spirit as this punch, as it is called, enter even into the remotest corner of your memory? This wretched brewage of hot water, bad brandy, and lemon acid?

And what have we to do in our circle with this diplomatic, sober potation, this Champagne? A liquor that does not expand the heart and the intellect, and, after a half debauch, can but serve, at the utmost, to sober one again? Oh! ye profane ones!" He thumped the table; and the rest, with the exception of Edward, answered this gesture so violently, that with the concussion the bottles danced, and several gla.s.ses fell in shivers on the floor. Hereupon the laughter and tumult became still louder; a start was made to fetch fresh gla.s.ses, and Dietrich cried, "It is grown cold here, cold as ice, and that the punch would remedy."

It was late in the night, the servants had retired, they did not know how to heat the stove again; Edward confessed, too, that his stock of wood was quite at an end, and that he had ordered a fresh one to come in early the next morning. "What think you?" cried Dietrich, quite intoxicated, "our host, we know, has resolved to fit up this room in quite a new style. Suppose we were to break away this useless wainscoting, these boards that cover the windows, and to light a glorious German fire in the great old-fashioned chimney?" This mad proposition immediately gained a hearing and loud a.s.sent from the guests now grown wild, and Edward, who had been the whole evening in a sort of stupefaction, made no opposition. The screen of the fire-place was removed, and then a party ran with lights to the kitchen, to fetch hatchets, bars and other implements. In the anteroom Eulenbock found an old damaged hunting horn, and as he winded it, they marched like soldiers, with bellowing and detestable music, back into the saloon.

The table which stood in the way was upset, and immediately there began a hewing, breaking and hammering against the hollow wainscot. Every one strove to surpa.s.s the other in diligence, and, to animate the labourers, the painter again blew a charge on the horn, and in the midst of the racket all cried as if they were possessed, "Wood, wood!

Fire, fire!" so that this bellowing, the music, the strokes of the hatchets, the cracking of the boards as they broke and burst, threw the host into such a state of dizziness, that he retired in silence into a corner of the room.

On a sudden the company received an addition as unexpected as it was disagreeable. The neighbourhood had been disturbed, and the watch, which had likewise heard the prodigious uproar, now entered, with an officer at its head, having found the house-door open. They inquired the cause of the din, and the meaning of the cry of fire. Edward, who had kept himself tolerably sober, endeavoured to explain every thing to them, in order to excuse his friends. But these excited and incapable now of a rational thought, treated this visit as a violent encroachment upon their most unalienable rights; every one cried out against the officer, Eulenbock threatened, the bookseller cursed and wept, the librarian fetched a blow with a bar, and Dietrich, who was the most elevated, was for falling on the lieutenant with his hatchet. The latter, likewise a choleric young man, took the matter in earnest, and considered his honour hurt, and so the end of the scene was, that the guests, amidst bawling and uproar, threats and declamations about liberty, were carried off to the head-quarters of the watch. So ended the feast, and Edward, left alone in the saloon, paced up and down in extreme vexation, and contemplated the havock which his enthusiastic friends had made. Under the overthrown table lay smashed bottles, gla.s.ses, plates and dishes, with all that had been left of the savoury cheer; the floor was streaming with the most precious wine; the chandeliers broken to pieces; of those which remained, all the lights, except a single wax taper, were burnt down to the socket, and had gone out. He took the light, and viewed the wainscot from which the tapestry had been torn away, and some strong boards broken down; one beam projected, and barred the entrance to the niche. A singular fancy seized the youth, to continue that same night the work begun by his wild companions; but in order not to make an excessive noise, and perhaps after all share their fate, he took a fine-toothed saw, and cautiously cut through the beam above; he repeated the process below, and took out the block. After this it was not so very difficult to break away a slight inner wainscoting; the thin board fell down, and Edward held his light into the niche. Scarcely however could he cast a look over the broad s.p.a.ce, and catch a glimpse of something that glistened in front of him like gold, when on a sudden all disappeared; for he had thrust his light against the top of the aperture, and put it out. Startled and in the greatest agitation, he groped his way across the dark saloon, out at the door, through a long pa.s.sage, and then across the court to a little back building. How angry was he with himself, to have no instruments at hand for striking a light! He roused out of a sound sleep the h.o.a.ry porter, who could not for a long time recollect himself, got his taper lighted again after several fruitless attempts, and then returned with cautiously screening hand, trembling in every limb, and with beating heart, along the pa.s.sages back to the room. He did not know what he had seen, he would not yet believe what he foreboded. In the saloon he first sat down in the arm-chair to collect himself, then lighted some more tapers, and stooping entered the niche. The s.p.a.cious width of the window gleamed from top to bottom as in a golden blaze; for frame crowded on frame, one more gorgeous than the other, and in them all those pictures of his father, over whose supposed loss, old Walther and Erich had so often mourned.

Guido's Salvator Mundi, Dominichino's St. John, all gazed upon him, and he felt himself thrilled with tenderness, devotion, and amazement, as in an enchanted world. When he recovered his recollection, his tears began to flow, and he remained there, heedless of the cold, sitting amidst his new-found treasures, till morning dawned.

Walther had just risen from table, when Erich hastily came into the picture-saloon to him. "What is the matter with you, my friend?" exclaimed the counsellor: "have you seen a ghost?" "As you take it," replied Erich, "prepare for an extraordinary piece of intelligence."--"Well?"--"What would you give, what would you do in return, if all the lost paintings of your late friend, those invaluable treasures, were brought to light again, and might become your own?"

"Heaven!" exclaimed the counsellor, changing colour: "I pant for breath. What say you?"--"They are discovered," cried the other, "and may become your property."--"I have no means to buy them," said the counsellor: "but every thing, every thing would I give, to obtain them, my gallery and fortune, but I am too poor for it."--"What if the owner were willing to make them over to you, and required in return merely the favour of becoming your son-in-law?"

Without answering, the old man ran out to find his daughter. They returned in dispute together. "You must make me happy, dear child," he cried as they came in; "on you now depends the felicity of my life."

The terrified daughter was going to make farther opposition, but upon a secret nod from Erich, which she thought she understood, seemed at last to give way. She went out, to change her dress; for the pictures and the suitor were waiting for her, as Erich declared, at his house. Amid what strange thoughts, and expectations, did she select her best attire; "Might she not be mistaken in Erich? Had he understood her? Had she rightly interpreted him?" Walther was impatient, and counted the moments; at last Sophia came back.

In Erich's house all those pictures were hung in the best light, and it would be fruitless to attempt a description of the father's astonishment, joy, and rapture. The pictures were, he a.s.serted, far more beautiful than he had seen them in his recollection. "You say my daughter's admirer is young, well-bred, and of good condition; you give me your word, that he will be a steady man, and never alienate these pictures again after my death? If all this be so, he needs possess no other fortune than these pictures, for he is superabundantly rich. But where is he?"

A side-door opened, and Edward stepped in, in a dress nearly the same as that of his likeness, the shepherd, in the old picture of Quintin Messys.----"He?" cried Walther: "whence have you the pictures?" When Edward had related the singular occurrence, the old man took the hand of his daughter, and laid it in that of the youth, saying: "Sophia ventures much, but she does it out of love to her father; I presume, my son, you will now have become prudent and good. But, one condition; you live with me, and Eulenbock never crosses my threshold, nor are you ever to set eyes upon him again."

"Certainly not;" answered Edward, "besides he sets off from here to-morrow on his travels with the foreign prince."

They proceeded to the father's house, he led the youth into his library: "Here, young man, you find your curiosities too again, which your whirligig librarian sold me for an old song. In future you will hold these treasures of your father more sacred."

The lovers were happy. When they were alone, Sophia folded the youth tenderly in her arms. "I love thee, Edward, from my heart," she whispered to him, "but I was forced the other day, to give way to my father's humour, and then and to-day to play the part of unqualified obedience, in order, in the first instance, not to abandon all hope, and to-day to be thine without opposition; for if he had observed my love he would never have given his consent so soon."

Some weeks after, they were married. The youth found no difficulty in becoming a regular and happy man; in the arms of his wife and the circle of his children, he reflected on his wild youth only as a feverish dream. Eulenbock had left the city with the prince, and with him the t.i.tular Librarian, who obtained that place of secretary to the prince which Edward had applied for, and some years after married the easy fair one who had caused our young friend such an ill name in his native town, and had almost become the occasion of his ruin.

THE BETROTHING.

"I have been long waiting for you," cried young Ferdinand, as his friend came towards him.

"You know," replied the other, "that it is impossible to get away in a hurry from our corpulent friend the Baron, when he begins to relate anecdotes of his life."

"If you were an officer like myself," answered Ferdinand, "you would nevertheless have found it possible to be punctual; that at least one learns in the service. They are all a.s.sembled in the walks yonder, let us make haste, that I may introduce you to this respectable family."

The young friends turned the corner of a rock, and enjoyed the clear view along the rushing stream, which gleamed as it pa.s.sed by the side of the woods and hills. The spring had this year displayed peculiar luxuriance. "How grateful is it to the man of business," said Alfred, "on a day like this, to leave behind him the city and his spiritless occupations, to feel, after long exertion and privation, this blissfulness of nature, and to hear her sacred voice! And how thankful am I to you, my dear friend, for proposing to introduce me into the circle of the best and n.o.blest of men. For however we may strive to form ourselves, however earnestly we may be resolved to study, to collect knowledge, and to enlarge our hearts and affections, still it is intercourse with the pure specimens of human nature, that throws life into this dead, plodding, and rude endeavour, and converts our acquirements into a real treasure. But to the tender s.e.x it is reserved to give to man that degree of cultivation, of which his powers and talents render him capable."

The young officer looked at his friend with a shake of the head, stood still a moment, and then said, as they walked on: "These phrases, which one has been forced to hear thousands of times, how unable am I to join in them! According to this, it would be the great world, or what is called good company, which a man should seek, in order to attain, under the influence of paltry wit, coquetry, scandal and babble, that maturity which solitude cannot afford us. Though in most things I am of your opinion, yet on this point I must directly differ from you. Women!

They it is precisely who seem to have been stationed by a malignant destiny, for the very purpose of reducing man, if he is sufficiently weak, under their dominion; of stripping him of every thing manly, n.o.ble, vigorous, and ingenuous, and transforming him, as far as possible, into his opposite, that he may be just good enough to serve them as a contemptible toy. What you were just now expressing, is a mode of thinking which belonged to an age that has now almost gone by, an age, which stood in hostile opposition to truth, but particularly to religious feeling. I must also inform you, that you will not find that style of behaviour, by which our young gentlemen formerly thought they improved themselves, in the society of these women, because with them all is sacred truth, innocence and genuine piety."

His friend endeavoured to justify his opinion and himself, as in animated conversation they briskly pursued their way. They now saw before them the garden, where, in the cool walks, the Baroness, with her family and some select friends, was awaiting their arrival. All felt refreshed and at ease amid the verdant scene.

Only the young counsellor Alfred found a difficulty, at first, in adapting himself to the tone and topics of the company. He was, as is frequently the case, too much on the stretch, to give himself up with ease to the conversation; he had also too much at his heart, which he strove to bring forward with a timidity, by means of which he often confused himself, and was put out by others; for by the time he had digested his thoughts into a speech, the proper moment for introducing it had gone by; and, among the new subjects of conversation, there occurred a mult.i.tude of things which seemed to him unintelligible, and on which he was too bashful to beg more particular information. In addition to this, he was in a manner dazzled by the charms of the ladies; the married daughter Kunigunde was a brilliant beauty; still more radiant was the loveliness of her younger sister Clementine, to which the light complexion and girlish physiognomy of the youngest, miss Clara, formed a sweet contrast; the mother herself might still make pretensions to a pleasing person, and it was evident that she had been in her youth a beautiful woman. Dorothea, the eldest daughter, attracted the least attention in this circle, beautiful as was her eye, and delicate as was her shape; she herself shrank back, and kept still and shy; she seemed even to take but little interest in the animated conversation of her sisters, and it was remarkable that no speech or question was addressed to her, notwithstanding the pains which all the men in the company took to ingratiate themselves with the other daughters or the mother.

Among the men, there distinguished himself an elderly person, who generally took the lead in the conversation, gave information to every body, and decided all disputed or doubtful cases. Even the officer treated him with submissive humility, and this friend of the family addressed himself with kindness and condescension to all, asking them questions, setting them right, animating them, and endeavouring, in his way, to encourage or enlighten every one. He succeeded too at last in drawing the embarra.s.sed Alfred into the conversation, and his grat.i.tude vented itself in a glowing speech, which he now found an opportunity of introducing, and in which he unfolded his wish for improvement, his reverence for domestic happiness, and his hope that the genuine religious temper and true piety would diffuse themselves throughout Germany, with general approbation and to his own satisfaction.

The most attentive of all had been the fair Kunigunde, and she it was who most loudly expressed her approbation. "How fortunate are we," she at last concluded, "to a.s.semble in our dear circle more and more of those spirits, who aim at what is good and n.o.ble; who have a perception of something above the earthly, and to whom the world, with all its alluring treasures, appears but vanity. But it is the property of truth and goodness to attract better natures, and to sublimate the weak.

While social intercourse has this happy effect in a larger sphere, it is, in the confined domestic circle, the blissfulness of wedlock, that kindles in the souls which it unites a still more fervent enthusiasm for every thing divine, which here still more powerfully raises the weaker spirit to the love of the infinite Being."

"Yes indeed," said a young man, who sat by the elderly gentleman, "this is what I feel every day more intensely and thankfully." He sighed and looked at the clouds, and the counsellor learnt upon inquiry, that this was the husband of the lovely and pious Kunigunde.

The mother took up the theme and said, not without emotion, "How happy I needs must feel, thus to have found in the circle of my children the highest end of life, and to have enabled them also to attain the n.o.blest acquisition this earth can yield. How utterly unable I am to take an interest in the pursuits of the generality of mankind! Nay, I rather feel my pity moved by the various turns of their enthusiasm, than could find, in that multiplicity of exertions to attain what they call a good, any thing that claims our respect. So they run after art, or philosophy; suppose that the eternal light is to dawn upon them in science, or in colour and sound; weary themselves with history and the perplexed affairs of life; and in their eagerness neglect the one thing needful, which supplies and makes up for all beside. Since I have found this spring which so sweetly satiates every thirst of the soul, I have had no sense left for that motley variety of objects, towards which in my youth I myself turned many a longing look."

"How you force my admiration!" exclaimed the counsellor: "with what eagerness have I sought life, and grasped only an empty shadow! And yet how easy is it, to find that truth, which never deceives us, never slips away from us, which fills every desire of the heart, that in which alone we have real life and being."

"I understand you," answered the Baroness, "You belong to our circle; it is a blessed thing to feel, that the communion of pious and heavenly-minded spirits is constantly increasing."

"We have a prospect of the most glorious times!" exclaimed the young officer in a rapture. "And how blest we must feel ourselves, since that which elevates us above the stale routine of life, is eternal truth itself; since this it is which rules us, and under its control we can never miscarry, never err; for we surrender ourselves to love, to work in us and reveal its mysteries to our hearts."

"Precisely so," concluded the dignified elderly gentleman; "this it is, which gives us that a.s.surance which distinguishes us from ordinary enthusiasts or fanatics. You have spoken a great truth, my dear Ferdinand, and it is on this account I value you so highly. No one finds the right point by so direct a road as yourself, and no one can then express it so clearly and simply." He embraced the young man, looked towards heaven, and a big tear sparkled in his fine dark eye.

The Baroness rose, and joined the group; all were moved, only Miss Dorothea turned away, and seemed to be searching for something she had lost in the shrubbery.

It did not escape Alfred's attention, that the mother looked with an expression of pain towards her eldest child, who seemed strangely excluded from this circle of sympathy and love. Baron Wallen, that was the name of the elderly friend of the house, with an air of melting benignity approached the young lady, who timidly cast her eyes to the ground, and whose cheeks at the same instant were flushed with a crimson glow. He spoke to her in an under-tone and with great emotion, but in her embarra.s.sment she seemed not to pay particular attention to his words; for a lady now coming along the walk towards the party, she went hastily to meet her, and folded her in her arms with the greatest cordiality and joy.

The mother slightly shook her head, and looked at Baron Wallen with an inquiring eye; he smiled, and the conversation of the party turned to quite different and commonplace topics; for Madame von Halden, who now came up, chattering loudly, laughing and telling news, made all flights of rapture, every communication of sentiment perfectly impossible, so that all but Miss Dorothea were rather disconcerted; she, as if she was relieved and cheered, hung with her looks on the speaker's lips, and now paid still less attention to the rest of the company.

"Who then is this retailer of news?" asked Alfred, displeased, "that, like a wild bird, flies into our quiet circle, and scares away all delicate feelings?"

"A neighbour of our honoured Baroness," answered Baron von Wallen: "she has gained an incomprehensible influence over the mind of Miss Dorothea, which we all cannot but lament. Even in her earlier years, her excellent governess, Miss von Erhard, a relative of the family, endeavoured to prevent this intimacy from stifling the lovely girl's better capacities; but from first to last all her pains have been unavailing."

The governess, who had hitherto been little observed, now came up, seeing that she was the subject of remark, and joined in the conversation. She related how, in this affectionate and lofty-minded family, Dorothea had from her early youth led a secluded life, and among so many sisters had been in a manner quite alone. Miss Charlotte von Erhard told this with a rough and hoa.r.s.e voice, but was so agitated that she could not refrain from tears. Alfred, who was already softened, in his exalted mood thought the elderly and rather ugly lady amiable and agreeable, and hearty disgust and vehement contempt were pointed against poor Dorothea, who now took leave of her gossiping friend, and returned to the rest of the party. She was evidently in a serener mood, but one could see what a struggle it cost her, again to take part in the serious conversation. She mentioned that Madame von Halden was in treaty, and would probably sell her estate.

"Sell her estate?" asked the mother astonished, "and she could nevertheless be so cheerful, nay, so gay?"

"She thinks," replied Dorothea, "she ought not to reject so advantageous a bargain on account of her infant children."

"Is there any advantage," said the mother, "which can counterbalance to children the happiness of home? And she herself, your friend, who grew up here upon her estate, who lived here with parents and brothers and sisters, and afterwards with a beloved husband, how can she thus become a voluntary outcast, and turn her back upon these trees, banish herself from the rooms which she loved and was familiar with as a child? Again and again I am struck with observing how utterly unintelligible to me are the conduct and motives of the great majority of mankind.----And who, then, is the purchaser?"

"The thing is odd enough," replied Dorothea; "the purchaser will not have his name published; but one Count Brandenstein conducts the negotiation. My friend is eager and decided, for the foreigner from America is buying several other estates, so that she esteems it a privilege, as he does not look minutely at the price, to be able to dispose of hers to the stranger."

At the name of Brandenstein the mother turned pale. She endeavoured however to compose herself directly, and said after a little pause, "Ay, that was the name which has been lying, for a week past, heavy upon my heart. I was already aware that this man is here, who will now for some time spoil our quiet enjoyment, and disturb the harmony of our circle. And I cannot avoid seeing him, for he is an old acquaintance of our family, and the custom of the world forces us, we know, to maintain a friendly intercourse even with persons whom we most heartily dislike, nay, whom, however candid may be our thoughts, we cannot help acknowledging to be bad and profligate men."

Dorothea was of opinion that, where so distinct a feeling prevailed, a man ought to put no constraint upon himself; and that particularly in the country, where they lived, it would be still easier than in town, to avoid such offensive intrusions. The mother however said, "You do not understand this, my child. Were it not that an unconscientious unprincipled man might injure or mortify us in the most sensible manner; were it not that he had it in his power, by means of wit and frivolity, to embitter our whole existence, I would coldly repel him, and, with my love of truth, tell him without ceremony, that I would keep up no commerce with him; but as this is impossible, I must treat him with courtesy, endeavour to lay the evil spirit in him by delicacy and good-will, and afterwards, as imperceptibly as possible, withdraw from his pernicious influence."